Robert set down his pen and regarded the young aristocrat.
“It has just occurred to me that Richard has a new play at the King’s Theatre this afternoon and I would be delighted if you would come with me.”
“Today?”
“This afternoon.”
Vivienne Burroughs was going to be at the theater today. Her uncle had mentioned it yesterday during their discussion.
Threading the largest plume on his hat through his fingers, Lord Cheddersby sighed. “Oh, well, I just thought … I don’t have anybody to go with these days except Croesus Belmaris, and he talks through the whole performance. Plus, there’s that unfortunate wart on his nose. I find myself staring at it at the most inconvenient times.”
He had no appointments this afternoon, and Lord Cheddersby, a very kind and wealthy nobleman, was asking him.
“I shall be delighted to accompany you to the theater today, my lord.”
After all, the theater was a crowded place. Even if he saw Vivienne Burroughs, it would be from afar.
What harm could there be in that?
Chapter 7
Rob left his chambers earlier than necessary to get to the theater to meet Lord Cheddersby. He could be fairly certain that the woman attempting to extort money from the nobleman would be in at this hour.
He easily found the rooms of the woman who called herself Delphinia St. Dunstan in a building that had obviously started out as a market stall. Some time later, the stall had been enclosed, and some time after that, a second floor added. Still later a third story had appeared, jutting over the other two.
This was not at all unusual in the city, unfortunately. Rob didn’t doubt that one day, some of these cramped and ramshackle structures were either going to collapse in a pile of rubble or burn to the ground and set the neighboring houses on fire, too.
He went up to the second floor and knocked loudly on the woman’s door, inhaling the stale scents that came from cramped, crowded rooms with little ventilation, yet mindful that there had been a time in his life when a room in such a place would have seemed the height of luxury.
A female voice wafted to him like the odors from the stairway. “Who is it?”
“A friend of Lord Cheddersby.”
There was a sound of hasty movement behind the door, which soon swung open to reveal a woman slovenly attired in a day robe, her curling wig slightly askew and her eyes bleary enough to tell him—if her breath had not—that she had been drinking heavily.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” the woman drawled, surveying him slowly and lasciviously. Her pasty brow wrinkled slightly. “So, you are one of dear Foz’s friends?”
“I am Robert Harding, Lord Cheddersby’s solicitor.”
“What?” she cried, shoving the door closed—to no avail, for Rob’s booted foot covered the threshold.
He put his hand on the door and pushed it open. The woman gasped, then grabbed her robe and pulled it tight, as if it were some kind of protective armor. “Get out!”
“I am here to discuss terms.”
The fear left her face and she crossed her arms. “Come in.”
Rob did so, and closed the door behind him. He scanned the room and the one visible beyond. He wondered if Lord Cheddersby had ever actually been here, or if she had insisted they go to his house, and eat his food and drink his wine.
“Terms, eh?” the woman queried.
“Yes.”
“Is he going to pay?” she demanded, shifting her weight to the other leg.
“I thought you wanted him to marry you.”
“He … he’s willing to marry me?” she asked, dumbfounded.
“No.”
Her eyes got a triumphant gleam. “Then he’s going to pay.”
Rob continued to regard her steadily. She blinked and moved slowly toward an open bottle of wine and a pewter goblet sitting on a table covered with a shabby stained cloth. “I don’t expect all that I asked for, naturally. That was just an opening … suggestion.”
“How much will you settle for?”
She studiously poured out some wine and took a large gulp. Setting the goblet down, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Half.”
“Unacceptable.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Quarter, then.”
“I think nothing would be appropriate, Mistress St. Dunstan, if that is really your name.”
“Nothing?” she cried, arms akimbo and paying no heed to the comment about her name, or the fact that her gaping robe revealed nearly the whole of her pendulous breasts.
“Nothing. If you had identified yourself as a whore in the beginning, you would have received suitable remuneration, I’m sure. Since you did not mention money before the act of sexual intercourse, it was not clear that you were a whore. My client thought you were simply a generous woman. To attempt to wring money from him now under the conditions you specified is extortion. Unless you cease and desist, I will be delighted to take the case to court.”
She scowled. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
Eyes narrowing, she waggled a finger at him. “You might not be a lawyer. For all I know, you could be one of Cheddersby’s actor friends from the theater playing at being his solicitor.”
“You are free to think whatever you will,” Rob replied, “as long as you understand there will be no money forthcoming from Lord Cheddersby, and that if you attempt to spread false rumors about his physical condition, I will have you arrested and charged with slander.
“So we understand each other, Mistress St. Dunstan, do we not? Lord Cheddersby will never hear from you again.”
Suddenly the woman’s eyes widened. “I know who you are! I’ve seen ya before! You’re Heartless Harding!”
“So some people call me.”
“I know all about you, too,” she said with a sly smile. “How you was caught picking a pocket and would have hung except the man you tried to rob was a solicitor who liked the way you tried to talk your way out of it. Liked you so much he took into his house and educated you and let you be his clerk and so you got to be a solicitor yourself. I know how you paid him back, too, my fine Heartless Harding. Seems I ain’t the only whore in the room today.”
