by Amy Lake
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lady Pamela regularly received visitors in the late mornings. The hour was a break from ton tradition, which decreed that calls should take place in the mid-afternoon, but it was her habit, and against this even Lady Detweiler could make no headway. For several days past the Marthwaites’ ball, however, Pam had accepted only cards. She had not been feeling quite the thing and told herself she needed rest, a brief respite from the ongoing social tides.
But this morning found her in the petit salon at her usual hour, determined that she would spend no more time in the dismals, that she would return to the usual activities of her days in London. Comfort was to be found, Pam decided, in routine.
Morning calls, given and received. An afternoon's shopping with Lady Detweiler. Walks in Green Park, or carriage rides with—
Well, with any gentleman who might request the pleasure of her company. Lady Pamela was ever popular among the males of the ton. The younger ones adored her beauty for itself, and the cachet of being seen with someone as exalted as Lady Pamela Sinclair had always set flocks of them at her feet. The older gentlemen appreciated her wit and common sense, Pam supposed. They knew she had no designs on their bachelorhood or fortune.
And she had no fear of improper advances from males of any age. The very few gentlemen who mistook matters, who imagined that the Earl of Ketrick's mistress could also be their own, had long since been sent on their way.
Lady Detweiler claimed that she took none of them seriously enough, young or old. Amanda thought she should marry. But Pam insisted that she felt no need for such a relationship. Her few years with Edward Tremayne had been pleasant, but they had still taught her that people were apt to hurt each other, even good people, and even when they meant no harm. The occasional wounds had not been deep for Edward and herself, and were quickly healed, but with ... someone else, the injury might be profound.
Still, Lady Pamela could have seven suitors by this time tomorrow, should she wish, and on this morning she felt that she would be delighted to accompany each and every one. There could be nothing better than a ride in the park with one of London's fine young dandies, nothing better than easy laughter and careless conversation. She would be released from all worry and thoughts of her own worth in the eyes of others.
She was an acceptable lady to everyone else, and if the Duke of Grentham had other ideas, c'est tant pis.
She had instructed Cook to prepare an especially fine plateau à thé for this morning, and had dressed in her newest acquisition from Madame Gaultier, a chemise dress of lavender chintz, high-waisted, the neckline set with lace. ‘Twas time, Lady Pamela felt, to look and feel her best, and to regain her previous enjoyment of London society.
Such as it was.
She was not worried about Lord Torrance, of course. London was a very big place. One could live there for years and years without happening across any given individual, so there was no need for concern that she might be walking in the park some fine morning and happen to see him, a female on his arm, perhaps, young and beautiful, all virginal smiles...
The Duke of Grentham's activities were of no concern to her.
A carriage rattled past on the street below and soon, to Lady Pamela's relief, she had visitors to attend to, and conversation to rescue her attention from her own thoughts. The Viscountess Lac-Chèvres and Lady Cartleigh were paying an early visit that morning; these two were not among the more sensible of her acquaintances, but lively and cheerful in their interests. Pam was chatting with them about the viscountess's young niece-married to a marquess at seventeen, my dears, such a coup!-when the butler announced Lady Detweiler.
"Good heavens,” said Lady Pamela, astonished to see Amanda awake at that hour. “Up at the crack of dawn?"
"Mmm,” replied Lady Detweiler, throwing off her shawl. Amanda looked disconsolately at the table, which was set with a pleasing variety of cakes, tiny sandwiches of cucumber and cress, and preserved fruits-but a lone samovar of tea.
"'Tis nothing but tea all the day long, then?"
"I'll send Maggie for coffee."
"Bother it, no,” said Amanda, already pouring herself a cup from the samovar. “Tea it shall be."
She sank into the nearest sofa, a steaming cup in hand, and Pamela had no time to wonder what had roused Lady Detweiler from a noon's sleep before the butler again appeared at the salon door.
"His grace, the Duke of Grentham,” announced Smithers.
His grace—
* * * *
Benjamin entered the salon, noticing several ladies present besides Lady Pamela. He should not have expected her to be alone, the duke realized. ‘Twould hardly be proper, at any rate, but what could they say to each other now, within the very public confines of this room? How could he make amends?
