by Brenda Hiatt
* * *
The next day, Pearl received her usual retinue of callers, the gentlemen bearing flowers and compliments, the ladies bearing gossip. She listened with only half an ear, responding automatically, until Clorinda Stuckton introduced a topic of particular interest.
"I saw that you danced with Mr. di Santo last night, Lady Pearl. Did he say anything . . . scandalous? I had such tales about him from Fanny Mountheath!"
"Tales?" Pearl carefully schooled her voice and expression into the same indifference with which she'd greeted all previous gossip.
Clorinda nodded eagerly, and the other ladies—and one or two of the gentlemen—leaned forward to hear what she had to say. "For one, it is rumored that he was, ah, instrumental in Lord and Lady Simcox's divorce!" Her voice sank to a whisper on the last, shocking word.
All Society knew, of course, that Lord Simcox had obtained the rare decree last year on grounds of his wife's infidelity.
"One can scarcely blame Lady Simcox," said Miss Chalmers with a giggle, though her mother frowned her disapproval. "He was easily the handsomest man at the Chatham ball last night."
One or two of the gentlemen protested, and the ladies set about soothing and teasing them, turning the conversation. Pearl wasn't sure whether she was disappointed or relieved.
Though she had not known the particulars of the scandalous Simcox divorce at the time, Pearl had mentally congratulated Lady Simcox on her escape from a drink-sodden, ill-tempered husband nearly thirty years her senior. The idea of Luke's involvement, however, put things in a different —and disturbing —light. She was more eager than ever to continue her conversation with him.
Clorinda Stuckton took her leave, and a moment later a new caller was announced. Pearl felt a thrill of anticipation, only to have it quashed—again.
"Lord Bellowsworth!" trilled Obelia to the newcomer. "I vow, I was beginning to fear we should never see you again. I was quite cast in the dismals when you were not at the Chathams' ball last night." She waved him to the seat next to Pearl, just vacated by Sir Cyril, who was taking his leave.
"My apologies, your grace. My mother was feeling poorly, and I did not feel easy leaving her. She is much recovered today, however, so I was eager to pay my respects." He turned his wistful, worshipful gaze on Pearl, who managed to suppress her sigh of impatience.
"Such a doting son," the Duchess declared approvingly. "I always say a young lady can tell much about how a man will treat a wife from observing how he behaves toward his mother, do I not, Pearl?"
"Frequently," Pearl responded with an automatic smile. She was rather surprised Lord Bellowsworth had the courage to call at all, given the embarrassment attending his last visit.
His next words explained the seeming anomaly. "Your grace was more than kind to invite me to call today, after my neglect of you this past week. Dare I hope this means I am forgiven?"
"Tut-tut, my lord," the Duchess responded. "You've done nothing requiring forgiveness. In fact, I was hoping you might be prevailed upon to escort Lady Pearl to the theatre tonight. The Duke and I had planned to accompany her, but it appears he may have to attend some dreary diplomatic function instead."
Pearl had hoped that after what she'd told her father, Obelia might suspend her matchmaking efforts, but such was clearly not the case. If anything, she seemed to have intensified her efforts. And adding insult to that potential injury, Obelia had just treated her like a charity case in front of half a dozen visitors.
"I regret that you did not consult with me, your grace, before inconveniencing Lord Bellowsworth," she said icily. "As it happens, I have already agreed to allow another gentleman to escort me tonight."
"Indeed?" The Duchess arched one eyebrow, plainly disbelieving. "Who might that gentleman be, and when did you have opportunity to make such an arrangement?"
At that perfectly propitious moment, Luke was announced. Pearl gave her stepmother her sweetest smile, trying to ignore the fluttering which suddenly gripped her stomach.
"I'll be attending with Mr. di Santo. We discussed it during our waltz last night—the one you yourself suggested, your grace."
CHAPTER 8
Luke paused in the doorway of the opulently elegant Oakshire drawing room upon hearing his Society name on Lady Pearl's lips. She was stunning today in a simple pink day dress, her honey-colored hair falling in artless ringlets past her shoulders. Warily, he moved into the room, then swept his hostesses an elaborate bow.
