The Perfect Mistress. Victoria Alexander
He ignored the note of sarcasm. “If I am next to her at the table she cannot escape and will be forced to speak to me. I am prepared to raise my offer, by the way. I am considering some sort of trust or annuity that will pay her annually but right now she will not give any offer from me due consideration.”
“Not surprising as you acted like an ill-mannered boor.”
“I did not … well …” He paused. “Ill-mannered boor” did seem to describe his behavior with a disquieting accuracy. “I insulted her lamp.”
“Goodness, Harrison, don’t you know anything about women?”
“I know a great deal about women,” he said in a lofty manner.
“Then you would know insulting a woman’s style of décor is not unlike telling her her waist is a bit thick or saying yes when she has asked if her bustle makes her bottom look large.”
“I didn’t see her bottom,” he muttered although admittedly, the rest of her figure was exceptional. She was shorter than he by nearly a head with a form nicely curved and lushly rounded in all the appropriate places. He mentally shook his head to clear the intriguing image.
She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “As for this dinner, how many guests would you like?”
“I don’t know, thirty perhaps.”
“You want me to have a dinner for thirty people?” Disbelief sounded in her voice.
He glanced at her. “Too many?”
She sighed. “I suggest we make up the guest list before deciding on a number. As I understand your somewhat garbled initial explanation, you wish me to invite—”
“I don’t care who you invite for the most part but I do wish to have some of the literary set present.”
“Why?”
“So that the conversation may be casually directed toward the uncertainty of publishing.” By God, this was brilliant.
“I see,” she said slowly. “You wish Julia to understand Lady Middlebury’s memoirs might not ultimately prove as lucrative as your offer.”
“Precisely. If you could invite a few authors perhaps.”
She raised a brow. “Would you like some poets as well? Perhaps an artist or two? Maybe a violinist?”
“Don’t be absurd. Why would we need artists or violinists?” He paused in midstep and glared at her. “You are not taking this at all seriously.”
“It’s not like hiring servants, you know. I can’t simply send a note to an employment service requesting an upstairs author and a scullery poet. For goodness’ sakes, Harrison, where do you propose I find such people?”
“I assumed you knew some. You are a well-known hostess after all.”
“Well yes, there is that,” she said grudgingly, somewhat mollified. “I suppose I have met, on occasion, an author or two, at someone else’s affair …” She paused.
“You’ve thought of something.”
“Perhaps.” She sighed. “Lady Tennwright has a literary salon every other month or so. She knows everyone who has ever so much as picked up a pen. She insists on inviting me and usually I manage to avoid attending. I find her extremely pretentious. If I make any overtures to her whatsoever she will assume we are the best of friends. Still, I suppose I could ask her if she could—”
“Provide you with names? Excellent.” He beamed at her.
She stared. “Whatever is wrong with you?”
“Nothing at all.” He drew his brows together. “What do you mean?”
“You’re pacing, you’re smiling, and God help us all, you’re positively enthusiastic.”
Shock coursed through him. “I am, aren’t I?”
“You are indeed.” She shook her head. “It’s most disconcerting. You arrive unannounced, which I cannot recall you ever doing even when Charles was alive, ranting about my giving a party so that you can charm Lady Win-terset.”
“I want those memoirs,” he said firmly.
“Then you should have been charming when you met with her today.”
“Yes, I should have,” he said sharply. “But I wasn’t and I must go on from here.”
“At least sit down. All that pacing is driving me mad.”
He took the chair nearest hers then leaned toward her. “I realize this is a large favor to ask of you, especially as I am someone you do not particularly like.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Goodness, Harrison, I don’t dislike you. I believe, as Charles did, that you have a great deal of potential, if you would only get that very large stick out of your—”
“Veronica,” he said sharply.
She huffed and glared at him. “Honestly, Harry, I have always wanted a brother and have never had one save for you. As such I do wish we could get on better.”
He stared at her for a moment. “And I have never had a sister. In spite of your marriage to Charles I have been reluctant to think of you in that respect. For that you have my apologies and my assurance that from this point forward I will indeed regard you as my sister.” He meant every word, even as he realized a sister would certainly lend greater assistance than a mere sister-in-law. A sister would work with him. A sister would be an ally. He cast her a genuine smile. “But from what I have heard from friends who do have female siblings, our squabbling is not unusual.”
“Well then, we shall carry on, I suppose.” She blew a resigned breath. “When do you want this dinner?”
“As soon as possible.”
“A week from now would be awkward but perhaps manageable.”
“Tomorrow would be excellent.”
“Tomorrow would be impossible. You might as well ask me to dance naked on an elephant in Piccadilly Circus while playing the flute! Except that I cannot play the flute. That would almost be easier.”
He grinned. “But you, of all the people I know, would have no difficulty dancing naked.”
She gasped. “You’re teasing me! Good God! Are you ill? Dying?”
He chuckled. “I have never felt better.”
She stared at him for a moment then her eyes widened and she sucked in a sharp breath. “God help us all, you like her!”
“Who,” he said innocently although he knew full well who she meant.
“Julia!”
“Nonsense. I find her even more annoying than I find you.” He scoffed. “Granted, she is quite beautiful if one likes all that angelic hair and flashing emerald eyes.”
Veronica’s brow rose. “Angelic hair? Emerald eyes?”
“It’s a description, Veronica.” He shrugged. “Nothing more than that.” He paused. “She looked vulnerable and weary though, as if she was bearing a great burden.”
“She is.”
“As a gentleman I naturally feel an urge to protect those weaker than myself.”
“Make no mistake, she is not weak.”
“No, I did notice that.” He forced a casual note to his voice. “What kinds of traits does she like in a gentleman? I assume women talk about such things.”
Veronica’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If you don’t like her, why do you want to know?”
“If I am to be as charming as possible, knowing