The Scandalous Life of a True Lady

by Barbara Metzger

  “I was too busy to change, and if she wasn’t right, no harm done.”

  “You were testing her.”

  There was no sense in lying, not to Daniel. “Yes.”

  “You were a fool.”

  “Yes, but she wouldn’t want to be a young bastard’s mistress any more than an old one’s. At least Harrison wouldn’t expect too much between the sheets.”

  “Then make her an honest proposal.”

  Harry choked on a smoke ring that suddenly had him by the throat. “Marry her?”

  “Why not? She’s smart and pretty and has principles. And you like her. What more can you ask? It’s not as if you need the money from a dowry, either. You show your good intents, she’ll show you— Well, she’ll go along with you. Then you can back out if you want, after Gorham’s do.”

  “Jilt her? Great gods, man, do you take me for that much a cur?”

  Daniel was too busy pouring himself another drink, and laughing to himself, to answer.

  Harry stabbed his cigarillo into the ashtray. “Well, I won’t do it. If I ask any woman, it will be because I mean to wed her. I can’t think about things like that until this other situation is resolved.” So what if they both knew he’d thought of it, a lot.

  Daniel stopped smiling. “You think the attempts on your life will end at Gorham’s?”

  “Hopefully.”

  “Then I better come along. Think you can get me an invite?”

  “What, so you can bring one of Lydia’s dabs? I doubt Gorham will be willing. You’re not exactly known for good taste.” Harry eyed Daniel’s yellow cossack trousers, the spotted kerchief tied around his neck. “And your pockets aren’t deep enough for the gambling that will go on. Maybe you can come if they hold a ball for the neighborhood.”

  “Neighborhood rakes, you mean. Not even Gorham would invite the gentry and his tenants to that kind of affair. But try to get me in. I hear they are going to have a contest for the queen of the courtesans, with side bets among the gents.”

  “Lud, I wouldn’t want Miss Ryland exposed to that bit of vulgarity.”

  “Then don’t take her.”

  “That’s no answer. I’ll send for you if there’s a chance of Gorham’s welcoming you, though. You can help protect her from unwanted familiarity.”

  “I still say you should pick another female if you have to go, one who won’t be offended by the company. It’s not like there are no other fish in the sea.”

  Harry did not want another female. He did not want Simone swimming in that milieu either, but who knew what she’d decide to do next, without a position or an income? Hell, she might join Astley’s Circus and wear tights and spangles for the men to ogle. The pay was better than a governess’s. Dammit, he admitted, but only to himself, he did not want her out of his sight.

  Daniel had found a tin of biscuits on the sideboard and was helping himself to a handful. “Tell me again why you can’t escort the governess about town yourself, show her the sights. Museums.” He spit out the word and a biscuit. “What the deuce are these things?”

  “Cat treats.”

  While Daniel washed his mouth out with Harry’s expensive cognac, Harry explained that he planned on the element of surprise at Gorham’s. “I don’t want her seen until then, and certainly not with me. Harrison, either, which would be worse. But you could take her out to some quiet place, with her in her old clothes and prim hair style.”

  “Faugh, she doesn’t sound like any baggage I’d want on my arm. No fun, either. I could go visit Rex’s old nanny if I wanted a proper female.”

  “Now that I think of it,” Harry said, “your language and your manners are too coarse for the lady.”

  “I thought you said her grandfather was a Gypsy.”

  “So? Mine was a blacksmith.”

  “But your other granddad was an earl.”

  “And hers is a major landholder in Cumberland. Go meet her. See for yourself.”

  “I just might. To see what’s got you tied in knots. This could be the best fun I’ve had in ages. Are you sure you won’t go to Lydia’s tonight? How about Chatsforth’s? I hear they’ve got a new dealer who goes home with a different chap every night. Maybe—”

  “I am not in the mood. And if that is how your mind is working, I take it all back. I don’t want you near Miss Ryland.”

  Which meant, of course, that Daniel decided to stop ’round in Kensington, to see what had bowled over the steadiest man he’d ever met. Damn if cold-blooded old Harry didn’t have some fire in him after all.

