by Jane Ashford
“I have said there won’t,” he snapped.
The silence lengthened once again until the driver leaned down from his high seat and said, “Anything wrong, guv? This is the h’address you gave me.”
Ariel opened the carriage door and started to climb out. “Very well,” she said, “as long as that is quite clear.” She jumped down to the cobbles before Alan could move to assist her.
He leaned out the carriage door, wanting to say something further. Nothing occurred to him, however. His only thought was that the empty house looked very dark and forbidding. “Will you be all right in there?” he asked.
“Perfectly,” was the wary reply. Ariel walked quickly to the front door, unlocked it, and disappeared inside. The latch clicked decisively into place behind her.
“Bad luck, guv,” commented the driver.
Alan didn’t bother to correct his assumption that he had been trying to seduce Ariel. He merely told the man to take him to Carlton House, then sank back against the cushions to contemplate the events of the evening and to analyze yet again his loss of control. Aberration was indeed the word for it, he thought. He had been subject to some intrusion of emotion, some flash of irrationality. And the cause was quite clear. His current mode of life, with its constant exposure to the prince regent and his deplorable set of friends, was enough to unbalance anyone. Sir Isaac Newton, Copernicus himself, would have found it impossible to think clearly in such chaos, he concluded. But now he was forewarned. He would be on his guard, and no such thing would happen again. Very pleased with this chain of reasoning, Alan relaxed. He refrained from examining the pleasure he felt in knowing that he would see Ariel Harding again soon.
Five
The following morning, Ariel sat in the front parlor of a house that seemed, today, quite empty and echoing. She had risen early and sat down directly after breakfast to make a list of all the things that must be done. But she had gotten no further than item one before breaking off to stare into space, the pen forgotten in lax fingers.
“Do you think I am making a mistake?” she asked Prospero, who sat beside her. The cat had materialized in his mysterious fashion just as she was assembling her morning meal and urgently requested a share. He was now indulging in a postprandial wash on the sofa cushion.
“Lord Alan has assured me that nothing of that sort will happen again,” Ariel told him.
Prospero raised his head and met her gaze squarely with his great golden eyes.
“Even though Bess said that is all men care about,” Ariel added.
Prospero’s stare was unwavering.
“Which of them do you think is right?”
Prospero blinked, then he rolled over on his back, seeming to savor the softness of the sofa cushion. He stretched, his back legs splayed into the air, his front paws reaching for the sofa’s armrest, into which he sank his claws.
“You are not being very helpful,” Ariel said.
He paused, looking surprised.
“Yes, I know you are only a cat,” she responded. “And I imagine you take ruthless advantage of every female you encounter. I have no one to rely on but myself in this matter; I see that.”
The cat flexed his claws in the armrest.
“The trouble is, I do not wish to break off contact with him.” Ariel frowned. “I know that is what my mother would advise, but I need his help in my investigations.” She bit her lower lip. “I shall treat him as Melisande did Franco in The Grandee’s Daughter. He soon learned his lesson in that play,” she said with satisfaction.
Prospero sat up with an agile twist and resumed grooming his blue-gray fur.
“I am quite capable of carrying it off,” Ariel informed him.
He didn’t even pause.
“I am,” she insisted. But in the face of his seeming skepticism, she had to admit one flaw in her plan. The trouble was, she could not get the kiss out of her mind. It kept coming back to her—the feel of Lord Alan’s lips upon hers, the strength of his arms around her, the deeply unsettling mixture of consternation and delicious surrender that had engulfed her. He had left her breathless and dizzy. She had not been at all repelled. On the contrary. And now she found herself wondering what it would have been like if the kiss had gone on a little longer, if it had turned into something even more…
Ariel shook her head. In all her lecturing, Bess had never once suggested such a reaction. She had insisted that there were only two choices with men—they were to be avoided, or they were to be used. Let them get the upper hand for an instant, and you were lost.
A tremor shook Ariel. Was she lost? Then, just as quickly, she shook it off. She had formed a mutually advantageous partnership with Lord Alan, she reminded herself. Each of them was contributing. Perhaps they were making use of each other. And when their task had been accomplished, the connection would be severed. He was a duke’s son.
She was very clear on all these things, Ariel told herself as she turned back to her list. “There will be no more kisses,” she told Prospero firmly. But when she looked, she found the cat was gone.
* * *
In another, far more fashionable part of London, Lord Alan Gresham was being admitted to an elegant stone town house that occupied one entire side of a broad square. Although it was much too early for a morning call, he strolled through the open door with easy confidence, justified when the dauntingly correct butler greeted him warmly by name. “We so rarely see you in London, my lord,” he added.
Alan acknowledged this with a nod. “Is my mother in the drawing room?”
“In her private parlor, my lord. I believe she is writing letters.”
“To James and Randolph, I suppose,” he replied, referring to two of his brothers.
“No doubt, my lord,” agreed the butler.
Alan climbed the stairs, turned at the landing, and continued upward. James captained a navy ship currently cruising tropical seas. Randolph was a churchman holding a living in the far north of England. His mother kept in close communication with both through the mail.
