“Beauty is as beauty does,” Mrs. Tuthill advised tersely, then exclaimed, “Oh, drat, the custard burned. You weren’t waiting for dessert, were you?”
Then again, in Grosvenor Square he wasn’t sent to his room without dessert for being naughty. The earl sighed and got up. “Thank you for an excellent dinner, Mrs. Tuthill. I think I’ll have my port in the front parlor, by the fire.”
He thought she grumbled, “You’ll do as you please and be damned for it,” but he had to be mistaken. Servants just did not behave that way, not even in Bloomsbury.
Gard lounged on the sofa. He was comfortable, warm, moderately well-fed, and bored. He was restless—hell, he was frustrated! He felt like a stallion who knows there’s a mare in season somewhere, if he could just get out of the blasted stable. Staring at the flames, drumming his fingers on the inlaid table next to him, the earl contemplated a visit to Mother Ignace’s after all.
“Your port, my lord,” Annie said, putting the tray down with an audible thud that startled Ross into wondering if the witch could read his mind. He sat up and caught himself reaching to check his cravat. No, no deuced servant was going to reduce him to schoolboy status once more, in his manners or his morals. He sprawled back again, satisfied. Except that she was leaving, and he’d have no one to talk to at all, blast it. Even her viperish tongue was better company than his own unsatisfied thoughts.
“Have you finished the accounts? That is, must you go?”
“My lord?” If bats had established residence in his belfry, she couldn’t look more surprised, glasses or no.
He stared around in desperation, till his eyes alighted on the pianoforte. Sheets of music were unfolded on the stand, sheets that had not been there the last time he looked. “Did, ah, Bessie play the instrument?”
“No, my lord,” Annie replied, cursing herself for being a skitter-witted noddy, leaving the music out that way. She knew what was coming next.
“Then it was you,” he stated, not asking a question at all, and not the least astonished that his housekeeper could play, no matter that no servant in his experience had ever done so. Annie hadn’t done the expected yet. “Will you play for me?” Annalise surprised even herself by agreeing. Why give his suspicions more foundation? Why spend one instant more in the skirter’s company than she had to? Possibly, she answered herself while sorting through the music, because he looked so pathetically forlorn there on a couch made for two, and so devastatingly handsome with his collar loosened and his dark hair tousled. As she struck the first tentative chords, she told herself this was the only charitable thing to do, since she had bought off his evening’s entertainment.
“I am out of practice, my lord,” she apologized beforehand.
“I am no expert, to be criticizing your technique, Annie. I just like to listen.”
She nodded and started off with a few country ballads, a delicate Irish air. He relaxed against the cushions, shutting his eyes in quiet enjoyment of her pleasant competency. Then she switched to Mozart and Handel, and played well. Better than well. Better than any servant with a few hours of free time to practice. He sat up and studied Annie, even as she became lost in the intricacies of the piece she played so masterfully.
Gard quietly took up his pad and a pencil without disturbing her concentration. The pencil stayed poised in air. From his angle the flaps on her cap hid most of her face, whatever the rims of the spectacles did not cover. And the sagging black gown only emphasized her figure’s deficiencies. So he focused on her hands as they flowed over the keys.
The fingers were long and elegant, easily reaching the spread of ivories, not the bony talons they used to resemble. Her hands were not as red or work-roughened as he recalled, nor were they the cracked and lined and spotted hands of an older woman. Annie Lee was not old enough to have been in service for twenty-one years. He doubted if she’d worked very long at all, since she definitely had not managed to acquire a servile attitude. Most likely her soldier had left her in dun territory. How long since Corunna? “Do you miss James very much?” he asked when she reached the end of a piece.
Annalise was caught up in her music, the first time she’d really had to play in ages. And she was trying to play her best, for him. “Hmm? James who?”
“Your husband. James Jacob.”
Her fingers hit a discordant note. “Oh, yes, him. Of course. Um, yes. That is, not so much anymore. Why?”
“No reason in particular. I was just wondering if the redoubtable Annie Lee ever got lonely like us poor mortals. Then, too, you don’t appear quite settled in your life of servitude.”
