Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick

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Chloe instinctively moved to soothe her. ‘Don’t fret, please. No one here will fuss over uneven numbers. Or perhaps I can send a footman with an invitation to one of the other neighbourhood ladies …’

‘Stop right there, Miss Hardwick!’ The countess’s tone was firm. ‘How efficient you are. No wonder my brother values you so highly. You step right in and do what needs to be done, don’t you?’

‘That is a basic, if sweeping, description of my duty, my lady.’ Chloe’s mouth twisted wryly.

‘Not today it isn’t.’

A soft knock sounded on the door. Daisy entered, but the countess waved her out. ‘No, I need Brigita, please. Have her come at once.’ She crossed the room to close the door behind the maid, but her dresser was already hovering outside in the passage. ‘Brigita! Come in, I am in dire need of your wisdom.’ Her foreign serving woman entered and the countess firmly shut the door on the befuddled maid even as she swept her hand in Chloe’s direction.

The pair of them took up a side-by-side stance, identical expressions of displeasure on their faces.

Chloe took a step back. ‘What is it?’

‘What do you think?’ the countess mused. ‘Jewel tones, I should think.’

The formidable Brigita nodded.

‘The dark purple, then.’

‘No, my lady—not with that pearlescent skin and dark hair. She needs the ocean-blue.’ This was said with heavy Germanic finality.

Chloe began to understand what was going on. She took another step back. ‘No, my lady …’ But she paused. Changing her hair had had a measurable effect on the marquess. What might happen if she changed … everything? She looked down at her costume. Could she do it? Step outside of the disguise? Leave herself vulnerable?

Her eyes closed. Images sprang to life in her mind. Lord Marland at practice, all muscle and might. Leaning over her desk, eyes glowing over a renovation. Sitting across the workroom in companionable silence. Gripping her arm and smiling up with warmth and support.

She nearly trembled with sudden yearning. She could do it. Because she wanted all of that again—plus the promise of more. Not so long ago she’d thought that she was grateful to have landed close to happiness. Truly, she was changing inside—because now close wasn’t enough. She wanted to be happy—she wanted to wallow in it. And she quite desperately wanted to make Lord Marland happy, too.

She thought they had a chance at it. A spark did exist between them. She knew it. Just as she knew he had been ignoring it nearly as diligently as she had been urging it to life. A complete change of appearance might be what she needed to blow his resistance to shreds, to obliterate the barriers he’d placed between them from the beginning.

Only one thought gave her pause. To what end? He was a marquess. Would he even consider a relationship with his assistant? She bit her lip. He’d never exhibited any need to live by any strictures except his own. His words to her the other day had certainly encouraged her to look beyond society’s expectations.

‘Oh, yes, Miss Hardwick.’ The countess was waiting, all kindness. ‘This is a momentous day. Not only has my taciturn brother offered me advice, but for perhaps the first time, I am taking it. Today you have been of invaluable help to me.’ Her voice softened. ‘Today you have given me hope.’

All of her new feelings whirled inside of her, urging her on. ‘But what of—?’

‘No.’ Lady Ashton raised a hand. ‘Now I am going to go start my own preparations. You are going to put yourself in Brigita’s hands.’

Chloe wanted to do it. But all of her old instincts still had a voice, too. She might be risking the safety that she’d worked so hard for. ‘What if Lord Marland doesn’t approve?’ It came out in a whisper.

The countess grinned. ‘Approve?’ She ran a practised eye up and down Chloe’s long form. ‘I think that my brother is going to thank us. In fact, I believe he’ll be on his knees before us both.’

Whoosh went her insides, roiling again. That mental image crowned all the others and drowned her worries in a flood of excitement.

‘Come, Miss Hardwick.’ The countess beckoned. ‘It is time for you to step out of the shadows.’

Her words resonated through Chloe, as sharp and loud and long as the strike of a bell. She met Lord Marland’s sister’s eyes and nodded.

Chapter Three

The vicar’s lady was excessively fond of her cats. At least, her incessant ramblings about them made it sound that way to Braedon. Her obsession could not be healthy—he’d learned the hard way, as a child, the dangers of emotional dependence on something so fragile.

On Mrs Goodmond’s other side, Thom tossed back another drink. Unobtrusively, Braedon changed position, trying to wiggle his toes. He couldn’t begrudge Mairi her dinner—not as he’d been the one to suggest both a project and an acquaintance with the vicar’s wife—but he couldn’t help pining for his favourite boots and a pint down at the Hog’s Tail.