  *

  A caller arrived during the final fitting for some of Simone’s new clothes. She looked at the card Jeremy brought in to her in the back parlor that had been turned into a sewing room, but she did not recognize the name.

  “Tell Mr. Stamfield that neither the major nor Mr. Harris is home,” she told Jeremy, who grinned at her. She thought he liked the riding habit she was trying on. So did she. It was still her favorite of all her new wardrobe, although the glittering black lace gown stirred her imagination with visions of dancing at a ball with her dark-haired lover. Not that she’d ever wear such a scandalous garment, and not that she was going to take a lover.

  “But Daniel Stamfield is nephew to the Earl of Royce and cousin to Viscount Rexford,” Sally told her, checking to see that a black curling feather was firmly affixed to the riding habit’s matching shako cap.

  Those were the two names Major Harrison had suggested as guardian for her brother. Simone knew nothing would come of that offer when she left his household, and she was glad. She never liked the idea of leaving Auguste’s future in the hands of strangers. Nor did she like leaving him with no one, should anything happen to her, but she would worry about that another time. Mr. Harris refused to discuss the matter; Mr. Stamfield might. “Perhaps I should see Mr. Stamfield.”

  The gentleman followed Jeremy’s return to the small room but stood in the doorway, staring, even after Jeremy announced him in as formal a manner as the grinning youth could manage.

  “Mr. Stamfield?” Simone asked in the silence.

  The visitor closed his dropped jaw. “I have got to place a bet, by Jupiter!”

  “Sir?”

  Her caller was too large, too casually dressed for a noble connection, but he was handsome for all that, almost like the image she had of her dancing partner. He even had uniquely attractive blue eyes. Botheration, now she was seeing the man of her dreams everywhere.

  Daniel was seeing a fortune to be made, if he could get both of them, and Harry, he supposed, curse him for finding her first, to Gorham’s house party and the contest. “Can you sing?”

  The seamstress in the corner giggled. Sally clucked her tongue.

  Simone stepped forward and held out her hand. She would not let this lack witted giant have anything to do with her little brother, not when he spoke of wagering before he said hallo. She cleared her throat, which served to bring Mr. Stamfield’s attention to her outstretched hand. He took it in his much larger one, and then forgot to let go.

  “My apologies, miss. Harry said you were a good looking female, but he didn’t do you justice.”

  “You’ve seen Harry? That is, Major Harrison?”

  “Him, too. That is, yes.”

  “He hasn’t been around.”

  “Been busy, I suppose. The devil always is.”

  He was still staring, still holding her hand. Simone tugged it away, with effort, and said, “Mr. Harris is out, so if you’ve come to see him…”

  “No, it’s you I came to see. Glad for it, too, let me tell you. That is, I came about your brother. Harry said he needed a guardian.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but I shall make arrangements of my own.” She was convinced to find a suitable person, maybe a solicitor, now more than ever.

  “You won’t find anyone better’n my cousin Rexford. Honest as sunshine, diligent, devoted to his family and the land. Harry thought I ought to come and send my recommendation to Rex along
with his papers to sign. I mean, not even Harry can expect Rex to take on a strange boy sight unseen.” That was the story he and Harry had devised, to give credence to Daniel’s visit.

  “The major was correct, that someone should have Auguste’s welfare at heart if I cannot. But while my brother is a stranger to you, Lord Rexford is also a stranger to me.”

  “Exactly. But he’s in the country, with his wife and babies. And your brother is at school. So I have come for us to get acquainted. Surrogates, don’t you know.”

