“When we were discussing your painting, you failed to mention you actually lived in Gibraltar.”
Every nerve went on alert. “That is hardly remarkable.”
“Some might argue that point.” And a few moments later, “Being a girl on the verge of womanhood, no doubt you begged every day to return to London.” His whisper feathered her jaw just below her ear, and she shivered.
“Yes. Every day.”
“Not many interesting gentlemen in such a coarse and ugly garrison.”
“Gibraltar is not—” Coarse and ugly. “Few indeed.”
In her mind she saw Gibraltar—colorful baskets of flowers adorning tile-roofed houses, the sun sparkling on the sea, groups of children playing on the beach. Sails unfurling on ships leaving the harbor for exotic destinations farther east.
Her heart squeezed. Hard. So hard it constricted her lungs.
“Officers, merchants,” Sir Noah mused under his breath. “Perhaps a wealthy Spaniard or two.”
“Please, Sir Noah. I would like to enjoy the entertainment.”
“By all means.” But a few moments later... “No interesting naval officers on the return to London? Or perhaps you were too struck by mal de mer to notice.”
“We traveled by merchant ship.” She looked directly at him to make her next point more clear. “Sir Noah, the music.”
He smiled. “Of course.”
He did not disturb her again.
* * *
WHATEVER HAD CAUSED Sir Noah’s sudden interest in her time at Gibraltar, it could not continue.
At the card table during her weekly game at Annabelle’s, Josephine divided her attention between her annoying hand of cards and the even more annoying fact of Sir Noah’s busybody tendencies.
Why should he care whether she’d ever lived in Gibraltar? Or even been there? Let alone whether she’d found any matrimonial prospects—either there or on the return voyage to England.
Someone had told him about her father’s post in Gibraltar. Elias? No. He knew how cautiously she guarded that time of her life. Which meant Sir Noah had been talking about her to others.
The idea set a small nerve aflutter in her belly, which she ignored as she stared at her hand of cards.
And now, armed with what he imagined was special knowledge of her, he was toying with her. Trying to keep her perturbed, as if that could possibly gain him anything but her displeasure.
And she reacted to him like butter on warm bread.
It was unacceptable.
He was only a man—just another of Elias’s business acquaintances, albeit a much closer one, given that he was Elias’s heir. But still, only a man. Who happened to reside in the Mediterranean. On a ship.
She selected a card from her hand.
A man. Not a ship, or the sea or a small outpost at the gates to an exotic world. There was no reason to react to him as though he embodied all of those things.
“I’ve heard he keeps monkeys loose on his ship,” Annabelle reported with a wicked light in her eye.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Was there no refuge to be had from Sir Noah anywhere in London?
She bit her tongue to keep from pointing out how ridiculous and impractical loose monkeys would be. It would never do to be seen as defending him— especially during Thursday afternoon whist, from whence Annabelle, Ophelia and Honoria could carry all manner of speculation at lightning speed into the world.
“Monkey skins is what I’ve heard,” Ophelia said, sipping her tea. A painted-on mole sat delicately above one corner of her curved lips. “I’m told he serves refreshments from their shriveled hands.”
“Disgusting!” Annabelle declared. “What a dreadful rumor.”
Josephine tried for a change of subject. “I saw Lady Abbingale’s new gown last night. It was everything everyone said it would be. Such lovely lacework on the stomacher.”
But that hadn’t been the Bylar musicale’s main distraction.
“I do hope Sir Noah decides to host something,” Honoria said, as if Josephine hadn’t mentioned Lady Abbingale at all. “He is such a fascination. I daresay he could become the catch of the Season. Do you not agree, Josephine?”
She gave a laugh that came out a little too aghast. “I doubt the men of London will be forming a queue to send their daughters off with him to live among the Ottomans. But as for anyone else, there’s certainly no accounting for the vagaries of opinion.”
“So true,” Ophelia said. “Do you remember last year, when half of London was chasing after Curry? Good heavens. I don’t know when I’ve ever seen such a pasty complexion.”
