Lily lowered her voice and leaned in a bit closer to the marquess. “Only yesterday, I learned of positions for several of those who are waiting for employment, but the business owner requires a substantial ... deposit.”
Randall’s eyes widened, wondering at the meaning of her comment. “Do you mean a bribe?” he asked with some alarm.
Lily stepped back and angled her head. “I’m not to use that word,” she countered quickly. “It’s a guarantee of sorts, insurance that the men will report to work and remain in his employment for some length of time.”
Frowning, Randall angled his head to match hers. “And at the end of that time? Does the money get returned to you?”
The young woman blushed and lowered her head. “I do not know. Lady Bostwick makes those arrangements with the employers,” she whispered.
Not particularly pleased his donation might go to some cit who probably didn’t need it, Randall was about to beg forgiveness and take his leave, but Lily motioned toward the tailor. “However, I believe your monies would go to pay for the suits required for the men who are waiting to be fitted.” She indicated the line of bedraggled looking men who sat in the lobby.
Randall dared a glance back at the men and gave Lily a nod. He handed the cheque to her. “Would one-hundred pounds cover it, do you suppose?” he asked as he angled his head.
Lily allowed a slow smile to show. “More than enough, my lord,” she said with a nod. “I’ll be just a moment. I need to write you a receipt.” She moved off to one of the desks, handing the cheque to Augustus Overby.
Randall dared a glance back toward the lobby, wanting to be sure he didn’t miss seeing the young woman he had followed to the solicitor’s office. Before Lily rejoined him, he was rather surprised when he spotted the woman through the glass in the door. She stood for a moment in front of the charity’s office, staring at her reflection in the glass as she used a gloved hand to wipe the sides of her eyes.
A bit alarmed, the marquess was about to hurry to her when he realized he needed to say a farewell to Lily.
“My lady,” he said as he took her hand. “I really must take my leave. Congratulations on your marriage. Your Mr. Overby is a very lucky man,” he added as he lifted the hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.
Blushing, Lily gave the marquess a curtsy and thanked him for his generosity. “Do come again,” she said as he made his way out the door.
By the time Randall was able to leave Lady E’s office, the young woman he had been following was no longer in front of the building, nor did he see her on the cobbles. Looking left and right, he finally spotted her walking rather fast as she made her way back toward Mayfair.
Damn it! he thought as he moved next door to the office of Andrew S. Barton, Esquire.
So much for offering the lady an escort.
Chapter 20
A Maid Makes a Maiden’s Day
One-fifteen in the afternoon of September 15
Eleanor regarded the embroidered handkerchief she still clutched in her hand, its edges damp from where Lord Wakefield had touched it to her face when she was crying earlier. The initials CHG were carefully stitched with a swish of curlicues at the ends of each letter. She briefly wondered what the ‘H’ stood for, but found she really didn’t care. She imagined instead what ‘C’ might look like if it were an ‘A’. Arthur Goodwin, she thought with a wan smile. Well, she probably wouldn’t find out what that particular initial would look like given he wouldn’t be marrying her.
Spying her bedraggled appearance in the corner cheval mirror, she nearly let out an audible gasp. Goodness! It was a wonder anyone would want to marry her when she looked so disheveled. About to get up from the bed, she paused when she heard footsteps outside the door.
Despite expecting the knock, she still jumped when it finally happened. Taking a deep breath and ready to resume her battle with the earl, she opened the door with a flourish and let out a squeak. Instead of finding the Earl of Wakefield beyond the threshold, a young woman of about her age stood in front of the majordomo.
“Hullo,” Eleanor managed to say as she regarded her visitors.
Chester gave Eleanor a nod. “Lady Eleanor Merriweather. May I present your lady’s maid, Miss Alice Foster?” he intoned, his baritone voice causing a bit of vibration in the floorboards beneath the carpet. “Lord Wakefield requested that I hire her from an agency.”
“My lady,” the girl said as she performed an awkward curtsy.
