“Interesting,” Lila said, eyeing Hattie shrewdly. “Her love of reading did not come up when I interviewed her. But that is a point in her favor, isn’t it?”
“Miss Raney is a good person.”
“Of course she is, or she would not be on my list.” Lila smiled. “There, you see? That wasn’t so bad.” She turned and went back to the settee. This was perfect—having Miss Woodchurch in close proximity to the viscount was exactly the sort of help she needed. “You know, Hattie, we could be a team.”
Hattie snorted.
An idea came to Lila as she resumed her seat on the settee. “The commission for a successful match is very generous,” she said. “I would be willing to share a percentage of it in exchange for a little help.”
Hattie looked aghast. “I beg your pardon?”
“Good Lord, I’m not suggesting anything criminal. Close your mouth and listen—I’m asking for assistance and I am willing to pay you a fair wage for it. With a bit of information from you, I can help guide the viscount to a successful match.”
But Hattie continued to look at her agape.“No.”
“I very much like that about you,” Lila said breezily. “You have principles. But have a think.”
And she would, too. There was something niggling at Lila. Hattie was an employee of the viscount and, by that fact alone, entirely unsuitable as a potential match. Not to mention the thing Beck had brought up about Hattie that Lila was trying to recall. And yet, after refining her list for the viscount to include London’s most eligible ladies, Lila couldn’t dismiss the feeling that the best match for the viscount might be in this room right now.
“Lady Aleksander.”
They both turned to the door as Lord Abbott strode in, looking handsome and aloof and clean. He was carrying a sheath of papers, which he handed to Hattie.
Lila knew of only one other man who was handsome in a way that could startle, and that was Mr. Donovan. She couldn’t even say her own beloved husband, Valentin, was as handsome as this one. He reminded her of a lion—beautiful, and quietly observant, his hazel eyes following her every move. From the lift of her hand to tuck back a wisp of hair, to the way she sank into a curtsy. It seemed almost criminal that his eyelashes were so dark and long when women her age mixed cream and soot to darken theirs.
He bowed. “Welcome.”
“Thank you for receiving me, my lord. Hattie and I were just discussing the Forsythe dinner.”
“Hattie?” he said, and glanced at Miss Woodchurch, who looked wide-eyed with panic.
“She enjoyed the evening,” Lila said. “Did you?”
“It was perfectly fine.” His voice was flat. He had not enjoyed it—as if she’d needed to be told that.
“I won’t take up much of your time, my lord. I think we can agree that perhaps Miss Porter, despite her beauty, is probably not suited for a life in Santiava.”
To her surprise, the viscount looked almost relieved. “We can agree.”
“You spoke at some length with Miss Cupperson. Should I assume there is some interest there?”
“On the contrary—Miss Cupperson spoke at some length as I listened. She is a new and enthusiastic student of Santiava.”
Lila chuckled. “You can’t fault a lady for preparing.”
He said nothing. Bloodyhell, this man was difficult. “And Miss Raney?” she asked.
He clasped his hands behind his back. He nodded curtly. “She spoke about a book she’d read. Something to do with unrequited love.”
“Unrequited love!” Lila exclaimed. “That seems rather a gloomy subject, doesn’t it?”
The viscount smiled. “Perhaps as gloomy as keeping one’s mad wife in the attic.”
“Oh!” Hattie said, smiling. “You readJane Eyre!”
“I have begun to read it. Tell me, Miss Woodchurch, why are English ladies drawn to such dark tales of love?”
She laughed. “We are drawn to tales of love in its many forms, I suppose. But if I may,Honorineis really more about the state of a marriage. Not unrequited love, precisely.”
