Who was the red-headed bitch she’d seen him with in the park? And where in hell’s blazes was Leah? She’d given the maid the afternoon off purposely to visit her sister and ferret out whatever information she could. Miranda had used Leah before to procure gritty details on past lovers and she’d proved herself useful at getting the servants of other houses to talk, probably because Miranda paid her quite well for such information.
Miranda whirled at the sudden tap on her door. Finally. “Enter.”
Leah opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her. “I had an interesting conversation with my sister.”
Miranda did not want to appear too eager for the news of who the redhead was, so she kept her voice casual. “Have a seat and do tell.”
Leah sat down with a flourish on one of the ivory-brocade chairs near the hearth, not noticing that the fire was nearly out. Or perhaps she did notice but felt herself above stoking it. Miranda didn’t really care if the maid gave herself airs—case in point, sitting on an expensive Chippendale chair instead of the settee—as long as the information she had was good and accurate.
Miranda took the chair opposite Leah’s and folded the hankie in her lap. “Is your sister doing well?” Not that she cared.
“Quite well. Lord Ashley paid her two guineas for a dress for Inis to wear to the modiste shop.”
A dress? Had Alex torn it from the little strumpet and had to resort to a servant’s clothing to get her out of the house? Somehow, Miranda managed to keep her tone neutral. “Inis?”
“Inis O’Brien. The red-haired girl you asked me to inquire about,” Leah said. “She claims to be a hostler and spends a lot of time in the stables.”
The stables. Miranda hadn’t ever met any of her lovers in a stable. The hay would be hard to get out of her hair, but if Alex liked it… “So she is actually a groom?”
Leah nodded. “Fern says Inis always smells like a horse when she comes in.”
How utterly ironic. Miranda had been upset over a girl who cleaned up after horses. Alex had probably bought her a new dress for tumbling her in one of the stalls. After all, an Irish peasant girl wouldn’t have any need for a silk negligee.
“I am surprised she is allowed in the house at all,” Miranda said, fingering the embroidered threads on her handkerchief. “Most grooms reside off the stables.”
“Not her. She has her own private room.”
Miranda narrowed her eyes. That did not sound good. Had Alex actually moved a mistress in to his own home? “That is interesting indeed. Does Inis have other duties?”
“Not house duties, but Fern suspects Inis might have some personal ones.” Leah snickered. “If you know what I mean.”
Miranda did. And she didn’t like it. “Are you saying this…Inis…is Lord Ashley’s mistress?”
“Fern thinks so.” Leah shrugged. “Why else would Lord Ashley buy her a whole wardrobe?”
Anger flashed through Miranda, but she managed—barely—not to shred the small square of linen. “What do you mean a whole wardrobe?”
“There were almost twenty boxes delivered yesterday. Fern lost count.”
Red-hot anger turned to white rage. Somehow, she managed to control it. “Twenty boxes?”
“Thereabouts,” Leah answered. “Like I said, Fern lost count.”
Miranda forced herself to take a deep breath. “Whatever was in so many boxes?”
“Fern didn’t see, but Elsie said there was everything from a fine winter coat to dresses and shoes and underthings.”
Underthings. Did Alex buy that little slut a silk negligee after all? But never mind that. A whole wardrobe. A whole wardrobe. From one of the most prestigious modiste shops in London. No man did that for a woman unless she was his mistress.
“I see. You may go now,” Miranda said and rose to get the small bag of coins to give to Leah. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Leah took the bag and gave Miranda a big smile. “I’m happy to do whatever you need me to do.”
“Thank you.” Miranda sank down in the chair after Leah left. She needed time to think. This situation would never do. The Irish peasant was getting in the way of her plans.
