by J. D. Robb
“Relieved. I am relieved,” Grace insisted. “He is too used to command and would have been very difficult to manage.”
She turned away from her aunt. She was relieved anddisappointed. She could still recall his hands on her shoulders, her back pressed against his chest, feeling overwhelmed and thrilled at the same time.
She shuddered. There were times when the body and the mind were not at all as one. She knew what sex was. Never mind Aunt Louise’s intimations—she had had more than enough of it to last a lifetime.
Grace turned back to her aunt. “Thank God he was offended. Clearly he is more a gentleman than I am a lady.”
Six
“Billy is sick?” Lindsay had returned home to find his household in chaos.
“Very sick, Papa. He is not breathing properly. Nancy has sent for the surgeon.” Poppy’s words came out in gasps that were filled with tears.
How would he pay for the surgeon? Panic slid through him. Lindsay took Poppy’s hand and hurried up the two flights of stairs to the nursery. He would find the money. There had been enough death in his world. If the surgeon could cure the boy then he would do whatever he had to do to pay for it.
Lindsay went through the day nursery and into the room where both Poppy and Billy slept. No sooner was he through the door than fear nudged the panic aside. God, what if this was contagious? What if Billy infected Poppy and she died too?
“Jesseck is in the hall waiting for the surgeon. I want you to go downstairs and make sure he stays awake.”
Poppy obeyed without question. It was a miserable few hours, and close to dawn before the surgeon discovered that the labored breathing had been caused by nothing more than a pea the child had pushed up his nose.
Poppy and Nancy both began to cry, but this time they were tears of relief. Lindsay comforted them and in no time the house was settled into the rhythms of sleep. The surgeon promised to send a salve that would ease the boy’s discomfort and Lindsay sent Jesseck to bed, insisting that he would stay up until it arrived. He decided to wait outside, so that a knock would not echo through the house and disturb the children.
The milkmaids were making their way through the neighborhood, the fruit and vegetable carts lumbering by. As he watched the morning parade, he pulled Poppy’s coin from his pocket. The surgeon had looked skeptical when Lindsay promised prompt payment. How many others were on the list to be paid? How long before debtors’ prison claimed him?
Lindsay stared at the coin, not golden now but dark and unresponsive. “Is Lady Anderson’s offer the answer to my wish?”
Even as he spoke, a man approached him. “What was that, Captain?”
It’s Major, Lindsay thought. The man was wearing some kind of naval uniform. He ought to know rank, but Lindsay was too tired to correct him.
“You want to know if your wish has been granted,” the man said, answering his own question and stepping closer. “The thing is, sir, you can never tell with wishes.”
“It is none of your business.” Lindsay gave him a cold stare, but the man stood his ground.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but you asked about your wish and I am come to answer.”
“You are an expert on wishes?” It was a comment bordering on the absurd, but the man answered anyway.
“Indeed I am.” He took off his hat and bowed as if that would be introduction enough. “You wished for employment that was pleasurable and profitable, did you not?”
Lindsay took a step back, aghast at the thought that this proposal had already found its way to the gossip mill.
The man held up his hand, his hat still in it. “Never fear, sir. I am no threat to the discretion so essential to this offer.”
Lindsay pushed the coin back into his pocket and prayed the man was telling the truth.
“You see, sir, the coin interprets the wish in its own way.” The man ran his hat through his fingers. “Sometimes an explanation is needed.” He bowed again.
Lindsay shrugged, humoring the man while trying to think of some reasonable explanation for his appearance.
“Now, sir, you asked for employment both pleasurable and profitable. That is what has been offered, is it not? The position with Lady Anderson? It is what you need, sir, and not only for the money. You need to step back into your rightful place in the world.”
He would throw the ridiculous coin in the river the very next chance he had.
“Surely it is not the amount, Major. Twenty-five pounds a week seems a princely sum to me.”
“It is.” Lindsay hesitated and then decided that anything that happened this early in the morning was no more than a dream. “The work I am offered is hardly honorable.”
“Aha, but you see you did not include ‘honorable’ in your list.” The man nodded, as if he were agreeing with himself. “And, sir, I ask you, what is dishonorable about the position? Any work that you take on to provide for your family would suit my definition of honorable.” He spoke with a firm nod, as though that was the final word.
“Then we define honorable differently.”
“No, we do not. It is only that your definition is clouded by pride. Honor and pride. They are not the same.”
“And preserving my pride was something else I failed to include in my list.”
“Very good, Colonel. Yes, indeed, your wish is granted. It is up to you to make the best of it without compromising what is most important to you.”
And with a nod, the man put his cap back on and continued down the street.
Seven
“Major David Lindsay.” The steward’s voice was well suited to his current task announcing guests. His baritone carried across the ballroom and caught the attention of Grace Anderson.
Elation swept through her. He was here. There was still a chance he would agree to her offer. He was not particularly late—the Harristons were still receiving guests—but she had given up hope when he had not been among the first to arrive.