Annabelle made a noise. “I seem to recall you being one of those attempting to curry favor—or favor Curry, rather.”
“This is outrageous. Josephine, tell her to stop.”
“It isn’t kind to air a person’s past failings, Annabelle,” Josephine scolded.
“Oh!” Ophelia slapped a card onto the table. “Outrageous.”
“Do you suppose Sir Noah dresses in Moorish clothes when he’s not in London?” Annabelle asked. Her eyes swept down and she plucked a card from her hand. “No doubt he speaks the language, as well.”
No, there was to be no reprieve. As if Sir Noah himself wasn’t vexing enough, he’d attracted the interest of every woman in London practically overnight.
She played a card. Every woman except her, of course.
“If he spends his time among the Moors,” Josephine said reasonably, “no doubt he does speak the language and dress the part. He could hardly get along otherwise.”
“It just makes him so...fascinating,” Annabelle insisted. “What do you think it could mean for his performance in bed?”
“I daresay a Moor makes love the same as any other man,” Ophelia scoffed. “Clumsily and without much to recommend.”
“Oh, I do hope not.” Honoria laughed. “How inconceivably disappointing that would be.”
Vivid images of stolen moments from years ago came alive—moments aboard the ship from Gibraltar. Whispered words in that foreign, Moorish tongue. Sweet, lingering kisses that were anything but clumsy.
“If Philomena were here,” Honoria said, “I have no doubt she could tell us. Oh, I do miss her. And I am nearly blind with envy. Imagine, being rescued by Katherine Kinloch and then joining her pirate crew.”
“Merchant crew,” Josephine corrected.
“Yes, well, be that as it may,” Annabelle complained, “it doesn’t change the fact that Philomena has all the excitement.”
“How she does love to take things to the extreme.” Ophelia sighed.
“But we’ve been blessed with a glimmer of excitement, too—haven’t we, Josephine?” Honoria’s too innocent green eyes turned in Josephine’s direction. “What do you think? Would making love with Sir Noah be the same as taking any other man to bed?”
“Not if he’s a eunuch.” The words shot off Josephine’s tongue, and Ophelia nearly spewed her tea.
“La, Josephine— A eunuch!” Honoria’s eyes went wide.
Josephine wished the words back with a vengeance. “It’s common enough in Moorish countries, is it not? But I can’t imagine that rumor is true.”
“A eunuch,” Annabelle said thoughtfully, sipping her tea. She set her cup down and slid her pondering gaze to Honoria. “Only imagine what a creative lover he would have to be.”
The fact that Josephine found the idea even remotely arousing only infuriated her more. “I doubt a eunuch has the desire to be anyone’s lover,” she said, even as a deep, intimate nerve pulsed to life. “Creative or otherwise.”
“Hmm,” Honoria said doubtfully. “He seems excessively virile for someone whose masculinity has been compromised.”
“There certainly didn’t seem to be anything missing,” Op
helia said.
Honoria raised a curious brow. “Is that based on careful observation?”
Josephine selected a card and set it down. “I can only imagine that if I were in that condition, I would make an effort to...augment my appearance. To avoid anyone remarking anything amiss, naturally.” She glanced at Ophelia. “Or missing, I should say.”
“Josephine.” Ophelia set down her cards and fanned herself vigorously, while Honoria and Annabelle laughed.
“La, Josephine.” Honoria laughed. “You’ve given the subject a good deal of thought, haven’t you?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE KNEW BETTER than to give a man like Sir Noah a good deal of thought.
The next morning Josephine could hardly keep her eyes open at breakfast, even though she’d slept a few minutes longer than she should have. If it weren’t for the girls, she would have taken breakfast in her room. It had been a long night of reading correspondence and drafting responses, making lists of urgent matters to discuss with Elias—if he would consent to discuss any matters at all—and generally doing anything but sleep.
