Minor Indiscretions

by Barbara Metzger

  “If your man finds that the woman in question does have some trumped-up right to the child, how can that be overturned? Assuming for the sake of discussion, of course, that the person seeking custody is a legitimate relative of the child. Legitimate may be the wrong word. Blood kin, then.”

  “Quite, quite. Nearly every decision of the courts can be reversed, but often at unforeseen expense.”

  “Dash it, I’m not a nipfarthing! That is, the hypothetical gentleman does not consider the price of moral justice.”

  “Forgive me, Lord Coe, I had not meant mere financial expense, although justice is often hurried along by such means. I was thinking of the personal cost. If the gentleman in question were to present such papers to the higher court, seeking to rescind a legal adoption, there would have to be just cause, charges of neglect or whatever, an examination, proof of his prior claim, et cetera. There would be no way to keep said gentleman’s name out of the public eye. The press, you know. I don’t think that’s what you want.”

  “B’gad, no!”

  “Then I suggest I send a man to ascertain the details, and feel out the possibility of quiet negotiations.”

  Quiet negotiations, with Miss Ashton? Crocodile-legged sofas would get up and walk away first. Coe wished the man luck.

  “I’m sure we can have the matter neatly wrapped up in, say, a month, my lord.”

  Coe gave him two weeks and left.

  *

  Two weeks before he would see…the child, of course. Two weeks in London at the height of the Season, acquaintances everywhere, entertainments and invitations too numerous to count, and Lord Coe had nothing to do. Idly, he directed the coachman to drive to Kensington, too abstracted to recall that he’d given Yvette her congé and was now keeping a pretty little ladybird in rooms off King Street.

  “But mon cher, you give Yvette permission to stay on here another month, non? Ah, you’ve changed your mind and wish Yvette to remain, oui?”

  Non. But Corey could not come right out and say he’d forgotten and arrived in Kensington out of habit, not after Yvette’s new protector had left in such a hurry, diving out the back door when Coe stepped through the front. Some protector. Now that Corey did remember dismissing Yvette, he also recalled leaving her a handsome enough parting gift that she need not settle for such a paltry fellow. He felt less gauche.

  “I, ah, just wanted to talk. Is that all right?” He fully intended to pay for her time.

  “Talk? You want to talk to Yvette?” She shrugged. One received strange requests in her line of work. “But of course, cheri, now that you have chased away that chien, what else is there to do?” She languidly bestowed herself on the divan, allowing the neckline of her robe to fall open. Not that the frothy, pink garment concealed much of Yvette’s charms anyway, being nearly transparent.

  Coe expected to be interested, and wasn’t, to his own surprise. He still wanted to know her opinions, however, on matters about which he definitely could not approach females of his own class. It occurred to him that, man of the world or not, he was woefully ignorant about certain facts of life. “Yvette, what would you do if you found yourself with child?”

  She looked at him as if he’d grown another head. “Enceinte, moi? With your child?”

  “No, no, just a hypothetical child.”

  “Me, I do not know this hypothetical.”

  “Um, just the child of any man, no one in particular,” Corey explained.

  Yvette drew herself up, and her robe closed. “Me, I always know the man. I am not, how do you say, Covent Garden ware, going with any man for the price.” Her price just went up.

  “My pardon, cherie. What if, then, it were my child, or the man who just left? What would you do?”

  “Me, I would not be such an imbecile in the first place. But if, yes, if such a thing should happen, incroyable, I would take care of it.”

  “But would you discuss it with me, with the father? Would you hold him responsible?”

  Yvette laughed. “Ah, finally I see. Some jeune fille is looking to net the so-handsome, so-wealthy vicomte. That is the oldest trap since the apple, non? No, monsieur, Yvette would not lay such a snare. That is not what you English call pound dealing, n’est-ce-pas? If I found myself in such a temporary embarrassment, I might ask monsieur for assistance, since you have been so generous, but no, I think not even then. I would simply get rid of l’enfant as soon as possible, if not before. A woman in my position cannot afford to lose her looks or so much of her time. The gentlemen, they forget, you see, if a woman goes visiting away too long. But no, no, and no, I would not spread a noose for one such as you, demanding marriage. Yvette knows the rules.”

