by Mary Nichols
But Ash had the bit between his teeth and was not about to let go. ‘It cannot hurt to meet the lady. Socially, of course. She need not know.’ He turned back to Max. ‘Where and when could this be done?’
‘She is in mourning and not going out in society, but she likes to walk in Green Park of an afternoon. If you care to be there, we could come across each other by chance and I could make her known to you.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon. Shall we say two o’ clock?’
‘Capital! We will meet you at the gate and take a stroll together.’ Harry’s kick was even more vicious than the previous one and drew a cry of ‘ouch’ from Ash, which he hastily covered with a cough.
‘Where has the pesky waiter got to with those dice?’ Harry grumbled, looking about him.
‘I have changed my mind,’ Max said. ‘I will not wait, if you will excuse me.’ He left the table and strode away. He was quickly followed by Benedict, who was glad to escape without writing out a voucher. Harry noted it, but decided not to pursue him.
As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned to Ashley. ‘Just what are you playing at, Ash? If you think I will stoop to buying a wife, you are grossly mistaken. I will not go.’
‘It seems to me that you will be doing each other a favour. She cannot want to live with that coxcomb of a brother. You could provide her with a comfortable home and she could provide the heir you need without disturbing your sensibilities.’
‘I wish I had not told you anything about my wife,’ Harry said. ‘I beg you to refrain from mentioning the matter again.’ He beckoned to a waiter and asked him to send out for chairs to convey them home: Ash to his bachelor apartments in Lincoln’s Inn Fields and Harry to Portman House in Berkeley Square.
Ash laughed. ‘Twas but a thought, but I’ve a mind to take a stroll in the park tomorrow afternoon for amusement’s sake. I will call for you. You may come or not, as you please.’
Harry did not please and he went home to a lonely dinner of sirloin of beef, partridge, capon and fruit tartlets and two whole bottles of Rhenish wine. He had friends a-plenty and enough work to keep him occupied and could always find diversions, but Ash had unsettled him and he found himself admitting that he was sometimes lonely. He began to wonder what Chalmers’s sister was like. An antidote, he did not doubt, outspoken if her brother was to be believed, and if she was as healthy as he maintained, she was probably big and muscular. Mannish was a word that came to mind.
Impatient with himself, he went to his chamber, where he threw off his wig, changed from his finery into a brown stuff coat, fustian breeches, wool stockings, which had once been decorated with vivid red clocks, but were now faded to a dusky pink, and a black waistcoat, so old and worn it was turning green. Jack Sylvester, his valet, declined to help him don this strange attire, and busied himself tidying away the discarded garments, and then watched as his master tied a spotted neckerchief about his neck, put on a tousled scratch wig and set a three-cornered hat on it. Then he rubbed brown make-up over his face and hands and filled his beautifully manicured nails with it. Lastly he pulled on a down-at-heel pair of shoes. ‘I am going out, Jack. I do not know when I shall be back, but you do not need to wait up for me.’
He did not hear Jack’s reply, but he could guess it, and clattered down the stairs and said the same thing to the footman, locking the front door behind him and putting the key into his pocket against his return. Then he strode out for the Nag’s Head. Harry Portman, the mincing macaroni, had become Gus Housman, an altogether more shady character, one that Sir Ashley Saunders would hardly recognise.
Chapter Two
‘Mr O’Keefe, never heard of him.’
The man standing in the tap room of the Nag’s Head, his portly middle wrapped in a greasy apron which covered his equally greasy breeches, looked at Rosamund with a mixture of contempt and admiration. Contempt because she was so obviously a lady in spite of her shabby clothes and he had no time for those who considered themselves a cut above the likes of him, and admiration for the fact that she dared to venture inside his premises at all. And unaccompanied at that. But if she thought he would risk life and limb to tell her where Mick O’Keefe could be found, then she was way out.
‘Then what about the Barnstaple Mining Company?’ Rosamund persisted. ‘I believe it sometimes does business here.’
