by Connie Lane
Madame Brenard grumbled a word Nick couldn’t quite hear. “’E’s as full of ’imself as the Channel is of water,” she said. “An infuriatin’ man. After a while, we all got tired of sittin’ ’ere listenin’ to ’im go on and on about ’imself.”
“So we went to make sure everything was prepared for your guests.” Willie took over the telling of the tale. “And when we got back…” She looked down at singer and her lips thinned.
“It’s my fault, Your Lordship, sir.” Clover sniffed back tears and with the help of the other girls, pulled herself to her feet. “I come in a’lookin’ for them biscuits what Willie said she was makin’ and this ’ere fellow ’ere…” Her eyes filled with tears and her words were swamped.
“By that time he was quite drunk,” Willie explained. “He took hold of poor Clover and what started—as Clover so aptly describes it—as a bit of a cuddle, got too intimate much too quickly. I happened into the room at just that moment. Seeing that I had no choice…” She glanced toward the broken bottle. “I defended Clover the only way I was able.”
“And now you can show me to the door,” Clover wailed. “For it is all my fault. Old habits die hard, as they say, and I just naturally found myself smilin’ at the man. I’ve ruined everything and—”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Nick stepped over the tenor and took Clover by the shoulders, the better to calm her and keep her attention. “No one’s going to sack you for smiling. Make her a cup of tea,” he ordered Madame. “Make tea for everyone. Sit down and calm down and—” He looked over his shoulder toward the door and the passageway that led back to the salon where one hundred people were waiting for the night’s entertainment. “I will go make Signor Pancotti’s excuses and send everyone home.”
“Oh no!” As if that was all it took to bring the situation under control, Willie brushed her hands together. Her mind as made up as her expression was determined, she grabbed Nick by the arm, spun him around and headed out of the room with him in tow. Outside in the passageway, she gave him a gentle push. “Get back to your guests,” she told him. “There will be entertainment this evening.”
“Yes, but Willie, I—”
She was obviously not in the mood for buts and the way she looked at him, Nick was thankful there wasn’t another brandy bottle at hand.
“Damn it, Nick,” she said, “I will not see you humiliated again in front of a houseful of people. I said there will be entertainment and damn it, there will be entertainment. Now, get in there and be the perfect host. I shall take care of the rest.”
“What a perfectly charming evening!” Lady Sylvia Moore-Paget was so used to repeating the polite phrases that were expected on occasions such as these that she barely bothered to sound as if she meant it. Her expression as blank as it had been all evening, her intonation so controlled and so terribly polite it made Nick’s teeth hurt, she stood out of reach of the evening air that flowed through the open front door on the end of an invigorating breeze and looked Nick over. When she was done, she gave a little toss of her head that he supposed was meant to be flirtatious. It made her look rather as if she were a barnyard chicken, pecking away at the dirt.
“You will be attending our ball next week?” Lady Sylvia’s mother accepted her wrap from Mr. Finch, her question to Nick not much of a question at all. Her tone of voice made it clear that if he intended to take his interest in her daughter any further, he would be there.
Fortunately for Nick’s belief that the truth was always the best way to deal with a woman—even if it was not always the surest way to her heart—Jem bounded up the front steps at just that moment.
“Carriage is ’ere,” Jem told them, poking his thumb over his shoulder. “And you’d best get a move on it, on account of because there’s another one behind it and Miss Lynnette is waitin’!”
Lady Sylvia gave a weak laugh that hardly blocked out the choking sounds her mother made. “So clever to have the boy who sang for us this evening pretending to be your footman,” Lady Sylvia said. “And acting as if he does not know how to speak to his betters. And the conjurer…” She gave a cursory glance to Mr. Finch, who was waiting with Lynnette’s Poland mantle. “Lord Somerton is quite awake on every suit, is he not, Mother? He will set the style for the whole ton, if I am not mistaken, and soon we will all have entertainers in our homes who keep the whimsy alive by pretending to be house staff after their performance. It is quite clever, indeed.”
