Word of a Lady: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  Hecate met Letitia’s look with one of resignation. “Oh dear. She’s going to Londonize us.”

  The meal was, by London standards, a simple one, and Lady Venetia didn’t hide the fact she enjoyed it very much. “So lovely to be able to eat and talk and laugh without concern,” she said, finishing her pudding with evident enthusiasm. “I do adore family times. Not that I get that many, but now that you girls are here, I hope there will be more than just one.”

  “I hope so too, Aunt Venie,” smiled Kitty. “But you know we must introduce my sisters. We’re all far too old for a come-out, but I think we may be able to engender some interest about their arrival.”

  Letitia touched her napkin to her lips. “Why would anyone be interested in us, Kitty? We’re surely country bumpkins as far as Society is concerned.”

  Kitty chuckled. “Well, crass though it is, now that Aunt Venie is as rich as Golden Ball, anything she does and anyone she presents is of interest.”

  Aunt Venie nodded. “Sad but true, dear.” She looked at Letitia. “Your family, darling, has suffered greatly thanks to the man who sired you all. And I will apologize for some of the wicked thoughts I’ve entertained about him burning in hell for what he did to you.” She grinned. “Some, but not all.”

  Hecate chuckled and Letitia realized that she was going to like this woman. A lot.

  “Anyway, be that as it may, I feel it my duty to help Kitty rise above the tarnished reputation that man bequeathed to you all. Otherwise, her chances of making a good match are seriously reduced.”

  Kitty nodded. “She’s quite right.”

  “Do you want to make a good match, Kitty?”

  “Of course,” declared Kitty. “How else am I to go on?”

  Hecate had no answer, and neither did Letitia.

  “We shall see,” said Aunt Venie. “Now I suggest we call it an early night and have tea in our rooms. I’m sure you girls are tired, I know Kitty will be making lists of things to do while you’re here, and I wouldn’t find a bit of extra sleep amiss.”

  “Shall we be out and about tomorrow, then?” asked Letitia. “I need to send a message to my publisher and let him know I’m in town.” She rose from the table, casting a quick thank you glance to the footman who held her chair.

  “And indeed you shall. Just pen your note and I’ll have it delivered in the morning. Then, I believe, our Kitty has visits to the modiste scheduled for you both. And herself too, I’ll be bound.”

  Kitty laughed and nodded. “You know me so well, Aunt Venie. You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not, dear. What use is having money if one does not spend it to improve the lives of others?”

  Hecate’s back stiffened. “Will new gowns improve my life, Ma’am?”

  “If you let them.” She grinned. “If not, well at least they’ll brighten the lives of those who see you in them.”

  Hecate blinked at that. “I take your point.”

  “Oh, and I believe that dear Sir James FitzArden wishes to visit while you’re here. I understand he’s a close friend of the family,” added Aunt Venie on her way out of the door. “We should send him a note too. Let him know you’re here.”

  Letitia found her teeth clenched tight, and struggled to part them. “How delightful,” she lied. “We have not seen him in quite some time.”

  Hecate waited until they were all in their rooms, and had bade Kitty good night before she popped her head around Letitia’s door. “About James?”

  Letitia, wrapped in her robe, with her hair down and a pen in her hands, was writing furiously. She looked up. “What about him?”

  “Do you want to see him?”

  Letitia sighed, put the pen in the inkwell, and leaned back. “If he visits, I will be happy to say hallo, of course.”

  “My dear sister.” She walked into the room and sat on the end of the bed. “That was the most insincere tone I’ve ever heard you use.”

  “Really? I wasn’t aware of it.”

  It was Hecate’s turn to sigh. “Here we are, not in London above a night, and already you’re prevaricating and turning into one of those London ladies who can never give a straight answer to a direct question.”

  Letitia knew her sister was right, damn her. But her emotions were in an uproar, she was tired, and she had no idea how to answer truthfully without revealing more to Hecate than she wished. Or indeed revealing more to herself than she could deal with.