At the announcement of his name, the woman she was speaking with stopped talking and turned to take a look at him. Grace watched him study the crowd. When he found her, he nodded. More than one head turned to follow his gaze and see who merited such attention.
It was not hard to tell. Her answering smile was out of all proportion to his brief nod. She could not help it.
“Oooh, my dear,” the lady next to her said, “aren’t you the lucky one. I was rather hoping I was the one he had taken such particular notice of. Major Lindsay is quite a handsome man, and I daresay it is not just the uniform that gives him such distinction.”
Grace reminded herself that a single exchange of glances was enough to start gossip. Rumors of a liaison might be her goal, but the last thing she wanted was for gossip to start before she knew if he was willing. She did her best to control her satisfaction. If he said no after the smile she gave his discreet nod, everyone would know that it was he who had snubbed her. Did it matter? Just enough to make her smile disappear.
She gave her full attention to the woman who had expressed such envy, a woman whose name she could not quite recall. Something like “rooster,” but that may have come to mind because she was dressed as though her goal had been to look like one. Grace wondered if anyone else thought the rather lovely bronze-red taffeta dress and the huge pair of feathers rising from her crown gave the woman the look of a bantam. A ruby choker only added to the overall effect. Perhaps she was trying to compete with her husband, a colonel whose uniform was as impressive as Lindsay’s, even without the Waterloo medal.
“I met the major the other day, when he saved my clothes from ruin.” Grace pressed her lips together to erase the smile and tried for something more decorous.
“Did Fetters race down Bond Street again?”
“Yes.” She resisted the urge to turn back to look for Lindsay. He had seen her. He would find her when the time was right.
“We will have more to talk of this Season than which girl has caught the eye of which gentleman if Fetters continues these
absurdities.” The woman shook her shoulders, looking more like a rooster with each gesture.
“Hopefully, he will not be here tonight,” Grace said, only half attending. “This is one gown I would like to wear again.”
“The major is coming this way,” the woman whispered.
Grace could not resist a glance over her shoulder. His uniform made him easy to find, the red standing out even among the glitter of society. It was both elegant and sober, as was the man wearing it.
“He’s coming straight to you,” the woman hissed, stating the obvious, and Grace turned to greet him.
“Lady Anderson.” He bowed.
“Major Lindsay.” She curtsied.
Her smile faded as he stared at her, silent. Then he shook his head in the same slight way he had nodded to her. He turned to her companion as though the two words of her name was all the attention she would have from him.
This, then, was not the good news she had hoped for. Now she was truly embarrassed at the enthusiasm of her earlier welcome.
She stood her ground, though she was sorely tempted to flee. She was embarrassed only. Not humiliated. It was his choice and could have been made for a dozen reasons, reasons that had nothing to do with the way she dressed or drank soup.
With a determination to end their brief acquaintance with civility and, by the by, give the woman in red no further fuel for gossip, Grace watched as the major bowed over the other woman’s hand.
“Good evening to you, Mrs. Rooster.”
Rooster? Good heavens, Grace thought, did he really call her that? Even as she had the thought he blushed.
“It’s Schuster, Major. I believe we met at General Broadbent’s. The name is Schuster.”
He bowed low over her hand. “I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Schuster. How hen-witted of me.”
The choice of words was deliberate, Grace was sure. With real effort, she kept from looking at him. As it was she could barely contain her laughter.
“You must excuse me, Major, Lady Anderson.” Mrs. Schuster nodded to each of them. “Lady Harriston wants my opinion on some new bonnets for her chicks. They are lovely girls. But having all three make their bow in the same Season would be a burden for any mother. If you will excuse me? And I’m sure you will.” The arch tone hinted that Mrs. Schuster was going to share more than her opinion on hats.
They both watched her leave, and as soon as she was out of earshot Lindsay turned to her.
“Is there any hope for me or have I ruined myself completely?” Despite the question, he did not look particularly worried. “Tell me, how important is Mrs. Schuster? You must know the pecking order here.”
She could not hold back her laughter. It came out with a most unladylike gasp, thank heaven, not quite a snort. His own grin became a laugh as well.
“I think you will survive, for she has no idea what the joke is. ‘Chicks,’ Major. She called the Harriston girls ‘chicks.’ ”
This sent them into gales of laughter, which were soon uncontrollable and attracting more than a little attention. So much so that he tugged her after him and through the doors onto a terrace and the back garden.
The dancing would not end for another hour and the garden was empty. Grace laughed until her sides hurt, as much a release of tension as amusement. Lindsay led her to a bench, dusted the seat with his handkerchief and gestured for her to sit.
They sat side by side, barely touching, the laughter gone as quickly as it had come. Finally, Grace cleared her throat. “I dared hope that your presence tonight meant that you had decided to accept the position.”
“I thought I had.” He sighed, the sound of indecision at odds with the uniform and the air of authority that seemed so naturally a part of him. After a long moment he said, “I have no choice but to accept, my lady.” He sounded more resigned than interested.