He laughed raucously. ‘Mining, lady? Where’s the mine about here? Under the cobbles, is it? I could do with one o’ them. Mayhap I could mine myself a little gold and I wouldn’t have to stand here answering tomfool questions.’
‘Gold,’ she said, her breath catching in her throat. ‘Why did you say gold?’
‘Well, ain’t that what everyone wants?’ he countered, thinking quickly. ‘A pot o’ gold to make me rich enough to get outa here?’
‘Oh, so the Barnstaple Mining Company is not a gold-mining company.’
He shrugged. ‘How should I know? I never heard of it. Get you gone, lady, before some of my customers start getting inquisitive. Rough lot some of em.’
She looked about her. The low-ceilinged, dingy room had been empty apart from the tavern keeper when she entered, but now one or two others had come in and were eyeing her with open curiosity. Realising she was getting nowhere, she beat a hasty retreat. Mr O’Keefe and his business, which she was convinced was bogus, had disappeared. It had been foolish to hope that she would be able to track him down and sell those worthless shares back to him, but she had had to try, not only for her father’s sake, but for her own. A few guineas might have helped her out of the dilemma she was in. As it was, there was nothing for her to do now but go back to Holles Street and finish selling the furniture and clearing the house.
All that was left was the kitchen equipment, her bed and clothes chest in her bedchamber and in the drawing room a sofa and the little escritoire she had inherited from her mother. All these would go too, as soon as she knew where she herself was going: companion to Aunt Jessica’s friend or unpaid nursery nurse at her brother’s? Was that the only choice she had? Could she find work for herself? What could she do? Housekeeping came immediately to mind, but surely there was something else? She considered writing a book on household management, but that had been done before and in any case she could not do it in time to solve her problems, which were pressing and immediate.
Aunt Jessica was waiting for her when she returned, sitting on the sofa in her black-and-white-striped gown. ‘Where have you been, Rosamund?’ she demanded. ‘And in that shabby garb. You look like a street seller.’
As that was the look Rosamund had hoped to achieve when she set out for Covent Garden, she did not comment. ‘I had business to see to,’ she said, throwing her hat on the stool by the escritoire. ‘The furniture has to be sold, you know.’
‘Yes, I do know and I am glad to see you are getting on with it.’
‘I have no choice, have I?’
‘No. I have spoken to Lady Bonhaven. She is willing to give you a trial and I have arranged for you and me to go and see her tomorrow.’
‘Aunt, you are beforehand. I have not said that I wish to be the lady’s companion.’
‘Wish!’ exclaimed the good lady. ‘Wishes do not come into it, do they? We could wish for the moon, but that does not mean we should have it. Beggars cannot be choosers.’
The barb hurt, but she would not let her aunt see that it did. ‘What happened to her ladyship’s previous companion?’
‘I believe she proved untrustworthy. I do not know the details. No doubt we shall learn them when we visit.’
There being nothing to stay for, the lady left, in the sure knowledge that her niece would comply. Rosamund flung herself on the sofa and forced herself to consider the prospect. She would have to go and see the lady because her aunt had arranged it, but that did not mean she would agree. She sighed heavily as Janet came into the room to tell her nuncheon was ready on the kitchen table. She rose and followed the maid, giving a wry smile to think of wh
at her father would say to her taking her meals in the kitchen with the only two remaining servants. She had certainly come down in the world since her mother’s death. Once they had had a house full of servants, a carriage and horses, riding horses, grooms and stable boys. And friends, a great many friends. They were always visiting and being visited.
It was a great pity her father had not been able to deal with the loss of his wife and discouraged callers so that in the end they ceased to come. He had withdrawn into himself, spent most of his time at gambling and drinking clubs and only came home to sleep, treating Rosamund like the housekeeper she soon became. She had worried about him, even nagged him a little, but that only made him angry for daring to criticise him, but she still loved him, remembering the happy, loving father he had once been and making excuses for him. His sudden and violent death had been a great blow to her. But she could not mourn him as she ought because her own situation kept getting in the way.
