Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire Page 3

  ‘Not much. I don’t know. That woman’s nowhere to be seen, I suppose?’

  ‘Gone, I’m afraid. Has she robbed you, ma’am? Did she take …?’

  ‘My reticule. Yes, it’s gone. Tch! Serves me right.’

  The stranger eased her up, releasing her arm immediately to look, as well as he was able, at the patch of ground round about. ‘No reticule, ma’am. It looks as if she must have taken it. I’d never have thought there’d be game-pullets like her out on a night like this, I must say. Shall I get hold of the gatekeeper for you?’

  ‘Er … no, not now,’ said Amelie, quickly. ‘I’d better go back and try again tomorrow. Thank you for your help, Mr …?’

  ‘Todd, ma’am. No trouble at all. Would you like me to escort you?’

  ‘Oh, no, thank you, Mr Todd. I’m most grateful to you, but I have not far to go and Isabelle will carry me.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure. I’ll hold her while you climb aboard. There now. Good night to you, ma’am. I didn’t catch your name?’

  ‘Ginny,’ she said, realising at once that her voice was not in accord with her appearance. ‘Ginny Hodge. Good night to you, Mr Todd.’ She fumbled for the reins and kicked Isabelle into action, swaying and tipping over the puddles as her body, already aching with bruises, tried to stay upright. Once or twice she felt compelled to turn and look over her shoulder into the solid blackness and driving rain, though mostly her troubled thoughts were for the woman she had let down who would now believe the worst of her sort of people, as others apparently did. Perhaps she should have been a little less bountiful with her promises, a little more suspicious of people’s need to be helped. She had learned to be more philosophical over the last few years, but the disappointments of the day were felt more keenly than her bruises during the uncomfortable journey home and well into the small hours. It was at such times that she missed Josiah’s fatherly counselling most of all.

  Sheen Court, Richmond, Home of the Marquess of Sheen

  A guarded tap on the door of the study was answered by a gruff monosyllable and the lowering of a pen on to the leather-covered desk. A single candle guttered in the draught as the door opened and closed.

  ‘Any luck?’ was the quiet greeting.

  The visitor allowed himself a half-smile. ‘Yes, my lord. I believe we may have something.’ He held up a wet embroidered reticule, the drawstrings of which had been pulled wide open. ‘It was not so fortunate for the woman, a certain Ginny Hodge, mind you. She got herself mugged by a thieving old dowd at the workhouse gates and lost the contents of this.’ He laid the bag on the desk before his lordship and watched as the long fingers drew out the remaining objects one by one: a blue glass perfume bottle with a silver stopper, a damp lace-edged handkerchief of very superior quality, and a tortoise-shell and silver filigree card-case, which opened to reveal one single card.

  This was removed and studied in silence for what seemed to the visitor like an extraordinarily long time before his lordship shook his head with a grunt of disbelief in his throat. ‘Well … well!’ he whispered. ‘Was this … Ginny Hodge … hurt by the mugging?’

  ‘I think not too seriously, sir. I followed her home to Paradise Road. One of the big newish houses. She went in by the back way, but she didn’t sound like a servant to me, sir.’

  Raising himself from his chair, his lordship went over to the side table, poured a glass of whisky and handed it to his informant. ‘Drink that,’ he said, ‘and get into something dry. You’ve done well.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. Shall you need the coach in the morning?’

  ‘No, the crane-neck phaeton. Good night, Todd.’

  ‘Good night, my lord. Thank you.’ The empty glass was exchanged for a silver coin, and the door was closed as quietly as it had been opened. But it was much later when the candle was at last extinguished and Lord Nicholas Elyot, swinging the reticule like a trophy, ascended the staircase at Sheen Court.

  Chapter Two

  By breakfast, Lord Elyot’s surprise had mellowed and a plan of action had already begun to form in his mind about how best to proceed, given that his father’s instructions would require some readjustment. To the genteel rattle of newspapers and the clatter of cutlery on plates, he had consulted his brother about the day ahead, though his suggestion had not been received as favourably as he’d hoped.

