Cholly was still thinking. “Can’t take her around to parties and the like, but maybe we can find her a clerk or something to marry.”
“And I’ll throw in a portion for the chit!” the earl declared happily, raising his glass to Cholly’s in a toast to their plan. “I’ll send her round in the morning, then, after my ride.”
“Still seeing that veiled charmer in the park? Have you found out who she is yet? Everyone’s waiting for the word so they can settle the wagers.”
Lord Gardiner smiled, a slow, sensuous grin. “No, not yet.”
Cholly smiled back in relief. “That’s more like it. You had me worried there, old boy.” The earl cocked an eyebrow in inquiry. “You know, how your name is coming up a lot in conversation.”
“But, Cholly, my name is always coming up a lot in the gossip. What’s the worry?”
“Worry is, seems your name’s the only thing coming up.”
Chapter Eighteen
Was she wearing the same green habit so he would recognize her, or because it was the only one she owned?
How long before his honorable intents gave way to his lustful nature and he made her an improper offer?
So many questions, so few answers. They rode silently again, enjoying the ride, but very aware of the other’s presence. As they neared the park exit Lord Gardiner spoke up: “We have never been formally introduced, ma’am, and I should not want you thinking I am some unmannered brute. I am Ross Gardiner, at your service. My friends call me Gard.” He looked to see if she was acknowledging his offer of friendship. Blast, what was with women these days? They were all making themselves unreadable in their spectacles and veils.
Here it comes, Annalise thought, disappointed but not surprised. Here is where he starts casting his net. She ignored him, pretending to adjust her skirts.
Ross laughed. “Very well. I may be Gard later. Today I am merely the honor guard, sworn to shield you from insults and advances. I am, indeed, honored that you accepted my offer to lend you protection. I hope that someday you will honor me with your name.”
The silver-tongued devil! “I—”
The earl held up a gloved hand. He could tell by her hesitation that whatever name she gave would be a lie. He was jumping his fences. “No, I am not asking. I gave my word to respect your privacy. I find I do not like addressing my riding partner as miss or ma’am, however. May I call you Miss Green?”
Annalise kept her voice low, husky. “That will be fine, my lord.”
“And your horse?”
Her horse? Why should he want to call her horse anything, except as a way of tracing her identity? Regrettably, Seraphina was too uncommon, and the mare was not likely to respond to an alias. “Beauty,” she whispered a pet name for the horse softly, and Seraphina blessedly flicked her ears.
“Perfect.” The earl nodded approvingly. “Although I might have thought you’d call her Socks, or Bootsy.”
“My lord?”
“Her white stockings. If I might be so bold as to offer a word of advice, strictly in my role as protector, do have a word with your grooms, Miss Green. I know they are loyal, courageous chaps; I saw them fight in your defense. But I think they have taken too many blows to the head. Yesterday Beauty had one white stocking on her rear legs, her right rear leg to be exact. Today her left leg is white. It’s a wonder she hasn’t four stockings, or two.”
Annalise laughed. What else could she do? “I am afraid I have no aptitude for hugger-mugger either. Thank you, my lord. I shall be more careful in the future.”
Her chiming laughter was a delight, lighthearted yet refined. Youthful. Not childish, he amended to himself, thinking of Mignon, just young. But a young lady of breeding, riding out with two ruffians as guards? He was no closer to solving the mystery than he was yesterday. More important than that, he realized, was his real desire to win her trust—and to keep her from harm if the reason for her secrecy was actually perilous. “Miss Green, I know that we are hardly acquainted, but I believe the deceptions and disguises you are forced to practice are against your nature.”
If he only knew, Annalise thought, laughing again, this time to herself, in despair.
“If—nay, when—you come to trust me, please believe that I will do everything in my power to assist you.”
To assist her into his bed, Annalise still believed. The man had endearing moments of nobility, though, for a cad.
“I have recently come to a better understanding of women’s plight,” he continued, and she believed him. Now, if he just stopped using her home as a house of convenience, if he found a lady from his own class, married, and stayed constant for thirty or forty years, she just might change her opinion of him.