All three ate their frugal meal in silence. There was nothing to say. Janet and Cook had been given notice and were as worried as she was. She felt guilty about them too, but there was nothing she could do to help them. She could not even help herself.
Afterwards she went back to the household accounts. She was sitting at her desk, trying to make sense of her father’s muddled papers when her brother arrived. He was dressed in his black-and-silver mourning suit, which had obviously been crafted by one of London’s best tailors, and a powdered white wig. He swept off his tricorne hat and advanced into the room.
‘You are just the person to help me sort these out,’ she said, indicating a pile of bills. ‘I must put them in order of priority, in case there is not enough to pay them all.’
‘Gambling debts first and foremost,’ he said at once. ‘They are debts of honour and must be paid. You can leave the tailor’s bills; Father will not need his services again. Likewise the farrier, since I have sold his riding horse.’
‘What have you done with the money from that?’
‘Paid the funeral expenses.’
‘Oh. And the bag of counterfeit guineas? Have you handed it in?’
‘No, I told you that would be risky. I have hidden it.’ He took the papers out of her hand and laid them on the desk. ‘Come on, leave those, I will deal with them later. Let us go for a stroll.’
‘A stroll?’ she queried in surprise.
‘Yes, you have been indoors too long, you are looking pale. A little exercise and fresh air will be good for you.’
‘You have never taken me out walking before. And surely if you want to have a walk you should take Charlotte and the children?’
‘Charlotte has taken them to picnic in Hampstead.’
‘Why did you not go with them?’
‘Because I had business in town and I was concerned for you. Now, put on your hat and let us go to Green Park. That is where you like to walk, is it not?’
Mystified by a sudden interest in her welfare, which was not typical of him, she rose and went up to her room to throw a light shawl over her shoulders and put a hat on her own curls. She did not change her dress, having only one black gown, which would have to do until she could afford to buy another. She hated black; it ill became her, but short of defying protocol she was stuck with it.
They set off across the Oxford Road and down Tyburn Lane towards Green Park, which was not so crowded as Hyde Park and had some pleasant paths and little copses of trees. ‘Have you decided to take up Lady Bonhaven’s offer?’ he asked her, as they walked.
‘Not yet. I am expected to visit her tomorrow with Aunt Jessica, but I wish there were an alternative. Her ladyship is known as a difficult employer. I have discovered from Janet that she has had three companions in as many years. I am unlikely to please her for long.’
‘Far be it from me to shirk my duty to my sister and I would see you settled. If you cannot bear to accept her ladyship’s offer, you may live with Charlotte and me, but I cannot afford more than a little pin money.’
‘I know,’ she said, wondering how much his suit and wig had cost. And the mourning gown Charlotte had been wearing when she last saw her had at least fifteen yards of silk in it and was heavily embroidered with mother-of-pearl. He did not stint on their wardrobes.
‘Would you marry if you could?’ he asked.
‘Now you are being silly.’
They entered the park and were strolling along the path which led to The Mall, when they met two gentlemen walking towards them. One was rugged looking in a dark blue coat and white small clothes, the other, clearly a fop, was in a suit of peach-and-cream satin, a peach brocade waistcoat and cream small clothes. Rosamund would have passed them, but they were evidently known to Max, because he stopped and swept them an elegant bow. ‘Gentlemen, your obedient. May I present my sister, Miss Rosamund Chalmers. Rosie, this is Lord Portman and Sir Ashley Saunders.’ He indicated each in turn.
They swept off their hats and bowed to her. ‘Madam, your obedient.’
She curtsied. ‘Gentlemen.’
‘May I offer condolences on your bereavement?’ Ash said.
‘Thank you.’
‘We are out for a stroll,’ Max said. ‘Shall we walk together?’
The two turned and Ash contrived to skip around so that she was walking between him and Harry.
