My Fake Rake

“Let’s not talk of that.”

“But we must.”

“I always thought . . . perhaps Charlie might take me in.” She and her older brother were on amicable, if not warm, terms with each other, and his wife, Anne, was kind. Their three children were quite high-spirited, and it was commonly accepted that, wherever they were, at least one piece of china would be broken within fifteen minutes.

“Is that the life you want?” her mother asked. “Reliant on your sibling’s generosity? Having no husband, no children, of your own? Worried that one day, you might not have a roof over your head?”

“I . . .” Constriction gripped her lungs. True, living as Charlie’s dependent was not ideal. His home would never quite be hers, and she’d be, at best, tolerated as the eccentric maiden aunt. If her brother passed away before her, she would have to hope his children would support her into her dotage. She’d be passed around like a worn coat, just a little too good to be thrown away, but too frayed and old to be of use.

A burr of anger flared within her, that a woman could not exist in this world on her own. She would always be subject to a man’s munificence, always be less than because she’d been born a female.

Yet how could she refuse her father his one wish? How would it be possible that, as he lay ill and exhausted, she could deny him this?

“Surely there’s someone you’ve met,” her father said, though his words were enervated. “Some gentleman of means that you might consider marrying.”

“There’s no one—” But that wasn’t true.

There was Mason.

Charming, handsome, intelligent Mason, who accepted her as a fellow natural philosopher. Her infatuation with him could easily grow into something much deeper, much stronger . . . And, it couldn’t be denied, he was a viscount’s son. Her intellectual and material comforts would be assured. He was all things perfect for her future husband.

Save one small problem. He didn’t see her as a future wife.

“Please,” her father murmured as his eyelids drooped with weariness. “Please find yourself someone to wed. For me,” he added.

His eyes closed, and his breathing deepened as he drifted to sleep.

“Go on, dearest,” her mother whispered. “I’ll watch him for now. Have your supper and a bath.” The set of her mother’s jaw indicated no arguments would be permitted.

“Very well,” Grace said. “But I’ll be back later so you can eat and rest.” She kissed her mother’s cheek before leaving the room.

In the corridor, Grace took a few steps before sinking down onto her haunches, gasping as if someone had just rammed an elbow into her stomach.

“Find yourself someone to wed. For me.”

Lord above, she could not refuse her father his wish. But, of all women, how was she to find herself a husband when the one man she could ever think of marrying refused to think of her as anything other than a colleague?

Chapter 3

She was late. She was never late.

Seb tried to smooth out a wrinkle of concern as he waited outside the exhibit in Chelsea, but no matter how he attempted to distract himself by observing the interactions of pedestrians, he circled again and again to worry. Maybe she’d gotten into an accident en route. Or she might have fallen ill.

Surely, if something was awry, Grace would have sent word. He distressed himself unnecessarily. But the gray skies grew heavier with each passing minute, and as he stood on the curb, the first drops of rain spattered on his shoulders. A moment later, the storm began in earnest.

He’d no choice but to take shelter inside the exhibit. So he dashed up the steps of the town house, and, at a footman’s pointed look, wiped his boots on a mat in the foyer. He showed the servant the wrinkled announcement.

“The exhibit is in the downstairs dining room and parlor,” the footman said, pointing over his shoulder.

“If a young woman with dark brown hair arrives,” Seb answered as he removed his hat, “I’d appreciate it if you informed her that Mr. Holloway is waiting for her within.”

The footman glanced at Seb’s threadbare coat and scuffed boots. “Not much of a description. Get lots of young women with dark brown hair coming through.”