He’d just shifted again, seeking relief for his cramped toes, when he saw Thom’s eyes alight. Ah. Mairi must have arrived. He turned towards the door. Now they could be seated and he could rest his aching …

Tight shoes were forgotten as he realised Mairi wasn’t alone. She stood poised just inside the parlour door, another female—a tall, slender beauty—at her side.

Mrs Goodmond fell silent. Thom stepped up close beside him.

‘I thought I was going to have to change your nickname to the Mouldering Marquess, stuck as you’ve been up here, with no opponents or conquests to speak of, but I see that you’ve been holding out on me.’ His sparring partner nudged him with an elbow. ‘Who is she?’

Braedon opened his mouth to inform Thom that he had no idea who the strange woman might be, when his sister drew her forwards to greet the vicar. Just the smallest thing, a change of expression, the fading of nerves into a gentle smile of greeting—but it tilted Braedon’s world right off its axis.

‘Hardwick,’ he breathed. The earth rolled beneath his feet. No. It jerked to a halt, leaving him stumbling on alone.

‘Hardwick?’ scoffed Thom. ‘Nice try, Braedon, but I’m not that gullible.’

Hardwick. It was she. He didn’t know how he could be so certain. He’d never seen his Hardwick smile so widely. He’d never seen her hair shining so richly, left to lie in gleaming sable curls long past the sweet curve of her nape. He only knew that it was Hardwick standing there, as foreign and exotic as an ocean naiad in a gown containing every changing colour of the sea.

Thom let loose a long, low breath. ‘By all that’s holy, that is Hardwick!’ He shot Braedon an accusatory glance and moved to intercept the two women.

Cursing wildly in his head, Braedon made his excuses to the vicar’s wife and followed. Some of the anxiety returned to Hardwick’s expression as he joined the small group.

Good. Some primitive part of him did not want her to be comfortable. Mairi crowed with delight in her handiwork and Thom was at that very moment expressing his own approval of the surprise, but Braedon was feeling unaccountably … furious.

Why? He breathed deeply, pushed back, tried to impose the emotional distance that was such a vital component of his equilibrium, but it fell apart each time he looked at her and the anger in his gut raged a little higher.

Again, he forced himself to consider why. Because the two women had cooked this up between themselves, without his knowledge? Because Thom was acting like a randy stallion who’d just scented a new mare? Or because this was what Hardwick had been hiding all of these months—and he’d never had the faintest idea?

He still hadn’t spoken a word. She sent another nervous glance his way and he stepped closer. ‘Hardwick,’ he began. His voice had gone rough as gravel. He had half a mind to order her back to her room and into her regular, daunting uniform.

‘Lord Marland.’ She inclined her head.

‘I gather that I am now meant to compliment you on your changed appearance?’

Her hand rose and hovered uncertainly for a moment over her bodice. He recognised the movement and suffered a small-minded sense of victory.

But Hardwick raised her chin and lowered her hand. It was just as well, for there were no buttons, only miles of skin and a sophisticated gown of the most gorgeous changeable silk. Beautiful blue shot with green, the dress flowed over her like the ocean it was meant to represent.

And then she smiled at him. ‘Of course you are not obligated, my lord, but should you choose to offer a compliment, I will be glad to accept it.’

He snorted. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that you look beautiful this evening, as I’m sure both your looking glass and my sister have already done so.’

She tilted her head. ‘I am sure that it should not be so, but the fact remains that a compliment from a gentleman always means more. So I will thank you—even for that half-hearted attempt.’

Glowering, he took a drink. ‘I am reminded of the adage about a leopard never really changing her spots.’ He lifted his glass. ‘And find myself hoping it is true.’

She frowned. ‘I’m not changing my spots, my lord. Following your analogy, I would say that I am merely shifting my pelt about to showcase a new side.’

‘Turning yourself inside out is more like it,’ he grumbled.

Hardwick laughed. ‘Nothing so dramatic, I promise.’

His sister had noticed his ire and moved to intercept. ‘Do forgive us for the delay,’ she announced to the group at large. ‘Shall we all go in to dinner?’ She took Braedon’s arm and left Hardwick to be escorted by the vicar.

