by Anita Mills
By the time he reached Davenham House, the watch was calling ten-thirty and Tony’s stomach was becoming insistent. Noting with no small measure of satisfaction that the lights were still on in the front saloons, Tony stepped down from the coach, admonishing his driver to wait for him. Adjusting the sleeves of his coat, he whistled a soft tune and prepared to beard the lioness in her den.
Stodgill, belatedly answering Tony’s determined knocking, stepped back to allow him admittance. “Lord Lyndon,” he acknowledged with the imperturbability born of his occupation.
“Hallo, Stodgy—m’aunt still about?”
“Taking her brandy before retiring. I shall—”
“No, I’d as lief announce myself, if you do not mind,” Tony murmured, stepping past the aging butler. “Rose room?”
“Aye, my lord, but—”
“Thank you.”
The old fellow shrugged perceptibly and moved back. Lord Lyndon had run tame in the house since he could walk and had never been known to stand on ceremony with the duchess anyway. “As you wish, my lord, but her temper’s not the best tonight.”
Tony found his aunt and Mrs. Buckhaven sitting before a small fire, his aunt sipping her brandy and Bucky quietly plying her embroidery needle to what appeared to be a pillowslip. He moved into the room before clearing his throat audibly to gain their attention. Startled by the intrusion, his aunt’s mousy companion jumped visibly.
“Oh, my lord!” she tittered with the nervousness born of sudden fright.
“Eh . . . what . . . ?” His aunt twisted her neck around to survey him irritably, and then she relaxed her frown enough to greet him with, “Oh, ’tis you, Tony. Naughty boy—you have overset Bucky.” Her black eyes traveled over him, taking in his evening clothes. “Humph! In my day, a gentleman wore silks and satins at night—don’t know why they call ’em dandies now when they are plain as Methodists! Well, well, do not be standing there gaping, Anthony! You ain’t here for dinner, but you must have reason, else you’d not have come.”
He crossed the room to plant an affectionate kiss on her rouged and wrinkled cheek. His eyes twinkled as he leaned closer to tease her, “I am come to share my good fortune with you, you old Tartar, but now I’ve half a mind to hold my tongue.”
“Is this going to cost me?” she demanded suspiciously.
“Not a penny, I promise you.”
“They found your ship afloat, and ‘twas but rumor it sank,” she ventured to guess, intrigued in spite of herself.
“Alas, no, but I think you will be pleased.”
“Humph! How can I be expected to be pleased when my only nevvy’s wasted his fortune on a leaky ship?” she queried tartly. “And don’t tell me you ain’t in dun territory, Tony, because ’tis all over town that you are.” Out of the corner of her eye she noted Mrs. Buckhaven’s acute interest and put a damper to it. “Bucky, see if Mrs. Cox has any of those sweet cakes left over in the kitchen. I’ll be bound that Tony’d have one or two if he was offered ’em.”
She waited impatiently for the woman to reluctantly lay aside her needlework and go in search of the dessert. “And pray close the door behind you.” Turning back to Tony as the latch clicked shut, she fixed him with those sharp eyes of hers. “Now, I’ll not be put off, Anthony—out with it.”
“Poor Bucky,” he murmured, drawing out the suspense. “If you do not take care, you’ll find yourself alone one of these days.”
“Humph! Much you know of it then,” she retorted. “If you was around here more, you’d know I am more of a companion to her than she is to me. Poor thing cannot seem to do anything but sew, you know. But I did not send her away to speak of her—’tis you who concerns me.”
He appeared absorbed in adjusting his coat sleeve for a moment, and then he looked up, flashing her that engaging smile of his. “Have you ever heard of Jeptha Cole, Aunt Hester?”
“Cole? Oh . . . I collect you mean the fellow who made all that money building ships,” she decided.
“Not building them, Aunt—sailing them. He speculates on rich cargoes, trading at ports all over the world. Rich as Croesus, by all accounts.”
“Shows you that you ought to leave trade to men of his class,” she sniffed. “They know what they are doing.”
“Wish me happy, Aunt Hester.”
She blinked, unable to quite assimilate the sudden shift in the direction of his conversation. “You are getting married Tony?” she asked blankly. “But just last week—”
“Jeptha Cole is to be my father-in-law.”
