“Yes, Mum. It’s just…”
She listened through the jingle of the harness and soft rolling snorts of the horses. When several minutes had passed, she sighed. “If you are going to ring a peal over me, Barnaby, by all means, do it. It is far preferable to your glowering sulks.” She rolled her eyes. “This is my reward for making friends of my servants.”
“Fine. Fine! There’s no reining you in, my lady,” he blurted. “You’re just like those damnable bays! I curse Lord Seville for ever selling you those hellspawn, but they’re just one more example. You’re too headstrong, and you press too hard. You take too much on yourself. One of these days, you’re going to come a cropper, and it’ll be me, and Tillie and Mr. Greyson left to piece you together again.” He swallowed his complaint abruptly and then muttered something she was sure she wasn’t meant to hear. “…just like before.”
Her ire deflated on the instant, replaced by sad understanding. “I don’t mean to worry you so, Barnaby. I don’t mean to worry any of you. You are dear to me, and I couldn’t imagine life without you. It’s just… I’m free and alive, and I mean to live. I refuse to be buried in dull conformity, my existence forgotten by all. I have experienced such, and it is repugnant. I won’t let my intelligence or my capabilities be demeaned or discounted because I am female. I won’t!” Nevertheless, she constrained her pair to a brisk trot the entire distance.
Chapter Three
Florence placed her chin in her hand, rested her elbow on her desk, and eyed the heavy cream card in her hand with distaste—before she flipped it away and picked up yet another from a teetering pile of invitations that had accumulated in her absence. “Greyson, please send my regrets to the Briminghams. Think of some plausible reason. I cannot sit through another tedious musicale featuring their eldest daughter. It does not matter the skill of her accompanist, nor how loudly he pounds the pianoforte. He cannot disguise her abysmal lack of talent. Her voice reminds me of two cats fighting. It is hard to refrain from throwing one’s shoe at her.”
The corners of her secretary’s mouth twitched. She referred to Greyson as her house steward, but he was far, far more. A better title for him would be factotum. She flashed him a mischievous glance, and the twitches became a slight smile.
“Yes, my lady.”
She paused in her reading and straightened with interest. “Now this is more to my taste. The Dacostas are giving a ball to introduce a French refugee to society, the Marquis de le Forte. Lady Dacosta notes that she particularly seeks my attendance. Hmmm… she can be relied upon to have a crushing squeeze as everyone who is anyone will be in attendance. This I will accept. I might even buy a new ball gown.” Florence placed the card on the stack of invitations to accept and eyed those yet to be gone through with a sigh. “Have I had any callers?”
Her steward cleared his throat. “Yes, my lady. Our good butler, Mr. Odde, advises that Sir Bretwell has continued to call daily. He has been most solicitous.”
Laughter infused her response. “Indeed. And what is my malady this time?”
“Ahem… you suffer from a severe catarrh brought about by your time in the country and are confined to bed under doctors orders.”
“I wonder that the man continues to call. He must think I own the most fragile of constitutions, what with my constant, incapacitating, ailments.”
“He did wonder if a woman in such delicate health such as you wouldn’t benefit from the attentions of a more intimately concerned personage—someone other than your servants.”
“Him, I suppose.” She snorted. “I cannot imagine anyone more solicitous than you or Tillie or Barnaby, for that matter. You are the staunchest of defenders. You protect me far better than my father or my husband ever did.”
Greyson bowed slightly. “We try, m’lady.”
“I suppose we should start looking for someone to replace Tillie until after her child is born… though I cannot imagine not having her. Will you please select some candidates to be interviewed?” At his nod, she changed the subject to one more pleasing. “Have you seen whether or not the Everleigh townhouse has put up their knocker?”
“I have not. I’ll send one of the footmen, immediately.” He took several steps to the door and then into the hallway and motioned with his arm. A young man in house livery appeared straightaway. There was a murmur of voices before he returned to her side. “We should know shortly, m’lady.”
