“You’re a dear girl, Tina, but really, you are such an innocent. And innocents are a dead bore.”
The words were emblazoned into her mind.
She’d thought everything was going along so very well, that Horace was finally beginning to see that she was the one and only woman for him, and then he’d spoken those shattering words. Her plans were thrown into chaos, and for a time, a very dark time, she’d contemplated abandoning them altogether.
But
what alternative did she have? There were holes in her petticoats for goodness’ sake! They’d had pigs’ trotters for last night’s supper, and all the while pretending to their friends and the world that nothing was wrong. Her family was living on the edge of a precipice. Constantly teetering on the verge of financial disaster. It was only a matter of time until they slid into the abyss. Truly, it was unbearable, and the only way Tina could see to save them was for her to make a wealthy marriage.
And Horace was the wealthiest man she knew, the only man with whom she could imagine spending the rest of her life.
Her practical mind worked on the problem, and came up with a solution. She must contrive to no longer be a bore.
That was where Mr. Eversham came in. Presumably, if he was as good at teaching men to seduce women as she had heard, then he would be equally as good at teaching women to seduce men. The socially unacceptable Mr. Eversham was just what she needed.
Tina lifted her hand to the door knocker.
There was a moment, a brief moment, when doubt threatened to turn her about and send her home. But Tina was not a woman to be thwarted by such a thing as a little doubt. No, she had already made up her mind, and this was her only way forward.
She knocked loudly, several times, stood back, and waited.
And pretended her heart was not beating just a little bit faster.
Richard Eversham rustled his newspaper and read down the column in the engagement section. There were several names he recognized. Pupils of his who had benefited—clearly—from his tuition. His gray eyes narrowed as he read the final name, and then he gave a chuckle.
Well, who would have thought it! Barrington finally got his girl! This was a time for celebration. Where was that bottle of ’11 he’d been saving?
“Archie!” he shouted for his butler, valet, and manservant combined. “Archie, where the devil are you?”
Archie popped his curly head around the door frame. “You bellowed, sir?”
“Don’t be lippy,” his master retorted, setting the newspaper aside. “I have come into funds. I think we should celebrate.”
Archie’s face lit up, and he was about to answer when the door knocker sounded from the street door below.
“Who the devil is that?” Richard Eversham barked, and rose to go to the window, which gave a view directly down onto the square. “I haven’t any appointments today, have I?”
“Not to my knowledge, sir. Should I go and see who it is, or will we pretend not to be at home?”
“Wait a moment . . . Good heavens, it’s a woman. A lady, I should say. She looks like a lady, at any rate. Bonnet, pelisse, walking dress, gloves. Yes, definitely a lady. And . . . oh yes.” The lady had glanced up at the window. The bonnet framed a very pretty face although at the moment she was frowning.
Suddenly he realized she was about to walk away.
“What the devil are you waiting for, Archie?” he said. “Go and let her in!”
Archie scurried down the stairs.
Richard returned to his chair and sat down, arms resting on the leather armrests, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He assumed his approachable and trustworthy gentleman expression; he’d found it invaluable when it came to persuading his clients to believe every word he spoke.
And why shouldn’t they believe him, he mockingly reminded himself, with a reputation like his? He was Richard Eversham, grand seducer of women and rake extraordinaire. No one could bring a woman to heel like he could.
And while no gentleman would recognize him in a social situation, in private they were desperate to pick his brains. So desperate that Richard’s business was doing very well indeed.
Archie was returning up the stairs, and with him came the swish of silk skirts and petticoats and the tap-tap of a lady’s shoes. As much as he’d been looking forward to that bottle of ’11, he was curious as to what someone who looked very much like a gentlewoman wanted with him this fine summer morning.
Tina turned left at the landing, following the curly-haired servant, and waited as he tapped discreetly on a half-open door.
“Enter!” called a deep, masculine voice.