Page 5 of Miss Davis and the Spare (Dazzling Debutantes #3)

Chapter Four

“Always maintain a good relationship with a talented modiste. Purchasing fine gowns for a reticent lady will ensure her lasting affection.”

July 1804, The late Earl of Saunton to his son, Peregrine, on his ninth birthday, after the boy came downstairs in search of his dog and instead discovered his father in the drawing room, entangled in a compromising situation with the neighbor’s wife.

* * *

U nder any circumstances, Perry hated to be reminded of his father.

The late Earl of Satan, as he was known in private memory, had been the worst kind of roué imaginable. The dark events held at Saunton Park and Balfour Terrace alike … well, there had been a significant cleaning effort when his brother inherited the title.

Perry had borne witness to every interminable year, month, week, day, and hour of the old man’s slow descent into madness, courtesy of the pox he had contracted from his indiscriminate vices. His lone parent’s death—finally—during the year of Perry’s seventeenth birthday had been a mercy.

The very moment Richard inherited, he had turned to Perry and asked, plainly, what he would like to do now that their father was gone.

Perry had never known such utter joy.

Their tyrant of a father had kept him imprisoned within the Satan— Saunton —household throughout his entire youth. While most boys went off to Eton or Harrow, as Richard had, Perry had been confined at home under the watchful eye of stern tutors and his father’s insidious whims.

It had been a twisted sort of apprenticeship. The old man had taken a perverse delight in educating his youngest son in what he believed to be the true methods of a proper gentleman—methods always delivered under the influence of drink and in the shadow of sin.

It had been hell.

So when Richard gave him a choice, Perry had immediately applied to Oxford, where his brother was still finishing his degree.

It was the first taste of freedom he had ever known.

He made friends. Chose his own schedule. Laughed without fear of reprisal. For the first time, he was the master of his own life, no longer merely the unloved son of a cruel and lascivious nobleman who, in Perry’s mind, ought to have been jailed.

For that alone, he would always be grateful to Richard.

Which was precisely why Perry avoided all memories of their father as if the very hounds of hell snapped at his heels.

And the worst part about what had just occurred in the carriage was this: he had invoked his father. The instant those vile, backward thoughts about women had passed his lips, Perry had recognized the voice. His father’s.

The realization had been sickening.

Was this how Richard had felt when he once asked, in an anxious tone, if he was turning into their father?

Perry shuddered, staring resolutely ahead as he guided his gelding along the winding road.

He might be a worthless spare, with no other purpose than to exist in the unlikely event something befell his elder brother, but he hoped he was more of a gentleman—more of a man—than the creature who had sired him.

In the distance, he could already make out the blackish-brown haze that hung over the rooftops of London, stark against the soft, green countryside.

They were drawing near.

The stench would rise soon, worsened by the heat of late June. The new King sat uneasily upon the throne, and rumors swirled that Queen Caroline might face public trial for adultery. As a result, much of the peerage was forced to remain in London.

No man should be made to suffer London in the height of summer—when the air turned to soup and the river reeked of decay.

Perry would return to the carriage before they reached the city limits. He would offer a proper apology for his uncouth behavior.

The low opinion of women he had so casually voiced … it made his stomach turn.

It had not even been deliberate. That, somehow, made it worse.

He needed to make it clear—to both Miss Davis sisters—that he did not truly think in such degrading terms. Hearing those words emerge from his own mouth had been mortifying.

More mortifying still was the knowledge that their late father would have been pleased.

Perry closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as the countryside rolled beneath his horse’s hooves.

First, he would clear his thoughts.

Then he would repair the damage.

* * *

The carriage came to a gentle halt. A moment later, Mr. Balfour reappeared, opened the door, and lowered the steps before climbing in to rejoin them. A footman adjusted the traces, then disappeared once more.

The gentleman looked across the aisle at Emma, clearly preparing to speak.

But before he could begin, she jumped in.

“Mr. Balfour, I wish to apologize.”

His mouth closed in surprise, a faint frown forming between his brows. After a few moments of silence, he said, “I do not understand.”

“I have been belligerent since the moment you arrived at Rose Ash Manor,” Emma said in a rush. “I have had time to reflect, and I wish to apologize for my behavior. What the earl is doing for my sister”—she winced at the ungrateful words—“and for me as well, is exceedingly generous. And you have been most kind to deliver his message and escort us to London.”

She pressed on, her voice gaining strength. “Your travel arrangements have been very considerate. The inns you chose have served excellent meals, and our room last night was far more comfortable than one has a right to expect at a public house. I regret my rudeness and failure to acknowledge the trouble you have taken to make our journey a pleasant one.”

