David

by Grace Burrowes

  When would she learn that her instincts regarding men had betrayed her most bitterly?

  “The property is not for sale, Letty, but would you have come to work here if it were?”

  Damn him. “I had no options, if you’ll recall.”

  “You had options,” he countered softly. He pushed his plate with the half scone and the pile of raisins on it directly before her. “Have you more to discuss with me, Letty? If not, then I’m off to spoil children, tease my sisters, and twit their husbands, but tell me something, Letty Banks.”

  Fairly’s love for his family resonated with every cheerful, merry word, and Letty would have told him anything to get him on his horse.

  “What do you wish to know?”

  He picked up a single raisin and offered it to her on the end of an elegant index finger. “Are you happy with this position, Letty? Is there anything you would change, do differently?”

  The dratted, confounded, bothersome man wanted her to enjoy the job he might sell out from under her, but somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him.

  Not about this too.

  “I enjoy this position far more than its predecessor. I am grateful not to make my living on my back.”

  His expression was pained, but he could hardly chide her for plain speaking. “But?”

  She was going to tell him this because he’d asked, and because she’d missed the man who’d been such a friend to her on her first night as a madam.

  “In some ways, I am lonelier here than I was in my own household. There, I had much more privacy, whereas here, I am made familiar with the bodily cycles of a dozen women, who between them, might have one shred of modesty or tact. This is an adjustment.”

  “And?” His lordship’s expression was hooded now, because he was hearing things he didn’t expect to hear—didn’t want to hear. Letty’s feelings likely came under the heading of A Problem He Could Not Solve.

  A problem nobody could solve. The lyrical duet in the kitchen was replaced by shouting—Musette was threatening to put Etienne’s precious knives to a creative use. So much for the cock crowing at dawn.

  “And I am a madam. I may not be any one man’s plaything, but I am viewed as worse than simply fallen. I traffic in fallen women, or manage your traffic in fallen women, which makes me doubly outcast. Your patrons are polite to me, and the ladies are mostly delightful, but I am a pariah nonetheless. Your sisters could not acknowledge me, ever, and in all likelihood, they could not comprehend how I’ve ended up where I am.”

  Most nights, Letty could barely comprehend it herself.

  “This is complicated for you. I am sorry for that.”

  Consumed with contrition, he was not. She hadn’t expected he would be, and yet, Letty still felt a touch of… disappointment.

  “It is complicated, and it is simple,” she said. “Whatever else is true, I must eat. The regular meals, those I quite simply adore.”

  “Not enough,” his lordship remarked, rising. “You are still too thin, and when I return, I expect to see that you’ve gained flesh, my girl. People will think I’m working you too hard.”

  I am not a girl. More to the point, she was not his girl, his woman, or his lady.

  Letty rose as Fairly did, simple manners suggesting she should see him off on his journey. Other than Musette, who’d apparently convinced Etienne to come back to bed, the other ladies weren’t up yet, affording Letty some privacy as she walked with her employer through the kitchen.

  “Safe journey, then,” Letty said, lifting his greatcoat off a peg and holding it up for him. She waited as he buttoned up in preparation for travel through another cold, gray, blustery day. “You must want to see your sisters very badly.”

  “I should make it out to Willowdale before the weather does anything too miserable. You have my directions, feel free to use them.”

  His tone was brisk, as if his mind had already departed, anticipating the time spent with family and the matters to be seen to in Kent. Men of means were comfortable operating in different spheres, driving out with their mistress one day, their sisters the next, while Letty feared a lightning bolt would strike her every time she set foot in her brother’s vicarage.

  She was completely unprepared, then, when Fairly turned back to her and tugged the collar of her robe up around her throat.

  “You’ll be all right?” he asked, peering down at her.

  “We’ll be fine,” Letty said, deliberately using the plural pronoun.

  “So you’re royalty now?”

  “Be off with you. Safe journey home.”

  “Thank you,” he said before dipping his head and taking her mouth in a kiss.

  What on earth could he be thanking her for?

  For him, he behaved, only tracing her lips with his tongue, tasting her mouth gently, nibbling at her lower lip, and pressing his mouth softly to hers. Letty slipped her arms around his neck and rose up on tiptoe to hug herself to him. When she eased her mouth from his, Fairly let her go, but his arms settled around her waist in a gentle form of contradiction.

  “I will miss you, your lordship.” She was not at her best this early in the morning, and kisses apparently magnified the muddling of her wits.

  His hold shifted, became closer. “No, you will not. You will attract the notice of some fine fellow, lead him by his nose into a liaison that’s both lucrative and enjoyable for you, and forget I ever inveigled you into working here.”

  She stepped back, let him go without any more words, and through the window watched him cross to the stables, where a gray mare stood patiently at the mounting block.

  He hadn’t sounded like he was teasing with that last little speech. He’d sounded in desperate earnest, like a man offering up a fervent prayer.

  Five

  That kiss had been a lapse, a breach in the fortifications David had been trying to erect between himself and his madam over the past two weeks.

