Cut from the Same Cloth: A Humorous Traditional Regency Romance Page 3

  “Three,” she responded with admirable resolve in her voice.

  Much to Valen’s surprise, Smythe acquiesced. Elizabeth turned, and they began to dicker over the length of fabric.

  Valen waited down the narrow road from the warehouse and watched her leave. The certainty in her step indicated she felt quite pleased with herself. He strode into Smythe’s shoppe and slapped six guineas down on the worn wooden counter. “The fabric the young lady just purchased—I want the rest of it. And there’ll be more blunt in it for you if you send word next time she makes a purchase.”

  When the blighter began to hem and haw, Valen grasped him firmly by the collar. “I’ve neither the time nor the patience to put up with your chicanery. Do you think I can’t guess where that silk comes from? You’ll do as you’re told and be glad of the profit. Do we understand one another?”

  Smythe nodded and wrapped the purchase in brown paper. Valen concluded his business in a matter of a few short minutes and hurried out to make certain Elizabeth did not meet with harm in this rackety part of town.

  He caught up to her just as the drizzle began to let up. Following her home was something of a treat as he marked the determined lilt in her gait. No one would mistake her for a maid now, not with that aristocratic bearing. Lady Nose-In-The-Air Elizabeth would soon discover that she was not quite so superior as she imagined. He chuckled. Later today, he would have to bribe his tailor heavily to sew a very gaudy coat out of deep green silk figured with purple peacocks. Perhaps they might trim it with orange or yellow to make it sufficiently garish.

  Lady Elizabeth turned when she heard his footsteps behind her on the stairs leading up to Alison Hall. Her lovely mouth formed an O as she took in his shabby appearance, weathered hat, and old brown coat.

  She pulled back the large hood cloaking her face and stammered, “Lord St. Evert?”

  Her shiny black curls caught the sunlight, and for an instant he had the mad urge to put his fingers in them. In the nick of time, he collected himself and tipped his tattered hat. “Lovely day for a stroll, is it not?”

  “Yes,” she answered uncertainly, water dripping from her woolen cape. “I enjoy a brisk walk before breakfast.”

  “Ah.” He nodded.

  She tried to tuck her package behind her so he wouldn’t notice the lump under her cape.

  He grazed his hand lightly over her shoulder, catching a bit of water on his fingertips. “Bit of weather earlier on.”

  “So there was.” She swallowed, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Nothing like a bracing walk, I always say. No matter the weather.” She glanced about and stepped backward up another stair, toward the door. Her gaze landed on his package. “Out shopping at this time of morning?”

  “I was hunting for something unusual. And you?”

  “I told you, merely taking a morning constitutional.” She frowned, bringing her full attention to bear on him. “You’re dressed oddly. I wouldn’t have known you.”

  “No?” He smiled. “Nor I you. I might have mistaken you for a lady’s maid.” He could not be completely displeased with the expressive way her brow crinkled up.

  “A lady’s maid?” Her voice had a bite to it. “What of you? To be frank, my lord, I should have thought you were a coachman. In point of fact, not a coachman, but rather a drayman.”

  He bowed. “At your service, my lady. But how rude of me to keep you standing on the front step when you are burdened down with a package. I will be happy to carry it for you. After all, what good is a drayman if he will not carry—”

  “It’s nothing.” She quickly turned away, and he watched a flush rise up her neck as she hurried up the stairs. “A trifle. I can manage.”

  At that moment, Cairn opened the front door and cleared his throat. The very correct butler admitted both of them into Alison Hall. Apparently their unfashionable appearance had not perplexed Honore’s manservant. Valen reluctantly watched Izzie dash up the stairs to her room. He would’ve enjoyed a few more opportunities to goad her, to watch her lips purse together and her chin rise ever higher with each jibe.

  Honore stood in the doorway of the breakfast room. “Not quite blind enough to the rigors of society, is she?”

