“A drunk?” Pearl touched her chest, not sure she wanted to deal with a drunk.
Too many so-called gentlemen indulged themselves in vile vices like drinking, using laudanum, and gambling. Or hitting their wives.
“No, nothing of the sort,” Amelia said. “I’ve never met him. Well, I briefly saw him once in a park near Harpenden. My friend pointed him to me. Lord Lyons is . . . peculiar, taciturn to the point of rudeness. My friend told me that once she’d heard him call Lady Battersea a hag in front of everyone. Just because Lady Battersea made a comment on his face. He never says a kind word, and most importantly”—she lowered her voice—“he’s a disfigured cripple.”
Pearl frowned. If Lord Lyons was really disfigured and a cripple, he had quite a few reasons to prefer the company of animals to humans. Society didn’t favour those who lost their money, their status, or their physical appearances.
“Is that all?” She couldn’t help a note of annoyance. “A grumpy man with a limp?”
“Of course not!” Amelia’s chin shot up. “Last but not least, I’m already in love with a fine gentleman who loves me dearly. Alas, he’s only a baron whose allowance is but a fraction of what Lyons receives, and my parents wish only the best for me.”
Another headache started to pound in Pearl’s temple. “I’m sorry, but what does this story have to do with me impersonating you?”
Miss Cherrywood rose with her feline grace and walked over to the table to pour more tea. “Just returned from Delhi, Lyons is in London for business,” she said, handing a cup to Amelia. “He has arranged a meeting with Amelia for an afternoon tea in his house in South Kensington. Of course, Amelia doesn’t want to go.”
“I have another arrangement.” Amelia nodded. “I’ve a secret meeting with my sweetheart. I don’t want to miss it to see this rude beard-splitter.”
“This is the plan,” Miss Cherrywood said. “You pretend to be Amelia and go to the afternoon tea. Amelia and I discussed it a few days ago, but we didn’t have anyone who could pretend to be Amelia, and you look so much like her.”
Anxiety pressed against Pearl’s chest. “I should pretend to be Amelia for what reason?”
“To tell him you aren’t interested in a marriage with him,” Amelia replied with a shocked tone, as if Pearl should’ve figured it out alone. “My friend will be your chaperone. You’ll chat with him and tell him you don’t believe you’re compatible. Grumpy and proud as he is, he won’t bother me again, and I’ll be free.” She joined her palms as if in prayer. “I’ll pay you. Two hundred pounds.”
“Two hundred—” Pearl clamped a hand on her mouth to stop an oath.
Two hundred pounds. Her stomach churned with hunger, seemingly to plea her to accept.
“It’s a simple job.” The sunlight limned Miss Cherrywood’s silhouette, giving her a fierce halo to her red hair. “Lyons has never met Amelia. Even if someone described her to him, the woman he’ll meet will fit that description. Amelia’s friend, Miss Julia, will help you, but you know how to behave like a lady, so you won’t need many directions. A few hours, a cup of tea, and the job is done.”
Pearl licked her dry lips. “If Lyons discovers the ruse, he might call the police.” Which was the last thing she needed.
A huff left Miss Cherrywood’s lips. “For what reason? We’ll tell him it was a joke, or that Amelia was too scared to meet him.”
“Which is true,” Amelia intervened.
“I’m sure he’ll not suspect anything,” Miss Cherrywood completed.
Two hundred pounds were great, but they wouldn’t feed Pearl forever. “And after this job?”
Miss Cherrywood put a hand on her shoulder. “I promise I’ll find you something more stable, but in the meantime, the two hundred pounds will suffice, I believe.”
Amelia’s expectant gaze fixed on Pearl.
Another cramp of hunger bit at Pearl’s stomach, and well, a girl had to eat. “I accept.”