  ‘Nick,’ said Lord Rayne, laying down his knife, ‘if I’d known you’d hauled me back to Richmond to be wet-nurse to a green chit, I’d have stayed in London. You know I’d do anything for you, but this is a fudge if ever I saw one.’ He laid down his crisp white napkin with rather more force than was necessary and sat back, still chewing. ‘She’s only just out of the schoolroom, dammit!’

  ‘It’s not a fudge,’ said Lord Elyot. ‘I mean it. And I’m not asking you to marry the child, only that you keep her happy while I—’

  ‘While you keep Lady Chester happy. Thank you, but I have a better idea. You take the frilly one and I’ll take the diamond. How’s that?’

  Lord Elyot reached for the marmalade-pot and heaped a spoonful of it on to his toast. ‘Two good reasons. One is that you’re not her type. Second is that you don’t have the time. You’ll be a member of His Majesty’s fighting force soon, don’t forget.’

  ‘Not her type? And you are, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes.’ The bite into the toast was decisive.

  Reluctantly, Lord Rayne was obliged to admit that his elder brother would succeed with Lady Chester if any man could, for it would take a cold woman to be unaffected by his darkly brooding good looks and the singular manner of his total concentration upon what she had to say. Which was not the usual way of things. As to the time he would need, Nick was right about that, too. The lady’s response to him had been polite, but far from enthusiastic, and he would need both time and help to gain a more lasting interest. ‘What’s it worth to you?’ he said.

  Lord Elyot’s pained expression was partly for his brother’s mercenary train of thought and partly for the messy nature of toast and marmalade. ‘I’m doing you a favour, sapskull,’ he snapped. ‘The child’s a pert little thing, not a dimwit. Pretty eyes, rough round the edges, but you could have the pleasure of working on that. She’d not resent it. She’ll be a little cracker by the end of the season and then you can leave her to somebody else. A built-in escape route. What more d’ye want, lad?’

  ‘Cattle. I shall need three or four good mounts to take with me.’

  ‘What happened to your allowance?’

  ‘You know what happened to it or I’d not be on a repairing-lease in the country, would I?’

  ‘All right. Four good mounts it is. For your help, Seton.’

  ‘For my full … unstinting … liberal and generous help. When can we go and look at them?’

  ‘We’ll look at the women today. This morning. We’ll take my new crane-neck phaeton out. You can drive.’ Lord Elyot leaned back, satisfied.

  ‘Just one detail, Nick. How d’ye know there isn’t a husband there somewhere?’

  ‘I made enquiries.’

  ‘You don’t waste much time, do you? And what about this urgent business for Father? Where does that come in?’

  ‘That’s in hand, too,’ he said, ‘but I want you to keep that very much to yourself, Seton, if you will. A word about that in the wrong ear can send them up like pheasants.’

  The particular pheasant Lord Elyot had in mind was already flying at a steady pace along the edge of Richmond Park in a coffee-and-cream phaeton. The driver of this neat little turn-out had evasion in mind, but her passenger was on the lookout for the merest sign of the two men who, since their meeting yesterday, had satisfied her every criteria for what makes the perfect Corinthian. Believing that she had won the argument about a need for fresh early-morning air, Caterina had resisted all her aunt’s recommendations that she should wear a shawl over her spencer and pale blue walking-dress, and now she wished that the stiff breeze would abate a little. Holding the long ribbons of
her blue ruched bonnet with one hand, she clung to the side of the phaeton with the other as they bounced on elliptical springs through a deep puddle.

  ‘Aunt Amelie,’ she said, half-turning to see if the tiger was still on his seat behind them, ‘do you think … we could … slow down a little? There’s a … phaeton over there … in the … distance … oops! I can’t quite … see. Please?’

  Amelie’s hands tightened on the reins. It had been her intention to speed with all haste to Kew Gardens with Caterina in order to avoid the visit that she feared might result from their introduction to Lord Elyot and his brother, who she knew to be returning to Richmond yesterday. Conversely, sending a message to the door to say that they were not at home would not please Caterina one bit, nor would it help to fulfil her assurances to Caterina’s father.