Chapter Nine
Inis eyed the silver tea service set on the low table in the parlor Sunday afternoon and glanced at Alex sitting across from her in one of the two sturdy-looking chairs that actually looked adequate enough to hold a man. Most of the furniture in the room was Hepplewhite with mahogany shield-shaped straight chair backs and satin-brocade seats. The chairs had slender, tapering legs that didn’t look strong enough to support much weight even though the wide spade feet were supposed to counteract that. Alex had, instead, chosen a wing chair with comfortably padded back, seat, and armrests that sat solidly on four short, squat legs. Inis wished she could have taken the matching chair rather than be sitting on a settee with Caroline.
“Shall we begin the lesson on how to pour tea?” Caroline asked.
“I do nae see how it so hard. The pitcher has a handle,” Inis replied.
“The correct term is teapot, not pitcher. When you pick it up, keep the spout low so the tea does not splash into the saucer.” Caroline lifted the pot to demonstrate. “Like this.”
“Ye only filled the cup halfway,” Inis said when she finished.
Caroline nodded. “That is the proper amount for a cup.”
“’Tis barely more than a swallow or two,” Inis said. “How is a person supposed to quench her thirst from that?”
“We leave room for cream and sugar.” Caroline gestured to the smaller serving pieces. “The term pitcher does apply to the container that holds the cream.”
Inis gave it a doubtful glance, rather enjoying playing ignorant of such things. “’Tis confusing.”
“You will get the hang of it,” Caroline said. “Go ahead and pour a cup for me.”
Inis frowned. “Did ye nae just pour a cup for yourself?”
“That was to show you how.” Caroline smiled and turned the handle of the teapot toward Inis. “And remember to ask if I want cream or sugar.”
Inis affected a puzzled expression. “Ye cannae remember if ye like cream and sugar?”
Caroline kept her smile in place. “It is polite to pour the cream and add the sugar and then hand the finished cup to the guest.”
Inis pointed to the tray of tiny, open-faced watercress sandwiches. “Do I put the food on one of those small plates?”
“One does not point,” Caroline said. “And, no, you do not touch the food itself.”
Inis shrugged. “’Tis nae much food anyhow. Did the cook forget to put something on top of the leaves?”
The corners of Caroline’s mouth pinched, although she continued to smile. Inis felt a small twinge of guilt in acting so daft, but she couldn’t afford to let either Caroline or Alex find out she was anything but a poor orphan with no proper etiquette skills.
“No,” Caroline answered. “They are meant to whet the appetite.”
“Do ye mean to make ye more hungry?” Inis gave her a confused look. “That does nae make much sense, does it?”
Caroline’s smile almost faltered. “Well, it is tea, not dinner. Go ahead and pour, please.”
Inis felt Alex watching her intently, although he hadn’t said a word. She wondered if he was mentally evaluating her. She picked up the teapot, making sure her hand shook a little, and held the spout over one of the fine, bone-china cups, filling it almost to the rim and sloshing some tea over the side. She saw Caroline suppress a sigh and felt another twinge of guilt. She had nothing against the woman, but the longer she could drag out this training, the longer it would take for Alex to decide to actually present her in Society.
“Cream and sugar?” she asked.
“I doubt there is room,” Caroline said and took the cup quickly, probably thinking Inis would only spill more tea if she lifted it.
Inis turned to Alex. “My lord?”
“Ah…no. I am fine.”
Inis s
uppressed a smile as she set the teapot down. Alex more than likely thought she’d spill half of it on his tailored coat, since he’d actually changed clothes for the tea-serving lesson. She was tempted to spill tea on herself, but she was wearing one of the new day dresses and truly did not want to ruin it with a stain.
Instead, she plucked a watercress sandwich off the tray, not bothering to put it on the small plate as would have been proper, and stuffed the whole thing into her mouth.
…
After yesterday’s lesson debacle, Caroline had suggested waiting a few days before attempting another. Alex could hardly blame her. She often mocked the proper proprieties of the ton herself, but she’d made a superb effort to be totally correct yesterday while tutoring Inis in the etiquette of pouring tea. It hadn’t turned out well.
