Page 54 of Waiting for Love

“Would you see Mr. Carroll out?” Hazard asked.

Benjamin followed the footman. In the alcove, he heard the scraping sound of the hassock being dragged. Then a soft “uuuff.” Then very quietly, “Let’s see those toes, Rupe. What did I do?”

Benjamin walked quickly away.

*

The following afternoon, he interviewed Nigel Boring from Jasper’s office. The office here was twice the size of the study at Chaumbers and the desk was at least three times larger. Benjamin felt like an imposter sitting in the earl’s chair, but it would have looked strange not to use it.

Mr. Boring was his own age, twenty-seven, but he had large round childlike eyes that made him appear younger. This was counterbalanced by a strangely long, narrow jaw that practically came to a point at the chin. His hair was rust colored. Benjamin did not like to cast judgment on people’s appearances, but the man was ugly. Moreover, he had narrow shoulders and a paunch. But none of this disqualified him for serving as secretary.

Rather, his qualifications were solid. It took only a short conversation to prove he was as smart as Lord Chesterfield claimed. And he was discreet. He said he was aware of Lady Iversley’s past, but made no further comment. He understood that the earl’s sister was beyond reproach—and that, naturally, her marriage to the right peer would be much to Iversley’s advantage. He left unsaid that this would be particularly important now, given things as they were. Then he listed several events that he knew Iversley would have to attend, and suggested a few dates when a ball might be held and a few choices for a musicale, along with suggestions for who to hire to perform. It would be best to choose quickly so as to have first choice.

Benjamin was out of his element.

“Iversley suggested that whoever was hired might do best to coordinate with the dowager—”

“I will write to her directly, if you would be so good as to provide me an introduction.” Boring flushed as red as his hair. “If you choose to hire me.”

Benjamin grinned, thinking of Hazard’s description of the man as inclined to put himself forward. Boring was certainly eager.

“Yes, I will hire you. I will write an introduction for you to include in a letter to the earl. Are you able to travel to Iversley Village? I imagine he will ask you to come, and he will introduce you to the dowager himself.”

“Yes! Yes, indeed. As soon as they require me.”

“Good. If you would be so good as to return in two days, I will have the letter of introduction ready. While we wait for a response, which I imagine will be quick, you may begin making inquiries about performers. Musicians, I think, rather than singers.” He had a vague memory of Reg employing an opera singer as a mistress at one point. He couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but couldn’t think of anything worse than accidentally hiring her to perform at a Taverston entertainment when they were trying to tamp down gossip.

“Very good, Mr. Carroll. Very good! I will.”

They shook hands. Mr. Boring left.

And now Benjamin faced a decision. Should he return with Boring? Hannah was unhappy. The tasks he’d set for himself in London were complete. Chaumbers’ steward belonged at Chaumbers.

Having discovered his inability to control his impulses, he must simply make sure he was never alone with Olivia. Soon enough, she would be in London. It would be better for everyone if he were not.

Chapter Nineteen

Olivia’s dressing room was crowded with boxes, gowns on hooks where there were not usually gowns, loose fabrics draped over chairs, shoes littering the floor, and too many people. She regarded herself in the full-length mirror. Rather, she regarded her dress and her companions. Mrs. Byrd stood to her left wearing an anxious expression. Vanessa, just behind Olivia’s right shoulder, looked pleased. She couldn’t see her mother’s face but heard a hum of approval.

The dress was eggshell white and made of silk. There was no discernible waistline, but the fabric gathered in pleats under her bust, then rose upward between her breasts where the pleats twisted into what looked like a small white rose. The stitching was complex and rather ingenious, Olivia thought. But the neckline dipped down into the rose and was lower than anything she had ever worn.

The dress required specially made underthings which seemed to hold her bosoms in place rather than rearranging them. Everything was soft and comfortable. And yet…she frowned.

“What is it?” Vanessa asked, her brow wrinkling. “What don’t you like?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think white is my color. I look sickly.”

“You look angelic,” Mama said from the back of the room. “It has to be white for your debut ball. And don’t forget there will be silver threading and pearls.”

“I know.” Mrs. Byrd had hired an embroiderer in Ipswich to decorate the gown with silver thread and stud it with pearls to catch the light and make Olivia sparkle. Still, white was not her color. She didn’t know how she would keep it clean for an entire evening.

“Olivia, you will be stunning,” the duchess said from her seat beside Mama.

The gown for a lady’s coming-out ball was supposedly the most important one she would ever wear—more important even than her wedding dress. Although, there was also whatever hideous thing the London modiste was creating for Olivia to don when she was presented to the queen. That was significant too, and there were very strict rules. Mama insisted on an experienced London dressmaker for that. Olivia found the whole thing tiring.

She turned a little to the left, then to the right, and looked herself up and down. The style was flattering. She imagined herself with the side-of-the-head bun that Tansy had mastered. She might well be stunning, but she would not look like herself.

“Yes, well, thank you, Mrs. Byrd. This should do very nicely.”