Love's Price(4)
“Best girls indeed,” she fumed. “I know what kind of girl he wants, and it’s definitely not a lady’s companion.”
“Miss Stewart”—Mrs. Ford had a steely tone in her voice—“you’ve insulted the earl several times now, and I command you to desist immediately.”
Miss Stewart nearly retorted, then she bit her tongue. She turned to him, appearing furious and aggrieved.
“I won’t do it!” she snapped. “I don’t care how much you swagger and bully me. I won’t do it! I won’t!”
She was carrying on like a spoiled toddler, and he grinned. The money had already been paid, and Mrs. Ford—for all her accommodating ways—was a shrewd businesswoman. With the bank draft having been deposited in her cash drawer, she would never give it back.
“You humor me with your protests,” he advised Miss Stewart, “but they grow tedious. Shall we go? I’ve had your room prepared, so you can unpack quickly, because Miranda needs you to accompany her on a shopping excursion.”
“I must speak privately with Mrs. Ford,” she said, fit to be tied. “Would you excuse us?”
“No.”
She growled with frustration and strutted past him so she could whisper in Mrs. Ford’s ear, but James was only a few feet away. He could hear every word.
“Don’t make me to this,” she begged.
“Why are you in such a dither?” Mrs. Ford responded in a temper. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Have you any idea what the result will be if I work for him? When I’m finished, my reputation will be in shreds.”
“What foolishness! After you’ve been in his employ, every woman in town will want to hire you. Now get going.”
“I can’t imagine what—”
Mrs. Ford cut her off. “You will take this position, and you will perform your duties with as much grace and courtesy as you can muster, or you will no longer use my placement agency. Am I making myself clear?”
Miss Stewart’s shoulders slumped with defeat. Mrs. Ford’s agency was the best in the city. If she declined to continue with Miss Stewart, the girl would very likely never find another job. Miss Stewart knew it, and he knew it, though he tried not to be too smug.
He tamped down another grin.
“Shall we go?” he said again.
“I have to get my bag.”
“Mrs. Ford had it put in my coach.”
“Fine then. Yes, we can go.”
She swept by him, regal as any queen, and he followed her out, watching how her shapely hips moved under the fabric of her horrid gray dress.
It was the same one she’d been wearing the prior afternoon, and it occurred to him that perhaps she didn’t have any others, and he made a mental note to have his clerk order her some clothes.
She might be a lowly lady’s companion, but he liked to see pretty women display their charms, and if he had to have a new servant underfoot, he refused to have a drab.
They walked outside, and as she espied his coach, he was amused by her reaction. Deliberately to intimidate her, he’d arrived in his grandest vehicle that was pulled by a team of magnificent white horses. Their manes and tails were braided with red ribbons to match the red and gold livery of the driver and six outriders.
He loved traveling in it, loved how heads turned when he passed by. The petty vanity was irksome, but he couldn’t set it aside and he’d given up trying.
The ostentatious carriage was the first item he’d retrieved after his father had died and James had inherited the title and bankrupt estates that went with it. The vehicle had been his father’s pride and joy, but he’d lost it in a bet. James had been a seething adolescent when the new owner had come to seize it, and James still reeled with irritation whenever he recollected the humiliating episode.
His life had been spent observing his father fall apart from gambling and drink, and James was determined to recoup the family’s fortunes. His father had been a weak and despairing man who’d made one bad decision after the next. Nearly everything that could be wagered had been, and the games hadn’t been won by strangers—but by his father’s so-called friends. They’d taken advantage of his wretched condition to plunder what never should have been theirs.
Upon becoming earl, James had sworn to himself and to his brother, Tristan, that—eventually—he would get it all back, whether through fair means or foul. He was well on his way to financial security, though a few knaves had eluded his grasp.
One in particular, Charles Sinclair, Earl of Trent, needed to be brought low. Before the year was out, James planned to have his revenge.
“This is your coach?” Miss Stewart inquired, peering up at him.
“Yes.”
“I might have guessed it would be pretentious and extravagant—like the owner.”
James laughed. “What is the use of having money if you don’t flaunt it?”
She scoffed and marched to it, pausing to ensure that her portmanteau was indeed strapped to the rear. The bag was small and tattered, a sorry symbol of her reduced circumstances, and he wondered what it would be like to be able to carry all your worldly belongings in a single satchel.
When her situation was so pitiful, he couldn’t fathom why she would balk at his offer of employment. She ought to be grateful. She ought to be down on her knees and thanking him.
As she went to climb in, a footman reached out to aid her, but James waved him away so he could help her himself. She glared at his extended hand, then hoisted herself in without assistance. He shook his head, intrigued by her spirit. She annoyed and enchanted him in equal measure.
He climbed in behind her, sitting on the opposite seat so he could study her expressive face as they chatted.
Shortly, the driver cracked the whip, and they were off. Miss Stewart stared out the window, ignoring him, which he would never allow.
“I like to see you with your hair down,” he said.
“I’m so relieved to hear it.” She oozed sarcasm.
“While you work for me, I don’t want you to pin it up.”
She scowled. “You hired me to be a companion for your ward. I can hardly go about looking like a strumpet.”
“It’s my house, Miss Stewart, so you’ll follow my rules.”
“You’re a tyrant.”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t I lucky to have crossed paths with you?”
“Your hair I like,” he repeated, “but your dress, I hate.”
“I don’t care.”
“The color washes out your skin. It makes you appear pallid and sickly.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“When you’re around me, you are never to wear gray. I’m afraid I have to insist.”
“Will you?” She wrenched her eyes from the passing scenery, her furious gaze locked on his own. “For your information, I have precisely two gowns. They are both gray.”
“I figured as much. I’ll have my clerk arrange a fitting for you. I’ll buy you some new ones.”
“I will not have you buying me clothes as if I was some sort of...of...”
“Kept woman?” he unhelpfully supplied.
“Exactly.”
They rode in silence again, and he watched her, as a cat watches a mouse.
Finally, she couldn’t stand it, and she inquired, “Is there some reason you’ve decided to torment me?”
“What do you mean?”
“At this very moment, there are thousands of females in the city who would jump at the chance to work for you. Within the hour, Mrs. Ford could show you a hundred other, more suitable candidates. I’d rather suffer a trip to the barber to have a tooth pulled than do this, yet you force me into it. Why?”
“Because you told me no.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yes. I loathe it when people refuse me.”
“So if I’d been fawning and had begged you for a job, you’d have sent me packing?”
“Most likely.”
“I’ll remember that in our future dealings.”
“As long as you let me have my way, you’ll find I’m extremely amenable.”
She huffed out an aggravated breath. “I don’t like you.”
“I’ll grow on you.”
“I doubt it.”
He chuckled. “How old are you?”
“Twenty. Why?”
“I’m curious where you come by all this sass and vigor. It exhausts me.”
“I come by it from having dealt with others who are just like you. I lost my patience for nonsense years ago.”
“You talk as if you’re a decrepit, elderly matron.”
“Occasionally, I feel as if I am.”
He wondered about her again, about her past and her family. Obviously, someone had paid to have her educated. She was refined in her speech and habits, in her grooming and deportment, yet she was poverty-stricken and a mere step away from living on the streets.
Somewhere along the way, catastrophe must have befallen her. What had it been? Why was she all alone?
His interest in her was astonishing. He never fretted over the commoners he met. He had his own difficulties that required his full attention, but Miss Stewart had captured his fancy.
Tristan’s wedding to Miranda was scheduled for the last week of September, which was four months away, so Miss Stewart would be with him through the summer. The notion was refreshing and stimulating.