She thought about meeting Lord Baddick and smiled. Perhaps it had been fate. He was proper,
but less austere than the rather intimidating Duke of Winterton. Lord Baddick seemed to think she would have many suitors in Town. Oh, she could not wait to reach London!
Hugging herself, she turned from the window to go to bed. Snuggling under the bedclothes, she fell into dreams in which the hero was alternately Lord Baddick and the Duke of Winterton.
Downstairs in the taproom, Lord Baddick drank heavily. It was all he could do to keep from climbing the stairs and trying his luck with the chit right then. But experience taught him not to rush his fences. He would enjoy the chase in Town.
Lord Baddick snickered to himself while endless possibilities for the young girl’s seduction floated through his brandy-soaked brain.
At the moment, a serving maid was winking broadly at him as she leaned forward to refill his glass. Lord Baddick’s lips curved into a grin.
* * * *
Late the following afternoon, Lady Fuddlesby, attired in a rose-pink gown with only a few cat hairs on it, sat in the drawing room of her Grosvenor Square town house. Knight prowled about the room restlessly as if sensing his mistress’s mood.
“Where can the girl be?” Lady Fuddlesby asked, her fingers twisting a lace handkerchief. “She should have been here yesterday. I cannot imagine what could have caused a delay.”
The black and white cat wandered over to the tall windows and observed a light snow falling. He turned to look at Lady Fuddlesby, his tail tapping the windowpane.
“Oh! My dear boy. Of course, you have the right of it. Why, it might have been snowing quite dreadfully out in the country. Perhaps Henrietta was obliged to put up overnight at some damp inn.”
Her ladyship’s butler, Chuffley, appeared in the doorway. “His Grace, the Duke of Winterton, has called, my lady. Shall I show him in?”
Fiddlesticks! Lady Fuddlesby pressed her fingers to her temples, thoughts whirling in her head. “Yes... and bring tea, please, Chuffley,” she managed.
“Oh dear, oh dear, Knight. What could bring him here now? He was not to come until after Henrietta arrived and I had her properly gowned,” Lady Fuddlesby went on quite irrationally, forgetting the duke could not possibly be aware of the plans made for him, no less be prepared to fall in with them.
Knight had no answer but jumped to the fireplace mantel where he could observe his mistress and come to her aid if necessary.
The Duke of Winterton entered the room. He carried his hat and stick, indicating he would stay but a few minutes. His burgundy coat sat on his shoulders without a wrinkle. Fawn-colored pantaloons molded to his form, advising Lady Fuddlesby their owner possessed the best of legs. Black Hessian boots shone from a concoction about which other gentlemen’s valets could only speculate.
“Lady Fuddlesby,” he said, and bowed. Cool grey eyes looked at her questioningly.
“Your Grace, how kind of you to call,” Lady Fuddlesby said, and curtsied. “Do sit beside me,” she insisted, seating herself and patting a place next to her on the comfortable-looking brocade sofa. She had caught that icy look. While they frequented the same ton parties and had exchanged pleasantries, they were not precisely on calling terms. What was she going to offer as an excuse for asking him to call?
The duke sat down. Chuffley returned with a serving girl who settled a heavy silver tray on the table. Lady Fuddlesby busied herself with the tea things until the servants had gone.
She passed the duke a cup. “I know you must be wondering why I asked you to come,” she said with charming frankness. “You must understand, after I saw you last week at the Alistairs’ musicale, I felt most dreadful.”
The duke looked at Lady Fuddlesby. A puzzled expression crossed his face.
Then, momentarily distracted, his attention was caught by two green eyes, belonging to a rather fat-about-the-middle cat, staring at him menacingly from the fireplace mantel.
“You see,” Lady Fuddlesby went on improvising, “I knew your dear father when we were both young. And I realized that since his untimely death last year, I have been remiss in offering you my deepest condolences. I could not rest until I received your forgiveness for my shockingly bad manners,” she ended, feeling well pleased with herself at this farrago of lies. Not that Lady Fuddlesby made a practice of dissembling. It was just that on this occasion a stretching of the truth was necessary.
Giles felt amused. He had heard her ladyship was jinglebrained, and it followed she would fall prey to contrition for imagined slights at this late date.
