Noble Intentions n-1

by Katie MacAlister

“…say, I can’t imagine there can be any pleasure found in someone biting you. And my cousin was covered — oh, there you are.”

  Gillian looked at the women gathered. All four were crammed together on the pale blue sofa, each with a cup of tea held carefully in a gloved hand. Charlotte was seated in an armchair, one leg negligently crossed over the other, swinging her foot in an annoying and unladylike manner.

  Gillian raised her chin as four pairs of eyes turned in her direction.

  “Good morning. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am that you could all take time out of your busy day to call on me. That is, I assume it’s your days that are busy, not your evenings, although I cannot say for certain. When are your busy times, mistress-wise?”

  The four women looked at one another, then back at Gillian. One, a dark-haired woman with porcelain skin, coughed gently. “You are Lady Weston, are you not?”

  Gillian smiled at her. The woman seemed a genteel sort for a lightskirt. Perhaps she had been misinformed about the character of such women. It made sense that Noble would consort only with a better class of women, not common doxies.

  “Yes, I’m Lady Weston. Oh dear, I suppose it would be best if we started with names first, so that I might know who you are.”

  The dark-haired woman in the middle set down her teacup and rose. The other ladies rid themselves of their teacups as well. “I am Madelyn de la Clare, Lady Weston, and I must admit that I’m a bit confused about why you’ve called us here. I can assure you that I have not seen your husband for several years. If you have something to say to me, I’d appreciate it if you could say it now, and I’ll be on my way. My sister is watching my daughter, and I’d like to fetch her home again.”

  “You have a daughter?”

  “I have three children, my lady.”

  “Are any of them Lord Weston’s?” Charlotte asked.

  “Charlotte! Don’t be impertinent. Noble would surely have acknowledged any of his children.”

  “Oh, yes, Nick. Beg pardon, I’m sure.”

  Madelyn looked from Gillian to Charlotte, her mien dignified. “No, my lady, none of my children belong to Lord Weston. I am married now.”

  “How delightful for you.” Gillian beamed. “I will be happy to tell you why I’ve called you all together, but perhaps I could meet the other ladies first?”

  A pert, chestnut-haired beauty next to Madelyn bounced up and gave her a sketchy curtsy. “I am Beverly Grant, my lady, and I have not seen Lord Weston in six years.”

  “How nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Laura Horn, m’lady,” a shy blonde said, nervously twisting her gloves and keeping her soft brown eyes lowered demurely. “I met Lord Weston eight years ago. He was very kind to me.”

  “I’m sure he was. And you are?”

  The last of the four raised her chin and gave Gillian a long, level look. Her hair was the color of spun flax, and she had expressive hazel eyes that were thick with dark lashes. “Anne Miller, ma’am. Lord Weston was my protector five years ago.”

  Gillian was pleased; the women seemed quite civil and accommodating. Then again, given their occupation, they probably had practice in accommodation.

  The dark-haired Madelyn coughed again. “Yes, my lady, we have all had practice.”

  Gillian felt a blush creep up her throat. Charlotte rocked forward, clutching her sides with silent laughter. “Char, behave yourself, you’re embarrassing me.”

  “I don’t believe you need my help with that, cousin,” Charlotte said, wiping back a tear.

  Gillian ignored her and explained to the mistresses about the two attacks on Noble. The women all expressed surprise but seemed wary and uncomfortable, and Gillian sensed their hesitation.

  “So you see, I have called you here to ask for your help.”

  “Our help?” Madelyn said. “You want our help? For what, exactly?”

  Gillian explained her and Charlotte’s plan. “In order to help Noble, I must first investigate his past. I intend to solve both mysteries, you see — how his beloved wife died, and who is attacking him now.”

  “Do you think they are related?” Laura asked quietly.

  “That’s a very perceptive question,” Gillian answered thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, I don’t know for certain, but I suspect they are. What other reason would someone have to suddenly plan a campaign against Noble? No, the source of the problem has to have its roots in his past, and that’s where you ladies can help me.”

  “I’m sure we’d all like to help, madam, but it isn’t possible at this time,” Beverly said.

