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ChapterSeven
“Tell me again why we are traipsing out to the British Museum in the rain on a Monday night when we could stay at home with books and tea?” Joseph asked as he and Francis hurried up the steps of the museum to the public entrance.
Francis burst into laughter at his brother’s words—partially because Joseph was the only man in his early twenties in England who would rather have stayed at home with books and tea in the evening and partially out of sheer excitement for the courtship game he was playing with Miss Narayan.
“Because it is an educational and sociable thing to do,” Francis said, nudging his brother through the museum’s front door when it looked like he would change his mind, turn tail, and run. “And because Miss Narayan will be in attendance this evening.”
“Mama says your target bride is an interesting and well-mannered woman,” Joseph said, slightly less grumbly once they were in the foyer and able to shake the rain out of their sodden coats. The museum had a coat and hat check as well, which meant they could conveniently dispose of the cumbersome garments. “She also thinks you’re mad for pursuing a woman who would flee the presence of an earl and the promise of being a countess,” Joseph added in a quiet voice as they stepped away from the counter.
“Mother doesn’t understand the thrill of the chase,” Francis said with a smile. He stood taller and glanced around the museum in search of Miss Narayan and her friend as soon as they were in the hallway.
Joseph made a disapproving sound as he, too, glanced around. “One could argue that what seems like a thrilling chase on your end is, in fact, a merciless and unwanted pursuit for the woman in question.”
Francis pulled his gaze around to his brother and chuckled. “All women want to be pursued and captured,” he said. “That is what all the literature they consume tells them to want.”
“I’m not certain that is a fair assessment,” Joseph said, frowning and standing a little taller.
Francis shook his head and muttered, “Spoken like a true virgin.”
Joseph’s back went up—which it always did when he and his brothers teased him about his lack of sexual experience. In truth, none of them were entirely certain whether the jokes were true and warranted or not, but if Francis was a betting man, he would have put money on his youngest brother still being as pure as the driven snow.
Of course, things were always subject to change. A point that was driven home particularly by the sudden, shrill call of, “Mr. Joseph Rathborne-Paxton, is that you?” in a distinct American accent.
Joseph let out a strangled sound of panic as both he and Francis twisted this way and that, searching for Miss Ellen Garrett.
Francis spotted her heading toward them—along with her sister, Mrs. Lenore Mercer. As usual, the American heiress wore a too-large smile and exhibited an open manner that was utterly un-British.
“I thought I spotted you entering the museum,” Miss Garrett addressed Joseph as though they were two old friends from the cowboy town in Wyoming that she had come from. “Fancy meeting in a place like this on a night like tonight. Sounds downright lucky, if you ask me.”
“Miss Garrett,” Joseph said with a tight bow, his face flushed bright red. “Are you attending the lecture this evening?”
“Lecture?” Miss Garrett made a loud, snorting, scoffing sound, then leaned closer to Joseph and whispered, “I’ve come to see the naked statues.”
Joseph burst into a fit of mad coughing that had Francis close to roaring with laughter. Miss Garrett had come to London to follow in her sister’s footsteps and marry a British gentleman. It was something she was likely to be able to accomplish, what with the size of the dowry her cattle baron father would likely provide for her. She’d taken an immediate shine to Joseph, despite Joseph’s shock and terror—perhaps because of it. Francis rather hoped his younger brother would respond to the garish American’s advances. Miss Garrett certainly fit the image of a wealthy but unsuitable bride that they were all attempting to snag.
Hard on the heels of that thought, Francis spotted Miss Narayan and Miss Sloane stepping into the museum’s main hall from the cloak room. His chest instantly expanded with excitement and determination. It was time for him to study the game board once again and make his next move.
“If you will excuse me, ladies,” he said to Miss Garrett and Mrs. Mercer as he turned to walk off.
“Oh, Lord Cathraiche, I forgot to acknowledge you,” Miss Garrett said. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“Truly, I am sorry as well,” Mrs. Mercer said, a deeper kind of apology for her sister in her eyes.
Francis smiled at her. “Believe me, you are forgiven, because we are all highly amused.”
He left his comment as cryptic as possible, winking to Mrs. Mercer, then marching across the hall to his own unsuitable, potential bride.
“Miss Narayan, Miss Sloane,” he greeted the two friends, letting an admittedly wolfish smile rest on Miss Narayan for a moment. “I am pleased to see that you have arrived without harm.”
“It was a close call,” Miss Sloane said, her voice breathless and her eyes bright with the same sort of amused excitement that Francis felt. At least he had an ally in Miss Sloane. “We were forced to walk at the last minute, and umbrellas are never large enough, and there was no way we could bring notebooks with us, and…I should let Priya tell you the rest of the story.”
Miss Sloane stepped deftly to one side in a way that positioned Miss Narayan in front of her. She then gave Miss Narayan a push toward Francis.
Francis found it all delightful, particularly the way Miss Narayan glared at her friend over her shoulder before attempting to school her features into a pleasant smile.
“It has been a challenging evening, Lord Cathraiche,” she said. “I want nothing more than to be seated in a warm, dry lecture hall so that I might concentrate on learning. I want nothing more from the evening.”
She spoke her last bit so pointedly that if Francis were the sort who was easily wounded, he would have taken offense.
Instead, he smiled graciously and offered her his arm. “Might I escort you?” he asked. When Miss Narayan stared suspiciously at his arm, he presented the other one to Miss Sloane. “Both of you?”
“Thank you, Lord Cathraiche,” Miss Sloane said. “We accept.”
Miss Narayan sent her friend another scolding look, but rested her hand in the crook of his arm all the same. With a final glance over his shoulder to Joseph and the whirlwind that was Miss Garrett—and from the look of things, Miss Garrett and her sister had decided to join them all for the lecture—Francis started forward toward the lecture halls.
It was the perfect beginning to his plan to dazzle Miss Narayan with his charm and to show her that he supported her intellectual endeavors. He was well aware of the stir they made when they entered the lecture hall and drew the attention of the people there. Most of London knew who he was on sight, thanks to the combination of his title and the public knowledge of the troubles his family had landed in of late. Social speculators were always curious about which lady was seen on the arm of a single earl.
Within a short amount of time, however, Francis began to sense that not everything was as it should be.
“Should we sit near the front?” Miss Sloane asked, tugging at Francis’s arm as she started down one side of the array of chairs that had been set up facing a podium at the front of the room. Portraits of the Old Pretender, the Young Pretender, King James II, and William and Mary decorated the front of the room as well.