Something needed to change. She could not sustain this for the entire Season. Not and do what she needed to for the girls.
The girls were her first priority. As a maid poured more coffee, Josephine decided it was finally time to seek a replacement for Joseph Bentley. It wouldn’t be easy. It would have to be someone trustworthy, discreet.
Charlotte would be mortified if she ever learned Josephine had been transacting business for Elias, and under a male pseudonym. Josephine should be mortified herself. Would be, of course, if the need to help Elias weren’t so urgent. She thought of Charlotte— always a little unwell, always a little afraid, always the one to cling to Mother. All the way home from Gibraltar, Charlotte had worried how they would be received, while Josephine had feared she would never see the Mediterranean again.
Josephine remembered how Charlotte had withdrawn in fear after Josephine’s mistake with Matthew and quickly thrown together marriage. The invitations Josephine had sent to Charlotte’s family after the wedding, and the always kindly worded refusals. Until the girls had come of age, and Josephine had begun to receive worried letters from Charlotte, full of fears about the girls’ futures.
She’d come so close to ruining Charlotte’s life with her carelessness all those years ago. She would not allow her unusual work for Elias to put her nieces at risk.
Nor your feelings for Sir Noah.
“Captain Ryson’s aunt is coming to London,” Lettie was saying. “He says he can’t wait to introduce me. She’s like a mother to him, you know. I think it’s a good sign. Do you not agree, Auntie Josephine?”
“A very good sign,” Josephine said, then she looked at Pauline optimistically. “You seemed to be enjoying Mr. Crumley’s company last night.”
“I daresay it was the other way around,” Pauline said, stirring sugar into her tea.
“I daresay it was,” Lettie said, “since Pauline isn’t interested in Mr. Crumley at all.”
It was hardly news, but the confirmation was disheartening. “I can’t imagine why. Mr. Crumley is very amiable. I suggest you talk with Lady Ramsey about him this afternoon. She is very well acquainted with the family and is no doubt privy to any number if interesting tidbits about him.” The girls would be visiting with Honoria that afternoon while Josephine made a trip to view Mays Abbey and determine its suitability for Elias.
It had been a foolish mistake to mention her plans to Elias, who had in turn mentioned them to Sir Noah, who promptly suggested that he impose his company for the outing. He would arrive within the hour.
“I doubt there are any interesting tidbits about Mr. Crumley,” Pauline said.
“There are interesting things to know about everyone, dearest, if one only takes the time to listen.”
Just then, Edgar came in. “Forgive me, your ladyship. The painting has been taken to the attic, but there are three paintings of the countryside in storage and we cannot determine which one you wanted.”
I want you to put the original back. “The one I’m thinking of has a flock of sheep.”
“There are two that fit that description, your ladyship. One has a cottage in the background.”
“Yes, that one. Thank you.”
It served nothing to be reminded of Gibraltar at all hours—nothing except to fuel her imagination with every kind of impractical, nonsensical daydream. She was not returning to Gibraltar. What did she imagine she would possibly do there if she did? She wouldn’t know a soul. Her title would give her entrée, but to what? A society of military up-and-comers? She would hardly fit into any of the other communities there.
Damn Gibraltar, anyway. She’d tormented herself with those memories long enough.
“You shouldn’t have that one over your fireplace taken down, Auntie Josephine,” Pauline said with dismay. “I love that painting.”
“Of course you do,” Lettie told her. “It has ships in it. And speaking of ships, you may be interested to know, Auntie, that Pauline may be deaf to Mr. Crumley’s merits, but she does have her eye on someone.”
“I do not have my eye on anyone.”
Lettie made a noise. “You do, and I know who it is.”
Pauline’s cheeks were red and her gaze was fixed on her plate—all the hallmarks of a girl with a tendresse for a man. “Lettie,” Josephine admonished gently, “it isn’t kind to force secrets if Pauline isn’t ready.” But if not Mr. Crumley, then who? Josephine bit back the urge to prod her for information.
