A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club)

by Diane Gaston - A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club)

  ‘Some tea, perhaps,’ he said as he sat.

  She poured him some tea.

  He took a grateful sip. ‘I come only to inform you that I have done what you wished of me.’

  What had she asked of him? She could recall nothing.

  She waited and eventually he continued, ‘You asked me for recommendations for furniture shops.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ But a note bearing the names of the shops would have sufficed.

  ‘I am not well versed in such matters, but I have arranged for someone who is quite knowledgeable to call upon you.’ He looked quite pleased with himself.

  Daphne did not want callers, although she supposed she could not hide from all society for ever. Who would Everard send? ‘Who is it who will call upon me?’

  ‘My wife.’

  His wife? The poor creature. What was Daphne to do with a visit from his wife?

  She caught herself. It would be a kindness to receive his wife. She would be kind to the young woman.

  She made herself smile. ‘How lovely.’

  ‘She purchased most of the items in our residence and has a good eye for quality at a fair price. I could think of no better person to advise you.’ He paused. ‘And you did say you wished to meet her.’

  ‘I did, did I not?’ She took a bite of toast. ‘I suppose she could call on me this afternoon. I will certainly be at home after two o’clock.’

  He stood. ‘I shall make certain she knows this. She will not fail you, my lady.’ He bowed. ‘I fear I must take my leave. With your permission, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said somewhat gratefully. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

  * * *

  Shortly after Mr Everard left, Daphne set out with Monette to show her the shops and distract her from the fact that they had not yet heard from Toller. They started on Oxford Street, it being so close, and visited linen draper after linen draper. In one, Monette found a blue muslin that was just a shade deeper than Daphne’s eyes. She begged Daphne to purchase it and allow her to make a gown for Daphne from it, in repayment for Daphne’s generosity to her.

  It was a hard decision to make. She did not need a new gown. Had she not the day before given away countless gowns? But she was forced this time to admit that accepting Monette’s gift was the most generous act she could make at the moment.

  They explored hat shops, glove shops and jewellery shops. Daphne had several pieces of fine jewellery locked away, expensive gifts from her late husband, which she’d not worn since leaving London for the Continent two years ago. She certainly had not needed jewels in the abbey. It surprised her how little she had missed them.

  They stopped in a clock shop. On the shelf, among grander pieces, was a clock in a porcelain case that might have been a twin to the one she’d placed in Hugh’s bedchamber in the cottage. Swallowing tears, she purchased it and arranged for it to be sent to her town house.

  They bought Dutch biscuits from a street vendor and savoured the sweet and spicy taste. As they finished the last crumbs, they passed a sheet-music shop.

  ‘I want to look in here.’ Daphne opened the door and entered the shop.

  Monette followed her.

  The proprietor approached. ‘May I be of assistance, ma’am?’ His look of admiration was familiar.

  ‘I hope you may assist, sir,’ she responded. ‘I am looking for music for the pianoforte written by a lady.’

  ‘A lady?’ His brows rose. ‘Do you know the name of the lady or of the piece?’

  She smiled. ‘I do not. I suspect she has written the music anonymously.’

  He tapped his finger against his lips. ‘I have an idea.’

  He let her to a file of music sheets and riffled through them, pulling out one. ‘Perhaps this one?’

  She took it from his hand and read that it was a sonatina by Lady Songstress. Her heart beat faster. Lady Songstress had been the name she’d given to Phillipa Westleigh when she’d known her only as the masked pianiste at the Masquerade Club.

  Daphne’s throat tightened. Had she been a better person, Lady Songstress might have been a friend.

  ‘Yes,’ she told the proprietor. ‘This is it exactly. Are there other compositions by Lady Songstress?’

  He found three others, one quite new. A lullaby.

  ‘I will buy them all.’ It was at least something she could do for Phillipa. It would honour her music.

  ‘My lady?’ Monette touched her sleeve. ‘You do not have a pianoforte here. What will you do with this music?’

  Daphne had not thought about playing the music, but would that not be the best way to respect Phillipa’s talent?

