A Proper Companion

by Candice Hern

  Emily turned away to hide her amusement at Lottie's righteous outrage. She, too, had heard the story about the church. But it had been St. Paul's, not Westminster Abbey, and in the vaults, not a chapel. And it had been Lady Theale, a baroness, not a duchess. Of course, they could be two different stories altogether. Lord Bradleigh, after all, did indeed get around.

  Emily gave herself a mental shake. Had she lost all sense of propriety? She must be spending too much time in the dowager's company. She actually found the stories more amusing than shocking. Nevertheless, she decided it was best to attempt to put a halt to any more storytelling while His Lordship was a guest in the house. There was no stopping servants' gossip, but at least she could try to discourage the more sordid tales.

  "I think, Lottie," she said, trying to sound stern, "that most of the stories you have heard are untrue or at least exaggerated. His Lordship is soon to be married. I do not imagine he would be cavorting around Town under the nose of his betrothed. He is a gentleman, after all."

  "Married!" Lottie squealed. "You're funnin', miss."

  "No, Lottie. I assure you it is true. So do, please, have a care. It is not our place to judge others and certainly not a guest in our house. I will trust you to make sure that the rest of the housemaids behave with proper respect toward the earl."

  "Yes, miss," Lottie said weakly and turned to leave. "But I pity the poor girl that's to marry him," she called over her shoulder as she closed the door.

  Emily chuckled to herself and wondered if Miss Windhurst was indeed to be pitied.

  * * *

  When Robert was shown to his room, he found that Luckett, his valet, had already laid out his evening clothes and was preparing a bath. Robert eyed the large copper tub by the fire with pleasure as he watched a series of housemaids and footmen enter with steaming buckets of water. When the last of the buckets was added to the tub, and the last giggling housemaid had made her exit, Robert turned to allow his valet to help him out of his jacket.

  "Ah, Luckett," he said, sighing contentedly, "I must be getting old. Nothing could be more appealing to me at this moment than that steaming tub."

  "Indeed, milord," Luckett replied with a wry smile as he proceeded to help Robert undress. He then continued unpacking Robert's portmanteau, brushing and neatly folding or hanging each article of clothing. In his usual casual manner, which had long ago ceased to offend Luckett's rigid propriety, Robert carried on a conversation with his valet while he soaked.

  "And so Grandmother expects me to remain here in Bath for longer than I had expected, Luckett. Shall I need to send you out shopping for additional shirts and cravats?"

  "I doubt that will be necessary, milord. I anticipated that her ladyship would require your presence for longer than a few days and packed accordingly."

  "I'm sure I don't pay you enough, Luckett. Remind me to increase your salary when we return to London."

  "I will do that, milord."

  "And so we are stuck here, Luckett, in dull old Bath. At least I will have the lively and delightful company of Grandmother to shorten the days. I trust you will not lack for diversion, Luckett?" Robert said, grinning. His valet was as notorious belowstairs as Robert himself was abovestairs. To his knowledge, Luckett had never gotten a housemaid in trouble, but he never seemed to lack for female companionship.

  "As it happens, milord, there are two new housemaids since our last visit as well as a fetching little kitchen maid, though she's little more than a child."

  "Then I shall trust, as always, to your discretion, Luckett. This is my grandmother's house, after all."

  "Of course, milord," Luckett replied indignantly.

  "Speaking of new additions to the household, Grandmother has taken on a companion."

  "Ah, yes. That would be Miss Townsend, I presume."

  "You've met her already?"

  "Oh, no, milord. But I heard talk of her in the servants' hall. The whole staff seems very taken with her. It was 'Miss Townsend this' and 'Miss Townsend that' from the moment I arrived."

  "Hmm, yes. But it's the oddest thing, Luckett. Grandmother's never employed a companion before, as far as I can recall. I wonder if she's ailing? She's pushing up against eighty, you know. Good lord, I hate to think of her declining. She's always been such a tower of strength." Robert's brows furrowed with concern as he absently dragged a soapy sponge across his chest.

  "Does she look ill, milord?"

  "No, by Jove, she doesn't. In fact, she is as spry as a spring lamb. The old girl actually boxed my ears, Luckett!"