The lesson probably had not been any easier on Inis. She hadn’t looked very comfortable in her new dress, but then she was accustomed to wearing breeches. He’d most likely feel the same way if he had to wear a kilt. Alex had also seen the way Inis’s hand shook as she lifted the teapot. She’d probably never even see a full silver service before. She was much more confident and assured working with horses.
Which was why he’d decided to invite her to go riding with him today.
His bay gelding was already saddled when he got to the stables. He could hear Inis in Goldie’s stall, and he was tempted to help her saddle the filly, but he didn’t want to have her think he had doubts in her ability in the one area she really was good in.
A moment later, she led Goldie out and over to the mounting block. Alex wanted to stirrup his hands for her—the idea of touching her leg as he helped her mount made his groin tighten—but he held off, sensing she’d not appreciate his help. He waited until she was in the saddle before he vaulted onto the bay’s back and joined her.
“Thank ye for asking me along,” Inis said as they started toward Kensington Gardens.
“The weather today is mild for the end of February,” Alex replied, “I thought you would enjoy it.”
“Aye. Goldie will, too.” Inis patted the filly’s silky neck. “She has gotten tired of going round the paddock.”
“Jameson tells me she’s going through her paces quite nicely,” Alex answered. “I wish I had more time to come and observe you—I mean observe the horse—myself.” His face warmed at the blunder he’d almost made. Hell fire. He never blushed.
Inis didn’t appear to have noticed the slip. “I ken ye are busy at your office with the different businesses ye run.”
Alex couldn’t tell her he wasn’t all that busy with business. With the exception of his trust fund, the rest of the Ashley business holdings were part of the duchy, for which George was ultimately responsible. The only reason Alex oversaw anything was because he’d quadrupled the value of his trust fund in the last five years. George didn’t like taking chances or assuming risks, but he’d grudgingly admitted Alex had an uncanny ability for investing. Although Alex hired accountants who were as painstakingly meticulous, being at the office was a good excuse to keep him from trailing after Inis like a mooncalf.
“With the wars being over on both the Continent and the States, there are a lot of business ventures opening up,” he said.
Inis nodded. “Lots of Irish went to America before the war broke out.”
Alex glanced over at her. He knew the Protestant Ascendancy of the last century had taken lands away from native farmers. Along with a number of famines, many Irish had immigrated elsewhere. Was that why Inis’s family had come to England? “Did some of your family go to America?”
Inis started to shake her head and then shrugged. “The O’Briens scattered long ago.”
“My father always thought America was full of opportunities,” Alex said.
“Aye. I’ve heard that, too. It sounds a wondrous place,” Inis replied. “They doona care for titles over there.”
Alex grinned. “That would be quite a shock to the ton, would it not?”
Inis smiled and urged Goldie ahead of him as they entered the gardens through the Black Lion Gate. When he caught up to her again on the Broad Walk, she slanted him a look. “Do ye dislike all the ton as much as ye do your brother?”
Alex reflexively tightened his hold on the reins, causing the bay to toss his head. He relaxed his hand and stroked the horse. “What makes you think I dislike George?”
“I…ah…ye said ye did.”
Alex raised one brow. “I said George has too high an opinion of himself.” He was surprised when Inis’s face turned bright pink, and he realized that one of the servants must have told her the rest of the story…or their version of it. “My brother and I have always had our differences.”
Inis’s color deepened to red. “Ye doona have to explain to me, my lord.”
“Alex.” Lord, he wanted to hear her say his name. She was quite right, of course, that he didn’t owe her an explanation. Maybe she did deserve to hear the story from him, since she would be coming face to face with George soon. Alex sighed. Damn it. If he were honest with himself, he wanted to tell her what had happened.
“I would like to explain,” he said and then paused. “If you want to hear about the sordid mess.”
Inis looked up at him, her blue eyes searching his face before she nodded. “I will listen.”
He felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. “As I said, my brother and I have always had our differences. George has always wanted to be number one in everything, from being a prefect at Eton to near the top of his class at Oxford. Maybe that was because he knew he would inherit. He’s always been careful to avoid scandal. At any rate, he always seemed to regard me as competition…when I was not embarrassing him.”
“Do ye do that on purpose?” Inis asked.
Alex smiled. “I have to admit, I do enjoy putting his nose out of joint on occasion. Actually, probably more than just on occasion.”
“And he took his revenge by stealing the woman ye loved?”
Alex reined in his horse near Round Pond. A small, enclosed carriage passed them as he studied Inis’s face. “Tell me what you have heard, please.”
Her face grew pink again, and she looked away. “I gave my word I would nae say.”
He sighed. “I suppose I must accept that.”
Inis turned back to face him. “It was nae much. Just that ye intended to wed the woman who married your brother.”
“That is the truth,” Alex said and nudged his horse forward. “What I did not realize while I was courting Amelia was that her sights were already set on my brother and his title. I was a fool.”
Inis gave him a sideways glance as she rode beside him. “I doona think ye are a fool.”
For some absurd reason, that remark pleased him immensely. “Well, I certainly put my trust in the wrong person.”
Inis gave him another sidelong glance, but remained silent.
“To finish the story, George saw an opportunity for the ultimate one-upmanship. Marrying my intended fiancée evened the score for him.”
“Your brother does nae sound very honorable,” Inis said.
“To him, Amelia was a prize,” Alex replied. “His coup de grâce as far as I was concerned. But it’s over and done. Amelia got the title she wanted, and George got his revenge.”
They rode a few paces before Inis spoke. “And ye will be getting your revenge by using me to pretend to be a lady.”
Alex reined in his horse again. “I wish you would not think of it as being used.”
Inis halted Goldie as well. “What would be a better word then? Ye want to embarrass and humiliate your brother like he did ye? And tricking him into thinking a commoner girl is high-born will do it?”
“He did not…” Alex stopped. He couldn’t lie to himself or to Inis. He had been humiliated and embarrassed, and, yes, he wanted to return that favor to his pompous-ass brother, but he didn’t want Inis to think herself as being used. “You are correct in assuming I wish to avenge myself. Perhaps you could consider you
rself a partner in crime, so to speak, instead of a pawn? Think of it as a business relationship instead.”
Inis raised both brows. “A business relationship?”
Alex nodded. “You are receiving an education. Once I have presented you to Society and you have been accepted by those idiots, you will be free to decide what you want to do. You can keep up the charade if you want, go back to Ireland, and invent some aristocrats to be your relatives.”
Inis’s face paled. “I doona want that.”
“All right, then. Perhaps that is not an honest thing to do. But I can certainly establish you with your own household and set up an account for your financial needs—”
Inis shook her head. “I will nae be a kept woman.”
Being a kept woman—his kept woman—had a certain appeal to it, although the idea startled Alex. He’d never thought to take a mistress before. He forced the idea out of his mind. Inis had already rejected the notion, and he hadn’t even voiced it. Much better to think about this as a business transaction and nothing more.
“It does not have to be in London. Choose where you wish to live and no one will know your background.”
“I…” Inis looked as though she wanted to say something, changed her mind, then changed it again. She tilted her head. “Would you send me to America?”
A harsh pain struck Alex’s stomach, as though a horse had kicked him. He hadn’t thought Inis would want to go halfway around the world. For the second time in as many minutes, he had another revelation. He didn’t want Inis that far away. He took a deep breath. He had offered her a business transaction.
“If that is what you want. I won the title to a house in New Orleans in a card game. You could stay there and decide if you like it.”
Inis studied him. “For as long as I want?”
“For as long as you want.”
Inis stared into space for a long moment and Alex thought her eyes grew suspiciously bright. Was she going to cry? He almost reached for his linen handkerchief when she squared her shoulders and nodded.
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