Forever a Lady. Delilah Marvelle

sniffed, grudgingly took the hat and disappeared into the adjoining room, silently announcing that the British were by far the superior race.

      If only it were true.

      Mr. Astor swung toward her, patting frizzy white hair back into place with a gloved hand. Dark eyes glinted with unspoken mischief. “I’m here to collect on a debt, Lady Burton.”

      Bernadette stiffened at being addressed by a name she had never hoped to hear again. ’Twas a name only a select few in New York knew of, given she now publicly went by the name of Mrs. Shelton. And coming from Mr. Astor, it was especially troubling, be he jesting or not. “Is there a reason you are addressing me as such?”

      He clasped his gloved hands together, bringing them smugly against his gray silk embroidered vest. “I’m a man of business first, dear. That is how this son of a German butcher came to trade and buy every last fur from New Orleans to Canada, making me the wealthiest man in this here United States of our Americas. Because when an opportunity presents itself, a man has to set aside being nice for a small while and lunge on said opportunity. So I suggest you do the favor I’m about to ask, Your Highness.”

      She rolled her eyes, sensing he knew she wasn’t about to cooperate. Their viewpoints were never the same despite their bond. “I am not the queen. Please do not address me as such.”

      “Ah, but you’re related to the woman.”

      “My husband was related to the woman. Not I.”

      “Are you telling me I can’t depend on you for anything? What sort of friend are you? Is this how you British get on?”

      Drat him. She knew it would come to this. New York, after all, hadn’t really been her original destination when she had left London with a deranged twinkle in her eye. She had actually planned on staying permanently in New Orleans to better explore the history of privateering—and its men—until she was robbed right down to her petticoats during a less-than-reputable street masking ball. She had wanted to know what it would be like to frolic with the locals and found they didn’t frolic fair at all.

      If it weren’t for Mr. Astor and his grandson, who at the time were all but strangers when they had heroically come to her assistance that night on the street, she might have been robbed of a lot more than just her reticule and gown. After that night, they had all become not only good friends, but old Mr. Astor had also brilliantly proposed she abandon New Orleans and accompany him and his grandson back to New York City under an alias to stave off all the newspapers who sought to exploit her after what had become known as “The Petticoat Incident.”

      It was good to be plain old Mrs. Shelton, living in New York City, entertaining good-looking men whenever she had a fancy for it, as opposed to being Lady Burton gone wild, who had made United States gossip history by being included in every American newspaper from New Orleans to Nantucket. She had no doubt whatsoever that London had also long heard of it by now. Right along with her father. Gad.

      She drew in a ragged breath and let it out. “I am forever indebted to you and your grandson, Mr. Astor. You know that.”

      “Then do as I say, will you? Because my grandson is actually the one who stands to benefit from this. We are talking about squeezing ourselves into British aristocracy and making those prissy, tea-sipping bastards acknowledge that money is what makes power. Not a name smeared with drips of blood.”

      Her brows rose. “You wish to...squeeze yourself into British aristocracy? I see. And what is it that you believe I would be able to do for you in that regard?”

      He shifted toward her, his aged features taking on the sort of mock severity he reserved only for business associates. “You would be able to help us open doors, is what. How? By overseeing the first American marry into aristocracy. ’Tis a nugget of an opportunity. What I need is for you to assist this American girl along. Georgia Emily Milton is her name. Though, we’ll have to change it. ’Tis overly Irish and plain and needs tinsel. You see, there is an aristo this girl seeks to wed—a Lord Yardley who is next in line to become the Duke of Wentworth—who is already willing and waiting. What you need to do is make her palatable to British society, for her sake and his. It would involve teaching her everything you know about the ton, then guiding her through a Season over in London next year. The duke and I will ensure you have infinite resources to guards. No man will touch you whilst you’re in London. No man. Unless you want him to.”

      An astonished laugh escaped her. Oh, now, this was humor at its finest. “Whilst the idea is most amusing, and I have no qualms about assisting this girl if that is truly your bidding, I am not going back to London. It would be an even bigger mess than the one I left behind and I will admit that I am infinitely fond of my new life. None of the men here in New York know who the bonnet I am and I can skylark all I want without getting dashed for it. Unlike back in London, where I was getting dashed for even breathing.”

      He stared at her for a long moment. “You owe me.”

      Bernadette let out an exasperated laugh. “I do not owe you hanging myself. I am not crossing an ocean for that.”

      He gestured grudgingly toward the adjoining parlor. “Would you rather my favor involve a piano and a parlor full of naked men? Is that it? Would that be more to your devil-may-care liking?”

      Oh dear God. Americans. No wonder the British finally relented on letting them go. Bernadette lifted a brow, knowing that, as always, the man was merely being crass for crass’s sake. It was time he realize that she was no longer the same girl he and his grandson had to rescue on the streets of New Orleans. She knew how to rescue herself and she was not about to touch a toe to London by exposing herself to vicious gossipmongers who knew nothing about a woman’s right to a life or privacy. “The last time I was in London, Mr. Astor, I had a man break into my home, intent on proving to me that he could beget me with his child in the hopes of beguiling me into matrimony. And he was the friendliest of my money-salivating suitors.

      “Sadly, my inheritance has only served to encumber my happiness thus far, and I am trying to create a relatively pleasant life for myself. Going back to London would only impede that. For heaven’s sake, I have yet to do a sliver of all my plans. In fact, I’m about to negotiate a two-year trip to Jamaica.”

      “Two years?” He pulled in his chin. “What for? Last I knew, all they had in Jamaica was water and sand.”

      “Port Royal and Kingston happen to be known for their extensive privateering history. I also hear that the men there dress down because of the heat.” She smirked. “That alone would be well worth traveling for. And unlike New Orleans, I intend on hiring a guard to accompany me everywhere I go. So you see, Mr. Astor, that is what is next for me. Not London rain and pasty pale men, but Port Royal and sun-bronzed pirates.”

      He stepped toward her. “You know I would not normally ask this of you, but my grandson stands a chance to follow in the footsteps of this girl if we do this right. He stands to marry into aristocracy. ’Tis something he and I have talked about for years. Hell, I would have gladly married him off to you to ensure that title, but for some reason, you won’t have him.”

      Bernadette lowered her chin. “The boy is twenty.”

      “And all the more virile for it! Unlike your old William, he’ll ensure you have twenty sons in twenty minutes.”

      She cringed at the thought. “Mr. Astor, really. Jacob, whilst very lovely, is fifteen years younger than myself. I wouldn’t even know what to do with him.”

      “Lovely? Did you just call him lovely? Don’t ever call him that.” He sighed. “I need you. My grandson’s entire livelihood needs you. Don’t make me kneel for this.”

      “Why would you ever want that poor boy to be part of the aristocracy? ’Tis a queernab existence I have spent my entire life trying to escape. Besides, with your vast fortune, you and Jacob already have everything.”

      “Everything but that.” He hissed out a breath. Eyeing her, he went down on a grudging, wobbly knee, grazing the hem of her gown, and slowly