by Edith Layton
“Of course,” Laura said.
“Well, then…yes,” the viscount said.
And tomorrow, Alex thought, as he rubbed his chin on the soft fur beneath it, will take care of itself. But I, he silently vowed to the sleeping pup, will always take care of you. I don’t know how. But so I shall do.
*
“I’d take you home, but I only brought my light curricle,” the viscount told Laura as they walked out into the inn yard again. “It won’t hold three…and a half,” he added, glancing at the enormous ball of fur trotting at Alex’s feet. Damned if the pup hadn’t grown since he’d first set eyes on it. “At least, let me call a hackney for you.”
Laura nodded, and silently bid farewell to the few coins in her purse. In for a penny, in for a pound, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to more than that.
“And you must give me your direction,” he told her, raising a hand to signal to a hackney, “so I can come to see how Alex and Pompey are doing.”
She stopped and went white.
“At least that,” he said, taken aback and vaguely insulted. “After all, you have the first week, and I did promise to watch over him.”
“So you did, and so you shall,” she said gaily, as the hackney driver reached down and pulled open his door. “I thought to give the boy a day of rest today, and then take him to Astley’s Amphitheatre tomorrow to see the horses perform. We can meet there.”
“Excellent idea,” he said. “But let it be my treat. I’ll meet you outside before the performance. Take care until then,” he added as she, the boy, and the dog got into the hackney.
He waited.
The hackney driver waited.
“Great Irvington Street,” Laura told the driver. “Here,” the viscount said, handing coins up to the driver. “This should cover it.”
“Aye, and handsomely, thankee,” the driver said, tipping his hat.
“But I can’t let you pay!” Laura protested.
The viscount looked at her curiously. “Why not?” he asked. “It is what a gentleman should do.”
“So it is,” she murmured, because she hadn’t remembered that. “I don’t know what I was thinking. The excitement today has addled my wits.”
The driver raised his whip. The viscount raised his hand in farewell. And the coach drove off.
Laura sank back to her seat. Great Irvington was a fashionable street. Fortunately for her, it was also a long one. When they got there, she’d tell the driver her house number, which was much less fashionable. The boy wouldn’t care, but the lofty viscount certainly would have. Her rooms were in a house in a district that barely hung on to respectability, since it was on the spreading skirts of a slum. But they were all she could afford.
Her employers were off to the family home in the countryside. They hadn’t seen the need to take their governess with them because there’d be so many other children visiting with their own nurses and governesses. They especially hadn’t seen the need once they realized that not taking Laura would also save their paying her two weeks’ salary. So they’d told her she could take the Christmas holiday off, to spend on her own. Literally.
Laura had to spend her own money to finance her unexpected vacation. She didn’t have much, since most of her pay went to her mama. Still, she’d saved, so she’d have enough to feed and fete the young marquess. Sightseeing only cost coach fare, and they could buy most of their meals from vendors in the streets. A boy would love that. And boys didn’t care how fashionable a district the room they slept in was in, nor did their dogs….
Dog! Laura sat upright. She’d spoken in haste to spare the boy’s feelings, and the dog had looked so little then. Now, here beside her, she saw the beast took up wholly half the seat. How could she have been so mistaken?
Pompey looked at her, his tongue lolling in what looked like a dog laugh.
Her landlady might not think it was funny. She’d let the attic rooms for a pittance. That had come after Laura had done a great deal of bargaining. Still, getting two rooms had been necessary after she accepted the responsibility of boarding Maria’s son. But she hadn’t told her landlady a thing about pets.
“Alex,” Laura said, “let’s try to make this the best holiday ever! It may be a little difficult at first. You see, my landlady mightn’t care for dogs. So, do you think we can take Pompey up to my rooms without her knowing?”
“Absolutely,” Alex said. “If he won’t walk up, I’ll carry him.”
