by Dara Joy
Tables for games of chance were set up throughout the hall, and she noted a large buffet in the far corner.
(Her cheeks blushed as soon as she realized the curious shapes the food had been molded into.) The entire room buzzed with a plethora of sounds. Cards shuffling. Illicit murmurs. Glasses tinkling. Raucous laughter. Muffled giggles. Somewhere a pianoforte played.
Towards the rear of the establishment, a wide stairway led to the second level. Whatever was up there seemed to be tres chic, for the stairs were constantly crowded with all manner of couples going up and down.
She sighed blissfully. Frock’s was everything she had imagined it would be.
“What would you like to do first, Regg? Are you hungry? Would you care for some refreshment?”
“No, thank you, Henley. I say, let’s go upstairs first. It seems to be very popular.”
Henley blanched. “Up- Upstairs?” He stammered.
“Good God, no!”
Ginny was flummoxed. “Why ever not?”
“Be– because– just,” He flustered. “You can’t go up there, Ginny; if you mention it again, I shall take you home straightaway!”
“But why?”
“Never mind. Stap me, but you ask the most outrageous things sometimes. Now you did agree to listen to my guidance before we left, my dear. You will not even think of going up there!” His voice raised an octave from its already high pitch. “I mean it.”
“Yes, yes. Whatever you say.” Her curiosity was now peaked. She would be going up those stairs at the first opportunity.
At her seeming capitulation, Henley let out a sigh of relief. He knew Ginny would often do as she pleased, no matter what anyone said. Thank goodness she agreed to listen to him. Heavens. Just the thought of her in those natty rooms upstairs...!
Ginny’s focus was still on the puzzlingly busy stairway when a low chuckle caught her attention. The smooth sensual laugh seemed vaguely familiar.
Turning to see the source, she scanned the gaming tables. A rowdy couple moved out of her line of vision, leaving her a clear view to the table beyond.
Lord Devon sat at the card table; a buxom wench firmly implanted on his lap. The woman was scandalous in her attire. She wore a red silk gown, the bodice of which was so low that the crests of her nipples could be seen from straight across the room.
By his proximity, she’d wager Lord Devon had a much better view.
The wench leaned into his chest to whisper something in his ear. Lord Devon threw back his head in a hearty laugh as his palm shamelessly stroked her rounded bottom.
Unaccountably, Ginny was piqued.
He was utterly irritating!
Oh, she realized the man had been up front with her as to his frolicsome ways; he had even bargained with her for the right to continue with those merry ways. Nevertheless, he was promised to her. Why, they were getting married on Saturday! The entire ton would know of it. He could at least have the decency to behave like a gentleman until after the wedding.
Who did he think he was dealing with?
An unholy light came into her eyes.
Lord Henry, noticing the direction of her fiery gaze, came up short. “It’s Lord Devon doing what he does best. Ginny, dear, it would be wise not to confront the –
Ginny!”
Leaving Henley talking to himself, Ginny boldly sashayed up to Tyler. She simply stood there before him, silently flourishing a lace handkerchief.
It took a few minutes, but she finally captured the rogue’s attention.
Curious silvery blue eyes slowly traveled her foppish form.
When his sights fell to her powdered wig and heavily rouged face, the mild curiosity turned to a frown. It was her cue.
Leaning forward in a sweeping bow, Ginny addressed him in a nasal, trilling voice. “Reggie Moore at your service, my lord.”
With a sardonic grin Tyler arched an eyebrow.
“Not at my service, young man.” He turned abruptly away. The woman on his lap cackled shrilly.
The curt dismissal grated on Ginny. How dare he?
His casual disregard only made her wave her perfumed hanky in his face all the more! A barnacle by nature, she firmly attached herself to the confrontation.
“You misunderstand me, sir. I believe we are to be kin.”
The annoying woman rolled her eyes and snorted.
Tyler nuzzled her neck. “Not in a million years, boy,” he muttered back.
