Page 9 of As the Earl Likes
His face had fallen when she’d denied his request. Now he was actually pouting. “But, Jo, I need you. You are too perfect.”
“Why?”
“Because you can survive crying off. You will decide I am unfit to be your husband—and rightly so. You’ll be lauded for possessing such sense.”
“Except that I will first be denigrated for lacking sense when I agree to be your countess,” she said wryly.
He lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps, but I will sweep you off your feet, and everyone will find that romantic.”
Jo chuckled as she shook her head. “You’re not making any sense. I will be praised for agreeing to be your wife and for deciding we don’t suit after all. I think you’ve perhaps gone daft, Sheff.”
“The ton doesn’t make sense,” he said. “You can’t disagree with that.”
No, she could not. She’d seen the upper ten thousand support someone and then not, only to support them again. And the reasons for doing so were ridiculous. Not to mention, there were plenty of people who actually behaved badly, but because of their rank, their behavior was overlooked. Sheff’s father was a prime example of that.
“You’ve overlooked one important factor,” she said plainly. “I don’t want to be engaged to anyone, not even if it isn’t real. And I especially don’t want to be betrothed to someone like you. I’d have to acquire an entirely new wardrobe so that I could attend balls and fêtes and alfresco suppers, and I’d have to promenade about Hyde Park like a preening bird. No, thank you.”
He exhaled. “How much do you want?”
She blinked at him. “For a new wardrobe? Nothing. I don’t want a new wardrobe.” In truth, a small part of her would love the ability to choose clothing without thinking of cost or usefulness. But she would never admit that, especially to a man such as Sheff.
“Not just the wardrobe, though you are right that one would be required. I will pay you to masquerade as my betrothed. Would five hundred pounds be sufficient?”
If they’d been walking, Jo would have tripped again. And this time, she would have fallen for certain.
Five hundred pounds.
Five hundred pounds.
Five hundred pounds.
The number was so massive in Jo’s mind that she could barely fathom it. The things she could do with that sum of money… It was more than she could imagine.
No, it wasn’t. She knew precisely what she would do with that money. She would decide her own future. She could more seriously entertain the idea of not taking over the Siren’s Call.
Excitement pulsed through her. She had to move. There was too much energy and emotion inside her. She continued along Piccadilly.
“You’re considering it,” Sheff noted as he walked alongside her.
“How can I not? That’s a staggering sum.” She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. “You’d pay that much?”
“And a new wardrobe, don’t forget.” His gaze was pleading, and Jo had to admit he looked rather adorable.
“What else?” Jo asked. “I mean, what do you require? How long will this scheme continue? What do you expect of me?”
“Once you are properly attired—not that there is anything wrong with your clothing, but you know what I mean.”
Yes, Jo did know. “My wardrobe is not that of a young lady who would marry the heir to a dukedom.” Because Jo wasn’t ever going to marry, let alone the bloody heir to a dukedom.
“Just so. Rest assured, you will have full control over the wardrobe. I trust that you will know what to procure.”
The fact was that Jo didn’t know. She had an idea, but thinking of it was overwhelming. There were different costumes for every kind of activity. Plus accessories. And how would she wear her hair? She and her mother had a maid who sometimes helped them with their hair and clothing, but primarily, she took care of their bedchambers and their wardrobe. Frannie was not a ladies’ maid.
But Jo knew whom she could ask. “Will you mind if your sister and her friends help me?”
“Not at all,” he said jovially. “In fact, I recommend you seek their assistance. However, you cannot tell them our betrothal isn’t real. I can’t risk one of them slipping up and exposing the truth. I also don’t want to ask them to lie.”
“But you’re asking me to,” Jo said wryly. Lying to her new friends would be difficult. She didn’t really want to do it. She didn’t really want to do any of it. But five hundred pounds. It was a life-changing sum.