“One always has a choice, sir.” He’d made it sound as though he were choosing the guillotine over the hangman’s noose.
“I need the money. Enough for that to be the deciding factor.” He was staring through the window at the dancers as they made their way through a waltz. Anything to avoid looking at her, she thought.
He needed money that badly? George had said that he did not gamble, or at least no more than most officers with too much time on their hands. Or maybe he needed the money for an investment. She would not ask. She had learned already that he valued his privacy, and she would respect that.
She was silent so long that he finally did turn to look at her.
“Is that too blunt for you?”
“No. Actually I appreciate your honesty.” Now it was her turn to look away. “I could wish for more enthusiasm, but will do my best not to be offended by the lack of it.” This awkwardness was not a particularly good way to start out.
“And I will do my best not to be disgusted at the thought of being paid by a woman to do work that is an insult to both of us.”
Oh dear. This could easily lead to an argument, one they had already had. As they sat in strained silence, Mrs. Schuster strutted past the doorway. Grace glanced at Lindsay, who was watching the woman as well.
“Do you think she did it deliberately?”
“I cannot imagine”—he shook his head—“but she is drawing attention.”
Yes, Mrs. Schuster was leaving disbelief in her wake. “Perhaps her goal in life is to be immortalized by Rowlandson.”
“Perhaps, my lady. Picturing her in one of his cartoons takes very little imagination.”
As she passed from view, Grace looked at him directly for the first time since they had come out on the terrace. “We can make of our arrangement what we will: an insult or an adventure. For now I will be grateful that you agreed and, ahem, did not chicken out on me.”
He showed as much disgust as amusement—at the pun, she hoped. She attempted a bland smile, and finally he laughed. So did she. She could not recall a time that she had laughed with a man. Belney had no sense of humor at all. Wharton’s humor was too crude to be amusing. And her husband—around him she had been very careful to control all her sensibilities.
If they could keep each other laughing, this might work after all.
Eight
“Are you having fun, Papa?”
Lindsay glanced over at Poppy, who was sitting on his bed, concentrating on pulling on his too-large gloves.
“Yes, I am.” More fun than he had expected.
“What’s the best part?”
He ran the brush through his hair one last time and turned to face the child.
“Tell me, Papa, what’s the best part about going out? The people you meet? The food you eat? The clothes they wear? Staying up until it’s almost morning?”
He sat on the bed and gently pulled his gloves off her small hands. “You know how when you go to the park with your governess? And how it’s so much more fun on those days when your friends are there?”
She nodded.
“Society is the same. The best part is finding people who enjoy the same things you do and seeing them as often as possible.”
“Are you going to the play with friends tonight?”
“Yes.”
“A particular friend?”
Where had she learned that phrase? From her governess? “And why are you so curious tonight?”
“Because I asked Miss Truslow why you never stay home and she said that you had a particular friend.”
Now he was the one who was exasperated. “Poppy, I see you and Billy every day.”
She nodded, and he took his gloves and walked over to collect his shako.
“Mama used to go out at night, too.”
He felt her words like a punch to a healing wound. Yes, my child, and I go out at night for the same reason your mama did. To keep food on the table and a roof over our heads.
“Mama used to go out at night and she died.”
Lindsay came back to the bed, where she was kneeling now, her eyes level with his cravat.
“Poppy, dearest,
I am not going to die. Not for a very long time. And certainly not because I go out at night.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes.” One thing he was sure of: If he had survived ten years in the army, he was not meant to die young.
Poppy nodded, very near tears. He put his arms around her and gave her a hug, which she tolerated for all of two seconds.
With a change of mood that always confused him, she pulled out of his arms, then jumped twice on the mattress and onto the floor. “Have fun tonight, Papa. And bring me a treat!”
He watched her bounce from the room and followed her, coming back a moment later to pick up the freshly laundered handkerchief he meant to return to Lady Anderson. He held it to his nose and smelled only the lavender water the laundress had used. It was no match for the orange spice scent that was as much a part of Grace Anderson as her hair and the small round beauty mark behind her ear. And her laughter.
The scent must have been specially blended for her. By her husband? By a lover? By someone who understood her. Someone who knew that for all her orange blossom sweetness there was a spark of passion banked oh so carefully. A passion that peeked out when she laughed, when she lost herself in music, sipped champagne or tasted an especially well-made pudding. A passion that fired an inquiring mind. At least that was one passion he could indulge in with her. One that did not compromise his precariously balanced sense of honor. He tucked the handkerchief in his pocket. How long would the passion of an active mind be enough to share? Was it complete in itself or fuel for greater passion? It was a subject that he knew would intrigue Grace, but one he was not going to introduce.
“Are you having fun, Grace?”
“Hmmm.” Grace pretended that all her attention was on her choice of the garnets or the amethysts.
“Is that a yes or a no, dear?” Her aunt was comfortably ensconced in the slipper chair and showed no sign of leaving.
“If we start on that now, Aunt Louise, I’ll be late.”
“Nonsense. No one ever arrives at the theater on time.”