Lady Reluctant

by Maggie Osborne

  “Now then,” she said in a low menacing tone, leaning forward again so he could see the hot fury burning in her eyes. “Do you remember the blowsy you nicked this from?” He stared at her. “You tell your Adam-tiler and all your scurvy pox-riddled friends that Lady Katherine Paget is never to be molested again. Do you hear me? If she or any in her party is ever again jockied on the streets—I will personally find you and I will personally slice off your balls and feed them to you.” She smiled coldly into his wide, awed eyes. “That, my smelly whore’s son, is a promise you may rely on.

  When she saw that he believed her, she stepped away from him and lowered her arm. Instantly, the dodger pushed through the gathering crowd and dashed into an alleyway.

  Blu squared her shoulders and smoothed her skirts, and with all the dignity of the newly converted, she inclined her head toward her audience in a gesture of polite dismissal. Mouton, whom she had sensed but had not seen until now, bent to pick up Lady Katherine’s reticule. When he straightened, she saw his eyes were dancing with silent laughter and not a little pride. She grinned up at him, then stiffened at the sound of a familiar voice.

  “I believe this belongs to you, Miss Morgan.”

  Whirling, she spun toward a knot of people still standing nearby watching her. The Duke of Dewbury smiled, bowed, and extended her hat.

  “How long have you been standing there?” she demanded, accepting her hat from his immaculately gloved fingers. Pushing it atop her falling hair, she tied the ribbon to one side of her chin.

  “Long enough to witness the rogue’s comeuppance. I saw you fling the poor bastard up against the wall and nearly choke the life from him.” His gray eyes danced.

  “That ‘poor bastard’ nicked Lady Katherine’s reticule and ring.”

  “I daresay he much regrets it,” His Grace commented, smiling. For a moment they studied each other and in that moment his expression shifted. “I did not lie to you, Blu,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes. “My name is Thomas Edward Montmorency. Cecile stuttered as a child. She could not pronounce a th sound so she called me Edward. No one else does.”

  Absurdly, foolishly, Blu’s heart soared. He had not lied to her. Why it should matter, she could not guess. But it did. It mattered dreadfully. Of a sudden she wished he had not seen her best the dodger. While she was proud of having recovered Lady Katherine’s ring and reticule, something about knowing His Grace had watched discomfited her. She suspected few ladies showed to their best advantage while thrashing a scoundrel. At the same time, it pleased her to know he had witnessed her valor.

  Because the issue had become confusing, and because she did not trust herself to speak, she turned to peer down the street. Monsieur pushed Cecile’s chair toward her and assisted Aunt Tremble, who struck out with her cane at anyone whose appearance displeased her. Lady Katherine marched beside them, her face a study in cold anger. That she marched instead of glided was as much a signal as her stony expression. Curious, Btu wondered what had occurred in her absence to put her mother’s bile in a boil. As she must have seen Blu recover her possessions, the cause of Lady Katherine’s anger could not be the theft.

  As they neared, Cecile smiled. “Look, Mama. The Duke of Dewbury has found us.”

  Lady Katherine did not remove her narrowed gaze from Blusette. “If you have not yet confided the truth to Edward, I suggest you do so immediately. He must think we are mad to harbor such a creature beneath our roof. Please make certain he understands Blusette’s total lack of background and that we are doing what we can to civilize her. You might emphasize the enormity of the task.”

  The moment bows had been exchanged—God only knew if Blusette had remembered to drop a curtsy—Lady Katherine instructed Monsieur to recall their coach.

  “But Mama,” Cecile said, looking up at her. “We have not yet shopped.”

  “We are returning home.” Still she did not look away from Blusette.

  “I retrieved your reticule and your ring, my lady,” Blusette said, presenting them with a deep curtsy.

  The unspeakable girl looked pleased with herself, as if she had done something laudable. The bright, expectant look she fastened on Katherine astonished; it was utterly inexplicable.

  “What you did was scandalous, simply unthinkable,” Katherine hissed between her teeth. A scarlet flush of humiliation stained her cheeks that Edward should have witnessed Blusette’s insanity.