He chastised himself for being on his guard against this innocent lady when he arrived. But deuce take it! Hardly a moment’s peace had been awarded him since he set up residence at his town house in Park Lane two weeks ago. Mamas and their marriageable daughters called on the flimsiest of excuses until he instructed his butler he was not at home to anyone. As ladies jockeyed ruthlessly for position, riding in the park at the fashionable hour resulted in several near carriage collisions. It seemed everywhere he went young misses were thrown at him like oranges at a bad actor at the playhouse. After a week of this, he was driven to the end of his tether by the antics of a Lady Betina Peabody.
This plain young miss had the silly idea she could compromise herself and force him to marry her. Her plans no doubt included arranging her scrawny body across his bed. She’d tried to gain access to his town house by bribing a servant. The duke’s servants were loyal and she failed. Persistent, if foolish, she attempted to get in by climbing up a trellis to a window. When her gown caught, she fell, breaking her arm.
Disgusted, the duke considered going back to his estate, but Sir Polly Grey knew his duty, and the old duke’s voice brought Giles back to his mission.
Despite the fact he was in Town looking over suitable marriage prospects, he dropped a word in Lady Alistair’s ear at her musicale that he was content in his bachelor state. She could be counted on to spread this gossip through the ton, much good as it would do. Meanwhile, he adopted an even more unapproachable demeanor.
Certainly though, caution was not called for with Lady Fuddlesby, a sweet, if hubble-bubbled, creature. “Thank you, my lady. Please be assured I would forgive you if there was anything to forgive.”
The duke smiled at her, and Lady Fuddlesby found herself thinking how like his father he was in looks. In character, though, the old duke was always the hardened aristocrat, while this man seemed to possess an understanding beneath his arrogant exterior that his father had never developed.
Winterton raised his teacup, preparing to drink. He saw a cat hair floating in the liquid and put the cup down. He said, “I recall my father speaking of you in affectionate terms, my lady. Yes, do not look surprised. It seems in his youth he enjoyed your company immeasurably.”
At these words, Lady Fuddlesby’s resolve strengthened, and she was more determined than ever to promote a match between the duke and her niece.
For his part, the duke was simply enjoying a pleasant conversation away from marriageable females with one of his father’s old friends.
It was unfortunate, when the duke and Lady Fuddlesby were feeling much in charity with one another, that a commotion could be heard coming from the hall below. The sound of voices grew louder. Lady Fuddlesby rose and the duke followed suit as they looked expectantly toward the doorway.
Coming up the stairs, Chuffley, normally the epitome of the English butler, wore an expression of discomfort about his puffy features.
An excited Henrietta followed on his heels. London had enthralled her from her first glimpse out the glass of the squire’s traveling coach. Snow was falling, making the city seem a magical place where anything could happen to a young girl on her first visit from the country. The noise, the press of carriages, the lights glowing from windows of tall, thin town houses, were all so different from the country. A giddy anticipation of the treats in store infected her.
She entered Lady Fuddlesby’s house in awe of i
ts
size. She didn’t know what she expected, but nothing this grand, to be sure.
The butler and Henrietta reached the entrance to the drawing room. Chuffley announced, “Miss Henrietta Lanford, my lady. She would come right up,” he added by way of explanation for this disturbance.
Henrietta walked into the room and shied like a colt at the sight of the Duke of Winterton. Biting her lip in vexation, for the second time in as many weeks she was sorry she had not taken care of her appearance before rushing into a room. A telltale blush heated her cheeks.
At Henrietta’s hurly-burly entrance, a look of dismay crossed Lady Fuddlesby’s face. In an audible undertone she said to herself, “Oh dear, and I did want him to see her looking her best.”
Winterton turned sharply to look at Lady Fuddlesby, but the lady’s attention was on her niece.
“My dear girl, I am so glad you are here,” her ladyship said nervously as she stared at Henrietta’s disheveled appearance. “I wondered what could have kept you since I expected you yesterday, but I thought the snow...” Lady Fuddlesby’s voice trailed off feebly, and she twisted her hands together in agitation.
The duke’s face was a study in frozen hauteur.