Amends? No. He had not come to seek forgiveness, Lord Torrance reminded himself. Not at all. His words at the ball had been unfortunate, perhaps, but Lady Pamela must have realized he had intended no offense. He had merely remarked, most offhand, that he had once offered her marriage.
Hardly an insult! There had been no need for her to fall into such a pet over a harmless accident of phrasing. And Lady Pamela herself had been most disagreeable, thought Benjamin. All that nonsense about scruples and requirements and acceptable ladies. Pah!
No, he had nothing to regret. He merely wanted to see her again, to make sure that she ... held no grudge.
Lady Pamela raised her head, her eyes meeting his, and for the moment the duke was confused. Who was to forgive? And who was to be forgiven?
* * * *
The Duke of Grentham stepped into the room, his tall frame and wide shoulders seeming to fill the doorway, his handsome face crinkling in an easy smile. Lady Cartleigh and the viscountess chirped in excitement, as Pam's heart leaped, slammed against her ribcage, and settled back into its accustomed place.
Lord Torrance-paying her a call? But what could he mean by it? After their most recent encounter, she had not expected to see him for ... forever. He had given her no sign, no communication, and here he was, smiling at her, after his insults of only days before! She could not cause a row, not in front of the other ladies. Pam took a deep breath and stepped forward in welcome.
"Lady Pamela,” said the duke, sweeping her a bow.
"Your grace,” she replied, dropping a quick curtsey. The lavender chintz of her skirts rustled over the carpet, and the golden curls of her hair fell forward into a halo around her shoulders. She thought, for a moment, that she heard a sharp intake of breath from the duke. But when she looked up he had already directed his attention to the other ladies in the room.
"Lady Detweiler,” said Lord Torrance, bowing to Amanda. “And might I have the pleasure?” His smile indicated the viscountess and Lady Cartleigh, who were nearly bouncing on the sofa in their anticipation.
Amanda made the introductions, and the duke spoke a few words with them, amiability itself, while Lady Pam waged a silent battle for composure. Three or four different women, all named Pamela Sinclair, seemed to have crowded into her head.
What could he mean, coming here-said one-after what we said to each other? After what he said to me?
He knows where I live, said a second voice, rather pleased. He has troubled to find my home.
Don't be ridiculous, said another. Half the ton must know where Lady Pamela Sinclair lives; ‘twould be a slow-top indeed who could not suss it out.
Pam wished them all to the devil. The duke had remained standing; she offered him the seat furthest from her own.
"Your ... my lord,” she said, “we are honored."
He took a step forward, in her direction, and Lady Pamela had to stop herself from matching it with a step of her own in retreat. The duke was an imposing figure, and his costume this morning was the match of any lord of the ton. A coat of camel superfine, cut-away and tailored to a perfect fit, the neckcloth tied in a simple, elegant knot.
Only after a moment's blank stare, as she held her ground
, did Pam notice that Lord Torrance held something in his hands.
Flowers. Pleasure flooded through her, even as she told herself that ‘twas nothing, ‘twas no more than a commonplace to bring flowers when visiting a lady with whom one had shared a dance. But the bouquet was not common in its beauty, and the other women murmured appreciation as Lady Pamela took it from his hands, as she inhaled the strong fragrance of the white blooms.
Lilies in September. However had Lord Torrance managed to find anything so lovely?
"Oh ... goodness. Thank you—"
"Maggie,” called Amanda, motioning toward the flowers. She cast an amused glance at Lady Pam.
The maid took the bouquet from her nerveless hands, and Lady Pamela retreated to her own seat, offering Lord Torrance cakes and sandwiches, pouring him a cup of tea. She felt as though she were merely going through the motions, an automaton. As if the tension between them was palpable to everyone in the room.
But the duke seemed sincerely grateful. And hungry ... Lady Pamela thought he looked somewhat thinner than she had remembered, which was surely her imagination.