  "She struck you, milord?" the valet replied, choking back a chuckle.

  "She did. She's fuming about my betrothal," Robert said as he squeezed the wet sponge over his head. "But this new companion is a puzzle. I'm sure Grandmother doesn't need a nursemaid. If she did, she'd never admit it."

  "Could Miss Townsend perhaps be a poor relation, milord?"

  "Hmm. I doubt it. Grandmother would have mentioned it when she introduced us, I think. You know how family-proud she is. If Miss Townsend had been the stepdaughter of a third cousin once removed by marriage, Grandmother would have taken great pains to point it out. Then I would have had to endure a half hour dissertation on the peculiar coiling and twisting of that particular branch of the family tree. No, Luckett. I doubt that Miss Townsend is a poor relation. Besides, she's beautifully fair with intelligent green eyes. Not the Cameron coloring at all."

  "Beautifully fair?" Luckett asked, suddenly frozen in the act of smoothing the wrinkles out of a blue silk dressing gown, his brows inching up to his hairline.

  "Indeed." Robert laughed as he massaged soap through his hair. "She is really quite lovely, though she doesn't seem to want anyone to notice. Dresses like a prim governess, hair pulled back in a tight Methodist knot. Doesn't wear a cap, though, thank goodness."

  "But you noticed?"

  "What? Oh, of course I noticed, you idiot. What do you take me for?" It had in fact taken Robert only minutes to observe the finer attributes of Miss Townsend. He had not missed those large, wonderfully expressive green eyes and that soft, full mouth. He also suspected that beneath her prim exterior lurked a witty and spirited nature. Under normal circumstances he would make it his business to investigate those suspicions. But those days were over for him. He was now engaged to be married to a beautiful young woman, ready to settle down to a sober life of responsibility and duty. He sighed aloud.

  "You amaze me, milord. With all due respect."

  "Amaze you?" Robert mumbled as Luckett poured a jug of warm water over his head, rinsing out the soap. "What on earth do you mean?"

  "It doesn't matter where we go, milord. Even within the dull confines of Bath, they follow you like lemmings to the sea."

  "Who?"

  "Beautiful women. You could probably retire to some monastery in Tibet, and a beautiful woman would find her way to your cell. It is quite amazing, milord."

  "Ha!" Robert laughed as he stepped out of the tub. Luckett was waiting with a large warm towel, which Robert wrapped around himself like a toga. "And I suppose we are to ignore your string of conquests in the servants' halls?"

  "I merely observe, milord, and learn."

  "Touché. Well, back to the subject at hand. I'm still puzzled about this companion business. Grandmother doesn't act without a motive. What's her game with Miss Townsend, I wonder? You say the servants' hall is abuzz with talk of her? Anything interesting?"

  "Well, milord, I did hear whispers regarding her background."

  "Yes. And..."

  "She is apparently a woman of gentle birth, a lady of quality."

  "Yes, that was obvious."

  "Well," he hesitated, "there is speculation as to her... er... parentage, milord."

  "Give it up, Luckett," Robert said while toweling his hair before the fire. "What's the story?"

  "It is believed that Miss Townsend is possibly the offspring of some grand personage, milord. A royal duke perhaps."

  "Oh, good heavens!" Rober
t groaned. "Sprung from the wrong side of the royal blanket, I suppose?"

  "Indeed. I discounted the tale, of course. Just because Miss Townsend treats the housemaids with kindness, they suspect she is a queen."

  "Well, then, they would truly be shocked to leam how a real queen behaves, would they not?"

  "I would not know, milord," Luckett said with a sniff.

  "Hmm. Well, it seems we have a mystery, Luckett," Robert said, stroking his chin. "Perhaps Bath will not be so dull after all."

  Chapter 3

  A short time later Robert, wrapped in his blue silk dressing gown, sat at a fall-front secretaire and penned a note to Augusta and her parents explaining his absence and sending his regrets that he could not escort Augusta to those dinners and routs to which they had been expected. This would not please Lady Windhurst, he knew. He tried to smooth over this obstacle by mentioning the dowager's intention of holding an engagement ball. This bit of news should send Lady Windhurst into high alt. The dowager countess was well known and respected in the beau monde and had many friends of high rank who could be expected to attend her ball.

