Lady Fiasco, A Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt)

by Kathleen Baldwin

  “You bought the rest of them? To protect our virtue? How very stuffy you are. The ton won’t care. On the contrary, half of ‘em were there when it happened.” Honore pointed over her shoulder at Fiona. “There stands the reigning attraction of the beau monde. This lampoon would only have increased their interest.”

  “I don’t follow your reasoning.”

  “No, you don’t do you. How very tiresome. I leave it to her to explain.”

  “As you wish. I have come to take Miss Hawthorn driving in the Park, with your permission of course.”

  Honore stood up and brushed out her skirt. The movement set the diaphanous petals to fluttering again. Exposing her nipples once more.

  Mattie, who had been standing nearby, with arms folded across her chest like a disapproving general, gasped. She put her hands on her hips, her nostrils flared, and her eyes blazed like an enraged mother bull.

  Honore sidled up to Tyrell, dragged her finger under his chin and cocked her head. “How do I know I can trust you with Fiona? I’ve heard some very alarming reports about you.”

  “I assure you, my lady—”

  “No.” She waved away his explanation and closed her eyes. “Don’t bother.” She rubbed her temple and flashed her eyes open again. “Just go! Go on, Wesmont. Take Fiona to the Park. I’m certain it will be a very proper, very dull drive.” She shooed him away.

  Tyrell brusquely inclined his head, strode across the room to Fiona, and offered her his arm.

  She wasn’t sure she should go anywhere with him. After he’d ogled her traitorous aunt like any common rake, how could he expect her to accompany him on a drive?

  Fiona was composing a proper set down for Lord Wesmont, when Mattie ordered Honore to cover herself up. She removed her apron and thrust it at Honore. “Here, use this.”

  Honore lifted her chin in defiance. “Take that smelly thing away. I’ll wear anything I like.”

  Mattie started huffing and puffing like a bull about to charge. It looked as if they might come to blows any minute.

  Fiona suddenly decided she could lecture Lord Wesmont later. For the nonce, it would be prudent to accept Tyrell’s offer and flee the drawing room. Without speaking, she placed her hand on his arm and gestured toward the door.

  Before they could escape, Honore called to Tyrell in a shrill voice, “Lord Wesmont! I’m giving an informal little soirée Thursday evening. Do come. I believe it will be an education for you.” Her laughter rang high and false in the charged air of the room.

  Tyrell and Fiona hurried to leave. Mattie exploded behind them, “By all the saints, me girl, why’re ye wearing a tart’s dress? It barely covers ye.” There was a loud ripping sound. “Oh, begging yer pardon m’lady! I guess it won’t even do that no more.” Mattie’s voice rang out triumphantly.

  Fiona and Tyrell retreated down the stairs, with Marcus’s sardonic laugh chasing them, and Honore screaming, “Get out of here Marcus! Out!”

  “Aye, you heard her ladyship,” echoed Mattie. “Now, pet, put m’ apron around ye. We’ll take ye up an’ put something decent on ye. What hae’ ye done to yer hair? It looks like a great yellow peach—”

  “You can’t treat me like this, Mattie! Give me that knife! I’ve a good mind to run you through, you interfering old busybody! I’m a grown woman. I’ll wear what I like!”

  Honore shouted so loudly that Fiona shuddered involuntarily. She and Tyrell quickened their pace, but didn’t go fast enough to miss hearing Mattie’s booming response. “Not while I live under the same roof, ye won’t!”

  “You would do well to remember precisely whose roof—”

  By the time they reached the foyer Fiona and Tyrell were almost at a dead run. The butler opened the door for them for them and calmly handed Tyrell his hat as they rushed out. Tyrell boosted Fiona onto the seat of his curricle, grabbed the reins from his tiger and whipped his horses away from the curb.

  A moment passed before he had his horses and his self-composure restored to order. He glanced over at Fiona. She looked sideways at him and they broke out laughing.

  Tyrell shook his head as if to clear his mind. “I feel as if I have just narrowly escaped from bedlam.”

  She smiled apologetically. “Yes, I fear, my aunt is not very predictable.”

  “You’ve vastly understated the matter. The woman is a lunatic.”