  “I... I don’t understand.” Confusion drew Blusette’s brows. To Katherine’s amazement, the girl appeared genuinely bewildered. “My lady, I retrieved your purse and your wedding ring. What I did, I did for you.” She spread her hands and frowned. “I believed you would be pleased.”

  “Pleased? I am shocked and humiliated that someone from my household would run—run!—down a public street—barefoot!—in chase of a dirty little pickpocket! Do you have any idea how you looked? Or the attention you raised? God knows who might have seen you!” She flicked a look toward the Duke of Dewbury. Her shame and humiliation did not allow her to face him fully. A gesture brought Monsieur hastening forward in silence. “Put on your shoes,” she commanded as Monsieur extended them, “then you will get into the coach and you will not speak until tomorrow. Not a word. At this moment I cannot bear the sound of your voice!”

  Face flaming, Blu watched as Lady Katherine accepted Monsieur’s assistance into the Paget coach when it halted in front of them.

  “Good heavens!” Aunt Tremble muttered, staring. “Katherine entered before me. This is the first time in thirty years I have ever—ever!—known her to forget her manners!”

  Cecile wrung her hands in distress, then looked up at His Grace with an appeal. “Dear Edward, forgive me but I must lay claim to your generosity. We have something of a crisis here, I wonder if you might offer Blusette and myself the favor of your carriage? Perhaps it would be best if we...” She looked toward the Paget coach and her mother’s furious profile, then wrung her hands in her lap and bit her lip.

  “I would be honored to carry you home. My coach is just at the corner. I’ll fetch it and have a word with Monsieur, then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Mouton will come with us,” Blu said shortly. “He will insist on it.” These were the last words she spoke. Inside His Grace’s coach, she turned her face to the window and spoke not a word until they arrived in Grosvenor Square, then she jumped from the coach unassisted and stormed up the stairs to her chamber, slamming the door behind her.

  ~ ~ ~

  The slam echoed down the staircase, then the house lapsed into tomblike quiet.

  “Oh dear,” Cecile murmured, listening to the silence.

  “Perhaps I should return at a more convenient moment,” Thomas suggested tactfully. More than anyone present, he believed he understood what had occurred. Two worlds had collided and each had suffered injury in the collision. Blu could not grasp that Lady Katherine would accept the loss of a prized possession rather than create a scene; Katherine could not comprehend that Blu’s code of justice outweighed the requirements of dignity and decorum. Katherine expected commiseration for her loss, not a violent recovery; Blu had hoped for appreciation, not chastisement. Both were bewildered in their disappointment.

  “Please stay, Edward, if just for a moment.” With a practiced hand signal, Cecile asked Mouton to push her chair into the drawing room. Above her head Mouton met Thomas’s eyes, then he pushed Cecile’s chair into the drawing room and discreetly withdrew to stand outside the door,

  “It seems you have a guardian,” Thomas commented,

  “And a friend. Mouton fusses over us like a hen with chicks. He’s a wonderful man, Edward, so kindhearted. I can’t think how we managed without him.” She waited until Mr. Apple had served sherry, then she bit her lip and released a small breath. “There is something I must tell you.”

  She told Blu’s tale in a hesitant series of fits and starts, and Thomas listened as if he had not known or guessed the thrust of it, interrupting only once.

 
“The pirate forced your mother?” It was the only point of Lady Paget’s story which did not square. From all Thomas knew of Beau Billy’s reputation, Beau Billy Morgan had never found it necessary or desirable to force a woman.

  Heat colored Cecile’s cheeks. “Naturally Mother did not offer details. But I assume he must have. Certainly Mother would never—”

  “Of course, I apologize for inquiring.”

  When she finished the tale, Cecile lifted her eyes. “Though she comes from an unimaginable background, Edward, I beg you not to judge her too harshly. Blusette is the most wonderful person I have ever met and I love her. I hope you will grow to love her too. She’s brought life into this house. And laughter. And she’s had such an exciting, adventurous life; you should hear her stories!”