  “Not by half.” Valen turned from watching Elizabeth’s retreating form, allowed Cairn to help him out of his overcoat, and followed Honore into her sunny breakfast room. A huge mural of the Roman countryside graced one wall. The windows on the other side were draped in butter-yellow silk.

  Honore resumed her place at the head of the table. “Still, she is a rather comely creature, is she not?”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” He set his package on the end of the table.

  “A gift for me?”

  “Regrettably, it is not for you, my dear.” He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Something for my tailor.” Unable to keep the corner of his mouth from curling wickedly, he turned quickly to the side table and placed a kipper on a plate.

  “What is it? Hemlock?” Honore tapped the shell of her hard-boiled egg. “For I vow, if you are requiring him to make another set of clothing as revolting as the last, any self-respecting man of the cloth would prefer poison.”

  “A man of the cloth is a vicar, my lady, not a tailor.” Valen sat down with his plate heaped high. “And I’ve promised my poor suffering tailor complete anonymity.”

  She dipped her egg in salt and studied it on the end of her fork. “So, tell me, how is it you do not find Lady Elizabeth attractive?”

  He had raised his knife, but now set it down with some force. “Are we back to that? I have not given the matter much thought.”

  “Whyever not? You get along well enough with the brother. Her brother certainly approves of you. Half the difficulties in a marriage are the relations. You ought to know that much.” She bit into her egg and smirked at him while chewing.

  He glared at her. Suddenly the mound on his plate seemed less appealing. “She is unsuitable.” There. That’s an end of it. He raised his knife, preparing to cut his fish.

  “Eminently suitable, I should think. Did you not see the intelligence in her eyes? Unless I miss my guess, the gel can put more than two and two together.”

  “Which simply means she would make a suitable chess partner.”

  “My dear nephew, you would be surprised how often a marriage is like a chess match.”

  “Ah. Then I should marry a woman dumb as a post. For I wouldn’t care to be beaten at the game with any kind of regularity.” He pierced the fish to hold it steady. “Aside from that, Lady Elizabeth has some rather unfortunate traits that I find intolerable.”

  Honore tilted her head. “Unfortunate traits? I hadn’t noticed.”

  He glanced at her skeptically. “Don’t tell me you haven’t observed how she holds her nose in the air as if the rest of humanity is far too malodorous for a woman of her caliber.”

  Honore dipped the other end of her egg as she mulled over the matter. “You are too quick to judge. Perhaps her nose was broken at one time. Pushed out of joint, as it were.”

  He sawed his fish apart, refusing to give rise to her ridiculous conjecture. He was not judging, he was observing. Naturally, his aunt would prize Izzie’s intellect. She valued that trait above all else. He, on the other hand, held to more sound standards. He thrust a portion of kipper into his mouth and chewed vigorously.

  “I cannot recall the thing ever being broken.” Lady Elizabeth stood in the doorway staring at him as though he had just slunk in from the sewer. She touched the tip of her nose. “Nor has it been wrenched out of joint. At least, not yet.”

  He stood as she entered the room, the fish in his mouth turned to cotton wadding, and he’d be damned if he could swallow.

  “Cat got your tongue?” She asked softly, gliding gracefully past him as she went to greet Lady Alameda. “Good morning, my lady. I must thank you again for your hospitality. How very pleasant it is here at Alison Hall. It is beautifully appointed, and I daresay I have not slept half so w
ell since coming to London.”

  “So, you have never broken your nose?” Honore smiled at her with unabashed interest.

  Valen dropped into his chair. If he didn’t drink something posthaste, he would choke on the wretched kipper.

  “No.” Elizabeth answered simply and without the least hint of self-consciousness.

  Honore held out her hand to him. “There you have it, Valen. You were right. It must be the smell.”

  “Smell?” The vixen asked absently while sniffing eggs and strawberries on the buffet. “Why? Everything smells delicious.”

  “I believe Lord St. Evert is referring to the constant elevation of your nose.”

  Valen sent his provoking aunt a quelling glance and said firmly, “In point of fact, I was not referring to it at all.”