“Lord Miles older brother, Captain Duncan Everleigh, is taking up residence. I met him at Fairwood. He left the morning I did, and I had thought to catch up with him on the road.” She grimaced. “To please a certain groom, I was forced to a more sedate pace than I’d originally planned and therefore never overtook him. If he should call, I will be home to him.” She tapped her fingers on the surface of the desk thoughtfully. “I’ll give him a week before I call on him.” She beamed at her steward. “And I believe I will ask Lavinia Dacosta to send him an invitation to their ball. I will definitely require a new dress.”
“Sir Bretwell will be devastated, as will Mr. James, Lord Peters, Sir Falwell, and Mr. Browning. Our butler will be unhappy to be the bearer of such disappointing news.”
She sighed deeply and raised an elegant shoulder. “What can I do? There is but one of me,”
Her steward raised an eyebrow. “For which the world should be immensely grateful.”
She choked back a laugh and put on a stern face. “Well aren’t you the cross-patch. This is what comes from being too familiar with one’s house steward. You are sacked.”
“I’ll compose your acceptance to these functions and present you with a thirty-day calendar.” He handed her several sheets of lined paper. “Here is a list of the monthly proceeds from your recent investments with Barings Bank. The American war has proved profitable. The second paper is a brief accounting of the returns from the Anglo-Indian shipping cooperative in Bengal. The complete portfolio for the last six-month is on your desk. There are some promising new designs for cargo vessels made from teak and an architectural layout for a proposed shipyard in Calcutta that Mr. Argawal would like you to invest in.”
“Do you ever take me seriously, I wonder.”
The corners of her steward’s mouth twitched. “Frequently. I never hesitate to allow you to invest for me as you are making me a wealthy man, but you would never sack me. Who would fend off Sir Bretwell?”
An out-of-breath footman stuck his head in the study door. “The front steps have been washed, and the knocker’s up at the Everleigh townhome, Mr. Greyson.”
Her steward turned and smiled at her. “Is there anyone other than Captain Everleigh you will receive?”
“Oh, I suppose Baron Anthony and Lord Seville. They amuse me.”
“Very good, ma’am. I’ll go deal with these.” Greyson bowed, gathered up the untidy stack of acceptances from the low sofa table and walked toward the door of the study.
Before he reached the door, Florence called to him, and affection warmed her voice. “Greyson… you are right, you know. I’ll never sack you. You are doomed to suffer my oddities for life.” She lifted her shoulder in a rueful shrug. “Or as long as you decide to stay with me.”
The man raised the back of his wrist to his forehead and struck a dramatic pose of suffering before walking from sight.
With a soft giggle, Florence snuggled back into the desk chair’s overstuffed cushions of powder blue and gold silk stripe and tucked her feet underneath her. A tingle of excitement bubbled up her spine at the thought she might see Captain Everleigh in the near future.
Duncan strode down the steps from the War Office onto the street and hailed a cab with a feeling that a hundred-pound weight had been lifted from his shoulders. After an interminable seven days, during which he paced back and forth waiting to see someone in government authorized to receive his courier pouch, the proper hands now held the first-hand observations on Spanish and French troop movement for which he and Major Abernathy had risked their lives. He frowned. Who knew how lo
ng the War Office would keep him kicking his heels in London before sending him back to the peninsula? A more pleasant expression slowly replaced his frown. He might as well spend the interval furthering the acquaintance of a certain widow. He’d left his card upon his arrival in London but had not had time to pay a call.
The head of his silver cane rapped lightly on the black lacquered door. He settled his top hat more firmly on his head and straightened his torso, shrugging more comfortably into his worn, dark brown, cutaway coat. He’d see about replacing it while in London—providing sixteen months of back pay ever caught up with him. There were benefits to not wearing a uniform. Replacing a gentleman’s morning coat was far less costly than doing the same for a captain’s uniform, what with all the gilt braid and buttons and the pristine white cockade to be affixed to his chapeau bras. The drawback came if he were captured dressed in civilian clothes anywhere in Napoleon-controlled Europe. He would be hung for the spy he was.
The door to the townhouse opened, and Lady Lloyd-Smyth’s butler regarded him with inquiry.
