Wretched as she’d felt this morning, having endured the mere threat of Jonathan’s presence, she still hadn’t quite believed it would come to pass. Until she’d heard the truth from Noah’s lips, part of her still clung to the hope of a mistake or a prank or something—some sort of release from this impending calamity.
Some stay of execution.
But that was not to be. Tomorrow he would arrive. She would have to look at him, talk to him, breathe the same air as him. With the memories of such bitter disappointment on her mind and the scars of an agonizing year across her heart, she would be expected to offer him oysters and make light conversation about the weather.
“I cannot face him,” she whispered.
“Yes, you can,” Elizabeth said instantly. She must have found her sister’s appearance alarming, for she leapt to Claire’s side and pressed her into a chair. “He is nothing to you, Claire—nothing but a Ratbag! Remember how he treated you? He may be a duke, but he is no gentleman—and therefore no loss to you.”
Claire gave a wan smile. Elizabeth’s heart was in the right place. And her thesis wasn’t wrong.
But she was a year younger than Claire, and she had never been in love.
Claire’s tabby cat, Kippers, leapt up to her lap and settled there, purring, as if he could sense her distress. “You’re right,” she said slowly, scratching the cat’s chin. “The Ratbag is nothing—or, at least, he isn’t the man I thought he was.” That man didn’t exist. “But all the neighborhood knows what happened last Christmas. Everybody will be looking at the two of us. And I can’t ignore him, you know, as the party’s hostess.”
That would be an extreme breach of etiquette.
Claire groaned, her head sagging into her hands. “It’s going to be hideous.”
“Hideous, perhaps,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully. “Though being hostess may present you with an opportunity.”
Claire looked up to see a glint in her little sister’s eye.
“You shall be solely responsible,” Elizabeth went on, “for his accommodations, his food, his entertainments...”
Claire blinked. “And? Am I to rejoice in the opportunity of dancing attendance on him? Lucky me.”
“Of course not.” Now Elizabeth looked positively wicked. “I was thinking the opposite.”
“You mean...” Claire frowned in confusion. “…I should be a neglectful hostess?”
“Not exactly. And certainly not to the party in general.” Elizabeth began to bounce on her toes, as she always did when something excited her. “I mean you should accord The Ratbag bad accommodations, bad food, and bad entertainments. Make him miserable. Avenge yourself—a little.”
Though her interest was piqued, after a moment’s thought Claire shook her head. “I cannot see how it would work. Mrs. O’Conner would never consent to placing a duke in inferior quarters. Nor would Monsieur Laurent send out objectionable food.”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Elizabeth paced around the wooden table she used to press flowers for her projects. “You know The Ratbag well—well enough to be more subtle. For example, how does he take his tea? What kind of bed does he like?”
Claire was scandalized. “How on earth would I know a thing like that?” she demanded.
“It’s only an example!” Elizabeth stopped and raised a hand for patience. “Say he liked soft beds. You inform Mrs. O’Conner that, due to his bad back, he must have a wooden board atop his mattress.”
Claire giggled. “I can’t say I dislike the thought. But wouldn’t he just ask the housemaids to remove the board?”
“Sure,” Elizabeth said, “but it would be an inconvenience. And by the time it were remedied, we’d have the next inconvenience lined up. He can’t very well spend his whole stay grumbling to the staff.”
Now Claire laughed outright—somewhat fiendishly—recalling how conscientious Jonathan had been as a houseguest. He’d always tipped generously, for he hated nothing so much as imposing on the staff. Claire had never seen him leave his room without a money-book stuffed with bills, nor fail to pull it out on the slightest pretext.
“I love it.” She rose to hug Elizabeth around the shoulders. “Truly, you’ve cheered me up so very much. We cannot actually do it, though. Noah would have our heads.”
“Oh, hang Noah!” Elizabeth cried. “What can he do to us, really? Our fortunes are legally secured, and Rachael would hardly let him turn us out of our ancestral home.” Their eldest sibling Rachael may not have been the earl, but she ruled the family by force of will. “Besides, he’s so oblivious he’ll never notice. Come now, Claire. You must remember something about The Ratbag we could use to our advantage?”
Claire sighed. Much as she would delight in torturing Jonathan, she feared she wasn’t up to the task. Her talents lay in jewelry-making, sewing, and other artistic endeavors. She hadn’t the diabolical bent for such schemes as these. Although…
Claire squeezed Kippers so hard he squealed and leapt off her lap in protest. She smiled. “I have an idea.”
Three
When Greystone Castle came into view, Jonathan Stanhope, the Duke of Rathborne, could scarcely parse the tangle of sensations that rose within him.
