“And a very handsome head it is, too, dear, didn’t you think?”
“No,” Maylene lied. “I found his eyes too cold”—they saw too much—“his mouth too full”—of cynical comments—“and his nose too prominent.” He’d been sniffing out a hoax all night.
Her mother ignored the obvious taradiddle. No female in her right mind, from seven to seventy, would find the earl anything less than heart-stoppingly attractive. “You know,” she said, “’tis an accepted fact that he disdains the social world.”
“The beau monde, Mama, not the demimonde. The man has a terrible reputation as a womanizer.”
Lady Tremont went on as if her daughter hadn’t spoken. “And I would not have supposed that such a sophisticated gentleman would be interested in exploring the afterworld with us, yet there he was at our little gathering.”
“He is only interested in exposing us as shams and having us barred from crossing Polite Society’s thresholds entirely.”
“But he said he was coming back. He was very adamant about that, too.”
“He is only returning to defend his friend Mondale from our clutches, Mama, nothing else.”
Her mother clucked her tongue and fluffed the lace at Maylene’s collar. “Perhaps his lordship has another reason, darling. He did seem to admire your, ah, gown.”
“He stared down my neckline, the cad!” Maylene now stared at her mother, aghast. Mama could not be considering Lord Hyatt as a prospective suitor for her spinster daughter, could she?
“You know,” Lady Tremont was saying, “I do not believe it is a love match between Lord Hyatt and Lady Belinda.”
Yes, she could. Maylene’s “hah!” scattered half her papers across the desk. “The man loves nothing but his own consequence and his own pleasures.”
“Aunt Regina says he is devoted to his grandmother, who raised him, don’t you know. So he must have some tender sensibilities, dearest, under that…that commanding presence. And it is not like you to be so critical.” Her mother straightened the papers again.
“And you would find redeeming qualities in a slug, Mama.” If he were single. That Mama and Aunt Regina had already discussed Lord Hyatt meant the case was serious indeed. Good heavens, her mother truly was dicked in the nob. Maylene knew she had to nip this awful idea in the bud, on the instant. “Next you are going to tell me that he is kind to children and dogs,” she protested. “Save your breath, Mama, for the earl is of the breed of gentlemen who believe that women are inherently inferior, lacking in both intelligence and honor. You may be assured that the arrangement between Hyatt and his future wife is more in the nature of a bank merger than a love affair. They will blend titles and fortunes, land and power, not hearts and souls as the poets would have it.” And as Miss Maylene Treadwell would have it.
“Do you know,” Lady Tremont mused as if she were speaking with Max instead of her fuming daughter, “the engagement has never been announced. I believe we will have to find Lady Belinda and ask her wishes in the matter.”
Lady Belinda’s wishes did not matter a whit to Maylene. If Lord Hyatt were not promised to a duke’s daughter, he would be seeking the mother of his heir among the highest ranks of the ton at Almack’s; he would not be courting any impoverished ape-leader, at afterlife assemblies. And as for Maylene, well, she would rather marry Lord Shimpton.
*
“No wonder she ran away.”
That’s what the Treadwell chit had said, and it rankled. Socrates Hughes, Lord Hyatt, had been pursued by marriageable misses since his sixteenth birthday ten years ago. He’d never entertained the idea that the one he finally chose might reject his suit. He didn’t find the notion entertaining at all. And Mondale’s chit? He’d known Belinda since she was in pinafores, and the girl never had anything but sweet smiles for him. It wasn’t as though she could look much higher for a match either, for there were deuced few eligible dukes around, and most of them were affianced to their second cousins. Dash it, though, now she’d disappeared, and here was the Treadwell twit blaming him. That experience did not please Socrates either.
Was it true? He could not believe that Belinda could shame him this way, haring off rather than make their engagement formal. No, there had to be a rational explanation for her disappearance, and it was not to be found at Treadwell House on Curzon Street. Rational, hell. ’Twould be more like that rackety, frizzy-headed female to leave a man waiting on the church steps. At least Belinda was too well bred to do that. She’d gone to a house party with a group of friends a fortnight ago, but left the party on her own after a few days, saying she’d received a note that her dearest aunt was ailing. But she hadn’t gone in any carriage of the duke’s, she hadn’t arrived at her relative’s in Wales, and her aunt was in the pink of health.
