by Anne Ashley
‘Very good, my lord.’ She rose from the chair and went over to the door. ‘I shall begin by seeing if I cannot persuade Mrs Willard to allow him in the kitchen from time to time. She usually shuts him away in the scullery during the day, I believe.’
‘Is that so?’ Lord Fincham responded absently, reaching for a sheet of paper while gazing across at the door. ‘And who might Mrs Willard be, may I ask?’
He received a look of mock reproach. ‘For an educated man you are sadly ignorant about many things, my lord. She’s your cook, of course!’
‘A word of warning, Master Green,’ the Viscount said, oh, so softly. ‘I am not above taking a birch rod to impertinent young cubs.’
Clearly the threat left her unmoved. He received a further gurgle of infectious laughter in response before he was left alone in the room. Although he shook his head, wondering at himself, he couldn’t resist smiling again. ‘I must be mad to tolerate such an impudent minx under my roof,’ he muttered. ‘Either that, or I’m entering upon my dotage!’
It was four days later before his lordship gave orders for his page to accompany him out. At nine o’clock precisely he descended the staircase to find his most recently acquired servant pacing the chequered hall, awaiting his arrival. Dressed in severest black livery, trimmed only with a fine silver braid, and with a cascade of white lace foaming below the pointed little chin, she appeared every inch the aristocratic gentleman’s pampered page. Only when she heard his footfall and glanced up, those magnificent eyes shining, and those perfectly lovely lips parting in a spontaneous smile, was he reminded of her true sex.
She won no answering smile from him this time, only a brief look of mild concern. ‘Yes, you look very well. You may follow me out to the carriage.’
‘Am I to sit upon the box with the groom, sir?’
‘No, you are not. You are to sit inside with me, for there are certain matters I must discuss with you.’
For the briefest of moments he almost forgot himself and assisted her into the carriage first. His concern quadrupled in an instant. If he was ever to forget himself, and show the least consideration for her true sex, the world he inhabited would be outraged. He didn’t care so much for himself. He was Fincham—a matrimonial prize. Shallow society would soon forgive and forget his slight peccadilloes… But the girl…?
No, she would be ruined in the eyes of the world, he reminded himself. And she didn’t deserve that, even though she would lend herself to such a disgraceful venture as posing as a page. Furthermore, although she might never be granted entrée into the highest echelons of society, she had been gently reared, that much was crystal clear, and she should not be denied the chance to take her place in the genteel world. Perhaps when he had first embarked on this madcap venture he hadn’t considered fully what a responsibility he was taking upon himself. But he realised it now, for he no longer doubted her respectability. Consequently, because he had possibly unwittingly encouraged her, he now felt an obligation to stand if not in place of a guardian, then certainly a protector, until such time as she confided fully her reasons for the charade. Then, once he had discovered why she was so willing to risk her reputation…perhaps even forfeit her rightful place in the world…
Well, he would consider that more fully when the time came, he decided finally. For now, he would do the honourable thing…at least up to a point.
‘Now, child, as this is your first venture into polite society,’ he began, then paused as that little head came round and those oh, so revealing eyes, unable to meet his for more than a second or two, lowered. The reluctance to meet his gaze told him much: it wouldn’t be her first venture into society; she had socialised with members of the ton before she had ever met him. How interesting, he mused. And, of course, dangerous. It made his task all the more problematic.
For a moment he toyed with the idea of returning to the house and ending the charade there and then by confronting her, but decided against it. She was not dull-witted. Evidently she didn’t believe she would be recognised. This time he would trust her judgement, he finally decided.
‘As I was saying, as this is perhaps your—er—first venture into society, I wish you to take very great care. Do not speak to anyone unless spoken to first. And in the unlikely event that you are addressed, then you are to say only that you are Fincham’s page. Most important of all, do not draw attention to yourself by staring at your betters, otherwise I might feel obliged to send you to await me below stairs.’