By this time Lord Henry had joined her, his expression wary.
“La, there you see, you’re quite wrong,” Ginny smiled beatifically, gesturing to both Henley and herself. “We shall be your cousins! And we wanted to make you most welcome to the family. Personally.”
Tyler’s eyes widened “The devil you say.”
Ginny feigned confusion. “Why, you are marrying our cousin, Lady Thomlinson, are you not, sir?”
Tyler’s mouth dropped open as he took in the two outrageous fops standing in front of him. “Well, I–”
Ginny gleefully threw up her hands, over dramatizing the moment. “I knew it! ‘Tis true then, cuz. We may call you cuz? This shall be a lark; I must say! I would love–”
Lord Devon stood up so abruptly that the woman in the red dress was unceremoniously dumped at his feet. His thunderous gaze went back and fourth from one to the other of them in abject irritation.
Could they be any more annoying? He wondered.
And why was the little one speaking so loudly? And that shrill tone...!
Like any proper gentleman of the ton, Ginny continued prattling on, completely ignoring the distasteful woman sprawled at her feet. “We cannot wait to come and visit you soon at Islemoor Hall.” She placed an arm around Henley’s shoulder. “We both shall.”
“Yes,” Henley agreed, falling immediately into the fun by raising his voice even higher. “A long visit, so that we may get to know each other so very well.”
They gave Lord Devon identical bright smiles.
Followed by a cacophony of high-pitched trills.
His lordship looked as though he would be ill.
Tyler’s nostrils flared. He detested society. He detested banal chatter. But most of all, he detested entertaining guests of the ton!
They were to be family? Damn and blast! He wondered how long it would take before he took out his pistol and shot them both dead as doorknobs. One good swipe of his sword would fell the two bobble heads at once.
It was only the image of those dismembered heads still chattering and smiling that stayed his hand.
That prospect was a bit too horrible for even him to contemplate.
PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
To a cloistered, unwed young woman, becoming a well-heeled gent in Londontown was like being offered keys to the kingdom. I did not have to do anything outrageous to enjoy the effects; I simply had to breathe. Surely, the very air is different when one is a youngblood in Londontown? Good lord, the freedoms! The decadence. The dissipation. As Sir Reggie reflected in this Daily Crust article:
“Methinks The Right Path ‘tis Not So Righteous: Regarding My Recent Foray As a Man About Town”
Humble readers, what goes up yet rarely goes up, yet merrily leads down? La, there is the rub. I'll give you a clue, my lovelies– it involves a rather down-heeled spot frequented by the well-heeled sort. Shall I make it a bit easier? Alas, any well-heeled sot would love to be sorted at this unheeled sport. I shall take mark upon your sensibilities and fire away: 'Tis true, loyal follower, I have confronted those stairs. Oh, dear. Oh, me oh my...
–Sir R. Moore I would be lying if I said I never wondered exactly what it was that Lord Devon did (by every account and extremely well) behind some of those closed doors...
PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
Chapter Eight
Tyler sank back against the cool, clean sheets of his bed, and closed his eyes.
He had the devil of a headache!
Bloody hell, why shouldn’t he? In bed at this hour, and alone to boot!
Against his will, his thoughts replayed the wretched evening he had just endured. The Duo, as he started to think of them, had dogged his steps the entire evening.
Like insistent mosquitoes, they constantly buzzed around.
First, they flitted after him to the buffet, loudly exclaiming over his good taste in his choice of dishes.
Then, they eagerly watched him chat up several women, commenting loudly on his seduction techniques.
They even hovered over him as he sat at the gaming tables!
He could not get rid of them.
Tyler groaned as he recalled a particularly painful memory. Reggie. That imbecilic fop!
He had been sitting at the card table trying to engage in play. The Duo perched over his shoulders like twin vultures on a limb. A hand was dealt him.
He had picked up his cards, almost dropping them as a shrill bleat– that could surely shatter glass– shrieked next to his ear, `My word, three aces, Lord Devon! How lucky for you!’
