A Wicked Gentleman

by Jane Feather

  So what did that mean? And anyway, was it relevant to this little adventure they were having? No, she decided, not really. A past marriage of convenience had absolutely nothing to do with the present. So what was behind her perverse determination to end this before it had really begun? It was true she hated secrets, anything underhand. It had always been so, even as a child she’d been incapable of lying. Her face always gave her away, that and the lack of conviction in her voice. But she was an adult in a grown-up world, and this was a grown-up situation. It would harm no one, and if the last two occasions were anything to go by would bring her only unalloyed delight.

  But she didn’t want an irregular liaison. It seemed to be as simple as that. Even though there was nothing adulterous in such an affair. No one was being betrayed or hurt in any way. Nevertheless, it didn’t feel right. It was as if there was something shameful in it. Hole in the corner, hiding in the shadows…

  “Damned inconvenient scruples,” she muttered, slamming the window shut with a near bang. She could hardly expect a proposal of marriage after two idyllic interludes between the sheets. Even if she wanted one, or would even be prepared to entertain one.

  Chapter 17

  CORNELIA EXAMINED HER REFLECTION critically in the cheval glass in her bedchamber. Her afternoon gown of jonquil crepe was a far cry from her usual plain round gowns. The neckline was a deep vee that met a dark green velvet sash caught beneath her breasts. The shape of her breasts and the cleft between them was accentuated in a most flattering fashion, she decided, fastening an amethyst pendant around her neck. Little puff sleeves offered minimum coverage, but her bare arms had a rather nice roundness to them. All in all, the effect was pleasing, even if the reality was somewhat chilly. But she had a cashmere shawl with a dark green fringe that would complement the gown beautifully and at least keep unsightly goose pimples at bay.

  For this afternoon’s social call she had drawn her thick hair into a Greek chignon banded with dark green velvet to match the sash of her gown and her flat silk slippers. The whole effect was very harmonious, she thought. Would Harry find it so? She pushed the thought from her. Viscount Bonham’s opinion was irrelevant. Or should be. Innate honesty forced the addendum.

  “Nell, are you ready?” Livia called from the corridor, tapping lightly on the door as she spoke. “Ellie and I are so elegant, you wouldn’t believe.” She opened the door and popped her head brightly around it. “Oh, you look magnificent. Almost regal.”

  “Let me look at you two,” Cornelia demanded with a laugh, more than happy to have her thoughts diverted. “Oh, yes, most elegant.” Her friends stood side by side in the doorway, Aurelia in a gown of rose silk that brought out her pale blond hair and deep brown eyes, and Livia in cream muslin, her blue-black hair falling in artful ringlets around her ears.

  “Her Grace should find nothing of the country mouse about her hostesses this afternoon,” Cornelia commented, draping her shawl around her shoulders. “I just hope Morecombe built up a really a good fire in the salon. Chattering teeth and gooseflesh are not exactly attractive or sophisticated.”

  They laughed and with one final twitch at her skirt, she followed them downstairs just as the longcase clock in the hall struck three. She was aware of an unusual nervousness. Social occasions had ceased to alarm her many years ago, and there was nothing about an afternoon visitor that should make her nervous. Ellie and Liv seemed perfectly relaxed, a little excited even. All Cornelia felt was uncertainty.

  But she knew why. Harry. Harry would be there and the memory of all that they had shared the previous night, and how they had parted, would be in the room with them like the proverbial elephant in the corner. And somehow she had to behave as if she didn’t know it was there.

  The salon was reassuringly welcoming, its old world elegance clear despite the slight shabbiness of the furnishings. Livia looked around her domain with pleasure. “I’m glad we didn’t try to replace any of the furniture or the curtains,” she said. “There’s a coherence to the room, as if it’s supposed to be exactly as it is.”

  “I think that’s true of the house in general,” Aurelia observed, adjusting the position of a cushion on the chaise. “It has a definite personality.”

  “Maybe that’s why Aunt Sophia didn’t want me to sell it,” Livia mused, going to the long windows that overlooked the street. “Oh, here’s Lord Bonham, riding beside a barouche. Oh, and there are two ladies in the carriage.”

  “I thought he was just bringing his great-aunt.” Aurelia hurried over to stand beside Livia. “Ah, the other one is Lady Sefton.”

