Testing Miss Toogood

by Stella Cameron

  Nathan caught Dominic’s upper arm. “Go on.”

  “He selected a knife and held it to the girl’s throat. He could end her life so easily, he told her.”

  “But he didn’t, so—”

  “So we should call it a joke? I don’t think so. Not yet. He said—and I repeat word for word what I was told—he said the time would come when someone would make the deadly decision to call his bluff, and when they did they would still get their daughter back—dead, her throat cut.”

  “What’s his game?” Nathan said, clearly frustrated.

  “Money,” Dominic told him. “And lots of it. He could have been pulling in huge sums from any number of families who don’t ever want to talk about it.”

  “We’d best be on our way,” Nathan said. “We’ve loitered too long even if this is a deserted place. We’ll talk in the morning. By then you’ll have had a chance to become more objective.”

  Cold anger set Dominic’s jaw. He pulled his arm away from Nathan. “We’ll ride on. But not before I tell you that Jane Weller felt the point of Mr. White’s knife. He made a small, quite precise cut beneath her jaw and said she was fortunate. The next girl to join him in his bizarre house and cross him would, he said, get similarly cut only some inches lower and much deeper so he could be sure she would bleed to death.”

  2

  Heatherly House near Regent’s Park, London

  “Bloody hell, Dominic, what if one of the servants walks in here, one of the maids?”

  “She’ll be a very lucky girl.”

  Nathan strolled past his impressive, and naked, younger brother. “Best to err on the side of caution,” Nathan said. “What the eye can’t see is unlikely to be laughed at.”

  Dominic poured cold water into a bowl on his commode, dipped his fingers and aimed drops into Nathan’s eyes. “That’s deserved payment for your jealous cheek.”

  “You’ve got important things to do,” Nathan said, smiling a little as he wiped his face. “Other than run Heatherly.”

  “Thank you for reminding me. I can hardly believe you’re here at this hour when we were so late last night. I need to speak with Mother about the Weller girl but that means I must eat first.”

  “To gather your strength?” Nathan enjoyed this brother even if he was their mother’s favorite son. “You’d best eat heartily.”

  Dominic stood still and regarded Nathan closely. There was something there in his manner, something more than he’d thought until this moment. “Let’s have some honesty,” he said slowly. “You caught me half-asleep but I’m fully awake now. There’s another matter on your mind, isn’t there? Not just the clown business?”

  Nathan’s inscrutable smile infuriated Dominic. “Very well,” he continued. “Let’s have it. No shilly-shallying—I don’t have time.”

  “Get dressed,” Nathan said, still smiling but with more glee. “Mother wants you at the Dower House.”

  “It’s a cottage,” Dominic said. “Are you telling me you’ve already seen Mother today?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Nathan said airily. “She starts painting early so I wandered over.”

  Dominic narrowed his eyes. “Mother doesn’t receive when she’s painting. I’ve never even seen a single thing she’s supposedly produced. Have you?”

  Nathan shrugged and said, “Never. I know Mrs. Lymer buys fresh fruits daily—so perhaps that’s what Mother paints. She’s always been a shy woman. I don’t imagine she’ll be holding any showings after all these years. Regardless, she wants you there now because she’s about to ask you to perform a service for her. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of months at most.”

  Dominic’s man, Merryfield, had already set clothes out on the bed. With one foot poised to shoot into his trousers, Dominic paused to give Nathan a bemused stare.

  “You’ll remember how Mother visited a girlhood friend several months ago,” Nathan said. “A Mrs. Toogood. She’s the wife of a pastor in some obscure parish in…a very obscure parish. In the Cotswolds if memory serves. Apparently Mother has decided to take the lady’s daughter, one of five, I believe, under her wing.”

  “Good for Mother,” Dominic said, putting on his trousers without taking his eyes off Nathan’s face. “She needs more interests, and more female companionship. She and Hattie get along well—” Hattie was their brother John’s wife “—but Hattie spends too much time in Bath and not enough here. It’s a pity Mother didn’t have a daughter of her own.”