Mr. Balfour stared at her, visibly taken aback. In fact, her words seemed to unsettle rather than please him. At last, he gave a deep sigh.

“It is I who should apologize,” he said. “I manipulated matters to secure your cooperation. And my words earlier were inexcusable. For them, I again beg your forgiveness. You are both fine young ladies of quality and intelligence, and I am ashamed to have suggested otherwise.”

Emma bit her lip. She had no idea what to say next. The moment teetered into awkward silence.

Jane, as ever, rescued them.

She leaned forward, a warm smile on her face. “Mr. Balfour, we are practically family through Ethan, and we shall all be residing at Balfour Terrace. Could we not do away with formalities? Please call me Jane. Emma?” she added, glancing over.

Emma gave a reluctant nod. “Yes. Please. It will be easier to know one another if we relax such things. You may call me Emma.”

He considered their request with surprising seriousness. “My close family call me Perry.”

“Well then, Perry,” Jane said brightly, “we shall forget your earlier remarks. No harm done. The conversation simply became rather excited. People often say things they do not mean in the heat of emotion. My sister regrets becoming so reactive. It is not her usual manner.”

Emma blinked in confusion at that unexpected defense. Her sister truly was growing into a most accomplished peacemaker.

Perry smiled and leaned forward, taking Jane’s hand to drop a brief, courtly kiss upon her fingers before sitting back.

“Then a truce has been called?” Emma asked cautiously.

He turned to her, a devilish glint sparking in his eye. Her breath caught. He really is unbearably handsome.

“I would not say that,” he murmured. “We have nearly two hours yet to London. And since we are now family, I must inform you how deplorable that shade of mud is upon your person, Emma.”

She groaned. “Not this again.”

Jane gave a little hum and waited until Emma glanced over. “Perry is correct, I am afraid. That color is most unbecoming on a lady with your complexion. When we reach Balfour Terrace, you must change before you disembark. The day dress, at least, is fractionally more flattering than the carriage dress.”

“Not you, too!”

Jane clapped her hands. “What fun we shall have at the modiste! I am so grateful to you, Emma. Without your care for Ethan, none of this would have happened. I owe you everything.”

Perry chuckled. “Three cheers for Emma!”

Emma sank into the plush squabs and folded her arms in protest. Worse than condescending Mr. Arrogant was so-called-family-member Perry joining forces with her sister to tease her about her attire.

Zounds. This is going to be a very long summer.

* * *

Emma cowered in the corner of the carriage, peering out the window in horrified dismay.

London was so… enormous.

Buildings stretched endlessly in every direction, lining streets that branched and twisted like tangled ribbon. People swarmed the thoroughfares—on horseback, in wagons, on foot. Liveried servants perched atop elegant town carriages, while scruffy drivers lashed dilapidated hackneys with frightening speed.

And then there was the smell.

It defied proper description. A heady mixture of coal smoke, river rot, body odor, and what was unmistakably human waste. The air itself felt thick, as if the city exhaled a foul, greasy fog.

But worse than the scent was the noise.

Hawkers bellowed. Hooves clattered. Wheels shrieked against cobblestone. Whistles pierced the din. The entire city seemed to tremble with its own deafening cacophony.

Emma wanted to leap from the carriage and run all the way back to the quiet lanes of Somerset.

Her fingers crept into her pocket to seek comfort in the cool, familiar shape of the tin monkey. It reminded her why she had made this journey: Ethan .

At the end of all this madness, she would see him again. She would ensure with her own eyes that he was safe and cared for, not neglected and forgotten by Lord Arrogant—as was so often the way among the nobility, from what little she knew.

“Look at all those shops!” Jane’s delighted voice rang out.

Emma flinched as a hackney careened far too close for comfort.

“Are we viewing the same city?” she muttered, clutching her skirts. Her sister was utterly enchanted, while Emma had never been more petrified in her life. “Zooks! Can we go back home?”

Perry cleared his throat. She glanced over to find him watching her.

“You will get used to it, Emma,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle.

She stared back at him, wide-eyed. “Never!”

He contemplated her for a moment. “We shall always be in a carriage when out, and the coat of arms gilded on the side makes others wary of interfering with us. Most of the time, you will be in residence at Balfour Terrace, which is a large townhouse in a clean and respectable neighborhood. In fact, you will scarcely leave Mayfair. It shall be much improved once we pass through to where we are headed.”

Emma tilted her head. “Are you comforting me?”

“I am.”

“But I thought teasing me was your preferred entertainment.”