  She turned to the store proprietor. ‘Is there a pianoforte shop you might recommend?’

  ‘Indeed there is,’ he responded. ‘Near here on Duke Street.’

  She made her purchases and she and Monette left.

  ‘Are you going to buy a pianoforte?’ Monette asked.

  Daphne smiled. ‘I believe I will.’ Playing music would be another way to pass the time.

  And to remember when she and Hugh played music together.

  They found the pianoforte shop and entered. The shop had several instruments on display. The clerk was busy talking to three gentlemen, so Daphne and Monette walked around, looking at simple pianofortes, ornate ones, even a small one that could be carried from place to place. The clerk broke away from his conversation and approached Daphne.

  He flushed when he looked upon her face. ‘Are you interested in a pianoforte, my lady?’

  ‘I am indeed,’ she said.

  When she spoke, the three gentlemen turned and Daphne felt the air leave her lungs.

  It was the new Lord Westleigh, Xavier—and Hugh.

  * * *

  Hugh felt both his brother Ned and Xavier stiffen when they saw her. She looked equally as shocked, but more than that, she looked vulnerable. How would Ned and Xavier react? Even in front of the pianoforte clerk and her maid, a cut would wound her.

  He stepped towards her and bowed. ‘Good morning, ma’am. Daphne.’ He could not help calling her by name. ‘You are planning to purchase a pianoforte?’

  She darted a glance at Xavier and Ned before answering. ‘Yes. I—I do not have one and I am lately interested in playing again.’ She held out a large envelope. ‘I purchased some music.’

  ‘Did you?’ He extended his hand. ‘May I see?’

  She turned paler, hesitating before handing over the packet. He glanced inside. His head snapped up, catching her gaze, when he saw what she had purchased. Phillipa’s music.

  ‘I—I was interested in this composer. I wanted to give my support,’ she explained.

  What was he to make of the fact that she’d purchased his sister’s compositions? He glanced back at Xavier. Had it been because of Xavier?

  Ned gazed at her as if she was a pariah. Xavier looked on guard. Both reactions annoyed him. Was there a need to be cruel to her? ‘Xavier, Lady Faville has come to purchase one of your pianofortes. Ned, you remember Lady Faville, do you not?’

  Ned inclined his head to her, but did not speak.

  Xavier stepped forwards. ‘Did you know this was one of my shops?’ His words might have sounded polite to the clerk and Monette, but Hugh suspected both Ned and Daphne sensed the sharp edge to them.

  Daphne looked genuinely surprised. ‘I had no idea of it.’

  Monette edged closer to her.

  Hugh nodded to the young maid. ‘How are you, Monette?’

  ‘Very well, sir,’ she replied shyly, her eyes wandering to Xavier. ‘We—we just learned of this place at the music shop.’

  Brave girl to defend her mistress in front of an earl and son of an earl. Although she would not know that.

  He handed the envelo
pe back to Daphne and their fingers touched. She flushed. ‘I did not know,’ she said just loud enough for Hugh to hear.

  He nodded slightly and turned to the clerk. ‘Do you have a recommendation for the lady? Which do you feel would suit her best?’

  The man snapped back from gazing upon her. ‘You might try them for sound. All are manufactured to the highest standards, but their sound will differ slightly.’ He pressed the keys of the nearest instruments.

  Hugh could hear a difference.

  The clerk cleared his throat and continued. ‘Or perhaps the decor of the cabinets will matter more to you.’ He walked over to one that was painted with pink roses, its corners edged in gilt. ‘This would be a fine addition to any room.’

  ‘I—I prefer one that is less flamboyant.’ She turned to one that was plainly styled. It was quite like the one at the cottage, although obviously of higher quality. ‘This one. You may prepare the bill of sale and have the instrument sent to my residence.’ She gave him the direction to her town house.

  The clerk looked to Xavier.

  ‘Yes, Mr Ball. You may do that for Lady Faville,’ Xavier said.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He walked over to the counter and pulled out a book to prepare the bill of sale.

