by D. L. Carter
Millicent’s gaze met Mr. Simpson and saw only resignation there.
“It is a shame our relatives are not in town,” continued Felicity. “It would make quite the event!”
“Yes. Shame,” muttered Millicent.
“You should accompany him.”
“Pardon?” Millicent was about to descend back into her daydream, but Felicity’s voice brought her to attention. “Me? Why me?”
“I am certain the earl will have questions about Mildred that only you could answer.”
Millicent groaned.
“Felicity, can you not be content with being an acquaintance of a duke? We have no need to pay calls upon Mr. Simpson’s distant relatives. Beyond an invitation to the wedding, I am certain Lord Edgeware requires no further notice.”
Felicity scowled. “You will call upon him. I insist. The acquaintance should not be permitted to lapse.”
Millicent opened her mouth to protest further, but was forestalled by Simpson rising to his feet.
“I have His Grace’s carriage with me since the ladies will be certain to need yours.”
Millicent allowed herself to be ushered from the room, given her overcoat, and near pushed out of the house. Once she stood upon the footpath, she settled her coat and stared at her cousin-in-law to be.
“Why do you want to do this? I thought you a man of sense.”
“I am. Mrs. Boarder is the one who ferreted out the earl’s presence in London and she who insisted we should pay a call.”
“That does not surprise me.” Millicent followed Simpson into the waiting carriage noting as she did so that Simpson had brought the one with the heraldic device on the side. She cast Simpson a worried glance. Simpson gave her a reassuring smile and turned to wave at his mother-in-law to be who watched from the drawing room window. The carriage lurched into motion. Once they had turned the corner and were out of sight, Simpson flipped a length of heavy wool over the heraldic device on the door.
“Thank goodness for that,” said Millicent, letting out a breath. “I thought you had lost your mind.”
“Let me set your mind further to rest and tell you that His Grace is aware of Mrs. Boarder’s request and has granted permission for us to use the carriage this morning. Further, he suggests that you make use of it should you have any further errands this afternoon.”
Millicent grinned broadly. It was almost worth the embarrassment of paying an uninvited call on a high-ranked stranger when she would have the reward of time with Shoffer.
“Mr. North…” Simpson flushed and turned away.
“Simpson? Is there … have you found something else for me to buy?”
Simpson’s smile faded quickly.
“My dear Simpson, you appear troubled. Have you changed your mind about Mildred?”
“No. No! Mildred is everything that is a delight. I cannot imagine my life without her.”
“I am happy for you.” Millicent peered closer at Simpson. “You do not appear to be happy.”
Simpson stared down at his hands. “Mr. North, I regret having to raise this subject with you, but it has been brought to my attention that…”
He stopped speaking and stared out of the window, a dark flush staining his face.
“Ah.” Millicent sighed. “You have heard those dreadful rumors, I suppose.”
Simpson nodded.
“Do not worry. Shoffer brought that to my attention some time ago.”
“Of course, His Grace is an honorable man and the fact he continues to associate with you is taken by many as proof that the accusations have no weight.”
Millicent’s eyes narrowed. There was a note in Simpson’s voice, a hesitation. Perhaps he thought, as others did, the opposite was true. That the continued association was proof.
“And you, what do you believe?” inquired Millicent.
“Forgive me, Mr. North…”
“Oh, no. Let us not speak of forgiveness. Speak out if you must. Have some courage!”
“Very well. I am troubled by the effect your reputation will have on my family.”
“This peer upon whom we are forced to call?”
“Exactly. He is a man known for high moral principles and fierce adherence to biblical precepts.”
“Spare me the details. What do you require? That I tell my cousin I suddenly remembered an important meeting and left you to face your uncle alone?”
“That would do … as a beginning.”
This time Millicent turned fully on her seat to face Simpson. Her voice dropped to its deepest register and she scowled at him.
“The only reason I do not call you out is that Mildred would strangle me and Felicity would crush my bones to powder should this wedding not take place. I offered to retreat from London when the rumors started, but His Grace directed otherwise. You should keep in mind, Mr. Simpson, that His Grace has already begun planning for the summer. We shall be doing a tour of our estates, together. Accustom yourself, sir, to facing down whispers and hints and stares for they shall continue to be a part of your life if you remain in His Grace’s employ, married to my cousin!” She gave a hard rap on the roof and the carriage slowed. “But for now, out of sympathy for your uncle’s delicate sensibilities and the very distant possibility that he might include you in his will, I shall leave you to be Daniel to his lion.”
With that she swung herself down to the street, turned her back on the carriage, and strode away. She did not pay attention to where she was and the quality – or lack of it – of the persons sharing the street for a quarter hour. It was not until she dodged a particularly foul smell emanating from an alley that she shook herself into awareness and took note of her environs. She was, she realized, in one of the worst of London’s stews. The lane was narrow, the ground beneath her feet covered in filth, and the people on the street either ignored her or stared in a threatening manner. She resumed walking at her previous rapid pace, aware that several watchers fell in behind her. Millicent’s throat tightened and her mouth dried. Bad enough to be outed as female by the ton, but she would not speculate what could happen if these men discovered her secret. She tried to keep her face impassive as she sought up and down the road for some sign, some path of escape.
