by J. D. Robb
“Good evening, Major.”
Lindsay turned to see a woman of a certain age, not his hostess.
“Good evening, madam. David Lindsay at your service.”
“Yes, my son knows you. Captain George Cardovan. Do you remember him?”
Cardovan, yes. A fine officer, badly wounded in an accident when the ship landed at Ostend.
“Of course I do. A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cardovan. Is your son with you?”
“He is. I have finally convinced him to come to town, though he is embarrassed that he cannot dance.”
And, Lindsay was sure, embarrassed that he had missed Waterloo. No matter that his quick thinking had saved lives in Ostend. To be wounded weeks before the final campaign was worse than death in Belgium. “I do understand. May I call on him?”
“He would welcome it, I am sure, Major. In fact, my niece would like to invite you to join us for dinner. George will be there too.”
“Why, thank you, Mrs. Cardovan.”
“Good. Grace is rather given to impulse. I am glad that you are not repelled by it.”
“A soldier learns to handle the unexpected.”
“A useful trait in this household, I assure you.”
Lindsay thought of the bright blue door, the fairies around the mantel, and wondered if they would be having cakes and cream for the first course at dinner.
Mrs. Cardovan walked away from him and stood with her back to the fire screen. “Have you known my niece long?”
Was she assessing his threat to her son’s courtship or being protective of her niece? “I’ve known her long enough to appreciate her laughter and effervescent charm, ma’am.”
She reached out and rapped his wrist with her fan. “Then not very long at all.”
What did she mean by that?
“Grace is a different woman since the viscount died and has earned every bit of pleasure life offers.”
“You have earned some fun as well, Major. Anyone at Waterloo deserves as much.”
It was not Mrs. Cardovan who spoke, and he turned to find Grace Anderson standing in the doorway. Before he could think of a way to answer she went on, “Good evening, Major. I am so sorry that I did not have a chance to speak with you during the party. I had hoped to have time to speak to everyone, but I fear my guest list was too ambitious. Will you stay for dinner?”
“Yes, thank you, my lady,” he said, giving her a slight bow.
“Wonderful.” She offered him her arm. “Petkin tells me the soup is ready to be served.”
Mrs. Cardovan hurried to the door. “I will go tell George.” Even as she spoke, the older woman nodded to him and left the room.
“Aunt Louise means well, but I wish she was not so inclined to believe in fairy tales. She has me cast as some butterfly just burst from a cocoon and still trying my wings.” She did not wait for a response but continued, “Tell me, have you ever had a soup made from apricots?”
Four
Dinner was . . . well, an adventure. Not the least of which was the apricot soup. Captain Cardovan’s welcome was embarrassingly enthusiastic and the two spent the first half of the meal talking of friends. By the time the more conventional fish course was served, Lindsay was feeling guilty for talking of nothing but the military.
From then on the four of them covered a dozen subjects, largely centered on the Season. Plays and balls were on everyone’s list, as well as excitement at the opening of the Waterloo Bridge sometime in June. “It will make for a break from the usual, will it not?” Lady Anderson said.
If by “the usual” she meant the constant parade of young girls making their bows and the speculation over what matches would be made, then she was right. He might not be part of that world any longer, but he could remember it well.
By the end of the meal it was clear to him that George Cardovan was no suitor, but was loved like a brother. Mrs. Cardovan excused herself and, after a pointed look from his mother, George joined her.
“I wish someone could convince my aunt that George must be allowed to live his own life.” Lady Anderson looked at him and shook her head. “He can hardly be expected to enjoy the Season if she is constantly worrying over him.”
He made some sort of neutral response, not at all inclined to take sides in a family squabble. She did not seem to expect an answer, but invited him back into the library, where a decanter of port awaited them.
She poured a small glass for each of them. This was another nod to the unconventional. No tea in the small salon for this hostess. No aunt to play chaperone.
She handed him a glass and then moved away, leaving the scent of her perfume as she moved about the room, like the newly hatched butterfly she had alluded to. One not quite ready to light in any one spot. She looked over her shoulder. “Did you enjoy the party?”
“Yes, thank you. It was an intriguing mix of people.”
“Yes, I suppose it was, but all dear friends of mine.”
“A pleasure to be included in so select a company.” Exactly how did he fit in this group?
She took a sip of her port as she swept around him again. Her orange spice scent was as intoxicating as the port he held. Before Lindsay could turn to face her, she was in front of him. “I see that your uniform looks as well as it did before Fetters tried to win his absurd bet racing down Bond Street.”
“Yes, my lady. Jesseck learned magic as my batman during the war years.”
“In truth, Major, it hardly matters what your coat looks like. All eyes are drawn to your medal.”
Lindsay looked away from her. “Too much has been made of it.” This was not quite what he meant, but he was not even going to try to explain.