But before Mr Goodmond led her away, Hardwick stepped close and sparkled up at him. ‘You may yet get a glimpse of my insides, Lord Marland, but not before you display a bit of your own.’

Frowning, Braedon led the company in. His agitation didn’t fade as they took their seats. He’d known something was in the wind, but he’d done his best to ignore it. He shook his head. Hardwick already had so many fine and useful qualities—now she displayed beauty and wit as well? Any other woman and he’d be intrigued. But this was Hardwick! Didn’t she see? Changing herself forced other things to change, too. He suppressed a snort. Show his insides? She should know him well enough to realise he’d avoid such a thing at all costs.

He sighed. Surely this was a temporary aberration, provoked by Mairi, no doubt. He would wait and things were sure to go back to normal.

But finding his balance proved impossible. The distance lens through which he normally viewed life had flipped completely—and focused itself firmly on his assistant. He barely ate, could scarcely concentrate on Thom’s sporadic attempts at conversation. He could only stare at the magnified brilliance of Hardwick.

She looked so soft. The close-viewing lens roamed over her, highlighting glowing skin, every bit as lustrous as the pearls enhancing her gown, cataloging the plush and creamy bosom so gratifyingly displayed. Her eyes sparkled brilliantly blue. Where were her damned spectacles?

Her laughter drifted down the table and Braedon stifled a flare of outrage. How could this be? Surely it was not jealousy burning in his gut—over Hardwick?

She glanced his way again, just the lightest, fleeting brush of their gazes. She coloured and looked away.

No. He wasn’t jealous. The notion was too ridiculous to be entertained. And yet he couldn’t help but wonder—from where had come that glow, lighting her face from within? Why had he never seen her smile so, before now? He couldn’t look away.

He wasn’t alone. Thom stared unabashedly. The vicar kept shooting her small glances of bemusement. Even Mrs Goodmond frowned repeatedly in Hardwick’s direction. As the next course came out, the vicar’s wife laid down her utensils and cleared her throat.

‘Miss Hardwick, I wondered if you intend to engage a chaperon to stay here at Denning along with you.’ She gave a nod towards Mairi. ‘Lady Ashton lends you countenance, of course, but I’m sure her stay is only temporary.’

Hardwick frowned. ‘I hadn’t thought to, Mrs Goodmond.’ She set down her own silverware and met the woman’s eye directly. ‘In truth, I hadn’t even considered such a thing. When I first came to Denning, my father was here as well. After his death, I was so distraught, and then so busy, that it never entered my mind that I should need a chaperon.’

‘Well, it entered mine,’ the lady returned somewhat waspishly. ‘But Lord Marland has been so busily engaged in restoring his estate and you seemed so occupied with the new wing, and so I thought … There was talk, of course, but, well, I let the matter drop.’ She leaned back in her chair and bestowed a sternly disapproving look, first upon her husband, then upon her victim. ‘And now I am picking it back up.’

Hardwick stiffened. ‘I’ve only changed my dress, Mrs Goodmond. Not my character.’

The lady sniffed. ‘Appearances matter, Miss Hardwick. And now that your appearance has changed … a chaperon is in order. I only hope it is not too late.’

Braedon had heard enough. ‘I respect your position, of course,’ he said with a nod to the vicar. ‘But Hardwick is a member of my staff and I don’t appreciate interference in how I run my household.’

‘Now, everyone take a breath,’ Mairi interrupted as Mrs Goodmond puffed up, ready for a fight. ‘I am sure that my brother will do all that is right and proper, ma’am. He usually does.’ She smiled. ‘Now, he tells me that you manage several charitable projects in the area. Will you tell me about your work?’

Braedon ducked his head. It had been a long time since he’d had to reach for the numbness that had protected him so long ago, but he could use a good dose of it now. How heartily he wished this night over. Tomorrow he would have a talk with Hardwick, clear the air and insist that they return to the normal, comfortable state of things.

Chloe bit her lip and stared at her plate. This scenario had not played out as she’d hoped. Lord Marland appeared only annoyed at her transformation, not intrigued. Why was he so resistant?

She caught him tossing her a quick, scowling glance and thought perhaps she could guess why. She’d been so caught up in the swirl of her new feelings that she’d forgot that only her inner landscape was in upheaval—and had been even before the countess had arrived. Everything inside Chloe was shifting as fear receded and curiosity and confidence began to grow. She was changing, nearly by the minute. Lord Marland was not—and neither was his view of her.

