Page 56 of As the Earl Likes
“I was concerned it was too garish, but Min convinced me it would be striking.” The style was simple, and the ivory trim helped to mellow the main color. Looking back, Jo probably chose the flame color because the Duchess of Henlow had wrinkled her nose at it.
His gaze flicked to her neck. “I see you are wearing the pearl-and-coral necklace I gave you for your eighteenth birthday. It’s a lovely adornment.”
Jo touched the necklace lying at the base of her throat. “I am glad to have occasion to wear it.”
Her father rubbed his gloved hands together. “I’m so pleased to be escorting you tonight! I was hoping for an invitation to Sir Alfred’s rout, but he can be somewhat discerning. It is my good fortune that you are now engaged to Shefford. You’ve likely received invitations to nearly everything.” He looked at her expectantly, and she realized he was probing for information—and perhaps inclusion.
“I’ve received a great many, yes. However, I have declined most of them. I do not wish to attend more than two or three events each week.” Three was excessive to her, particularly when she usually attended a salon on Mondays. “I am busy with the club.”
“Oh, that gaming club is such a distraction,” he said somewhat testily. “I was never enthused that your mother raised you in such a place.”
Jo knew her father didn’t particularly care for the Siren’s Call. Her mother said it was because he envied its success, the rewards of which she did not share with him. “She didn’t raise me in it.”
“I would argue she did. You’ve lived above it as long as you can remember. You have never been able to escape the shadow of the club. But now you will. When you become the Countess of Shefford.” He pierced her with a curious stare. “Why aren’t you leaving your role there now? I should think you must.”
“I can’t, not with Mama leaving London this summer. I need to be at the club.”
He cut his hand through the air before him. “Balderdash. Your mother needs to hire someone to manage the club if she isn’t going to be here. That cannot be your role. Not any longer. I will speak to her.”
“Please don’t, Papa.” She touched his arm. “I will transition to not working at the club, just not yet.”
“I would ask that you do so in the near future. It does not help your status in Society to be perceived as unworthy of your soon-to-be husband. I don’t think that, of course.”
Was that what people were saying? Jo didn’t care. She couldn’t. But she also didn’t want Sheff to be adversely affected by her behavior.
They arrived at Sir Alfred’s house near Bloomsbury Square. Jo alighted from the hackney coach and made her way to the door, which was held open by a liveried footman.
Inside the entrance hall, she gave her cloak to another footman who directed her upstairs. Jo waited for her father then took his arm as they ascended the staircase.
Jo glanced over at him. “I know you will likely want to stay until the very end of the gathering, but I do not wish to stay that late.”
“As you wish, my dear.” His gaze fixed ahead of them as they reached the first floor and turned toward the drawing room. “There is your betrothed.”
Sheff walked toward them, his brown hair artfully styled so a lock caressed his forehead. He wore black with a scarlet waistcoat, and a ruby pin sparkled in the pristine white folds of his cravat. “Good evening, my dearest,” he said to Jo, a flash of heat in his gaze as he took her hand and bowed to brush a kiss against her glove. Straightening, he addressed her father, “Evening, Harker.”
“And to you, Shefford. I shall leave my daughter in your capable hands for now. Behave yourselves,” he added with a chuckle before taking himself off toward the drawing room.
“You look stunning,” Sheff said as he slowly perused her from head to toe.
“I am not a selection of sweets you are contemplating,” she murmured.
“No, you are far more enticing than that,” he replied softly. He offered her his arm. “Do you wish to see what Sir Alfred brought back from South America?”
“Desperately.” She smiled as she took his arm and ignored the rush of desire that claimed her for a moment. For several moments, really.
Inside the drawing room, she forced herself to focus on the curiosities placed about the room. Each had a card describing it, including where Sir Alfred had found it. There were dried flowers, leaves, insects, and wool from an alpaca.
“Come along and feel it,” Sir Alfred said as they approached the white fluffy wool. “It’s one of the few things here I’m encouraging people to touch. There is some wood on the other side of the room, I would suggest you feel as well.”
Average in height and build, Sir Alfred wore thick spectacles that made his eyes seem larger than they were. He was in his middle fifties, probably, with thinning gray hair and an engaging smile.
“You’ll have to remove your glove,” Sir Alfred added with a chuckle.
Jo did so, as did Sheff, and she reached for a small ball of fluff. It was soft and springy. “I imagine this makes a beautiful blanket.”
“Indeed. I brought several home with me. One is hanging over there.” He gestured toward the wall, where a vibrantly dyed blanket hung. “But I do ask that you not touch that. This here is what an alpaca looks like.” He lightly touched the edge of a framed drawing that stood on the table with the wool.
“Did you sketch that, Sir Alfred?” Sheff asked.