Forthwith, every player threw their hands onto the table.
He swore his ears were still ringing from the sound of that voice. That voice! He would hear it in his nightmares.
He had faced down more danger than a thousand men, but visibly shuddered at the thought of that bleating voice.
As if those incidents at the gambling hell weren’t bad enough, when he finally admitted to himself that the evening was ruined and he decided to call it a night, the Duo had insisted they drive him to his townhouse in Lord Henry’s coach. After all, they said it was raining, they couldn’t let a relative ride home in such weather– if he got soaked to the skin they would never forgive themselves should he catch a chill.
Tyler informed them in no uncertain terms that he had withstood freezing weather many a time with no ill ever befalling him.
No matter. They would not take no for an answer.
Containing his exasperation, he tied his stallion to the back of their conveyance and reluctantly entered the coach.
They chattered like magpies the entire trip.
They discussed the games of chance and who won what.
They analyzed the fashion worn– who looked smashing, who had put on weight. They even dissected the buffet table, exclaiming over the clever presentation of the melons and cucumbers. The food, for Christ’s sake! They talked about the bloody food!
His head had begun to pound abominably.
Turning over, Tyler picked up the pillow and slammed it over his face. How had he gotten into this mess? He couldn’t believe he had not been able to extricate himself from them.
Suddenly, he lifted the pillow, and sat straight up; the sheet falling in a puddle around his naked waist.
Good lord, will they actually become my in-laws after I marry Ginny? Was she fond of them? Would they visit frequently?
Tyler groaned out loud, collapsing back onto the bed. What could be so awful as relatives who were so awful?
He’d have to speak with Ginny about this.
Surely, she would be reasonable.
* * *
Ginny and Henley had giggled all the way back to Tareton Court.
* * *
Wednesday morning dawned bright and sunny.
Ginny was hoping for rain.
Then Lord Devon would be forced to call off their picnic.
She did not want to spend a minute more than necessary in that reprobate’s company. Once they wed, they could hopefully avoid each other like the plague. She had seen the true Tyler Devon at Frock’s; he was exactly as his reputation claimed– a womanizing rogue. Too captivating for femalekind’s good.
Ginny looked up at the maddeningly clear sky and stuck her tongue out at it. That wouldn’t help her; she supposed she should bathe and dress for the tedious outing to come.
Taking time with her bath, she decided to dress in her green velvet riding outfit. She prayed the irritant wouldn’t show up in a coach; she would be much happier on her own mount in control of her situation.
Mabel and Ginny were starting down the staircase when the sounds of men’s voices drifted up the foyer below.
Ginny didn’t recognize Lord Devon’s lower pitched voice among them.
Curious, she peeked through the banister rails to the anteroom below. Mabel’s head popped over her shoulder to have her own look.
It seemed that the Toad was having visitors today.
The fashionably dressed gentlemen followed her uncle into the front parlor. Ginny recognized them from prior visits to Tareton Court. Now that she recalled, she had seen them at Frock’s the other night as well. They had been traipsing up and down those forbidden stairs the entire time she had been there.
Ginny was beginning to suspect just what went on above the first floor of Frock’s.
She wondered how often the comely Lord Devon traversed that staircase.
A sharp intake of breath behind her drew her attention. Mabel had gone completely white. The stalwart housekeeper’s eyes looked vacant; her hands were shaking uncontrollably.
Thinking the older woman was having an attack of some kind, Ginny rushed to her side and gently lowered her to sit on a stair.
“Mabel! My goodness, Mabel, what is it? Are you ill? Tell me, please!”
The anxiety in Ginny’s voice penetrated Mabel’s odd state. Grabbing her charge’s arm in a vice-like grip, she hissed, “’Tis them, m’lady!”
“Them? Them who? Do you mean those men in the hall?”
“Aye.” Mabel’s eyes took on a light of madness. “I need ta be killin’ them! D’ ye know who they are?”
