The Perfect Arrangement (The Not So Saintly Sisters #4) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,5
come out as well.
Her mother didn’t want the younger girls on the marriage mart until Lillian was spoken for. It was her not so subtle way of insisting her eldest daughter make a decision soon.
Over the past two years, Lillian had already declined more offers than she could count, the most recent having been made by Lord Richards—a pleasant enough viscount. His was not the best offer she’d received but it most certainly wasn’t the worst.
Trouble with Lord Richards was that he’d refused to accept her answer. He’d declared most passionately that he would wait forever, if necessary, for her to change her mind.
No one who knew her seemed willing to accept that Lillian didn’t want to marry anyone. Even her dear friend Olivia, the Countess of Kingsley, had not-so-subtly introduced Lillian to the earl’s younger brother.
Marriage was forever, however. Once a woman married, she surrendered her opportunity to have any sort of independence. She became the property of her husband and such a notion all but terrified Lillian.
She glanced over at the clock on the mantel. The stern-looking butler had given her a strange look when she’d announced why she’d come, and she’d been waiting nearly twenty minutes now.
She ought to leave. Lifelong security sounded too good to be true and, in all likelihood, it probably was. What she ought to do was go to the employment agency and inquire about a position as a governess somewhere.
Thinking to reassure herself, she read the advertisement again.
The last line, however, managed to do quite the opposite. The ominous stipulation that Squeamish ladies need not apply had the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Whatever did that mean?
The door opened, jarring her out of her thoughts and, as she rose from her chair, she took measure of the slim, tall gentleman who’d entered. His hair stood slightly on end, he appeared not to have shaved, and his clothing, although fashionable, was wrinkled and slightly askew—he appeared as though he’d just returned from a late night of carousing.
If she’d never met a rogue before, she feared that she had now.
A long-haired mutt of no detectible breed trailed closely behind the man. The dog was only slightly larger than medium-sized, and his coat was a mixture of browns and grays and, yes, whites and blacks as well. She had never seen a dog quite like this one.
Something niggled in her mind. The man was familiar.
“I’ve come to apply for the position.” She forced confidence into her voice. Not that she didn’t know how to comport herself around gentlemen of the ton, but this situation was somewhat new to her. When he furrowed his brows, she presented him with the advertisement.
He stared at the parchment, squinting his eyes.
“How, might I ask, did you come to possess this?” His words sounded almost like an accusation.
She tilted her head back in order to meet his eyes. That little something that had been niggling in her mind crescendoed into warning bells. She had met him before. He frowned as though he too might be trying to place her.
“It was inside of the Daily Gazette.”
“That’s impossible. Please, tell me the truth. Did Cornelius White set you up with this?”
At her perplexed look, he continued, “A man about so high, reddish-brown hair, darker than mine?”
“No one. It was in the paper…”
Horror and dread washed through her. She’d made a dreadful mistake.
This man was the same handsome gentleman who had helped her with the purchases she’d collected for her mother two days ago.
“It was you!” she burst out, the revelation spurring her to escape. He wasn’t wearing his spectacles or top hat this morning, but he most certainly was the same person and he seemed quite surprised to see her in possession of the note. “On the street two days ago—on Cambridge Heath Road. It must have been an accident.” Of course, with all the splotches and crossed-off words, she never should have taken it seriously. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
She chastised herself mentally as she went to step around the dog and toward the door. Of course, the advertisement had not been real. “I’ll see myself out.” She ought to have known that if anything seemed too good to be true, it most likely was.
“Wait.” His voice halted her, but she did not turn around. “You say I gave you the missive myself? Please, won’t you sit down a moment, Madam? That way we can perhaps unravel this mystery.”