My Fair Marchioness (Scandalous Affairs Book 3) by Christi Caldwell (book recommendations for young adults txt) 📕

his way, and he resisted the urge to squirm the way he had when he’d been a boy caught putting on a production with her then-beloved pugs in costume. “I know that because I have sterling examples seated before me of just how wonderful women can be.”

“Good answer.”

“Because he’s not stupid.” Lady Cavendish paused. “That is, not entirely.”

“Thank you,” he said dryly. “I appreciate that great show of love and affection.” It was also true. Even having their own lives and responsibilities, they’d stepped forward to raise him the moment his mother had died.

“Oh, hush, Harris.” The duchess clapped once, commanding the room to silence with the brusque method she’d employed over the years with servants and family and loved ones alike. Chin elevated, she passed a glance over the loved ones she’d assembled before ultimately settling that terrifying focus on Harris. “The fact remains, Harris, you are quite the clever boy. Like your mother. Not your father. God rot him.”

“God rot him.” The other two icons of Polite Society raised imagined glasses as if in toast.

God rot his father indeed.

The late marquess had been obsessed with their family’s reputation and had also played a hand in the trap Harris had inadvertently stepped into. In so doing, he had ruined the grasping lady’s life, and Harris’.

“You see life in black and white, however, failing to see the world is one great prism of color,” his godmother said. “My niece has been found, and we intend to see that she’s restored… whether you’ll be supportive or not.”

Harris scrubbed a hand over his forehead.

Whether he’d be supportive or not.

Except… she knew. Just as he knew that she knew, he knew. There was nothing he would not do for her or her two eccentric friends.

“I’ll be most supportive,” he finally pledged, earning smiles from the twins.

His godmother, however, focused a narrow-eyed gaze oozing with suspicion on his person. “I know you, dear boy. That capitulation comes entirely too easy.”

“No games. I wouldn’t dare think of it, Your Grace.” And were the lady restored, as his godmother said, Harris would be supportive… of his godmother and her two magnanimous friends, and he’d ensure that they didn’t fall prey to the same grasping he had all those years ago.

Chapter 3

She had no right to go.

In fact, of all the people in Covent Garden, Julia had less right to go than anyone else who dwelled in these parts.

After all, she’d been the one who’d resisted this very move from the start. Julia hadn’t believed her, and because of that lack of faith Andaira was gone. It had been days since Julia’s windfall, and in those days the flowers given her by some dashing gentleman in the streets had withered and died. The once vibrant silken-petaled blooms had wilted and faded, becoming dried husks.

Seated on the floor of the hovel she’d called home with her sister, Julia stared blankly at the basket of dying and dead flowers from that once hopeful day.

All along, Julia had been the one to call the tale of Adairia being an earl’s lost daughter false. Her mother after all had said it was the imagination of a girl who could no longer cope.

And nothing had changed in that regard. Julia no more believed Adairia to be a Lost Lady, the cherished niece of a duke and duchess, than she took herself to be the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Both were fictional stories. Both were dangerous to believe.

But what proved even more dangerous was remaining in Covent Garden with Rand Graham’s people out to silence Julia.

Silence her, as they’d silenced Adairia.

Just as Julia had expected they’d try to do. Because she knew they’d…killed Adairia. Adairia who must have met with Graham and said no to his ploy. The fancily-spoken, ethereal young woman was after all the only young woman in the Rookeries who could have pulled off his planned deceit. To Graham it had always been a deceit to garner a windfall, but Adairia? She’d actually believed that drivel.

Oh, God.

Julia sucked in a ragged breath; her entire body aching and hurting from the loss.

It was her fault.

She’d gotten Adairia killed.

She was responsible for her disappearance.

If Julia had allowed her the opportunity to pursue her dream, Adairia would have gone to Mayfair. She would have presented herself as a duchess’ niece. And she would have possibly been here now.

Possibly.

Huddling in the folds of the cloak she’d been given months earlier because of the random kindness shown her by a lady in the street, Julia burrowed deeper within the velvet folds, seeking warmth. Finding none.

Adairia had loved this garment. After Julia had received it, she’d reluctantly handed it over to her friend, because she was still the dreamer of their pair.

Mayhap if she hadn’t allowed that whimsy, then Adairia wouldn’t have been such easy prey in terms of the loyalty test, one that had used her dreams against her. That blasted scrap had brought back all of the old wants of what Adairia had believed was her true identity.

Julia knocked the back of her head against the wall. So many mishaps.

None of those regrets she’d sit here lamenting, however, since Adairia’s disappearance hadn’t changed anything. Nor would it. Nay, the longer she sat here, she was a duck ready to have her feathers plucked before she was tossed atop a skillet and roasted.

And perhaps it spoke to the selfishness in her soul that she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to be kidnapped as Adairia had been and face whatever wretched fate she’d endured at the hands of Rand Graham’s brutal henchmen.

Julia stopped hitting her head and yanked the well-read page from the bodice of her dress. She’d done it many times, considering a traitorous act so many times she’d lost count. Unfolding