  The other women voiced their regrets as well.

  “Oh dear, I had so hoped you could help me,” Gillian said with genuine regret. It seemed the closer she got to Noble, the farther back she was pushed in her attempt to find the answers. “I realize you are all busy with your…protectors…but I—”

  “It’s not that, my lady,” Beverly interrupted her. “I have no protector at this time. It’s a matter of finances, you see. We”—she looked to the other women, who all nodded at her—“we are at the mercy of the men we…accommodate, and once we lose that protection, we must rely on our own resources.”

  “Oh, well, that,” Charlotte said with an airy wave of her hand. “Simply get another protector!”

  “If it were only that easy, my lady,” Anne said tartly, “we would all be more than happy to help Lady Weston. But as it is, we must first find a gentleman who is willing to give us carte blanche, all the while hoping that he is not prone to abuse—”

  “—or unnatural practices,” said Beverly.

  “—or has the pox,” added Laura.

  “—or gambles away his fortune,” nodded Madelyn.

  “Or a man who will find someone new and discard us as if we were nothing but rubbish,” finished Anne.

  Gillian was shocked at this side of the ladybird trade. “But surely there is something you can do to prepare for those eventualities? Save your funds earned…ah…in the course of your service?”

  The women all laughed identical hard, bitter laughs. “We do save when possible, my lady, and sell any baubles given us, but that only goes so far, and then the time comes when we must again look for a protector or be forced into less desirable circumstances,” Madelyn said.

  “What could be less desirable than being a mistress?” Charlotte asked.

  “Charlotte, if you cannot behave, you will have to leave. Ladies—” Gillian spread her hands wide in a helpless gesture. “I wish there was something I could do for you. I can, of course, pay you a modest sum for your time helping me.”

  “A modest sum?” Anne asked. “How modest a sum?”

  Gillian calculated her next quarter’s pin money and divided it into four. “Ten pounds?”

  The women all looked at one another again; then Madelyn spoke. “Since all the others are currently seeking protectors, and as my husband is…well, he’s in gaol, we accept your offer. What is it in particular you want us to do?”

  Gillian told them.

  Charlotte offered her advice. “You should not forget this last mistress, the one who sent Lord Weston the letter.”

  “Oh, yes, thank you, Charlotte. Noble’s latest mistress was someone named Mariah. I don’t know her surname, but I would imagine it would not be too difficult to find out.”

  The ladies agreed that it would not be difficult, and promised to find the whereabouts of the mysterious Mariah.

  “As for the other thing,” Gillian said slowly, nibbling on her lower lip. “Have you thought of organizing yourselves — mistresses, I mean — into a group? A guild, if you will, that would help members in times of need?”

  The women, Charlotte included, stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted wings. “A…mistresses guild?” Laura asked.

  “Yes, a mistresses guild. For the…” Gillian gnawed on her lip for a moment. “For the welfare and betterment of the demimonde. You could arrange to have dues from those members who are currently…ah…emp
loyed, which go into a general fund to help those who find themselves unemployed and in need of assistance.”

  The women all blinked at her.

  “Do you know,” Madelyn said slowly, “that might be a thought. If we encourage enough women to join and subscribe for a set amount while they have carte blanche, we could set aside money for those women who are in between gentlemen.”

  “It’s something to think about,” Gillian said.

  The ladies discussed it with increasing enthusiasm.

  “We’d need someone to manage the fund,” Beverly said loudly over the excited chatter. “Someone who could invest it for us, so that we could benefit from our subscriptions.”

  “That’s our Beverly,” Laura said proudly. “She was with Lord Cardwell, you know. The banker.”

  “Yes, she’s right,” Anne said, narrowing her eyes and giving Gillian a close look. “We’d need someone with connections to invest our money for us. No man would touch the money if he knew it was from us, but if it was from someone of the noble class, someone who might wish to invest her pin money, someone who had access to her husband’s man of affairs…”

  All five of the women’s heads swiveled to look at Gillian.

