by Regina Scott
Lady Agnes shook her head. “That hardly seems likely. A DeGuis and an itinerant artist? Catherine would never be so rash. No, she simply has to get used to seeing Lord Darton as a serious suitor. Leave it to me, my boy. It will all come out right in the end. Perhaps when you’re both settled, I can feel myself free to travel at last.”
Thomas reluctantly agreed, but, over the next two days, he began to regret his decision. He had hoped to call on Margaret the first day, but, when Court showed up at the house, Thomas felt he had to stay and visit with him. When Catherine refused to see Court, Thomas felt compelled to talk to his sister, who then refused to see him. It took all his tact and diplomacy to convince his sister to agree to see the fellow if he should call again. It took all his tact, diplomacy, and a bottle of champagne to get Court to agree to try again, but only if Thomas consented to go with him. Accordingly, the second day, Thomas played chaperone during the visit and spent the evening encouraging first his sister and then the viscount to continue the courting. He made little headway with either. The best he could achieve was an agreement from Court to join the family when they repaired to Hillwater, Thomas’ estate in the Lake District, for August and September.
“Though I don’t promise anything will come of it,” Court warned. “You know I like the fishing. We can only hope your sister will take a similar liking to me.”
By the time he had settled his sister and the viscount, it was the afternoon of the third day. He knew he had to visit Margaret. Surely she must be wondering what had kept him. He had considered writing her but was concerned that the gesture would be seen as overly familiar by her parents. Which only reminded him that if he was making compromising statements of his intentions to his own relatives, it was more than time he made appropriate statements to hers.
It was looking more and more as if he were meant to court Margaret Munroe. The thought both pleased and concerned him. Lady Janice had refused less than a fortnight ago, after all. He still wasn’t ready to lay bare his heart. But perhaps moving from a friendship to courting was not such a big step. He could court the lady as long as he liked, with only rumors should he decide to break it off. He did not need to make an emotional investment yet.
With the idea in mind of speaking to both Mr. Munroe and Margaret that day, he set off for their quiet little house on the edge of Mayfair. Unfortunately, he was doomed to failure there as well. Mr. Munroe was at his club, according to the little maid who answered the door, and Miss Munroe had gone into the city. He handed her his card and started to leave when, with a rustle of skirts, Mrs. Munroe intercepted him.
“Oh, my lord, how good to see you,” she caroled. She reached out a hand as if to detain him, then quickly snatched it back as if realizing the gesture was too familiar. “We had thought perhaps, that is we had wondered, that is, how good to see you.”
Thomas bowed to her. “Very good to see you, Mrs. Munroe. I hope everyone in your family is well.”
“Oh, quite well,” she assured him. “Quite well. Yet, perhaps well is too strong a word. I think perhaps you might say we have been saddened not to have your company with us for so many days. It is so very good to see you again.”
Thomas bit back a smile. “Very kind of you, I’m sure. I understand Miss Munroe has gone calling.”
The woman paled, and Thomas felt his gut clench. He waited to be told that Margaret was out riding or driving or visiting with some other fellow, some more attentive, clever fellow who had stolen a march on him while he was attempting to smooth over Catherine and Court’s relationship. He had had to be constantly vigilant when courting Allison and Lady Janice, and still he had lost them. He should never have agreed to a friendship with Margaret. With no commitment on his part, she was free to see whomever she pleased.
“Well, perhaps calling isn’t the right word,” Mrs. Munroe hedged. “She is out, certainly. I’m not sure when she will return.”
It was worse than he thought. Like Allison, she was probably on her way to Gretna Green with some strapping laborer with more passion than Thomas dared show. He grit his teeth.
“I don’t suppose you’d be so kind as to give me her direction?”
The woman squirmed. “I really cannot, my lord. That is, I wish you would not press me.”
Thomas frowned at her.
She wilted. “Oh, please do not look at me so, my lord! It really isn’t so very reprehensible. I’ve tried to encourage her to use her talents elsewhere, but she just won’t listen.”
