Miss Molly Robbins Designs a Seduction

by Jayne Fresina

  At least, living on the top level—which was really the attic of the house—she benefited from the heat escaping the lower rooms. She had no fire and was glad warmer months were on their way. Hopefully, by winter, she might be able to afford better accommodation. For now, she’d cheered the grim walls as best she could, covering them with pinned sketches and designs. She’d decorated her table with a vase of dried lavender stalks, brought with her from Sydney Dovedale, where it grew in abundance. It was a bittersweet reminder of her childhood home, of the place and the people she’d left behind.

  But despite these attempts to improve her lodgings, she could not bear for Carver Danforthe to see them. He would turn up his noble nose in disdain. Glancing down through the window again, she saw his horse proceeding across the busy road, coming closer. Wasting no more time in somber reflection, she leapt up, tossed a shawl around her shoulders, and raced down the stairs to intervene before he could arrive at the front door. He had not yet dismounted when she dashed out onto the cobbled street.

  “Miss Robbins.” He swept off his hat. “I trust you are in health?”

  “I am, sir.” Goodness, what could he be doing there? His fingers fidgeted with the brim of his hat, but he watched her with clear gray eyes, steady and thoughtful. “And you…sir?”

  Now that frown reappeared. “I manage. Since I have been abandoned by those who once professed to have concern for me. I am left to my own devices, and I muddle on as best I can.”

  Molly almost laughed at that, but he seemed quite serious, so she pressed her lips together and waited for more. Nothing came, however. He was silent, his hands restlessly turning the brim of his hat. Apparently she had done something to make him cross. Or someone had. “You have not had word from her ladyship?” she ventured.

  “I have not,” he snapped, his gaze straying up and down her figure with neither discretion nor apology. “She extends her stay in Norfolk with no thought for me.”

  Her mind raced as she gathered the ends of her shawl tight against her bosom. Why would he care to see where she lived? Why would it matter to her if he did?

  But it was his money funding this enterprise. He might insist on seeing inside. If he knew she had no customers, he would laugh at her, or, worse still, he might pity her. Molly never knew how much pride she had until that moment. She wanted to prove herself. Especially to him.

  As that fact dawned bright and spitefully clear to her, Molly felt her lips unclenching, falling apart in faint horror at her situation. His eyes were now heated steel, scalding her flesh.

  “You were going out, Miss Robbins?”

  Out? Out where? She couldn’t think. Finally she blurted, “Yes. I like to walk for exercise every day.”

  He frowned. “But it is cold out, and you wear only a thin woolen shawl.”

  Her lips flapped wordlessly for a moment. It was so unusual to hear him express concern for anyone, yet he now did so for her. “I like the chill,” she wheezed. “It sharpens the mind.”

  Carver pursed his lips and shook his head. “Which way do you go? Perhaps I might walk with you.”

  People passing along the street turned to look at the fine gentleman on the horse. A man like the Earl of Everscham was a rarity there, and they were understandably curious. Molly felt her face heat up, despite the weather.

  “Which way do you go?” he repeated, his horse moving restlessly under him.

  She stepped back. “I…think I go whichever way you do not.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “I prefer to walk alone, sir.” Molly did not know how to deal with his sudden attention. It frightened her and yet thrilled her too.

  “Far be it from me to spoil your solitude, Miss Robbins,” he growled, glaring down at her. “At least now I can be satisfied, having seen you looking so well. Although you did not care how I might be managing without you.”

  “You still have Mr. Richards, your lordship, and Mrs. Jakes, and Larkin, your valet. And—”

  “But I don’t have you,” he pointed out, churlish. Even when he sulked, he was handsome, she thought. Once again her panic dissolved in the temptation to laugh. He could be very amusing when he chose, but of course she knew that. Molly had seen how seductive he could be, the effect he had on women who did not know better.

  She, fortunately, knew better. “Strictly speaking, your lordship, you never did have me.”

  He bent his head forward, and that stubbornly rebellious lock of hair, with which she already had some familiarity, trickled onto his brow. “True,” he said. “More’s the pity.”