  To halt the flow of praise, he placed a finger across her lips. “If you love her, Cecile... I am prepared to love her also.” What in the name of God was he promising?

  “I knew you would...” After a moment of indecision, Cecile raised her chin and met his eyes with a determined gaze. “As we are speaking frankly, there is something else we should discuss.” She bit her lip and looked away from him. “Edward—”

  Because he knew her so well, he guessed the direction of her thoughts. Cupping her chin, he gently tilted her face up to him. “This isn’t necessary, Cissy.”

  “It’s time we spoke of it.” She drew a breath. “Mama insists I will walk again, but she is mistaken. I will be in this chair for the rest of my life, Edward. I know how much you wish for a son, and so do I. But I may be unable to give you a child. If... if you wish to be released from your vow, I will understand and will offer no objection.”

  He looked into her eyes, remembering her as a golden-haired child, as a shy young woman. Without a husband, she had no future. “Is that what you want, Cecile?”

  “I thought it might be what you wanted. But you’re too much the gentleman to ever say so.”

  He dropped a kiss on her nose, comfortable in the longevity of their shared history and in his fondness for her. “You must also know I would not dishonor a vow. Nor would I be the cause of any discomfort or embarrassment to you. No, Cissy, if you wish to be a spinster, it is you who must annul the betrothal.”

  They respected each other too much for either to pretend there would be other suitors for her hand. Even with Cecile’s tempting dowry, there were few if any who would court a crippled woman of uncertain childbearing capability.

  “You’re a good man,” she said softly, smiling at him with affection. “I wonder if I’m taking advantage.”

  “Of course you are. It’s what beautiful women do best,” he answered, gratified when she laughed.

  “I feel better,” she said, smiling. “Having dared so much, I wonder if I dare brave another subject on which I’d like to solicit your opinion and your assistance.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “I’ve been thinking—daydreaming—how lovely it would be to have a double wedding. I’m hoping you’ll assist Mama and Aunt Tremble in arranging a match for Blusette.” A look of shy determination firmed her gaze. “I wonder—what do you think of Lord Whitesall for Blusette?”

  “Whitesall?” He stared at her.

  “Blusette’s suitor must be as special as she. Strongminded, I think. And of a mind to accept her background, for eventually he will have to be told.” She tapped her fingertips against her chin.

  “Not Whitesall,” Startled, he tried to visualize Lord Whitesall and Blu Morgan. In point of fact, he found it disturbing to imagine anyone wedding and bedding her.

  “He must possess a lively nature. And be a bit earthy, perhaps.” Her face colored prettily. “Do put your mind to it, Edward.”

  When he left Grosvenor Square an hour later, Thomas unaccountably found himself in the foulest of moods.

  ~ ~ ~

  Blu wandered into the library and flung herself into the chair facing the desk Monsieur had appropriated for himself.

  “Kindly refrain from chewing your fingernails,” he instructed absently, glancing up from the history he was reading.

  She turned moody eyes upon him. “Three months ago, neither of us cared a bloody fig for fingernails.” But she pulled her thumbnail from her teeth, inspected it for a moment, then hid her hand in the folds of her skirt. “I hate Lady Katherine. She is a spiteful, hypocritical ingrate!”

  Slowly, Monsieur removed his spectacles and polished them against the handkerchief he withdrew from his waistcoat. He recognized and understood the anger drawing her voice and face. Anger protected her from her vulnerability, from the feelings of discouragement and inadequacy which were becoming increasingly obvious to those who loved her.

  “She didn’t offer a single word of thanks! She, who always harps on manners!”

  “Try to understand Lady Katherine’s position, my dear. We can be certain she is grateful for the return of her ring and reticule. But how can she offer praise for what she views as scandalous behavior?”

  “What should I have done?” Blu cried, throwing out her hands. “Let that rat dropping abscond with her things? When I knew I could catch him and get them back?”

  “It’s a difficult question.” And one he could not hope to answer.

  “Indeed!” She stood then, and the anger ran out of her like sea water draining from a lovely shell. She stood before him, exposed and raw. “She will never approve of me, will she, Monsieur?” she whispered, her heart in her eyes. “I will never be more than a continuing disappointment to her.”