Thomas could feel his alarm growing. “Mrs. Munroe, I came here today to ask your husband’s permission to court your daughter. If you have information that would make me change my mind about this request, pray tell me now and spare me further humiliation.”
Tears trembled in the woman’s eyes. “Oh, my lord, please forgive her. You have every right to know. Perhaps if you marry her, you can curb these wild tendencies of hers.”
“Where is she?” Thomas demanded.
Mrs. Munroe sucked back a sob. “Margaret is in the city, doing charity.”
Chapter Ten
Margaret may have been doing charity, but at the moment she was feeling far from charitable. She had truly thought that spending the day at Comfort House, assisting Annie Turner (once known as the Divine Angelica), would take her mind off the Marquis DeGuis. Working at Comfort House was at best uplifting and at worst diverting. Many of the women had opinions as strong as her own, if often entirely different. And she always felt a certain pride when a young lady was brought in renouncing her vocation.
But even the fact that a new young lady was working in the kitchen instead of plying her trade in Covent Garden could not seem to raise Margaret out of the doldrums. It had been four days since she had ridden with the marquis. Four days with no word from him. She had never been one to insist a fellow dance attendance, but she knew that, if the marquis had been courting her in earnest, he would not have let so much time pass. She had followed his other courtships carefully, and he had been in almost daily communication with the ladies. Between the race and her response to his aunt, she had clearly alienated him.
Reggie, of course, had other ideas. “It is love, plain and simple,” he had maintained only yesterday. “I met the marquis at White’s—we are quite close, you know. He confided…well, perhaps I should not report what he confided. I would not wish to swell your consequence.”
Margaret refused to rise to the bait. Her stepmother was not so disciplined.
“Nephew, please,” she begged, hands clasped before her. “Do not leave us in doubt. What did he say?”
Reggie watched them both, gaze darting so rapidly Margaret thought surely his eyes would cross. He leaned forward. So did her stepmother. Margaret feigned interest in the fire.
“He said,” Reggie whispered as if all of London were trying to overhear, “that she is without peer.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Munroe cried, straightening in obvious awe.
Margaret snorted. “Do not look so enraptured, madam. Is saying I am without peer not the same as saying I am an Original?”
Mrs. Munroe’s face fell, and she slumped.
Reggie had interceded quickly. “No, no, cousin, you mistake him. It was the way he said it, that is what is significant. He was positively impassioned. You have clearly won him over.”
Now, with another day gone and no word, she was even less convinced her cousin knew what he was talking about. She had begun to think the Marquis DeGuis had passions, but she doubted he would parade them before a noted gossip like Reggie. No, he had only promised a friendship, and a friendship was all she had, if she even had that.
She tried to convince herself it was all to the good. He had some potentially dangerous flaw. Even if she could not quite believe that, she wondered whether he would be happy married to her. She would have been miserable trying to conform to the image of a marchioness he and his family seemed to hold. But if she had never actually believed he was serious, why did his silence hurt so much?
S
he was glad that Annie had set her to read to Betsy Misenden that day. Betsy was nearly seventy years old and had plied her trade until only five years ago. Her illustrious career had purportedly included three earls, a royal duke, and the King of Prussia. Even though a rule of the house was to use given names, Betsy insisted that everyone address her as Little Egypt. If Annie wasn’t careful, the women would just as likely encourage the young ladies to return to the streets as to start new lives. Margaret normally found Betsy endlessly interesting. Today, it was difficult to sit in the hard wooden chair next to the iron bedstead in which the frail old woman was confined and attempt to read inspirational material. All she wanted to do was cry.
“Read that part about David and Bathsheba again,” Betsy ordered. She blinked blue eyes now going blind from a disease she had caught from her last lover and leaned back against the narrow pillow. Her thinning hair, the red tint finally fading after years of application, fanned out against the ticking.
Margaret thumbed to the second book of Samuel. She tried to interest herself in the familiar story, but as Betsy nearly always requested that particular set of verses, it was difficult to focus her attentions. She had only gotten through the first part when the woman interrupted her.