  Yet after last night’s bitter disappointment and her poor night’s sleep, the thought of being even civil to the unfeeling pair was more than she could bear, and Caterina’s pleas to go out driving instead of revelling in her new dress-lengths had seemed to Amelie like a chance to please herself while appearing to please her niece. Now it looked as if her strategy had been identified, as the vehicle in question had swung round in a dangerously tight half circle to head in their direction.

  It would have been folly for her to go any faster, as she would like to have done, with the small body of the phaeton suspended above the lightweight undercarriage and the greys being so eager, but Amelie saw no reason to slow down either. The road ahead was clear except for the approach of an open landau, and it was the tiger’s warning as he stood up to peer between their heads that decided the pace after all. ‘Watch out, m’lady!’ he called. ‘Them two are ‘avin a bit of a frisk, by the look o’ things. Better pull up till they’ve passed. Aye, I thought as much. It’s the Oglethorpes’ new pair. That’s it, m’lady. Keep ‘em on the rein till I’ve got their heads.’ He leapt down off his rear perch and ran to the bridles, and Amelie had no choice but to wait for the two fretting horses to pass, receiving the coachman’s thanks but only the briefest of acknowledgements from the two female passengers.

  Amelie would have been surprised if it had been otherwise; only the men in Richmond had ever offered any warmer salutation in the last five weeks and, as yet, no lady had left her calling-card. Before they could move off again, the towering crane-neck phaeton had caught them up, making their lower version look sedate by comparison. Sensing Caterina’s frisson of excitement, Amelie glanced at her and saw how nervous fingers smoothed the blue muslin over her knees, saw the alertness in her posture like a soldier on parade. So soon she was in love, and all a-flutter. Within her own breast, she felt again that uncomfortable kick against her lungs and put it down either to the affray of last night or having eaten her breakfast muffin too quickly.

  ‘Lady Chester, Miss Chester,’ said Lord Elyot, tipping his hat. ‘What a happy coincidence. You are out early. Do you go to see and be seen up on the Hill?’

  Richmond Hill was a favourite parade-ground for showing off one’s horse or carriage, which Amelie had so far avoided. ‘No, my lord,’ she said, aware of the looks being exchanged between Caterina and Lord Rayne, ‘we’re on our way to see the newest blooms at Kew. I’m teaching my niece to depict them.’ She wished instantly that she had not made it sound so school-marmish, but her large canvas bag lay at their feet, bulging with sketchbooks and paint-boxes, and the men would surely have seen it from their height.

  Lord Rayne leaned forward the better to see Caterina. ‘The study of blooms,’ he said, ‘would seem to be a glaring omission from my education, my lady. Would you allow us, just this once, to accompany you to see how it’s done?’

  Caterina was about to enthuse, but Amelie used an elbow to nudge her into silence. There was no question of her showing them or anyone else except her niece how to draw blooms, and the mock-interest Lord Rayne was showing annoyed her by its facetiousness. ‘I cannot prevent you going where you will, Lord Rayne,’ she replied, ‘but we are not inclined to demonstrate. I beg you to excuse us.’

  Her indignation swelled once more as she recalled for the hundredth time those hurtful words the two men had used only yesterday: ‘Loose screw … do-gooders … addle-pate … ought to be locked up …’ Buxton people had thanked her and called her stout-hearted: here, they called it interference and would put a stop to it, if they could. Not even for Caterina’s sake could she forget or even try to find an allowance for their heartlessness, nor could she shake off the thought of the miserable childbearing woman she had failed last night. At that moment the two events were linked in her mind, and any goodwill she might have pretended for the sake of Caterina’s burgeoning emotions was still-born.

  Sitting nearest to Amelie as his brother’s passenger, Lord Elyot was better able to see the coolness as well as the anger behind her dark eyes and, though they were now turned towards the horses’ ears, not to him, he was determined to get more out of this meeting than an excuse when it was obvious that the niece was setting so much store by it.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘We have no wish to intrude, Lady Chester. But will you explain something to me, before you leave us?’

  ‘Certainly, if I can.’

  ‘I noticed that Mrs and Miss Oglethorpe could hardly raise an acknowledgement between them just now. Not that it matters, of course, but I wondered if there was a particular reason for their rudeness. Have they not been introduced to you?’