  “I cannot answer otherwise at the moment, my dear. I’m sorry. You ask a question to which I have no reply. Not tonight. Ask me again tomorrow when my mind has sorted itself out.”

  Hecate slid from the bed, came to her sister and gave her a little hug. “That’s better. Sleep well, love.” She kissed her cheek and left.

  Warmed by the affection, and conscious that her eyelids were growing heavy, Letitia wiped the pen, capped the inkwell and blew out the candle on the desk.

  She hoped she was right and that the morning would bring order to her thoughts. She ignored the annoying little voice that whispered of a hope she wanted to deny.

  The hope that she might see James again. Because she didn’t. She really didn’t.

  All right, she did, but only for a few minutes and from a distance.

  Not too near. Not close enough to smell his unique fragrance or see his mouth quirk slightly at a joke, nor close enough to remember how it felt against her skin…

  Chapter Fourteen

  Back at Ridlington, Harriet was enjoying her time alone.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t adore Letitia—she did. But the chance to walk around the Chase without any duties to attend to was something of a little holiday for her, and she took full advantage.

  Within a day or so she had begun to pop in and see if Lady Rosaline needed her for anything, and this request had turned into a brief morning chat over tea. Harriet’s experiences in London were of value when it came to some of the operations of Ridlington Chase, and she was able to offer advice on a few household matters.

  Hugh, a baby who responded well to affectionate cuddling, was finding his needs admirably met by Harriet, who willingly settled with the warm bundle in her lap for an hour or so, while Mama answered letters, and dealt with other business.

  Often they spoke of her brother.

  “Paul tells me he’s looking at a hunting box a little distance from here,” said Rosaline about a week after the girls had left for London.

  “Oh? That would be delightful, I’m sure,” answered Harriet. “For both of you, and for young Hugh here. He will have an uncle to play with, when his Papa is busy.”

  Rosaline chuckled. “Quite so. Although I do believe my brother has yet to accept the fact of his being an uncle at all.”

  “Family is everything,” murmured Harriet absently as she played with Hugh’s toes. His gurgle of delighted laughter made her smile.

  “Yes, it is,” said Rosaline quietly, watching the two of them. “You will have your own, Harry. And you will be an excellent Mama.”

  Harriet’s gaze shifted to Rosaline’s face. “I doubt it. I have no wish for it. Not under the present circumstances.”

  “I understand,” nodded Rosaline. “But you are of age, my dear. Should you meet the man you wish to wed, nobody can prevent you from doing so.”

  Harriet’s grin was wry. “I am a maid in the Ridlington household, my Lady. No matter how kindly you treat me, in the eyes of the world, I am no more than a servant. And I have to remain in that position until I reach twenty-five. Even then I know not how much of my inheritance will remain.”

  “Your relatives can access it?” frowned Rosaline.

  “I’m not sure if they can touch the principal. But I am afraid they will find a legal way to use the interest.”

  “That is just appalling. Can we do anything?” Rosaline’s frown was a match to her husband’s in intensity. Without the eyebrows, of course.

  “Thank you, my Lady. Truly. I am touched by your concern. But no, I cannot see a way to prev
ent anything they’re doing at the moment without revealing my own presence here. And that…” she hugged young Hugh, “I am not willing to do.”

  He kicked his feet in happy bliss, and she laughed.

  Rosaline smiled too, but with reservations. “I still don’t like it.”

  “Don’t like what, my dear? My presence?” A new voice entered the conversation and Paul DeVoreaux walked around the door. “May I intrude?”

  “Of course, Paul. Do come in.”

  Harriet stood, prepared to hand over baby Hugh and leave brother and sister alone. But Paul had other ideas. “Please, Miss Harry. Sit. Hugh looks most comfortable where he is. And having heard him in moments of displeasure, I’d prefer he remain content.”

  She chuckled. “Understood, sir.” Obediently, she returned to her seat and settled Hugh once more in her arms.

  “We were just talking about Harry’s future, Paul,” said Rosaline.