“One of the new girls said she heard you had gotten a hold of a Nob.”
Margaret started, and the Bible flipped shut accidentally. “How did you hear about that?”
“We may be living on the edge of Society,” Betsy countered. “That doesn’t mean we don’t know what goes on. Who is he, your fellow? I might know him.”
Margaret bit back a laugh. “You might indeed. But I’m not going to give you the chance to be sure. If he makes use of those in your profession, as some of the gentlemen seem to do, I imagine he is very circumspect. He is a very private person.”
Betsy licked her lips. “Those make the best customers, deary. They don’t want their vices known, so they pay well for silence. Do you like him?”
“Well enough,” Margaret replied with a smile, which faded as she remembered his silence. “Although I suppose that doesn’t matter. He appears to have decided he doesn’t much like me.”
Betsy sighed gustily. “Men can be like that, lovey. What’s in vogue one minute is avoided the next. But there’s always another fellow who’s just as interested. I still think you should consider the profession. You could make a fortune with that bosom of yours.”
This time Margaret did laugh. “Thank you for the compliment, I’m sure. I’ll remember that if I’m ever in need.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Annie proclaimed in the doorway, large hands on ample hips. “You stop putting such notions in her head, Betsy Misenden. She’s here to help us, not to join us.”
Betsy grunted and turned her worn face away from the doorway in dismissal. Annie jerked her head for Margaret to follow her into the corridor. Margaret set down the Bible on the chair and complied.
“You,” Annie proclaimed accusingly, brown eyes narrowed, “have a visitor.”
Margaret frowned. “A visitor? Do you mean a gentleman? I thought my friends wanted to remain anonymous.”
“So did I,” Annie grumbled, leading her down the upstairs corridor in the narrow, dark little house. Her bulk, which should have looked appropriately motherly for her place as manager of the house, instead swayed with grace and seduction long practiced. “You promised none of them would come hunting here. That’s the only reason I agreed to take their money. Now this fellow comes along. Riding in a carriage so shiny white dust wouldn’t stick to it. Dressed in his fine clothes. Nose in the air as if he smelled something bad. He looks none too comfortable to be here, which tells me he’s either innocent as a lamb or guilty as sin.”
It couldn’t be the marquis. He didn’t know about Comfort House, and, if he did, he certainly wouldn’t visit it. Her heart did not appear to agree with her, for it started beating faster. Surely it was Kevin Whattling, come to see that she was using his investment wisely. “Blond haired or raven?” she asked innocently.
“Hoo-hoo, do we know so many fine gentlemen?” Annie jibed. “His hair is blacker than midnight. What I want to know is, does he have a soul to match?”
Margaret shook her head, gripping the stair rail as they descended to keep her hands from trembling. “If he’s who I think he is, I would say he probably has one of the whitest souls in England.”
“Does he now?” Annie mused ahead of her, her tone clearly portraying her doubt. “How well do you know him?”
“Well enough,” Margaret answered. “You need have no fear of him, Annie. He’s not the type to tempt your doves.”
“He’s a temptation just by being here,” Annie insisted. “What gel in this house wouldn’t go for such a fellow? Kind on the eyes, and a diamond in his cravat. Even Betsy’d find a way to climb out of that bed. I shut him up in the parlor. Send him on his way as quickly as possible. I’ll keep the girls out of sight.”
Margaret nodded as she reached the bottom of the stairs, then went quickly to the pocket door that closed the little parlor off from the small entryway. She still could not believe that the marquis stood behind that door. But the only other gentleman of her acquaintance with raven hair was Lord Leslie Petersborough, and, while handsome enough, he was not rich enough to be such a temptation to the ladies of Comfort House.
She slid open the door to the sparsely furnished room. Thomas turned from the fireplace as she did so. She caught her breath and halted. His face did indeed look tense, but it lightened as he realized it was her. She forced herself to let her breath out slowly and moved into the room, sliding the door shut behind her.
