by Unknown
The Blue Room was a haven of warmth and comfort. A fire blazed in the hearth and candles glowed softly, chasing away the dank, dark afternoon glowering outside the long windows facing the square. A maid servant rose hastily from her knees beside the large porcelain tub at their entrance and bobbed a curtsy.
"I hope everything is to your satisfaction, my lord. And if the young gentleman should need anything he has only to ring."
"Thank you." The earl smiled. "It's Molly, isn't it?"
The rosy cheeks blushed scarlet as the girl bobbed another curtsy. "Yes . . . yes, my lord, it is," she stammered in confusion, quite overset by this unlooked for and most unusual recognition. The door closed on her somewhat precipitate retreat and Danielle looked approvingly at Linton.
"That was well done, indeed, milord. Do you know all your servants by name?"
"Alas no, infant," he confessed ruefully. "I cannot claim that credit, merely lucky chance in this instance. The girl is the granddaughter of my housekeeper and as such was once presented to me."
"But you remembered. I have been wishing just recently that I had taken the trouble to learn something of our servants in Languedoc." There was a dispirited note in the soft voice which the earl made haste to dispel.
"You know what they say about spilt milk, Danielle." He examined the linen-covered tray on the table. "You have a most delicious nuncheon, brat. I suggest you address yourself to it without delay."
Danielle peered at the baked egg, the bread and butter, roasted chicken wing, and custard tart. A glass
of sherry and a pot of tea accompanied the repast. "I think your advice is sound, sir." Her eyes gleamed mischievously. "You may safely leave me to my own devices, milord. I look forward to a few hours of luxurious solitude."
Linton laughed. "I will fetch you something to wear after your bath." To her amazement he left through a door in the far wall and she heard an unfamiliar voice from the neighboring room before the earl returned with a velvet robe over one arm.
"You will be quite lost in this, I fear. But it will have to serve in the absence of anything more suitable."
"Who is in there?" Danielle gestured to the half-open door.
"Petersham, my valet."
"That is your chamber, then?"
"Yes." He frowned at her concerned face and then, as comprehension dawned, smiled reassuringly. "I wished you near me, child. I thought perhaps you might be more comfortable too, knowing I was within calling distance. Was I mistaken?"
Danielle shook her head slowly. "No, milord. I find the thought of your proximity most reassuring. This is all a little unfamiliar, you see."
"I do see, infant. Now, you need have no fear that you will be disturbed unless you so choose and I must attend to my business." Yielding to a sudden impulse he laid a gentle finger under her chin, tipping her head and dropping a light kiss on the upturned nose. Danielle looked startled, but made no attempt to draw back. Such caresses had rarely come her way, the de St Varennes not being given to displays of affection, but she decided that this salute was infinitely preferable to her boxed ears of the previous evening.
"You are going to be a most beautiful woman one day, Danielle de St Varennes," the earl said softly. "I am amazingly eager to see the transformation."
The next instant she was alone, one finger absently rubbing the tip of her nose where his lips had just rested.
With immense relief the earl once more placed himself in Petersham's able hands, doing his best to ignore the hurt, disapproving sniffs that accompanied that gentleman's ministrations. The valet's pride had been sorely wounded by his master's refusal to allow him to accompany him on his journey to France and since he was also to be left behind when Linton journeyed into Cornwall, HisLordship deemed it sensible to do nothing to soothe the ruffled feathers at this point. He would only have to repeat the process on his return.
He emerged from his bathing chamber much refreshed and nodded his approval of the coat of blue superfine with silver buttons that Petersham had laid ready on the bed.
"The perruque a bourse, I think," he decided firmly, sitting at the dresser mirror to tie the cravat reverently handed to him. Whilst traveling, particularly without his valet, he preferred not to be bothered with the wigs and powder considered de rigueur in Society but in the comfort of home bowed to the edicts of fashion and concealed his own black locks beneath a variety of wigs. As he was adjusting one of these creations with careful fingers under the anxious gaze of Petersham the most unusual sound drifted through the room. The earl's fingers stilled for an instant and the valet's eyes widened. Someone was singing. A pretty, lilting voice, quite unmistakably female, trilled the melody of a very familiar French folk song.
After the barest hesitation, Linton continued his toilette. "I have often remarked, Petersham," he observed calmly, "that one of your most priceless qualities is a certain gift of deafness—selective deafness. You understand me, I'm sure." His eyes met those of the other man in the mirror.
"Perfectly, my lord." The valet bowed and handed the earl his snuffbox.
Justin made his way down the stairs, reflecting with amused exasperation that he must inform his ward that singing in her bath was, on this occasion at least, a somewhat indiscreet activity.
"Ah, Peter, I am returned to plague you, I fear." He greeted the somber-suited young man, who rose instantly from the desk at his entrance to the book room.
