by Joan Smith
But he was worried. Common sense could not account for it. Her control was limited, and the likelihood of her caving in was minimal, yet he wanted her good opinion nearly as much as he wanted to conceal it from Crymont. After long years of reckless living, he was embarrassed to confess that he still maintained a shred of character and a lingering desire for redemption.
“Unless you have developed a tendre for Miss Beddoes?” Crymont said sardonically. “I always liked those tall Tartars myself, but she ain’t in your preferred style.”
“She knows my papa,” he said, unhappy with this prevarication.
“Ah. She could serve you well there, then. That explains it. But about Iona—the girls are becoming restive, Havergal. I promised them we would entertain them this evening. Give them a late supper--after we deliver Miss Beddoes and her companion home, I mean. I fear if you don’t go along with it, they’ll do something rash—like joining our dinner party....”
Havergal didn’t know much about Iona Hardy, but he knew Cherry Devereau would stop at very little. Her success had gone to her lovely head. She behaved with wanton abandon and a total disregard for propriety. To ensure a peaceful dinner, he agreed to go back to the inn after delivering the ladies home to Laurel Hall.
* * * *
During the next hour, Lettie wrote her reply to Mr. Norton and made her toilette. At six she and Violet sat in state in the saloon, awaiting Havergal’s descent. Lettie drew in her breath sharply when he appeared in his black pantaloons and well-fitting black jacket, with a gleam of white shirt to set it off. He was a perfect gothic hero come to life in her saloon.
“I have ordered your carriage, as your curricle would not hold the three of us,” Lettie mentioned.
“I might have known I could count on your forethought,” Havergal replied.
She felt a swell of pleasure at the spontaneous compliment. It sounded more sincere than the following string of praise on her and Violet’s toilettes. She was coming to know him well enough to tell when he meant what he was saying or was merely trying to flatter her. They left immediately and were soon at the Royal Oak.
The duke met them at the doorway and ushered them personally to his private parlor, where an elaborate table was laid. “You look even lovelier than I have been anticipating,” he said, lifting Lettie’s hand to his lips.
She hardly knew how to reply to such high praise and said, “Thank you, sir,” in a stilted way.
“I have brought my own wine with me,” he continued, handing the ladies a glass of excellent champagne. “I always travel with my own wine and my own linen.”
“What, you carry sheets and pillowcases around with you?” Miss FitzSimmons asked, shocked at such extravagance. “I am surprised you don’t travel with your own company, in case you find nothing at the inn to suit you.”
“What a clever idea!” the duke answered with a sly look at Havergal.
“I had hoped we might meet Miss Devereau and her friend,” Lettie said, throwing Havergal into a spasm of alarm.
“Unfortunately the ladies had to return to London,” the duke said, “but I trust we shall be merry without them.”
“I’m sure we shall. And in any case, it would have been a sad blow to the local ladies if they had come to our assembly and stolen all the gentlemen from us.”
“Never from you, I am sure, Miss Beddoes,” he said with another bow.
“I was never a match for Miss Devereau, even in my youth. At my age I certainly cannot lay claim to be an Incomparable,” she said frankly.
“That claim must come from the opposite sex, and I hereby proclaim you an Incomparable, Miss Beddoes,” the duke said.
She gave him a saucy smile. “And I, sir, proclaim you a flatterer.”
“Havergal will tell you I never flatter any lady under thirty. Above thirty, flattery is not only permissible but de rigueur. That was tactless,” he said, turning to Miss FitzSimmons, “for I judge you to be nearing thirty, madam.”
This sophistry was received with a blushing smile by Miss FitzSimmons. The evening was off to a fine start. Champagne flowed freely, and the meal provided was excellent. When His Grace entreated Miss Beddoes to send her brother to him upon his arrival in London, the last of Lettie’s coolness evaporated. The duke was allowed to be unexceptionable.
“I have two pocket boroughs in my control,” he explained. “If Tom wishes to stand for Parliament, the thing is done. If, on the other hand, he is interested in an appointed position, my godfather, Bathurst, will find him a spot. Or any of the Cabinet. I am connected to most of them.”