He handed an ecru card to the servant. “Captain Duncan Everleigh to see Lady Lloyd-Smyth.”
The door opened wide, and the butler motioned for him to enter. “Lady Lloyd-Smyth receives in the drawing room, sir.” As Duncan entered the hall, a footman appeared to take his hat, gloves, and cane. “If you would be so good as to follow me, sir.”
He entered a charming room with bright light streaming in from a bay window that overlooked a small back garden and the mews. The cream wallpaper done with light gold stripes of fleur-de-lis immediately caught his attention.
Light footsteps sounded behind him followed by a musical voice. “Should you wonder at my daring in putting such a French decoration in my drawing room, you would join the ranks of all my friends. It does no good to remind them that this paper covered the walls in this room long before England and France declared against each other. I cannot be convinced to go to the trouble to remove an attractive wall covering merely because we are at war with France. I cannot feature, for example, all lions have been removed from decoration or sculpture in all of French-occupied Europe.” Lady Florence’s laughing eyes held his as she dropped to a graceful curtsey. “Good afternoon, Captain Everleigh. I am beyond pleased to see you. When my house steward mentioned you’d sent your card, I quite hoped you would call in person at a later time.”
“Madam. As you see, I am here in the flesh. After our delightful dinner conversation a fortnight ago at Fairwood, I could not have stayed away. I apologize for my casual dress. My limited wardrobe is threadbare, and I fear sadly out of style, something I wish to remedy while here in London.” He gave her an abbreviated bow, refusing to allow his gaze to linger on the mounds of her delicious décolletage framed by the deep, square neckline of her sprigged white linen gown. Instead, he forced it up the slender column of her throat, past plush pink lips that begged to be kissed, and held on her lovely blue eyes alive with humor. His smile broadened at her obvious pleasure in his perusal.
Damn, but she was a desirable morsel. While he couldn’t pin it down to any specific action or comment, there was that about her manner which hinted at a certain earthiness, an openness to indulgences of fleshly appetites. He immediately smothered any further thought in that direction. He’d endured something of a drought of late and his ordinarily well-disciplined body reacted to the thoughts of amorous excursions like a war horse to a bugle call of “charge”. His position was decidedly awkward, as his frame-hugging buckskins did little to hide the direction of his thoughts. Her eyes ran his length and lingered just a fraction longer on that betraying portion of his anatomy before meeting his gaze with a raised eyebrow and an arch look.
He shrugged and grinned. “My apologies if I offend, though somehow, I am reassured by the thought you might, perhaps, take my obvious pleasure in your presence as a compliment and overlook my transgressions of style.” His apology could have referred to his inappropriate apparel. It didn’t. But it could have—were she to assume a coy innocence.
Her eyes sparkled with a flirtatious inner dialog quite at odds with the banalities that left her mouth. “Only those with an overly exact adherence to form would find fault in your appearance, sir. I have rung for tea. I hope you will stay and join me?” She motioned to a pair of comfortable wing chairs upholstered in a floral chintz and sat on the middle of an overstuffed sofa of a soft gold velvet that faced the chairs. “Have you any idea what Bond Street tailors you wish to grace with your patronage? Weston, Stultz, Meyer? Our Regent patronizes Schweitzer & Davison of Cork Street for his coats. They are known for their exquisite fit.”
He lowered into the chair closest to her, noting the substantial quality of the furniture. He was a large man and regularly encountered drawing room furniture not up to his weight, such as the thin-legged and delicate sofa upon which she sat. Secure in the knowledge that he could relax without fear of being suddenly cast onto the carpet, he settled into the thick cushions of the chair with a sigh of enjoyment. “I accede to your superior knowledge, Lady Lloyd-Smyth. Who would you recommend?”
Intent…nay…greedy eyes studied him, though whether to evaluate his physique for an appropriate recommendation of a tailor or to confirm his suitability for other more intimate purposes, he couldn’t say—though he tended to weight the latter more heavily.
“I believe I would begin with Meyer. He was a military man for a short time and should have no difficulties styling coats to fit your…” She gestured vaguely in the air on an inhale, which she released in one breathy word. “…person.” She offered the footman a distracted smile when he appeared bearing a silver tray. “Ah, our tea.” She looked at him in inquiry.