Rob crossed the room and grabbed the woman by her soiled robe. He brought his face within inches of hers, ignoring the stench of her breath. “You don’t know anything about my education, but I’ll tell you this. If you ever come near Lord Cheddersby again, you will be sorry.”
“I won’t!” she cried, her eyes wide with fear. “On my life I won’t!”
“Good.” With that, Rob let go of her and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Once outside and around the corner, he slumped against the brick wall of a pawnshop. Sweat dripped down his back and he panted as if he had run a mile in the summer’s heat as he tried to control his rage and his dismay.
How long might it be before Vivienne heard the stories about him, too?
Her hand reluctantly on Philip’s arm, Vivienne joined the throng entering the King’s Theatre. Ahead of them, her uncle led the way through the crowd like a ship through waves, leaving them to follow along in his wake.
There were so many people here, she was rather glad of that, just as she was not glad to have Philip so close beside her. He pressed against her, and his wine-soaked breath was hot in her ear. “Forgive me, my dear,” he murmured. “It’s the damnable mob.”
He wasn’t fooling her with that excuse. He was trying to look down her bodice.
When they finally reached their box in the upper gallery, the noise did not diminish. People around them, as well as below in the pit, talked and laughed loudly. From this upper vantage point, the stage seemed a dizzying distance away. Vivienne’s vision was not aided by the smoke from the various candles, which had little escape in the poorly ventilated building.
She pulled away from Philip and moved a little closer to the railing, scanning the crowd below rather than look at
him. She spied Lettice Jerningham talking to a woman equally fashionably dressed even as her eyes roved over the assembly.
Lettice was right where she most enjoyed being, whereas Vivienne wished she were back at home reading. She spotted Vivienne and waved gaily Vivienne made a halfhearted smile and a feeble wave.
“Good evening, Sir Philip, Mr. Burroughs.”
She recognized the man’s voice at once and whirled around. Heartless Harding was at the entrance to their box, wearing the same clothes he had worn before, and with an expression just as stern.
For one moment, as their gazes met and held, it was like that night in Bankside, before they had kissed. Once more he was the gallant gentleman who had come to her rescue, not with sword or pistol, but with words and logic.
While some women might admire the flash and physicality of the former sort of hero, she would rather respect one who also used his mind. And, she had to admit, he stirred her passions as much as any dashing hero might.
Then, suddenly, the gleam of emotion in his eyes disappeared. “Good afternoon, Mistress Burroughs.”
He spoke as if nothing at all had happened between them. As if he had not offered his help, then withdrawn it. As if they had not kissed with so much mutual passion.
Disappointment, dark and bitter, filled her.
Who was this man who could be so different from one instant to the next?
What did it matter? Why should she let him confound her? He had made it quite clear he wanted nothing to do with her.
Determined to ignore him, she looked past Mr. Harding to the very stylishly attired young man with a round, pleasant face and a most outrageous hat who was standing behind him. With a very interested expression on his face, the unknown man pushed his way forward past the attorney.
Either he was here with Mr. Harding or he was one of the most blatantly nosy people Vivienne had ever encountered.
With an expectant smile, he looked back over his shoulder at Mr. Harding, who stepped forward to make the introductions. “Mistress Burroughs, Sir Philip, Mr. Burroughs, allow me to present Lord Cheddersby.”
Lord Cheddersby swept his hat from his head and bowed. “Your servant!” he declared fervently, as if being their servant were the dearest desire of his heart. “Mistress Burroughs, you are lovely!”
She had been told that a hundred times by Philip, but never once with this sincerity. She smiled as she curtsied. “You are too kind, my lord.”
“Your servant, Lord Cheddersby,” Uncle Elias said, a slight emphasis on the “lord.” His eyes gleamed as his gaze darted between Vivienne and Lord Cheddersby.
She knew that gleam. He got that when he was contemplating a bargain likely to come out in his favor.
A bargain involving her and Lord Cheddersby?
Paying no heed to her uncle, Lord Cheddersby addressed her with enthusiasm. “I saw you from afar and asked Mr. Harding if he knew who you were, by any chance. Imagine my delight when he said he did! I insisted he do me the honor of introducing us.”
“How kind,” Philip muttered.
Mr. Harding turned his cold gaze onto the nobleman. “I could not deny his lordship, surely.”
Philip scowled, but said nothing.
Mr. Harding then turned his attention to the orange girls in the pit. Their job was to sell fruit to the theater patrons, but they seemed a performance in themselves with their witty jests, blatant innuendoes, brazen smiles and the way they swayed their hips, the boxes of oranges moving from side to side.
Was he attracted by their antics, or repulsed? Did he even see them at all, or was he contemplating something else entirely?
Why should she care what he thought about the orange girls or her or anything at all? He was Sir Philip’s solicitor, and nothing more.
“If you will all excuse me,” Mr. Harding suddenly declared, speaking to everyone, it seemed, but her, “I believe I see a client of mine below. I should speak with him before the play begins.”
“By all means,” Lord Cheddersby said genially.
“No leisure for lawyers,” Uncle Elias added with a companionable chortle, as one businessman to another.