“Oh,” Eleanor replied in surprise, giving the girl a nod. When had the earl had time to order a maid be sent?
“I will work to have her quarters ready upstairs by dinner,” the majordomo said before giving a bow and retreating.
Eleanor blinked. A lady’s maid? Of my very own? Well, of course, she reasoned. It wasn’t as if there was another woman in the household needing a maid. She had to share a maid with her mother back home. “Do come in. As you can see, my hair is in need of a repair,” she said as she lifted one hand to the back of her head and grimaced.
“Yes, my lady. I can pin it up for you right away,” Alice said as she moved into the room and quickly removed her pelisse and bonnet. When Eleanor didn’t make a move toward the vanity, the younger woman pulled out the chair. “It will be easier if you sit here, my lady,” she hinted.
Blinking, Eleanor gave a start. “Of course,” she agreed, hurrying to take a seat before the vanity. A quick look into the mirror had her wincing. “Oh, I look a sight,” she breathed as the maid took out the pins that held up her messy bun. Staring at her own reflection and then at the reflection of the room’s furnishings and wall coverings behind her, Eleanor found herself rather surprised at just how beautifully the bedchamber was decorated.
When Alice had all the pins out of her hair, Eleanor dared a glance at her surroundings. She realized the earl had to have purchased the terrace already furnished; it was rather doubtful the man would have had a hand in choosing such rich fabrics in the deep scarlet and pale pinks that covered the chairs and bed, or the French furnishings with their elegantly-turned legs and drawer fronts. The room looked as if it had been made for the palace at Versailles!
“We’ll have you fixed up right quick, my lady,” Alice assured her, helping herself to an ivory comb from a set on the vanity top, a set that appeared rather expensive. “Do you have more pins than this, my lady?” the maid asked as she waved to the small pile she had removed from Eleanor’s hair.
Not about to admit she probably did but they were either scattered in the earl’s bed or on the floor of his bedchamber, Eleanor gave a shrug. “I’m sure they’re here somewhere,” she replied, realizing they would be very apparent given the few accoutrements in the uncluttered room. She studied the matching hairbrush, admiring the decorative enamel finish on the back and down the handle. Two perfume bottles were the only other embellishments on the vanity, the Egyptian glass appearing almost pearlescent in the light from the window. Studying the swirls in the delicate glass reminded Eleanor that she had packed her only bottle of perfume. The thought reminded her that she had tossed her valise when she discovered it was missing some of what she had brought with her to London.
She glanced about, finally spotting the bag near the door to the bathing chamber. “There should be some hair combs in my bag,” she said as she pointed toward the valise. “And a gown for dinner,” she remembered, wishing she had brought more clothes. But she had figured her father would help with her come-out, and help with seeing to it she had an appointment with a modiste and a cobbler, and hire a chaperone to accompany her on trips about London.
Alice opened the valise and pulled out several items of clothing, only one of which seemed appropriate for dinner with an earl. Unable to locate any hair combs, Alice finally turned over the valise so that its contents dumped out onto the counterpane.
Eleanor turned around, feigning shock at discovering some of her clothing was missing. She wondered if all the jewelry was missing, too. Although she had looked
through the bag earlier, she had done so in such haste and with tear-filled eyes, she hadn’t actually seen any of its contents.
She remembered the look on Lord Wakefield’s face when she had tossed the bag. Strained—sad almost—as if he truly felt sorry for her. And then he had promised they would go shopping to replace any missing items.
Of course, he would make such a promise, she realized. She had been crying. He was desperate to make her stop. He probably would have promised her the royal jewels, if necessary.
Suddenly unable to breathe, Eleanor struggled to maintain her composure. At Alice’s quick glance in her direction, she said, “I was ... I was robbed. On my way here.” Which, for all intents and purposes, was a fairly true assessment of her situation. Robbed of my innocence, the only man I’ve ever felt affection for, and now my clothes. She allowed an audible sigh. Although she was tempted to resume crying, she realized she had been a watering pot for too long. It was time she accept her lot and move on.