“I can imagine that all the fuss does embarrass you.” She set her glass on the mantel. “When so many died. But you must wear it in honor of them, if acknowledgment of your own valor makes you uncomfortable.”
He did that sometimes when he first put it on or took it off. Thought of Winslow, Packard or any of a hundred others and prayed for their immortal souls.
She walked over and touched it. Not him. She touched the medal and looked up at him. “Or wear it in honor of all the things men and women have done that deserve medals and are never recognized.”
“Like childbirth,” he said, nodding, thinking of Billy and the mother who died to give him life.
She dropped her hand and looked at him with a start, her smile gone, her cheeks flushed as though he had just struck her, not with his words but with his hand. She turned from him.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am. That was most indelicate of me.”
She did not answer for a moment, then turned back to him, her smile in place, though this time it looked less natural. Her caution increased his unease. Rather like the way he felt in the field when all the birds grew silent and the animals stilled.
She moved around the room again, more slowly, not looking at him as she began.
“George, in his boredom, has told me all about you. Your family is from Kent. You’ve had an estate there since the time of Henry VIII. You were the second son. Your father bought you a commission. Your family, all of them and most of the servants, died of smallpox while you were in Spain.”
She stopped moving about and faced him. “I am so sorry for your loss, Major. To face death every day to save our way of life and to have your own family taken from you is the cruelest irony.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She came back to her original spot by the fire screen, took her glass but did not drink. She stared into the liquid as she continued.
“Then the land steward you hired to manage the estate brought it to ruin. You had to sell it to pay off the debt and were left with nothing but your commission, which you wish to sell so you can begin a new life.”
She paused, put her glass down carefully and looked him in the eye. “But selling a major’s commission in peacetime is slow work.”
She waited for him to speak, but Lindsay kept silent and held her gaze, caught betw
een a slowly simmering anger and curiosity. Was this sort of gossip Cardovan’s idea of friendship?
“I should imagine that, um, positions are scarce for men whose truest skill are enduring the Spanish winter and staying alive in France.”
“Yes, my lady.” He tamped down anger he could ill afford. If she knew of employment he must listen.
“Really, Major.” She spoke with a burst of irritation. “You do know how to converse, I saw that at dinner. This will not work if you cannot manage more than one-word sentences when we are alone.”
“My apologies. I am doing my best to remain civil when I would prefer to walk out of the room. To use your cousin as a spy is offensive to both him and me. My years in the army taught me how to hold my tongue and my temper, but this is too much.” He had expected her to be above such behavior. Like some callow boy, he had been mesmerized by her smile, her aura of sweetness.
Looking shocked and more than a little taken aback, she spoke in hurried apology. “I am sorry, Major. It is only that George thinks so highly of you and loves to talk of all things military. It was more than vulgar curiosity, I assure you. I truly did have a reason for asking.”
He gave her a curt nod, already regretting his outburst. Did she know about Poppy and Billy? If her source was Cardovan then she would probably know nothing of his present state of affairs. He could only imagine what society would make of his newfound family. He could at least be grateful he had been spared that.
She took a very small sip of the port. “I meant no offense, Major.” She angled her head slightly, and her eyes held more curiosity than regret. “Did you not use your own resources, or ‘spies’ as you say, to find out what you could about me?”
He had to concede that he had, but turned away from her rather than say it aloud. “If the invitation to your party and to dinner was a test of Cardovan’s understanding of me, then you are taking the long road to your ‘reason for asking,’ madam.”
“Yes. Yes I am.” She grimaced. “But it is a little unusual. I wonder how someone as, um, staid as you will receive it.”
“You think I am staid? After that burst of temper?”
“It was a justified outburst, Major.”
She bowed her head and spoke with such humility that he came close to forgiving her. “But you are right, sir, staid is the wrong word. Calm? No, perhaps not calm, either. Sober? Settled?” She tried each word and shook her head. “Not frivolous. Definitely not.”
“And you are nervous,” he said with some surprise. The realization erased the last of his anger, for it put him in charge.
“Nervous? Why, yes, I am a little.”
“I find ’tis better to act than to merely think about acting.”
“I suppose what you really mean is that fighting a battle is easier than thinking about one.”
“Precisely, but I find the same applies in peacetime.”
“Yes.” She could agree with him on this. “In fact, I think the Season is merely a different kind of battle. Not that I mean to belittle your experience in any way.”
“It has been years, my lady, but the nervousness before my first ball is unforgettable.”
“I made my bow fifteen years ago, and worried that no one would notice that the embroidery on my gown matched the color of my eyes.”
She looked up then, and he could see that there was more pain than pleasure in the memory. He took a step closer, then stopped himself.
“But that was a long time ago, Major. This time I am going into the battle certain of the outcome.”
Five
“Major, are you interested in employment? I would like to offer you a position.” She took a step closer. “A position for which I am willing to pay twenty-five pounds a week through the entire Season.”
“Twenty-five pounds? A week?”