  Molly swallowed hard, her fingers tangled in the holes of that knitted shawl. She was aware of the old lady by the salop still, looking over at them, grinning as she eavesdropped.

  “Did you have some business in this part of town, your lordship?” Her fingers picked at the wool of her shawl. “I was surprised to see you here. I could not think what might have brought you so far from your usual playground.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I was unaware I had been forbidden from venturing into this part of Town, now you reside in it. I am duly chastised.”

  “Of course, if you want to come here, I can’t stop you.” It did not sound the way she meant it, but in her fretful state it leapt out before she could think twice.

  “Well,” he huffed, “I wouldn’t want to be in anybody’s way.”

  “I didn’t mean to suggest—”

  “Oy, Mister!” A little lad with a dirty face and boots that were several sizes too big for his feet had decided to take his chance with the fine gent on the horse. He came tripping along the street and pulled on Carver’s coat with an insistent fist. “Oy, Mister, spare a penny for a poor boy, will ya?”

  Carver glanced down at the street urchin.

  “I can ’old yer ’orse for yer, Mister.”

  “I’m sure you could steal it too, boy.”

  “Not me, Mister. Honest as the day is long, me.”

  Rolling his eyes, Carver reached inside a pocket of his waistcoat, took out a coin, and passed it to the boy.

  The lad was, at that moment and surprisingly enough, more interested in the horse. “It’s a fine beast, Mister. Do you race ’im?”

  Carver’s brow quirked. “No. Not formally. But he’s fast.”

  The boy stretched to pat the horse’s sleek black neck, and the animal whinnied appreciatively. “Aye, he’s a beauty. Straight hocks, strong legs, good balance in the proportion. What is he, Mister, sixteen hands?”

  “Yes,” replied Carver, frowning faintly.

  “Neck tied in well at the withers, and look how alert he is. Good feller. I bet yer run like the wind.” He patted the horse again and ran his grimy fingers soothingly along the veined, satiny neck.

  “You know about horses, boy?”

  “I ’ad an uncle once what worked as a farrier on a big estate. And I ’elp take care o’ the dray horses up at the brewery.” Finally the boy took the coin he was offered and looked at it.

  “See that you buy something to eat,” Carver muttered sternly.

  “Thanks, Mister!” The boy’s eyes opened wide. “That’s a whole shillin’!”

  “Yes…well…don’t spend it on the cockfights. Put food in your stomach and don’t—”

  The boy would have dashed off, but Carver’s long arm reached down and grabbed him by the collar so he stopped abruptly, almost falling over his too-big boots.

  “Don’t give it to your mother for gin or your father for gambling.”

  “I ain’t got no ma, Mister. No pa neither. Jus’ me and me sister.”

  “A sister?”

  Sniffing loudly, the boy wiped his nose on his sleeve. “She’s littler ’an me. I look after ’er.”

  “I see. Sisters can be a handful.”

  “They can that, Mister.”

  With his free hand, Carver retrieved another coin and gave it to the boy. “Where do you live?”

  “Here and there.” The boy’s eyes became wary. “Round an’
about. Why? I ain’t done nuffin’.”

  Molly watched Carver’s face soften slightly, but he said nothing, just let the boy go, watching as he tripped and shuffled down the street, yelling for his friends to see what he’d got from the “rich toff.”

  “Now you’ve done it,” Molly remarked. “Any moment now you’ll be surrounded with begging hands. They’ll strip you of your fob watch and that fine silk handkerchief before you know it.”

  “Do you know that boy?”

  “Only by sight. He’s a regular on this street. There are a lot of children like that one, orphaned or as good as, doing whatever they can to get a few coins here and there.”

  He shook his head. “Something should be done about it.” Carver was still looking in the direction of the disappearing boy. Perhaps the fact that he mentioned a sister had struck a chord with the earl, who always complained about his own. Of course, his problems with Mercy were very different to the sort the ragamuffin knew. But still it was a connection, she supposed. “Next time you see him, send him to me, or to Edward Hobbs. I’m sure we can find an apprenticeship for the boy. He looks strong and capable, knows about horses…whatever is the matter, Miss Robbins?”

