‘Simple ton!’ Fleet said, laughing. ‘I remember! She never spoke and some thought her a lack-wit. Had a pretty little blonde friend, now I recall. Amanda something or other. I wonder what happened to her?’
‘Amanda Makepeace. She married Frank Spry,’ Joss said succinctly. ‘He had property in Ireland, I believe.’
Fleet stared. ‘Devil take it, Joss, you sound just like Debrett! Had no idea you had an encyclopaedic memory!’
‘Why do you think I win so often?’ Joss asked laconically. ‘Truth is, I only remember because Juliana and Amanda Spry were in a way to being friends. I hear that Lady Spry is recently widowed and is back in London. Perhaps you should look her up, Seb! Taking little piece, as I recall!’
‘So how is the fair Juliana?’ Fleet asked with a grin. If ever there was a gamester who could outplay Joss Tallant it was his sister, Lady Juliana Myfleet.
‘Oh, Ju is much the same as ever,’ Joss drawled. ‘High play, low company…Taken up with Clive Massingham, you know.’
Fleet drew his breath in sharply. ‘That thought leaves an unpleasant taste in the mouth! Fellow’s a wrong ’un, leaving aside the family connection!’
Joss shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I agree, but there’s damn all I can do about it! Juliana always goes her own way and, although she’ll listen to me, I don’t flatter myself I’ve got much influence. Not,’ he added with a shade of bitterness, ‘that I can play the moralist. To set myself up as such would be absurd. Saw my father yesterday,’ he added. ‘Thought the old man was about to wash his hands of both of us! It’s a toss up as to which of us he disapproves of the most!’
Fleet chuckled. ‘Threatened to disinherit you, did he?’
Joss shrugged again. Some residual respect stirred within him. ‘Only natural, I suppose, when I fail to meet his expectations in so singular a manner! He wants me to marry and provide an heir. I can’t say the idea appeals. Genteel females are all of a piece—insipid pattern-cards! Could marry an actress or some such, I suppose…’
‘Or a harlot,’ Fleet said slyly. ‘The fair Harriet would grace any stately home!’
They had reached Covent Garden. Two ladies of the night, who were emerging from one of the stinking alleyways, regarded them with curiosity and a lascivious gleam.
‘Rough,’ Fleet said, shaking his head ruefully. ‘Very rough indeed.’
In contrast, the entrance hall of Abbess Walsh’s establishment was the epitome of tasteful opulence, the perfect fashionable bordello. The Abbess herself glided forward to greet them with a smile. She was a handsome, well-preserved woman of indeterminate age, who had a reputation for providing quality and novelty.
‘Gentlemen…it is a pleasure to see you again.’ She shepherded them up the marble and gilt staircase. ‘Is there anything in particular that I can offer you tonight?’
‘Something different, if you please, ma’am,’ Fleet said, stifling a yawn. ‘I may be fickle but I get so damnably bored…’
‘Of course, your Grace…’ The Abbess smiled faintly. She turned to Joss. ‘My lord? Harriet has missed you…’
Joss’s smile did not reach his eyes. He reflected cynically that Miss Harriet Templeton’s affections were for sale to the highest bidder and at the moment that privilege was his. Still, that suited him well enough. He had been very fond of his previous mistress, and when Marianne had told him that she had accepted a marriage proposal from another gentleman, Joss had found himself surprisingly chagrined.
He had had a certain regard for Marianne. Indeed, he might even have gone as far as to admit that he cared for her. They had been friends in an easy and undemanding manner, and though he had not been in love since his salad days, he had valued her company and missed her acutely. Fortunately there was no chance of such a situation developing with Harriet. Her affection was only as deep as his wallet and Joss was quite happy for the relationship to remain resolutely unemotional.
He strolled down the familiar corridor and went into the room at the end. Miss Templeton was sitting before her mirror, brushing her hair. At the sight of him, her fair, small-featured face lit with a dazzling smile. She dropped the brush with alacrity and sped forward, enveloping him in a sweetly scented embrace, her body pressed softly against his.