  “I’d be delighted,” Gillian said graciously. “We can talk about the details at a later date, but first, I simply must ask you something that’s been uppermost on my mind.” Four brows rose in inquiry. “It’s about you and Noble…”

  The ladies smiled.

  Noble was smiling as well. A silly, sated, smug sort of smile. He sat in a quiet corner of his club, his body blissfully at rest in the deep armchair. He had, he thought with amusement, all the strength of a newborn pup. His mind, the only thing that had the energy to function, wandered the merry paths of the memory of the past night’s — and the morning’s — activities. His smile turned into a cheeky grin.

  “Will you look at that, Tolly?” Rosse said, prodding at Noble’s outstretched legs with the toe of his boot. “It looks as if our friend here is suffering from a newly wed man’s complaint.”

  Sir Hugh watched as Noble lifted a limp hand to wave the two men into nearby seats. “ ’Pon my honor, Weston, I don’t know when I’ve seen you look so wasted. Are you ill? Ought to see a physician. Your color’s not good at all.”

  “He’s not suffering from anything other than paying tribute to the altar of Hymen.” Rosse snickered, and waved for an attendant.

  “Harry, if I had the strength I would thrash you soundly for that,” Noble said, and instead demanded a whiskey.

  “Ah, but you haven’t, so I will take the opportunity to wish you a long and happy life with your lady, my friend.” Rosse lifted his glass in a toast. Noble acknowledged the toast and sighed with deep appreciation as the water of life spread warmth throughout his limbs.

  “About last night, Weston—” Sir Hugh began. “It’s a damned shame that had to happen.”

  Noble, thinking of his and Gillian’s activities against Lady Gayfield’s wall, murmured something unintelligible.

  “But you’ll take care of that blighter Carlisle tomorrow morning, eh? Noticed the wagers are laid evenly across you both in the books.”

  Rosse shot the baronet a questioning look. “Having a little flutter yourself, Tolly?”

  Sir Hugh flushed and busied himself with arranging his fobs.

  “What news do you have, Harry?” Noble asked, taking pity on the younger man’s discomfort. Nothing could sour his present mood.

  “Ah, well, a bit of information there, as it turns out. Mariah, your Mariah, or rather, formerly your Mariah, has been seen in the company of Sunderland.”

  One of Noble’s sable brows arched. “Really? I hadn’t imagined he would be interested in her.”

  Rosse nodded. “It surprised me too. Rumors are that he prefers his women a bit more…masculine.”

  “To say the least,” murmured Noble.

  “Sunderland?” Sir Hugh asked, a look of confusion crossing his face. “The Duke of Sunderland? What has he to do with your mistress?”

  “That is the question, is it not?” Noble said, setting his glass down and stretching his arms high over his head. He still felt drained, but it was an extremely pleasing sensation.

  “You forget, Tolly, Sunderland is a cousin of Noble’s. Spent some time with him at Nethercote, or don’t you remember that? Ah, but that was before your time.”

  “I’m not that much younger than you,” Sir Hugh replied with an angry glance at the marquis. “I remember Sunderland.”

  “No other word on the matter I wrote you about this morning, Harry?”

  Rosse shook his head. “Impossible to trace.”

  “Other matter?” Sir Hugh asked, clearly peevish about being left out.

  Noble gave him a quick accounting of the evening’s shooting, and told Rosse that he had his Bow Street Runners in place.

  “Excellent,” Rosse responded, and rose with the others as they started off for the dining room. “With that much protection, I’m sure you need not worry about either Gillian’s or Nick’s welfare.”

  One of the footmen presented Noble with a note on a silver tray as they were about to enter the dining room. He paused for a moment to read it, and then swore loudly.

  Rosse turned back, watching silently as Noble questioned the footman. The man repeatedly shook his head and tried to back away from the enraged earl, but Noble was clearly bent on gleaning what information he could. Finally the man made his escape.

  Rosse raised his brows as Noble turned back to his friends. “Trouble?”

  Noble said nothing but ground his teeth together as he handed the note to his friend. Sir Hugh leaned in to read the note.

  Rosse whistled softly. “This fellow’s really going for blood now, isn’t he?”

