Treacherous Temptations
Page 12
“What do you mean?”
“Just that men don’t give their trust first like a woman does.”
Mary gave her a puzzled frowned. “What do you mean by first, Jenny?”
“Men often act their feelings rather than speaking them like women do. They feel the act of love different from women. Me Mum told me long ago, ‘Jenny lass, the best way to gain anything from a man is to first see that he’s well fed.’ I think that might include his trust too, miss.”
“Food? I don’t follow you at all.”
“There be more than one kind of appetite, Miss Molly,” Jenny said with a smile.
“Jenny! How can you say such things?”
“It’s just the plain truth, miss. A man is most easily swayed by a woman after he’s been well pleased by her.”
“This is true? You’ve been with a man?” Mary asked.
Jenny flushed. “Ye won’t dismiss me if I tell you?”
“Nay, Jenny, but I caution you to take great care.”
“It’s only happened twice. The first was a comely lad, a stable groom back in Leicester, but he showed an ill-temper in drink, so I knew he weren’t for me.”
“And the second?”
“Pray don’t’ think badly of me, miss but ‘twas…’tis…his lordship’s man, James.”
“Lord Hadley’s valet? Is that why the coach was delayed today?”
“Aye,” Jenny confessed with a blush. “He’s such a gentleman, miss. I ne’er had one to talk so sweet to me and treat me like he does.”
Her words echoed Mary’s own thoughts about Lord Hadley. “I fear we are the same, Jenny, in that the head of an honest country girl is too easily turned by a fine gentleman. But what if you were to get with child? Have you considered that?”
“Aye. We was careful but I think he’d do right by me. I still can’t regret it, for he says he won’t go with his lordship if he returns abroad. Miss Molly, ye’ve always been a good mistress to me, if there’s aught you wish to know about his lordship, mayhap James…”
“No, Jenny,” she replied. “I thank you for offering, but whatever his secrets, I wish to hear them from Lord Hadley’s own mouth.”
“I still say you should follow where your heart leads.”
“My heart would only lead me astray,” she said sadly. “Even if Sir Richard gave consent, which I know he never would, I could never marry Lord Hadley.”
“What e’er you decide, miss, I only wish ye happy.”
“Happy? I don’t know that true happiness is in my future. I would do best to aspire only to peace and contentment.” With this melancholy thought, Mary took up her new ivory fan to present herself to the countess before her much-dreaded evening at the opera.
…
“You summoned me?” Hadley entered Lady Blanchard’s boudoir with a thunderous scowl. This was the last place he wanted to be, and Barbara the last person he desired to see, but intuition told him neither she nor Sir Richard were to be trusted with Mary. He almost hadn’t returned to Blanchard House at all after his meeting with Cornbury. With so much to do in London, he had considered taking rooms elsewhere, someplace where his movements might be less conspicuous. He had also thought it prudent to give Mary space and a chance to think, but he couldn’t seem to put her out of his mind, nor did he dare let her out of his sight.
“Leave us!” The countess signaled her maid and footman with an imperious wave. She wore an indecently cut violet evening gown that all but revealed her red-rouged nipples. She flaunted her flesh to little effect where Hadley was concerned, for Barbara was a dish for which he’d completely lost his appetite.
When they were alone, she cocked a brow. “Your little adventure by barge yesterday, was it fruitful?”
“I have no intention of feeding your lascivious fancy, Barbara.”
She approached him with a pout. “You have grown selfish Hadley, for once we shared everything.” She slid her hand up his thigh to cup him.
He grasped her wrist and jerked it away. “History that will not be repeated.”
“More’s the pity,” she frowned. “But you haven’t answered my question. Have you taken her yet?”
“She needs more time.”
“Time?” she laughed. “Time is a luxury we no longer have! I have done my part, Hadley. Did I not help to contrive an entire day without Sir Richard’s knowledge? You had ample opportunity. I begin to fear you are not the man you once were.” Her gaze slid back to his crotch. “Is that the real problem? Is it what has kept you from my bed? Have you gone soft, Hadley?”