  Xavier turned to Daphne. ‘I did not know you were in town.’

  She darted a glance at him, but did not sustain it. ‘Yes. We have come to do shopping.’

  Monette spoke up again. ‘My lady is showing me all the shops.’

  Ned broke in with a sarcastic tone. ‘The shops?’

  Daphne turned to him. ‘That is all. I have no other plans. Although we might visit some of the special sights. The Tower. Westminster Abbey. The Egyptian Hall...’ Her voice faded as if she feared she’d said too much.

  She glanced at Xavier again.

  What was she thinking at seeing Xavier again? Hugh wondered. Had she really not known this was his shop? It seemed too coincidental.

  Although how could she have known Xavier would be at the shop? Investors did not spend a great deal of time in their shops. Did Lord George Cavendish patrol the Burlington Arcade like one of his beadles? Indeed not. How would she even have known Xavier owned such shops? From Mr Everard, perhaps, if there was some way that man might have known of it.

  It made more sense that she would want to show Monette London. She’d brought the girl from Switzerland and treated her more like a younger sister than a lady’s maid.

  The clerk returned with the bill of sale.

  ‘You will be paid promptly after the instrument is delivered,’ Daphne told him. She turned to Ned and Xavier. ‘Good day, gentlemen.’ She gave Hugh a direct gaze. ‘Hugh.’

  He walked with her to the door and opened it for her. ‘Enjoy your music, Daphne. Monette.’

  When he closed the door again the clerk excused himself and went to the back of the shop.

  Ned turned on Hugh. ‘What was that all about, Hugh? You acted as if Lady Faville was an old friend of yours.’ Ned shot daggers at him. ‘Let me remind you that she nearly ruined us.’

  ‘I did not know she was in London,’ Xavier said, as if he talking only to himself. ‘God knows I want no more trouble with her. I won’t have Phillipa hurt again.’

  ‘Trouble.’ Ned laughed drily. ‘That is what she is. You know that, Hugh. Have you lost your senses?’

  He had lost his senses with her, but it would be no use trying to explain why to his brother. ‘No more than you, Ned,’ Hugh shot back. ‘There is certainly no reason to discuss this with you.’

  Ned glared at him. ‘I think there is every reason to discuss her with me.’

  ‘I am acquainted with Lady Faville,’ Hugh admitted. ‘But she is hardly the terror you make her out to be.’

  ‘I suppose you met her in Brussels,’ Ned scoffed. ‘It was said she ran off to the Continent. Were you one of her conquests over there? You stayed a long time. Perhaps not all your time was spent tending to our father’s affairs.’

  ‘You know nothing of it, Ned.’ Hugh raised his voice, his anger reaching boiling point. ‘If you did not trust me to take care of things in Brussels, maybe you should have gone yourself. Cleaned up the mess yourself.’

  ‘You cannot speak to me in that fashion!’ Ned countered, his face red.

  ‘Why? Because you own the title? Remember, I’m your brother. I’ve seen you without your Parliamentary robes. And it has been a long time since you could best me in at fisticuffs.’ He wished Ned would challenge him right now. He’d relish punching him in his aristocratic nose.

  Xavier stepped between the two of them. ‘Enough. You don’t have to scrap like a couple of schoolboys. Lady Faville is my problem, if she is anyone’s.’ He faced Hugh. ‘Are you going to buy a pianoforte?’

  Hugh shook his head. ‘Not today. I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘Very well,’ Xavier said. ‘I’m leaving. I need to tell Phillipa about Lady Faville being in London.’

  ‘Do not tell her,’ Ned protested. ‘It will upset her.’

  ‘Not as much as keeping it a secret from her.’ He called to Mr Ball that he was leaving, gave Ned and Hugh one more annoyed look and left the shop.

  Hugh started for the door, as well.

  Ned was at his heels. ‘Promise me you will have nothing more to do with Lady Faville.’

  ‘Promise you?’ Hugh laughed as he walked out of the shop. ‘Why not simply trust me to do the right thing?’

