by French Leave
Mrs. Hutchins had been seventeen years in her profession, and in that time she thought she had seen it all. She had been wrong. This married father of four somehow seemed as innocent as the greenest youth bedding his first woman. She would gladly have foregone her usual exorbitant fee and taken him upstairs for free, just for the novelty. But he would not have gone with her if she had offered, and somehow she would have been disappointed in him if he had.
“Very well, Sir Ethan. Your assumptions are correct. There is such a way as you supposed. But I am in business to earn a living, you know. How much are you prepared to pay for the information you seek?”
The sum he proposed made her blink. “My dear sir, if all men valued their wives so highly, I should soon be forced to seek another profession.”
She rang for tea and cakes, and instructed her butler to deny her to callers. Then she and Sir Ethan spent a very informative half-hour, at the end of which time he took his leave. His hostess did not ring for the butler, but instead walked him to the door herself.
“Remember, Sir Ethan, if your wife objects, you may always be sure of a welcome here.”
“Thank you, madam,” he answered in a tone which, while respectfully polite, clearly communicated to her the unlikelihood of his ever appearing on her doorstep again.
“Oh, and Sir Ethan—”
He had already started for the stair, but upon hearing her call his name, he turned back, and found himself seized by the lapels and kissed squarely on the mouth with a ferocity which knocked the curly-brimmed beaver from his head.
“Forgive me, ducky,” she said with a wink, when at last she released him, “but I do have a certain reputation to uphold.”
* * * *
Lady Helen shifted to the edge of her seat as the carriage clattered down the familiar London streets. Very soon now she would be reunited with her husband and (she devoutly hoped) all her fears would be put to rest. For there was no denying that, in his absence, her doubts about her marriage had fed upon themselves until she no longer knew what to believe. At times, such as when a hastily scrawled letter had been delivered assuring her of his safe arrival in the Metropolis, she chided herself for her own foolishness; at others, primarily when she lay alone in her bed at night, it was all too easy to believe that he had never truly loved her at all, that winning her hand had been nothing more than a challenge to him, another rung on the ladder from workhouse orphan to knight of the realm.
In the light of day, she knew these fears to be exaggerated to the point of absurdity. Still, nothing less than the sight of his face and the feel of his arms about her would put the problem (for problem there undeniably was) in its proper perspective. Consequently, her heart leaped every time she sighted a carelessly dressed, dark-haired man of medium height—no very rare breed in London, and hence the source of considerable agitation of spirits. The nearer they came to her Grosvenor Square town house, the more impatient Lady Helen became. The excited chatter of Miss Colling, so infectious at the beginning of the journey, had begun to pall. Lady Helen could only be thankful that the twins, at least, had long since fallen asleep, and that the younger children were riding with Nurse in a separate carriage some distance behind.
“Voyons!” cried Lisette. “Why do we go so slowly?”
“I don’t know,” Lady Helen confessed. “Have we indeed slowed down? I thought as much, but supposed it must be my imagination.”
As if in confirmation, the carriage rolled slowly to a stop. Lady Helen rapped on the panel overhead. It opened on the instant, and the coachman peered down at his passengers.
“Yes, my lady?”
“What is the matter, Dixon?”
“Looks like a farm cart’s met with an accident up ahead. There’s turnips all over the road.”
Lady Helen made an impatient noise, to which the coachman was quick to respond. “Shall I make a detour, ma’am?”
“Yes, please.”
The overhead panel closed, and the carriage inched forward until it reached the intersecting street. The coachman swung the carriage off the main thoroughfare and onto a narrower residential lane. Progress along this street was of necessity slower, but it was still progress of a sort. Lady Helen sank back in her seat and strove to bear with patience the little bit that remained of the long journey. As the carriage turned onto Green Street, however, she sat up abruptly. The door of a pleasant house had swung open, and on the threshold there appeared a carelessly dressed, dark-haired man of medium height, bidding farewell to a stunning titian-haired woman. Lady Helen silently chided herself for her own foolishness. What would her husband be doing in Green Street, of all places, where resided some of the most notorious courtesans in England, including the Duke of York’s mistress, Mary Ann Clarke, and Lord Waverly’s erstwhile paramour, Sophia Hutchins?