“Your offer quite puts mine in the shade,” Havergal said dampingly. “I have offered to help Tom find a spot, Crymont.”
“Ah, I am stepping on some toes here, I perceive. We shall both be active on his behalf. Havergal among the Whigs, and I among the Tories, Take care or you will find your brother Lord Mayor of London, Miss Beddoes.” A shadow of a smile moved his lips.
“I was beginning to have visions of his being prime minister,” Lettie returned with a broader smile.
“But then he would be required to live on Downing Street, and he would not be comfortable there, I promise you. A damp, crowded little domicile. I see him in a mansion in Berkeley Square.”
“You are too ridiculous!” Lettie laughed. “But I do thank you for your kind offers and shall inform Tom of them.”
The shadow of a smile on the duke’s lips deepened. Havergal watched, as if hypnotized. “I hope you brought a tasty hat with you,” he warned Crymont.
“Oh damn! Did I smile? I did! I felt an unusual twitch in my cheek.”
Lettie and Miss FitzSimmons looked on, bewildered. ‘‘Surely it is not against the law to smile,” Lettie said.
“I never smile,” Crymont said categorically, and explained the forfeit. “If I am seen in front of two witnesses to smile, I will be required to eat my hat.”
“What wretched conceit,” Lettie said, unimpressed. “I am surprised a man in your position must try so hard to gain attention, Your Grace. You do it to draw attention to yourself. All eyes are on you, in hopes of winning the forfeit.”
“When one is of diminutive stature, as I am, some pains must be taken to avoid being overlooked.”
“Napoleon does not seem to have that difficulty. He, too, is short.”
“But I, alas, am not Napoleon. I was not born to the sword, but to—what was I born to, I wonder? Surely I must have an aptitude for something.”
“A clown’s cap and bells, perhaps?” Havergal suggested. He was unhappy with the duke’s hogging of the ladies’ attention. He could not imagine why Lettie wasted a moment on him.
“Surely you must have an aptitude for something more positive than not smiling,” Lettie said.
Crymont turned a weary eye on Havergal. “You were correct. The lady is unmovable as an oak. I find no pity in her heart. En effet, I do not find her heart.”
“I don’t wear it on my sleeve, Your Grace.”
Crymont was in alt at having the undivided attention of the party. He liked that Miss Beddoes took him to task and that Havergal was jealous. He said with a deep look into her eyes, “What must I do to find that elusive organ, madam?”
“You must smile, sir, to show me you appreciate all the advantages Fate has showered on you.”
“Done!” he said, and smiled fatuously into her eyes.
Havergal looked on with a grumpy face. “Don’t forget to pay the forfeit,” he said.
Lettie gave him a knowing glance. “I am surprised at your lack of wits, Havergal. If you really want to see the duke eat his hat, all you had to do was tell him a joke.”
“I despise jokes,” Crymont said, to return the attention to its proper object.
“Well, that is a great pity,” Lettie told him frankly, “for you make yourself an object of humor by playing off these absurd airs and graces. Now, let us speak of something sensible, like dessert.”
“I recommend the chantilly,” Crymont told her with the
glowing eye of infatuation.
The party, though it brought Havergal no closer to his goal, was held to be a great success by the duke. Miss Beddoes liked him; she was not the stiff Tartar Havergal claimed. In short, she would soon be eager to do as he advised her, and he would advise her to hand the thousand pounds over to Havergal.
“I have softened her up for you,” he said aside to Havergal when it was time for him to take the ladies home.
“You have done nothing of the sort!” he retorted angrily. He was annoyed at the growing friendship between Lettie and the duke, though he did not consider why it should bother him. “All you have done is show her I consort with idiots.”
“You won’t forget to come back?”
“Then it was a hum that the girls have left?”
“I couldn’t tell Miss Beddoes the truth. She would have insisted on the girls joining us. That might have been amusing,” he added with a half-smile.