"Your grace, my lady. I am flattered to find myself a topic of discussion between you."
"Why, Mr. di Santo," exclaimed Lady Pearl, as though she had but that moment become aware of his presence, though a twinkle in her eyes told him otherwise. "I was just informing the Duchess of our plans to attend the theatre tonight. Did you not say that Othello is one of your favorite plays?"
Luke did not hesitate for an instant. "Indeed I did, my lady. As I said last night, I am delighted to have the opportunity to gratify two passions at once—for the theatre, and for more time in your company."
He thought she colored slightly at the word "passion," and he hid a smile. Woman of the world she might be, but her fundamental innocence was intact. Though her deception still stung, he was pleased to discover that had not been a part of it.
He turned to the Duchess. "Your grace, I wish to thank you again for your suggestion last night that I dance with the Lady Pearl. Your endorsement was most gratifying."
Now the Duchess pinkened, her smile a shade less gracious than it had been. She glanced quickly at the tall blond man seated by Lady Pearl, and he responded with a concerned frown. A match she was promoting, perhaps? Luke kept his expression carefully bland.
"I was merely being hospitable to a newcomer to Town, Mr. di Santo," the Duchess replied after an awkward pause. "The Lady Pearl is—"
"Uniformly charming," Luke concluded for her. "I know it is extremely unlikely that she is not already engaged, but I came today in hopes of persuading her to drive out with me this afternoon."
He turned his smile upon Pearl. "Lord Marcus suggested that you might acquaint me with any particularly English customs that may differ from those abroad." Marcus had done no such thing, of course, but Luke didn't think he'd mind having his name invoked for such a cause.
Before the Duchess could speak —to forbid the drive, judging by her expression —Lady Pearl spoke. "I had merely planned to shop for a new bonnet, but that can easily be put off until tomorrow. I should be delighted to assist in educating you about Society's expectations." And her own expectations, as well, said the look accompanying her words.
"You are all generosity, my lady," he declared, enjoying both the Duchess' sudden frown and Lady Pearl's wariness. In fact, he was enjoying everything about this situation far too much. "Might I be presented to your other guests?" He turned to face the man he instinctively regarded as a rival, foolish as his own aspirations toward Lady Pearl must be.
"This is the Marquess of Bellowsworth, a longtime friend of the family." The Duchess' voice held a hint of severity that was no doubt supposed to put Luke in his place. Clearly, she had deemed him unworthy of her stepdaughter.
She was right, of course, but he was not about to let her know that. "Bellowsworth," he said with only the slightest inclination of his head, mimicking the supercilious, bored attitude of the most self-important of his Oxford classmates —which was to say, the ones he'd liked least.
The young man reddened and cleared his throat. "Servant, di Santo," he said with an attempt at equal unconcern which would have been more impressive had his voice not broken on the final syllable.
Luke turned from him, not quite quickly enough for rudeness, to face the two ladies who had sat watching this entire byplay with obvious interest. "And these must be sisters," he exclaimed, "so similar in coloring and charm."
"Lady Wittington and her daughter, Miss Chalmers," the Duchess corrected him, while the elder of the two ladies tittered with delight. Luke swept them a bow only a shade less elaborate than th
e one with which he'd greeted his hostesses.
"I am honored to make your acquaintance," he told them, making eye contact with first the mother and then the daughter, until each blushed and lowered her eyes in flattered confusion. He was pleased that his lack of recent practice had not robbed him of the social skills he'd once worked so hard to attain.
He took a seat then, though the gangly marquess prevented him sitting as near to Lady Pearl as he'd have preferred. His plan was to take Bellowsworth's chair the moment it was vacated, but he soon learned that the marquess would be staying for luncheon. As he could not very well invite himself to a meal, he shortly thereafter took his leave.
"I'll see you at five o'clock, for our drive," he said to Lady Pearl, bowing over her hand in parting.
This time she kept her expression and color strictly under control, though a flicker in her eyes told him she had felt the same jolt he had when their fingers touched. "I shall look forward to it. Until then, sir."