  Nathan blinked and frowned. “That would have meant we had a sister.”

  “Many men do,” Dominic said, amused. “You think you’re going to give me a message I’ll hate, don’t you? Perhaps you have too much time on your hands and you’re filling it by annoying me, but I think that’s about to change.”

  “You are going to hate what I tell you, I assure you.” Nathan chuckled. “And the man about to find himself with no time on his hands is you, not me.”

  Enough sparring, Dominic decided. Whatever Mother wanted of him was bound to be paltry. “Out with it. Now. I have that important business to do.”

  “Yes, with Mother. You can’t begin to imagine how you’ll hate this.”

  Dominic fastened his shirt, tucked it in and shrugged into a dark-green waistcoat. “Mother couldn’t aggravate me if she tried. Not easily anyway.”

  “Miss Fleur Toogood has arrived from her father’s obscure parish to stay here with us. Mother seems quite thrilled about it all and she’s decided you will be the perfect one to squire the girl about—with a chaperon in attendance, of course—while she prepares for the Season. And during the Season—naturally—you’ll make a fine, mature male protector with all the right connections.”

  “Don’t be so blasted ridiculous. In the first place, Mother has no interest in such foolishness as the annual marriage mart. Secondly, she would never do anything that might require her to venture forth to some social events. You know how she hates those. Now concentrate. I wonder if I could trust you to sniff around the Arbuthnots and see if you get any hints about Gussy having had an ordeal.”

  “Bad idea. Gussy got too close for comfort once and I escaped, but she’s still desperate for a husband. I can’t risk having her think I’m interested in her. I meant what I said about Miss Toogood. And I could have let you go to Mother without giving you the nod about her plans. She didn’t ask me to tell you. The least you could do is thank me.”

  Dominic, his shoulders slumped, walked slowly to the window and looked over the awesome grounds surrounding Heatherly. A soft rain fell, washing the lawns to fuzzy emerald. Great groves of trees in the distance marked the edge of the property on the side closest to Regent’s Park. “I can’t believe Mother would do something like this,” he said.

  “You’ll be the darling of all, especially the mothers with offspring to unload. They’ll have lots of time to share beauty secrets with you while you watch Miss Toogood dance at balls, or when you circulate at all those exquisite routs where you’ll introduce her to the appropriate men.”

  “God help me.”

  Nathan snorted. “He won’t if you don’t completely dedicate yourself to Miss Toogood.”

  “It’s not going to happen—although you’re probably making the whole thing up—so I shall have no need to concern myself with such trifles.”

  “Miss Toogood is a reality.”

  “Really? Have you seen her?”

  “No,” Nathan said, “but Mother says she’s a sweet little dumpling of a thing. Comfortable was another word she used, and wholesome. Of course, she also said Miss Toogood was a little bland from having grown up with no stimulation and will have to be made over, whatever that means. Mother was vague. Manners, I should think. She’ll need to bathe at least occasionally and I understand it would be better if she kept her mouth closed in public.”

  Dominic tried so hard not to show what he felt, but the devil take it, he was only a man. “Why would that be?” There, he sounded most reasonable.

  “Nothing
important really.” Nathan made a ridiculous motion in the air. “Just better not to draw attention. She has no teeth.”

  “Look—”

  “Relax,” Nathan said and pounded him on the back. “I should leave all this discussion to Mother. What a soul of generosity and kindness she is.”

  Dominic knew when he was being ribbed mercilessly, but Nathan would not have pulled this idea from the air. There was undoubtedly some element of truth in all the hog swill.

  Quickly, Dominic returned to the commode and immersed his face in cold water. He didn’t come up until he thought it possible he might drown. Now there was an idea. “You were right,” he said. “I hate this and if it is true, I damn well won’t do it.”

  3

  Fleur threw herself on top of the bed and practiced frowning. Whatever she did she must overcome her reputation as the most sunny and reasonable of females. Not that people here in London knew anything of her reputation, or anything of her at all. To them she was a nobody, a charity case.

