“I have only danced at country affairs, my lord,” she told Lord Nathan. “In Sodbury Martyr where my family lives. But I do love to dance.”
“And dance, you will,” Lord Nathan said, coming closer and bowing his head benevolently. “We shall make sure Miss Toogood is the talk of the ton, shan’t we, Dominic? You will soon dance better than any other woman in Town. Did I hear that Neville is making your wardrobe?”
Fleur bobbed again. “Yes. Such a kind and clever lady.”
“I should say so. Ye-es—” He considered her dress closely. “A perfect frock for a perfect girl. I do take issue with only one comment you make. Neville is kind, but with perfection like yours, she doesn’t need to be clever.”
The noise came from Lord Dominic again and when Fleur glanced at him she noticed, to her surprise, that his face had turned a dull shade of red. He looked back at her. “I am a fortunate man,” he said, his smile tight. “I am to escort you, Miss Toogood, and my gorgeous sister-in-law, Lady Granville—and—my old friend Gussy Arbuthnot. With such a band of beauties all to myself, I shall be the envy of every man in London.”
“Gussy?” Lord Nathan said, frowning, wrinkling his fine, straight nose. “When did that happen?”
“Did I forget to tell you?” Lord Dominic said. “Gussy does hate these things and when she came to visit me the other morning we agreed she would go about with Hattie, Miss Toogood and me. I know you have to leave, Nathan. We’ll talk more about the other later on.”
Lord Nathan blinked. “Yes. Very well, we’ll do that. And if you get a chance, have a word with Noel DeBeaufort. He thought John was in residence and came to talk to him about the grounds.”
“Dash it all,” Lord Dominic said with feeling.
“Quite,” Lord Nathan said. “He returns in the morning to walk parts of the estate and I’ve told him to talk with you. He’s eager to get started on one or two of the projects. Look, we’ll take up the other matter later—could be useful.”
A chill touched Fleur’s spine. Lord Nathan would have said more about the boy he’d come to talk about, whoever he was, if she hadn’t been present.
“Thank you,” was all Lord Dominic said but his chest expanded with a deep breath and he stared meaningfully at his brother. “Until later, then?”
“As you say.” Lord Nathan left.
“Sit down,” Lord Dominic ordered when he was alone with Fleur. “There. Close to the writing table. I must work, but I can decide what to do about you at the same time.”
Miserable, Fleur followed his direction to a big, black-and-gold-striped chair. She sat on the edge of the seat and made sure her feet touched the floor firmly.
“As if I didn’t have enough to worry about,” Lord Dominic muttered. “A meddler. An eavesdropper.”
“I didn’t—”
“Silence.”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
He flipped the tails of his coat aside and sat behind his expansive writing table—and he raised his eyebrows at her.
For so long that Fleur’s eyelids began to droop, his lordship worked quietly over papers spread on top of the table. From time to time he signed his name and rolled a blotter over the ink.
“They have contraptions that allow you to sign several pieces of paper at once,” Fleur said, and immediately closed her mouth.
“They do indeed,” he said, and picked up a newspaper which he shook and began to read.
She opened her book and took up a pencil. At the end of many pages of notes she wrote: “Most men do not understand women at all. Nasty habits like behaving as if he is alone, rather than in a lady’s presence, such as by reading while she waits for him to speak, show a man’s disrespect and arrogance.” At the back of the book she searched and found “disrespect” noted as number seven, and wrote a small seven in parentheses beside that word in her latest entry.
Fleur glanced up in time to see Lord Dominic watching her, his head tilted sideways from behind his paper. “Writing down all the things you think about me, no doubt,” he said. “I hope they’re suitably complimentary.”
The pigheadedness of men. She set the journal on her lap and rested her fingers on its open pages. “I have always kept a journal.”
“Whatever you heard from your perch out there is strictly confidential,” he said suddenly and harshly, setting the paper down.
“I am no gossip, my lord.”
“Are you a woman?”