Even as she dismissed the notion, the pair embraced shamelessly upon the front stoop. Lady Helen’s first thought was for Lisette, to make sure her young guest was not subjected to a scene of such gross impropriety. Then the hat fell from the man’s head, and all other considerations fled from her mind but one: the curly-haired man kissing Sophia Hutchins so passionately was unquestionably, undeniably, her own husband.
For Lady Helen, the remainder of the trip passed in a blur. A strange buzzing noise filled her head, almost drowning out the lilt of Lisette’s French accent as she chattered cheerfully, unaware that her hostess’s world had just come to an end. After what seemed to Lady Helen like an eternity, the carriage drew to a halt in front of 23 Grosvenor Square and the door was opened. At the sight of the footman waiting to hand her down, however, twenty-five years of training came to the fore. Smiling serenely, she placed her hand on his proffered arm and inquired into the health of his widowed mother as she stepped lightly down.
Once inside, Lady Helen flung herself with a passion into the details of housewifery, seeing her children settled in the nursery and the best guest chamber prepared for Lisette, conferring with the housekeeper and the cook, and seeing to the bestowal of her muslins and silks in the clothes-press. In this manner she contrived to keep herself busy for some time until Sir Ethan, returning home late after dining at his club, was informed by the butler that Lady Helen was now in residence, having arrived that very afternoon, a full three days earlier than anticipated.
“ ‘as she, now?” he asked with every appearance of pleasure, surrendering his hat and gloves to Evers’s care. “I wish you’d sent a message to me at Brooks’s. I’d’ve been ‘ome sooner.”
“I’m very sorry, sir. I should not have wished to bother you.”
“No bother at all,” his master assured him. “But never mind. I’ll go up at once.”
As if in proof of this statement, he took the stairs two at a time. He found his wife in her bedchamber, wearing a lace-trimmed dressing gown and arranging her combs and brushes on an elegantly carved rosewood dressing table. These had already been put to good use, for Lady Helen’s honey-blond hair was unpinned and tied with a ribbon at the nape of her neck.
“ ‘elen, me love!” he said, gazing at her in a manner evocative of a starving man invited to a Carlton House banquet.
A silver-backed brush slipped from Lady Helen’s hand and clattered to the table. She was not ready. She had not yet decided what she would say to this man she had thought she knew so well. When he had not come home for dinner, she had assumed she would not see him until morning, and she found it grossly unfair that she should have to face him now, undressed and with her hair hanging down her back.
“Ethan, darling,” she said, smiling through stiff lips. “You are looking well.”
“Never better,” he declared, crossing the room to take her in his arms. “I didn’t think to see you until next week, though. You took me by surprise.”
“Yes, I daresay I did.”
He would have kissed her soundly, had she not pulled away after the briefest of pecks. He released her, since she seemed to wish it, but far from leaving the room, he sat down on the e
dge of the bed and regarded his wife steadily. “I’ve missed you, ‘elen.”
She would have reminded him that they had endured separations far longer than this, but something about the look in his eye and the tone of his voice gave her to understand that he was referring not to the previous fortnight, but to a longer period—one approaching six months. The knowledge that he would come to her now, straight from his mistress’s arms, made her feel ill.
“It’s late, Ethan, and I’ve still a thousand things to do—’“
“Aye, love, I won’t press you,” he conceded, not without regret. “I’ve waited this long, I daresay I can wait a bit longer. I trust you ‘ad a good journey?”
“Well enough, though rather long,” she replied, both relieved and disappointed at his easy capitulation. “There was an accident involving a farm cart and a load of turnips, so we were obliged to make a detour. Down Green Street,” she added pointedly.