  Still, a serious female would be passed over by all but the most discerning males—if any of those were likely to be present at the silly events she’d been told she would attend.

  She rolled onto her face and spread out her arms and legs in a completely unladylike manner. This was all for Mama and Papa and her four darling sisters—to attempt to change their fortunes. Really, it was quite amazing how quickly one forgot all the annoying little habits of one’s siblings once they were far away. The dear village of Sodbury Martyr, and home, did seem so far away from this great estate they called Heatherly—and its confusing house where she had been deposited the night before. House? It was big enough to be a castle.

  Letitia, Rosemary, Zinnia and Sophie—yes, for them she was here, to give them hopes of advantageous connections through her own marriage. Fleur closed her eyes and let out a huge sigh. Therein lay the challenge because she absolutely would not marry a man she didn’t love, and she wouldn’t marry a man she loved if he didn’t meet her standards. Safely stowed beneath the mattress on this very bed was her precious secret book. Inside, written neatly, The List set out those qualities essential in a husband, a husband acceptable to Miss Fleur Toogood.

  Her eyes stung the tiniest bit but she blinked the feeling away. Self-pity was something she could not abide. Growing up poor, scrimping, had taught her to be grateful for what she had and to be strong.

  She looked at the rows of embroidered daisies, dark purple, running up the lilac-colored drapery folds to the center of the canopy over the bed. On the fireplace wall painted sprays of daisies decorated porcelain medallions set into squares of wood paneling. This beautiful room represented a great kindness by the Dowager Marchioness of Granville and Fleur would not forget it.

  She had not been greeted by her hostess yet, but she remembered her well from the startling visit that lady had paid to Mama in Sodbury Martyr.

  After a light tap on the door a maid entered, the same pinch-faced girl who had helped her when she arrived late the previous evening.

  “You’re to go straight to the Dower ’ouse,” the girl, Blanche, said and opened the impressive wardrobe where Fleur’s clothes had been hung. Blanche’s hands fluttered, touched garments lightly while she sighed and muttered.

  “Where is the Dower House?” Fleur asked. She dreaded another coach journey so soon.

  Blanche’s head was inside the wardrobe. “On the other side of the rose gardens,” she said, her voice muffled.

  “There’s another house here at Heatherly?” Fleur said.

  “Of course,” Blanche said. “The Dower ’ouse. Don’t you know anything? It’s where old Lady Granville lives. It’s not far.”

  Fleur swung her feet over the edge of the mattress and reached until her toes met the step stool. She hopped to the fine, softly hued carpet and hurried to stand behind Blanche. “What are you doing?”

  The maid gave her a pitying look. “Finding you a wrap. This will ’ave to do.” She took out a pelisse of light blue wool and held it for Fleur to put on. Since a satin ribbon of the same color had been added to the high waist of her white muslin dress, the outfit looked well enough, Fleur supposed. Really, the thought of being primped at all times—for weeks—daunted her.

  Blanche stepped back to study Fleur critically. “Hmm,” was her verdict.

  “Such goings on today. I’ve never seen the like before. Old Lady Granville usually keeps to ’erself and we’d all as well she did. A lot of trouble, this is. Running back and forth on account of you and some bee her ladyship’s got in ’er bonnet. We’re all wondering why you’re ’ere, I can tell you.”

  “Do you think you should call her old?” Fleur asked tentatively. She decided not to mention the reason for her presence—particularly since there could be no guarantee the whole thing wouldn’t be called off once the pointlessness of the effort became obvious. “I mean, her ladyship might find out.”

  “There’s a young one, too,” Blanche said as if that made the irreverence understandable. “The Marquis’s wife. They live in Bath usually but I ’eard a rumor the young Lady Granville’s coming to ’elp with you.”

  Fleur swallowed and felt goosebumps on her arms. Was she so much trouble, enough trouble to require another important person to come?