Near the end of a wide corridor, Alan knocked on a paneled door and was bade enter. He turned the knob and stepped into the small, exquisite room where his mother spent her private hours. Striped paper of cream and deep green was accented by a touch of gilt; the draperies and carpet were the same dark green, and the chamber was made unique by a collection of odd items from around the world, gathered during various family members’ travels. An arrangement of six small portraits dominated one wall—the Gresham brothers, each painted at the age of five years. Alan cast the pictures a slightly jaundiced glance as he moved forward to kiss his mother’s cheek.
One look at Adele Gresham, Duchess of Langford, made it immediately apparent where the red hair came from in the family. Her fashionably dressed locks were of a rich deep color between chestnut and strawberry, only very lightly touched with gray. She was a tall woman, rather angular, with arching brows and an aquiline nose. In combination with her direct, discerning gaze, these features led many to conclude that she was self-absorbed and snobbish. And her inability to tolerate fools and poseurs added to this reputation. She had grown up as a great beauty, a great heiress, and child of a great noble family. She had married suitably, dutifully, and been fortunate enough to find love in her marriage. She was a woman of immense dignity and presence, but beneath all this, she also had a great heart, and ample room in it for her most eccentric, unpersuadable son.
“So, you have come to see me at last,” she said, looking him over carefully but making no comment on his plain garments. “And after only two weeks in London. Fancy that.”
“We have met at a number of gatherings,” was the mild reply.
“Of course. And we could have nothing to say to one another that could not be said publicly at an evening party. I suppose you want something, and that is why you have come?”
Accustomed to his
mother’s arch manner, Alan merely smiled. “What news from James and Randolph?” he asked.
Her expression softened. “Nothing from James in two months, except that.”
Following her pointing finger, Alan observed a wooden carving in the shape of a small, squat human figure with a large head. “Something from the islands? Why do you have it facing the wall?”
His mother grimaced. “See for yourself.”
Stretching out an arm, Alan turned the figure, and saw that it possessed greatly exaggerated male organs in a highly visible state. Indeed, it was difficult to observe anything else about the figure, one’s attention was so immediately riveted. He began to laugh.
“Very funny,” said the duchess dryly. “Unless the package happens to arrive when one has morning callers, and one opens it in front of two very stuffy women and their seventeen-year-old daughters.”
“You should have known better, with a packet from James,” answered Alan, still laughing.
She nodded. “So I should. It is a mistake I shall never repeat.” Her lips twitched very slightly. “But who knows what effect the incident may have on those two young girls’ lives?”
“For shame!” Alan said with a laugh.
“You know my views on the education of females,” was the severe reply. “Keeping them in total ignorance is simply a guarantee that—”
He held up a defensive hand. “I know, I know.”
“I shall never understand why the Good Lord chose not to bless me with daughters,” she added.
“Too frightened of the result, I imagine,” teased Alan.
The duchess gave him a mock haughty look. “What do you want?” she demanded.
“Some servants,” he responded. “Two, I think. An older woman to do some plain cooking and a housemaid of some kind, to answer the door and that sort of thing.”
“I thought you were staying at Carlton House,” said his mother, surprised by the request.
“I am. They are for a…friend.” The difficult part was coming up, thought Alan, but the knowledge that Ariel Harding was living all alone in that dark house had been preying on his mind.
The duchess was observing him speculatively. “The ‘friend’ whom Robert and Sebastian encountered at the playhouse?”
It had been too much to hope that she wouldn’t have heard. “Robert and Sebastian have nothing to do but gossip,” he complained. “If they took up some useful profession—”
“You are hard on your brothers,” interrupted his mother, who watched his face carefully as she voiced this old objection.
“I have no quarrel with James and Randolph,” he replied. “They are doing something with their lives. And I suppose Nathaniel has duties as the eldest which fill his days. But Sebastian wastes his time playing the rake and grooming his mustaches, and as for Robert—”
“Not everyone has your interests and ambitions,” she put in. “And I am not going to forget my question in an argument we have repeated many times before. Are the servants for this girl?” She waited for the answer with a good deal of concern hidden behind an impassive expression. Adele had always felt that Alan, whose whole soul had been taken up by his work, would be in grave danger should he ever become seriously susceptible to the opposite sex.
“She is the daughter of this dead actress,” said Alan stiffly. “She is not my mistress, as Robert and Sebastian undoubtedly told you. She has been of some help with my inquiries, and I am concerned about her. That is all.”
“Concerned,” echoed his mother.
“She is fresh from the schoolroom and alone in the world,” he continued. “Her mother’s staff has abandoned the house where she lives, and I don’t believe she has any idea how to hire servants. You have scores of them. I’m sure you can spare two.”