He grinned, flashing an unnervingly perfect smile. “We are nearly home. Not much need for entertainment at present.”

He looked positively boyish in that moment—light-hearted, dashing, younger somehow. Something about the curve of his lips, the warmth in his eyes … it stirred a most inconvenient longing.

She wanted to leap into his arms and press her lips to his, then bury her face in his silky hair and discover whether he smelled of clean linen, polished leather, and fresh country air. That was her guess.

Emma gave herself a firm mental shake. Think of him as family, you silly chit!

Without thinking, she reacted exactly as she would to one of her younger brothers when they had needled her too much. She stuck out her tongue.

Perry froze.

His gaze locked on her mouth. Slowly, unmistakably, he turned a deep shade of red. Even his breathing changed.

Emma’s eyes widened in horror, and she hastily pulled her tongue back in, clamping her lips shut as she blushed to the roots of her hair.

Perry continued to stare—until, with obvious effort, he reached up to fidget with his perfectly tied cravat.

He must think I am a lunatic.

Without a word, he turned sharply to look out the window. “See? We are entering Mayfair.”

Emma swallowed, then followed his gaze. As promised, the buildings had become grander, the streets cleaner, and the quality of vehicles noticeably improved. There was even a touch of greenery, a welcome sight amid the endless stone.

Soon, the carriage turned into a quiet, elegant street before rolling to a gentle halt in front of a massive townhouse, several bays wide and rising in graceful tiers of pale stone.

Jane, seated closest to the grand residence, gave a breathless giggle behind her hands as she craned her neck to take it all in. “My word, it is magnificent. Is this Balfour Terrace?”

“It is,” Perry replied, though his tone had gone a touch too clipped.

Emma flicked a glance in his direction. His posture was stiff, his expression unreadable. He looked entirely unlike the boyish man who had teased her just moments before.

Have I gone too far? she wondered. Likely no other lady of his acquaintance has ever stuck out her tongue at him.

He must think her the very worst sort of uncouth, ungovernable woman.

Emma discovered, to her dismay, that she was genuinely upset.

A heavy weight settled on her chest when she noted how carefully Perry avoided looking in her direction. As the footman opened the carriage door and lowered the steps, he did not so much as glance her way.

Perry disembarked first and offered his hand to Jane. Emma watched, motionless, as her sister took his arm with an easy laugh.

He did not turn back.

Instead, he escorted Jane toward the townhouse steps, his posture stiff and impassive.

A waiting footman held out a hand to assist Emma, but she scarcely noticed.

He left me behind.

The realization pricked at her eyes. She had not imagined how much she had come to enjoy his teasing—his attention. She had believed, foolishly, that something had begun to grow between them, awkward and barbed though it was.

But she had misjudged. Clearly.

He was appalled.

Emma swallowed the bitter taste of regret and forced her shoulders back. She removed the mud-colored carriage dress with stiff fingers and folded it over her arm. Shaking out the skirt of her day gown, she stepped down onto the paving and followed the pair up the steps, her limbs stiff and uncooperative.

The great doors of the townhouse opened. Her anxiety redoubled.

I am about to meet Lord Arrogant himself, and I look a fright. And Perry… Perry had poked fun at her clothing and then left her behind without so much as a glance.

And now—he was ashamed of her.

She adjusted her bonnet, the one she had donned before entering the city. Her hands were trembling so violently she barely managed to tie the ribbons.

Inside, the hall was dim after the brightness of the street. Emma blinked rapidly, trying to adjust.

She saw him at once—a tall, striking gentleman who looked very much like Perry, though with a sharper jaw and an air of command that marked him instantly as the elder brother.

He offered Jane a warm smile and bowed over her hand. “Miss Emma Davis, what a privilege!”

Jane gave a delighted giggle as she dipped into a curtsy. “I am not Emma, my lord. I am her sister, Jane Davis. Emma is just behind me.”

The earl straightened, his expression turning serious as he looked past her.

His eyes found Emma.

And hesitated.

He seemed … perplexed. Not cruel, not cold. But certainly not impressed.

He is disappointed.

Emma’s heart sank. She had been right to fear this moment. Perry had found her childish, and now his brother found her lacking altogether.

She closed her eyes for the briefest instant and swallowed hard.

Her hands were shaking.

Do not cry. Do not cry, Emma Davis. You must not cry.

She stepped forward, curtsied as best she could despite her shaking knees, and murmured, “My lord.”

It was all she could manage.

You have only just arrived, and you are already a failure.

* * *

After the introductions concluded, with Emma uncharacteristically quiet, Richard turned a questioning look toward his younger brother. Perry tilted his head, silently promising they would discuss the matter shortly. First, he needed to ensure the young ladies were shown to their rooms to refresh themselves and change into suitable attire.