“I refuse to rise to that.”
“The question remains whether you can rise at all.”
“Damn it, Barbara! The girl needs to be handled with care or all will amount to naught.”
“Yet our very future is riding on this!”
Her remark was cut short by a light rap on the door. Mary entered with a look of uncertainty wrinkling her brow. “Do you also attend the opera this evening, Lord Hadley?” She addressed him in a voice stiff with reserve, as if they were strangers.
“Alas, not,” he replied, “I have a prior engagement, but now that I have seen you, Miss Edwardes, I am filled with regret. You are enchanting this night.”
Dressed in ivory satin and lace with seed pearls, with hair simply arranged in cascades of red curls, the effect was luminous and lovely. Mary Elizabeth Edwardes was a sight that stole his breath. He was almost dumbstruck by her transformation.
Her gaze flicked to his and then darted away. “Do you really think so?” She instantly bit her lip as if repenting the question.
He crossed the room to take her hand. “Indeed I do.” He caressed her knuckles bringing her hand to his lips. “You are a veritable angel, Mary, and were we in a more private place I would be tempted to kiss much more than your hand. Would you let me, I wonder?” he asked sotto voce.
“No,” she answered with a rosy hue infusing her cheeks. “I would not.” She retrieved her hand.
“Another regret,” he said and stroked one of her loose red curls. “But perhaps I shall later convince you otherwise.”
She glared. “You are presumptuous.”
He smiled. “I am persuasive.”
“I wish you an enjoyable evening, my lord.” Mary turned her back to him to face the countess who eyed Mary with enough virulence to poison the air.
Barbara’s ill-concealed jealousy was already a thorn in Hadley’s side, and one that experience told him would fester quickly unless he found a way to pluck it out. Although he already courted more than his share of danger this night, he knew he must find a way to look after the girl, for Barbara was vindictive as hell and would surely make Mary suffer in myriad intangible ways.
“My lady,” he addressed the countess, “perhaps we will encounter one another this evening after all.” Hadley took his leave with a final whispered word to Mary. “Until later, my sweet, when I fully intend to claim the kiss you deny me.”
…
Mary had not anticipated seeing him. It was the first time they had encountered one another since Richmond, and though she tried so very hard to suppress it, the mere sight of Lord Hadley still made her throat tighten and her stomach flutter. She had halted a few steps into the room, unable to move or to breathe. Dizziness ensued from lack of air—or perhaps it was just the way he looked at her.
Their exchange was agonizing but thankfully brief. She had even managed to settle her racing pulse…until he had spoken of kisses. The reminder of their dalliance, for she knew that’s all it was to him, filled her with unbidden yearnings that sent a pool of heat between her thighs. Yet she swore she would never allow him another liberty, or betray to him how he had devastated her.
After he left, Mary steeled herself to face the countess’ inspection. Lady Blanchard was gowned in violet silk embroidered ornately with silver thread, a striking contrast to her dramatic coloring. She wore diamonds at her throat and wrists, and her hair was powdered and dressed elaborately with di
amond-encrusted combs. She was altogether stunning, leaving Mary to wonder how Lord Hadley had even noticed her in the presence of such dazzling beauty.
Although Mary had left her rooms with a new confidence in her appearance, it vanished under Lady Blanchard’s scrutiny. With agonizing self-awareness, Mary practiced her mincing little steps and executed her best effort at a courtly curtsey, but in the panniers she was unaccustomed to wearing, her movements felt ungainly rather than graceful.
The countess cocked her head and raked Mary with a critical gaze that left her feeling as if she were only masquerading in borrowed finery. “No, my dear. I’m afraid you will not do at all.”
Mary’s hopeful smile evaporated. “B-but what is wrong?”
“I should never have trusted that Jenny creature. You are attending the opera, not a picnic in the park! You must be fit to be presented to the king and queen, should they deign to acknowledge you. Come now. Quickly. There is little time! Sir Richard will be here in less than an hour.” She sat Mary before her dressing table “Nanette!” she clapped her hands. “Tout de suite, les ciseaux!»