She straightened her back. “We both know the answer to that.”
“Yes. So you are a gossip. The only question is the degree to which you repeat what you hear in order to gain the attention of your peers.”
“I have no peers in London,” she said and smiled. “You really are quite funny, my lord. You take yourself so seriously.”
Lord Dominic pushed back in his leather chair and laced his long fingers together over a flat stomach. “You are impertinent—but charming in your own way. You are also out of your depth. However, you are intelligent and, I believe, capable of learning quickly. My sister-in-law is uniquely qualified to put you through your paces and get you ready. Until she has polished the edges, your best course will be to say and do nothing, except smile and look as delightful as you do.”
Fleur blinked slowly. “I’m sure I misunderstand you, my lord. You couldn’t possibly have just told me I am socially unacceptable—completely so—and that my edges need polishing.”
He lowered his eyelids a fraction. “Perhaps that was a little unkind, but Society in Sodbury Martyr is not London Society. You have a quick wit, it’s true. But wait till you’re confronted with young women who have been schooled in the art of brilliant repartee. Then you will understand how much you have to learn.”
Fleur seethed. “My lord, people are born with some things and wit is among them. No matter how much a stupid person is schooled, they will not develop a keen sense of humor and enough knowledge to be interesting. I am not stupid and I am schooled. My father believes in educating women. He taught us himself and continues to teach my younger sisters.”
“So you say. And very admirable, too.” His brow puckered and he met her eyes, and smiled a little. “You are no shrinking violet, Miss Toogood. You have spirit and, above all, I consider spirit—and courage—invaluable.”
“Thank you.” He needn’t think he could toss a bone in her direction and change her impression of him as a man with every negative male quality she had identified.
“Now. What did you overhear?”
Lies were forbidden, but the truth could be dangerous and her family would not benefit from her being returned home in shame. “Words,” she said. “Nothing sensible. Or nothing that meant anything to me. A boy. Lord Nathan mentioned a boy but he didn’t say anything about him.”
“True,” Lord Dominic said. “What else?”
“I think you were arguing.” She bent over to hide her face. Let him think she was embarrassed. “But you shouldn’t be uncomfortable about that. I would never mention it. My sisters and I get cross on occasion. We say cruel things but then we make up and forget all about it. If I may be so bold, why not forget the harsh words you and your brother spoke? He seems a high-spirited man who would be slow to carry a grudge.”
“Does he now?” He had relaxed in his chair and Fleur dared to hope she’d satisfied him that she was no threat. He said, “I believe you’re right and I shall take your advice.”
An ormolu clock chimed out the hour. “Later than I thought,” Lord Dominic said. “But I would rather be here with you than elsewhere. Hattie—Lady Granville—arrives late tomorrow. Her adopted daughter, Chloe, will be with her and one or two members of the Bath household.”
Fleur could tell he looked forward to the arrival of his sister-in-law, most likely because he expected her to relieve him of the onerous duties his mother had given him.
“Just as well,” he continued. “On the following evening—” he consulted a list that looked similar to the one the Dowager had sent to Fleur
“—there is a musicale given by the Herberts. Lady Granville will make sure you’re as ready as you can be. You will meet Gussy Arbuthnot who insists she would like to help ease your way.”
“Yes, thank you. How kind.” A panicky fluttering set up in Fleur’s stomach and she popped up from her chair. “May I look at your ormolu clock? They are so pretty.”
He picked up his pen and tapped the handle against his lips.
Fleur tried not to look at his mouth but couldn’t help herself. Another note needed to go into her book. An irresistible mouth was essential in a man.
“Of course you can look at the clock. It is pretty, I suppose. It was my grandmother’s, which is why I keep it.”
The clock was displayed in a niche in the fireplace wall. Fleur walked close and took pleasure in its colors, or as much pleasure as was possible with the certainty that Lord Dominic observed her every move. He probably assessed the way she walked and found it lacking. There were things about her that he didn’t know, including her mother’s upbringing in a well-to-do family—even if they did disown her for marrying a poor if learned parson. Mama had taught her daughters well.