She might have saved her breath; he had not the grace to look ashamed. “I don’t care ‘ow you came, just so long as you’re ‘ere,” he said with such conviction that Lady Helen almost believed him. “And the children?”
“They slept much of the way, and Miss Colling was a great help in entertaining them when they were awake.”
“She’s an ‘elp you won’t ‘ave after today,” Sir Ethan told her. “Waverly’s purchased a special license. They’re to be married tomorrow morning.”
“Are they, indeed? It seems a very odd match.”
“Aye, that it does. But so did we, love, and just look at us.”
“Yes,” she said sadly. “Just look at us.”
Chapter 6
We will be married o’ Sunday.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,
The Taming of the Shrew
Lord Waverly called for Lisette promptly at nine o’clock the following morning. She was fetchingly attired for her nuptials in a pink muslin morning dress fashioned for her by Lady Helen’s mantua-maker in Manchester, there having been no time to order a wedding gown from that lady’s more fashionable London modiste. Her ravaged curls were hidden—and her heart-shaped face charmingly framed—by a deep-brimmed bonnet trimmed with pink roses. She looked absurdly young, and Waverly wondered anew at the vagaries of Fate in contriving such an ill-assorted union.
He did not voice these reflections to his bride, however, but handed her up into his curricle, climbed up beside her, and set the horses’ heads toward St. George’s, Hanover Square. They had gone some distance in silence when Lord Waverly, glancing at his bride and seeing naught but the brim of her bonnet covering her downcast face, asked, “Are you frightened, Lisette?”
“Mais non,” she replied without looking up. “I am not frightened, milord.”
“Nervous, perhaps?”
“Perhaps a little,” she confessed. “After all, one does not get married every day.”
Having been aggressively pursued by damsels eager to hear themselves addressed as “my lady,” he found her reluctance less than flattering. “I’ll not eat you, you know.”
“Oui, I know,” she said sadly.
Having arrived at the church, he drew the vehicle to a halt and leaped down. He tossed a coin to a nearby lad, promising the boy another one for walking the horses until his return, then turned to hand Lisette down. Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, he escorted her up the stairs, past a flower woman selling her wares on the church steps. Obeying a sudden impulse, he purchased a posy of violets from her basket and presented these to his bride.
“Merci, milord,” Lisette whispered, smiling shyly up at him.
The wedding ceremony was simple and brief. There was no wedding breakfast, nor were there any guests, unless one could count the few pious souls who had arrived early for Sunday services. The bishop peered suspiciously at the youthful bride, then pushed his spectacles higher onto the bridge of his nose and re-examined the special license. Apparently convinced that all was in order, he read the service from the Book of Common Prayer, asking the pertinent questions and nodding benignly as the earl and Lisette made the appropriate responses. The transaction was completed in less than fifteen minutes.
Afterwards, Lord Waverly escorted his lady back up the aisle, but upon seeing the church now half-filled with worshippers, the new Lady Waverly hung back.
“Should we not stay for services, milord?”
“Me, attend church?” drawled Waverly. “My dear child, the roof might cave in.”
“Vraiment?” asked Lisette, gazing curiously at the carved ceiling over her head. “It looks strong enough.”
“I meant,” the earl explained with exaggerated patience, “that I have not been in the habit of regular attendance.”
Lisette saw nothing to wonder at in this declaration. “Naturellement! You have been in France.”
“The omission is not a recent one, I fear.”
“Ah! Then no doubt le bon Dieu will be pleased to see you again,” said Lisette, undaunted.
Lord Waverly, conceding defeat, made no further protests, but ushered his bride to a nearby pew. As the service progressed, the earl might have been pleased to note that the roof remained intact; however, he had little thought to spare for this circumstance, his mind being occupied with more pressing concerns. From the moment he seated himself beside Lisette, he was aware that they were the objects of considerable interest. As the bishop delivered his sermon, the earl became increasingly cognizant of the surreptitious glances being cast in their direction—glances containing every known emotion from scandalized amusement to speechless outrage. Even he, who was well aware of his tarnished reputation among the ton, was a bit taken aback by the violent reactions his presence seemed to provoke.