“Unpolluted, if you please. No sugar. No cream.” She poured him a cup which he accepted and placed on his knee. “May I trespass further on your time and beg you to accompany me on my shopping expeditions? As I mentioned, I’ve been abroad for many years and would value your opinion on current style and materials.” He raised the tea to his mouth and sipped, watching her over the lip of the cup.
“I should be delighted to make the rounds with you and introduce you as a person worthy of their best efforts. What day did you have in mind?”
“Would tomorrow be too soon?”
She chuckled. “I will rearrange my calendar to be at your disposal.” She put her cup and saucer on the table between them. “Is it your intent to enter the social whirl while in London?” Her blue eyes regarded him brightly.
“I haven’t given it much thought, though if I am to remain here for weeks or even months waiting on the pleasure of the War Office, a few dinners or other social occasions would provide a pleasant diversion. I’ve had quite enough of my own company.” He angled his head and smiled. “However, unless you are willing to recommend me to such hostesses as you deem worthwhile, I fear I will lack any invitations to such things. An absence of over five years is sufficiently long to bury my name into obscurity.”
“My dear Captain, once the hostesses of the ton are aware you are in town, I foresee no such lack. I shall be more than happy to provide you a list of estimable persons to whom you should send your card. I will send mine as well with a note you are the older brother to Lord Miles, a personal friend of mine, a bachelor, and very handsome. I predict a flood of invitations. Lord Miles is something of a darling to the ton. His name will carry you even further than mine.”
Before he could address any of her comments—such as she found him very handsome—Florence picked up her tea and in a demure fashion asked, “And how did you leave Major Abernathy? Was he resting peacefully?”
They chatted comfortably about odds and ends, and soon the fifteen minutes he’d allotted himself were over. He rose with a smile and a bow. “Lady Lloyd-Smyth, I must take my leave. You are all graciousness, and while I cannot say I am looking forward to a shopping excursion, your company will mitigate the pain. Will 3:00 tomorrow be an acceptable time to begin the overhaul of my wardrobe?”
She rose and walked with him toward the hall. “Yes, I will look forward to it with great pleasure. I love shopping—particularly when I can spend other people’s money.”
The footman handed him his hat, cane, and gloves. He settled his hat on his head, pulled on his gloves and with another small nod, said his good-byes. As the door closed behind him, a smile began and then grew broad. He practically skipped down the steps and indulged in a boyish twirl of his cane before sobering and continuing on in a more sedate manner to the Everleigh townhouse.
Florence bit down on her knuckle to halt an inappropriate giggle prompted by the surge of utter delight at the thought of spending an entire afternoon with Captain Everleigh. She drew in a deep breath to steady her giddy nerves. By all that was holy, the captain was a robust male specimen… and with such an air of command—so confident and masterful. He quite undid her. She was unused to making such an effort to remain composed, and apparently, by his all too obvious physical reaction, he was more than pleasantly aware of her.
She turned and addressed her footman, “Nicholas, tell Mr. Greyson I need to speak with him and ask Tillie to join me in my bedchamber in, oh, ten minutes.”
She drifted back into the morning room and absently sank onto the sofa. Warmth flushed her upper body, and her heart pounded merrily in her chest. She felt like a schoolgirl enthralled by her first beau.
“Madam? Nicholas said you needed to speak with me?”
“Ah! Greyson. Yes, have you sent my request to Lavinia Dacosta? My request to add Captain the Honorable Lord Duncan Everleigh to her guest list for the upcoming ball?”
“Yes, ma’am. Several days ago.”
“Thank you,” she breathed. “I would like you to go through those invitations I have accepted and send similar requests to those hostesses.” She thought for a moment. “Compose a written list of those persons and their direction and have it for me before tomorrow at 3:00. Oh… and if you note a prominent member of the ton not represented in such list, a person with whom I would associate and who might be a useful addition to Captain Everleigh’s acquaintances, will you please add them… plus their direction?”
A Destitute Duke Page 3