Page 5 of The Rake’s Convenient Bride

“And you can’t say you haven’t a thing to wear.” Grace put a finger up in the air as if to stop Elizabeth from speaking. “Madame Banner has already delivered every item Mama ordered, and I know for certain she had several ballgowns made especially for you.”

Elizabeth was aware. She’d stood stiffly through countless fittings as velvets and silks were swathed over her body and careful hands pinned and unpinned various styles and embellishments.

Their mother meant to see Elizabeth married this year, if it was the last thing she did. Already Mama was appalled that four seasons had passed without a single proposal for her eldest daughter.

Elizabeth was well aware she had been a disappointment.

Now everyone in her life, including her dearest fellow wallflowers, were insisting she wed.

Anxiety pinched at her chest. “Very well,” she conceded. “I’ll attend, but don’t go lifting your hopes that I’ll find some dashing man to sweep me off my feet.”

“Yes, you will once you show up in that blue velvet gown with the red silk roses.” Grace’s wide blue eyes sparkled, most likely already planning Elizabeth’s engagement, and then subsequently her own.

Elizabeth offered a tight smile, knowing full well the only one sweeping her off her feet would be herself, as she tripped down the stairs or committed some other graceless folly.

What a night to dread.

Jasper Fitzroy, the fifth Earl of Darington, contemplated the underside of the canopy over his bed, his mind ticking through a list of items to see to that day. An abrupt knock came from the door.

Jasper frowned and examined the pocket watch on his nightstand, revealing the hour to be just after nine in the morning. Early for most, but even for him. Then again, Lord Ranford kept him up into the early hours of the morning, cajoling him into sharing “just one more drink” as he went on and on about a gentleman Jasper didn’t even know.

“Forgive me, my lord.” The voice on the other side of the door was clearly Jasper’s valet, Hughes. “You have a visitor.”

“At nine in the morning?” Jasper asked, incredulous.

Wasn’t it a bit early for mothers to be forcing their way into his home under feigned excuses to mention their eligible daughters? Whoever named him the most eligible bachelor of the season—again—was decidedly his least favorite person in London. Of all the bloody stupid titles…

“The dowager is here, my lord,” Hughes replied.

Jasper frowned. What the devil was his grandmother doing in London?

“I thought she’d retired to the country,” Jasper called out from his bed.

“It appears retirement is subjective, my lord.”

“Best come in before she hears you.” Jasper sat up as the door to his bedchamber opened. “She’ll never forgive you if she does.”

Hughes entered the room, head lifted with his haughty manner. “She’ll always forgive me, my lord.”

Jasper snorted. “You’re not wrong and you’re damn lucky for it.”

“Yes, my lord.” Hughes set the tray of tea on Jasper’s dressing table. “The blue jacket this morning?”

Within the short side of a half hour, Jasper was properly dressed and shaved. Hughes could shave a man faster than anyone and with greater care than a barber who took three times as long.

And considering how much time the estate required of Jasper these days, every second counted.

His grandmother was waiting in the parlor with a steaming cup of tea and an assortment of pastries in front of her.

“Good morning, Bess.” He swept toward her, arms open to embrace her.

“You ought to call me Grandmother.” She pushed to her feet with the aid of a silver-topped cane and let him wrap his arms gently about her slender frame.

There was a floral fragrance about her, like roses. A sweet scent making him recall when she’d taken him in at her summer estate when he’d been a young teen. After his elder brother, Benjamin, had died and Mother hadn’t forgiven Jasper. An ache nipped inside his chest and he pulled away.

“You’re not nearly ancient enough to be addressed by anyone as ‘Grandmother.’” He popped a pastry in his mouth and almost spat it out. The thing was dry and crumbling in his mouth, sticking in his throat even as he tried to swallow it down with a gulp of scorching tea.

“You smooth-tongued scoundrel.” Bess smirked and shook her head. “Haven’t changed a bit, have you?”