“What!” she gasped in shock. “You cannot be serious! The man is a Cit!”
“A rich Cit,” he reminded her bluntly. “I thought you’d be pleased,” he added untruthfully.
“Pleased?” Her voice rose in a shriek of displeasure. “You cannot have thought such a thing, Anthony Barsett! Do you not know what you owe your name, Boy? No, I won’t have it—I’ll not countenance such an association with my family!”
“He offered forty thousand in settlement.” He had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen in shock at the enormity of the offer. “Just so—a man in my circumstances would be a fool to reject such a sum.”
“Forty thousand?” Her mouth made a round O, emphasizing the “thou,” and she sank back in her seat. “Surely not,” she managed weakly. “ ’Tis a fortune.” Her bony hands gripped the padded arms of the chair until the veins stood out even more prominently than usual. Then, as the initial shock waned, she exhaled heavily and shook her head. “Even so, you should have come to me if your pockets were let that badly, Tony.”
“You said you would not help me,” he reminded her. “Jeptha Cole will.”
“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” she admitted. “But I also told you I’d not let you go to Newgate. If you’d only explained the extent of your losses, Tony, I’d have seen you come about—and you cannot say you did not know it.”
“I did not want to know. ’Tis not your responsibility to pay for my mistakes, Aunt Hester.”
“Do not be getting noble with me, Tony Barsett!” she snapped. “I’d as lief settle your debts myself as see you marry a Cit! I suppose the girl smells of the shop—or have you even see her?”
“Leah Cole will be a credit to you, I promise. There is nothing displeasing in her looks, and as for her manners . . .” He stopped, recalling the way she’d looked earlier. “Well, all I can say is the chit’s as high in the instep as you are. In fact, she views me with about as much enthusiasm as you view her. And she’s got a devil of a temper.”
“She didn’t want you?” his aunt asked incredulously. “Surely not—not with your looks and address. I’ll not believe it. Why, you are a veritable Corinthian, Tony! And you are a Barsett, after all.”
“Think on it—I’ll not be the last one if I marry,” he cajoled.
“But this Cole person—everyone knows that he is but a Cit. Tony, even if this girl is a paragon, which I am not ready to concede, there is Mr. Cole.”
“On his last legs. Wants to see his girl settled before he pops off.”
“That kind live forever,” she countered. “I ought to know—been threatening it for years, but I don’t mean it.”
“He had some sort of attack tonight, Aunt Hester. I thought for a moment he’d bought his ticket already.” He leaned closer and put his hands on her chair arms. “She is his only child, Aunt Hester.”
“Even so—”
“She stands to inherit a fortune as big as yours—bigger maybe.” Backing off, he walked over to lean on the mantelpiece. “Not that I want the old fellow to pass on, you understand. Miss Cole is uncommonly fond of her parent, by the looks of it, and I’d not distress her for the world.”
The duchess opened her mouth and closed it without uttering a sound. After eyeing him suspiciously for a moment, she found her voice. “Tony,” she asked finally, “have you thrown your hat over the windmill for this girl?”
It was his turn to
be silent as he considered the answer. “I don’t . . . Yes, Aunt Hester, I think I have.” He met her eyes almost sheepishly, nodding. “ ’Tis rich, isn’t it—Lyndon caught by a Cit, of all things.”
“Well, why did you not say so?” she uttered bracingly. “Puts an entirely different complexion on the matter! When you speak to me like a gazetted fortune-hunter, I know the cheese is rotten! Have too much pride to marry for money! Dash it—you are a Barsett!” She hobbled to her feet and made her way to face him. “But if it’s the gel herself you want, and not her father’s fortune, then that’s a different tune.” Her black eyes softened as they scanned his face. “Will I like her, do you think?” she asked him.
He was taken aback by her sudden about-face and knew not what to make of it. He’d expected to insinuate that he’d had to take Leah Cole out of desperation and to enlist her aid in presenting his betrothed to society. Never in his furthest imagination could he have thought she’d see through the ploy. But she was a downy one, when one considered the matter. In spite of himself, he grinned. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “She’ll put every Incomparable on the Marriage Mart to shame, I can tell you, but she’s not insipid in the least. And she’s certainly not in the conventional style. I have never seen eyes like hers.”