“And I am so glad you enjoyed it.” Nick bowed over Lady Sylvia’s hand and ushered her and her mother to the door and it wasn’t until it was closed behind them that he dared let go a sigh of relief.
“Thank God it’s over!”
Lynnette emerged from the morning room where she had taken each of the staff aside to give them a silver crown in appreciation for their hard work. “It was quite the most extraordinary evening!” She clapped her hands and swept into the entryway as if she were dancing. “Who could have imagined that your little tiger would have the voice of an absolute angel? And Mr. Finch…” She grinned at the butler who, not used to having ladies—gentle or otherwise—offer him so open and honest a smile, blushed to the roots of his hair. “Where on earth did you learn such incredible sleight of hand, Mr. Finch?”
“That is something we will discuss another time.” Because he did not wish to go into it, Nick reached for Lynnette’s mantle and draped it over her shoulders. “Thank you for acting as my hostess.” He kissed her cheek and moved forward to open the door for her. “I could not have done it without you.”
“You couldn’t have done it without your Miss Culpepper, you mean.” Lynnette beamed him a smile over her shoulder and skipped down the steps. “You must be good to her, Nick darling. You don’t want to lose her.”
When Nick turned from the door, Willie was waiting to speak to him.
“Signor Pancotti is up, finally, and sent back to his lodgings,” she told him. “If you’d like me to pack and leave as well—”
“Leave?” He looked a bit like he did when she punched him in the nose. “Really, Willie! I have had enough drama for one night. I don’t need to hear you talking like a perfect block.”
“I should have kept a better eye on Signor Pancotti.” It was the truth and Willie wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “I hold myself responsible. And besides…” She glanced away.
If she had been paying more attention, she would have heard Nick come nearer. By the time she realized it, he was standing in front of her. His eyes were soft in the last of the candlelight. His smile was as dazzling.
“What you are going to say is that you never should have bashed the old boy on the head.” Nick’s laugh tickled through her like the spring air. “I have a secret to share with you, Willie. From what I’ve heard, I wouldn’t have minded a chance to thump the blackguard myself. I had thought to go to the kitchen right now and have a go at him but since he has left…” He smiled. It was the first candid smile she’d had from him since the night of Almack’s and she found herself a bit weak-kneed under its influence.
“And what of Lady Sylvia?” It was not the most pleasant of subjects, but it was safer than standing there letting his smile play along her skin like liquid sunshine. “She seems…” As if she could see past it, Willie looked toward the door where Lady Sylvia and her mother had disappeared only a few minutes earlier. “Pleasant?”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” As if getting rid of the very notion and all remnants of Lady Sylvia’s presence, Nick twitched his shoulders.
“She’s as rich as Croesus,” Willie reminded him.
“And did you watch her?” He walked over to the front window and looked out, and satisfied that his cousin had gotten away safely, he turned the other way and looked toward the open door of the morning room. Bess, Marie, and Flossie were cleaning up; Clover had been sent to bed with a cup of chocolate and a gold half sovereign from Nick that Willie was not supposed to have seen him give her. It hardly made up for the ordeal of having to
put up with Signor Pancotti’s unwanted advances and she was sure Nick knew that. But it did bring a smile to Clover’s face.
“When Mr. Finch put on that most remarkable show of prestidigitation, did you happen to see Lady Sylvia? And by the way—” Nick glanced back to where Willie was standing.
“I checked Mr. Finch’s pockets,” she assured him. “He didn’t make anything disappear that wasn’t supposed to disappear and everything that did disappear was returned as it should have been.”
Nick seemed surprised, but not by Mr. Finch’s uncharacteristic honesty. “I meant, how did you know? That he could do so many remarkable things? Making coins appear as if out of Lynnette’s ears. And making Lord Asterleigh’s pocket watch disappear, then materialize again. It was astounding!”