  “Then I would never know?” Somehow the idea did not sit well with him.

  “But what’s to know? Un homme comes to Yvette for pleasure, not morning sickness and the shape of a cow. He has a wife for that. Alors, enough of this so-foolish talk you call hypothetical. Yvette is much better at the pleasure, oui?”

  Oui, but not today.

  *

  Two weeks in town. Lord Coe had dinner at his club, checked the betting book to make sure his name wasn’t in it, heard the latest on dits, and was happy his name wasn’t among those either. Later he went to the opera, where his newest mistress—there, he recognized her in the first row of dancers—curtsied to his box during the tenor’s solo. The bucks in the pit whistled till he bowed, and the turbanned dowager in the next box clucked her disapproval. “Disgusting,” she declared loudly to the younger woman next to her, a washed-out wisp of a thing in a faded gown that advertised a poor relation or a paid companion.

  So Corey bowed to the matron and blew a kiss to the companion. After that they left him alone with his thoughts: of men like apes beating their chests, flaunting their possession of women, of women who had no knowledge of love, and women who had too much. He thought of men who craved heirs and begot bastards, and women who threw out children like the trash, women who feared losing their looks, ladies who feared losing their reputations, and a girl who truly seemed to care about the innocent ones. He thought about the children.

  Dammit, why should he wait two weeks? He could help the solicitor’s man check records, he could help sweet-talk the Ashtons into parting with Margaret. What a brilliant idea, and the one he wanted all along!

  Corey almost convinced himself that he should be in Copley-Whitmore for the child’s sake; it was his duty to ensure her welfare. Never before had duty and desire combined so happily

  He left the opera house after leaving a check with the stageman. His mistress would understand. The green-eyed dasher could dance, but he bet she could not fire a rifle.

  *

  Bates was muttering over the packing—doubles of everything if they were going back to that hellhole—when the anguished letter came. Coe’s sister, Erica, was in despair at not hearing from him and had decided to take matters into her own hands, despite his orders to stay away. The peagoose was going to Copley-Whitmore. She was leaving Bath in ten days. Blast, he had enough to worry over without another totty-headed female on his hands. She would only be overemotional about the child, possibly growing attached to the chit, and her very presence in that vicinity could give rise to the same conjecture he was trying to avoid. In addition, having his sister about would certainly cramp Lord Coe’s efforts in Miss Ashton’s direction. The mother and nanny and cook were bad enough.

  Erica was usually the most biddable of females, Corey reflected, until she dug her heels in. Only once before had she disregarded his advice and look where that got her. Perhaps his advice hadn’t been so fine, landing her with that mawworm Wooster, but Corey was young then and had done his best to see her settled before he had to join his cavalry unit. Age and good intentions were no excuses, he knew, and by Jupiter he was trying to make that up to her—if she would only stay out of it!

  There was no dissuading her, Coe knew, although he wrote an impassioned letter anyway. Damn, she would be singled out in that backwood
s neighborhood of dubious repute like a goldfish in a bowl of guppies…unless Corey managed to muddy the waters. He interrupted Bates to order out his evening clothes.

  There must be hunting or fishing, and assemblies at Hazelton, and picnics… He could invite the Cheynes and the Tarnovers for respectability. Lady Tarnover had a stepbrother in politics. There was that prosy bore Pendleton, and Major Peter Frye, Coe’s good friend, could be counted on to do the pretty. Frye had a ne’er-do-well cousin who was always on repairing leases. The basket scrambler would be sure to dangle after Felice and her tales of the nabob’s money. Corey wondered who else might be at White’s, who else would be interested in his sister or a fortnight’s house party at a decrepit estate on the way to nowhere.