  “Naught, your lordship.” She didn’t feel the cold as much now. It was as if a little patch of sun had come out, although she couldn’t see it yet through the leaden clouds.

  “Your face is doing odd things,” he snapped.

  She bit her lip.

  “There…again. Is something amiss?”

  Molly took a breath. “No, your lordship. It just seems strange to hear you being…concerned for others.” She shrugged awkwardly. Oh dear, that didn’t sound right either. “I don’t mean to say that you never are…it’s just that…” What could she say to make it better? She was shocked to see him up and out of bed at this hour? That confession would hardly help improve things. The truth was, her sightings of him for the past twelve years had mostly occurred as he came home or went out in his evening clothes. It was unusual for her to see the handsome but nocturnal creature out in daylight, being civil and sober, noticing the world around him. As all this ran through her mind, it must somehow have shown on her face.

  “How nice to know you still think so highly of me,” he remarked tersely. “Excuse me, Miss Robbins, I can’t stand here all day talking to my little sister’s former lady’s maid. I must go before I am besieged with street urchins and their grubby hands, ready to fleece me of every item in my possession.”

  In the next sigh of a haughty exhale, he was gone, turning his horse sharply and trotting off down the street. Molly watched for a while in case he glanced back at her, but he did not. He had ventured so far from his usual haunts and changed his long-ingrained habits, just to find her. What could be the meaning of it?

  Five

  Molly had waited outside Lady Cecelia Montague’s house for almost an hour before the woman finally emerged with a female companion, both dressed in walking gowns and lavishly trimmed bonnets. Lady Cecelia’s outfit was the grander of the two, her sleeves puffier, the hem decorated with an overabundance of frills and rosettes. But the style shortened her height and squared off her figure. It always hurt Molly’s eyes to see a woman treat her shape so poorly and fall victim to fashion’s less flattering foibles. Her friend, dressed in a simpler style, was lighter and more elegant. As Molly had often observed, those with the coin did not always have the taste to go with it. Fortunately, she was there to change all that.

  At least the rain had stopped today, and spring was in the air. Molly hoped it might make her ladyship think of new dresses and a refreshing change of style.

  Dashing across the street, she slipped between passing carriages and managed to align herself directly in the lady’s route. Some encounter was now unavoidable. Unless, of course, the lady chose to snub her completely, as she well might. But Molly was quite desperate and prepared to make this mad attempt, even at the risk of her own humiliation.

  Heart beating steadily, she approached along the path.

  It would not be proper to speak unless she was noticed and acknowledged, but it seemed as if that would not happen. There was only one thing to be done. Molly gathered a deep breath and then exhaled in a low squeal of distress. Fanning her hands around her bonnet, she danced in a rapid circle.

  “A wasp, a wasp. Oh!”

  Her anxious gaze following the invisible path of the fantasy insect, she cried out for Lady Cecelia to be mindful of it. Instantly the other woman and her companion twisted about in a similar state of panic, Molly’s performance being so gravely convincing that they both swore they heard the villainous buzzing around their bonnets. In fact, the effect was far greater than she’d expected, and as those two ladies spun like children’s tops, another small group walking behind them were stirred into the same action. Not even knowing the cause of their plight, they became infected by fear of something unseen.

  Molly hurried forward, removed her glove, and slapped it against Lady Cecelia’s skirt and then her sleeve. “Begging your pardon, your ladyship, but I should not like you to be stung.” She stamped her foot hard upon the pavement. “There! You are saved.”

  The lady’s friend had almost staggered dizzily into the path of a passing curricle, but Molly grabbed her hand just in time, pulling her to safety by the width of a bonnet ribbon.

  “Robbins, is it not?” Lady Cecelia muttered breathlessly, straightening her gown. “You are back in London? I thought you had gone into the country.”