“Indeed.” Willie smiled and it wasn’t until she did that she realized it was the first honest smile she’d offered him since the night of Almack’s. It felt good to be back on even terms with Nick, if only for a moment.
The next moment, the thought of everything they’d said and done in the library left her feeling as if she couldn’t catch her breath. “Mr. Finch…” She shook herself away from the thoughts that threatened to upend her and reached for the candlesnuffer sitting on a nearby table. One by one, she put out the candles in the entryway. “Mr. Finch has been entertaining us with his magic in the kitchen these many weeks. It seemed only natural to share his talents with your guests. Especially when we were so sorely in need of entertainment.”
“And Jem?”
“I heard him. Singing in the stables. Though I have never heard Signor Pancotti, I cannot help but think that Jem’s voice was much the better choice for an evening of music. He’s a sweet child.”
“And his talent should be encouraged.”
It was all the permission Willie needed to do what she had been meaning to ask Nick for permission to do. There was a church nearby and a boys’ choir. Jem would fit in admirably.
She moved on to the candles that burned on a table near the stairway. “I am glad you enjoyed yourself.”
“Don’t you mean you are glad my guests enjoyed themselves?”
His comment brought her up short. “Of course.” Willie swallowed her mortification and scrambled to cover the slip that she feared betrayed the fact that even while they had been dancing around each other and the emotions that had been so raw and recklessly exposed the night he kissed her, he had always been first on her mind.
“I did not want to see your guests disappointed. And Lady Sylvia…”
Willie cursed herself. Try as she might, she could not keep her curiosity tamped. “I did so want you to make a good impression on Lady Sylvia. You did, didn’t you? Make a good impression on Lady Sylvia?”
“Lady Sylvia—” Nick drew in a deep breath and let it out with a puff of annoyance. “I hate to disappoint you, Willie, but…”
The feeling that flooded through her was so far from disappointment, Willie couldn’t help but look up and meet Nick’s gaze.
“The entire time Lady Sylvia watched Mr. Finch do those astonishing things…the entire time she listened to Jem sing…” He shook his head. “I know you tried to be careful in your choices of the young ladies I should meet, Willie, but Lady Sylvia…”
This time, the tremor that moved over his broad shoulders had more to do with dismissal than annoyance. “The entire time she was here this evening, Lady Sylvia never once smiled.”
13
“I say, Willie, can you pass me one of those biscuits?” Arthur Hexam pointed across the table with his fork. “Not those!” He pulled a face when she reached for the tray of sweets that had been provided along with their supper baskets. “The ones you made and brought along. You know, those kajoo…whatever!”
“Kaju badam.” Smiling, Willie passed him the plate. “I am glad you like them.”
“Like them!” Palliston whisked two biscuits off the plate when it made its way by him. “When it comes to your biscuits, Willie, Hexam here is an absolute nickninny. He acts as if he’s never tasted biscuits before.”
“And you do not?” Not to be outdone, when the plate finally made its way to him, Hexam took three biscuits. Biting into the first one, he tipped back his head and breathed a sigh of perfect contentment. “You are an artist, Willie. No mistake about that. And you say you have others?”
Willie lifted the basket she’d brought along and nudged back the cloth that covered it, just so they could see inside. “Nankhatai,” she said, pointing. “You will like these as well, I think. Though they are meant as a sweet. Which means—”
“They should be saved for after dinner.” Before Hexam could protect them, Latimer whisked the biscuits off the table in front of him.
A good-natured brawl erupted between the friends and watching it, Willie sat back and smiled. Hexam, Palliston, and Latimer reminded her a great deal of her brothers.
Except that they never spouted Scripture, never lectured about morality, and never preached against the evils of drink.
Which made them quite a bit more entertaining than her brothers had ever been.
If only she could come to feel the same way about Nick.
The thought snuck up unawares and feeling suddenly self-conscious, Willie got up and busied herself with making sure everything was ready for supper. The table was set, the dishes were in place, the silver gleamed in the light of the candles. It didn’t stop her from arranging and rearranging things.
