“Take several, dear.” His mother shoved the plate at him again until he had no choice but to accept the entire thing in his hands. Which meant he couldn’t lunge across the tea table and throttle the minx.
“A partnership,” Mariah prattled on. “Well, that’s quite something, I daresay. Papa’s never offered a partnership before. My! You must be truly special.” She tilted her head, deviously feigning na?ve curiosity as she skillfully plunged the dagger into his belly—“And what is it, exactly, that you’ve agreed to do for my father to secure it?”
Damn her. He couldn’t answer. If Mother learned the truth, she might very well refuse to be a part of this fiasco. And without the duchess, he didn’t stand a chance of winning.
The infuriating woman knew it, too.
So he forced an unconcerned shrug. “Oh, the usual…to take care of problems that have grown far too troublesome for their own good.”
That barb certainly hit home, and her eyes darkened angrily.
The duchess blinked, completely lost in their private conversation and unable to find any clues to read the subtext.
With a smile that didn’t bother to hide his pleasure at one-upping Mariah, Robert returned the plate of tarts to the tray and leaned confidently back in his chair. “I was thrilled when he asked me to help with your season. A husband would do you wonders, Miss Winslow.”
“And you, a wife,” Mariah purred with a calculating smile, turning the conversation back on him.
“Most certainly,” his mother agreed, and far too quickly for Robert’s comfort. “I’ve been saying so myself since last winter that—”
“Plenty of time later to marry me off, Mother,” he interjected gently with as much pretense of helpfulness as he could muster in order to change the subject away from him and back to Mariah. “Today is all about Miss Winslow and making a match for her.”
“Indeed.” She turned her attention to Mariah with a happy smile, then reached for the pot to refill Mariah’s cup, not noticing the glare the hellcat shot him. His lips twitched with amusement.
“So, my dear,” his mother asked, “what skills do you possess?”
“Let’s see…” She added a dollop of honey to her cup and watched the tea thoughtfully as she stirred it. “I speak Spanish and French fluently and have completed advanced studies in mathematics and bookkeeping, along with law, politics, philosophy, the natural sciences…”
With each skill she reported, his mother’s face paled a shade lighter with distress. But Robert found the list intriguing and hid his admiration for her by raising his cup to his lips—
“And a smattering of knowledge of naval warfare.”
At that he nearly spilled his tea.
His eyes darted between the two women. His mother’s face had turned completely white at that bit of information, but as far as he could discern, Mariah had told the truth.
“Oh dear,” his mother whispered, as if Mariah had just admitted to stealing the crown jewels.
She blinked, confused. “You did say skills, ma’am.”
“I meant those belonging to young ladies in pursuit of suitable husbands.” She clarified in a hushed tone, as if Robert shouldn’t overhear, “You know…watercolors, sketching, flower arranging…”
“I’m afraid not,” she answered a bit ruefully.
“Not even the pianoforte?”
Mariah’s cheeks pinked with honest embarrassment. “I am not musical.”
“But you attended Miss Pettigrew’s, and all the young ladies from there are quite proficient musicians.” His mother stated that as if it were a universal truth.
“Not one note,” Mariah admitted with a grimace.
His mother was aghast. “Surely, you attended lessons.”
“W-Well, I—I…that is…” Mariah’s eyes widened with the look of a caught doe. “Every time I had a scheduled lesson, the pianoforte would unexpectedly…break.”
Mariah guiltily averted her eyes. Robert struggled to fight back a grin as he imagined a young Mariah gleefully breaking keys and stopping up hammers at every opportunity.
“Break?” His mother puzzled, “How on earth does a pianoforte break?”
“With much perseverance,” Mariah answered gravely.
Robert laughed.
For one fleeting moment, their gazes met, and for once not with animosity. Her eyes twinkled knowingly, and her berry-red lips began to curl into the start of a smile for him, as if they were co-conspirators in some kind of innocuous prank rather than fierce adversaries. The momentary connection pulsed a pleasant heat low inside him.
But then her teacup was at her mouth, and whatever shared amusement he’d seen vanished like the morning fog.
His mother ignored him, having long ago learned not to encourage her sons’ improper behavior by acknowledging it. “You do dance, though, do you not?”
“Oh yes!” Mariah smiled, and a genuine warmth radiated from her as her face lit up. Grudgingly, Robert had to acknowledge that she could be quite beautiful. When she wasn’t being infuriating. “I enjoy dancing very much.”
The duchess breathed a loud sigh of relief. “Thank goodness for that! Then we’ll start making plans right away for your debut ball.”
Mariah paled. “My debut ball?”
“Of course. Every young lady should be presented at a ball.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “But I’ve been out for six seasons already, Your Grace.”
“As far as I’m concerned, those seasons never happened.” She patted Mariah’s hand. “And I see no reason why we shouldn’t start preparations right away. I’m certain Madame Bernaise can fit you in tomorrow for a consultation. She’s the best mantua-maker in England.”
“I’m sorry, but I already have a commitment for tomorrow.” Mariah hesitated, then ventured carefully, as if she wasn’t certain yet how much she could trust his mother, “You see, I’m a patroness for the Gatewell School for Orphans of the Sea. I’d planned to work at the school, and I’m afraid it’s going to take all day.”
“You’re a patroness for a school for orphans?” His mother seemed as surprised by that bit of news as Robert.
His suspicious gaze raked over Mariah, but he found nothing in her that indicated she was lying. And she’d damned well better not be. Not when it came to orphans. Not with his family.
Mariah nodded. Encouraged by his mother’s interest, she explained, “We provide practical education for children who have lost their fathers in the shipping industry. It isn’t a very large school, but we do all we can.” She bit her lip uncertainly. Then, as if deciding she could trust his mother with this private part of her life, she offered, “Of course, if you’d ever like to visit the school, I’d be honored to give you a tour.”
“I would like that.” Mother smiled affectionately, her eyes glistening. “Very much.”
If there were any doubts that the duchess might give up on Mariah and pull out of the season, they all vanished. As far as Robert could tell, Mariah wasn’t even aware of her coup as she returned his mother’s smile, a faint bewilderment furrowing her brow.
“Perhaps, Your Grace, we could visit your dressmaker the following day instead?” Mariah offered.
“Of course.” She gave Mariah’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “And please, call me Elizabeth. I insist.”
A grand coup, indeed.
Mariah set her cup aside as his mother busily described her plans for the ball and how she counted on involving the Countess of St James and his sister, Josephine, in the festivities. Robert was unable to decipher the expression on Mariah’s face, whether she was happy about her season or furious that she was being force-marched into it. Either one made no difference to him. But his mother was a miracle worker, and he had no doubt that Mariah would be enjoying herself thoroughly by February and engaged by April.
Without pausing in her long list of preparations, his mother slowly rose to her feet and gently led Mariah to hers. Which forced Robert to his. Yet it also meant that tea was over and that the aggravating minx was leaving. Good. After today, he hoped never to have to deal directly with her again.