  Fiona nodded, “Yet, at other times, she is understanding and almost motherly.”

  “Motherly?” Tyrell sputtered. “I can hardly believe that.”

  “It’s true. Sometimes, she is quite affectionate. Did you know she completely redecorated a bedroom in anticipation of my arrival? It’s true. And what’s more, she even guessed correctly what my favorite colors might be.”

  “Astonishing.”

  Fiona heard the sarcasm in his voice. “You don’t believe me. I can’t blame you. She can be rational and loving one minute, and then turn quite dangerous and irrational the next. I fear you’ve not witnessed the more noble side of her character. Today was certainly not a good example.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it. Still, her radical shifts in conduct cannot be safe. Didn’t I just hear her threatening to run her cook through with a butcher knife? Your aunt is hardly a fit chaperone for a young lady. I cannot be pleased about you staying in her household.”

  Fiona crossed her arms and exhaled loudly. “It seems, my lord, that you are never pleased with me. In fact, I show remarkable skill in disappointing you.”

  “You misunderstand—”

  “No, I don’t think I do.”

  The steady clip-clop of his horses on the cobbled street punctuating her exasperated little huffs. “You are in no position to be concerned about my welfare. After all, I cannot be in any greater danger with my aunt than I was with you at the lake.”

  Tyrell’s jaw tightened. “I’ve already apologized for that, Fiona. Believe me, I thoroughly regret my behavior that afternoon.”

  Fiona grabbed the curricle seat and squeezed the leather until she could compose herself. She faced Tyrell, and words flew out of her mouth. “Exactly which behavior do you regret, my lord? Pretending to drown and frightening me out of my mind? Do you regret kissing me? Or is it the humiliation you heaped on me afterwards?” Immediately, she lamented her outburst. She peeked over her shoulder at the young tiger standing behind them.

  Tyrell looked over at her. “You needn’t worry about my tiger. He’s deaf as a doornail. Aren’t you, Kip?”

  “Right you are, guv, been deaf since the day I was born.” The young lad riding on the back of the curricle winked at her. Fiona smiled uneasily.

  Tyrell shifted the reins to his left hand, and with his right reached over and covered Fiona’s fingers. “Fiona, I’m sorry, I said those things to you. Truthfully, the entire episode baffles me. I cannot comprehend why I acted like such a scoundrel. I have no excuse for my actions, and I only hope that someday you will forgive me.”

  He dropped his guard and looked at her with all the tenderness he felt. Specks of sunshine glimmered in her eyes, and her cheeks blushed an endearing pink. She seemed to test the depths of his earnestness without saying a word. He answered with a half smile.

  She is doing it again, he thought. Pulling me toward her as if by magic. Unbidden, he pulled her fingers into his palm, caressing them. His eyes traced a path across her velvet cheek to her lips and then down her ivory neck.

  Confusing man, Fiona thought, blushing under the intensity of his gaze. You are no more predictable than my aunt. But, please, don’t take your hand away. I like how your fingers play with mine. Your very touch makes me feel as if I’ve stepped for a moment into heaven.

  Just then, a young blade driving a high-perch phaeton skidded around the corner, out of control, headed straight toward them. Tyrell jerked his hand away from Fiona and pulled the reins. He swerved his team out of the way with only inches to spare.

  Kip whistled. “Nice work that, guv.”

  “Yes, well, perh
aps we ought to take a turn about the park, away from jackanapes who shouldn’t be allowed to hold a whip.”

  Tyrell’s brows drew together in a silent brood, under which he cast sidelong glances at the woman seated next to him. Why did his traitorous body respond so quickly to this female? He fixed his eyes straight ahead and concentrated on controlling his cattle, controlling them perfectly. After taking one turn about the park, he headed back in the direction of Alison Hall.

  “My lord,” said Fiona, “you are wearing your famous scowl.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Ah yes. The beastly scowl that makes me appear to be—how did Lady Haversburg phrase it—an ill-tempered old grudgen.”

  “I don’t believe the word old was mentioned.”

  “No? Well, that’s a comfort.” He laughed. “You may as well know the truth, Fiona. Lady Haversburg is right. I am an ill-tempered grudgen.”