‘Joss, darling…’ she purred, ‘I have been pining away for the sight of you…’
Her fingers were already at work undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. Joss shrugged himself out of his jacket and bent to kiss her.
‘I have missed you too, my sweet. Shall we celebrate our reunion?’
He picked her up and tossed her on to the bed. Harriet giggled delightfully. She lay sprawled beside him as he pulled his boots off, her face alight with laughter and provocation. Her lace peignoir had come undone and there was little of the voluptuous figure beneath that was left to his imagination. Joss felt his body react but his mind stayed cold. Marry a harlot…For a moment he thought of Harriet gracing the corridors of Ashby Tallant as the new Marchioness, but the thought of marriage to anyone was anathema to him. Whenever he tried to imagine it he was left with the picture of two people hurling insults at each other from opposite ends of their great barn of a house. His mind shuddered away from the thought.
He lay back on the pillows as Harriet pulled him down beside her. For a split second he saw Amy Bainbridge’s features superimposed on the painted, pretty face that lay beside him. The image gave him a sharp shock. Little Miss Bainbridge, so plain, so disapproving. In the time that he had been observing her he had seen her distaste for him clear in her eyes, had sensed her dislike, even though she had not addressed a single word to him.
No matter. He did not know what had even made him think of her, except that such transparent innocence was wholly at odds with his current surroundings. He had abandoned such innocence many years ago. It was not for him now. He gave himself up to Harriet’s skilful hands and allowed his mind to slide away into darkness.
‘It’s a shambles, Miss Bainbridge! Sheer, wanton untidiness! However could a body be so disorderly? Your brother should confine his gambling to his club.’ Patience’s angular face quivered with disapproval. She brandished a kitchen knife at Amy. ‘I’ve tried and tried to remove the wax and the stains but Lady Bainbridge doesn’t like me to polish too hard. She says that it wears away the furniture!’
Looking around the dining room, Amy could see that Patience had plenty of cause for complaint. Twenty candles had dripped their wax on to every available surface and there were dark rings on the polished wood of the table where the brandy bottle had slopped. There was a stale smell in the air. Amy moved over to the window and pulled the sash up hard, letting the fresh morning air into the room. The bright light made everything look so much more dilapidated. Amy sighed.
‘Come, give me that knife, Patience. I will scrape the wax off the furniture if you polish it up afterwards. Why, there is almost enough to make a fresh candle out of the leftovers—’
‘You sound just like your mama,’ Patience said, but there was a hint of indulgence in her voice now. Her expression softened a little as she looked at Amy. ‘Though you tell me, Miss Amy, what use it is you making fresh candles from old when your good-for-nothing brother will only melt them all over my table again!’
Amy winced. Patience took the old retainer’s privileges to the very limit sometimes. She knew that Richard was not quite a universal favourite. Though petted by his mother and fawned upon by plenty of ladies for his good looks if not his fortune, he had singularly failed to melt Patience’s stern heart. She herself could not approve of his gambling but she could also not help but care for him. It was Richard who had been with her through the dark days after her father’s death, giving her the love and support that he needed from her in return.
‘I know it is very bad of Richard to gamble as he does,’ Amy said, trying to think of any mitigating circumstances that might pacify Patience, ‘but he means no harm, and if he wins money at the tables then we may all benefit from it—’
Amy went off into a peal of laughter. ‘Now there you are fair and far out, Patience! Did you not see me when I had my come-out? The best gowns that money could buy and I still looked a fright. Better to save the housekeeping for less of a lost cause!’
Patience put the duster down and came across to her. ‘Those gowns did not suit you because they were too fussy. It was all your mama’s doing! Look in the mirror, Miss Amy. What do you see?’
Amy peered obediently into the spotted glass. ‘I see brown hair without a curl, a pale face and a figure as flat as a board. No potential there, Patience dear!’
‘Strange,’ Patience said in acid tones. ‘I see beautiful fine hair, pretty blue eyes and a figure as neat and trim as you please. You may not be a diamond of the first water, Miss Amy, but you are a little pearl. You just need the right setting.’