Laura sighed. She was glad Alex didn’t think it odd that she had rented rooms, but it looked like he might have to ride on Pompey’s back in order to get the dog up the long flight of stairs that led to them. She decided she’d face that when she came to it, and her rented rooms. There was suddenly something more on her mind. How could she keep the viscount from taking her back to her rooms after their afternoon at Astley’s? How could she keep him from seeing where she lived, and how meagerly?
Maybe she wouldn’t have to, she thought desperately. The viscount had seemed haughty at first, but they’d come to an amicable agreement. Maybe he wouldn’t mind where the boy stayed, so long as he was happy and well looked after. That was the crux of the matter.
But she didn’t want to test her theory. Noblemen lived by different rules. She was the daughter of a knight, and she’d known her share of snobs at school. She also knew the fierce pretentiousness and awareness of class distinctions that her middle-class employers lived by. If she was wrong about the viscount’s reaction to her living situation, she might lose the boy. She couldn’t bear that, not after she’d so looked forward to her unexpected Christmas guest.
Alex seemed to be a good boy, and a clever one. Laura genuinely liked children, and thought she’d enjoy his company. She sensed he was as lonely as she was. Well, of course he’d be, with a mama like Maria.
Maria had been a good friend when they’d been girls. A good friend, that was, until she’d become a young woman and realized how much more amusing life could be with young men. At that same time Laura’s father had died. She’d had to leave school, and so had lost all contact with Maria. If things had been different they might still have been friends. Maybe they were. After all, after years of silence, Maria had written to ask her to watch over her only son at Christmastime.
Laura determined to do it. It was the right thing, and too, this way she wouldn’t have to be alone at Christmas. She couldn’t afford the trip up to the Lake District to see Mama; she could barely afford this treat. But taking care of Alex was an obligation, even though it was one she suspected she’d enjoy. She wouldn’t be alone at Christmas, and she could see the holiday through a child’s eyes again.
And if, in the process, she got to know a dashing viscount, that would be fun too, so long as she remembered it was only for a week, and she didn’t get too involved with either the boy or the man. When the bells announcing the New Year rang, she’d be like Ella in the cinders, and go back to being a servant.
She felt a sudden weight drop onto her lap. Pompey had laid his great head on it, and was gazing up at her with deep brown, sad, preternaturally sympathetic eyes.
Laura sighed and stroked the dog’s silky head. She corrected herself. She’d have a fine holiday if she remembered to keep her head, and her heart, safe from all three of the males she’d just met.
*
When they finally arrived at her rooming house, after stopping at Great Irvington Street and then telling the driver to move on, Laura beckoned to Alex and his dog.
“Here we are!” she told Alex as they left the coach. “Let’s be quiet as mice as we go up to my rooms. We’ll break the news of our furry guest to Mrs. Finch, my landlady, at another time, shall we?”
Alex nodded wisely as he and Pompey followed her.
Laura opened the door to the narrow hallway and walked lightly and quickly to the long stair that led up to her rooms. She held her breath as the dog approached that stair—and then let it out in surprise. Anxiety must truly magnify one’s problems, she t
hought. Because when Alex put down the pup, she realized it really was a small dog. And a quiet one. Though it was still remarkably hefty-looking, it moved like a fat little shadow, its plump footpads ensuring its nails didn’t even click on the steps as it hopped all the way up to the very top flight.
She eased open her door and ushered the boy and dog inside. For a moment, Laura was ashamed. The lad might be used to austerity; she’d heard that the more historic the school, the more meager its accommodations because the upper classes believed that privation shaped a boy’s character. But surely he’d be disappointed, if not appalled. Her rooms were beyond meager. They were downright poverty-stricken.
The larger room had small windows, a wooden floor, a chair and a stool, a threadbare settee, and a table. The small room had a bed and a table and a window. She’d planned to give that room to the boy, and sleep on the settee herself.
Alex looked around the bare rooms. Then he went to a window, his dog following him. “Oh, this will be fun!” Alex said, leaning on his elbows and looking out. “We’re so high up we can see all the chimney tops! Aren’t there a lot of them? We’re higher than the birds. This is capital!”