  “He certainly keeps his promises,” Cornelia said, raising her eyebrows a little. “He promised to bring us one of the patronesses of Almack’s. But do come away from the window, both of you. If they look up, they’ll see you gawking.”

  Aurelia and Livia jumped back hastily and deposited themselves in graceful poses on the sofa. Cornelia chose to stand by the fireplace, the calmness of her expression belied by the agitated pace of her pulse.

  Morecombe opened the door and put his head around it. “Some ladies, ma’am, and that Lord Bonham,” he declared.

  “Thank you, Morecombe,” Harry said, opening the door wide for his companions.

  Cornelia stepped forward quickly, a smile on her face and her hand outstretched. “You must excuse Morecombe. He has some eccentric ways, but he was a favored servant of Lady Sophia Lacey’s, and it was her expressed wish in her will that Lady Livia keep him on. Do come by the fire, Your Grace. Lady Sefton how kind of you to call.”

  Harry’s great-aunt was an elderly lady wrapped in a voluminous fur-trimmed pelisse and wearing an amazing fur bonnet that remarkably resembled a fox’s head. She raised her lorgnette even as she took Cornelia’s outstretched hand. “Glad to know you, Lady Dagenham.” Disconcertingly she looked over her shoulder at her great-nephew and confided, “Not a bad lookin’ gal…for her age.”

  “I’m sure Lady Dagenham is gratified to hear it, ma’am,” Harry said smoothly, bowing to Cornelia. His eyes twinkled. “Your servant, Lady Dagenham. You must forgive my aunt’s outspokenness.”

  “Indeed, Her Grace is too kind, sir,” Cornelia murmured, struggling to keep a straight face.

  “Pshaw,” expostulated the lady. “I’ve no time for namby-pamby nonsense. Say what you mean. That’s what I always say.”

  “You are always the soul of tact, ma’am,” Harry murmured.

  Cornelia turned swiftly to their third guest. “Lady Sefton, I know you’re acquainted with Lady Farnham. May I introduce Lady Livia Lacey.”

  “I knew your mother, I believe,” Lady Sefton said, taking the seat that Livia offered her, arranging her diaphanous muslin skirts gracefully around her. “Quite the beauty she was before she married. You resemble her, my dear.” She was clearly disposed to be gracious.

  The duchess, however, refused a seat and stared rudely around the salon through her lorgnette as if appraising its furnishings. “Not a bad Turner,” she observed almost sotto voce, then peered at the painting above the mantel. “Hmm. Morland. Overrated.”

  “Ma’am, will you take tea?” Livia asked, after casting a helpless glance at Cornelia, who appeared to be enjoying herself hugely.

  Her Grace waved a dismissive hand. “Can’t stand the stuff, maudles your insides. I’ll take sherry.”

  “Of course,” Cornelia said, going to the sideboard. All her nervousness had vanished, and the elephant in the corner had miraculously failed to appear. Harry seemed his usual self, slightly amused, with a crinkling conspiratorial smile in his eyes whenever their gaze met. It was as if he’d completely forgotten how they’d parted.

  “Would you perhaps care to take off your pelisse and…and hat, ma’am?” she asked solemnly. If that monstrosity can be called a hat.

  “No, I don’t care to,” the lady said, finally depositing herself on a tiny gilt chair that trembled beneath her. “Can’t risk catching cold.” She took the glass that Cornelia handed her and sipped. �
�Not bad,” she pronounced. “Well, sit down, Bonham, don’t stand there like an overgrown weed.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Harry murmured, sitting obediently on the edge of a chaise. Resolutely, he kept from looking again anywhere in Cornelia’s vicinity. He should have warned her about his aunt’s eccentricities, but somehow it had slipped his mind, and while he was so accustomed to them that they washed over him, he could well understand how someone would react on a first meeting. Particularly someone with Cornelia’s lively sense of the ridiculous.

  Their visitors stayed for twenty minutes and when they rose to leave, Lady Sefton said, “Vouchers, of course. You’ll be needing vouchers for Almack’s, I daresay.”

  “That would be most gracious, Lady Sefton,” Cornelia responded. “Of course we had them in our first season, but since then…” She offered a self-deprecating smile. “We’ve been minding hearth and home.”