*
While he was out, Lord Gardiner decided to ride over to Drury Lane. Bottwick was not well pleased to receive an irate nobleman, nor the information that Mimi would not be coming back, except to fetch her belongings.
“You can’t do that, no matter who you think you are! I got my rights to the wench!”
“Oh, yes? Rights such as slavery? I believe there are laws about that, as well as regarding child prostitution,” the earl quietly informed him, eyeing the smaller man through lowered brows. “I should not like to hear of another underage chit being pushed along that path.” Gard flicked his riding crop against his highly polished Hessians, giving Bottwick time to digest the unspoken words. “Have I made myself clear?”
As clear as any member of Parliament, a patron of the theater, and a pupil of Gentleman Jackson’s needed to be, especially when he held a whip in his hand. Bottwick mumbled his assent, not loudly enough for Lord Gardiner’s satisfaction. The earl punctuated his disapproval with a quick right jab that got him the desired promise.
On Gard’s way out of the theater, one of the actresses not quite accidentally bumped into him. He automatically reached out to steady her, and somehow found his hand on a bit of flesh that would tempt any anatomy student.
“Oh, la,” she squealed, “sure and I should watch where I’m going.”
Gard looked into brown eyes with soot-darkened lashes, under hair a yellow color never seen in nature. The amplitude of her endowments, however, were more often found in dairy barns. He grinned. “Sure and you didn’t see a wee fellow like me.” She winked, laid a hand on his arm, and drew him aside. “I couldn’t help overhearing your argle-bargle with that spalpeen Bottwick, me lord. ’Tis a shame, it is, about the young ’uns, and I admire a fine gent like yourself for not taking advantage. Bessie O’Neill, I be, and I didn’t come down in the last snowfall.”
Or the one before that, he’d wager. Bessie was definitely not a child, definitely not a lady, and definitely not unwilling. And he was needing something to get his mind off the woman in the park before he became totally obsessed with her and her intrigues. Besides, Bessie’s bountiful curves would be spectacular on canvas. He’d hardly done more than a sketch, Gard calculated, since the night of the infamous drawing party in the ballroom. By all that was holy, he hadn’t had a woman since then either!
“Are you free tonight after the performance?”
“Free? No, not even for a bonny laddy like you, but I’ll be waiting for you after the show.”
*
Next he went to discuss Mignon’s future with the girl. Leaving his stallion with Tuthill in the stable, Gard walked through the back door of the town house. Mrs. Tuthill was busy at the stove, and Annie sat at the kitchen table having her breakfast, her back to him.
“Good morning,” he called, noticing the way Annie snatched up her spectacles from the table and shoved them on her face before jumping up to curtsy. “No, don’t let me interrupt your breakfast. I just wanted to tell Mignon I think there’s a solution to her dilemma.”
Annie remained on her feet, looking regretfully at her plate. “She’s still asleep, poor child. Should I go wake her?”
“No, I can explain to you, and you can tell her when she gets up. Do eat your food while it is hot.” He looked s
o enviously at Annie’s piled plate that she was forced to offer him something to eat before she could enjoy her own meal.
“Thank you,” he said when Mrs. Tuthill brought him a cup of coffee and two slices of dry toast. He looked over at the housekeeper’s plate, where reposed fluffy eggs, warm muffins, a rasher of ham, a helping of kidneys, then back at his spartan fare. So he was still in Mrs. Tuthill’s black books, was he? At least she was feeding Annie properly; the woman no longer looked as if the first wind would blow her over. He watched her butter her muffin with the delicacy of a duchess and wondered again about this peculiar woman. He shrugged. Give him a female like Bessie any day.
“You were going to tell us about Mignon, my lord,” Annalise interrupted his musings. “Have you found a place for her then?”
“I think I have the ideal solution.” And he proceeded to relate his conversation with Cholly, about the five plain sisters and negligent mother, the absentee heir who paid the bills. “So she’ll have a home and companions and an income. Perhaps she’ll find she has a flair for being a ladies’ maid or companion. Cholly thinks we ought to be able to find a husband for her. He’s the best of good fellows, so you needn’t worry on that score, or that there might be anything harum-scarum about his household. I’ll keep an eye on the infant myself, of course.”