“My lord, what a surprise to see you again.”
He bowed, straightening hastily. “A surprise, Miss Munroe? But surely you knew I would call again. I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you sooner. Family matters prevented it.”
“Family matters in the form of your aunt’s report of our visit, I’m sure,” Margaret replied. “She was less than encouraging.”
“On the contrary,” he insisted. “She found you delightful.”
Margaret was very tempted to call him a liar, but his earnest face told her he at least thought he was telling the truth. “She did not appear very delighted when she left,” she told him.
Thomas smiled. “My aunt is a very opinionated, very stubborn woman. She respects people with equal strength of purpose.”
Margaret found herself smiling. “Which means she finds me equally opinionated and stubborn. Very well. Like can recognize like.”
“My sister also enjoyed your company, if that is any solace,” he continued. “And she is far more difficult to draw out. However, while I value their opinions, I keep my own council. I fully intended to further our acquaintance, before their visit, and after it.”
Margaret felt her face heating in a blush. “I see.”
He cocked his head. “You don’t sound as if you believe me. Your stepmother seemed to be under a similar impression. She seemed to find it necessary to apologize profusely.”
Remembering her stepmother’s concerns about the race and visit, Margaret could well imagine how she might have groveled. A marquis with a flaw was better than no husband at all. The thought was quite embarrassing. “I’m sorry you were subjected to that, my lord.”
“On the contrary, it only made me more aware that I was being negligent. I insisted that she give me your location so that I might apologize to you immediately.”
“No apology necessary,” Margaret managed. “It isn’t as if we are actually courting.”
He stepped forward and took her hand, bringing it to his lips and nearly sending her to her knees. “That is a fact that can be remedied.”
For the first time in her life she thought she might faint. His eyes were warm and gentle, the blue so deep she could float in the depths. His smile was tender and near enough that if he moved a little closer, their lips would meet. She swallowed, willing him to kiss her, the desire stronger than any
thing she had ever known.
The door to the parlor slammed open.
“I knew it!” a bear of a man thundered. “I knew this was a whore house! What have you done with my Lily!”
Thomas pulled the astonished Margaret behind him, clearly shielding her from the man’s fury. Heart pounding, Margaret stood on tiptoe to peer over Thomas’ shoulder. Before them, chest heaving, stood a man well over six feet tall, heavily built and shabbily dressed. His grizzled face was dark, his nose crooked as if it had been broken more than once, and his eyes blood-shot and narrowed. His meaty hands were balled in fists at his sides.
“You are mistaken, fellow,” Thomas replied evenly. Margaret marveled that he could remain so calm in the face of such mountainous intimidation. “This is a home for widows and orphans. If your Lily is here, I’m sure she’d be happy to see you home.”
“That she will not,” Annie declared from the entryway. The fellow whirled to face her, arms swinging. Annie ducked neatly under the intended blow, stepping back out of range. “I’ve told you before, Jacob Breely, the likes of you are not welcome here. Lily has chosen a better way. She no longer needs a fancy man.”
He eyed Thomas over his shoulder. “And what about him, then? Seems to me she’s just exchanged one fancy man for another.”
Margaret swallowed, realizing Annie had been right about the danger Thomas posed to the house. Annie glared at Thomas around the fellow. “He was just leaving.”
“We were both leaving,” Margaret amended hurriedly. She stepped boldly around Thomas, head high, insides quaking. Annie had told her about how the male solicitors often came after their girls. There wasn’t a one Annie couldn’t handle. The girls still spoke in reverent tones of the time their leader had taken a heated flat iron to the fancy man who had dared demand the return of one of Annie’s girls. The best for all concerned was if Margaret took Thomas out of here.
“Won’t you see me home, my lord?” she tried.
Thomas moved to join her, but the bruising fellow would have none of it. He grabbed Margaret by the arm and hauled her up against him. She was close enough that she could see little black specks swarming over what remained of his teeth.