  “Oh heavens, my Lady,” protested Harriet. “I’m sure Mr. DeVoreaux has other more important matters to discuss.”

  “Now you come to mention it, I don’t,” he said. “But I’m sure Miss Harry’s future plans will be successful, no matter what they might be.”

  He smiled at her, and Harriet found herself slightly breathless. The warmth in his eyes touched something within her, although she wished it didn’t. He was not for one such as herself even though she found him delightful company.

  “Well, I’m not sure about that, but I do appreciate the sentiment.” She considered the matter. “I could be a governess, I suppose...”

  “And you don’t wish to do that?” Paul asked thoughtfully.

  “Well it would depend on the household, most certainly,” she answered with vigour. “I have heard some horrid tales of women in that position suffering indignities.”

  “Indeed,” acknowledged Paul. “A few discreet enquiries prior to accepting anything like that would be prudent.” It was his turn to contemplate matters. “Do you have family?”

  She bit her lip. “I do. But there are very difficult circumstances around that relationship. I really do not wish to ever see my aunt and uncle again. They are not dissimilar to hunting dogs. One whiff of my whereabouts…”

  “And they’re howling their way along your trail hoping for blood at the end of it?”

  “Something like that, yes.” She would say no more, for now.

  “Ghastly people,” proclaimed Rosaline. “Just ghastly.”

  “Quite,” concurred Harriet.

  Paul nodded. But continued to look thoughtful for the rest of the conversation.

  Harriet decided it suited him. But then again, she realized that most of his expressions suited him. And consequent upon that thought, came the sudden realization that she had begun to regard Paul DeVoreaux as a very appealing man.

  She immediately stifled that thought as best she could and hid her blushes behind a rather confused Hugh, who was surprised by the warm and snuggly cuddle he suddenly received, but appreciated it anyway.

  *~~*~~*

  Meanwhile, in the metropolis, Letitia and Hecate were admiring themselves in the long mirror placed strategically in the corner of Letitia’s room. They both wore new day dresses, that had been ordered and delivered with astonishing rapidity.

  “This is rather nice, Letitia, I will admit.” Hecate swirled the column of skirt falling from the high waist of her new lawn gown. It was a pure blue, with lavender trim, and although of a lighter weight than Hecate was used to, it set off her colouring most admirably.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Letitia was carefully affixing her favourite little pearl earrings to her ears. Her gown was also blue, but a darker, richer shade, as befitted a woman her age. The bodice was low, displaying her white skin to advantage, and the white lace edging her neckline framed the little gold cross she always wore. It had been her mother’s.

  The simple but elegant ensemble suited her. She’d have disliked too much fussiness and it would have taken away the pleasure she now discovered when viewing her reflection beside her sister’s in the glass. “We are a dazzling pair, are we not?” She grinned at Hecate.

  “I’m not sure I’d go that far,” answered her sister. “But at least we’re not easily discovered to be countrified at first glance.”

  “And these are only the day dresses. I have to wonder how our evening gowns will look.” Hecate’s voice sounded doubtful. “Forgive my weakness. I don’t know if I want to attend a ball.”

  “Me neither,” concurred Letitia. “But when in London…”

  “You have no choice,” quipped Hecate.

  “Well, you do, but it has to be the right one,” chimed in Kitty, erupting into the room in a flurry of rose silk. “Now do hurry, girls. I cannot wait to show you both off.”

  Letitia glanced at Kitty as she reached for her spencer. “You are aware I have to visit my publisher before any other engagements?”

  Kitty nodded. “I know. Hecate and I are going to shop for gloves and ribbons while you attend to boring business matters. We’re to meet at eleven for a visit to Aunt Venie’s friend. It’s all arranged, Letitia. Just don’t linger at that publishing place, all right? The carriage will be waiting outside and we’ll be inside. So remember. Eleven sharp.”

  Hecate laughed. “You never have to remind Letitia to be prompt. She’s always early.”