Vivienne said nothing. If he had to go, goodbye and be gone, she told herself. That was better than having his cold presence near her.
Especially when she seemed to feel so hot.
“Does the famous Heartless Harding represent you, too?” Philip demanded of Lord Cheddersby after the solicitor had departed.
“Yes … no … sometimes,” Lord Cheddersby stammered, looking as if he’d been ambushed. “Not exactly. Our family’s had the same solicitor forever. I think the fellow must be about a hundred years old. He certainly looks it. But this … this was a special case, requiring, um, special expertise.”
“And we know the kind of expertise he has,” Philip muttered darkly. “You must be rather desperate for company to bring your solicitor to the play.”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Lord Cheddersby acknowledged. “Lord Farrington and Sir Richard are apparently permanently ensconced in the country with their families these days. Not that I begrudge them that, of course, for they are very happy.”
“Is he arranging a marriage settlement for you, too, my lord?” Uncle Elias suggested.
“Oh, good God, no!”
The gleam in her uncle’s eyes brightened.
“You sound as if you miss Lord Farrington and Sir Richard,” Vivienne noted.
“I do. I have nobody left.”
“You have Mr. Harding.”
“Oh, yes, I do, I suppose. But he’s not exactly a talkative chap.”
“No, he’s not,” Uncle Elias agreed. “Still, devilishly clever, so they say.”
“Have you known him long?” Vivienne asked.
“Unfortunately, I haven’t, except by sight and reputation and what happened with Richard. He was Lady Dovercourt—that is, Richard’s wife—he was her solicitor before Richard or I had heard of him. I gather he is very good at the law.”
“I assume he is well educated?”
“Vivienne, there is no need to interrogate Lord Cheddersby,” Uncle Elias growled.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Lord Cheddersby replied.
“He had a good teacher,” Philip interjected. “I gather they were very close.”
Vivienne frowned, unsure what he meant, although it was obviously not a compliment. Rather than have him explain, she addressed Lord Cheddersby again. “Does he have many clients among the king’s court?”
“I don’t believe so, no,” Lord Cheddersby replied.
“I should say not,” Philip seconded. “I thought I would have fleas after I left his office. Nothing but riffraff for clients. It’s a wonder the man makes enough to live on. You would think he would have been delighted to see me, but he was almost rude. He actually had the effrontery to ask some old woman if she would mind waiting while he spoke to me. I’faith, I nearly walked right out.”
Philip’s denunciation probably meant Mr. Harding had not been sufficiently humble and deferential to Sir Philip. She also suspected that if Mr. Harding’s clientele were poor, his fees were small. No doubt that was another reason Philip had chosen him.
“The play’s about to start,” Philip observed coldly to the young nobleman. “Should you not go to your own box?”
“Nonsense!” Uncle Elias growled. “We have room in our box for one more.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Lord Cheddersby demurred.
“You won’t be,” Uncle Elias assured him. “Here, sit beside Vivienne, my lord. Sir Philip, there is plenty of room on the other side of my niece.”
In a few moments, they were arranged as he proposed.
Eagerly taking his seat beside Vivienne, Lord Cheddersby said, “I can tell you something about Mr. Harding that’s really rather astonishing,” he began. He didn’t wait for Vivienne’s nod of approval before continuing with awe and admiration. “Richard told me that Mr. Harding threatened him once.”
“He th
reatened Sir Richard Blythe?” Uncle Elias said with a gasp of disbelief from behind them. “He’s only a solicitor. How dare he draw on a friend of the king?”
“Oh, not with a weapon. Richard was telling me about how he reconciled with his wife and he said that he was very upset when he went to see Mr. Harding, who had made a rather serious allegation about Richard. It all was for naught, of course, because Richard wouldn’t do anything despicable, although one might believe him capable of anything if you saw all his plays and some of the characters he’s created. Really, Richard does come up with the most astonishing people sometimes.”
Fortunately, Lord Cheddersby paused to shake his head.
“What happened when he went to see Mr. Harding?” Vivienne asked.
“Mr. Harding told him to sit down.”
Vivienne’s mouth fell open in surprise, and her uncle sounded only a little less surprised. “That is all?”
Lord Cheddersby nodded gravely. “He ordered him to sit down and, as angry as he was, Richard did. I swear, if Richard came upon me when he was enraged, I would turn tail and run. I would never dare to order him to do anything—and Richard would never do it anyway. Mr. Harding must have looked very fierce.”
“It would take more than a verbal command to make me sit down,” Philip declared, “if he even possessed the gall to try to order me about.”
“Perhaps not,” Lord Cheddersby replied as he gave Philip a dubious look. “Still, he is rather intimidating. I suppose if one saw him smile, one might think differently. Supposing he can smile, that is, and I’m not absolutely sure of that,” Lord Cheddersby confessed genially.
She thought of the difference a smile did impart to Robert Harding’s usually stern features. No, he was not intimidating then.
“Do you know,” Lord Cheddersby began meditatively, “I would have liked to have been a barrister, but I daresay my father wouldn’t permit it.”
Margaret Moore Page 6