“Breaking society’s rules is beginning to lose its charm for me. You’ll send your carriage and have it waiting at the same place?”
“How soon can you get away?”
“I’ll be out the window as soon as we’re home. Just give us five minutes so your carriage doesn’t overtake us en route.”
Havergal found the duke had not impressed Lettie so much as he imagined. Miss FitzSimmons babbled her delight in the dinner party on the way home, but Lettie said, “He is absurd. Imagine a grown man making a wager not to smile, and when he has so much to smile about. I had not realized this vice of wagering is so widespread.” Havergal felt it was a dart at himself and said nothing.
Had they been alone, he would have told her he planned to discontinue that style of life. He did plan to change his ways, but he doubted if Lettie would believe him, and he disliked to discuss it in front of Miss FitzSimmons. So he said good night when they returned and went up to his room to climb out the window and meet Crymont’s carriage. The meeting seemed an imposition. He would have preferred to go below and talk to the ladies.
Belowstairs, Lettie went about her business. “I must see what the doctor had to say about Jamie’s illness,” she said, and called the butler.
Siddons came at a stately pace and planted himself in front of her chair. “I am very sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing ails the servants except an overindulgence in wine. Even my own good woman had a tipple in the kitchen. I am hereby tendering our joint resignations, for I won’t stay on without her.” This piece of bravado was quite ignored.
“What on earth are you saying, Siddons?” Lettie demanded.
“Drunk as lords, the lot of them. It was that carton of wine His Lordship left in the stable for the servants that done the mischief. Cuttle passed around the bottles last night, and they all indulged—to excess, I fear, ma’am.”
Lettie stared as if he were insane. “His Lordship left wine for the servants?” she asked in confusion.
“So it seems, ma’am. It was his man Cuttle who doled it out.”
“I see,” Lettie replied, breathing deeply to control her anger. “Would you be good enough to ask Lord Havergal to step down for a moment. I would like a word with him.”
Siddons bowed and left.
“Now Lettie,” Miss FitzSimmons said placatingly. “I’m sure there is some good reason. You cannot make a fuss when he has been so nice.”
“He has not been nice, Violet. He has behaved abominably. How dare he encourage my servants in his vices!” She was still ranting five minutes later when Siddons appeared to announce that Lord Havergal was not in his room.
“Not in his room? But where is he then?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. I have his valet, Cuttle, waiting outside. A trifle the worse for drink, but capable of speech. It was him that fed wine to my missus last night.”
“Send him in,” Lettie said through thin lips.
Cuttle walked forward with the awful precision of the drunk man trying to appear sober.
Lettie took one glance at his flushed face and bleary eyes and knew his condition. “Where is Lord Havergal? And I’ll have no foolish stories,” she said angrily.
“He stepped out, mum.”
“He did not step out the door. I have been here since we reached home.”
“He stepped out the window, like.”
“Where was he going?”
“To meet the Duke of Crymont, mum.”
“I repeat, where?”
“He’s putting up at the Royal Oak.”
“That is where Havergal went?”
Cuttle shrugged and looked at his slippers. He seemed to have lost one on his way downstairs. Or perhaps he’d forgotten to put both on.
Violet listened closely and thought she had figured it out. She clutched at Lettie’s sleeve. “Miss Devereau!” she exclaimed, “He has gone to try to lure Miss Devereau away from the duke, Lettie. How romantic! A runaway match!”
Lettie’s heart lurched painfully in her chest, and her cheeks paled.
Cuttle gave Miss FitzSimmons a belligerent stare. “Ho, Miss Devereau, is it? His Lordship ain’t one to hoodwink his friends. Miss Devereau is the duke’s bit o’ muslin. It’s a Miss Hardy His Lordship is seeing. A redhead, he says.”
Lettie felt she was being consumed with flames from within, yet her outer shell felt like ice. “I see. You will pack His Lordship’s bag and your own and remove them to the front step. When he returns, you will please tell him he is no longer welcome in this house.”