Gazing at him wide-eyed, Henrietta failed to notice his chilly demeanor.
Lady Fuddlesby, looking from Henrietta’s infatuated expression to the duke’s stiff countenance, sputtered a question. “Have you met before, perhaps?”
Not bothering to answer, Winterton abruptly seized his hat and stick and said, “Lady Fuddlesby, Miss Lanford, I see I must leave you to one another.” He bowed and left before either of the two ladies could utter a word.
With the duke departing so soon after her arrival, Henrietta felt her spirits deflate. He was more handsome than she remembered, and she longed to talk with him as she had with Lord Baddick. There was a difference in the two men, she thought. Lord Baddick was friendly where the Duke of Winterton was reserved. He was probably just that way with people he did not know well, she reasoned.
Lady Fuddlesby came to Henrietta, taking both her hands in an affectionate squeeze. “I know I am a poor hostess, my dear, but I cannot wait another minute before I hear all about your previous meeting with the Duke of Winterton.”
Henrietta studied her aunt, liking what she saw. Lady Fuddlesby’s light brown hair was styled attractively to complement her rather round face. Pale blue eyes held a kindness and an interest her mother’s lacked.
“Well, my lady, there is not much to tell. His grace came to inspect Papa’s horses and stayed to luncheon. I was only in his company a short while before he took his leave.”
But long enough to have her affections engaged, divined Lady Fuddlesby. What miss would not be attracted to the duke? She mused, picturing his manly legs.
Knight chose this moment to jump down from the mantel and rub against Henrietta’s skirts.
“La, you have a cat!” Henrietta exclaimed delightedly, and bent to stroke his back. “I adore cats. We have barn cats at home, but Mama would never allow them in the house. Pray, what is his name?”
“Knight in Masked Armour, my dear, but simply called Knight. He is very wise and not at all an ordinary feline.”
The cat fell down onto his side with a thud and rolled over on his back to allow Henrietta’s gentle hand access to his oversized belly. All the while he purred loudly, his eyes crossed in bliss.
“Oh, my dear, abandon that wretched fellow and come upstairs and get settled. I do hope you may be pleased with your bedchamber. And we have much to accomplish before the Denbys’ ball next week.”
“A ball,” Henrietta breathed, and lapsed into her fantasies as she prepared to follow her aunt.
Lady Fuddlesby, leading the way, took each step with a growing feeling of confidence. She was sure the girl would be a beauty once fashionably turned out. Perhaps any damage done today by the Duke of Winterton’s seeing her prematurely was not so very great after all.
* * * *
Meanwhile, the duke walked down the steps to the hall in Lady Fuddlesby’s town house, convinced he had been tricked again. Miss Lanford, a green country girl if ever he saw one, was Lady Fuddlesby’s niece. Obviously the lady was to sponsor her come-out. He would be seeing the girl frequently. They would, after all, be going about in the same circles. Since Lady Fuddlesby expected her earlier in the week, it further stood to reason the lady’s request for him to call did indeed have matchmaking implications. Her careless mumbling confirmed it.
The duke strode out the front door and down the stone steps, roughly pulling on his driving gloves.
Lord Kramer, a pretentious dandy the duke did not choose to count among his close associates, hailed him. “I’faith, duke. Stealing a march on the rest of us, eh?”
“Whatever can you mean, Kramer?”
“Well, ‘tis all over Town Lady Fuddlesby is to push off her niece this Season.”
Why did I not hear of this? The duke thought, irate. He wished Lord Kramer at the devil. “Miss Lanford is in Town for the Season,” he ground out.
“Did you meet the gel or not?” Lord Kramer persisted.
The duke’s patience was tried beyond all endurance. Through a red haze of anger he added Miss Henrietta Lanford to the list of unsuitable girls thrown at him. He remembered her horse-mad parents. He remembered she moved with a coltlike awkwardness. He remembered her long, straight hair, and some imp in his mind conjured up a resemblance to a horse’s tail. Unconfined strands, lying across her forehead, became a forelock.
“I have seen the girl, and my opinion is that Squire and Mrs. Lanford would do better to give her a Season at Newmarket rather than London.” With this crashing insult, the duke moved past an openmouthed Lord Kramer, climbed up into his phaeton, raised his whip, and drove off at a smart pace.