  “Oh, waste of time,” the duchess pronounced. “You’ve children I daresay.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cornelia agreed.

  “Ruin your figure,” the lady declared, then raised her lorgnette again to peer at Cornelia. “Though I must say, yours isn’t too bad.” She turned aside to her great-nephew. “Not too bad at all, Bonham. Now take me to the carriage.” She laid an imperious hand on his arm.

  Harry bowed to his hostesses before offering Lady Sefton his free arm. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  “Good afternoon, Lord Bonham. Duchess…Lady Sefton.” It was almost a chorus as they bowed their guests from the room.

  “Allow me to see you out.” Cornelia moved swiftly after them. There was no point summoning Morecombe.

  “You tend your own door?” the duchess demanded, as Cornelia opened it. “How very odd.”

  “We too have our eccentricities, ma’am,” Cornelia responded sweetly.

  Her Grace looked at her sharply, without the aid of the lorgnette this time. “Is that so?” she said. “Well, come along, Bonham.”

  Harry glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Cornelia. It was such a complicit grin, so full of shared amusement and shared joy, that it took her breath away. She stepped back and closed the door swiftly. She was not going to be able to hold to her resolution. Why had she ever thought she could?

  “What a dragon!” Livia exclaimed, as Cornelia returned to the salon. “She seemed to like you though, Nell.”

  “She has a funny way of showing it,” Cornelia said. “I’m not bad-looking for my age, and somehow my figure has withstood the effects of procreation.” She went restlessly to the window, watching the barouche bowl off down the street, Harry riding in solemn escort beside it. She watched him out of sight before saying cheerfully, “Still, we have our social opening now.”

  “We had better return the call,” Aurelia said, pouring more tea. “And to Lady Sefton too. When shall we do it?”

  “We still haven’t solved the problem of a carriage,” Cornelia reminded them. “Where is Nigel? Could he have gone back to Ringwood do you think?”

  “Not without telling us,” Livia stated. “He would have sent a note at the very least.”

  “I suppose so. But if he’s not still staying at Lord Coltrain’s, why did the butler take the note we sent around? Surely he would have said Nigel had left, if he has left.”

  “He’s probably gone to Newmarket or somewhere…maybe to a hunting box with some of his new friends,” Aurelia suggested. “He wouldn’t think to let us know if he was just going out of town for a week or so.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Cornelia bent to pile teacups onto the tray. “I’ll take these back to the kitchen.”

  “No, ring for Hester, the new scullery maid, Nell. You shouldn’t carry dirty dishes in that gown,” Aurelia protested, pulling vigorously on the frayed bellpull beside the fireplace.

  Cornelia shrugged and acquiesced. Ellie had a point. She sat down again, picking up her workbox. A button needed sewing on one of Susannah’s pinafores.

  Instead of Hester, however, the bell was answered by the new handyman. “Oh, Lester, I didn’t think you did drawing room duty,” she said in surprise, slipping her thimble on her finger. A slightly puzzled frown crossed her eyes, and she looked down at her finger.

  “Oh, I help out wherever it’s needed, my lady,” Lester said swiftly, catching the frown. His gaze flicked over the thimble. It looked just the same to him. He picked up the tray and went to the door.

  “I’ll bring the dogs back, Lady Livia,” he said. “Now that the visitors have gone. They’re upsetting the kitchen something chronic, all that yapping and scrabbling to get out.”

  “Oh, dear, yes, you’d better bring them at once, thank you, Lester.”

  The door closed behind Lester and Cornelia once again looked down at her finger. She twisted the thimble experimentally. “This is funny.”

  “What is?” Aurelia asked.

  “The thimble feels different.”

  “How could a thimble feel different, Nell?”

  “Well, it used to fit perfectly. It felt really comfortable, but now it’s rather loose.” She turned it again. “See how easily it moves.”

  “Maybe your finger’s thinner,” Livia suggested.

  Cornelia frowned at this. She removed the thimble and examined it. “It’s the same, and yet it’s not,” she insisted. “I’m sure there was a mark like an epsilon just above this little figure here, but it’s gone.”

  “You’re imagining things, Nell,” Aurelia said. “There’s so much engraved in such a tiny space, you couldn’t possibly remember every detail.”