Outside one rickety house stood a cluster of slovenly women with dresses that the seamstress seemed to have forgotten to put bodices on. Grinning, Millicent hurried to that house. The ladies welcomed the fresh faced lad she appeared to be and ushered her into the house. The parlor was as filthy and smelly as the street and Millicent did not want to think how long it had been, if ever, since the ladies pressing against her had bathed. Smiling as gallantly as she could, Millicent bowed to the rotund prioress of the bawdy house in which she had taken shelter.
“My dear lady. I do apologize for my sudden entrance. I began to suspect the gentlemen on the street outside would deprive you of the opportunity of robbing me.”
The madam smiled in return displaying a mouth in which teeth were honored more in memory than in presence. “Always ho’ored to have the fancy visit,” she said, extending her hand toward the whores. “What is it yo’re wanting this fine day?”
“I want to get home alive.” At the madam’s rude chuckle, Millicent continued. “Forgive me, dear lady. My name is Mr. Anthony North, and while I am certain that…”
She got no further.
“Mr. North,” cried one of the ladies. “We was reading about you just last night.”
“Really?” Millicent could not work out what made her more astonished. That the dirty woman facing her could read or that reading gossip sheets was the entertainment of bored whores?
One of the older, tinier ladies simpered. “I’d some lessons when I was younger,” she admitted somewhat sadly, her accent hinting at some gentility in her history. “And the gents leave their papers behind sometimes, so I read the society gossip.”
Millicent was astonished. Mr. North’s reputation had reached all the way down here? What would Shoffer say?
“
Dead useful for lining me shoes, papers,” said a woman with unbelievably red hair.
“That use I will acknowledge,” said Millicent. “I realize there is a fee to be paid for your aid, but I have wandered far from home and need assistance to return to more familiar streets.”
Negotiations with the madam took some time. A messenger, the madam’s grandson, was fetched and sent out to find a cabbie brave or stupid enough to come this deep into the stews. Then Mr. North paid a fee for a few of the ladies to go out and distract the men watching the house. While Millicent waited for the messenger and hackney to arrive, she entertained the madam and her senior employees with tales of the entertainments and excesses of the Haute ton. To her complete astonishment the women demanded to be taught the “fan language of cats just like proper ladies.” That occupied Millicent for over an hour. The ladies were as eager for entertainment and distraction as the most jaded matrons of the ton.
“Do you not want to go upstairs a while with one of my lasses?” inquired Mrs. Harvey, the prioress.
Millicent shook her head and launched into another funny story. She was searching her memory for another anecdote when the brothel door crashed open and three men charged in. Millicent tried to leap up, but she was sharing a couch with four ladies and could not move. The leader of the men, an unwashed thug with a vicious slashing scar across his face, dove at Millicent with his knife only to be knocked to one side by the madam – using a chair. The second man was hailed by one of the whores who recognized him as her long absent husband and chased him from the room. The last tripped and fell upon the first man’s knife.
Millicent was the only one in the room to jump back in horror. The only one to gasp and tremble. The ladies were more concerned with the damage done to the carpet.
“I am dreadfully sorry to leave you with such a mess,” said Millicent when her voice returned.
Mrs. Harvey was more sanguine.
“’Tis no more than I have dealt with on other nights,” she assured him. “He will find his way down to the Thames tonight. Like as not, no one will care enough to look for him.”
“Well, that is ah … it is comforting to be in the presence of an efficient housekeeper.”
Mrs. Harvey laughed. Not long after her grandson returned and escorted Millicent to a filthy hackney. It did not escape Millicent’s attention that the boy climbed on the back of the hackney and hung on all the way across London. When Millicent finally reached Maricourt Square, she staggered up the front steps and almost threw herself into Merit’s arms, so great was her relief. Shortly thereafter, she was resting in her office with a cup of tea, her feet up on the couch and issuing orders to a gathering of her male employees.
“I want hourly tours of the lower floors, in pairs,” said Millicent. “One footman with a pistol in the front hall, all the hours of the night. None of the ladies are to walk to or from the carriage without escort of at least two footmen.”
“How long must we keep up these precautions?” asked a pale Merit.
“Until the end of the season,” said Millicent. “Mrs. Harvey is a charming individual, but I am not happy that she knows my address.”
“You should have paid her off.”
“I gave her quite enough. Consider that this is my paranoid nature speaking.”
Merit sighed and nodded. “I must say, Mr. North, life in your household is never dull.”
The butler went to the door and paused, one hand on the doorknob before returning to stand before Millicent’s chair.
“Yes, Merit?”
“I must say, sir, that I have enjoyed serving your household this season.”
“Thank you, Merit.”
“And, if you would keep me in mind when you return next year, I would appreciate the opportunity to serve again.”
Millicent regarded him with a smile. “Let me see. You have survived the worst of Felicity’s outbursts and tolerated our country manners and demands with skill and calm. The only problem I see, Merit, preventing your continuous employment with my family, is that I have no plans to keep a London house, and our residences in Bath and elsewhere require a housekeeper rather than a butler.”