At first, conversation was general, and for several minutes Lady Detweiler treated them to the latest society on dits, one of which involved, to Pam's embarrassment, a high-born lady, a library sofa, and the Marquess of Chesholm's butler.
"Amanda,” warned Lady Pam, as the duke coughed and Lady Cartleigh and the viscountess collapsed against each other in giggles. Given the slightest encouragement, Lady Detweiler would relate details.
"Might one ask,” said the duke-to Lady Pamela's relief-"the best source of good coal?"
"Lambroke's,” said Viscountess Lac-Chèvres.
"Lambroke's! Certainly not,” said Lady Cartleigh, and talk shifted at once to housekeeping counsels, a subject at which each of the women present, save perhaps Amanda, felt they excelled. A heated exchange on soaps followed the discussion of coal, and Lady Pamela, goaded, found herself weighing in on the relative merits of several marks of tea. From tea, ‘twas a short leap to the current state of the duke's townhome, and on this topic he had a vastly willing audience.
"Yes, Marchers was in a sad state, I'm afraid,” Lord Torrance told the viscountess, in answer to a query. “I've engaged a housekeeper-Mrs. Throckmorton-but ‘twill be some time before it is put to rights. Actually—"
"Lud,” said Lady Cartleigh. “And you say no-one was left at the house, no-one at all?"
"Not a soul. As I said—"
"But the footmen, the gardeners, the maids! And you so newly to town. How on earth are you managing to find a proper staff?” Lady Cartleigh leaned toward the duke, one gloved hand resting lightly on his arm, her face the picture of solicitude.
"The housekeeper—” began Lord Torrance.
"And all alone,” breathed Viscountess Lac-Chèvres, her lips forming a pout. She leaned toward the duke as well. “'Tis not to be borne! A young man such as your grace, in the prime of life, suffering such difficulties!"
"As I said—"
Amanda's eyes had narrowed. Lady Pamela recalled, now, that the viscountess and Lady Cartleigh were determined flirts and that the viscountess-a widow-was accounted something more than that. It had never concerned her before. She wondered if the duke might be tired of arguments, if his interests might be captured by more pleasant activities.
Not his high-and-mighty lordship! came a small, bitter voice. His grace would not lower himself.
"I'm quite certain we can find you a footman or two, at the very least,” the viscountess cooed. She was now leaning so far forward, saw Lady Pamela, that even the restrained décolletage of her morning gown had lost much of its modesty.
But, why shouldn't he have his flirtation? And why should she care one way or the other?
"Mrs. Throckmorton is engaged upon that task at present,” broke in Lord Torrance. He shifted slightly, edging away from the viscountess. “And ‘twas not as difficult as we first feared. She has been able to locate a number of those who served the previous duke—"
Amanda caught Pam's eye and winked. The disposition of the previous servants of Marchers had worried Lady Pamela.
"-and, although several are a bit long in the tooth, I have given orders that anyone who once worked at Marchers House will receive fair welcome. Lady Pamela, perhaps I might enquire—"
"And the butler?” asked Viscountess Lac-Chèvres. “If you've not yet employed a butler, let me suggest—"
Lady Detweiler stifled a snort, and Pamela herself was tempted to laugh. Even a dukedom, it seemed, was no surety against a determined female. But she gave Lord Torrance credit. His good temper never faltered, and he had somehow managed to avoid the viscountess's more obvious machinations without giving offense.
His grace seems capable, thought Lady Pam, of conversing with other women in charity.
"'Tis so difficult to find good help these days,” Lady Cartleigh was saying.
Is this why he came? she wondered. To feed the ton's interest in a handsome young duke? To talk to any chattering female who showed the slightest inclination?
"I should be fascinated to see Marchers House,” said the viscountess. “So romantic, don't you think? The brooding, abandoned mansion, the vigorous new lord—"
At this, Amanda took action.
"I can scarce believe you've favored us so long, my dear,” she told Lady Cartleigh. “And viscountess, such a pleasure, I'm devastated that you must leave so soon."