“I do hope Captain Ryson will be there this evening,” Lettie said. “Oh, Auntie Josephine, he is absolutely the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.” She glanced at Pauline. “Infinitely more handsome than a certain other someone.”
“Lettie, hush!” Pauline stabbed a piece of egg that promptly slipped back to the plate.
“Pauline, you could catch the attention of any number of men if you wanted to,” Lettie pushed on. “But I daresay you’ll turn a blind eye to them all in favor of a certain newcomer, and you know as well as I that Mother won’t be pleased.”
Josephine looked at Pauline. “Newcomer.”
“You speak beyond your knowledge, Lettie,” Pauline said, but her cheeks pinkened.
“I am only trying to help. Auntie’s acquaintance with him ought to put you at an advantage, don’t you think?”
And suddenly Josephine knew exactly who this certain newcomer was: Sir Noah.
Good God—Josephine looked at Pauline and knew the worst was true. Pauline fancied herself in love with Sir Noah.
* * *
“REMARKABLE,” THE CERTAIN newcomer said sarcastically a few hours later as they emerged from the carriage at Mays Abbey, despite Josephine’s insistence that she hadn’t required his company in the first place.
They stood in the drive before a rectangular graystone house with neat rows of small windows marching across three levels. Misshapen hulks of unattended shrubbery blocked some of the windows on the ground level. She could see some buildings toward the back—a stables and an outbuilding. The closest stand of trees was some distance away, leaving the house itself jutting from the ground like an ancient stone rising from a meadow.
“An open mind is a testament to an enlightened soul, Sir Noah.”
He laughed. “If enlightened souls live in places like this, a lowly estate will do for me.”
A light drizzle began to fall, and they hurried for the door. “I’m told a man in the village has been hired to take care of the place until it’s sold,” Josephine told Sir Noah as they went inside. There were fully furnished rooms to the right and left of the entrance hall. Some pieces of furniture were draped with sheets. Some weren’t. A light dust covered everything.
“The furnishings will come with the house,” she add
ed, watching him lift the edge of a sheet to peer at the table beneath.
“Debtors?”
“So I’m told.”
Josephine looked into a salon, a dining room, a library only half stocked with books. Next she climbed the stairs, acutely aware of him a few steps behind, even more aware that except for the coachmen outside, they were alone. A step creaked beneath her feet, then his.
Sir Noah. No matter how hard she tried, her senses filled with him.
Apparently she and Pauline had more in common than their looks—and that was a disaster in the making. Of course Mr. Crumley appeared uninteresting to Pauline. Every man would when compared with Sir Noah. And if Sir Noah was the kind of man who caught Pauline’s interest, it would be impossible for Josephine to fulfill her promise to Charlotte.
Had there been some hint that Pauline was developing an interest in him? Josephine should at least have noticed something.
Upstairs, she peered into one bedchamber after the next.
“Plenty of accommodations for the ladies,” Sir Noah remarked. “Or guests, rather. I do believe I meant to say guests.” A little smile played at the corner of his lips.
It was only too easy to imagine what Charlotte would think if she knew this man had caught her daughter’s interest. Josephine saw her sister’s ever-worried face in her mind. Imagined Charlotte’s delicate hands wringing the way they always did, as if worry was her natural state.
But she’d promised Charlotte no ill would come of the girls’ visit, that Charlotte’s instincts were right to let Josephine introduce them into society. And that was exactly the way it would be.
“Elias will not be keeping any ladies here,” she said firmly, though she wasn’t entirely sure how she would stop him if he decided to try.
They finally entered what was clearly the master bedroom. A great bed sat in one corner, an armoire stood against the wall, and a collection of other furnishings dotted the rest of the room: bedside table, writing desk, several chairs, sooty fireplace screen decorated with a needlework foxhound scene.
She imagined Elias here, spending too much time in that bed, confining himself to these rooms because there was little else to do.
The Trouble With Virtue: A Comfortable WifeA Lady by Day Page 34