She regarded him in silence for a moment, a touch of concern easily discernible in her expression. ‘But I may speak with you, sir, if I am…troubled…about something?’
He regarded her intently for a moment. ‘You may always approach me, child, no matter where, no matter when, if there is something of importance you wish to discuss with me.’
This seemed to reassure her, for she smiled brightly, almost trustingly across at him. ‘You have yet to inform me where we are bound, my lord,’ she reminded him, as though she had every right to know.
Retribution would undoubtedly have been swift had his punctilious major-domo overheard an underling commit such a solecism. Or perhaps not where this page was concerned, he corrected silently. Evidently Brindle had obeyed his orders to the letter, with the result that the most recent addition to the staff had yet to learn her place in the Fincham household. Far from annoyed, it rather amused his lordship to have his girl-page so far forget herself on occasions as to treat him as an equal.
‘How very remiss of me, Georgie!’ he declared, with only the faintest betraying twitch at one corner of his mouth. ‘We are bound for the home of the Duke and Duchess of Merton. It is a monstrous pile, so stay close. You might so easily get lost.’
When at last they had arrived at the impressive mansion, his lordship was pleased to note that his advice had been heeded. With the exception of handing their outer garments to a waiting flunkey, she remained dutifully at his heels throughout the time they queued on the impressive staircase, waiting in line to be greeted by the host and hostess. Evidently his major-domo had succeeded during recent days in instilling at least the rudimentary conduct of a page into her. Even so, she did not escape the attention of the eagle-eyed duchess.
‘What new affectation is this, Fincham? Never before have I known you to have a page in tow.’
‘A whim, your Grace. Merely a whim. I succumbed to the most wicked desire to ruffle Sir Willoughby’s feathers. You know how he so hates to be outdone by anyone.’
‘Wicked boy!’ She tapped him flirtatiously on the chest with her fan. ‘I do not doubt you will succeed. A most engaging child you have there. I should be interested to know where you found him. You, however, shall find Sir Willoughby in the card room.’
Instructing his page to follow with a flick of one finger, Lord Fincham entered the opulently decorated ballroom. Huge vases of flowers, supported on marble pedestals, were positioned at frequent intervals down the full length of the long room. Swathes of silk in peach and cream were artistically draped across the walls, and gracefully arching potted palms decorated each and every alcove. It was a sight to take any inexperienced girl’s breath away, and his newly acquired obligation proved no exception. Although she refrained from gaping outright, there was a look of wonder in those magnificent eyes of hers that could so easily betray her true sex to any discerning soul. He decided to veer on the side of caution.
‘Await me over there, Georgie, in that unoccupied alcove. And, remember, do not stare!’
As his hopes were not high at his orders being carried out to the letter, he was neither annoyed nor dismayed to discover on several occasions, when he chanced to glance across at that particular niche, a certain blue-eyed gaze considering quite a number of different guests, and by the looks flitting over that expressive countenance a fair few of those present did not meet with approval.
After doing his duty by standing up with the daughter of the house in whose honour the ball had been arranged, the Viscount wandere
d across to that certain alcove. ‘I should be interested to hear your opinions, dear child, but I rather fancy you had best express them in private, so for the time being you may accompany me into the card room.’
His lordship quickly spotted the worthy he was most desirous to see, and wandered across to the table in one corner, where two gentlemen sat. One was dressed in formal evening garb, whilst the other, in stark contrast, was clad in the height of fashion that had prevailed during the last decades of the previous century.
The bewigged gentleman in the heavily embroidered gold-coloured coat caught sight of him first, and waved one slender white hand in an airy gesture of welcome. ‘Fincham, old chap! Will you not join us?’
‘Your arrival is timely,’ the other said, rising from his chair. ‘You may take my place and keep our friend Sir Willoughby company, whilst I do my duty in the ballroom.’