  “Blusette...”

  Her shoulders dropped and she gazed at him from miserable eyes. “She smells of wild roses, have you noticed? The scent lingers in the room after she has gone. And it always makes me feel...”

  But she didn’t finish. She spun in a swirl of pale silk and ran from the room.

  ~ ~ ~

  “I cannot understand her,” Lady Katherine said angrily. Too restless to remain in one place, she moved to stand beside the tall library windows.

  Monsieur laced his fingers together on top of the desk and said nothing.

  “She disapproves of everything civilized. She resists my efforts to improve her. She cannot seem to grasp the enormity of the opportunity I’m attempting to place before her.” Lady Katherine pushed at her hair. “I spend every waking moment thinking about her future or working with her. I have placed my own life in abeyance for her. I risk all for her sake. And she appreciates nothing!”

  Monsieur cleared his throat uncomfortably. “In time, I feel certain she will appreciate your efforts, my lady. Surely you have not forgotten the enormous disparity between the Mound and Grosvenor Square,” he reminded gently. “She’s made remarkable progress.”

  They had all improved their presentability. Monsieur remembered but a short while past when he had publicly performed such functions as nose cleaning, which he would not now dream of performing anywhere but in private.

  “I readily concede her remarkable improvement. But surely it has not escaped your notice that her progress is accompanied by an unmistakable mockery. It is as if she repudiates everything I stand for with each curtsy, with each refinement.”

  Monsieur said nothing for they skated perilously near a revelation he felt certain Lady Katherine would regret if ever stated aloud. He fervently hoped the discourse would end before she admitted she desired Blu’s respect. That she did was as obvious as the frown between her troubled eyes.

  Long ago, in a faraway land called Paris, Monsieur had learned to his misery that no man fared well when he foolishly dared to step between two angry women. He silently prayed for the strength to continue his resistance despite his temptation to interfere.

  “I have always understood Cecile,” Lady Katherine continued irritably. She slapped down the draperies, smoothed her skirts, and glided toward the door. “Cecile and I are as alike as two acorns. But Blusette! She is as foreign to my thinking as a creature from another species!”

  If he had allowed hi
mself to speak, Monsieur would have disagreed. The trouble between Lady Katherine and Blusette could not be laid to their differences, which were minor, but to their similarities. For it was Blusette who was the acorn to Lady Katherine’s oak. Cecile, so different from them both, was more a willow in Monsieur’s opinion. The willow swayed and gracefully bent when overwhelmed by the oak. But the acorn, knowing itself a fledgling oak, would be broken before it would bend.

  Shaking his head, he watched Lady Katherine go, seeing in her proud head and determined carriage a copy of the young woman who had so recently stood before him.

  “In time they will find each other,” he promised himself, wondering if it was true. Meanwhile, he had another problem to occupy his thoughts and his nightly conversations with Mouton.

  Monsieur and Mouton were too old, too worldly wise, to escape noticing what no one else appeared to see. The acorn and the willow were pointed toward disaster. Their adored Blusette and the crippled young woman they had taken to their hearts both loved the same man.

  Monsieur sighed and leaned back in his library chair. His head itched beneath his wig as it always did when a storm was brewing. At the moment the storm lay far in the distance, gathering force. But it would come. It would surely come.

  13

  Mr. Bellamy, the dance master, came to Grosvenor Square on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Shortly after his departure on Mondays, Mr. Thistle, the music teacher, appeared, followed thereafter by Mr. Stockworth, who instructed the ladies of Grosvenor Square in art and painting. Between lessons, the ladies embroidered, strolled in the garden, and endlessly practiced the rites of decorum.

  During the first week in August—when Blu was judged ready by everyone except Lady Katherine—the ladies resumed their daily turn in Hyde Park, circling the carriage about the ring, which, it being August, remained largely deserted. The point was to be seen and to see who was in town and what they were wearing and who rode in whose carriage. Enough carriages joined the parade that Blusette could practice nodding, cutting, and bowing from a carriage seat.