“I have exactly the number of servants necessary for running my household,” said the duchess dryly. But she had already determined to grant his request. It would give her an opportunity to discover whether this young woman, so “alone in the world,” was planning to ensnare Alan. He would not be like Sebastian, she knew, managing an affair of the heart with discretion and ending it with no great ill feeling on either side. Alan would take it all very hard. She did not intend to allow some theatrical creature to hurt him and perhaps spoil him forever for marriage and a family. “I suppose I can spare a housemaid,” she added grudgingly. “I have no trained cooks at hand, but I’ll find someone who knows her way about the kitchen.” She already knew precisely who she would send.
“I knew I could count on you,” responded Alan warmly.
“Indeed,” said his mother. He could count on her to see that he didn’t make a fool of himself, she thought. As he rose from his chair, she added, “Now that you have got what you wanted, you are going, I suppose?”
“I have no time to spare. I must clear up this matter at Carlton House so that I can return to my work.”
This was a good sign, thought Adele. He was not so besotted that his preoccupation with his work had changed. “How is your investigation going?” she asked.
“Passably,” he answered. “I expect I shall have the answer soon.”
“Splendid.” Possibly she was making too much of this girl, Adele thought. She would know once she had met her. Nothing had ever diverted her maddening youngest son from his obsession with science.
“I’ll leave this matter in your hands then,” he added.
The duchess nodded, pleased with the relief in his voice. “Think no more about it.”
He bent to kiss her cheek as he took his leave, happy to dismiss one item from his mind and move on to the next. As soon as he returned to Carlton House, he would request reports from the men searching for Bess Harding’s servants. He needed to find someone to send into the French émigré community. And perhaps a new man more familiar with the network of stable owners and coachmen; he wasn’t satisfied with the information from that quarter. It wouldn’t be long before he had some information for Ariel, he thought with satisfaction. He wondered how thankful she would be. A vivid recollection of the soft surrender of her lips intruded suddenly, and he suppressed it. There were things to be attended to, facts to be marshaled and interpreted. “Thank you, Mother,” he said, turning toward the door.
“You’re welcome,” she said to his back, adding, “I think,” only after the door had closed.
* * *
Late that afternoon, just as Ariel had returned from the market square with some bundles of provisions, she heard a commotion in the street outside the house and went to the kitchen window to see what it was. From this basement vantage point, she could see only the wheels of the carriages—there were two of them stopped in front of the house—and the legs and feet of what seemed to be a crowd of people. However, the wheels were painted golden yellow, with an intricate design picked out in dark blue, and the shoes and articles of clothing she glimpsed were all of the finest quality. “Do you think it is some friend of my mother’s?” she asked Prospero, who had been carefully observing the foodstuffs as she unpacked them.
An authoritative knock sounded on the front door. Ariel brushed at her skirts, regretting that she had put on one of her own dowdy dresses this morning, and hurried up the stairs. She discovered a liveried footman standing on her doorstep. He was so tall that she had to lean her head back to look at his face. “Miss Harding, if you please,” he said, managing to imply disapproval of the entire neighborhood in those few simple words.
“I am Miss Harding,” she replied with a touch of defiance.
The footman looked scandalized and somewhat at a loss.
“Thank you, William,” put in a cultivated female voice. The footman’s broad shoulders moved aside, and Ariel found herself facing a tall, red-haired woman. “I am Adele Gresham. How do you do?”
Instinctively, Ariel dropped a small curtsy. The woman’s manner reminded her all too vividly o
f her school’s headmistress, Miss Ames. Then she registered the name. “Gresham?” she repeated.
“May we come in?”
Too surprised to do anything else, Ariel stepped back, and what seemed like a whole troop of people entered the small entryway of her house.
“A fine old place,” commented the duchess, surveying the carved panels and banister. “I suppose the drawing room is on this floor, rather than upstairs?”
Ariel indicated the door on the left. Her house was indeed too old to have been designed with a large withdrawing room on an upper floor. The biggest chamber, and the one her mother had used for receiving guests, was right next to the entryway.
Adele Gresham swept into it. Ariel didn’t see her give any sort of signal, but none of the others followed. Feeling a bit apprehensive, she joined the older woman.
“A pleasant room,” said the duchess. She sank gracefully into one of the satin-covered armchairs that flanked the fireplace. “You haven’t overwhelmed it with modern furnishings. It’s best to let the old lines show, isn’t it?” She nodded at the modest curtains on the small mullioned windows and the trestle table against the far wall.
“My mother chose everything,” replied Ariel. She remained standing in the middle of the room.
“Ah.” The girl was not precisely what she had expected, the duchess thought. Robert had described a sophisticated beauty in jewels and silk. Instead, she found a schoolgirl who looked braced for a reprimand. The discrepancy made the duchess impatient. She disliked puzzles. “I’ve brought you some servants,” she stated. “A housemaid and a sort of cook/housekeeper.”
Ariel stared at her.
“I say that because Hannah is rather more than a cook. If you have errands and that sort of thing, be sure to ask Ellen.”
“Why?” blurted Ariel.
“It is just more fitting. Hannah is actually—”
“No, I mean, why have you brought me servants?”
The duchess’s natural forthrightness surfaced once more. “Alan asked me to,” she answered.