Page 3 of The Earl's Hired Bride
“I found her, but she’s a wily one. She stood at the gate to the street and stared back at me. She shook her head at me, the minx. And then she jumped on the back of a hackney like she’d done it countless times before—and disappeared.” He slumped back in his seat. “But it doesn’t add up. She was in the park by herself—in the fashionable hour. If she’s a maid, wouldn’t she have been with her employer?” He closed his eyes. “A grand-niece of mine—a maid. Or worse.”
He sat up suddenly and met Hestia’s gaze. “I will have her found.”
“To what end, Your Grace?” What do you intend to do with her?” Hestia was reliably sure she knew the answer to that already.
“I will see her settled, of course.” He shuddered. “Wipe that look off of her face.”
“Married?” she asked gently.
He raised his brow and gave her a veryducallook. “Were you not listening, my dear? It is what I do. She’ll be brought into the fold. And she’ll be married—into happiness and prosperity.”
Hestia favored him with a healthy dose of skepticism. “That is a tall order, sir. I see why you sought my help.”
He nodded. “You’ve got contacts in every layer of London. If anyone can help me bring this about, it is you, Hestia.”
“True. Together, we might achieve it. In a far different manner than what you are accustomed to, though, sir. You are going to have to give me some leeway.” She steepled her fingers together. “This is going to take a very particular sort of gentleman.” She shot him a look. “Do you have someone in mind?”
“No, more’s the pity. Do you?”
“Not yet. But give me a few days.” She smiled slowly. “I do love a challenge.”
Chapter 1
Light spilled into the street. The theatre was lit up like a beacon. Swinging carriage lamps and torches carried by footmen further brightened the area—as did the sparkle of embroidery and jewels on the ladies and gentlemen moving to ascend the broad steps.
Emily Spencer stepped out of the shadows. “Excuse me, miss. You dropped this from your reticule.”
The grandly dressed young woman raked her with a bored gaze, took in the rough, ill-fitting linen of her dress and the dirty cloth hiding her hair. She looked away. “It’s not mine. You are mistaken.”
Emily did not let rudeness deter her. She stared with admiration at the young woman’s gown, allowed her eyes to wander upward, and gave a happy little gasp. “Oh, my! Are you not Miss Paxton? You are even more beautiful than I have heard!”
The young lady’s head swiveled back, her expression warmer. “Thank you. Yes, I am indeed Miss Paxton.”
“Oh, how wonderful! And your dress! It’s so beautiful. Surely it will be described in the papers.” She focused on the sheer overskirt. “How cunning that garland is, how beautifully embroidered!” Emily deliberately looked up, then. “And it is repeated on your headdress. I’m sure you’ll start a new fashion, Miss Paxton!”
In fact, Emily was more than passing familiar with that particular embroidery. She’d been present for many hours while her own mother labored over it. She’d also been on the premises of one of London’s preeminent modistes, making a delivery, when Miss Paxton had returned the bill for the garment, including a note stating that the dress was unsatisfactory, and not fit to be worn.
“You’ll be dictating fashion when you are a countess, Miss, won’t you? Many congratulations to you on your engagement!” Emily bobbed a curtsy. “The streets are full of talk of your splendid match.”
The ice descended once more. “Thank you.” The young lady turned her back and stepped forward.
“Oh, but wait . . .” Emily allowed a mask of confused dismay to wash over her. “Your betrothed is the Earl of Ardman, so why would you be carrying a gentleman’s handkerchief withtheseinitials?” She ran a finger over the MLH stitched onto the linen.
Emily knew very well why—because Miss Paxton was engaging in some very illicit behavior with Marcus Lionel Holt—the middle-aged earl’s younger cousin.
“Hush, you meddlesome creature.” Miss Paxton had turned back. “That doesn’t belong to me, I told you.” Her eyes narrowed. “But give it to me and get from my sight.”
“Oh, Miss Paxton!” Emily’s voice ranged a bit higher. “Tell me you never stepped out on your betrothed?” She pressed the hanky to her mouth, hoping the linen hid her nerves and allowing the initials to face outward. At least she didn’t worry that it might be unclean. After all, she had purchased and embroidered it herself.
Miss Paxton snatched at the offending piece of linen.
Emily stepped back, out of reach. “You did!” she wailed accusingly. “You played the Earl of Ardman for a fool!”
“Lower your tone, you tiresome troublemaker!” The lady was glancing about now—and beginning to truly worry.
There. That was the look Emily had been waiting for.
“I will.” She dropped the subservient, eager-to-please note completely. “For five pounds.”