“An excellent solution, my lord,” Annie congratulated him, and Mrs. Tuthill placed a large steak in front of him. Now this was more like!
“Yes, and I’ve already been backstage. No one will bother Mignon when she goes to pick up her things. Make sure Tuthill goes inside with her anyway, just to make sure. I would take her myself, but it wouldn’t do for her to arrive on Cholly’s doorstep in my curricle. Not even Mrs. Fansoll is that open-minded.”
Next Ross had the unprecedented honor of basking in the glory of Annie Lee’s approval. He was clever and kind and wise. Gads, that it should come to this, that he cared what an ugly old housekeeper thought of him! “Oh, yes, I’ve already informed Tuthill about the company this evening. He’ll fetch the lady. I may be delayed. I know you’ll make her welcome; you were very kind about Sophy and again with Mignon. We do not always agree, Annie, and I still believe you are an odd kind of employee, but I do appreciate your efforts.”
Annalise ignored the flummery and Henny’s cough. “A lady?”
He found himself coloring. “Her name is Bess. She’s from the theater.”
Annie stood. “Well, then, there’s a lot to be done. If you are finished, my lord?” And she took his plate away before he could protest. He had not gone halfway through the excellent steak, cooked precisely the way he liked it, and now she was feeding it to the ugliest little dog he had ever seen. It figured.
*
Mignon was tearfully thankful when Annalise told her of the plan. Those were her very favorite things: fashions and sewing, music and speaking French! How could she not be happy, with five young ladies to teach how to flirt! “And I shall do such a fine job of it, they will all marry dukes, no? But not so soon, I think, that I find myself with no position. Ah, mademoiselle, I owe you such a debt!” Annalise was annoyed with the earl, to put it mildly. Still, she had to give him the proper credit. “You owe me nothing. It is Lord Gardiner you must be sure to thank.”
“Milord is the true gentilhomme, no? Yet I think he would never have come to help Mignon without you. Please, what may I do to repay your kindness? I would do anything for you.”
“Anything? Very well, you may tell your friends in the cast, especially the one called Bessie, that his lordship has the pox!”
Mignon’s eyes grew round. “The pox? Mon Dieu! That is better than the other thing, I suppose. But milord has been so good to me, n’est-ce pas, how can I play him such a trick?” She studied Annalise, tugging the spectacles and the awful cap away. “You pull the lamb over his eyes, no?”
“The wool, Mignon. Yes, but you mustn’t tell. There are good reasons.”
“My lips, they are sealed. But how can I tell such lies about the grand monsieur?”
“It’s for his own good, I swear! You’d be saving him from a life of sin, the way he saved you.” Mignon looked doubtful, a world of wisdom in her young eyes. “I don’t think it is the same, mademoiselle. I don’t think it is the same at all.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bessie came prepared. When Annie led her upstairs to show her where she might wait, the bleached and painted actress plucked two sausage casings out of her reticule. At least they looked something like sausage casings to Annalise. She averted her eyes.
“In case that rumor is true,” Bessie said with a loud laugh, noticing where Annie couldn’t look.
“His lordship…that is…” Annalise began, forcing herself.
“That other muckle rumor? A brae, lusty lad like himself? Don’t worry, m’dear, Bessie’s never lost a patient yet.” She slapped her knee and laughed herself into a coughing fit.
Between trying not to glance at the items on the nightstand and trying not to stare at Bessie’s expansive figure, wondering how a scrap of lace at the neckline could keep all that quivering flesh restrained, Annalise had nowhere to focus her eyes. So she looked under the bed. And behind the dresser, in the water closet, beneath the chintz-covered boudoir chair.
“What’s that you’re after, dearie?” Bessie wanted to know.
Annalise’s muffled reply came from inside the wardrobe. “Mice. We’re overrun with the pesky beasts. You’re not afraid, are you?”
“Bessie O’Neill, afeared of a wee rodent? No, we have them in and out of the dressing rooms all the time. Takes more than that to send me scurrying. Now, snakes is another thing. I cannot abide the slimy things. Can’t even be in the same room with a picture of one. Makes my skin crawl.”