  “That’s true, love,” said Letitia, tying her bonnet into a smart bow beneath her ear. “But then I have the luxury of pointing out the lateness of everyone else.”

  Kitty rolled her eyes. “Yes, I do recall that annoying habit.”

  At last Letitia found herself at the door of Lesley and Sons, Publishers, and with the carriage bearing her sisters driving away, she found herself missing Harriet a great deal. It had been an argument to persuade Aunt Venie that a maid was not necessary for a woman of her advanced years, and that the other two would be better served by such companionship.

  Grasping the door handle and walking inside took courage, but after entering, Letitia realized it was only a modified shop, with a single desk where the counter should have been. The rest of the interior was lined with books. Many, many books.

  Wishing she could linger and thumb through them, she walked to the man sitting behind the desk. “Good day to you, sir. I am Miss Smith.” She recalled her pseudonym just in time. “Mr. Lesley is expecting me.”

  The man nodded and rose, walking to a door in the rear of the shop. “This way, if you please, Miss. Mr. Lesley will be with you in a minute or two.”

  “Thank you.” She followed him into a smaller room, equally full of books, where several comfortable chairs were arranged in front of an imposing desk. There were at least two inkwells, a small mountain of documents and a cup of tea resting on the well-worn surface.

  This was clearly an office that was used a lot.

  Letitia was comforted by the nature of her surroundings. Books, to her, were friends. It was delightful to be in the company of so many of them all at once.

  Mr. Lesley arrived via another door, apparently disdaining the humble frontage. He bowed and seated Letitia, offering tea—which she politely declined.

  “Thank you sir, it’s a pleasure to see you once more.” She produced the bundled manuscript she had wrapped carefully earlier in the morning. “I have worked through your suggestions as diligently as possible. And of course I’m hoping they meet with your approval.”

  With her heart in her throat, she placed the package on Mr. Lesley’s desk.

  “I’m very happy to hear that, Miss Smith.” He eyed her with a slight smile. “I am glad to know that Lady Corinth has devoted herself to this work.”

  Letitia froze. Then sighed. “Damn.” The oath was soft, but made Lesley laugh. “I really did my best, you know.” She shook her head.

  “I understand completely. And if it’s of any comfort, I shall continue to refer to you as Miss Smith. No one shall know that Miss Smith and Lady Corinth are one and the same.”

  Sh
e inclined her head. “I appreciate your discretion, Mr. Lesley.”

  “I’m not about to jeopardize the success of what I foresee as a very popular book by offending its author.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t offend you for anything. Even a best-selling novel.”

  “No, I meant you think Cytherean Tales will be very popular?”

  “In my professional opinion, your book has great potential to attract interest, discussion and probably more than a little outrage.”

  “Oh dear.” Letitia’s heart skipped a beat. “Is that bad?”

  “Not at all,” Lesley shook his head. “The more outrageous it is deemed, the better it will sell.”

  “And in your personal opinion?” She had to ask.

  “I’ve given it a lot of thought, my dear. I’ve been in this business a long time and I’ve seen books that are worthy of a place on every bookshelf in the country, and others that are barely worthy of wrapping dead fish.” He sighed. “I have even published a couple of those. I don’t ever intend to do so again, which is why I devote my full attention to each and every book we accept.”

  “You are thorough.”

  “Yes, I am. My name as publisher is worth something. Thus the fact that not only do I think your book has merit—I believe it will sell extremely well—is based on my experience.” He tapped the manuscript. “You, my dear, have created a volume that will appeal to men with its more lascivious passages, but will also appeal to women on an educational level. And that, may I say, is a rare feat of literary brilliance.”

  “Oh, goodness me.”

  Letitia caught her breath as Lesley’s words sank into her mind. He really did like her book, and he’d actually understood her underlying reason for writing it. Well, apparently miracles were still happening in this world.

  “I’ve surprised you.”

  His observation surprised a chuckle out of her. “That is an understatement, Mr. Lesley. You’ve stunned me. I’m finding myself hovering between euphoria and terror.”