Nanette appeared with a befuddled look. «Les ciseaux? Pourquoi madame?»
The countess smiled. “Pour couper les cheveux.”
Nanette returned with a large pair of scissors.
«Les couper à la mouton,» Lady Blanchard commanded.
Mary’s eyes grew wide in horror. «Mouton? Mutton, my lady? You don’t intend to—”
The countess gave her a placating smile. “With so little time, there is really no other way to tame that unruly mass on your head.”
“But my lady— Mary was stunned into silence when the first chunks of red curls fell into her lap.
“La! Don’t fret so child,” the countess laughed. “For I have such a lovely wig for you to wear.”
Overcome with shock and powerless to resist their combined efforts, Mary sat lifelessly as the hair that she had once despised fell in curly clumps about her feet, only to be replaced by an elaborate monstrosity fabricated of white horse hair. Nanette then painted, rouged, and patched her face.
When finished, Mary stared in horrified dismay at the image that greeted her, unable to recognize her own visage beneath the mask of white and red.
Feeling as if she were sleepwalking through some horrific nightmare, she descended for supper, pausing at the threshold to the drawing room, where Sir Richard and the countess were engrossed in conversation. Sir Richard retrieved a paper from his breast pocket and handed it to the countess.
“What is this?” the countess asked.
“The guest list,” he replied. “I intend to give a dinner party Thursday next and you shall preside as my hostess.”
Barbara glanced down at the list and then rolled her eyes. “You know how I despise political dinners.”
When they didn’t immediately notice her, Mary waited to be acknowledged for fear of breaking protocol, but what she heard next sent any remaining color leaching from her powdered and painted face.
“You misapprehend, my dear. My purpose is to introduce my charming ward to the most powerful, influential, and most importantly, unwed men in the government. On that list are ten of London’s most eligible bachelors, all of whom are in dire need of financial bolstering. Following our intimate dinner, the negotiations shall commence.”
So soon? Mary had known it was coming but the reality washed her in a wave of panic.
“You have not the least subtlety, Sir Richard,” Barbara chided. “But I suppose it’s no matter to me if you intend to auction her off like so much livestock.”
Sir Richard chuckled. “How you women always sensationalize everything. No, it shall be very civilized indeed.”
“But Lord Wycherley? Everyone knows his preference for young boys! And Lord Northcott is sixty, if a day!” she scoffed.
“Nevertheless, he has outlived all his progeny and aspires to produce another heir.”
“Barnesley?” Her gaze narrowed. “Has the “bad baron” also thrown his hat in the ring? As I recall his first wife died under somewhat…unusual…circumstances.”
“Bah!” Sir Richard raised a hand. “The tales were grossly exaggerated. Besides, his peccadilloes are no concern of mine when he is in a unique position to secure my nomination for Speaker. Indeed, I have invited him to join us later this evening—to preview the goods, so to speak.”
Bad baron? Preview the goods? Mary gazed down at her gown in stupefaction. Nausea swept down upon her and bile rose into her throat.
“So that is your aim?” asked the countess.
He shrugged. “Did not our own First Lord of the Treasury begin as the Speaker of the House? Besides, the gel won’t suffer for it. She has to wed someone, after all, and everyone on this list is a gentleman of considerable standing. She’ll have a title, and with lands a plenty she may rusticate and breed heirs wherever she chooses.”
“So she is to have no say at all in her choice of husband?” Barbara remarked.
Mary had come to London resigned to her marriage, but it had never crossed her mind that she would have no say in the matter, or that Sir Richard would use his position of trust to exploit her for his benefit. All seemed poised to play out precisely as Lord Hadley had warned it would—Sir Richard would select her bridegroom from one of his political cronies— a man just like himself.
Sir Richard laughed an obnoxious bark. “What the devil would a nineteen-year-old virgin know of men anyway?”
In reality, Mary didn’t know men at all, as her experience with Lord Hadley had already proven. Although only hours ago she had convinced herself she could be content with someone she cared nothing about, now she acknowledged the lie. Their voices had become barely intelligible, reduced to a mere buzz drowned in her ears. Her hands were clammy and tightly clenched at her side, and with every inspiration, her chest tightened until she could barely breathe at all.