  That climber Lady Ashton would be delighted with the company, Harry would be thrilled with all the horses, and Miss Ashton would be livid, which would be nothing new. No matter, Corey would have nearly a month to bring her round. Just in time for that little house in Kensington to be vacant again!

  Chapter Fourteen

  You want how much for this wreck of a place, Miss Ashton? Perhaps you misunderstood me. I only wish to rent the Oaks for a month, not purchase it.”

  “I understood your wish, my lord, but not your reason. If you think to turn my family home into a place for your…your orgies, I won’t have it.”

  “Miss Ashton, when I choose to hold an orgy, you will be the first to know.”

  Melody’s furious blush reminded the viscount he had vowed not to rush his fences with her. “But the Oaks will take an additional outlay to bring it to the standards of a gentleman’s residence.”

  “Gentleman, hah!” That was eloquent enough of Melody’s opinion of the devilish rogue in front of her, his pale hair slightly tousled from the ride, his teeth gleaming in a bright smile, and his slightly crooked nose adding even more character to a face that—No, Miss Ashton told herself. This will never do. “The price is firm.”

  Lord Coe also recalled he had vowed not to lose his temper with the prickly wench. “Very well, ma’am, I accept your terms, but it is highway robbery.”

  “Ah, that was one of the few crimes of which you have yet to accuse me. Let me see, there was lying, cheating, blackmail, wantonness, and attempted murder. Am I next to be called traitor to king and country?”

  “I don’t know. Have you been selling state secrets to eke out the egg money?”

  “My lord, I don’t know any state secrets, and I do not know what you are doing here.” Melody had received the infuriating man’s note asking to call, and she had met him outside, intending to be courteous but brief. Meggie had a legal male guardian, such as he was: old Toby had put his X on the paper under Mr. Hadley’s signature. This blackguard standing close to her—too close—on the Oaks’ front steps, dressed to the nines and obviously determined to tease her out of the sullens, was not entitled to Meggie, nor to any of Miss Ashton’s good humor.

  “I told you, I was concerned for the child’s welfare.”

  “Gammon. The child is six years old, and you have never given a ha’penny’s thought to her before.”

  “Ah, but you yourself reminded me so charmingly of my responsibilities.” His smile broadened. “Furthermore, I did wish to apologize for that other day. Some of my charges may have been unfounded, some of my words hasty.”

  Some? Unfortunately, Melody had to admit that some were likely all too true. He was certainly being noble about it; she could be no less a lady. “And I, too, owe you an apology. It seems there may indeed be something untoward going on, so your concern was—is—understandable. Please be assured that my mother and I had no knowledge of such a scheme, and we are trying to take steps.”

  His blue eyes fairly sparkled. “There, I knew we could see eye to eye about something! Now if we are decided that you aren’t a blackmailer, and I am not a debaucher”—he thought he heard Melody mutter something about that wasn’t what she’d decided at all—“might we call a truce and go inside where we could be more comfortable while we let the solicitors handle the question of the child? I really would like to discuss my plans for the house and enlist your aid in a scheme of my own.”

  Outside in the fresh air was close enough for Melody’s comfort, but she could not continue to be so ragmannered in the face of his polished charm. She led the way to the library, and Angie came gamboling after the viscount.

  Mindful of his buff kerseymere breeches, and Bates’s sorrowful demeanor on learning his master’s destination, the viscount commanded, “Down, sir!” in his best battalion voice.

  “It’s a female,” Melody corrected.

  “Figures,” Corey replied, but his grin overrode the insult.

  They were both amazed when the hound actually stopped frolicking around and flopped herself down at Lord Coe’s feet. Impressed despite herself, Melody offered the viscount a glass of wine, and he drank in the sight of her in a muslin gown embroidered with violets, gracefully pouring. Her chestnut hair was neatly, severely bound; how he wished to see it loose and flowing down her back. Melody could feel his gaze bringing a warm flush to her cheeks, so she hurriedly took her seat behind the desk, folding her hands in front of her primly, expectantly. Neither one noticed the dog at Corey’s feet, contentedly chewing the gold tassels off the lord’s brand-new Hessian boots.