Annie shrugged. “I’ll do.” And she immediately swept into a piece by Beethoven, playing louder than necessary, eliminating the possibility of conversation. He sketched.
When she reached the final deafening crescendo, Lord Gardiner applauded. “Excellent, Annie, excellent. Rest awhile,” he told her, placing a glass of wine in her hand, then sitting back down, his legs crossed in front of him. “I had a visit from the real estate agent,” he mentioned casually, then paused as she choked on her wine. “He wanted to know if everything was satisfactory here.”
Annalise put down the glass lest she spill it. “And what did you tell him, my lord?”
“That all was up to snuff. There was some puzzlement about the household staff. The man seemed to think Lady Rosalind took her servants with her.” As nonchalantly as she could, Annalise responded, “I believe I mentioned that Lady Rosalind did indeed take her butler and footman and abigail with her.” She waved her hand, dismissing the man’s confusion as beneath notice. It was a gesture more in keeping with a marchioness than a maidservant, if she but knew it.
The earl ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “He was also curious about some missing heiress. A relation to Lady Rosalind. Do you know anything about that?”
Annalise’s hand accidentally struck the keyboard. She winced at the sound. “Only what I heard from a man who called here for information. He said he was looking for the stepdaughter of a Sir Vernon Thompson, who was also Lady Rosalind’s niece. I told him all I knew, which is nothing really. Lady Rosalind has not been in contact with us, and neither has the niece.”
“I see.”
As he turned the pages of his drawing pad, Annalise wondered how much he really did see. “Seems a pity,” she commented hurriedly, “about the girl, I mean. Dicked in the nob, the man said.”
“Not to be wondered at if she’s any connection to Thompson. The fellow’s a curst loose screw. I pity the chit even more for that. Of course, it was a goosish thing to do, a young girl running off like she did. Any protection is better than having a gently bred female out on her own. Just look at what happened to Mignon. The girl’s most likely bachelor fare by now, especially if she’s knocked in the cradle, as you say.”
Annalise returned to her music, pounding the keys into submission, her back even more rigid than usual.
Gard started to sketch her that way, in hard, jerky lines mimicking her agitated motions. He put in the cap, ear wings flapping like a hound’s in the wind, and he put in the flat chest. He started on that stiff back which was not quite as flat as her front, due to the hump over her right shoulder. But wasn’t it over her left shoulder yesterday? He tried to picture Annie sitting with Mignon on the bed, or giving him what-for in the hallway. Gard shook his head to clear it. First those white stockings on the mare, now the housekeeper’s deformity. Lack of sex must be addling his mind
Chapter Twenty
“Lack of sex addles a man’s mind, chickie. Let me tell you, the fellow’s wastin’ away with unfulfilled desire.”
“Fustian,” Annalise replied as she and Rob Tuthill walked toward the hackney waiting to drive her to the livery stable. “It’s good for his soul. Think of all those monks and saints and martyrs.”
Rob spit at a streetlamp. “Them holy sorts chose that way of life. The gov’nor didn’t. And I say keepin’ a man from his pleasure ain’t good for him, besides bein’ c
ruel and heartless. It ain’t like you, chickie,” he said, shaking his head in sorrow.
“I say it builds character, and his needs it! Did you get a look at that last harlot, that Bessie O’Neill?”
Rob grinned. “An eyeful, all right. But frustration don’t build character, missy. That’s just a tale the preachers made up to keep the peasants from overpopulatin’ the countryside like rabbits. Hell, all frustration builds is aggravation and aggression like two male dogs meetin’ in a dusty street. I don’t like what you’re doin’ to him.”
“I haven’t touched him! I promised I wouldn’t.” Annalise kicked at a pebble in her way. “Besides, you can stop worrying about your randy friend. I am running out of ideas to discourage his particulars. I can’t keep giving my jewelry away to every loose woman in London.” She kicked harder at the pebble, sending it flying into the roadway. “And I’m sure he’ll find every last one of them.”