He spoke to the family butler, issuing instructions with his eyes firmly averted from Emma. He did not dare look at her. Not unless he wished to behave like a savage and throw himself at her—to steal a kiss, to taste her mouth, to discover the softness of her sweet face beneath his hands.

Ever since she had stuck out her tongue at him—a gesture so ludicrous and sweet it unmoored him completely—his composure had been in tatters. Obsession, unfamiliar and searing, had surged through him like an invading force, laying waste to his carefully cultivated defenses. Then she had appeared without that blasted mud-colored gown and his restraint had hung by the thinnest of threads.

She was the very worst temptation.

Gravitating toward Jane had been a pathetic attempt to ground himself. To seem rational, light-hearted, whole. But the truth was, Emma had shattered something inside him, and he was now staggering through to pick up the pieces.

He had never felt such a maddening compulsion in all his five and twenty years.

Once the Davis sisters were shown to their rooms, Perry made his way to Richard’s study, where he poured himself a generous measure of brandy before dropping into one of the armchairs upholstered in cheerful ivory fabric embroidered with red, gold, and green florals—wholly unsuitable for the gloom that had settled over him.

Look at me. Cataloguing upholstery to avoid my own thoughts. My unmanning is complete.

Richard entered, closing the door behind him. He crossed to his desk and lowered himself into the chair behind it. “Why are there two Davis girls?”

Perry took a long sip of his drink. “Emma did not want to come. I had to … manipulate her agreement. I said you had invited both of them.”

Richard groaned and sank his head into his hands. “Let me guess. Two wardrobes. Two dowries.”

“You make it sound as though you are bound for debtor’s prison.”

“Of course not. But one of the secrets to increasing one’s wealth is not to set it ablaze.”

“Stuff and nonsense. You can afford it.”

“I have made a great many amends lately, if you recall. Each one comes with its own expense.”

Perry’s lips twitched. “Yes, well, now that you are enamored of only one woman, you are practically saving money.”

Richard chuckled. “Indeed. No more bills from milliners and jewelers. Sophia may be the greatest financial strategy I have ever enacted.”

“True love as a sound investment. Very you.”

Richard shot him a look. “Why did you not send a message ahead to inform me? Radcliffe is scrambling to prepare a second room. He is quite put out.”

“You cannot tell when Radcliffe is put out. He is the most unflappable butler in Mayfair.”

“You are such an bounder, Perry.”

Perry did not argue. He looked down into his drink, swirling the amber liquid slowly. Thoughts of Emma swirled with it—her fierce spirit, her maddening tongue, her bold eyes that saw too much. He wanted to kiss her until they both forgot how to breathe.

What had she done to him?

He could hardly remember what it was like to draw air without thinking of her mouth.

Should he confide in Richard? Tell him he was losing his mind? No. He could not. He was not accustomed to sharing. And this—this craving for an innocent—was too shameful.

“I suppose,” Richard said, “we ought to see what the young ladies require. Tutors, wardrobe fittings, deportment training. I shall have Johnson see to it. The sooner, the better.”

Perry hesitated. He would not see her for days now—not properly. And the thought of her flitting around his brother’s townhouse while he haunted his clubs left him inexplicably glum.

Why did the idea of being apart from her feel so dismal?

“I can save you the expense,” he heard himself say. “I shall tutor them.”

The words were out before he could claw them back.

He stared into his glass in horror.

What the devil am I doing?

Richard blinked. “I am sorry. Did you just offer to tutor two young ladies in dancing and deportment?”

Perry frowned. “No. That is—I meant to say?—”

“Perry, this is wonderful!” Richard’s face lit with something dangerously close to pride. “You are finally taking Sophia’s advice. A project! And you are the most socially adept man I know. Who better?”

Perry shot to his feet. “No. No, I did not think it through. I am far too busy. Tell Johnson to hire someone.”

But Richard was already advancing on him with a grin. “Do not be absurd. You are perfect. You read every etiquette manual cover to cover at Oxford.”

“To perfect the art of seduction, not to transform country lasses into debutantes.”

Richard waved a hand. “You have no designs on innocent young misses. You have said as much. No danger there.”

Oh, brother, if only you knew.

He was a danger. To one innocent miss in particular. And if he spent another moment alone with her—unbuttoning her gloves, adjusting her waltz hold, watching her eyes lift to his in admiration—he could not be trusted.

He needed to retreat. Now.

But he had just volunteered to stay.

Heaven help me. I am undone.