Hyatt had not given her a disgust of himself. Hell, he hadn’t even attended the house party—or any of the other inane festivities of a debutante Season. Giving up his bachelorhood was enough of a sacrifice.
Belinda’d been a success, of course. A pretty duke’s daughter with a pretty dowry could not be anything less than a Toast.
But she hadn’t favored any gentleman above the others, according to the widowed cousin who acted as her chaperone. That woman was no help, prostrate with grief at having lost her charge, and most likely her position, too.
Mondale feared foul play, since Belinda was a considerable heiress. But a ransom note would have arrived by now, Hyatt reasoned. And if some dirty dish had abducted her to force a marriage—and a hefty marriage settlement out of the duke—then Mondale would have received notice by now, with demands for her dowry.
The earl could not believe she’d simply eloped under the casual eye of the cousin. Belinda was too refined, too aware what was due her name and his. She never had a hair nor a word out of place, never wore an article of clothing nor held a belief that was not in the highest kick of fashion. He would not have offered for her otherwise. If he had to have a wife in the interests of securing the succession, Hyatt would make dashed sure she wasn’t the type of female to cut up a man’s peace. Unlike Miss Treadwell. His mind wandered of its own accord to that misfortunate miss, with her ugly shawls, moppish hairdo, and outspoken, outré opinions. He pitied the poor devil who took that termagant to wife. To bed was another matter….
No, Lord Hyatt wanted a well-bred mother for his heirs, that was all. He had competent housekeepers and experienced mistresses for everything else. He did not want the begetting of those heirs to be a burden, naturally, so he’d made sure Mondale’s girl was pleasant to look at, with a modicum of intelligence. Lady Belinda suited him, Hyatt told himself again. And she had understood the nature of the arrangement before she’d shyly smiled and agreed.
He had not frightened her off, either. The chaste kiss he pressed on her sweet lips was almost avuncular, telling her without words that he’d not make undue demands on her.
He couldn’t help wondering how Miss Treadwell’s lips would taste, if they were not pursed in disapproval or issuing cutting remarks. Well, he had a few things to say to her, too. Thanks to her and her mother’s cozy party of ghost-gabblers, Belinda’s disappearance was about to become public knowledge. Oh, they’d all agreed to respect Mondale’s need for secrecy. The missing chit would be ruined if any of the ton’s high sticklers discovered she was not where she was supposed to be. Hyatt, however, did not trust a one of the spirit-seekers not to share the tidy tidbit of gossip over tea: Hyatt’s filly had done a flit. Soc didn’t give a rap for Society’s opinion of him—his of them was not high, either—but neither did he relish becoming a laughingstock at his clubs. An earlier announcement of the engagement would have to be made, he decided, to stop the rumors. Until Belinda was found, however, nothing could be done except try to keep her disappearance quiet. Which meant he had to try to dissuade Mondale from returning to Lady Tremont’s spectral sitting room.
“You cannot believe that gammon, Duke,” Lord Hyatt said over a brandy at White’s. There were no further rep
orts from Bow Street or the hired investigators, and the man was looking more haggard than ever.
Mondale raised his glass, but merely stared into the dark swirls. “What, that old Crowley was skimming past our heads or that Patterson’s pooch returned to life ten years younger?” He managed a half smile. “No, I did not believe those clangers. Yet there is Volstead’s story. You cannot deny the man came into a fortune. I saw him repay a gambling debt to you with my own eyes.”
“They searched his book room. I’m sure there are misplaced papers and lost letters in every library in London. It only takes time and effort to find them, not the hand of God—or Lady Tremont.”
“Yes, but there is something. Call it women’s intuition or whatever. I remember that my Araminta had a knack for knowing when I’d be returning from a journey. No matter how many days early or late I arrived, my favorite meal would be waiting for me. She said she just knew. That’s it!” His Grace set his untouched glass back on the table between them and leaned forward excitedly. “I’ll ask Lady Tremont to try to contact Minty. Surely she’ll know where our only girl’s gone.”