Back outside, Luke walked in the direction of Grosvenor Street, and the Town house Lord Marcus shared with Lord Peter and Lord Anthony Northrup. He hoped he could persuade Marcus to trust him with his phaeton for this afternoon's drive. Stealing one might conceivably mar the impression he'd been at such pains to make on Society.
* * *
Luncheon was an interminable meal for Pearl, what with the inane conversation between Lord Bellowsworth and her stepmother, and her own impatience to have another private conversation with Luke. What, exactly, would she ask him—and how? She must not allow the pleasure of bantering with him to dissuade her from her object.
"Why are you smiling, my lady?" asked Lord Bellowsworth, interrupting her thoughts. "Surely you do not find the theft of Lady Mountheath's diamonds amusing?"
Recalling what Lady Minerva had told her last night, Pearl's interest was caught. "No, of course not. I was thinking of something else. Has the thief not yet been taken?"
Lord Bellowsworth shook his head. "It is only a matter of time, however, for the authorities are pursuing a promising lead, or so I have heard."
"Indeed? Then they have hopes of finally catching this legendary Saint of Seven Dials?" Her suspicions last night now seemed absurd, but still Pearl could not suppress a shiver of something that might have been apprehension.
The marquess snorted. "Legendary thief he may be, but his days are numbered now. Lady Mountheath's necklace has been recovered—or, rather, a portion of it. It appears the villain broke it up to sell it, to divert suspicion."
The Duchess gasped. "Broke up that lovely necklace? Oh, poor Madeleine!"
Somehow, Pearl couldn't seem to muster much sympathy for Lady Mountheath over the loss of a few expensive baubles, remembering some of the wretched souls she had encountered in Seven Dials who never knew when another meal might be forthcoming.
"So the magistrates were able to discover who sold the necklace?" she prompted.
Bellowsworth gave the Duchess' hand one last sympathetic pat and turned back to Pearl. "Yes, it seems the diamonds came to the shop by way of a known purveyor of stolen goods. Under questioning, the man was induced to give a description of the fellow who sold him the stones."
"A description?" Pearl was pleased that her voice did not squeak on the question, as her breathing seemed to have stopped. "Did you hear what it was?"
Lord Bellowsworth favored her with a rather sour smile. "Smitten by the rogue like all of the other young ladies? I'd thought you too sensible for that, Lady Pearl. In any event, it is doubtful that the lad who sold the diamonds was the Saint himself. More likely one of his henchmen."
"Do you mean it was a boy, my lord?" asked the Duchess. "Did not everyone believe the Saint of Seven Dials to work alone? How abominable if he is recruiting children to his dirty trade!"
"My sentiments precisely, your grace," agreed the Marquess. "As I heard it, the lad was a mere ten or twelve years of age. Some have suggested he might be the blackguard's son. Once he is apprehended, I've no doubt we will quickly come at the truth of the matter—as well as the Saint himself."
Pearl swallowed hard. His son? Could Luke possibly—? But no. She'd already worked out his past, and his reasons for keeping it a secret. Besides, if he'd had a son, surely she'd have seen the boy while at his lodgings. Nor was he old enough, surely, to have a child of that age.
Relieved by this reflection, she managed a smile. "However do you come by such timely information, my lord?"
"My cousin Randolph—Lord Grimsby, you know—is a magistrate in Town," he explained. "While not directly involved in this investigation, he has been kept apprised, and has passed his information on to me. Or, rather, to my mother. She was afraid to sleep in her bed until he was able to assure her that the scoundrel was as good as caught."
"How commendable," she responded absently, her thoughts already returning to Luke St. Clair—or di Santo? She intended to have all of his secrets, whatever they might be, uncovered by the end of the day.
* * *
Luke pulled Lord Marcus's phaeton to a halt outside Oakshire House. "Remember, Flute, not a word from you. We still have a deal of work to do on your accent."
His all-purpose manservant, valet, and groom nodded with a cocky grin, putting a finger to his lips. "Mum it is, guv."