  An odd kind of logic, Simone thought, but Mr. Stamfield’s smile was friendly, his admiration reassuring. He was obviously a friend of the major’s and known to the staff here, so Simone did not feel uncomfortable in his presence. Further, she had hardly spoken to anyone but Sally, the seamstress, and Miss White in two days. Major Harrison never visited, and Mr. Harris stayed locked behind the doors of his library, which she had never been invited to visit or use. At breakfast he stayed rapt in his papers, making it plain as day that he did not wish to be interrupted. At dinner, he made less conversation than Jeremy did as he passed the plates. They’d said everything they needed, the secretary’s taciturn manner indicated, with neither budging from their position. He still thought she was ungrateful and foolish and dishonest; she thought he was secretive, autocratic, and pig-headed. He wanted her to stay; she was going.

  So she might as well chat with Mr. Stamfield. Perhaps he could tell her a little more about the major and how soon she could expect him, to be done with this charade. She decided to offer the large gentleman tea, since he must need a great deal of sustenance. At least she thought he had a hungry expression in his startling blue eyes. A single female did not entertain an unmarried, unrelated male caller, much less a total stranger, but she’d broken so many social rules, what was one more?

  Before she could send Sally to fetch a tray from the kitchen, Mr. Stamfield said, “I say, you’re dressed for riding. Care to take a turn in the park?”

  Simone couldn’t think of anything she’d like better, she’d been in the house so long. But she did not have a horse, naturally, and hadn’t been on one in ages.

  “Neither one’s a problem,” he said. “Can’t gallop or anything in the park, so you’ll get your seat back. Um, am I supposed to say seat?” He went on without waiting for a reply: “And Harry’s stables are bound to have something suitable, I’m sure. He’d have nothing to carry my weight, of course, but I rode my own mount.”

  “If you are certain the major won’t mind me riding one of his horses?”

  “Harry wouldn’t mind if you rode his— That is, ’course not. Great chap, old Harry. Generous to a fault. Um, he did think you ought to wear a veil if we went out.”

  That suited Simone, too. That way no one could recognize her later, if she applied at their doorstep looking for a governess position. A scrap of netting was quickly pinned to the shako cap, and her hair was gathered into another net while Mr. Stamfield visited the major’s stables.

  Not much conversation took place as Simone got used to the horse, a prettily behaved bay gelding, and the noise and traffic. The gelding was more used to navigating the crowded streets than Simone, so they managed. Then they were in the park, and could head down a riding path clear of carriages and strollers.

  “Ready for a trot?” Mr. Stamfield asked.

  Simone clucked to her horse and took off.

  When they stopped to rest the horses, Simone was out of breath, but she was exhilarated, too. Mr. Stamfield was humming and smiling, enjoying the day and the ride also, Simone could tell. He seemed much more at home in the saddle than in a parlor. According to Sally, who rattled on the whole time she was fixing Simone’s hair when Mr. Stamfield was bringing the horses around, he was a profligate, prodigal son. He was supposed to be a country squire, taking over his father’s estate, but he came back from the wars wanting nothing but pleasure, no responsibility, no work. Gaming and drinking and wenching, that’s what everyone said he did, among the lower orders. According to Sally, he was not accepted in polite society unless his uncle and cousin were with him.

  So he was a town buck, a blood, a rakehell? That was precisely the kind of gentleman Simone never wanted her brother to meet. Still, he did not look dangerous, laughing at the ducks in a pond, humming to his horse. Simone found nothing flirtatious or suggestive about his manner, either. If he seemed a bit rough around the edges, he treated her with courtesy, almost like a friend.

  Simone relaxed and felt the clean air sweeping the last cobwebs away from her mind. Only certainty remained. She could enjoy the day, wait for the major, and not regret leaving. After another short trot, she told her companion, “I doubt I’ll be needing to name a guardian for my brother. Whatever peril the major might face, I shall not be with him. I know I might fall off this beautiful fellow and break my neck, or fall down the stairs at the house. But I am not going to the country.”

  She was not going to become the major’s mistress, that was what she wanted this bluff, cheerful man to know. He didn’t seem to think badly of her, but he had to know what she was doing at the Kensington hideaway. “I am not going to the house party,” she repeated, hoping he would understand.

  He nodded, unsurprised, but said, “Too bad, you’d win the contest. If you can sing. That’s one of the competitions.”