All was revealed, however, at the conclusion of the service. No sooner had Lord Waverly escorted his bride from the church than Lady Worthington, once a bosom-bow of the earl’s late mother, descended upon him, righteous anger evident in the quivering ostrich plumes of her bonnet and the swell of her formidable bosom.
“I had heard you were returned to Town, Waverly, but I could scarcely credit it,” she began in a voice well-suited to the bosom that sustained it.
“For once, my lady, rumor did not lie,” Waverly replied, bowing over her hand.
“Would that it had! For it is obvious your sojourn abroad has done nothing to improve your delicacy of mind. Mark my words, Waverly, this time you have gone too far! Desecrating a holy place by bringing your doxy here—”
Tight-lipped, the earl drew his wide-eyed young countess forward. “Madam,” he addressed Lady Worthington, “may I present to you my wife, Lady Waverly?”
“Your—wife, you say?”
In an instant, Lady Worthington was all graciousness, bowing to Lisette as if she were visiting royalty. The crowd which had gathered to witness the confrontation now quickly dispersed to spread the news of Waverly’s shocking return to Town with a wife in tow, leaving the earl to reflect upon his own mishandling of the situation. He should, he now realized, have inserted an announcement in The Morning Post to preclude just such a disaster. As matters now stood, he only hoped Lisette’s English was not sufficient for her to understand the insult she had just been dealt. He retrieved his equipage from the boy in whose charge he had left it, and bundled Lisette aboard before her presence provoked an even more scandalous confrontation.
It was not until they had left the church and its inquisitive parishioners behind that the earl began to breathe easier. Alas, even then his relief was premature, for they had not yet reached Oxford Street when a whimsical high-perch phaeton in the form of a seashell drew abreast of them. At the sight of this curious vehicle and its driver, Lisette leaned forward for a better look.
“Ah, milord!” she cried. “Who is that?"
Waverly turned to inspect the dashing equipage and beheld its occupant, a handsome red-haired woman of about his own age, leaning against the green velvet squabs. Perceiving his sudden interest, she smiled coyly and rearranged her well-endowed fo
rm in a more advantageous posture.
“‘That,’ as you put it, is no one who need concern you,” Waverly said dampingly.
“But she knows you,” Lisette insisted. “She waved at you ever so slightly and I think, oui, I am almost certain that she winked.”
“No doubt she did. But just because I am acquainted with a particular person does not mean I wish my wife to make that person’s acquaintance.”
“And this woman, she is such a person?”
“She is.”
Lisette pondered this revelation for a long moment. “She must be a very wicked woman, n’est-ce pas?”‘
“Very.”
“Is she one of your chères amies?”
“If you will recall,” said Lord Waverly through clenched teeth, “I have been living in Paris for the last four years. If she had been my chère amie, you may be sure we have long since forgotten the connection.”
“You may have forgotten, perhaps, but she has not. She did wink, you know.”
Lord Waverly strove with himself. “Lisette, whatever my numerous faults, I have never attempted to deceive you as to my character. I have had numerous agreeable connections with ladies of dubious virtue, and I will no doubt do so again in the future. One of these, as you have surmised, was Mrs. Sophia Hutchins. However, she is not now my mistress, nor do I expect her to resume that position. Furthermore, if and when I do choose to establish such an arrangement with another woman, I can assure you it will be conducted discreetly, and in such a way as to spare you any embarrassment. In return, I shall expect you to turn a blind eye to females of this sort, not ogle them in the streets!”
“Oui, milord,” murmured Lisette, eyes once again fixed on the posy in her lap.
“And of course,” he continued more gently, “I shall make every effort to grant you an equal amount of freedom. You may have whatever friends you choose, and although we have not yet had time to discuss marriage settlements, you shall have sufficient pin money for your needs. Until then, you may have your bills sent to me for payment.”