“You sound besotted.”
“Oh, I am not blind to her faults, Aunt Hester—I suspect she’s a bluestocking and a reformer—but I am willing to wager you will think her an Original.”
“As long as she ain’t peculiar-acting. Well, you have seen enough females to know your mind, I suppose,” she decided. “Then there is no help for it, is there? If you are caught, we will have to see the girl established. I would not for the world behave shabbily to your wife, Tony, and I’d not see her cut by the ton either. Mind you, I do not like it that she is a Cit, but if she carries on the Barsett line, I’ll give her her due.”
“Interrupted by a timid knock at the door, the old woman barked impatiently, “Yes—what is it?”
The door opened slowly to admit Mrs. Buckhaven bearing a small tray of sweet cakes. “Cook did not have many left,” she apologized as she set the tray down.
“Sweet cakes! Humph! Ring the bell-pull and see if there’s aught substantial left of dinner, Bucky! M’nevvy’s nigh famished—ain’t you?” she asked Tony. “Well, whilst you eat, we shall plan how best to present Miss Cole this Season. Bucky”—she turned her attention to her companion again—“we are opening Davenham House for a party in honor of m’niece-to-be. Tony’s marrying an Original! And, Bucky, do get my glass and a pen—we’ve got a guest list to plan. I mean to set the ton on their ears! Invite everybody! Give ’em enough to gossip about each other so’s they’ll leave the gel alone!”
“Everybody, Aunt Hester?” Tony asked, suppressing a grin.
“Everybody! Don’t mean to leave any of ’em out! Rakes, gamesters—the whole lot of ’em!”
“But, Your Grace—the Season calendar is set for April, I am sure,” Mrs. Buckhaven ventured timidly.
“Nonsense! London’s thin of company yet, ain’t it? Besides, ’tis Davenham House I am opening to them, Bucky—they’ll come.”
9
Having spent a sleepless night tortured by her fears for her father and nightmares of Lord Lyndon, Leah rose early and invaded her father’s chamber. To her relief, he looked much better, his color having improved greatly, and he was his usual irascible self. As she entered the room, she heard him muttering to his valet, “Damned Frenchie doctor.”
“I collect you were wishful of your morning coffee,” she greeted him as she took a tray from the retreating footman. “Well, Dr. Fournier says ’tis not a restful drink, and therefore—”
“I say hang Fournier—aye, and his prohibitions also,” he grumbled. “Afore long, there’ll not be a thing left to enjoy. A man might as well die and take his chances with perdition.”
Having listened to the doctor’s opinion last night that her father did indeed have a weak heart, she forbore to argue for fear of oversetting him. “Humor him and see to his rest,” he’d advised. So she held her tongue and set the tray on a bedside table, saying brightly, “You have not even looked to see what Monsieur prepared this morning, have you?”
“Don’t have to—ten to one, it ain’t fit for a man.” He raised his head to watch her lift the warming cover, then lay back. “Porridge! Ought to have known—pap fit only for a babe, I tell you! Well, I won’t have it, miss, and so I have told Wilson already! ‘If ’tis some damned horse mash,’ I told him, ‘I don’t want it.’ ” He eyed her with disfavor and shook his head. “And now here you bring it back to me.”
Unperturbed, she reached for the napkin and tucked it under his chin. “It will not make you as bilious as sausages will,” she observed mildly as she dipped the silver spoon into the bowl. Leaning over him, she held the spoon in front of him and waited.
“Overreaching yourself, ain’t you, missy!” he snapped. “I ain’t a babe to be fed.”
“Of course you are not,” she said soothingly, “but you must eat if you are to feel better. Hunger makes you ill-tempered, you know, and you must not overset yourself.” She held the spoon steadily. “If ’twere I who was sick, you’d do the same for me.”
“I ain’t sick—’twas but indigestion. Damme if I’m going to let you feed me, Leah. You can take that mess back from whence it came.” He struggled to sit up higher on the pillows, barking at his valet, “I’ll have my bath and my clothes now, I tell you. Ain’t missed a day at the docks in twenty-five years, and I’ll be hanged if I miss today—d’you hear me? And you, miss—d’you hear me also?”