"Oh. Oh, but—"
"Purely devastated,” added Amanda, “Smithers!"-and, as the butler came forward, their wraps in hand, the two women were left with little choice. They made their adieus, and soon Pamela and Lady Detweiler were alone with the duke, who showed no signs of following her other guests to the door. Whether she felt this as a relief or a disappointment, Lady Pam could not say.
* * * *
Lord Torrance feared that he had far overstayed his visit. The etiquette of calls required a conversation of perhaps twenty minutes duration, a half-hour at most, and he had sat in Lady Pamela's salon far beyond that time. If Lady Cartleigh and that dreadful viscountess had only left sooner...
He had had no opportunity to speak with Pamela in anything like privacy. Benjamin's frustration had grown moment by moment, as Lady Pam sent few looks his way, giving him so little opportunity to gauge her feelings. He must discover what she felt towards him.
If Pamela's only guest had been Lady Detweiler, thought Benjamin, he could have managed a few words. Lady Detweiler would have understood. She had seemed his ally during those weeks in Bedfordshire; always offering her services as chaperon, and promptly disappearing. He and Lady Pamela had time enough together then.
He could not leave yet. He could not.
The door to the salon opened and a footman entered bearing a tray of pastries. The smell of cinnamon and cloves made his mouth water.
"Ah,” said Lady Detweiler. “I see Cook has prepared crullers. Lord Torrance, you must try the crullers, they are accounted the best in town."
* * * *
The pastries were a great success.
All awkwardness had been banished, at least temporarily, from the petit salon, and Lady Detweiler and Lady Pamela watched in amusement as Lord Torrance applied himself, once more, to the plateau à thé.
"I'd almost forgotten the taste of good food,” he said, finishing off another of the crullers. “The cook is trying her best, but the kitchen is a pure botch, and there's no point in stocking supplies until we can—"
Here he stopped himself, evidently in some chagrin.
"Get rid of the rats?” supplied Amanda, helpfully.
"Ah, well..."
"'Tis only to be expected, you know."
"I'm not sure Cook takes things in quite that light."
Pam felt that her digestion was not up to a discussion of the town vermin, but Lady Detweiler, thankfully, did not pursue the subject further. The strain of Lord Torrance's unexpected presence at Hillsleigh was wearing on Lady Pamela, and conv
ersation was on its way to deserting her. Still the duke remained seated, cruller in hand. He seemed oblivious of her discomposure and determined to chat.
"Is London always so fine at this time of the year?” he asked.
"Sadly, no,” Pam answered, and for a few minutes she was able to hold her own in a discussion of the weather, until Amanda began to make noises of departure. Pam felt her throat tighten and her heart begin to race. Was she to be left alone with him?
She tried to catch Lady Detweiler's eye, to beg her to stay, but Amanda was obdurately looking elsewhere. Suddenly, to the surprise of both women, the duke stood up and made a gesture of appeal.
"I find myself in need of advice,” began Lord Torrance. “It's presumptuous to ask, I know, but I thought that the two of you might be able to help."
He hesitated. Lady Detweiler had been arranging her shawl, on her way to the door. At the duke's words she turned back, eyes glittering and shawl forgotten. She might have preferred leaving Lady Pamela alone with Lord Torrance, but he had directed his address to the both of them, and Amanda loved nothing better than giving advice.
"On the running of Marchers?” she asked him. “How to keep the coal boys out of the sugar, or sacking the housekeeper, that sort of thing?"
The duke laughed. “Indeed not,” he replied. “I've had no cause for a single complaint against the staff. And I'm not sure I'd dare sack Mrs. Throckmorton. But the problem does involve the house.” He began to pace.
"Well, then, my dear sir, we are at your disposal.” Amanda waved Smithers away and perched on the edge of the sofa as Pam, outnumbered in her quest for an uneventful morning, awaited the duke's explanation.
Advice?
"Mrs. Throckmorton is competent and hard-working,” said the duke, “and if the situation involved no more than broken windows and dirt I believe Marchers would be ready for a visit from the prince even now."
"She sounds a veritable paragon of industry,” said Amanda. “But I take it there is more."
"Much more. ‘Tis as if the house were left unattended for a century, not a mere ten years. As if someone had deliberately set her to be ruined."