The maid’s eyes widened. “Goodness! No wonder you look as if you’ve been ...” She paused, apparently about to say ‘tumbled’.
Or ‘plowed’.
“Been what?” Eleanor replied, her eyes wide.
“As if you’ve been robbed,” the maid quickly responded, picking up the hair combs from the counterpane. “We’ll have you ready for the modiste in no time,” she added as she moved to work on Eleanor’s hair.
“Modiste?” Eleanor repeated.
The maid nodded to Eleanor’s reflection in the mirror. “Aye. His lordship had Mr. Chester arrange for her to pay a visit this afternoon at two o’clock. She’s to bring some finished gowns as well as fabrics and pattern books for your approval. For your riding habit and walking gowns and ball gowns and such,” Alice added as she began the task of pinning up Eleanor’s brunette hair.
Staring at her reflection, Eleanor had to remind herself to close her mouth. The earl had ordered a modiste be sent? Well, the man was certainly not as much of a barbarian as she had first thought, she realized with some surprise.
“Your wedding must have been quite the affair,” the maid said as she continued dressing Eleanor’s hair.
Eleanor blinked. Wedding? The maid must have thought she was already married to the earl! She was about to set the young woman straight when she realized she couldn’t. How would she explain her presence in Lord Wakefield’s home without admitting what had happened the night before?
“Hardly,” Eleanor said with a slight shake of her head, the move made nearly impossible with Alice holding onto a lock of hair as she stabbed another pin into the mound already piled atop her head. At the maid’s look of confusion, she added, “We were married by special license. A small affair.” At least, that’s what she imagined it would be if she was truly forced to marry the man, which was looking more and more likely as this awful day continued.
“It sounds rather romantic,” Alice commented with a sigh. “Were you betrothed to him since childhood?”
Eleanor considered how to respond. Before last night, she had only met the man once! “Not at all. We merely met ... quite by accident, and the next thing I knew, I was to be married to the man.”
The maid allowed another sigh. “So, it is romantic. Are you a daughter of the aristocracy?”
Noting how the maid seemed to hold her breath in anticipation of her answer, Eleanor gave a shrug. “My father is ...” She was about to say his name and realized it might give away her situation. “An earl, of course,” she merely responded. “My mother prefers living in the country, so I haven’t spent much time here in town,” she added, hoping the maid wouldn’t ask where she lived.
She asked.
“Just outside of Epping,” Eleanor replied after a pause. “Are you familiar with it?” she asked carefully.
The maid gave a sad shake of her head. “I’ve only ever lived here in London, my lady,” she answered, lifting the last lock of hair and pinning it into place.
“What a vast improvement!” Eleanor commented turning her head left and right as she admired her maid’s work.
“Oh, I’m not finished, my lady,” Alice replied with a shake of her head. At Eleanor’s quizzical expression, she added, “I still have to pin the curls into place.”
Eleanor settled back onto the small chair and watched as her maid worked her magic, wrapping the ends of her hair into pin curls and anchoring them into place with the rest of the hairpins. “I’m hoping the modiste has a ribbon we might use to finish it, my lady,” Alice said as she aimed a critical eye at Eleanor’s coiffure.
The earl’s daughter dared a glance in the mirror, stunned at the transformation. She looked positively elegant. Elegant and at least a few years older. “You’ve worked wonders, Alice,” she murmured just as her stomach grumbled.
“Would you like me to bring up your luncheon, my lady? Or will you be eating in the parlor?”
Eleanor hesitated with her response. She didn’t even know where the parlor was located, but she supposed it was about time she familiarized herself with the townhouse. “The parlor, of course,” she said with a nod. “Since I am ever so much more presentable than I was,” she added, giving her maid a nod. “Thanks to you.”
“My pleasure, my lady.”