“In what way is not a butler superior to a housekeeper? I can manage both roles.”
“We do not entertain much.”
“Is that your will, or the lady’s?”
Millicent closed her eyes. Today’s frights and starts left her exhausted to her bones, but that did not mean that she would not be rising soon to dress and prepare to take her family out to yet another night of entertainments. Last winter in Bath, Felicity had taken her daughters to every event for which she could wrangle an invitation. This year Mildred was marrying into the household of a duke. Like as not, Felicity would take advantage of that connection, and Mr. North’s money, to make her mark in country society.
“I will speak to Felicity, Merit. Would you be willing to travel? Supervise a household in Bath for the winter, summer rentals at Bristol? Wherever she should be?”
“I would be honored,” said Merit with a bow and departed to supervise the defense of Maricourt Square.
That, it appeared, settled that. Having Merit to bully around would keep Felicity entertained when Millicent was away.
Life was settling into patterns that would continue into the foreseeable future. Millicent would travel with Shoffer, endless summer weeks. The Boarder women were safe, their dowries and annuities arranged.
Millicent smiled into the fireplace. The only shadow on her life was that dreadful rumor. With luck and a little time, the ton would find another distraction.
Her smile faded. As long as Attelweir continued to pursue little Beth the rumor would continue. Attelweir would see to that.
Setting her tea cup aside, she rose and began pacing the room. There must be a way to discourage that lecher. She would have to discuss the matter with Shoffer.
* * *
The bridal plans of the family of Mr. North were much discussed by their temporary staff and, in the manner of all things gossiped, the story traveled outside the walls of Number Six Maricourt Place, across garden fences, down the street, across town, and into the eager ears of the ton matrons. And, in the manner of gossip, the story twisted and evolved until they no longer spoke of the marriage of Mildred Boarder and Edgar Simpson, secretary to the Duke of Trolenfield, but of the Duke of Trolenfield and his soon to be closer bond with the family of Mr. North.
* * *
The betrothal party of Boarder and Simpson began well. As a kindness to his long-time secretary, Shoffer collected Lord Edgeware in his own carriage to transport him to Vauxhall. Simpson and Mildred accompanied them so as to have the opportunity to converse with Simpson’s great uncle; by the time they had reached Vauxhall, Mildred had dazzled the Lord with her willingness to sit silently and listen to the older man talk.
Lord Edgeware was quite convinced he had never met such an intelligent woman. Once the whole party reached the rented dining box, Felicity and Beth wrestled for control of the gathering. Beth tried to seat the guests by friendship instead of rank while Felicity wanted to place herself between Shoffer and Lord Edgeware and have all the others, in descending order of rank, radiate down from her position. Millicent retreated to the unpopular corner which placed her back to the dance floor, but gave her the freedom to stare up the length of the table to Shoffer, a view she much preferred. The party was congenial; the conversation was not brilliant, but flowed smoothly. Millicent, under orders not to offend their guest, spoke only when directly addressed and made no jokes. She did not realize there was a problem until she saw an expression of total shock cross Shoffer’s face; he came to his feet, staring at the door of their dining box.
“Grandmother,” he gasped. “Could that be you?”
Millicent swung around in her chair, nearly tipping it over in her haste.
There, her face and body almost concealed by a dark domino, was the Dowager Duchess of Trolenfield. At her shoulder, stood Attelweir, leering a
t the gathering.
“The most dreadful news came to me only an hour since,” said Lady Philomena, pushing the door open and climbing into the box. “You are here for an engagement party?”
“Certainly,” said Shoffer, “although, I cannot think of a reason for you to concern yourself.”
“It is true, then,” gasped Lady Philomena. “You are so lost to decency, to honor and rank, as to bind yourself to this … rabble.”
Millicent glanced back toward Shoffer, realizing only then that Mildred was seated at his right hand.
“I did not believe the gossip when I heard it,” continued Lady Philomena “I never thought you would choose someone with no lineage to recommend her. Come away at once. Repudiate this unworthy alliance.”
“Ma’am, I have no objections to my secretary marrying a young woman of good family.”
The dowager paused, confused.
“Your Grace,” continued Shoffer, “we are gathered today to celebrate the betrothal of Mr. Simpson to Miss Mildred Boarder.”
The dowager deflated, pressing a hand to her throat.
“Oh, thank the Lord. Attelweir came to me with the tale that was spreading about London that you were about to marry much below your rank.” The dowager squeezed her way past the diners and seized her grandson’s arm. “I feared you lost to all reason. Come away now before you are seen and this family attempts to take advantage of the rumors to force your hand.”
Shoffer scowled at Attelweir and shook himself free of his grandmother’s hand.
“Your opinion would have no weight, even if it were true. Since you are not here to celebrate with us, please feel free to depart.”
“I must insist you accompany me, and, Elizabeth, come away at once.”
“I am staying here with my friends.”
Millicent was pleased to note that Beth’s voice did not shake.
“We are comfortably settled here,” continued Beth, “and have no plans to depart until our entertainment is done.”