Ginny became alarmed at Mabel’s strange behavior; she had never seen her like this. “Yes, I know who they are: Lord Smiter and Lord Snead. But, why are you behaving like this? You obviously don’t know them and what’s all this foolish talk of killing?”
Mabel slowly got up. “’Tis no foolish talk, girl. I aim to kill ‘em both.” She turned, heading back to the bedrooms, presumably in search of a weapon of some kind.
Ginny raced after her.
“Mabel stop, please. I beg you!” She followed her into what used to be her father’s bedroom. It now belonged to her uncle; a fact that irked her to no end.
She stopped short as she spied Mabel yanking down her great-grandfather’s sword from above the fireplace.
The older woman could hardly hold the weight of it, much less wield it.
Ginny placed her hands on top of Mabel’s on the sword. “Please stop! You’re frightening me. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. Tell me what’s wrong, I beg you.”
Mabel saw the pain in Ginny’s eyes and dropped the heavy weapon with a thud. She sank onto the Aubusson carpet. “I swore I would kill ‘em both one day.”
Ginny joined her on the rug. Taking Mabel’s hands in her own, she calmly looked her in the eye. “Why would you want to do such a thing?”
Mabel burst into tears, covering her face with her work-worn hands. “They killed me daughter.”
Ginny gasped. She knew that Mabel had once had a daughter who had died; she had assumed, however, that the girl had been ill. “They– they murdered her?”
“Might as well have.” Mabel shoulders shook as she remembered the terrible incident. “Me daughter was a lovely lass– fifteen years old, she was. Sweet and kind t’ everyone she met. Had no guile in her.
But, she was a bit slow, y’ see. One night she went a’
chasin’ an alley cat thinkin’ ta give the poor thing some cream when she came upon them two brutes. They had ventured down ta Cheapside to go a ‘whorin’.
Drunk as skunks, they were. They saw me pretty little girl and ravished her. I heard her pitiful screams and came runnin’ ta her, but ‘twas too late.”
Mabel blinked back tears as the images kept coming. “I tried to attack ‘em but they threw me inta the brick wall, knockin’ me sensel
ess. The last thing I heard before I passed out was their mocking laughter.
Bloody toffs! When I come around she already lost quite a bit o’ blood. I tried me best ta save her, but ‘twas already too late. ‘Twas nothing I could do.”
Mabel’s shoulder’s slumped under the heavy burden of such dire memories.
Ginny was sickened by the ugly tale. “They– they actually cut her?” She asked softly, horrified at such cruelty.
Mabel looked confused.
“You said she bled?”
The older woman realized the innocence behind that question. She reached out and smoothed back a lock of the girl’s hair. “Aye,“ she agreed, “they cut her.”
“How horrible! We must do something, Mabel! But, you must not kill them. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” She impulsively hugged the older woman. “Promise me you won’t!”
Mabel’s heart swelled. She had lost one daughter, but ‘twas as though she had found another. She would not leave this one unprotected.
“Aye, I promise.” She patted the girl’s back kindly.
Ginny looked up, a determined light in her eyes. “You must leave it to me, Mabel. I will think of something, some way to make them pay. Lord Henry will help me too; I know he will. He’s very fond of you, Mabel.”
The older woman squeezed her hand.
* * *
An hour later, after Lords Smiter and Snead had left with her uncle, Mabel came to her room to tell her that Lord Devon had arrived.
So, he actually came.
Sullen, Ginny donned the velvet hat that matched her riding outfit. The little green chapeau perched on top of her head... And then listed to one side.
Since it exactly mirrored her mood, she defiantly left it that way. She was sorely irked at Lord Devon.
He greeted her in the foyer. The corners of his mouth curled when he spied the lopsided hat. “You look lovely, my sweet. Are you ready to leave?”
Ginny brushed him aside. “I am not ‘your sweet’ and you needn’t waste compliments on me, Lord Devon. Try to remember our situation; we are accomplices and that is all.”