  His aunt, ever eager to bat about a hornet’s nest, challenged his defense. “Oh, but you were. We were conjecturing as to the cause, were we not?”

  He refused to be drawn in, but found himself compelled to stand and pull back Lady Elizabeth’s chair for her. She turned to him before seating herself, the nose in question coming quite close to his chin.

  “I suspect,” she said to him in a low, cool voice. “You may credit my correct posture to the boards that were strapped to my back as a child and the books I was required to balance on my head without letting them fall lest I wished a beating.”

  He felt an odd heat in his cheeks and his features must have softened, for she looked away, uncomfortable under his gaze. She turned brusquely and sat down. “I pray you, do not be so ridiculous as to pity me, my lord. It is thus with all ladies of breeding. We are carefully trained in matters of deportment and carriage. Is it not so, Lady Alameda?”

  Honore lounged back in her chair, watching them with interest, munching very casually on a piece of toast. “Mmm. So I’ve heard.”

  Valen remained standing and dropped his napkin onto the table. “Pray, excuse me. I’ve pressing matters to attend to this morning.” With that, he picked up his parcel and turned to leave.

  Lady Elizabeth commented to Honore. “Lord St. Evert has left a mountain of food on his plate. I fear I’ve put him off.”

  “Oh, I don’t see how. I daresay he’s simply a finicky eater.” Once again, his aunt had made an erroneous supposition.

  There was, in his belly, an uncomfortable sensation that he could only put down to hunger. It had, after all, been a long morning. But Valen would get something at his club rather than subject himself any further to the slings and arrows of these two outrageous females.

  Chapter 5

  Knot in the Dark

  LATE THAT NIGHT, Lady Elizabeth sat in her room stitching by the light of three flickering candles. She had only two days to sew a gown for Lady Ashburton’s ball, and she must accomplish the task without anyone in Lady Alameda’s household discovering the embarrassing fact that she must act as her own seamstress. The season pressed forward. High time she brought someone up to the mark, or all would be lost.

  The intricate detail work she was putting into the bodice began to strain her eyes. Yet, it was necessary. The small tucks in the white crepe would create dozens of lines to pull the eye upward. Why so many young women fashioned dramatic creations for their flounces baffled Elizabeth, unless they wished to draw attention to their ankles or toes. Ankles might be well and good, but it seemed patently obvious which aspect of her anatomy most attracted the male eye. So, she focused on accentuating the bodice and left the hem fairly simple.

  She heard a thud just outside her door. It was her brother, no doubt, stumbling home at this dreadful hour. She picked up a candle in a brass holder and went to the hallway, colliding with, not her brother, but Lord St. Evert. “Good heavens!”

  In the unsteady light of her lone candle, it took her a moment to note that her brother appeared to be draped around St. Evert’s massive shoulders. “Is that my liddle Izzie Bizzy?” Robert collapsed in a spat of giggles.

  “Good heavens.” She looked from one to the other.

  Lord St. Evert grinned wickedly at her. “You keep referring to the heavens, my lady. I don’t believe this has anything to do with the sky, nor God’s dwelling place. To the contrary, I do believe I’ve been cavorting through—”

  She held up her hand. “You’re both foxed.”

  Robert saluted her from his upside-down position. “Right you are, your highness.”

  “No. He is foxed.” Lord St. Evert straightened under his burden. “I have merely ingested too many glasses of watered-down bourbon. There is a vast difference.”

  She raised the candle and stared at him. His neckcloth hung untied around his neck, his coat had gone missing, and in the dim light, strands of his golden hair hung beside the hard lines of his jaw and shone red in the candlelight. There appeared to be nothing foppish about him. He looked altogether masculine. Frighteningly so. She stepped back, bumping into the wall.

  “It’s the smell, isn’t it?” It caught her off guard when, in complete violation of his character, he gazed remorsefully at her. “I’m afraid he retched on my leg during the carriage ride home.”