  And this royal progress from one relative’s home to the next was an evasive maneuver, one David doubted would meet with much success. In two hours of trotting over bone-jarring ruts through toe-freezing cold, David could only wish he’d done much more than kiss his madam. The best he could hope for was that in his absence, some more worthy fellow would come along and win Letty Banks’s affection.

  When he reached Willowdale, home of his sister Felicity and her husband, Gareth, Marquess of Heathgate, David endured gentle interrogation from people whom he’d missed terribly—though not terribly enough to answer all of their questions honestly.

  He marveled over the infant twins’ new teeth, tossed his older nephews aloft enough times to alarm any mother, rode out in the bitter weather with Heathgate, and made himself available for quiet chats with Felicity. The visit with his sister Astrid and her husband, Andrew, Earl of Greymoor, followed the same pattern, with the exception that Greymoor, lighter of heart and more laissez-faire than his older brother, did not attempt any inquisitional discussions.

  Either that, or Heathgate had—in the fashion of siblings who are also friends—already communicated the substance of his interviews with David to Greymoor.

  David’s final stop before changing course for Kent was the home of Guinevere and Douglas Allen. Gwen was a cousin to Heathgate and Greymoor, while Douglas was the surviving brother of Astrid’s late husband, Herbert. On the last day of his short visit in their household, David made it a point to sequester himself in the library with Douglas.

  While David liked his brothers-in-law, his affection for Douglas Allen was based more on the man himself and less on family associations. Douglas was tall, blond, handsome, well-mannered, and reserved to the point that his demeanor could be mistaken for aloof.

  “So you’re off to Kent on the morrow?” Douglas asked as David examined a woodcut of a fluffy, academic-looking hare reclining in the snow.

  “I am.
My steward claims he forgets what I look like, and that we will never succeed at spring planting unless I subject myself to his attentions for the next few weeks.” His steward grumbled something to that effect, at any rate. Or in that general direction. More or less.

  Douglas remained where any sensible man ought to, right by the study’s cozy fire. “In this beastly cold, one can hardly believe spring will ever arrive. I know the hour is early, but Heathgate sent over a case of his best as a housewarming gift. I’ve been waiting for someone to share it with, and you will soon be departing.”

  “A tot in anticipation of my travels would suit. Gwen seems to be having an easy time of it,” David remarked. While both Heathgate and Greymoor had prevailed upon him for a medical opinion of their wives’ interesting conditions, Douglas had not.

  Yet. The other family description for Heathgate’s finest was “Heathgate’s bribing stock.” Douglas passed David a glass of excellent whiskey, and poured a smaller portion for himself.

  “If Guinevere weren’t having an easy time with this pregnancy,” Douglas mused, “you would probably be the only one she’d even think of asking about it. I believe she wants you to attend her, but won’t ask for fear you’ll turn her down.”

  “I will turn her down.” And why hadn’t David seen this coming?

  “Why?” Douglas hunkered by the fire, a poker in his hand. “Guinevere doesn’t trust men in general, particularly not when it comes to personal matters, but she trusts you as both a physician and a friend—as do I.”

  A weight pressed down on David’s heart, of bad memories, poor judgment, responsibility, and friendship.

  “Do you recall, Douglas, when Felicity had such difficulty with the twins?”

  “I do,” Douglas replied, the fire blazing up as he added a log. “And I recall that the medical knowledge you were able to impart to Greymoor was integral to saving your sister’s life, as well as the lives of both children.”

  A merciful God had saved the lives of all concerned, possibly abetted by the Earl of Greymoor and his stubborn little countess.

  David took a steadying sip of his drink. “Any pregnancy, no matter how many times the mother has safely delivered, can reach that same point, where a decision must be made as to which life to sacrifice. I do not want that responsibility, so I don’t practice medicine. It’s as simple as that.”

  To be truthful, he didn’t want to even discuss the practice of medicine.

  “I doubt it’s at all simple,” Douglas said, straightening and setting the poker back on its stand. “I respect your decision, nonetheless. If you would suggest some alternatives to Guinevere, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

  And thus, Douglas’s innate consideration eased them past a difficult moment.

  Though another had yet to be faced. “I appreciate your understanding, Douglas, and I shall prevail on it further before I resume my travels.”

  Enduring more miles of bitter wind, frozen mud, and a dull ache that wasn’t entirely sexual.

  Douglas lounged back against the mantel, the very picture of a country squire at home amid his books, though his aim with a pistol was not to be trifled with, and his eye for details even more accurate. “So be about your prevailing, then.”

  “I need to apprise you of a certain matter.” David resumed his study of the professorial hare and half turned his back on his host, the better to afford himself and his host a modicum of privacy. “The topic I raise may have no significance to you at all, or it may give offense, but I want your word you’ll give me an honest reaction.”

  “My wife claims I am incapable of dissembling. She says it’s a shortcoming when a man becomes a parent.”

  Must he sound so pleased to have his wife’s opinions?

  “I’ve hired Letitia Banks as my madam at The Pleasure House, and because she had intimate knowledge of your late brother, I thought you should be aware of it.”

  Douglas remained where he was, his expression bemused. David waited, not knowing whether to expect laughter, disapproval, or indifference.