She watched him. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. Was that the army training?
“What sort of position is it, my lady?”
“To continue the military analogy, Major: I want to hire you to be my ally. Would you consider work as my escort?”
“Your escort?”
She nodded, doing her best not to duck her head, to look him straight in the eye, to be businesslike. How did men do this? She should have asked someone. But who?
“What kind of escort?”
“More than an escort, actually. Could you be my companion? I would like to hire you to come with me to dinner parties, to take me to plays and the opera.”
Lindsay winced at the word “opera.”
“You do not like the opera?” She spoke as though she had already known that too. “You see, that is one of the reasons I am willing to pay you. So that there will be some reward for doing what is less than your favorite.”
“But surely you would have no trouble finding an escort.”
“Thank you, for I assume that is a compliment. But you see, I am not looking for a husband. In fact, I want to do all I can to discourage suitors. I do not want to marry again. Not ever. You are on my arm to make that perfectly clear.”
“If we are seen together all the time people will assume . . .”
He did not finish the sentence, and Grace was charmed that he was so straitlaced. “People will assume that we are lovers?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“But that would be no one’s business but ours.”
Lindsay stiffened, hesitated and then asked, “Are you hiring me to sleep with you?”
“No indeed, Major. We hardly know each other. And I am woman enough to prefer some degree of acquaintance before moving to the bedroom.”
“Then it is not a condition of the employment, but a possibility?” He did not wait for her to answer. “No, madam. This carries your eccentric inclinations too far. I am not so desperate that I must sell my body like some whore on the corner.”
Did he find her so unattractive then? It was so impossible to consider her as a lover? Was this attraction she felt one-sided? Drat and blast. “Hardly a prostitute, Major, more like a well-paid courtesan.”
He closed his eyes, and Grace could see him struggling to keep his temper in the face of the insult. This was entirely wrong. She should not even have made the offer tonight, but given him time to recover from the perceived insult of her learning all she could about him.
Now she’d deliberately baited him. Why? Because she wanted him to be at least as embarrassed as she was?
“I am sorry, Major. I did not mean to offend.” Grace walked closer, her words earnest and intense. “I wished only to offer a solution to both of our problems. I have no intention of doing any more than dancing with you. Could this not be purely a business arrangement? I know you were not married when you left Belgium, and if you will assure me that you have no wife or fiancée, then that is all I wish to know about your personal life.”
“I am not married and have no woman in my life.”
The fact that he answered her question convinced her that he might actually be considering her offer, despite the insult. The fact that he’d hesitated a moment in answering made her wonder what he was not telling her.
“Then that is all I need to know. I am offering you the position purely in the nature of a business proposal.”
“Business it may be, my lady, but not any that I wish to be a part of.”
“Please, there is no need to answer me now.” She wanted to touch him, but knew that even a hand on his arm was more contact than he would tolerate. “Lady Harriston told me that she plans to invite you to her ball. I hope to see you there. Can I count on your presence being your answer? And please, sir, do forgive the insult.”
He gave a curt nod, bowed and without another word left her alone.
Grace grabbed the port and took a healthy sip, and before she’d finished coughing her aunt was in the room.
“It did not go well?” Louise sat as Grace shook her head.
“It was close to disaster. I sounded like a crude hussy, lacking in all sensibility.”
&n
bsp; “Grace! What in the world did you say to him?” Her aunt put a hand to her heart as though palpitations were starting.
“First he accused me of using George as a spy, when all I wanted to know was if he was available.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“I am not going to endure the experience again by telling you any more of it. Trust me when I say that I have given him a disgust of me. I apologized and asked him to reconsider.” Grace shook her head. “When I asked him if he had formed any attachments since returning from Europe he said no, but I was sure there was something he was not telling me.”
“It would be easy enough to find out.”
“Absolutely not, Aunt Louise. He was so angry. If there is any chance he will reconsider I am not going to jeopardize it by making any more inquiries. He is entitled to some privacy, as are all my employees.” She drew a breath that was all disappointment. “I think it is hopeless.”
“What a shame.” Aunt Louise patted her hand. “It has worked so well for the last two years.”
“Because Belney had no interest in women and all Wharton wanted was money to emigrate to Canada.”
“I was sure the major was an ideal candidate, Grace.”
“I think he did forgive me the first offense, the spying. But then I let his lack of interest provoke me into a deliberate insult.” Why had she even mentioned that? Louise was all attention now. Grace waved her hand. “After that I cannot imagine the major will set aside his pride, even for twenty-five pounds a week.”
“One good thing has come from this, Grace. This is the first time I have seen you interested enough in a man to make a mull of it. Very good, my dear. I will be grateful for small steps. I should so like you to learn that sex is about more than a responsibility.”
Grace looked at the port, and the very thought of drinking more made her cough. “It is just as well, Aunt. I like my life as it is.”
“Then why do you look disappointed?”