The Wife Campaign. Regina Scott

Ruby knew the name and fervently wished her father wouldn’t reveal the connection. Somehow she didn’t think the Marchioness of Wesworth would want the rest of the guests to know that her husband had recently exchanged the diamonds at her throat with paste copies.

      But her father was too much the businessman to ever betray a client. “Your ladyship,” he said with a bow. “News of your daughter’s beauty and charm has spread far, but I see that the gossips neglected to mention how much she takes after you.”

      The marchioness visibly thawed, her double chins relaxing, her impressive chest settling. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard any stories of you, Mr. Hollingsford,” she said in a voice that managed to be polished and commanding at the same time. “Are you related to Lord Danning?”

      If she asked the question, she couldn’t be related either. Ruby wandered closer to hear the conversation. The matter apparently interested the others, for they rose and joined the group by the sofa, as well.

      “Not me,” her father promised. “Not at the moment, leastwise.” He winked broadly at Ruby.

      The other man held out his hand to her father. “Winston Stokely-Trent,” he intoned as if the name should have meaning for all present. “My wife and my daughter. Did I understand you to say you hope to soon be related to the Earl of Danning?”

      “You did not,” Ruby said, threading her arm through her father’s and giving it a squeeze in warning.

      “Certainly not,” Lady Wesworth said, nose in the air. “I understand he has set his sights elsewhere.”

      Her daughter blushed.

      Mrs. Stokely-Trent smiled at her own daughter. “So I understand, as well.”

      Ruby glanced from Lady Amelia, who had bowed her head in humility, to Miss Stokely-Trent, who had raised hers in pride. Had the earl really implied marriage in his invitations to the two of them as well as Ruby? How arrogant and how like an aristocrat!

      Well, she wouldn’t stand for it. As soon as Ruby could, she drew her father away from the others, leading him to the doors overlooking the veranda. Twilight was falling, and a mist seemed to be rising from the river. But she could not afford to appreciate the view.

      “This is a farce,” she whispered, mindful of the other guests. “Let’s make our regrets and go.”

      “Now, then, you can’t be cowed by these girls,” her father insisted with a glance at the other two candidates for the earl’s hand. “Lady Amelia is a stunner, but she obviously lacks backbone. And I’ve heard Miss Henrietta Stokely-Trent is too clever for her own good. No, my girl, I’d cheer for you any day.”

      “Then you’d be disappointed,” Ruby said. “I’ll have no part in this business. You know how I feel about these nobs.”

      “Once a nob, always a snob,” her father agreed. “But they’re not all so bad.”

      “Most of the ones I’ve met have been,” Ruby countered.

      Just then another man strolled into the room. Like their host the earl, he was tall, blond and handsome. But his features were softer, as if he were the resin mold rather than the finished statue. His clothes were of cheaper material, lesser cut. Ruby recognized the signs immediately. So did her father.

      “The poor relation,” he murmured as the man came forward.

      Poor relation or fortune hunter, Ruby amended silently as he fawned over Lady Amelia and Henrietta Stokely-Trent. The others appeared to recognize the signs, as well. Lady Amelia’s shy smile was effectively countered by her mother’s curt stare. Miss Stokely-Trent quizzed him unmercifully. Ruby told herself not to feel sorry for him.

      When at last he made his way to their sides, his charming smile was a little frayed.

      “Hollingsford,” he said with a nod.

      “Mr. Calder, good to see you again,” her father replied. “You may remember my daughter, Ruby.”

      Why would he remember Ruby? She certainly didn’t remember him, though apparently he knew her father. Before Ruby could question either of them, the other man bowed to her. “A pleasure, Miss Hollingsford.”

      Ruby inclined her head as he straightened. “And how do you know my father, Mr. Calder?”

      He paled, but her father clapped him on one broad shoulder. “Business,” her father said and by his refusal to say more, Ruby knew that Mr. Calder had likely had to sell some jewel of great personal value to pay his bills.

      Mr. Calder managed a smile. “I am in your father’s debt, and I will be forever in my cousin’s debt for inviting me to bask in the glory of three such lovely creatures.”

      He said it as if he knew he had no hope of attracting any of them. Ruby couldn’t help trying to raise his spirits. “Oh, did your cousin catch so many fish today?” she teased.

      He chuckled. “Ah, a wit, as well. I can see I shall have to be on my toes. But tell me, how do you know my cousin?”

      Ruby glanced at her father, brow raised.

      “Never met him until today,” her father proclaimed. “But he must have seen my Ruby at some social function else he wouldn’t have invited her.”

      Ruby wasn’t convinced. She’d never seen the earl or his cousin at any event. But then, she ran in different circles. Her literary club comprised women who had either inherited money from trade or were independent, like her friend Miss Eugenia Welch. When she went out of an evening, it was most often with her father and his acquaintances.

      Still, because she’d attended the prestigious Barnsley School for Young Ladies in Somerset, she knew any number of women currently on the ton. Unfortunately, some of her former classmates still snubbed her. They certainly had never mentioned her to the earl.

      As if summoned by her thoughts, Lord Danning appeared in the doorway. His golden hair mirrored the candlelight. The diamond stickpin in his cravat sparkled. His smile of welcome included everyone in the room as he glanced about. She found herself wondering when the portrait painter would arrive.

      Then his gaze met hers, and his smile deepened.

      Ruby felt her face heating and raised her chin. Oh, no. He would not find her as easy to catch as his fish.

      “Ladies, gentlemen,” he said, strolling into the room, “welcome to Fern Lodge. You were kind to accept the invitation. Join me for dinner, and we can discuss plans for the fortnight.” He held out his arm. “Lady Wesworth, if I may?”

      Funny. Ruby wouldn’t have thought the earl such a stickler for propriety, not having met him in rough clothing on the riverbank. By the looks that crossed Lady Amelia’s and Henrietta Stokely-Trent’s faces, they’d also expected him to offer for someone other than the highest-ranking woman in the room. Had he meant what he’d said earlier, when he’d claimed he was truly not seeking a wife? If so, perhaps it wasn’t so much good manners as self-preservation that made him escort Lady Wesworth rather than any of the young ladies he’d invited to court. But if he was not seeking a bride, why invite them all in the first place? Just to amuse himself with their reactions?

      The other pairings were nearly as interesting. Mr. Calder eyed Ruby, but she anchored herself to her father, and he excused himself to offer Lady Amelia his arm. Henrietta Stokely-Trent looked even more annoyed because she had to walk with her father and mother. The posturing for position at the table was nearly as laughable, with parents and offspring colliding and glowering at each other. Ruby wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or amused when Henrietta Stokely-Trent seated herself next to Ruby near the end of the table.

      Of course, none of them had much choice. The Lodge, while decorated in sumptuous materials, was clearly meant for a retreat, not to host so many people. The mahogany table had been extended its full length to accommodate them all, and the high back on the earl’s chair said it belonged elsewhere in the house. Still the polished wood