Cuttle frowned. “Eh?”
“You heard me. I want Lord Havergal and all his servants and his carriages and his wine out of this house. He is never to darken the door of this house again. Pray tell him I said so, if you can remain sober long enough. Now leave.” She lifted a dismissing hand and waved it in Cuttle’s direction.
Cuttle shook his head. “He was right. You are a Turk,” he grumbled, and left to do as he was bid.
Lettie and Violet exchanged a stunned look.
Violet was the first to find speech. “I can’t believe it,” she said simply. “The nephew of an archbishop. Crymont, I mean.”
“I can well believe it. This explains everything. Why we were not introduced to the ‘ladies’ this afternoon. I wonder that Havergal shrank from that, when he has subjected us to every other imaginable indignity. Coming here with his mouth full of lies and his drunken servants. He admitted he wanted his money for gambling. Feeding my servants wine, bringing that wretched duke into our house, pretending those girls had left town.”
“I was never so taken in in my life,” Violet said quietly.
“Never mind, Violet. He did not succeed in his aim, which was to wheedle his money out of me. Not one penny shall he see till quarter day.”
“And we are going to the ball with them tomorrow evening. I cannot think the evening will be at all pleasant.”
“Don’t be such a peagoose. Of course we are not going to the ball with them.”
“But we’ve arranged the dinner party....”
“We shall have the dinner party. Our guests had to leave early, that is what we shall say.”
Violet shook her head sadly. “And they both offered to help Tom out in London. It seemed like such a wonderful opportunity for him. Crymont is Bathurst’s godson.”
“Crymont is not quite so hateful as Havergal,” Lettie said consideringly, for she was quite as alive as Violet to Tom’s future. “No doubt Havergal put him up to bringing those girls down here. Crymont had no other reason to come, so far as I can see. Yes, certainly Havergal is leading him astray. I shall tell Tom to call on the duke when he goes up to London but to stay well away from the viscount.”
“Do you really think you should leave Havergal’s bags at the door, Lettie? That seems a bit harsh.”
“I’d like to burn them and throw him on top of the blaze. I never imagined such a deceitful character existed in the whole world. And to think, I was nearly in tears when he said I was old.”
“Did he indeed say so?” Violet gasp
ed. “Now, that does not sound like Havergal. He is a trifle wild to be sure, but not mean.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Beddoes!” Lettie remembered his quick sympathy when he had offended her by saying the simple truth. Something deep within her wanted to find an excuse to forgive him, but common sense prevailed. A hasty word, spoken without thinking, was one thing. But the rest of it, the girls at the inn and the wine—they had been planned in advance. This whole trip had been arranged both for his convenience and for the purpose of conning his money out of her. He wanted her to break her faith to Horace. And even for this one visit, he couldn’t do without his debaucheries. The man was a villain. A handsome face wasn’t enough to expiate for that.
Chapter Eight
Miss FitzSimmons was much of a mind to be in her bedroom with the door locked when Lord Havergal returned to find his servants and cases awaiting him on the doorstep. Lettie had no such intention. “I shall be in the saloon with a poker in my hands, ready to fight him off with force if he tries to weasel his way back in,” she announced.
“I cannot think he will do anything of the sort.”
“We have underestimated his gall before,” Lettie said coldly. “I shan’t do it again.”
In any case she wished to hear what he had to say when her message was delivered. This required opening the window an inch, which in turn required wrapping up in a shawl as the night air was chilly. At midnight, they decided to wait in the dark, for Lettie would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he was keeping them up. Violet remained on the scene, with the intention of holding Lettie in check, though she knew perfectly well how ineffectual she would be in a crisis. By one o’clock she was sound asleep, and by two, Lettie had begun to nod off herself.
After waiting up for hours, she missed the initial encounter between Havergal and his waiting servants. Cuttle and Crooks were surprised to see their master approach the front door so early as two o’clock, and relatively sober, too. They were less so themselves. Miss Beddoes had commanded them to remove the wine, and their stomachs seemed the best place to put it.