  Cornelia gave up the puzzle. “Maybe you’re right.”

  Morecombe brought the dogs back, his long-suffering expression eloquent of his disapproval.

  Cornelia finished sewing on the button, and as she bit off the thread, said on impulse, “Morecombe, do you know where we could hire a carriage cheaply? Just to drive around town.”

  “Why’d you want to hire one?” he asked, releasing the dogs. “What’s wrong with Lady Sophia’s?”

  The three women stared at him. “Aunt Sophia kept a carriage?” Livia asked, struggling to fend off the dogs, who wanted to climb up onto her elegant lap.

  “O’course she did,” Morecombe said, sounding indignant at the question. “Lady Sophia knew what was what for a lady of her standing.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she did,” Aurelia said soothingly. “But we understood that she didn’t get out much in the last few years.”

  “Well, neither she did,” the man declared. “But that don’t mean she couldn’t if she wanted to.”

  “So there’s a carriage.” Cornelia returned the thimble to her workbox. “Where is it kept, Morecombe?”

  “In t’mews,” he said as if it was self-evident.

  Cornelia bit her lip. “And where would we find the mews?”

  “T’other side of the square.”

  “And horses?”

  He shook his head. “No, Lady Sophia got rid of the horses, said they were eatin’ their heads off.”

  “A horseless carriage isn’t going to be much good to us,” Livia said with a sigh.

  “You want a horse, ma’am, why don’t you say so? I could get you one if’n you want one. But reckon as how that carriage’ll need a pair, it being as big as it is.”

  “How big?” Cornelia said with foreboding.

  Morecombe shrugged. “Big enough for Lady Sophia at any rate. Her ladyship knew what was due her consequence.”

  “I think we should go and see it,” Cornelia announced, getting to her feet. “Will you direct us, Morecombe?”

  “Oh, aye,” he said, going to the window and pointing. “’Tis behind number sixteen across the garden. Don’t think nobody’s been near it in nigh on ten years.”

  “Perhaps you’d accompany us,” Livia suggested.

  “You’ll need the key.” He went off, leaving them wondering if he’d agreed to go with them or not.

  However, he reappeared five minutes later brandishing a
large brass key and wrapped in a thick greatcoat, a long scarf twined several times around his neck, and a high-crowned beaver hat pulled down low over his ears. He looked equipped for the Arctic, Cornelia thought suppressing a chuckle.

  “Thisaway.” He preceded them to the front door, then paused. “Catch your deaths you will in them flimsy gowns. Don’t know what the world’s comin’ too.”

  “Give me a minute, Morecombe,” Livia said, turning to the stairs, the dogs crowding her ankles. “I’ll fetch shawls for us.” She ran upstairs, the dogs prancing ahead of her and was back in a few minutes with an armful of pelisses and shawls. “I shut the dogs up in my bedchamber,” she said. “They’d only be in the way.”

  Morecombe sniffed and opened the door, peering out suspiciously as if he expected some kind of monstrosity to be lying in wait for him. Judging the coast to be clear, he stepped outside.

  The women followed him around the square and down a narrow alley that ran alongside number sixteen on the far side. The alley led into a mews courtyard, lined with stables and carriage houses. For the most part they appeared well cared for, the paintwork fresh, the cobbles swept. Except for one at the far end. The double doors sagged on their hinges, and the paint was scraped almost clean.

  The women exchanged glances, and Cornelia murmured, “What are the odds those doors haven’t been opened in ten years?”

  The trouble Morecombe had with the key seemed to prove her right, but eventually it turned in the lock, and he put his shoulder to the doors, pushing, but with little success. The doors refused to budge.

  “Perhaps I can help,” a cool voice said from behind the women. They all turned as one. “Lord Bonham,” Livia exclaimed in surprise. “Where did you spring from?”

  “My aunt decided to drive in the park without my escort,” he explained. “So I left her at the Stanhope Gate and came back to see if there was any way I could be of further service to you.” He offered a little mock bow. “What exactly do you expect to find in here?” He moved to the double doors.

  “A carriage,” Cornelia told him, watching as he put one shoulder, elegant in dark blue superfine, to the doors and pushed. They gave slowly and with much creaking but finally stood open.