That was when Laura realized that, in spite of her resolve, she was well on her way to loving him.
*
Sebastian Falconer, Viscount Falconer, saw Miss Lockwood and his old friend Harry’s son off in their hackney. Then he clapped on his high beaver hat and stepped up into the driver’s seat of his curricle. He flicked the whip, and his perfectly matched team trotted off toward his town house. He raised his head and took a deep breath. Christmas was already literally everywhere in London.
The streets actually smelled of something other than horses, because the street vendors were selling steaming hot cider, spicy apple and mince tarts, and freshly baked gingerbread along with hot soups and stews. The better shops had their doorways hung with freshly cut evergreen boughs. The cold air was bracing, the holiday was coming, and all the shoppers who thronged the pavements seemed to be smiling.
So was Viscount Falconer. Things hadn’t turned out as he’d expected, but he felt unusually happy, because he was unexpectedly pleased.
He could now admit that he’d had no idea how he would entertain the boy. He’d expected to leave that to his servants. He’d also expected to feel guilty about it. After all, this year his holiday would have been a ramshackle thing to offer a young boy. His best friends were married and off to their country homes. Though he’d been invited, he couldn’t share in their domestic bliss. He wasn’t eager to be entertained by cooing newlyweds, or pass his time praising their drooling infants.
Instead, he supposed he’d pass the holidays with other friends, playing chess and discussing politics with the staid ones; going to gaming hells and sporting events with the boisterous ones. And then, of course, for domestic bliss of another sort, there was his new mistress. None of which were amusements fit for a boy.
But now the boy had a lovely young companion, and Sebastian could also get to know the lad before he took him for his week. Plus, he thought with a slow smile, he could get to know the lovely young companion as well.
But was she a lady? He didn’t know, not really. Nor did he know where she lived, or who her family was. She’d charmed the good sense out of him. That wasn’t like him.
Still, Sebastian counted himself an astute judge of character. He’d had to be. Coming into the title young, he’d met a score of people who had tried to charm the money from his pockets. Some had succeeded. It had taught him to take his time and measure his judgments.
Since coming of age, he’d also met a score of women who’d tried to entice him into marriage. None had succeeded. Instead, he’d grown up with a healthy skepticism and an appreciation of females who dealt plainly with a fellow, offering what passed for love for money. He knew that was crass, but at least it was honest.
And yet, just now, he’d let a remarkably pretty young woman ride off with a boy who was supposed to be his charge, because she’d shown him a letter asking her to, and a pair of beseeching golden-brown eyes. He allowed she’d also behaved in a well-bred fashion. But that didn’t excuse his hasty decision.
He didn’t think Miss Lockwood was a kidnapper, or that she meant any harm. Her letter was genuine, as was, he’d swear, her concern for the boy. But she was, after all, Maria’s friend. His old friend Harry Grenville had been a sensible fellow until he’d met Maria. She’d been a giddy flirt before and after their marriage, and after Harry died she’d carried on even more, taking up with one marginal fellow after another.
Sebastian frowned. He turned his team.
“Changin’ in midstream, guy?” called out the raffish boy who acted as his tiger and perched on the back of his curricle. “What’s up?”
“Time to see that man-at-law again,” he told the lad.
He had to reassure himself that though he’d made a quick decision, it hadn’t been a rash one.
Whatever the man-at-law said, Sebastian vowed to be sure to take a longer and harder look at Miss Laura Lockwood when they met the next day. Then, however charming she was or pretended to be, he’d make sure he’d made the right decision.
*
“That was capital!” Alex caroled as they left Astley’s. “Wasn’t that splendid? Thank you, sir,” he told the viscount, looking up at him with sparkling eyes.
“I confess I enjoyed it too,” the viscount said. “And you?” he asked Laura.
She smiled up at him. There weren’t words for how she felt. But still, she said, “It was wonderful.”