  “I am well aware of that, my lord.”

  “Are you, indeed?” He frowned. “Unfortunately, I must risk proving myself even more of a killjoy. Fiona, you must not continue living with Lady Alameda. Not only is she a woman of questionable character, but sharing the same roof with Lord Alameda is… well, it’s reckless in the extreme. Dangerous.”

  “What can have you against Marcus?” She noticed his brows pinched even tighter and something inside her registered a triumph.

  “The man can’t be trusted, that’s what. You shouldn’t be anywhere near that reprobate.”

  “But, Marcus has been everything that is kind to me. He is affectionate and generous with his time. Without his attentions, I fear I would sit against the wall at every event.”

  A grumble came from deep within Tyrell’s throat. “I see you use his given name.”

  “Of course.” She smiled and lifted her chin. “He is my cousin.”

  “Cousin or not,” he growled. “You ought not to be staying under the same roof with him. He’s a known rakehell, a complete wastrel, a womanizing scapegrace, and a scoundrel!”

  “Really, Lord Wesmont.” She feigned offense, but the muscles in her cheek quivered with mirth. She found his hostility toward Marcus extraordinarily amusing.

  Tyrell was too busy fuming and managing his team to notice. “I tell you, he cannot be trusted. You say he is affectionate. Ha! It’s his affectionate nature that troubles me. Exactly how affectionate is he?”

  It was Fiona’s turn to glare at him. “You mustn’t trouble yourself on my account, my lord. As I told you before, my welfare is none of your concern.”

  “It most certainly is my concern. You are”—he stopped—“you are… I am a friend of your father’s. Yes, that’s it. As your neighbor, I would be derelict in my duty if I didn’t concern myself with your welfare.”

  “Oh fustian! You think I’m a little fool who can’t manage her own affairs. I am not nearly as green as everyone thinks.”

  Tyrell arched one brow and cast his eyes knowingly over her. “Are you not green? I seem to remember having very little difficulty trapping you into a compromising situation. Or don’t you remember?”

  “That is unfair, Lord Wesmont. That was a completely different situation. Besides you tricked me.”

  “Yes, but that is precisely my point. It was easy to trick you. And if memory serves, you are rather susceptible to kissing. I don’t recall much resistance from you, quite the contrary—”

  “Stop!” she ordered, knowing her face had turned blazing red.

  She bit her lip in an attempt to steady her voice. “My lord, you have passed over unfairness and gone straight into cruelty. Do you really think I would have allowed anyone but you to kiss me like that? I’m well aware of how foolish it was. How can I forget? Especially when you remind me of it at every turn. I realize I was gullible. But that day…” Tears trickled out freely from her eyes. “That day was unlike any other.”

  Tyrell’s chest tightened and part of his stubborn heart ripped open. He shifted the leather and tried to grab her hand, but she pulled it away.

  He sighed heavily. “I’ve done it again, haven’t I? I’ve said everything precisely the wrong way?”

  She nodded, wiping at her eyes.

  He adjusted the reins, set his team to a well-controlled walk, and grabbed her waist, tugging her toward him. “Listen to me, Fiona. I don’t mean to be unkind. I don’t understand what happened to me that day. You were so beautiful in the water and sunshine, so earnest and sweet. I lost my head. I acted on my impulses and took advantage of you. Perhaps that’s why I worry that Alameda, who is most assuredly a shameless animal, might take similar liberties.”

  He patted her tenderly. “Do you understand?”

  She looked up at him, her dark eyes swimming with softness and a tentative trust that melted him to the core and made him start to burn with want. Her mouth was just a heartbeat away.

  Gad, he thought, I’ve got to stop this nonsense! He snatched his arm away from her and snapped the traces to make the team pick up speed.

  Fiona looked down and twisted the finger of her glove. “If I left Alison Hall, where would you have me go? Back to Timtree Corners? They are only too glad to be shot of me. Truthfully, I am happier living with my aunt than I was at home. She may be eccentric, but she doesn’t accuse me of being forever underfoot. She doesn’t think I’m cursed. Marcus may be a rascal, but he is securely under her thumb. Nothing goes on at Alison Hall without her approval. So you see, whether I am painfully green or not, Aunt Honore keeps me safe enough.”