“Very well, Papa.” Tears welled in her eyes as she rose from her perch on the edge of his bed. “You must forgive a daughter whose only wish is your health, for I know not how I shall go on when you are gone.” Slowly she replaced the cover over the bowl and started for the door with the tray. She had her hand on the doorknob before he called her back.
“Oh, very well!” he snapped. “Bring the nasty stuff back, puss, but for God’s sake let me feed myself!” He could not see the expression of triumph before she paused, her back still toward him, to school her face into bland meekness. “I said I’d eat it!” he repeated, goaded. And when she returned, he picked up the spoon, ready to eat. “Aye, you think you are a sly one, don’t you? Well, I ought to box your ears, but I daresay Lyndon’ll have to do it for me.”
“Papa, about Lord Lyndon. I—”
“I ain’t listening to it! My mind’s settled, Leah, and that’s all there is to the matter. I don’t know what Fournier told you, but he’s been pretty open with his budget to me, ’cause I asked ’im the first time I had a spell like last night. Got to give up all my pleasures, and I ain’t so sure I want to live without ’em.”
“Papa—”
“Thing is,” he continued, ignoring her interruption, “I got two things I care about in this world—you and my business, Leah—and it looks to me like I can take care of ’em both with Lyndon. Man’s got a good head for the business—oh, I know he lost his ship and cargo, but you can’t blame typhoons on ’im, you know. He was in a fair way to making a profit afore it happened.” He looked up at her troubled frown and shook his head. “I know you think him an empty-headed fool like the rest of the pack that call themselves Quality, but I don’t think so. Don’t know what it is about him, but I like him.” His piece said, he dipped his spoon into the cooled porridge and took a bite, shuddering with distaste as he swallowed.
“But one wants a different sort of man for a business partner than for a husband,” she offered helplessly. “I don’t—”
“You don’t like him,” he finished for her. “Well, that ain’t as important as you was to think. For one thing, you don’t know him yet, and for another, it don’t matter. Manage him. I ain’t seen a female yet as couldn’t get what she wanted from a man, if she went at it right. And I don’t mean sniffling and sniveling and giving ’im th
e cold side of your shoulder, either.”
“Just what do you mean?”
Instead of answering, he took another spoonful of the porridge and gulped it down. “Ugh! Well, I wish your mother was alive now more than ever, puss, ’cause there’s some things it ain’t proper for me to tell you, and I got no one to do it for me. Thing is, you are a fine-looking female, Leah, and if you was to play your hand right, you’d have Lyndon in your pocket—don’t look at me like that, dammit!”
“You want me to toadeat him—well, I won’t,” she muttered.
“Not toadeat—damme, girl, but for a bluestocking, you ain’t got good sense! What I am asking you to do when you are married is to . . .” He hesitated, floundering about for the words, and finally finished lamely, “ . . . well, be nice to him. You know, well . . . that is . . . Dash it, Leah! You’ve got to make him love you!”
“And just how am I to do that?” she asked with deceptive sweetness.
“How should I . . . Oh, the devil take it, Leah! You ain’t a slowtop! Make him want what he’s got at home, and he won’t go out lookin’ for something else.”
“If you think I am going to throw myself at Lord Lyndon’s head, Papa, you are very wide of the mark. I find his behavior offensive.”
“Back to that insult business, eh? Well, he knows better now—besides, you are to be his wife. He’ll give you your due—I am certain of it.” Before she could turn on him, he managed to get another congealed dollop of cereal into his mouth.
She bit back a sharp retort, reminding herself not to overset him. Instead, she merely sighed expressively and nodded. “Well, I hope you are right, Papa. ’Tis just . . . well, does it have to be Lord Lyndon? I mean, I think I should prefer even Rotherfield to him—and I do not even know the earl.”
Jeptha Cole choked and spit the cereal into a napkin. “Now that shows you ain’t been out! No, take Lyndon and be done. Go on—out with you, and let’s have no more of this nonsense.” As she leaned down to kiss him, he caught her hand, squeezing it. “Trust me, Leah—I am your papa. You run along and leave me be. It ain’t seemly for me to get up with you here.” He waited while she leaned down to brush his forehead with a kiss, and then he caught her hand. “Trust me in this, Leah.”