Lord Kramer, stunned at his good fortune, took himself gleefully off to his club to repeat the duke’s words to all his friends.
Chapter Three
The next morning, Miss Henrietta Lanford was blissfully unaware of the scurrilous gossip circulating about her through the ton. She breakfasted and then returned to her bedchamber, accompanied by an appreciative Knight.
“Tell me, sir, are you well pleased with yourself?” Henrietta asked, amused. She stood with her hands on her hips while she gazed down at the shameless beggar.
Knight sat at her feet using a well-licked paw to clean around his whiskers and his black mask. He stopped for a moment to cast her a feline grin. Apparently deciding he would relax his strict rule against houseguests in the generous Miss Lanford’s case, he companionably resumed his washing.
Henrietta chuckled and said, “Yes, I’m sure you’re most grateful for my sharing that rather large breakfast Mrs. Pottsworth prepared. Judging from the fact that it is nigh on eleven o’clock, and Lady Fuddlesby has not left her room, I assume you are not accustomed to early-morning sustenance.”
Henrietta left Knight to his ministrations and seated herself at the Queen Anne desk. It was time she composed a short note to her parents to send back with Megan.
A scratching at the door interrupted her. A middle-aged woman with sallow skin and dark hair glided into the room. Henrietta noticed she held a copy of La Belle Assemblée.
Curtsying, the woman spoke with a hint of a French accent. “Good morning, Mees Lanford. I am Felice, her ladyship’s maid. I thought you might enjoy looking at the fashion plates.”
This was said while Felice’s sharp eyes darted over every detail of Henrietta’s appearance. Henrietta suddenly felt quite lacking with her unstyled hair and her dowdy sage-green wool gown.
“Bon,” Felice declared. “Your figure is slight, but gratifyingly feminine. A diamond in the rough rather than, how do you English say, a Diamond of the First Water?”
“Thank you, Felice. Everyone here is so kind.” Henrietta accepted the magazine and glanced at it uncertainly. “I confess to an ignorance of all the different styles and what to wear when. Her ladyship spoke of you
r talents with hair and dress.” She hesitated before continuing, “I hope you can spare time away from your many duties to advise me.”
Felice seemed satisfied. “Of course, mees. It will be a pleasure to be of service.”
Just then, Knight left the room stiff-tailed, to take up his bird-watching post downstairs at the drawing room window. He and Felice did not get along, there being a disagreement over the shedding of cat hairs on Lady Fuddlesby’s gowns.
Felice crossed to the wardrobe and began a critical inspection of Henrietta’s gowns. She clucked her tongue at the wardrobe’s meager contents and then said, “Her ladyship arranged for Monsieur Cheveux to come and cut your hair. When that is done, we will need the whole new wardrobe for you.”
Henrietta looked down at the elegant costumes portrayed in the magazine and reluctantly agreed. Nothing she brought from home would do in fashionable London. She touched an apprehensive hand to her hair and wondered what the hairdresser would have in mind for her.
When her ladyship awoke, Felice hurried along to help her with her morning toilette. Henrietta was left to fall into a fulfilling dream in which, dressed in an ensemble out of La Belle Assemblée, she bewitched the Duke of Winterton.
Later, Lady Fuddlesby entered the room accompanied by Monsieur Cheveux. He lifted a strand of his new client’s hair, groaned, and let it drop from his fingers.
While his scissors deftly clipped away inches, Henrietta watched in the glass nervously. But Monsieur Cheveux used the curling tongs to coax her hair into a feminine topknot of soft ringlets with wispy curls framing her face.
Lady Fuddlesby, watching the process patiently, beamed at the transformation. “My dear, now I can see that your eyes are quite the loveliest shade of deep blue.”
Henrietta demurred at the compliment, but felt a rush of gratitude to her aunt. No one had ever said her eyes were lovely.
The following afternoon saw the arrival of Lady Fuddlesby’s favorite modiste. To satisfy a loyal client, Madame Dupre brought two gowns, already made up and needing only minor adjustments, as well as their accessories and a large selection of fabrics and trimmings.
A Crime of Manners Page 3