Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,25
ask you?”
“I don’t know,” Marissa replied, making a mental note to curb Jordana’s frank way of speaking. It was off-putting. “I suppose because I am well-versed in the ways of society, and”—she paused deliberately— “I have vast experience with challenging situations.”
Jordana stopped chewing her sandwich. “Challenging?”
“Dear, please don’t speak with your mouth full. Yes, challenging. You can’t possibly be more difficult than my niece, Lady Malden, who I chaperoned for many years. She is legendary in the ton. Your obstinance doesn’t frighten me.” Marissa leaned forward. “If your plan is to be so completely lacking in manners, which I know for a fact you have,” she gave Jordana a pointed look, “or if you seek to outsmart me, thinking I am just another pampered matron of the ton, you should reconsider. You’ll find me a formidable opponent.”
Jordana’s eyes widened.
Good. Marissa had her attention. “Now, let me tell you how my niece behaved at Lady Ralston’s ball after she came out. It is a perfect example of how not to conduct yourself.”
A short time later, having demolished an entire plate of biscuits, three sandwiches and two cups of tea while listening to the horrible behavior of Arabella, Jordana was reclining against the arm of the sofa. Not properly of course, but at least she was no longer set on defiance. Her lips had even contorted into what could be considered a smile.
Marissa leaned forward. “You are very pretty when you cease frowning, Jordana.”
The high cheekbones, so like her father’s, pinked. “I’m not. The most that can be said is that I’m handsome. Even Mrs. Divet has inferred as much.”
Marissa cocked her head. “I disagree.” Jordana’s features were too bold for a young girl’s face, but once she matured, Jordana would be stunning. Not beautiful, exactly, but striking in a way few women were. “And you are in dire need of a new wardrobe.”
“I am?” Jordana looked down at the plain blue muslin day dress she wore.
“You are. That dress,” Marissa nodded, “is perfectly appropriate for traipsing about the moors but not for paying calls in London. Never fear, I am already creating a palette for you.” Marissa tapped her temple.
It would do the girl some good to have a healthy bit of fear instilled in her instead of terrorizing everyone else. “Yes. A color scheme for your wardrobe.”
A sharp knock sounded before Greenhouse entered, a tiny grimace tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Marissa was beginning to think that his patent ‘butler’ look. “Yes, Greenhouse?”
“Mr. Tomkin has arrived, my lady. He claims you are expecting him.”
Oh Lord. She’d forgotten all about Tomkin. “Of course.”
Greenhouse didn’t budge.
Honestly, why must she pull information out of her own butler? It was becoming an annoyance. “Is there something else, Greenhouse?”
“Lord Haddon has arrived to fetch Miss Ives. His carriage has just pulled up.”
Poor timing. She was endlessly the victim of such a thing. The two portions of her life colliding in the drawing room were a bit more than Marissa had planned for today. “Please put Mr. Tomkin in my study, Greenhouse, and show in Lord Haddon.”
Greenhouse bowed. “Yes, my lady.”
“You have a study?” Jordana regarded her oddly. “I thought ladies only had parlors or sitting rooms.”
“Of course. Why should I not have a study? Do you think only gentlemen are capable of conducting business? There are a great many things which require my attention, Jordana. I need a place to work.”
“You do not just pay calls and—”
“Flit about? Take on young, stubborn girls?” Marissa stood and took Jordana’s hand. “No, my dear. There is no denying this is a man’s world, and we must live in it, but I find it much better to be underestimated. That is your first lesson.”
Jordana nodded slowly. “I will take heed, my lady.”
“Splendid. But don’t tell your father.”
“Don’t tell me what?” Haddon strolled in, hat in hand, handsome in fawn-colored riding breeches and a coat the color of burnt toast. He looked so beautiful, so incredibly male, a bolt of longing for him shot straight down between Marissa’s legs.
A recurring problem.
His eyes surveyed the remains of the tea tray before he went to Marissa. “Lady Cupps-Foster. I trust you and Jordana had a nice visit?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to chastise Haddon for his absence, but she declined to do so. Marissa didn’t want to appear jealous because he’d rather spend the afternoon with Lady Christina Sykes than herself. But she certainly felt the sharp sting