  “I see,” he said, and meant precisely the opposite. She was flat wrong, but what could he do about it?

  They pulled up in front of her aunt’s town house. Tyrell handed the leads to Kip and jumped out of the curricle. He helped Fiona down, but did not linger holding her. He set her on the ground and stepped away without giving his treacherous body a chance to respond to her exotic smell, or the curve of her waist under his hands, or the small dimple on her left cheek that came and went with each smile. He stepped back so he could effectively ignore all of those things.

  Fiona wondered if he had developed an aversion to her. Whatever the case, she had endured enough of Lord Wesmont’s fickle nature. She’d had enough of him being lover-like one minute and distant the next. She wanted nothing more than to deliver a swift kick to his shin. Instead, she stamped her slipper on the sidewalk, winced briefly at the pain it caused and proceeded up the stairs.

  The front door opened. The butler waited in a mute vigil. Lord Wesmont tipped his hat to Fiona’s retreating figure and said formally, “I shall see you Thursday evening at your aunt’s soirée.”

  “As you please.” Without turning around Fiona bobbed a less-than-gracious curtsy and continued to march up the stairs, her backside flouncing delectably from side to side.

  Tyrell set his hat back firmly on his head and muttered as he climbed into his curricle. “Damnable girl.”

  Kip’s mouth spread in a knowing grin. “Quite right, guv, a very damnable girl.”

  Lord Wesmont snarled, “Thought you were deaf, Kip.”

  Kip pulled on his forelock. “Yes m’lord, Deaf as yesterday’s pudding.”

  “Well, see to it you stay that way.”

  Chapter 15

  The Soiree from Hades

  Honore floated down the stairway in a purple beaded gown, not beads sown onto fabric, but strung together like a coat of mail. Beneath a flimsy underskirt she wore nothing at all. If one caught precisely the right angle, Honore’s anatomy was quite visible through the glittering network of beads. Her breasts mounded up out of a very low neckline, and a huge garnet nestled in her cleavage.

  Marcus drew in a loud breath. “My dear Honore, you will devastate the gentlemen.”

  She tossed her nose into the air. “And why should I not?”

  Marcus looked at her appreciatively. “No reason at all, my dear. You are a stunner.”

  She inclined her head.

  “I daresay every fellow here will go blind straining to look at you.�
�� He tapped his fingers against the newel post. “Poor Fiona. You’ll put her quite in the shade. She’ll disappear into the woodwork next to you.”

  Honore glared at him. “What is that to me? She looks after herself well enough.”

  “Certainly. I merely thought, that as her chaperone—”

  “I am not her dragon!” She poked her finger at his chin. “I’m not some old biddy consigned to the wall! Do you hear me? I’m not.” Honore stepped back and straightened her shoulders.

  “Perish the thought. Hiding your superior charms would be a crime against nature.” Marcus hooded his eyes and shook his head. “You, in the role of duenna? It’s unthinkable. A tragedy. Yet, my dear, you have mentioned, many times, that Fiona is your protégée, the offspring you never had?”

  Honore cocked her chin in the air. “That was before I knew the girl. I’ve changed my mind. She’s as stuffy and dull as that lovesick earl who pants after her. No, she won’t do at all. Thank goodness, I hadn’t gone to all the bother of changing my will, yet.”

  She flipped her hand backward against her forehead and briefly struck a pose of one of the seven muses. Then she patted Marcus’s cheek as if he were eight years old. “It’s of no consequence. I’ve other nieces. My brother in Hertfordshire had a daughter, and I believe my younger brother spawned several gels. If I decide to adopt a new protégée, I may look in that direction. But for now, I’ve had enough of schoolgirls, haven’t you? Excuse me, Marcus, I must attend to my guests.”

  As Honore walked past him, Marcus glared at her undulating backside and muttered, “How many nieces can the woman have?”

  His inheritance was safe for the moment. No point in killing Fiona now. But what if Honore changed her mind? Or found a new orphan niece to donate her wealth to? Damn. One solution seemed to elevate itself above the others—get the inheritance now. Tonight’s scheme to eliminate Fiona needed alteration. He had a new target.