‘Poor Gyles. He must keep on the right side of his brother. If Merton was ever to cut his allowance, he would find it hard, with all his extravagancies, to keep his head above water.’ After sweeping the pile of coins before him to one side of the table, Sir Willoughby reached for the cards. ‘What is your pleasure—piquet or French ruff?’
‘Either will suffice,’ the Viscount replied equably. ‘I do not intend to remain for too much longer. I have a further engagement this evening.’
Sir Willoughby’s painted lips curled in a knowing smile. ‘With the divine Caro, I do not doubt.’
When his lordship offered no response, the baronet raised his eyes and, much to his lordship’s silent amusement, suddenly felt for his quizzing-glass in order to study more closely the slender form, clad in severest black velvet, standing dutifully behind the Viscount’s chair.
‘Good gad! That is never your page, Fincham, surely?’
‘Loathe though I am to disabuse you, Trent, but it is, indeed, my page.’
The baronet then transferred his gaze to the slender golden-haired youth standing dutifully a couple of feet behind his own chair. ‘You wretch, Fincham! You’ve acquired him on purpose! I do believe he’s prettier than my own! Such divine eyes!’ He appeared genuinely distressed. ‘You know I cannot abide others possessing prettier things than my own. You must sell him to me at once. At once, do you hear! How much do you want for him? Name your price!’
‘Now that’s an interesting proposition.’ Lord Fincham beckoned with one finger. ‘How much are you worth, Georgie?’
When blue eyes regarded him in a mixture of outrage and disgust, he came perilously close to dissolving into laughter, but was spared any further attacks on his powers of self-control by the arrival of the hostess.
Fincham rose at once to his feet. ‘Your arrival is most timely, your Grace. Sir Willoughby here has lost complete interest in our game. Perhaps you could provide him with another opponent more worthy of his skill?’
‘I very much doubt that, Fincham,’ she responded. ‘Your reputation is widely known. There are few here tonight who would pit their skill against one of the favoured five.’ Her smile faded slightly. ‘Or perhaps it would be more accurate now to say…the favoured four.’
His lordship didn’t attempt to respond to this. After exchanging a few other brief pleasantries with their hostess, he turned to leave and caught an almost frozen look on the face of his page. So deeply entrenched in her own private world did she appear to be that it took two attempts before he could gain her attention and instruct her to follow him from the room.
Putting her sudden disinclination to talk down to the lateness of the hour, and fatigue, he didn’t attempt to make conversation until he had taken leave of the host, and had led the way outside to where his carriage stood awaiting him.
‘Get in, Georgie,’ he ordered, so far forgetting himself as to open the door for her. ‘I shall not be returning to Berkeley Square with you.’ He then turned to his head groom, perched high on the box. ‘I entrust it to you to take care of my page, Perkins. I shall make my own way home in the morning.’ And with that he sauntered off down the road, leaving both his servants to stare after him.
‘But why isn’t he coming with us? Where’s he going, do you suppose?’ a bewildered little voice enquired.
The head groom looked down, askance, at the slight figure by the roadside. ‘Cor blimey, lad. Green by name and green by nature, that’s you! He’s going to pay a visit to his mistress, o’ course! He won’t be getting much sleep tonight, if I knows anything. But I needs mine, so climb aboard and let’s get going!’
The instruction was obeyed, but a moment later the carriage door was slammed shut with considerable violence.
Chapter Three
The following morning Brindle located his quarry with no difficulty whatsoever. Seated at the kitchen table, the page was lending Cook a helping hand as usual, although for some reason seeming less sociable than usual. He didn’t perceive anything untoward in this slightly subdued state. The child had not gone to bed until the early hours, and was no doubt feeling slightly out of spirits through lack of sleep.
‘His lordship has returned to the house, Mrs Willard, and requires breakfast as soon as maybe. He will partake of it in the breakfast parlour and desires you, George, to serve him.’
As this was an undoubted honour bestowed upon one so young and inexperienced, the response was not quite what the butler might have expected.