Amy blinked at such an assessment from the unsentimental maid. ‘Thank you, dear Patience. You are very kind to me—’
‘Aye, and you don’t believe a word I say!’
Amy did not reply. It was not that she did not believe Patience; more that she did not want to start to believe. With no money and no prospects it would be the height of folly to start dreaming of fine clothes and high society.
Patience picked up her duster again, dipped it into the pot and spread some polish over the nearest brandy stain. Amy leant over.
‘Oh, what is that? It smells very sweet.’
‘My own concoction,’ Patience said, with grim satisfaction, ‘so it costs next to nothing. Wax from the bees and lavender from the garden, with a drop of brandy to lift the stain. Nothing like brandy to lift brandy, I always say! A pity that gambling does not work to cure gambling!’
‘I believe it is an obsession,’ Amy said cautiously, shaking out the curtains to release the smell of smoke. ‘Indeed, it seems that no warning example will persuade Richard to stop. Papa was just the same. They say that it is in the blood.’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ Patience bent a stern look on her. ‘You are the contradiction of that theory, Miss Amy! You do not gamble!’
‘No, indeed, I detest it!’ Amy shuddered. ‘Yet I hear that there are as many great ladies in thrall to the tables as the men. Why, when I went into society they were for ever trying to tempt me to a game of whist or commerce. It was harmless, they said…’ Her voice trailed away. There had been nothing harmless about her father’s compulsion to gamble, nor its consequences for the rest of the family.
Patience shook her head. ‘’Twas a shame you did not take, Miss Amy. You could have had an establishment of your own by now.’
Amy prised a stubborn piece of wax off the table. ‘I have the ordering of this house in all but name, and a fine challenge it is with Richard’s spending and Mama’s economies—’
The door opened and Lady Bainbridge came in. Amy quickly swept all the loose pieces of candle wax off the table and into her apron pocket before her mother could see how much waste there had been.
‘Good morning, Mama. I hope that the hot milk procured you a good night’s sleep?’
Lady Bainbridge cast a suspicious look around the room, taking in the one candlestick that Amy had left on the mantelpiece. Her gaze rested for a moment on Patience, who was polishing the table very gently.
‘I slept quite well, I thank you, my love, and partook of a small breakfast. Now, I do believe Mrs Vestey may be coming to visit this morning. She made mention of it when I was last at the circulating library.’ Lady Bainbridge subsided into a chair and waved one white hand languorously. ‘Patience, when we have callers, please see to it that only tea and biscuits are served. Anything else will be quite unnecessary, and if we have the misfortune of Mrs Vestey bringing a friend with her, please ensure that there is but one biscuit each. Not cakes. Cakes are too rich and injurious to the digestion.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Patience knelt down and began to sweep out the grate.
‘Do not throw those coals away!’ Lady Bainbridge said sharply, pointing to some lumps amongst the ash. ‘They may be re-used! Amy, dear…’ she turned her faded blue eyes on her daughter ‘…I do believe we should go through the accounts again this afternoon and see where we may retrench. I am sure we will find plenty of opportunity.’
Amy sighed. They went through this particular pantomime at least once a month. ‘I do believe, Mama, that it would be better to prevail on Richard to increase the housekeeping rather than try to cut back further. Why, he has an income of at least three thousand a year from Nettlecombe, even if it is the only property left to him!’
‘Alas, that three thousand a year is nothing to a man of fashion,’ Lady Bainbridge declaimed. ‘Poor Richard, I am sure that he could scarce scrape by on twice that amount!’
‘We manage to survive on a quarter of that sum,’ Amy pointed out. ‘There are two of us and we do not repine.’ She ignored the snort of disgust that emanated from the hearth, where Patience was still sweeping out the grate.
‘Yes, my love, but we have no need of the items that Richard requires,’ Lady Bainbridge observed, in kindly fashion. ‘Why, he must have a curricle and horses, of course, and money to buy all the odds and ends that a gentleman needs! I do declare, you will be taking the very clothes from his back if you ask for more money! Your brother has a position to uphold in the world, after all—’
‘Aye, and his sister has had no new gown for nigh on three years,’ came a sepulchral voice from the hearth.