“Where the devil is the girl anyway?” Sir Richard demanded.
The countess flicked her gaze to the doorway, her eyes widening the moment she lit on Mary. “But my dear Sir Richard, she is already here.”
“There you are at last.” Sir Richard rose from his chair to greet Mary with a counterfeit smile on his puffy and jowled face.
Dear God was there no escape from this place? From her fate? Mary’s mind raced for any means to do so, and acting purely on instinct, with no thought beyond the moment, she hiked up her skirts and fled!
Blinded by a torrent of emotion, she burst out the front door and into the street, narrowly avoiding a collision with a passing hackney. The driver bellowed but Mary was deaf to his curses. With no direction, no plan other than escape, she ran. Ducking sedan chairs, and weaving through the sea of pedestrians and street vendors, she continued until her legs burned and she thought her lungs would burst. Still she pressed on.
Why, oh why, had she ever come to this godforsaken city? She hated this place with a deep loathing—the arrogance of the aristocracy, the filth of the streets, the masses of humanity that engulfed her in apathy.
Her mind raced as fast as her legs. Perhaps she could go into hiding. But she would need money and Sir Richard controlled all of it. Maybe she could find employment, but how, with no references and no contacts?
Out of breath and out of ideas, Mary slowed to a walk and then stopped altogether. Her attention darted to the hustle and bustle of pedestrians, shouting street hawkers, burly chairmen, and rumbling coaches, who paid her not the least heed.
She spun in a circle, her gaze riveting on the countless rows of unfamiliar buildings, and realized that she hadn’t the foggiest clue where she was… And ironically, in a city of nearly half a million people, Mary had never felt more alone.
Chapter Fifteen
“Monsieur le Comte de Chavigny,” Hadley entered the ambassadorial residence and swept the Comte a low bow, complete with his adopted Italiante flourish.
“Bon Soir, mon cher ami, Conte di Caserta!» The Frenchman embraced him with a broa
d smile. «It has been a long time since we meet, non?”
“Not since I was last in Paris. Two years ago, I believe,” Hadley replied.
“But here you are now! How charming! You must sup with me, oui? My table boasts a bounty you will not find elsewhere in this gastronomic wasteland.” He made the declaration with an exaggerated Gallic gesture.
“I will be delighted to be your guest this evening, Monsieur…if you will also be mine.”
“Oh? What have you in mind, my friend?”
“Would you care to attend the theatre with me? I have an especial interest in John Gay’s new production. It is called the Beggar’s Opera. Have you heard of it?”
The ambassador laughed. “But who in London has not? The rabble has packed the house every night since opening. I marvel that your English ministry allows such a scandalous burlesque! In France, perpetrators of such grotesque political parody would quickly find themselves installed in the Bastille. And this Craftsman! Bah! The very presses would be dismantled and the building that shelters such dissenting dogs, burned to the ground.”
“But here in England, there would be mass rioting should such a thing occur, for Englishmen take their freedoms of speech in dead earnest, Monsieur.”
“Indeed, my Di Caserta,” he smiled, “there is far more than a narrow channel that separates our nations when it comes to political ideology. Speaking of which, is it business or pleasure that has brought you from Rome to London?”
“It is both,” Hadley answered. “I had thought to settle here for a time, but it seems now that I may be obligated to depart soon for Paris.”
“For Paris, you say?” The ambassador’s tone remained cordial, but his gaze was sharp, a lifetime of diplomatic service having taught him to read between every line. “Then you must visit some particular friends of mine.”
“That is precisely what I had hoped to do, but alas, I am in need of letters of introduction.”
The ambassador smiled. “But of course, mon ami. You know that I would be delighted to provide all that you require. As to the Beggar’s Opera, I regret that I have some prior obligation, for Monsieur Handel opens his tribute to his Germanic Majesty this same evening. I fear it could be sadly misconstrued as a lack of deference should I not pay my proper respects.”