“It’s good that you’re givin’ up. We’d be seein’ the whites of his eyes soon else, and then watch out. Red-blooded fellow like the earl’s bound to explode from pent-up feelin’s and unused energies. You can’t mess with life’s drivin’ forces, chickie, without stirrin’ up a mare’s nest of trouble.”
“Oh, pooh,” Annalise pronounced, but she did ride a little farther away from Gard that morning, as if he were a bonfire about to go up in smoke with the slightest touch. He was quiet, thoughtful, paying little attention to her after his usual polite greeting. His lack of interest should have contented her since she did not want him getting up a flirtation with her, nor asking questions to ease his curiosity. Neither reason sat well. Piqued, she even considered initiating conversation.
Then a man stepped onto the path and called, “Miss Avery? Miss Annalise Avery?” It was that same man again, Sir Vernon’s unctuous footman, Stavely. Outwardly Annalise stayed calm, but Seraphina took exception.
“Are you all right?” the earl asked when she had the mare under control again.
“Yes, that peculiar person just startled my mare. I, ah, wonder what he was about.”
Grimly, the earl declared, “I intend to find out.” He gestured to her bodyguards to close ranks around her and the mare, then rode back along the path and dismounted, tying his stallion’s reins to a park bench. In three long strides he was next to the pomaded footman, who shrank back, but not in time to avoid being grabbed around the neck and shaken like a rag. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, jumping out in front of horses that way?” Lord Gardiner demanded. “You could have caused a serious accident.”
“Not if she’s Miss Avery, I couldn’t,” the dangling servant said, valiantly trying to defend his actions. “She’s supposed to be the best horsewoman in the shire.”
“What shire might that be, sirrah?”
“W-Worcester, where she and Sir Vernon Thompson reside, my lord.”
“Well, I assure you, and Sir Vernon, that the young woman with me is not his ward. I do not now and never will dally with wellborn ladies. Next thing I knew, some maggot like Sir Vernon would be demanding I marry his repulsive relation. This lady—and I am informing you just to make things clear, not that I have any intention of discussing my personal affairs with the likes of you or your obnoxious employer—is Miss Green, and she is in my keeping. I will take it seriously amiss if you disturb her again. Do you understand?”
How could the man not understand, with a fist like iron wrapped around his neck and his feet off the ground? “I’ll tell Sir Vernon, my lord. Your lady’s not a lady.”
There, Annalise thought, watching from a distance, Robb was wrong. Lord Gardiner didn’t explode, just quietly restricted himself to minor mayhem, which was not entirely undeserved, in her estimation. She smiled and rode on, missing the murder in his eyes when he joined her.
“Excuse the disturbance, my dear, it will not happen again.”
See? He was the perfect gentleman. She was building his character after all.
She smiled cheerfully during the rest of their ride. His lordship gnawed on the inside of his cheek.
*
Rob’s news about more company that evening destroyed Annalise’s good humor. Not even a visit from an exuberant Mignon could restore her mood, nor the young girl’s news that Bottwick had a broken nose. Instead of showing noble restraint in not skewering the scoundrel, Lord Gardiner’s actions now seemed to reflect his lordship’s savage nature, a nature that gave in to every base instinct.
“That dastard!”
“Bottwick?”
“No, Lord Gardiner.”
“Monsieur the earl? But no, he saves my life, vraiment. He makes that pig Bottwick give my back wages. And he sends me to stay with my new family, the Fansolls.”
With an effort, Annalise managed to get her mind off the invidious earl. “You are content with your new position, then?”
“How not?” Mignon said, grinning. “My young ladies are trés charmantes, and I have a room all to myself, so I can come and go like tonight, once they are out to their balls and parties. Madame Fansoll is aux anges to be relieved of worrying over the fashions and invitations and dancing lessons. Me, I take charge.” She giggled and whispered confidingly, “Someday I plan to take charge of Monsieur Fansoll, too.”
“Charge of him, the earl’s friend, Cholly?” Annalise echoed, unwilling to voice her fears.
“Oh, la, marriage, certainement. But he does not know it yet.”