“How do you know about these?” Lord Dominic—who had left his writing table without making a sound—reached past her and rested the heel of his hand on the niche.
Fleur felt her eyes widen and her throat close.
“Bronze and porcelain,” he said, standing close enough for her to feel his warmth and his much larger stature. “See how they fashioned the white vine roses.”
“So pretty,” she said. “The French have an eye for flamboyance, and a unique style.”
He took his hand from the niche, but then settled it on her shoulder and turned her toward him. “Where did you read that?”
“It’s an opinion, my lord. I’ve studied many pictures and read about French artisans and craftspeople.” His hand folded over her shoulder and made it impossible for her to move away without making a scene.
He took a step closer.
Holding her journal to her breast Fleur moved backward and met the wall. Her heart beat too hard and fast.
“So, in your village parsonage you read books about—”
“I read books about many things,” she said, tipping her chin up to look steadily back at him.
He put his free hand on the wall behind her.
This was a man who might keep a woman as a convenience. A dangerous fellow to inexperienced young women if it was true.
“You are so much more than pretty,” he said. “The word doesn’t do you justice. But your mind is quick, and you conduct yourself well. I do believe you will make a fine wife for a man of position. Yes, indeed. Have you ever been in love?”
Fleur couldn’t make herself look away. “I have found a young man interesting,” she said. “But I don’t believe I have been in love. Perhaps I won’t know until I really am.”
His smile, a downward twitch at the corners of his mouth, gave him a wistful air which puzzled Fleur. But he made her warm all through—hot in places. Lord Dominic was a complex man, and he shouldn’t be where he was, doing what he was doing, in his rooms, alone with her. And he was doing something unsuitable, even she knew that.
“Did this interesting young man kiss you?”
Her blush made her feel silly. She lowered her lashes. “Of course not.”
“Of course not,” he whispered and when she raised her eyes again, his face was so close to hers that she felt his breath on her cheek.
Slowly, looking only at her mouth, he lowered his lips toward hers. He took his hand from her shoulder and spread it over the side of her face, brushed his thumb back and forth along her jaw. Their bodies touched.
Fleur felt her lips part and she ached and tingled—and wanted to hold him tight and have him hold her. But… “No,” she said, ducking under his arm. He didn’t move but she moved away until she stood in the center of the room.
He laughed! Actually laughed and turned around with an expression of delight on his face. “Good,” he said. “Very good. You will do so well because there will be men who make advances, most not as subtle as mine, and you must rebuff them. You must be pure, untouched, until you go to your marriage bed.”
“My lord, please.” She had never been more mortified. “I should leave now.”
“Soon. My brother is charming, don’t you think?”
The abrupt change of topic caught Fleur off guard. “Er, yes.”
“I never met a woman who didn’t find him charming,” he said. “But perhaps I should have asked my question differently. Do you find him…attractive?”
Fleur swallowed several times. What was she supposed to say? “Lord Nathan is a handsome man, but then, so are you, my lord. And having met your sweet mother I’m sure the entire family is handsome.”
“You have a clever tongue.” He walked toward her. “You have nothing to fear. What just happened will not happen again. As you heard, Nathan intends to accompany us a good deal during the Season. So I’m glad you find him pleasing company. As you will see, he is a better dancer than I am, so I will give him the pleasure of partnering you when you haven’t already been swept off by some young buck. Yes, yes, indeed. Nathan is also far more sociable than I am. I’m known as a dour fellow and not at all easy to get along with.”
“I think you are perfectly easy to get along with,” Fleur said, “if you want to be.”
Lord Dominic’s expression set once more. He started to say something but put a closed fist to his mouth and walked past her to open the door. “Can you find your way to your rooms on your own?”
“Yes, thank you.” Silly, stupid tears prickled in her eyes and she rushed past him.