  After sealing and franking the letter to Augusta, Robert sat absently trimming the quill as he pondered the engagement ball. He suspected his grandmother had hidden motives, and the ball was merely a ruse to get to London and meddle in his affairs. No, that was not fair. Lady Bradleigh had never actually interfered in his life. In fact, he was often grateful that his grandmother was not one of those managing females who made it her business to find him a wife, despite his increasing age and his obligation to the succession. He had seen several friends over the years succumb to the machinations of mothers, aunts, sisters, or grandmothers who continually threw eligible young misses in their paths. It was almost like a game with these women, and he was happy that the two most significant women in his life, his grandmother and his sister, were content to leave him to his own devices. It seemed they were satisfied to have his respectable cousin Simon continue as the heir apparent. Robert was fond of Simon and knew he would be a worthy successor to the earldom. But as he grew older he was forced to admit that he would much prefer a son of his own to inherit the title. Hence his recent betrothal.

  Robert had no trouble picturing the beautiful and coolly elegant Miss Windhurst in the role of his countess. He dismissed the egregious Lady Windhurst as an insignificant burden, since he had no intention of allowing her to live in his pocket. He would remove Augusta to his seat in Derbyshire away from the persistent prattling of her mother, which he secretly suspected Augusta would appreciate. He did not fool himself that he was in love with Augusta. Nor she with him. But he was sure that they would rub along well enough together, and that she would provide him with beautiful children. What sort of a mother would she make? he wondered. Would their children be able to warm her cool and distant nature? Would he?

  Robert forced himself to cease his woolgathering and dress for dinner. His grandmother had a marvelous French chef who could always be counted on to provide extraordinary culinary delights. He was certain that the dowager would insist on bringing Anatole to Bradleigh House, and he began to ponder the inevitable battles in the kitchen with his own cook.

  Later that evening Robert made his way downstairs to the drawing room, after having been fussed over by the fastidious Luckett. He wasn't totally indifferent to his appearance, but he was not obsessive about it, as was his valet. For Luckett it was a matter of honor that his master be turned out in distinction. Fortunately for Robert, Luckett was an advocate of the Brummel school of simplicity and elegance. He would not have been nearly so indulgent of a valet who attempted to turn him out in dandified extravagance. As it was, Robert simply trusted Luckett to see to it that he was appropriately attired, and paid little more attention to the matter. He could not even boast of tying his own cravat, as did many fashionable gentlemen of the ton. On this particular evening, Luckett had selected black pantaloons, a black superfine jacket, a subtly striped dark gray waistcoat, and snowy white linen shirt and cravat.

  As he entered the drawing room, Robert found Miss Townsend as its only occupant. The dowager was uncharacteristically late.

  "Good evening. Miss Townsend," he said. "Ah, I see Barnes has provided us with sherry. May I pour you a glass?"

  "Thank you, my lord. I would enjoy a glass of sherry," Emily replied. She watched as the earl moved with languid catlike grace toward the ormolu-mounted console table. Catlike was an appropriate description, she thought, as the earl looked every inch the sleek panther in his stark black evening clothes. Even his dark hair was sleek, as it was now combed straight back from the forehead. As it was thick and slightly long, Emily suspected that by an evening's end it would inevitably fall over his brow in the deep wave of earlier this afternoon.

  Emily shuddered as she suddenly realized that all the tales she'd ever heard about the Earl of Bradleigh must indeed be true. It was a good thing that she was no green girl susceptible to the charms of a notorious rake.

  She was mesmerized by his long elegant fingers, which seemed to caress the sherry decanter.

  Robert felt Miss Townsend's eyes on him as he poured the sherry. His every action was the slow and deliberately seductive movement of one used to the appreciative gazes of women. He handed the glass to Miss Townsend, allowing his fingers to brush hers for an instant, then poured one for himself. He leaned against the fireplace mantel and watched her as she took a dainty sip. She was wearing a plain dark gray silk dress with a prim, high neck trimmed in vandyked lace. Only slightly more attractive than the dark kerseymere round gown of the afternoon, it was no less severe. He nevertheless was convinced of a spirited nature beneath the prim exterior, certain he had glimpsed a flash of wicked amusement in her eyes after his grandmother had boxed his ears earlier that afternoon. That, along with her surreptitious scrutiny of his person as well as the rumors reported by Luckett, so intrigued him that he was determined to draw her out After all, he must find some diversion while in Bath.