  Sir Hugh frowned. “I’m sure it’s all nonsense. Why would anyone have wanted to shoot Lady Weston? Unless…”

  Noble snatched the note back from Rosse’s hand. “There is no ‘unless’ about it. No one would have cause to hurt Gillian except as a means of hurting me.”

  “Hold on now, Noble,” Sir Hugh cried as Noble spun on his heel and demanded his hat and stick. “You’re not thinking clearly; your mind is muddled. There is someone who could want to see her destroyed.”

  Noble stopped so abruptly that the shorter man ran into his back. “Who?” he ground out, not bothering to turn around.

  Sir Hugh danced to the side. “If you just apply your mind to the matter, I’m sure it will become clear, Noble. There’s only one man — or at least there’s only one at this point — with whom your wife has been disporting herse—”

  The words stopped in his throat as Noble spun around and wrapped his hand around the baronet’s neck, lifting him off the ground. “My wife did not disport herself with anyone, Tolly. Is that clear?”

  “Noble, let him down, you’re choking him,” Rosse said, placing a hand on his friend’s arm.

  “Is that clear?” Noble said again, his eyes never leaving Sir Hugh’s face. The baronet’s eyes rolled back, but he managed enough of a nod to satisfy Noble.

  “I will take care of McGregor tomorrow morning,” Noble said, claiming his hat and walking stick and storming out the door.

  “Where are you going now?” Rosse asked, following him to his carriage.

  “Home,” Noble told the coachman grimly, and then jumped into the carriage. “I’m going to make sure that bastard hasn’t harmed my wife and son.”

  The mistresses looked at one another with chagrin.

  “My lady,” Beverly said finally, “that’s…I don’t believe…I’ve never been asked that question by one of my gentlemen’s wives before.”

  The other mistresses nodded.

  “In fact, while we are speaking on the subject, I can honestly say that I’ve never met any of my gentlemen’s wives.”

  The other three mistresses nodded again.

  “It’s just not done.” Charlotte nodded with them. “Bad ton.”

 
“Oh, Charlotte, what do you know about it?” Gillian said with a frown at her grinning cousin. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

  “You asked me.”

  “I made a mistake.”

  “Ha!”

  “Lady Weston, perhaps if you were to tell us why you’ve asked that so very unusual question, we might better be able to answer it.”

  “Ah. Well, it’s very simple, really. My husband loved his first wife very deeply—”

  Laura gave a ladylike snort of disbelief.

  “I beg your pardon, Laura? Did you say something?”

  “I snorted in disbelief, my lady.”

  “Disbelief? Over something I said?”

  “Yes, my lady. Gentlemen who love their wives very deeply do not keep mistresses.”

  Gillian thought about that.

  “Good point, Mistress Laura,” Charlotte said with approval. “If Lord Weston loved his Elizabeth so very much, Gilly, why did he have a string of ladybirds?”

  Gillian chewed on her lower lip.

  “I saw her once, you know,” Anne piped up. “At Drury Lane. She was in the box of another gentleman.”

  Charlotte leaned forward. “And?”

  “She was…ah…fondling him.”

  Gillian blinked at her in surprise. “Elizabeth? Noble’s Elizabeth? But if she…and if he…he engaged you all…”

  It didn’t make sense; even she, half-witted as she was from a night spent in Noble’s arms, could see that.

  “My understanding is that you wish to know your husband’s favorite…ah…” Madelyn paused and sent a glance toward the enraptured Charlotte.

  “Oh, you can say it in front of her,” Gillian said with a sigh. “She’s blackmailed me into giving her all of the pertinent details. I daresay by now she knows more than all of us combined.”

  “To be forewarned is to be small-armed,” Charlotte said sagely. “Yes, do go on, Madelyn. We’re yearning to know.”

  The drive to his house was a hellish nightmare. The streets seemed to close up before him, filled with reckless fools who did not know how to handle a coach and four, overturned carts, dogs leaping out and startling the horses, small children dashing hither and yon wherever Noble looked, and any number of other delays that stayed him from the side of his family, where he was most desperately needed.