He didn’t say anything else before closing his door behind her.
Fleur set off. She turned and walked backward, lifting the back of her skirts as she went. Just as his rooms were almost out of sight she stood still and scowled. “You would try to palm me off on your brother just to get rid of me. I’m a nuisance to you. Well, even if he was interested, Lord Nathan wouldn’t do at all. And I believe you dance every bit as well as he does, probably better. And you are not dour—or not too often.”
9
No more than fifty people could sit in the chapel, Fleur decided. And only then if they squeezed together. She walked softly, using shafts of pale moonlight through leaded panes to find her way along the center aisle. Since she had been a tiny girl in her father’s arms, houses of God had brought her peace.
Using the same route as she’d taken several days earlier with Blanche, she had crept from Heatherly House at eleven-thirty Even though she wore her own heavy, hooded cloak, the night air chilled her and she was grateful to have on the stout shoes she’d worn for her journey to London.
After stumbling through undergrowth beneath the trees Lord Nathan had spoken of, Fleur had arrived early so that she could hide herself. The plan had seemed dangerous, but exciting, too, and Jane Weller might need help.
Bosh. The excitement had been the thing. That and the boring sameness of her routine at Heatherly. And she had been wrong to put herself in danger—and to interfere in something that was none of her business. Lord Nathan had spoken of killers attempting to murder a monk outside this very chapel!
In truth she thought Lord Nathan the type of joker who relished ghost stories told in the dark, and probably boyish but nasty pranks on occasion, too.
But if she left now there was still time to get away before anyone came. Lord Dominic had not taken his brother seriously and seemed not at all concerned for their friend, the monk. Still, the better part would be to get back to her room and resolve not to interfere again. The chapel doors were all unlocked and she walked quickly toward a side exit.
A door handle grated. Someone was entering by the double front doors. Fleur hurried to get out—until she reached a carved wooden screen around the family pew.
There was no time for dithering. She left or she stayed—now.
Fleur stayed, popp
ed up a single step to the raised pew and sank to huddle on the cold marble floor. And just in time to hear the heavy door swing inward and then a scuff-scuffing of shoes. She had made the best of moonlight through the windows, but the newcomer lit a candle and faint yellow light flickered.
She had done foolish things, but this must be the most foolish of all. And only moments before she had promised to reform. Now there was nothing for it but to wait and pray she would not be discovered.
Curiosity killed the cat. She put her hands over her ears. Zinnia’s voice, taunting her for some childish prying into a box they weren’t supposed to open, was an ill-timed memory.
This was what she would do: wait and watch until the meeting was over then go back and raise the alarm—if there was any reason for alarm. And if she saw no reason to worry about Jane Weller, well, Fleur would hurry to the house as quickly as she could, go to bed and never, ever, meddle again.
This time she meant it.
Whoever was out there didn’t stand still. The scuffing sounds continued as the owner of the feet kept on moving.
If it was Jane…No, trying to talk to Jane now would be incredibly dangerous.
Slowly, carefully, Fleur climbed from the floor to the seat of the family’s carved wooden bench. She scooted to the end and raised her head enough to see over the arm at the end of the pew. Over the arm and through the screen.
She saw the monk at once. He sat on a chair not thirty feet from her, with his head bowed and the hood of a dark habit obscuring his head and face. The candle flame bobbed in a holder he’d placed on a nearby collection box. His prayerful attitude squashed the butterflies in her stomach. Papa always said there was refuge in church, in the company of people of God.
The man whistled! Softly, it was true, but a whistle nevertheless.
Fleur frowned, concentrating on the tune, then almost laughed aloud. The monk whistled, “Lavender Blue,” and she held her breath. How she and Letitia had been taken to task for singing such lines as, “You must love me, diddle diddle, ’Cause I love you,” from that song. Mama said the words were risqué and Fleur thought the melody did sound strange coming from the man in a brown habit.
Testing Miss Toogood Page 7