  "How long have you been Grandmother's companion, Miss Townsend?" he asked, breaching what he realized had become an awkward silence. "I do not recall meeting you when I last visited Bath a little over a year ago."

  "No, my lord," Emily replied, instinctively retreating into her normal scrupulous composure, somewhat embarrassed that she had allowed it to slip in front of the earl. She hoped he had not noticed her staring at him while he poured the sherry, or felt the slight tremor of her fingers at the touch of his own. She really must compose herself. It was ridiculous to allow the earl to have such an effect on her simply because he was so attractive. She had certainly been in the presence of attractive men before. It must be the idea of his slightly dangerous reputation that caused her to feel so ill at ease. Well, she was not a schoolgirl, and he was probably not dangerous at all. He was only trying to make polite conversation. Her good breeding and manners rose to the surface.

  "I was not yet employed by Lady Bradleigh at that time," she continued. "She graciously offered me a position after the death of my last employer, Lady Fitzhugh. That would have been almost twelve months ago."

  "I remember Lady Fitzhugh," he said, frowning slighdy. "She had been a friend of Grandmother's since they were girls, I believe. I am sorry to hear of her death."

  A few more silent moments passed while neither spoke. Finally the earl moved away from the mantel and approached Emily. "Do you like it here in Bath?" he asked.

  "Very much so, my lord," she replied. "I have been used to the quiet life of the country, and so Bath seems a grand city to me. And, of course, Lady Bradleigh has been more than kind to me. Why, she hardly treats me as an employee at all. She has a wide circle of friends here in Bath, and she is always considerate enough to include me in all their various gatherings. Thanks to Lady Bradleigh I have met many interesting and amusing people." Emily bit back a smile as she recalled some of the more eccentric visitors to the Laura Place town house.

  "I imagine you have indeed!" Robert said, flashi
ng a crooked grin. "Captain Driscoll, for example?"

  "Oh, yes. And his parrot Danny Boy. They have frequently entertained us with rather colorful seafaring ditties," Emily said, unable any longer to suppress a smile.

  The earl threw back his head and laughed, the abrupt movement slightly loosening his hair from its severe style. "Colorful! Miss Townsend, you have a gift for understatement. As I recall, Driscoll and Danny Boy can be downright obscene! I sincerely hope my grandmother's cronies have not completely assaulted your sense of decency."

  "Oh, no, my lord, I am not so missish as that," Emily said, smiling broadly as she became caught up in his mirth. "I find your grandmother's friends thoroughly entertaining. I particularly like Sir Percy Whittaker, who will be joining us tonight for dinner."

  "Sir Percy? Is he still hanging around Bath? I suspect you must know of his alter ego?"

  "Penelope Manning? Oh, yes. In fact, I must admit to having read a few of Miss Manning's novels in the past. I was quite shocked to discover that the romantic Miss Manning was in truth the rather gruff Sir Percy."

  "I must say, you don't strike me as the gothic romance type, Miss Townsend," he said. "All those dungeons and abductions and the like. You appear to be quite a sensible young woman, with feet planted firmly on the ground," the earl said with a slight raising of his brows.

  "Oh, I am indeed quite sensible, my lord," Emily said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "But we all have our moments of weakness." Their eyes locked for a brief moment, and then both laughed aloud.

  The dowager entered the drawing room at that moment, resplendent in lavender and silver, with Charlemagne trailing close behind. At the sound of laughter, Charlemagne felt obliged to join in with raucous barking.

  "Cela suffit! Tais-toi, chien," the dowager scolded. The pug immediately ceased barking and returned obediently to her side. "Well," she said, smiling, "I am glad to see you two young people enjoying yourselves. Is not Emily a dear, Robert? I don't know how I ever got on without her."