  Once Fleur’s blue satin bonnet rested firmly on her head, the strings flying loose since Blanche insisted that was the thing, they left the lofty room and followed a long corridor to a flight of stairs and down to the great hall. The building, a large oblong with domed orangeries at its heart, seemed impossibly huge to Fleur. On the ground floor, one magnificent space led to another. Blanche took Fleur through the orangeries where trees flourished beneath the dome. Fine rain had coated the outside of the glass and a misty film clung to the inside.

  Outside, they sped along pathways flanked by smooth lawns and statuary until they reached rose gardens where the first buds would soon burst into blooms. An archway in a privet hedge several times Fleur’s own height led them into a courtyard and she saw the Dowager Marchioness’s house for the first time.

  Footsteps, heavy and fierce-sounding approached from behind. Blanche looked back. Fleur knew better than to show interest but she did glance up at the man who strode past.

  He muttered something that might have been, “Day,” and carried on to the front door of a square, three-story gray stone house.

  “That’s Lord Dominic,” Blanche whispered. “Ever so lovely, ’e is. All of us think so. In charge of the estate, too, with that ’andsome Mr. Lawrence. Mr. Lawrence is the manager.”

  Fleur hadn’t seen the gentleman’s face but his form appeared ever so lovely. He marched along with great purpose, his big shoulders swinging. The heels of his boots clattered on paving stones and a black coat flew out behind him.

  Fleur gave a little shiver. Mama wouldn’t approve of any shivering at all under the circumstances but Letitia and Rosemary would understand. They had spoken together of such things many times while huddled together beneath the covers of Letitia’s bed. There were, they had decided, male specimens who—with various attributes—could make females feel quite weak. A fine, powerful form was one of those attributes.

  Lord Dominic had overlong black hair—or some would consider it overlong—tied back with a ribbon. Fleur found this most intriguing.

  He threw wide the shiny black front door and left it open once he had marched inside.

  Blanche giggled. “’E’s ever so forceful,” she said. “Quiet but strong and you can feel how ’e’s wild somewhere deep inside.”

  Fleur decided Blanche was taken with his lordship and didn’t blame her. Although perhaps he had an ugly face and a mean look about him, but she doubted it.

  Just as Fleur and Blanche arrived at the door, a comfortable-looking woman appeared. She wore a black dress, and pieces of gray hair curled free of her fat chignon to frame a round, pink face. “Are you Miss Fleur?” she asked.

  Fleur dropped a hasty curtsey and said, “Yes.”
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  “I’m Mrs. Lymer. I look after her ladyship. Come with me, please. Run along now, Blanche.”

  Shut inside a perfectly square vestibule where creamy marble veined with green covered the floor and early spring flowers filled vases on tables against the pale-green walls, the first sound Fleur heard was a man’s deep voice. Not exactly raised in anger, nevertheless it was loud enough for her to hear every word:

  “What the devil are you thinking of, Mama? I’m a busy man. In fact, I’m here to ask you to do me a great favor, one which will ease my present burden. And before you mention it, of course I can’t—and won’t—squire some country parson’s mousey daughter around.”

  When his mother was uncertain, she chewed her bottom lip. She did so now and Dominic felt like a cad. “Hush,” he said to his ethereal parent. “I was too harsh in what I just said. My professional life is particularly pressing at the moment and when Nathan came to me with your proposition, I overreacted.”

  His mother, wearing a paint-smeared smock over a dress of orange Japanese gauze, managed to appear at once exotic and, as always, unconventional. She wore her gray specked dark hair very short, but curls made it look soft. She had dark eyes and clear, almost unwrinkled skin. When she stood, as she did now, her slenderness and straight back belied her age—not that Dominic was sure what that might be. The Dowager Marchioness of Granville stood almost six feet tall and could still make every head turn on the rare occasions when she appeared in public.

  At the moment Dominic’s parent watched him with disconcerting concentration.

  “Am I forgiven, Mother?” he said.

  “What am I to forgive you for? You haven’t told me the nature of this pressing favor of yours, so I don’t know if I will approve. And since I haven’t personally explained the very small service I wish you to perform for me, you can’t have refused to do it, so I have no reason to forgive or not to forgive you—yet.”