‘Oh, he does, does he!’ Looking decidedly mutinous, the page rose abruptly from the chair, very nearly toppling it over in the process. ‘Well, he can damn well serve it himself, because I’m going out! Come, Ronan!’
It would have been difficult to say which member of the staff present was most shocked by the outburst. Both the scullery maid and the boots stared open-mouthed as the door leading to the mews was slammed shut by the clearly disgruntled young servant. Even Mrs Willard appeared taken aback by the outburst.
‘Well, upon my soul! There’s heat for you, Mr Brindle!’ Cook declared, when she’d recovered from the shock. ‘Have you ever heard the like before? Anyone might suppose the boy doesn’t know his place.’
‘And there you have hit upon it exactly, Mrs Willard, because I do not believe he does know his place!’ Napes announced, having entered the kitchen in time to witness the shocking outburst. ‘And he should be made to learn it! It’s no good, Mr Brindle,’ he continued. ‘I know you look kindly upon the boy, and have from the first, but behaviour of that sort cannot go unpunished. His lordship should be told about this appalling breach of conduct.’
‘But not by you, Mr Napes,’ the butler countered. ‘Kindly remember I am in charge here; I shall decide how best to deal with the matter.’
In truth, the highly skilled and diligent major-domo was in something of a quandary. He was fully aware that it was essential to maintain discipline and standards below stairs at all times, otherwise his authority would quickly be called into question. Yet, at the same time, the valet had been so right: he had developed a genuine fondness for his latest protégé.
Only the day before the boy had joined him at the table, without being instructed to do so, and had helped polish the silver. He had performed the task well. But, then, everything the child attempted he did well, Brindle reminded himself. The page’s culinary skills were quite remarkable in one so young. Even Cook had said he would make a fine chef if he were ever to apply himself. From the first he had proved himself to be willing and able, and so cheerful for the most part. Yet, today, for some reason…
Undecided how best to deal with the matter, Brindle gave instructions for the selection of breakfast dishes, once prepared, to be conveyed to the small back parlour, and was in the act of arranging them carefully on the side table himself when his lordship entered.
‘Where’s Georgie? Not still abed, I trust?’
After signalling the footman and parlour maid to leave the room, Brindle poured his lordship coffee. ‘No, sir. But he hasn’t—er—returned to the house yet. He’s taken the dog for his customary morning walk.’
‘I see. In that case tell him I wish to see him in the library, when he does return.’
A moment’s silence followed, then, ‘I’ll endeavour to do my poor best, my lord.’
It was over an hour later when the errant page finally put in an appearance. One glance at those delicate features, set in a mutinous glower, was enough to convince the Viscount that all was far from well, and that was even before he received a terse verbal confirmation.
‘Well, you wanted to see me, so here I am!’
After very slowly returning his quill to the standish, his lordship gave his full attention to the slender figure still clasping the handle of the door. Naturally enough he was not accustomed to being addressed in such a manner, most especially by a member of his own household; and although it would be true to say he didn’t seem able to bring himself to look upon the girl as a servant, he felt it was incumbent upon him to attempt to maintain the status quo.
‘I believe I warned you before that I’m not above taking a birch rod to impertinent children,’ he said, oh, so very quietly. ‘I shall not remind you of it a third time, Georgie. So, for your own continued comfort, I would suggest you close the door, come over here and tell me what has put your nose out of joint.’
At least part of the advice was heeded. She did, after a moment or two, close the door and slowly approach the desk, but remained stubbornly silent. A less tolerant man might have lost his patience at this point. His lordship, however, out of consideration for her sex, was determined to maintain a calm authority.
‘And I’m still awaiting an explanation,’ he reminded her gently.
If anything the mutinous expression became more marked before she finally unlocked tightly compressed lips to say, ‘The only reason I’m here is because I wish to make it perfectly plain that it wasn’t Brindle’s fault that I didn’t attend you at breakfast. So you mustn’t blame him. He passed on your message, but…but I was in a bad mood, and so went out.’