“Lord Gardiner admires him exceedingly, and I am sure he is a praiseworthy gentleman, but do you think…” Annalise was not sure how to proceed. She did not want to hurt the girl’s feelings; neither did she want Mignon to get her hopes up.
“That he will marry a penniless orphan who once acted on the stage?”
“And who now is in his employ as companion to his sisters, yes,” Annalise concluded sadly. “Don’t you think you might be flying too high?”
Mignon settled back with her chocolate, one of Henny’s macaroons, and a grin. “Ah, but Cholly is a second son.”
“Whose brother is a marquis.”
“Who has as many sons as Cholly has sisters! Mon cher Cholly says he wants only to be a farmer on his small property, once his sisters are settled. He is not high in the inseam.”
“Instep.”
“Whatever.” The girl shrugged and had another macaroon. “Eh bien, now we have settled my future, what shall we do about yours, mademoiselle? This disguise is abdominal, no?”
“Abominable, yes. But necessary. I do not want to get you involved, Mignon, so I cannot discuss it.”
“Can you not go to milord for help? He was kind to me, no?”
Annalise sipped her tea. “Yes, he was, but this is different. He’d be furious, not just that I tricked him, but that I am a lady he might feel honor-bound to offer for, since I have been living under his roof. And if my real identity became known around, I’d be ruined forever.” She didn’t mention that she’d be hauled back to Thompson Hall and locked up. That was too dismal a burden to lay on Mignon’s young shoulders.
“I think there is much you don’t say. Tiens, my head aches from these complicated matters. Still, I do not understand why you ruin milord’s pleasure.”
“I cannot live here in a house of sin if I am to have any reputation at all. Surely you must see that! Besides, his pleasure seeking is wrong! Every child learns he cannot have every desire gratified. It is time Lord Gardiner learned temperance, moderation, patience. It is good for his soul.”
Mignon nodded wisely. “Enfin, you want him for yourself.”
The cup Annalise was holding clattered back in its saucer. “That’s outrageous! I despise the man. He is nothing but a wicked, wanton sinner. What do you know anyway? You are just a child.”
“I am not so much younger than you, oui? I think I have seen more of the world. Milord Gardiner is a nonpareil, no? How could you not want him? If not for Cholly, I might set my sights on him myself. But no, milord is too proud for one like me.”
“He is as proud as Lucifer. An arrogant, swaggering, insufferable man. Having his wishes thwarted once in a while will make him more humble, more human.”
Grinning again, Mignon asked, “And you have a plan?”
Well, no, Annalise was forced to admit, she was fresh out of plans. She had this pair of mice, fat and friendly little fellows, but the women Lord Gardiner seemed to choose were made of coarser weave. And her plan to pay them off and send them on their way before he ever got near enough to smell their cheap perfume was not working. In fact, now the tarts thought they could earn an easy wage just by showing up at Laurel Street! One of the other actresses at Drury Lane had had the nerve to write to Lord Gardiner, suggesting a liaison. Rob had taken the perfumed note around to Grosvenor Square and waited to carry the return message. Now he was assigned to convey the hussy to Bloomsbury this evening.
“Which actress is it, do you know?” Mignon asked.
“I think her name was Lilabette. Do you know her?”
“Ah, that one. She had leading roles, so was too grand to notice us poor girls in the chorus. She had to have her own dressing room, and a carriage to pick her up and take her home. Do not worry, my friend, Mignon shall get rid of her for you.”
Annalise stared uncertainly at the gamin grin on the petite blonde’s face. “How?”
“I think you do not want to know, my dear Annie.”
*
“May I show you upstairs to refresh yourself before dinner, ma’am?” Annie asked the Exquisite in the hallway, taking her ermine wrap.
“I’ll be right back, darling, don’t go far,” Lilabette told the earl, not deigning to acknowledge the housekeeper’s presence except for an abrupt “I am sure I can find it myself” as she slithered up the stairs in her red silk. Annie busied herself in the parlor, poking at the fire and fluffing up sofa pillows, taking surreptitious peeks at the earl in his form-fitting evening clothes that accented his broad shoulders and well-muscled legs. Then she heard the shrieks.
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