  He was right. It did not matter, but he may as well know now as later, and it may as well come from her, to set the facts straight. ‘Yes, they were, at church.’ He would want to know more, she was sure.

  ‘Yet no smiles and hardly a bow? Was she attempting to cut you, by any chance?’

  She sighed, then looked slowly at him and his handsome brother. ‘I think you and Lord Rayne will soon discover,’ she said, ‘that you do yourselves no favours by being seen speaking to Miss Chester and me. In London where we can be more anonymous, perhaps, but not here in Richmond. We are not quite the thing, you know.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Lord Elyot. ‘How very intriguing. Well, I suppose we could drive on at a smart pace, but I am inclined to beg for more details. I’m sure my brother is of the same mind. Do tell us. You are highwaymen in disguise? Escaped Muscovy princesses?’

  Though his eyes were shaded, Amelie recalled how they had looked at her in the shop, and she could not meet them again. ‘Nothing quite as dramatic,’ she replied. ‘We are northerners, sir. Worse still, my family has connections with industry. To put it bluntly, my lord, trade. There, I’ve said the awful word. Now I shall go and rinse my mouth with water and vinegar and you will put some distance between us as fast as you can. We shall not hold it against you. I bid you both a very good day.’

  ‘Wait!’ Lord Elyot’s gloved hand could not reach Amelie’s phaeton, but his command was enough to hold her back. ‘Please?’ he added, squeakily.

  When she sneaked a look upwards, she saw that he and his brother were grinning broadly. ‘You may smile, Lord Elyot,’ she said, ‘but the good people of Richmond take such things very seriously, you must know. Or had you forgotten? We might display any number of harmless eccentricities like sketching blooms at Kew Gardens, but trade is unforgivable, sir. Somebody has obviously got wind of it. And the north … well, nothing there but mills and clogs and smoke and strange dialects. Miss Chester and I own only one head each, but some have two, or even three! Can you imagine it?’

  To keep her straw hat firmly in place in the blustering wind, Amelie had tied a long gauze scarf over it, swathing her neck and making it difficult for him to see her face without craning forward. But her sarcasm had produced an angry flush and a sparkle to her superb eyes that Lord Elyot could only guess at until his brother moved the horses forward a step. Then he was better able to judge the passion behind her droll revelations and to see that she was not quite the amenable obliging creature he had met the day before, nor was she the misguided woman whose reticule he now posses
sed.

  Equally significant was the expression of dismay on the pretty niece’s face at the scuppering of her hopes. So this was the reason why they had kept out of the social scene for five weeks and why the young lass was so keen to make contact with the first half-decent beau to speak to her. His laughter had stopped well before Amelie had finished her explanation.

  ‘With difficulty,’ he said, in answer to her question. ‘But am I to understand that Richmond approval is what you desire, my lady?’

  Her voice lost its flinty edge. ‘Not for myself, my lord. I did not come here to seek high society and there is no one’s approval I need. I have more interesting matters to keep me occupied. I bid you both good day, my lords.’

  Giving them no time to recover or to say a proper farewell, she called out to Riley to let the horses go, cracked the whip above their heads with astonishing precision, and set them off so fast that the poor tiger had to take a flying leap at the back of the perch as it passed.

  ‘Whew! You in an ‘urry, m’lady?’ he gasped.

  ‘Yes. How do we get out of this place?’

  ‘Thought you was going to Kew, m’lady.’

  ‘Well, I’ve changed my mind. Left or right … quick, man!’

  ‘Left! Steady, for pity’s sake, or we’ll all be in the ditch.’

  ‘Rubbish! If you can’t stay aboard, get off and walk.’

  Riley grinned. ‘Yes, m’lady.’ He would rather have been seen dead.

  Amelie’s sudden reversal, however, was heartily disapproved of, and had done more than bring a mild disappointment to the young breast at her side, for now there were tear-filled lashes and a voice husky with broken dreams. Turning round after taking a last lingering look at the classy phaeton’s driver, Caterina rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief and dabbed, reserving her questions for the privacy of the breakfast parlour at Number 18 Paradise Road. Travelling at Amelie’s speed, it did not take long.