Lord Hyatt finished his drink. Then he finished the duke’s.
Chapter Eight
“I have come, Miss Treadwell, to invite you for a drive in the park.”
If Lord Hyatt had said he’d come to sack Rome, Maylene couldn’t have been more surprised. In fact, if the large, haughty gentleman had declared war on some small country, challenged Max’s ghost to a duel, or accused them all of heresy, she would be less astounded than at this polite offer. The fact that the Earl of Hyatt was in her mother’s drawing room that afternoon, with no ducal friend to protect and with no séance scheduled, was amazing enough. And he was perfectly shaved. “A drive?”
He bowed his head ever so slightly. “A drive. In the park. You and I.”
So now he thought she was stupid, besides greedy, grasping, and felonious. Maylene put down her pencil, which rolled off the desk. “You and I, my lord, have nothing to say to each other.”
The earl bent to pick up the pencil, leaning over her closely enough to be heard by the other guests. “On the contrary, Miss Treadwell, I have a great deal to say. And I believe you would prefer to hear it in the relative privacy of the park rather than here.”
Since the drawing room was filled with spirit-seekers, curiosity-seekers, and just plain seekers, Maylene had to agree. She’d been at the writing desk in the corner, taking notes, but now she could feel all of the company watching her. “Actually, I prefer not to hear whatever it is you feel inspired to say. I’d wager it will prove to be as unpleasant as your company last evening.”
Studying the point on her writing tool, Hyatt drawled, “Au contraire, Miss Treadwell, my company last night was everything delightful.”
Maylene could not miss his meaning. The man was a libertine! The sooner he was gone, the better for her pulse rate. “Good day, my lord.”
The chit was going to refuse his invitation out of hand? In front of a pack of gullible gossipmongers? By George, she’d accompany him out the door if he had to drag her by that ridiculous mop of hair. The ribbon threaded through the blond curls was having as much effect as a rock had on a flowing river. “Has no one told you that it is discourteous to reject an invitation without a good excuse?”
She took out a fresh sheet of paper. “I am busy, and I do not like you.” And she would not fuel her mother’s aspirations. “Is that sufficient excuse?”
Hyatt sucked in his breath. “You are the most unmannerly chit I have ever met.”
“And you, sir, are the most arrogant man I have ever encountered.”
The pencil snapped between his fingers. “No wonder you are still unwed.”
“How dare you! Especially since you are equally unmarried. Recall that it wasn’t my betrothed who fled, my lord, but yours.” She pulled out a drawer to find another pencil, but tugged too hard in her annoyance, and the drawer and its contents went flying. “Now see what you’ve made me do!”
Every other conversation in the room had died. Campbell gestured for one of the footmen to fetch a dust pan, but no one else was budging, waiting to see what happened next. Maylene was mortified. His lordship’s previously pristine white shirtfront and brocaded waistcoat both had spots of ink on them. Heavens, now he would think her clumsy in addition to the rest of her faults, and deem Treadwell House a rag-mannered residence. At least the butler was not taking tea with the guests as he had last night.
Her traitorous mother came toward them, close enough to wipe an ink stain off Maylene’s cheek. She was nodding her approval. “Wasn’t that lovely of the earl to offer you a ride through Hyde Park, May? He asked my permission first, naturally. Such courtesy. I told him you would he delighted with the treat. You know you’ve been wishing to get out more, dearest, and the weather is quite perfect, for once.”
“But Mrs. Ingraham’s journals…”
“Have been missing this long, dear. They can stay lost another hour or so. Besides, I feel certain Max will have some information about them for us tonight. Or perhaps tomorrow.” Lady Tremont floated across the room in a cloud of lavender gauze drapery, pausing to make an appointment with one lady and to answer questions about Max for another.
Maylene knew there was nothing for it but to accept the earl’s invitation, not without making a scene, and she’d already done that. She could stall, though. “Perhaps we can go later, when my mother would be free to join us. She could use the fresh air and exercise also.”