Snakes? Where was Annalise to get a snake in the middle of the night? In the middle of London? She might be able to locate an eel, perhaps, if she could bear to handle it. Somehow she doubted that Lord Gardiner would believe that one just happened to appear in his bed chamber, like the plagues falling on Egypt. If he ever suspected—no, that did not bear thinking on. She’d seen the man in a temper, and it was bad enough, thank you. One of his rages would be nothing compared to what would happen if he discovered her conniving against him. But this vulgar woman was taking her shoes off and sprawling on the bed, appendages bobbling about like melons in a basket.
“You know his lordship might be very late, don’t you? Surely you’ll have to get back for rehearsal.”
“Not to worry. Rehearsal’s not till three tomorrow, and I know my part so well, I can skip it. Now, beauty sleep is another matter. I’ll just catch me a little nap while I wait, dearie. Be a pet and blow out some of the candles, won’t you?”
“Ah, miss, you wouldn’t by chance believe in ghosts, would you?” It was worth a try.
“Nary a bit, dearie. Old Bess believes in two things: having a good time and getting paid for it.”
So Annalise paid her. She always hated that bracelet anyway.
*
The earl strode up to the door with a jaunty tread, a large pad under one arm and a box of charcoal drawing crayons in the other. He’d made a special trip to the art supply dealers on New Bond Street to find just the right shade of yellow for Bessie’s hair. He also purchased a new pencil of emerald green.
Annie opened the door to his eager face, wiping the smile right away with her words: “I am sorry, my lord. Miss O’Neill was called away. A sick relative, I believe.”
Gard looked at the pad in his hand, then he turned and pounded his head on the open door. He never even got to touch this one!
“My lord?”
He straightened up and adjusted his neckcloth. “Yes, Annie. Thank you.”
“Mrs. Tuthill is fixing supper. Buttered crab, vol-au-vents of veal, braised duckling, and one of her special custard puddings. Will you be staying?”
It was better fare than he’d get at his club, and the temperamental master chef he kept at Grosvenor Square woul
d resign if Gard woke him to cook a late-night snack. It did occur to the earl, and not for the first time, that in some ways he was more at home here than he was at home. Of course, he’d never spent the night upstairs in that bed which looked so inviting, but there wasn’t all that kowtowing and ceremonial toadying, either. Even the outrageous tirades from his ill-behaved housekeeper were more mentally challenging than his mother’s nagging harangues. At least Annie never dragged forth his father’s ghost. At Laurel Street Ross could eat in the kitchen if he wanted—which was what he decided, in fact—instead of dining in state at Gardiner House. He ruefully acknowledged that if he kept eating instead of partaking of his usual exercise, he’d be fat as a flawn in no time.
He sketched Mrs. Tuthill while she bustled around the kitchen.
“Why, it’s me to the inch! What a gift you have indeed, my lord. My Robbie will think it’s a treat! Why, you could be one of those fancy portrait artists, I swear.”
“Most likely no one would pose for me, either,” he mumbled under his breath, not realizing Annie was beside him, setting the table for his meal. She camouflaged a giggle with a cough. The earl looked up. “Should you like me to do your portrait, too, Annie?”
Her exultation fled. She did not want him staring at her. Even his quick glances made her uncomfortable, and not just because he might see through her disguise. He was so handsome; she was homely. She slammed the plate down in front of him so hard, the sturdy table shook. “What for? I know what I look like, and no one else cares to look at an ugly old hag.”
“I think your face might show a great deal of character, Annie, if you removed the spectacles. At least consider it.”
“Mrs. Tuthill will serve your dinner, my lord. I have accounts to look over.”
“I didn’t mean to insult her,” the earl told a frowning Mrs. Tuthill after Annie left.
“She’s sensitive about her looks,” the older woman replied, banging pans together.
“I suppose it cannot be easy, seeing beautiful women come and go”—mostly go, he mused—“in a place like this. I wonder if that’s why she’s so prickly, if it’s not jealousy instead of moral indignation after all.”
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