Harry had made up his mind not to indulge Ash, but his friend had turned up on his doorstep and persuaded him that no harm could come from a short perambulation and a surreptitious peep at the lady. ‘You must be a little curious as to why her brother feels it necessary to sell her off like a horse,’ he had said.
‘Perhaps she looks like one.’
‘Well, shall we go and see?’
Harry took the opportunity while she chatted to Ash to study the young lady and came to the conclusion her brother had done her an injustice. Her unmade-up face was very pale and she was no beauty in the accepted sense, but she was far from plain; she had good bone structure, high cheeks and a determined chin. Her hair was a light brown and twisted up into a knot beneath her hat, but a few stray curls sat upon her forehead and two ringlets fell over her ears. He could not, walking beside her as he was, see her eyes and mouth, and for some reason he could not explain, he wished he could.
‘I believe you looked after your father before he died,’ he said.
She turned towards him to answer and he was faced with grey eyes beneath winged brows, which clearly told of sorrow and worry, but behind that was a hint of humour and determination. He wondered how he had managed to read so much in a pair of eyes, but he knew he was right. And there was a slight upward tilt to her mouth. How much would it take to make her laugh? he wondered.
‘Yes, my mother died over seven years ago.’
‘My condolences.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You have never married?’
‘No.’ Her answer was clipped.
‘And now you are alone?’
‘I have Max.’
‘Yes, indeed. I understand he has a wife and family.’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you make your home with them?’
He saw the slight shudder of her shoulders, which told him more than words that she did not view the prospect with any pleasure. ‘It is one possibility. I have yet to decide.’
‘There are others?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Then I wish you well.’
‘Thank you.’
‘My sister is considering a post as a lady’s companion,’ Max put in, making Rosamund give him a furious look. He appeared oblivious to it and went on, ‘But I am not sure it would suit her.’
‘I am sure it would not,’ Harry murmured.
‘It is not too late for her to marry,’ Max continued. ‘But being in mourning, she cannot go to balls and routs and places where she might meet eligible gentlemen, so we are at an impasse.’
‘Max!’ Rosamund rounded on him. ‘I am sure his lordship and Sir Ashley are not interested in my
problems.’
‘On the contrary,’ Ash said. ‘I, for one, am interested. It seems to me that it is a very unjust world that condemns women to a life of dependence and when that dependence is withdrawn, to find themselves in sorry straits. I marvel at their fortitude and resilience to make what they can of their circumstances. Miss Chalmers, you have my sympathy. Do you not say so, Harry?’
Harry was as furious with Ash as Rosamund was with Max, but he could only answer politely. ‘Indeed, yes.’
Rosamund opened her mouth to make a sharp retort and shut it again. She began to walk very fast, head up and shoulders back and hoped that would be enough to show them how displeased she was. She was convinced that her brother had brought her out on purpose to meet these two: the rugged naval type with the easy manner and the exquisite popinjay who seemed to be able to keep up with her in spite of his high heels.
Sir Ashley was a pleasant gentleman, but he seemed to be in collusion with her brother, but what of Lord Portman? His vanity was palpable. It was plain he spent a great deal of money with his tailor, his wigmaker and his shoemaker and he seemed to be well known for, even in Green Park, he bowed frequently to others out for a stroll. He could hardly enjoy being seen in company with her, and yet he had not fallen behind as Ash and Max had done.
‘Have you done quizzing me, my lord?’ she asked.
‘Lud! I have not meant to quiz you, ma’am. I have simply been making polite conversation. If you do not care for it, I shall remain silent.’
‘No, for you may answer my questions now.’
‘With pleasure, ma’am.’
‘How long have you known my brother?’
‘I have had the honour of his acquaintance since yesterday afternoon, though I believe Sir Ashley has known him longer.’
‘And in that time you have become familiar with my affairs. I wonder at Max being so forward.’
‘It came about when Ash offered his condolences on the demise of Sir Joshua and Sir Maximilian explained how you had been left.’