Peter Haversham, the younger son of an impoverished baronet, considered himself very fortunate to have found employment as secretary to the Earl of Linton. Not only was His Lordship a most considerate employer, he was also deeply involved in his country's political activities, particularly those overseas. This involvement was known to few, the earl preferring to cultivate for more public consumption the demeanor and life-style of a leader of the ton, but for the young man with strong political ambitions no better patron could be found. So it was with very genuine disclaimers that Mr. Haversham responded to My Lord's greeting.
"Your business in Paris was successful, I hope, Lord Linton?"
"Depressing, Peter, very depressing—and unexpectedly fatiguing," Linton added with a slight smile. "Will you take a glass of Madeira, dear boy?"
He poured the wine before seating himself behind the large carved desk. "I have a task for you, Peter, admirably suited to your talents—in particular to your gift for tact and discretion."
The young man bowed, wondering with interest what his employer was about to demand of him.
"A letter to Pitt," Linton went on calmly, "requesting a meeting, most urgently, for this evening. At a time that will be convenient to him, of course, but if you could manage to convey that a relatively early hour would be most convenient for me, I should be obliged to you." An eyebrow lifted questioningly.
"Of course, my lord."
"You are a prince amongst secretaries," Linton murmured. "You will explain to Pitt that I shall have a companion—a young lady—who has some information that he will find invaluable. I see you look startled, Peter?"
"Not at all, sir." The young man made haste to deny the charge.
"You will also convey that this young lady's identity must be kept secret, for reasons of her own, but that I will vouch for the truth of her story and the reliability of her information. I beg his indulgence in this regard. . . . You will understand how to put the matter, I am sure, Peter."
"I shall do my best, my lord."
"Yes, I know you will, dear boy. I shall be going into the country tomorrow for a se'enight, maybe longer, so if there are any matters requiring my immediate attention perhaps we could deal with them now." The earl sipped his Madeira thoughtfully, regarding the inscrutable countenance of the young man with a degree of well-concealed amusement. He could well imagine the speculation going on behind that broad, intelligent brow.
"You are going to Danesbury, my lord? There are some small matters of the estate that need your attention."
"No, Peter, my destination, I fear, is not to be D
anesbury," Linton said uninformatively.
"In that case, sir, there is nothing but some invitations to which I will send your regrets. Do you expect to return for the Duchess of Devonshire's ball?"
The earl frowned. "No, I think, Peter, that I shall contrive to be out of town on that day. Regretfully, of course."
"Of course." A gleam of amusement flickered in the cool green eyes. Peter Haversham was well aware of his lordship's bored distaste for the "squeezes" of the Season.
"I will leave you to your work, then. Would you inform Bedford that I shall dine at six o'clock in my apartments. He should lay covers for two? One course will suffice as I will not wish to be disturbed."
Peter bowed, imagining the consternation and havoc this message would wreak in the kitchen where its master was already joyously involved in preparations for a magnificent repast to welcome1 His Lordship's return. His artistry had little enough opportunities for creative fulfillment during the earl's absences.
A smart curricle stood at the door to Linton House, a wiry lad holding the heads of a pair of beautifully matched blood chestnuts, as Justin emerged into the sullen afternoon. It was no longer raining, but an overcast gray sky hung low over the town.
"They look fresh, Tomas," His Lordship observed, climbing into the curricle and taking the reins between his gloved hands.
"Beggin' your pardon, me lord, but they've the devil in 'em.
Been eatin' their 'eads off for the last week," the tiger replied.
Justin only laughed. "Stand away then."
The lad released their heads and the pair sprang forward, hardly giving the agile figure time to leap up behind. Linton steadied them with a barely perceptible movement of his wrists and the magnificent equipage set off at a well-controlled trot out of the square, totally unaware of the pair of envious brown eyes watching from a second-floor window.
Madame Lutece, alerted by a wide-eyed servant girl,hurried into her shop as the Earl of Linton, with the brisk injunction to Tomas to walk the horses as he'd not be above a half hour, descended from the curricle outside her Bond Street establishment.
"My lord, this is indeed an honor. How can I be of service?" The beautifully gowned figure swept a curtsy, hiding her sharp-eyed speculative look beneath lowered lashes.
The earl brushed a speck of dust from an immaculate forearm before replying. "I wish for an afternoon gown for a young lady, madame."
"Might I ask how young, milord?"
"Very young," Linton informed her succinctly. "Also rather small."
Madame schooled her features. If the Earl of Linton was setting up his mistress from amongst the infantry that was no concern of hers, although reliable rumor had it'that Linton's tastes ran to the more sophisticated members of the demimonde.
"Something . . . demure . . . perhaps, milord?"
"We understand each other perfectly, madame."
A shrill stream of orders was issued to the waiting girls hovering in the background and within minutes a selection of crisp muslins, some sprigged, some figured, all in the first style of elegance was being paraded before His Lordship's knowledgeable eyes.