“You’re supposed to be a guest here. Not a servant.”
Lynnette Overton entered the supper box and immediately put a hand on Willie’s arm to stop her. “You are supposed to be enjoying yourself,” she reminded Willie.
“I am!” It was the truth and Willie was not about to deny it. She glanced around at the scene of classical Rome painted on the wall of the supper box and out the entryway to where the fashionable paraded by in the light of globe lamps set along the outside walk. “I never thought to ever come to Vauxhall,” she told Lynnette. “And I am so happy you invited me to accompany you and—”
“It is I who am happy.” Lynnette gave her arm a friendly squeeze. She looked over to where Hexam, Palliston, and Latimer were finally settling down and seeing that their hair was mussed and their neckcloths were askew, she laughed. “You wouldn’t have me spend the evening by myself with the likes of the Dashers, would you? They are a rowdy lot.” She did not look the least put out by the fact. “I am grateful you could join us.”
“And I am grateful you invited me.” Willie glanced toward the doorway. “It’s just that—”
“Don’t pay it any mind.” Lynnette patted her arm, though how she could have possibly known what Willie was about to say was a mystery.
Rather than try to fathom it and so that she wouldn’t be expected to explain, she glanced again at the door. “Is Nick…” She swallowed the name and horror-struck, looked at Lynnette out of the corner of her eye and when she saw that Lynnette did not look the least bit put out at the familiarity she had used so freely, she went right on. “Is Lord Somerton on his way?” she asked. “Has he met with Lady Catherine yet?”
“Last I saw them, they were chatting together like fast friends.” Though a meeting with Lady Catherine Sutcliffe was the exact reason for this visit to Vauxhall Gardens, Lynnette did not look especially pleased. She wrinkled her nose. “She’s a beautiful thing,” she confided to Willie, her voice low. “Hair as dark as coal. Eyes like fire. I hear her personality is just as fierce.”
“Which should make her quite attractive to your cousin.”
“Yes, it should.” Lynnette looked no more pleased by this admission than she did by the fact that Nick and Lady Catherine had yet to join them for supper because they were strolling the Grand Walk.
Or perhaps they were together in the privacy of the Dark Walk.
It was best not to think of such things, and Willie knew it. But knowing a thing was right and doing it was not always easy. In spite of how she tried not to, she coul
dn’t help but picture Nick arm in arm with Lady Catherine on the narrow, dark pathway that was oftentimes called Lovers’ Walk.
At the same time her stomach bunched she reminded herself she was being foolish.
After all, she was the one who’d convinced Nick that Lady Catherine just might be right for him. She was the one who explained all she could find out about the lady’s background, including her wealth. She was the one who pointed out that Lady Catherine was a little older than the other women on Willie’s list and that, perhaps, that might mean that Nick and Lady Catherine had more in common. And though she had not failed to mention that Lady Catherine was a widow, she had not bothered to bring up all that it might mean. Having been married, the lady must be worldly-wise and more experienced than the other women Nick had met. The sort of experience Lady Catherine must have learned in her marriage bed might be even more pertinent than was the state of her financial affairs.
And another thing Willie knew it best not to think about.
On paper, she reminded herself, it was an ideal match, and rather than stand there like a cabbage head and worry that they had taken to each other, she should be happy. After a string of what might charitably be called courting disasters, perhaps Lady Catherine was the one.
The right one.
The one Nick was destined to marry.
“They are suited by temperament, I think.” As if she had been reading Willie’s mind, Lynnette slid her a look. “Much as you and Nick are.”
“A fact that is certainly not true. And if it were true, then it is certainly not relevant.” Willie smoothed the skirt of her gown, the better to hide the fact that discussing such things made her tremble like a leaf. “Lady Catherine was not my first choice because of it. Though I have little experience in such matters, I hear that two people of like character may be instantly attracted but that the attraction may not last. And a marriage, I think, is meant to last a good long time.”