“And Pompey loved it too!” Alex announced. Both adults turned to look at him.
He opened his coat, and two bright eyes looked back at them.
“You carried the dog under your coat?” Laura gasped. “To a horse show?”
“Astonishing,” the viscount said. “A dog who didn’t bark or so much as squeak for all those hours as the horses trotted by.”
“He’s a daisy,” Alex said proudly.
“But…” Laura said, “I thought he was too big to fit under your coat.”
“He’s just the right size,” Alex said comfortably, setting the dog down on the pavement beside him.
“But he is too big,” Laura murmured, eyeing the fat puppy.
“Evidently not,” the viscount said. “But I’m afraid he’s far too big to take out for the treat I’d planned. I’d thought we’d go for pastries next.”
Laura’s eyes grew wide. Of course, the afternoon was still young. But they couldn’t go to a shop or a bakery, not with the dog in tow. And so then the viscount would probably expect her to invite him back to her home for tea. She couldn’t.
After a moment in which no one spoke, the viscount did again. “We could go to my house,” he said. “But I’ve no respectable female living with me, and Alex cannot be considered a suitable chaperon.” He said that with one dark eyebrow raised, as if in expectation. His gray eyes weren’t flinty now as he gazed at her, but rather warm and soft as fog when it flowed over the meadows at dawn.
Deep waters best left untested, Laura thought uneasily, and said, too brightly, “Oh my. My oversight, I’m afraid. I thought it would be acceptable for me to…come with Alex, especially at this hour, without another escort for propriety’s sake. But of course, you’re right. So then,” she said on an inspiration, “why don’t we make it a true London holiday treat for him? Can’t we eat alfresco? There are so many street vendors out today. We have a grand selection laid out before us. We can buy pasties or pastries, cakes and gingerbread, tea or hot lemonade and more, as we stroll toward the park. But I insist on paying for the gingerbread, at least.”
“Never,” the viscount said, and they argued about it pleasantly as they strolled down the street toward the park.
They ended up buying gingerbread and hot cider, and they ate and drank while sitting on a bench in the park watching Alex and Pompey romp on the wide lawns. The sun was out and the air was mild, for December. The park w
as crowded with nannies and their charges, well-dressed people strolled the lanes, and dashing gentlemen rode by on horseback, expertly threading their way through the line of elegant, slow-moving equipages.
Laura hadn’t been at leisure in this fashionable section of the park in years, and she enjoyed it immensely. Nothing was as delicious, though, as the experience of sitting beside a handsome gentleman and flirting with him. Because that was what they were doing, and she hadn’t been able to flirt with a gentleman as an equal since she’d been seventeen. It was headier than the mulled cider; it was intoxicating.
The viscount wasn’t handsome in the classical sense of the word, but he was surely a wildly attractive male. It wasn’t only his elegant clothes or his air of certainty. He had perfect manners, a sly sense of humor, and a deep voice, which thrilled Laura, and not only because she didn’t hear adult male voices too often. He also had the tiniest suggestion of a cleft in his firm chin. She noted it when she dropped her gaze to avoid his searching eyes, after she found herself shocked by her reaction when she looked at his well-shaped mouth.
Laura sighed. A week of this and she didn’t know if she could ever be happy in her small room with her small charges, in her small world, again. Then she realized she was being foolish. She’d have Alex for the week, not the Viscount Falconer. She might never see him again, except for when she delivered Alex for his week with him.
“So where shall we take Alex next?” the viscount asked her.
We! and next! Laura thought with a surge of glee. But, “I was thinking of the museum for tomorrow,” was what she said.
The lofty viscount made a face that made him look about Alex’s age. “Ancient crumbling statues and stuffed birds? Sad stuff for a boy, I’d think.”
“I also thought about taking him to the Tower,” she said quickly.
“That’s more like it. Show him where heads were lopped off. He’ll be enchanted.”
“Yes, exactly,” she said. “That will be for when he’s older. I was thinking more along the lines of showing him the crown jewels.”