Socrates jerked his head toward the window, where Maylene could see a groom walking a pair of sleek chestnuts hitched to an elegant rig. An equipage like that hadn’t been seen in front of Treadwell House since her father died. No, not even before. Baron Tremont never had enough blunt for such pricey horseflesh, and never had a good eye for it. Maylene was sorely tempted.
“Lady Tremont can come another time,” Hyatt was saying. “But the horses cannot be left standing much longer. Furthermore, I brought the curricle today, and there is only room for two.”
“Then I cannot come.” Maylene was disappointed and relieved at the same time. “Such an excursion would be highly improper. I do know how Polite Society works, my lord.”
“Then you should know that is perfectly acceptable for a young lady to ride with a gentleman in an open carriage in full view of the others. My groom will be chaperon enough, standing behind the seats.”
Maylene waved her hand at the garnered guests. Unfortunately she was still holding the opened ink bottle. Now Hyatt had spots on his cheeks and chin. She blushed, but set the bottle down. “I cannot leave my mother to entertain alone, my lord. I shall have to refuse your so-kind invitation.”
Hyatt reached across her to replace the drawer, his sleeve brushing the bare skin on her arms. “I never took you for a coward, Miss Treadwell.”
He might think her foolish, feckless, and fraudulent, but Maylene would be damned before she’d let the Ideal think she was afraid of him. “I shall go fetch my bonnet, my lord.”
Good, he thought, wiping his hands and face with the towel Campbell brought him. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about a bird mistaking her hair for a nest.
*
Maylene was impressed despite herself. The proper groom, the high-bred horses, the masterful way Hyatt held the ribbons, all combined to drown out her misgivings. Best of all, the earl was concentrating so hard on getting his spirited cattle through the city traffic that conversation was impossible. Without Hyatt’s habitual sneer to ruin her pleasure, Maylene could almost imagine herself as a fashionable young lady taking the air with a handsome beau among the rest of the nobility. For once she could pretend to be a marriageable miss whose greatest talent in life was painting pretty watercolors or playing the pianoforte.
Of course her gown was last year’s style. While Campbell tried to remove the ink stains from Hyatt’s waistcoat, Maylene had managed to scramble into her favorite Pomona green day dress, with Nora’s help. The new jo
nquil ribbons hid the gown’s worn spots very well, they’d agreed. Nora’s arthritic fingers were hopeless with Maylene’s hair as usual. One of these days she was going to cut it all off, Maylene swore, and be as scandalous as Caro Lamb with her shorn locks. For today, her chip straw bonnet, with its matching yellow ribbons, hid most of the unruly curls.
In all her finery, she looked the veriest dowd next to Hyatt, of course. His fawn breeches and form-fitting coat labeled him cock of the hill, whilst she was nothing but a mud hen. Still, the sun was shining, and he was not scowling—yet.
Once they reached the park, Hyatt tipped his hat or nodded to various acquaintances and pointed out notables to her. He never stopped the carriage to make introductions, which would have pleased her more, but she contented herself with thinking that he was minding the horses, not ashamed of his companion. He’d invited her, after all.
Hyatt took his cattle at a trot through the park, headed for less congested areas. While the ton came to promenade, to be seen and to see who was in whose carriage, he was hoping no one recognized the atrocious female in his. He had almost reached the shelter of a stand of trees, however, when they were accosted by a rider on a swaybacked gray gelding.
“Halloo, Miss Treadwell,” Lord Shimpton called.
The earl cringed, and not just for the way the booberkin bobbled about in the saddle. With enough sawing on the reins, Shimpton managed to turn his old hack—and everyone else’s attention—in their direction. As soon as they came to a stumbling halt, the gray put its head down to nibble at the grass. Shimpton would have gone over the beast’s neck, except for the death grip he held on the saddle.
“I say, Miss Treadwell,” he called over, “what a surprise to find you here. That is, Lady Tremont did say you were out driving with the Ideal, but I thought she must be imagining things. Not that I think she does, as a rule, no matter what some others might say. I may be slow—Mumsy always said I was dumber’n dirt—but I’m not stupid enough to believe a bouncer like that. But here you are.”
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