  Robert piped up. “Damn fine celebration. Too bad you weren’t there, Izzie. Dunworthy came into his majority tonight. Fine fellow. Good family, even if they are Scots. Pots of money. Jus’ yer type.” He lifted his hand weakly in her direction. “Has a lovely sister, he has. Didn’t you think so?” He twisted sideways trying to speak directly to Lord St. Evert and then gave up the effort. “Eh, Capt’n?”

  “Lovely.”

  “’Xactly. Yellow curls. Very fetching. Keen on you. Kept batting her eyes in your direction.”

  “You’re blathering.” St. Evert turned to cart Robert down the hall to his rooms. “It’s off to bed with you.”

  She held the candle aloft and led the way, opened the door. “If you will set him on his bed, my lord, I can manage from here.” She hurriedly threw back the blankets.

  Robert flopped onto the mattress as if he were a sack filled with sand and had no bones whatsoever. She stared at her brother. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

  “I have.” St. Evert’s hushed voice glided easily into a familiar place in her soul, as if they were old and intimate friends. “Once. On the continent—but that is another matter. Tonight I ought to have dragged him away much earlier. Here, let me give you a hand with his boots.”

  Lord St. Evert tugged off the boots while she removed Robert’s neckcloth and struggled to shift him out of his coat. Half-asleep, her brother mumbled grumpily and batted her hand away.

  “Robert, for pity’s sake. You cannot go to bed in your coat. You’ll ruin it entirely.”

  The uncooperative slug rolled onto his side, muttering oaths at her. She gave up.

  “It rained on us.” St. Evert stood beside her. “His coat is bound to be damp. We’d best take it off.” Together they wrested Robert’s arm out of the sleeve and rolled him onto his other side to complete the task.

  St. Evert handed her the sodden garment. “That should do. He’ll rest well enough in his clothes.”

  She pulled the covers over her foolhardy brother and briefly smoothed back a few stray dark hairs from his forehead. Sweet, guileless Robert. If only she could count on him to shoulder more of the family problems—but no. She would guide them through this predicament. Izzie turned and found St. Evert watching her intently. “Thank you, my lord, for your assistance tonight. For bringing my brother home, and—”

  “It’s Valen.”

  “Valen?”

  “My name.”

  “Yes, well, thank you, Valen.” She retrieved her candle plate from the bed table.

  He still stared at her. “You’re fairly pleasant to look at. You realize that, don’t you?”

  She, who was accustomed to far more gratifying compliments, pursed her lips. “I am passable, my lord. And you, I believe, are nearly as foxed as my brother.”

  “I told you, call me Valen. For Valentine. Ghastly name. Never call me that. Ju
st Valen. I am not foxed. But you, you’re in your night-rail, and I can’t help it, you are abominabable-y…no, that’s not the word…abysmally attractive.”

  Abysmally?

  Was he that far into his cups, or was he simply gammoning her? She couldn’t tell. Did he actually intend to call her attractive? What did he mean, abysmally attractive? She glanced down self-consciously, but looked up again, angry that he should mention it and make her feel foolish and indecent.

  He snorted derisively, and one corner of his mouth curled into an evil dimple. “I believe I’ll take my leave now. You’re about to let that tongue of yours loose on me. And I’ve had quite enough of it for one day, thank you, my lady.”

  Her grip on the candleholder tightened, and her other hand balled into a fist. Pompous lout. “Abysmally attractive, indeed! At least, I do not corrupt naïve young friends and stumble home in the middle of the night slinging insults at his sister.”

  He appeared to laugh at her and turned to go.

  In a firmer tone, she added, “If you think you’ve had a taste of my tongue today, just wait until tomorrow.”

  He stopped in his tracks and wheeled around, bearing down on her. “On second thought, I don’t believe I’ll wait until tomorrow.” It startled her when he clasped her shoulders and covered her mouth with his. He kissed her soundly, chastening her tongue quite thoroughly with his. Although, as chastening goes, it was rather pleasant. She failed to breathe. When he let go, she gasped. The candle, miraculously, remained in her hand. Although, it wobbled uncertainly.

  He said huskily, “You’re right. I must be foxed.”