  “Did you not receive my card, your ladyship? I left one with your footman at the door some days ago.”

  “I…do not remember it, but I—”

  “I returned to open my own dressmaking business.” Molly briskly pulled on her glove and looked away down the street, as if she were Lady Mercy dealing with a passing acquaintance. “In fact, I am on my way now to a fitting for a special client.”

  Lady Cecelia blinked against the bright sun. “Indeed?”

  “I did not expect such a demand for my services, but it seems there are many ladies in Town eager for something different, a daring change of style.” She gave the highly decorated lady a hasty up-and-down glance and then turned her eyes back to her glove. “They are quite bored by the usual overdone fashions, and…well, it was most pleasant to see you, Lady Cecelia. You must forgive me, but I am in rather a hurry.”

  “I see.” Lady Cecelia managed a tight smile, and as Molly moved to pass, she touched her arm lightly. “You may call upon me, Robbins, now that you are returned. I was planning a new wardrobe for the summer myself.”

  Molly granted her a little smile but made no commitment. She prepared to move on, but the lady stopped her again.

  “I daresay I know your client.”

  “I daresay. But she would not like me to disclose her identity. And I am always discreet.” With a nod, Molly hurried onward, leaving both ladies on the pavement behind her.

  The next morning she was surprised by a visitor. It was not quite twelve when her awestruck landlady, with lace cap askew and flour on her hands, brought the guest to her room and announced, “Lady Anne Rothespur to see Miss Margaret Robbins.”

  A slender creature with a piquant face, shining blue eyes, and a short dark fringe of hair under her bonnet came swiftly through the door, already talking. “So sorry to disturb you this early, Miss Robbins, and my governess says I should have sent a card first, but since I have more than thirty balls and dinner parties to attend already this Season, you can see I’m desperate for your services. Do say you’ll have time to take me on. I’m afraid I’m rather an odd shape—like a damn plum pudding, my brother says.”

  Eyeing the tiny sash at the visitor’s waist, Molly could only conclude her brother, whoever he was, liked to tease.

  “Jumping Jacks, what a small room you have here. Are these your designs? How perfectly precious.”

  At first, Molly had no idea how the young lady had found her. Then she remembered that St. John Rothespur, the Earl of Saxo
nby, was a close friend of Carver Danforthe’s. This must be the younger sister who was sixteen and had come up to London to make her debut that Season. Obviously she would have had gowns already made, but someone had sent her to Molly for more. The chirpy creature dashed about the room as if she had wheels upon her feet, examining the sketches on the wall and the vase of dried lavender stalks, even the prospect from the window.

  “Well, this is very…quaint, Miss Robbins.” She stared at the flaking wall plaster, shivered, and rubbed her arms under a ruffled tippet. “Very…cozy.”

  Molly urged her to sit while they discussed designs, but the lady preferred to move about in busy circles, talking the entire time. “I really don’t have any opinions on color or material, so I’ll leave that up to you, and since my brother doesn’t want me to embarrass him, he’d better be prepared to pay any price. He doesn’t care much for these wide collars. He says they make me look like a bat.”

  “You mean the pelerine en ailes d’oiseau. It can broaden the shoulders too much, but I like to soften the shape with a few layers.”

  “Oh, that is the Princess Victoria on your wall. She’s just a little younger than me, you know. I hear she’s very amiable and accomplished. But, of course, my brother says everyone is amiable compared to me. He says I’m a damn inconvenience. He says ‘damn’ quite a lot.”

  Eventually she stood still long enough for Molly to take down a few measurements.

  “I want to look sultry and sophisticated,” she exclaimed. “Do you think it’s possible? Is there any hope? My brother says I’m not in the least ladylike, and that it would take an entire team of fairy godmothers to turn me into a Society belle. I do so want to prove him wrong.”

  Molly finally squeezed some words in. “We can but try, my lady.”

  The customer stayed for half an hour and then left as suddenly as she’d arrived, clasping Molly’s hand warmly and exclaiming that she had the greatest confidence in her abilities, since she’d come so highly recommended.