Lady Bainbridge frowned. ‘That is enough, Patience! What need has Amy of new clothes? Now, if she were to go out in society it would be a different matter, but Amy has no ambitions for that, have you, my love?’ She swept on without waiting for a reply. ‘No, indeed, there is plenty of wear in all of Amy’s dresses and if there is not she may always add a fringe here and a ruffle there.’
The doorbell pealed. Amy peeked out of the window. ‘It is Mrs Vestey, Mama, and I do believe that she has brought Lady Amherst and Mrs Ponting with her.’
‘Three of them! How vexing,’ murmured her ladyship. ‘Patience, I shall receive them in the parlour. Be sure to serve only three biscuits—I shall do without myself.’
Amy, left alone in the relative peace of the dining room, rearranged the good rosewood chairs about the table, moved her mother’s armchair to cover a bare patch on the carpet and straightened the curtains. That was better. The room had lost the louche air of gaming that had hung about it and now looked shabby genteel, as indeed it was. As she was. Amy flicked another glance at her reflection. What good was it for Richard to present himself to the world as a gentleman of fortune when the entire ton knew that for the hollow sham it was? Once the Bainbridges had had a place in the world and were respected for it, but now Richard lived beyond his means, gambling away what little was left of his inheritance. He would never catch himself an heiress on good looks alone.
Amy closed the dining-room door quietly behind her and went to fetch her coat and bonnet. She had no wish to join Lady Bainbridge and her friends for a pot of tea with no biscuit, but she had plenty of errands to run that morning. There was a parcel of medicines to send to her former nurse, Mrs Benfleet, who lived in Windsor and had recently been ill. Amy wished that she could visit her, but the cost of the medicines meant that a journey was currently out of the question. Then there was the marketing to be done, for Lady Bainbridge entrusted no one but Amy with the purchase of fresh food in a city as ruinously expensive as London. Amy and her mother had had countless discussions about this, with Amy insisting that they could live far more frugally in the country and Lady Bainbridge adamant that Richar
d needed them to stay in London to look after him. Beneath the pretence, Amy knew that her mother was simply afraid that Richard’s gambling would run out of hand without the restraining presence of his family and that they would retire to the country and be forgotten—and starve. It was only their constant presence in Curzon Street that reminded Richard that he had dependents.
Two hours later Amy had managed to stave off starvation for another few days through the judicious purchase of the cheapest fruit and vegetables that she could find. Lady Bainbridge had suggested that they could do without fruit but Amy had said that she had no wish to suffer from scurvy, like some of the navy’s more unfortunate sailors. She had managed to find some good bargains in the market—cauliflowers which had outer leaves that were damaged but where the centres were quite fresh; potatoes with only the odd blemish, apples that were only a little fly-blown.
She was on her way back through Covent Garden when she caught sight of a familiar figure—familiar, at least, from the previous night. It was the Earl of Tallant, coming down the steps of a nearby house, adjusting his cuffs and the set of his jacket. The sun gleamed on the rich dark auburn of his hair. Amy froze. With his athletic build and energetic gait he looked like a sportsman rather than a man who had spent the first part of the night at the gaming tables and the second part…Amy felt a crimson blush spread up from her toes to the top of her head. She knew full well that the elegant frontages of these houses concealed the kind of den of iniquity that Richard and his friends were wont to patronise. She turned away hastily, for the last thing she wanted was to catch the Earl’s eye. The thought of being obliged to greet him when he had just emerged from taking his pleasure in a bawdy-house almost paralysed her.
She took a blind step forward and the edge of her basket caught the side of a nearby cart, wrenching it from her hands and tipping its contents all over the cobbles. Apples rolled away into the gutter. Amy gave an exclamation and went down on her hands and knees. She could not afford to lose any of her precious food. She even crawled a little way under the cart to try to rescue two potatoes that had disappeared beneath the wheels, bumping her knee painfully in the process. When she emerged, her face was flushed and her hands were dirty and the last thing she wished was to peer out from beneath the wing of the cart to see the Earl of Tallant bending down and extending a hand to her.
The Earl's Prize Page 4