  “I liked her,” Douglas said, which prosaic pronouncement David could never have anticipated. “We met on only one occasion, but she wasn’t at all what I anticipated—not that I’ve your experience with fast women.”

  For which the man should be grateful. “You liked her?” And when had Douglas met her?

  “I liked her,” Douglas repeated. “So much so that prior to making my wife’s acquaintance, I fleetingly considered establishing an arrangement with Mrs. Banks.”

  Douglas was not stodgy or pretentious, though people often mistook him for both. He was careful and shy, and enjoyed a sense of moral self-assurance David envied. No topic was too delicate if Douglas believed it needed discussion, and in this, he was well matched with his Guinevere.

  “You considered a liaison with Mrs. Banks, but discarded the notion. May I ask why?” Why would any man?

  “Several reasons,” Douglas said, still exuding an air of contentment and relaxation. “First, I concluded that Mrs. Banks, while as fair-minded as the next woman, might not view an association with the surviving Allen brother favorably, regardless of the monetary compensation.”

  “You were afraid she’d turn you down,” David paraphrased, still stunned that Douglas had considered taking a mistress—any mistress—much less his late brother’s paramour.

  Douglas looked down at his drink, but he didn’t partake of Dutch courage. “The situation was more complicated than that.”

  “You’re tormenting me on purpose.”

  “You may not practice medicine, but I still hold you to standards of confidentiality regarding personal matters.”

  “Did you just insult me?”

  “No.” Douglas held up his glass to the light, the way a jeweler would examine a high-quality stone. “I’m stalling, but here’s the rest of it: at the time, I was not sure I could have done justice to any woman. I did not want Letitia Banks to think ill of another Allen brother.”

  David silently dubbed himself the world’s biggest, most obtuse fool. “I am sorry to have raised an awkward topic. I knew you had a difficult year, but I hadn’t realized…”

  He did not miss the intimate confidences inflicted on a physician. Did not miss them at all. David downed his drink and set the glass on the nearest level surface, which happened to sport a copy of Smellie’s old treatise on childbearing.

  Douglas’s eyes lit with humor. “The matter has resolved itself, as my wife’s condition will attest. You have been a friend to me, and I would be one to you now.”

  David mentally braced himself for a gentle, well reasoned, spectacularly awkward sermon, which reaction Douglas apparently perceived.

  “You’re prepared to repel boarders. I’ll fire a broadside instead: in my opinion, you and Mrs. Banks would suit.”

  Several beats of silence went by, while David tried to comprehend that Douglas Allen, Viscount Stick in the Mud himself, was encouraging a liaison between David and Letty Banks.

  Douglas hoisted his drink a few inches in David’s direction. “I have silenced the glib and sometimes charming Lord Fairly. How marvelously gratifying. I should call my dear wife to stand as witness.”

  “You think Letty Banks and I would suit?” It was one thing for David to desire a woman and flirt with her, quite another for his friends to encourage such mischief.

  “You are an odd duck, Fairly. I say this, knowing full well the label is applied to myself frequently. You don’t go about in Society unless you are tomcatting—and you’ve apparently foresworn that activity in recent months altogether. You don’t dabble in trade; you shamelessly and profitably wallow in it. You happily saw your father’s estate pass nearly into escheat rather than risk scandal to your sisters, and you own a brothel but do not sample the charms of your employees. You are a saint by some standards, a lunatic by others.”


  Could one be both? “Douglas, I had no idea you’ve made such a thorough study of me, but whatever is your point, assuming you have one?”

  “Letty Banks can handle you,” Douglas said, and his tone suggested this was high praise. “She is kind, perceptive, and intelligent, also honorable within the limits of her station. You respect her, and you have no other current attachments, at least not that your sisters or their husbands know of.”

  Because Douglas, too, would be kept apprised of the family gossip.

  “How did you and Mrs. Banks meet, if I may ask?” David refreshed his drink, but wasn’t surprised when Douglas declined.

  “She contacted me when she was pawning her jewelry. She’d learned that some of the pieces Herbert had given her belonged to the estate, and returned them to me.”

  “She sold them back to you?”

  “She gave them back to me, reasoning that Herbert could not give her what did not belong to him. To her, the transaction was simple. Mrs. Banks regarded the right to wear those jewels as Astrid’s, at least until I married.”

  “Letty has said nothing about any of this.” Though she’d been hoarding coal and rationing her tea leaves, and the sum Thomas had invested for her was all but gone.

  “She wouldn’t say anything,” Douglas replied. “The situation reflects poorly on my brother’s memory, who for all his faults, provided well for her during their association.”

  Douglas understood this sort of moral clarity, while David understood hunger and cold.

  “And on the strength of your one meeting with her, you think Mrs. Banks and I would enjoy each other’s company?”

  Douglas resumed his place by the cozy hearth, to all appearances a gentleman happy to prose on about his acres and his broodmares, rather than his friend’s next choice of inamorata.

  “I don’t know Mrs. Banks that well,” he said. “All I am trying to say is that Mrs. Banks is lovely, honorable in her way, and available. You are similarly situated, and in need of… recreation.”