"That, I think." He pointed to a delicate pale green gown, sprigged with flowers in a darker shade with deep green velvet knots adorning the sleeves and a taffeta sash of the same color. It would be worn with
a modest white fichu at the neck and a slight hoop.
"About fittings?" Madame inquired tentatively.
"There will be none." The earl took snuff, snapping the box and replacing it in the deep pocket of his coat before looking around the group of girls surrounding Madame. "You, child." He beckoned and the smallest member of the group stepped forward hesitantly. "Would you oblige me by trying the gown?" A warm smile accompanied the request, lightening Milord's somewhat intimidating countenance.
The child was a little fuller in the bosom than Danielle and a little shorter, but apart from that of very similar size. He gave madame his instructions regarding these matters coolly before continuing with the quiet request that she procure all the necessary garments to accompany the gown.
"Everything, my lord?" The astounded modiste could not keep the astonishment out of her voice.
The earl did not reply, merely raised his glass and examined her with haughty indifference until those sharp eyes dropped and a slight discomfited flush tinged the sallow cheeks.
"Do you find yourself in difficulties over this, madame?"
"No, no, not at all, my lord. I will send one of the girls to the milliners for .. . for everything. You . . .
you will require slippers also?"
"Everything. Also a warm cloak and a veiled bonnet. Is it quite clear?" He smiled pleasantly.
"Quite clear, my lord.. When will you be requiring the articles?" Madame Lutece struggled for composure. Never had she received such a request in all her years as unrivaled modiste to the ton. She was to scour the town for petticoats, chemises, pantalettes, stockings—everything!
"Have them delivered by five-thirty, if you please."
Madame gasped. It was now three o'clock. But Justin, Earl of Linton, was a customer whose value could never be overrated. One day he would surely marry and his countess would then most certainly repay Madame's establishment for this minor inconvenience. Another deep curtsy saluted His Lordship's departure and with a piercing stream of invective directed at her luckless apprentices Madame Lutece gave vent to her injured dignity and furious frustration at the task facing her.
Blithely unaware of the dismayed furor his visit had caused, Linton continued on his way. A visit to his bankers, another to a well-known jewelers on Bond Street, and another to a discreet establishment where he procured toilet articles necessary to the comfortable travel of a young lady and he returned well satisfied to Grosvenor Square.
"Ah, my lord." Peter Haversham hurried across the hall at his entrance. "The prime minister will be happy to receive you at eight o'clock this evening. He has to be in the House for a vote at eleven o'clock but hopes this will be convenient."
"Perfectly, Peter." The earl preceded the secretary into the library. "I must ask you for one other small favor, I think . .. Ah, thank you, Bedford. Yes, you may pour me a glass of the claret."
"What would you wish done with the packages from Madame Lutece's establishment, my lord?" The butler handed his master a glass, keeping both face and voice bland.
"Have them taken to my apartments and inform Petersham that I shall not require his services until later tonight. I shall not be changing for dinner."
"Yes, my lord." Bedford left the library, now firmly convinced that His Lordship was more than a little mad, unless he had been dipping very deep, which would be easier to understand but equally unlikely.
"Just so, Peter, just so," the earl observed coolly, seeing the broad grin on the young man's normally well-disciplined face. "Poor Bedford! I am sure he is convinced I have windmills in my head. Of course, he may be right," Linton added reflectively. "I begin to wonder myself."
"My lord!" Haversham was deeply shocked, but Justin just laughed.
"If I have, Peter, they are remarkably enchanting ones. Now, I shall be traveling by post tomorrow, so please see to it, will you?"
"You wish me to hire you a chaise, sir?"
The earl raised his glass. "That is what I said, I think," he commented gently.
"You will not be using your own coach, then?" the secretary mumbled lamely.
"Well, it might be a little difficult to travel in two carriages simultaneously, don't you agree?"
"I will see to it right away, Lord Linton." The young man bowed stiffly. "You wish for hired postillions?"
"Indeed. But I will take two of my own riding horses, should the chaise become too uncomfortable a mode of conveyance." A sweet smile accompanied the soft statement.
The earl's apartments consisted of his bedchamber, dressing room and bathing chamber, and a well-appointed paneled sitting room. It was to the latter that he now repaired. A table was la
id for dinner
a deux before the glowing hearth and a footman drawing the heavy crimson velvet curtains against the unwelcoming dusk turned at his entrance.
"Do you wish to be served, my lord?" he asked expression-lessly.
"No, you may leave everything on the sideboard. I shall serve myself." Linton went through to his bedchamber. Madame Lutece's packages covered the bed and with a slight smile he rapped briskly on the door connecting this room tp the Blue Room.
"Old?" The soft voice sounded hesitant.
"May I come in, Danny?"
"Bien sur, milord."
Danielle was curled on the chaise longue under the window, completely enveloped in the dark brown velvet robe. She looked gratifyingly pleased to see him.