  “You mentioned singing before. My voice is passable, enough to instruct young girls, although my pianoforte is far more skillful. But what contest are you speaking of?”

  “Harry didn’t tell you? I suppose not, with him turning into a dry old stick. There’s to be a tournament of sorts at Gorham’s. The betting will be deep, and amusing because each house guest will have to back his own lady friend, if he wants to keep the peace. No matter if she doesn’t stand a chance. I hear there will be side bets behind the women’s backs.”

  “But what is the contest?”

  “Didn’t I say? The women will vie against each other in various fields. I heard voice was one of them. Archery is another. Looks, of course. I don’t know what else. Oh, horsemanship. You’d beat them all to flinders.”

  “Thank you. My grandfather taught me. He was magical with horses.”

  “You could have taken that event and the purse hands down.”

  “The purse?”

  “Seems each event has a prize and points. At the end, the overall point winner gets crowned Queen of the Courtesans. And a thousand pounds.”

  A thousand pounds? Grandfather would be ashamed; Simone almost fell off the horse.

  Chapter Nine

  Major Harrison arrived at the end of the week, in time for dinner. Mr. Harris had a previous appointment, which suited Simone, who felt better having the major to herself. He was kinder, more understanding, more flexible than the ramrod straight secretary. How could the major disapprove of her, when he was the one wanting to hire a mistress?

  While Jeremy served, the major asked about her ride with Mr. Stamfield, her new clothes, and if she’d heard from her brother recently, or if the headmaster had replied to the bank draft. He spoke of the news of the day and the latest books, which he promised to find for her in his library. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about horses for an elderly gentleman who appeared anything but an outdoors man. Simone should not have been surprised, recalling the quality of the gelding she’d ridden.

  He complimented her gown and her new hair style. He cared, she felt, almost in an avuncular way. He looked like someone’s eccentric relation, too, a bit messy, shaggy, and old-fashioned.

  As soon as the young footman left, leaving the several courses on the table for them to serve themselves, Simone said she had come to a decision.

  “Later, my dear, later. Let us not ruin Mrs. Judd’s excellent meal with such weighty matters.”

  She could not eat much, not with the difficult conversation looming ahead, but the major seemed unaffected. He also appeared a bit different now that she had time to notice, while he ate. Simone could have sworn his moustache h
ad gone up at the ends when they first met. Now the ends went down like Mr. Harris’s, whose lips were always in a downward scowl anyway. The major had also limped more at Mrs. Burton’s, she thought, but perhaps the climb to the madam’s sitting room had been tiring. Or the weather that day had made him ache. Grandfather’s fingers used to swell before a rainstorm. This evening was dry and clear, for a change.

  The major still leaned on his cane as they walked toward the drawing room after dinner. He’d gladly forgo his solitary smoke for her company, he told her.

  She started to tell him of her decision but he held up one hand. “I may do without my cigarillo for the pleasure of your presence, my dear, but I do enjoy my port after dinner, especially after a trying day. Helps an old man’s digestion, also, you see.”

  She saw he was not ready to speak yet. He told her to order tea for herself, which would have meant another delay. She chose to taste the port instead, breaking yet another law of ladylike decorum. The rule book had flown out the window days ago, and no one would know anyway, except the two of them and Miss White.

  The cat wound herself around the major’s feet, then leaped into his lap, ignoring Simone altogether. Strangely enough, the big cat had hissed at Mr. Stamfield, arched her back at the delivery men, and ignored Jeremy altogether, yet she adored both the major and his assistant.

  Simone was waiting for Major Harrison to notice the difference in his pet, how well-groomed she was, and lighter in weight, but he did not say anything, just sank back in his chair and sighed with contentment, one hand stroking the now smooth white fur, the other holding the glass.

  Simone did not like her efforts being ignored, her speech put off, or the taste of the port. She walked to the door where Jeremy was waiting, to ask for a tea tray after all.

  The cart was wheeled in, the tea was poured, and still the major sipped and sighed. The cat purred. Finally, almost reluctantly, the major set his glass aside.