Suddenly frowning, Eleanor wondered at why a maid with her hair dressing skills wouldn’t already be employed. “For whom did you work before Lord Wakefield?” she asked as she stood up from the vanity.
Alice’s face suddenly fell. “My employer was Lady Pettigrew,” she said sadly.
Eleanor’s eyes widened. Hadn’t Wakefield mentioned that Lady Pettigrew was a neighbor? “Next door?” At the maid’s nod of agreement, she added, “Why did you leave her employ?”
The maid seemed to deflate before her eyes. “Her ladyship’s hair, or rather what was left of it, burned off when I tried to use the curling iron on it. She regularly wears wigs, you see, and with most of her hair gone, she had no need of my services.”
She didn’t add that the woman had fired her.
Eleanor gave the maid’s response some consideration. “Well, since I don’t have a curling iron, burning my hair off won’t be a possibility, now will it?” she responded.
With that, she took her leave of the bedchamber and made her way downstairs, wondering if there wasn’t just a bit more to the story of Lady Pettigrew’s hair.
Chapter 21
A Marquess Meets a Solicitor
One-thirty in the afternoon of September 15
The solicitor glanced up from the document he had apparently just put into place on his blotter and sighed upon seeing yet another person coming through his office door.
“Good day,” the gentleman said as he removed his top hat and nodded toward the solicitor.
“I haven’t yet decided if it is.”
Randall Randolph, Marquess of Reading, regarded the solicitor for a moment. “If I were to exchange some coin for information about the young woman who just left your office, would that help to make it a good day?” he asked, cringing at how his question sounded like a bribe. He now had a better understanding of how Lady Bostwick had to conduct business on behalf of her charity.
Andrew Barton frowned but leaned back in his chair. “Depends on who is offering the coin, I suppose,” he answered, his face showing his suspicion as his eyes took in the cut and quality of the topcoat his visitor wore.
“Randall Roderick, Marquess of Reading,” Randall said with a nod. Although the solicitor didn’t offer it, he took the seat opposite the man’s desk.
Barton leaned forward, his hands resting on the front of his desk. “I apologize for not recognizing you, my lord,” he said in a quiet voice. “I expected you to be ... older,” he stuttered.
At that moment, Randall noticed the two crutches leaning against the side of the desk and realized the man probably wouldn’t have been able to stand upon his entrance. “I expected you to say ‘younger’, so I guess we’re even,” Randall said with a grin.
&
nbsp; Barton leaned back in his leather chair. “She is a cousin to the Earl of Norwick,” he said without preamble. “And having just come into her majority, she has discovered her inheritance is ... missing.”
Randall blinked. “Missing?” he repeated. But that wasn’t what had him blinking in disbelief. He could have sworn the woman he followed wasn’t the relative of Norwick but rather the maid who had accompanied her on her walk in Hyde Park. Although he was quite sure they were both brunettes—their bonnets had covered most of their hair, but their eyebrows were visible—he now wondered if he had mixed up their identities.
Or had he?
The solicitor sighed and pulled open a desk drawer. He pulled out a bottle of Macallan scotch and two tumblers, setting them with a thud on the mahogany desktop. “I usually don’t imbibe until after luncheon, but I’m finding my day rather trying already,” Barton stated as he opened the bottle and poured three fingers’ worth into the glasses. He held one out to the startled marquess.
“Thank you,” Randall said as he took the glass, rather shocked the man would have such good liquor in his office, let alone offer him such a generous portion.
The solicitor lifted his glass and held it out. “To chits who don’t know any better,” he said.
Randall blinked and held up his glass. “To chits,” he said before taking a sip of the smoky liquid.
Barton did the same, savoring the scotch before he allowed it to drip down his throat. “I was about to pen a note to a Runner I use for cases such as these,” he said as he indicated the parchment in front of him. “He’s rather good at investigating, especially when bank accounts go missing or an embezzler is involved. But I have a feeling that’s not the case in this instance.”
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