  He strode away from his brother and did not look back. At the moment he was too angry at Ned to deal with him a moment longer.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Daphne walked so briskly, Monette had difficulty keeping up with her. She stopped and waited. ‘I am sorry, Monette. I simply must return home.’

  ‘Yes, madame,’ Monette said, out of breath. ‘It upset you to see Mr Westleigh. I am sorry for you.’

  ‘It—it surprised me, is all. I did not expect it.’ She had not expected to ever see him again.

  He’d been civil to her, even kind. That made the pain greater. Had he been as rude as his brother, her anger might have blocked out the ache of losing him all over again.

  ‘Who were the other gentlemen? They were so angry at you, I think,’ Monette asked. ‘One man was very handsome. I have never seen a man so—so handsome.’

  Another surprise. Seeing Hugh had so completely overshadowed the sight of Xavier that she’d no emotion to spare for him. It simply had not mattered to her to see Xavier again. She’d never truly known him, merely the superficial fantasy of him she’d created herself.

  She’d known Hugh, though. Intimately. She knew his character, his determination, his strength.

  She answered Monette, ‘The handsome man is married to Mr Westleigh’s sister and the other man is Mr Westleigh’s brother, Lord Westleigh.’

  Monette’s eyes widened. ‘Lord Westleigh?’

  ‘He is an earl.’

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ Monette murmured.

  They retraced their steps on Oxford Street and returned to the town house. When they walked in the door, Daphne said, ‘I will be quite myself again, Monette. I simply need some solitude for a little while.’

  Monette nodded.

  Daphne forced herself to climb the steps at a normal pace. When she entered her bedchamber, she realised she was still clutching the envelope containing the music sheets. She dropped it on a table, pulled off her gloves and hat and pressed her hands against her temple.

  Calm yourself, she scolded. It is very unlikely she would see Hugh again, even if she went out. It was merely a terrible coincidence this time. She hurried over to her bureau drawer and pulled out his handkerchief, all clean and folded.

  She held it in her hands and flopped into a rocking chair. She gazed out the window while she rocked, but she did not see the blue
sky or the green trees. She was consumed by the memory of his fingers brushing against hers, by the kind look in his eyes. Of course, he’d appeared puzzled when he’d seen what music she’d purchased. Why had she done such a thing? She could have purchased any music. What was he to think of her selecting Phillipa’s music?

  She could barely remember what Xavier had said. There was not even a vestige of her former infatuation.

  Hugh’s brother’s anger had been very evident. She’d expected such a reaction from a Westleigh. She deserved it. The surprise had been Hugh’s defence of her. At least it felt like he’d defended her, practically forcing his brother to be civil. Why had he done such a thing?

  Her mind whirled in circles for the next hour and always wound up in the same bleak place.

  There was a knock on the door and Monette peeked into the room. ‘Mrs Everard has come to call.’

  Daphne had completely forgotten about Mrs Everard.

  She rose wearily. ‘I must see her.’

  ‘Wait.’ Monette touched her gown. ‘Do you not wish me to help you change? One of your morning gowns is ready for you.’

  Daphne looked down at herself. She supposed her skirts were a bit soiled from the street. ‘Might we simply brush off the dirt? I hate to keep her waiting long.’ Truly she wanted to be done with this interview, regretting she’d ever said anything to put Mrs Everard in this position of having to call upon her social superior.

  Monette quickly brushed the hem of her skirt. ‘You must let me dress your hair,’ she said when finished.

  Daphne glanced in her mirror. Her hair was coming loose of its pins, strands escaping from the knot atop her head.

  She sat at her dressing table and allowed Monette to make her hair presentable, although it might have done just as well to cover it with a cap.

  Daphne was certainly not looking forward to this interview, but poor Mrs Everard was in a worse position. Daphne could not greet her with this gloomy mood. The woman would likely think her presence to be the cause.

  She’d make herself friendly and cheerful. She’d been trained to do so no matter how she felt inside. For so many years she’d performed the task so well, she’d forgotten how to feel.