She sucked in a breath and hoped that she had not made a colossal mistake.

Her head came up as she heard her name.

‘—and I understand now the high praise you included in your letters, Braedon,’ the countess said. ‘And I find myself in complete agreement. Why, I’ve only been here a few days and Miss Hardwick has helped me with a particularly sticky problem.’

The marquess mumbled something incoherent.

‘You’ll recall the matter we discussed,’ his sister said brightly. She turned to Mrs Goodmond. ‘I’m happy to say that the solution will lead to a large project of my own. You see, my husband’s birthday approaches.’ The countess caught Chloe’s eye. ‘Growing up, he’s mentioned that such occasions were never marked. But this year I intend that it should be.’

Understanding dawned. The secret, the regret that she had mentioned as a way back to intimacy with the earl. She nodded.

‘I’d like to make it a grand event. An occasion suited to his particular tastes. A celebration of every masculine delight.’

From Sir Thomas came a great guffaw. The countess turned a saucy eye on him. ‘Nearly every masculine delight, then.’ Her smile faded. ‘It shall be a great deal of work. I suspect I must find an assistant of my own, when I return to Town. I can only hope to find someone half so competent as Miss Hardwick.’

Chloe straightened, lightning-struck by the obvious notion. She caught Lord Marland’s eye, but he quickly glanced away. No, she thought, staring hard at him. She had not made a mistake. She hadn’t been wrong to pursue this position when she’d had such a great need of it, and she wasn’t wrong to heed her changing needs now. But perhaps she had tried the wrong tack. Perhaps, now that she had delivered the marquess such a shock, she should let him taste her absence.

‘Oh, but you’ve given me a lovely idea, Lady Ashton!’ she said. ‘I’m due some time away from my position, as you pointed out earlier. So why do I not come to London to help you?’

The countess grasped her hand and gasped in delight. The Goodmonds exchanged a glance. The marquess, however, gave a snort of derision that echoed around the room.

‘Oh, would you?’ Lady Ashton cried. ‘It would be just the thing! You are a model of organisation and efficiency—with your help I’m sure I could not fail to please my husband.’

Lord Marland eyed his sister with obvious irritation. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mairead.’ He turned to Chloe with the same hostility. She fought back a shiver as he raked a critical eye over her. ‘I know I asked you to find some way to keep busy, but I never meant for you to turn Hardwick into a pet project.’

Chloe stiffened. Now she was becoming agitated.

‘You are the one being ridiculous, Braedon,’ Lady Ashton responded. ‘Miss Hardwick is a person, not a project. A young woman with hopes, dreams and feelings.’

‘And responsibilities. I need her here. The collection—’

‘Will be fine in your capable hands,’ Chloe said smoothly. ‘The wing is in the last stages of construction. Most of the collection is ready, or waiting on the completion of our custom-built display cases. Surely I could be spared for a few weeks?’

‘Famous!’ the countess exclaimed, with a clap of her hands. ‘I’m so relieved!’ She squeezed Chloe’s hand again. ‘I promise that it won’t be all work and no play. We shall have plenty of time to shop and meet new people, to go to the theatre and the parks. It will be a grand time all around. What do you think?’

Chloe’s heart leapt. Underneath the table, her free hand gripped her napkin until her knuckles were surely whitened. It sounded terrifying—and divine.

‘Now that is the outside of enough,’ Lord Marland scoffed. ‘You mean to take Hardwick to Town and thrust her amongst the ton?’

His mockery made Chloe blanch.

‘It would be nothing but an unmitigated disaster.’

Lady Ashton clenched her jaw. ‘I think that you underestimate Miss Hardwick.’

‘No, I believe that you overestimate the fashionable set. Hardwick is no empty-headed society chit. What does she care for fashion and furbelows?’ He gestured in her direction. ‘Hardwick can estimate mortar to the last brick. She deals in stone blocks and steel blades, not crowds and gowns and gossip.’

Chloe stilled. The marquess surely didn’t intend to be cruel.

‘I know your tricks, in any case, Mairead.’ Lord Marland’s voice had gone heavy with warning. ‘You won’t leave it at a party and be done with it. You’ll turn this jaunt into a husband-hunting expedition—and what will that gain Hardwick? She’s not that sort of woman. She’ll be left with naught but dashed hopes and broken dreams.’