He shot Flute a quelling glare, which appeared to dampen the lad's spirits not a bit. Dressed in fine livery, and with a false moustache, he looked older—though still more like a page than a manservant. Still, he was all Luke had. "Good lad. I'll be back in a few moments, with the young lady I told you about."
Flute hopped down to hold the horses while Luke strode to the imposing entrance of Oakshire House, exuding a confidence he could not quite feel.
Coming here today, inviting the Lady Pearl for this drive, had been unwise, despite his promise to her last night. Once he'd assured himself that "Purdy" was in no danger, he should have discreetly disappeared from the social scene, with a suitable excuse to Marcus. But he'd found himself unable to stay away.
He reminded himself yet again that pursuing any sort of relationship with Lady Pearl was out of the question. Her world was not his world —nor did he wish it to be. At some point over the course of the afternoon and evening, he would have to tell her so, and say his inevitable farewells. First, however, he was determined to discover the truth about her foray into the London slums and into his life—a life he knew would never be the same.
He was shown into the same opulent drawing room as before. The Duchess, to his relief, was not in evidence, and he had not even seated himself before Lady Pearl appeared, now clad in a round dress of jonquil dimity.
"I see I may number promptness among your other virtues," he said with a bow, trying to ignore the immediate effect she had on him. "It is one not many ladies share—or so I have heard."
"I have never seen the point in leaving a gentleman to cool his heels once I have agreed to receive him. If I do not desire his company—which is the case more often than not—I simply tell him so," she said with an arch smile. At the moment, she seemed impossibly far removed from the simple servant girl he had rescued last week.
"Then I am doubly honored. Shall we go?" He extended his arm and after only the slightest hesitation she placed her gloved hand upon it.
"My abigail will be down in a moment. I had thought to leave her behind, but the Duchess would not hear of it. However, we may speak freely in her presence." Even as she spoke, a dark-haired woman in a stylish maid's frock appeared.
Luke grinned. "Hettie, I presume?"
The maid flushed scarlet, glancing at her mistress in confusion before bobbing a curtsey. "Yes, milord."
He sobered at once. "I'm no lord, Hettie, just a plain mister. Please remember that."
He spoke as much to Lady Pearl as to her abigail, and she responded for both of them. "I daresay you won't let us forget it, Mr. di Santo. Shall we go?" Though her voice was light, it held a hint of a rebuke.
Remembering some of the things he'd told he
r last week about his feelings toward the nobility, it was no wonder she was displeased. No matter, he told himself firmly. If the great Lady Pearl wished to take his attitude personally, there was little he could do about it—nor should he wish to, of course.
A moment later, he was helping both ladies into the phaeton. Pearl sat beside him as he took up the reins, while Hettie sat up behind, with Flute. He prayed his little protégé would remember his instructions and play the mute.
"I hadn't realized you would have a chaperone of your own along," Lady Pearl commented as he whipped up the horses. Her tone was playful, whatever irritation she had felt in abeyance for the moment.
Luke restrained himself from glancing back. "He's still in training, which is one reason I suggested he come along. This should be a good learning experience for him."
Her quizzical glance reminded him that people of her class didn't make "suggestions" to their servants, but it was too late to recall his words. Not that he would. "Our, ah, conversation last night was cut short," he said, deliberately diverting her attention from Flute. "You implied you wished to continue it today?"
To his surprise, she colored slightly. "Yes, I realize it was rather improper of me to invite you for a drive, but it was all I could think of. May I assume that your manservant is as discreet as my Hettie?"
"He scarcely speaks at all." Luke spoke loudly enough for Flute to hear him. "As I recall, you were going to tell me what you were doing in such unusual guise last week." Though she had said he might speak freely, his caution was instinctive.
She slanted a glance at him that made his blood quicken. "I don't believe I've heard your full tale yet, have I?"
"You've heard most of what's fit to tell."
"I don't mind hearing the unfit parts," she retorted.
"Ladies first," he said with a grin. Not that he intended to tell her the entire truth in any event. It would be far too risky for both of them. Nor was he quite ready to lose whatever remained of her good opinion. Far better he simply disappear and leave her with whatever illusions she still possessed.