  “You were going to tell me about a plan of yours, my lord? One that might conceivably explain your wishing to rent the Oaks.”

  Corey admired how she looked him directly in the eye. For such a young chit she was remarkably self-assured. Of course, Mrs. Tolliver was likely nearby with a cast-iron frying pan. He smiled lazily. “I don’t suppose you would swallow a tale about my appreciation for the scenery around here or my need to rusticate?”

  Knowing from Felice that he was the compleat London beau and from her mother how many country estates of his own he had? Not likely. Melody tried to raise one eyebrow in mocking imitation of his own expression, and only succeeded in scrunching her face and making him laugh. It was a very nice laugh. Her own spirits lightened at the sound.

  “There, I’ve made you smile,” he said, as if he cared. “Very well, my sister wishes to see the child she has been supporting all these years. You’ll acknowledge her right?”

  “Gladly, and I would be happy to express my appreciation for her generosity and beg her pardon that someone has been trying to intimidate her. I am sure my mother would second that and extend an invitation, too. There is no need for you to lease the house.” Or cut up Melody’s peace, but she did not express that last thought.

  “My sister has been blue-deviled lately, and I thought to invite other friends to keep her company, a regular house party, in fact.”

  “Here, with the children?” Melody remembered Pike’s reaction to the orphans, terming them freaks and bastards; she was still agonizing over his specific insults to her. No one would do that to her charges. “I will not have the children laughed at or made the butt of tasteless jokes.”

  “And I would not have friends who did. There are members of the ton more eccentric and less amiable than Ducky, and many whose parentage does not bear inquiry. You need not be such a tigress, rushing to the defense of her cubs. No one shall harm them. You have my word on that.”

  Why Melody should trust him was a mystery, but she did. In this, at least. She was not so sure about others of his motives, which prompted her to ask, “And this scheme of yours?”

  “Requires your help, and that of the children, of course.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and spoke in a low, confiding voice. “You see, I wish to find my sister a new husband and need to know if the prospective brothers-in-law like children. I thought to invite some eligible bachelors here, to gauge their reactions. Someone, I don’t know who, said you could learn a lot about a man by watching how he treats children and d—Blast this mangy mutt! Look at my boots! Of all the poorly trained, evil-minded—I’ve a good mind to—”

  “Children and…?” she asked, laughing, a
nd was pleased to see his anger turn to chagrin and then to the good humor that etched lines on his tanned cheeks and made his eyes sparkle. They both agreed the gentlemen would have ample testing ground. His lordship was willing, naturally, to pay for Angie’s services as part of the experiment, once the hound had worked off her debt to his man, Bates.

  “I am afraid poor Angie will be trying your sister’s likely suitors for years, Lord Coe. But if I may ask, has Lady Wooster no preference in this matter?”

  Interestingly enough, Corey felt like confiding in Miss Ashton, the same woman whom he had castigated as a lying jade not ten days ago. He did go on to tell about his sister, four year his junior, and how at an early age she had fallen in love with a soldier. Erica’s soldier was a penniless second son with no prospects, except an imminent recall to service on the Peninsula. Lord Coe had found the two together—Corey did not mention that he’d found them on the road to Scotland—and sent the young man off with a flea in his ear. The soldier was reported dead or missing shortly thereafter. Inconsolable, Erica went into a decline until a desperate Lord Coe sent her to visit her old governess in Cornwall, for he had to rejoin his own unit.

  On Corey’s next leave, Erica seemed apathetic, but resigned. She agreed to marry the man of her brother’s choice, a solid, wealthy member of Parliament, an older gentleman who would cure her of those romantic flights and see to her welfare. Wooster turned out to be an ogre, who furthermore never gave Erica the children she craved. The only favor he did her was in dying of an apoplexy four years later.

  “That was over a year ago, and now that she is out of mourning I want to make it up to her. I have invited an earl, a war hero, and a rising politico, all with impeccable lineage, substantial incomes, spotless reputations.”