Rushed to the Altar

by Jane Feather

  “I beg you not to make too much of it.” Danforth waved the issue away as he was ushered rather swiftly to the front door. “I had other business in town anyway.”

  The waiting servant had the door open as he reached it and he stepped out, bowing to his host with a politely doffed hat.

  Luke bowed, stepped back, and the door closed. Only then did he allow himself a deep breath of relief. But it was only temporary. He’d managed to get rid of the troublesome lawyer, but where the hell was Clarissa? She hadn’t shown her face at his door, hadn’t written to him for weeks . . . in fact he couldn’t remember when he’d received her last letter. He’d simply consigned them to the fire instantly, the ones to him and the ones to her brother. He had a little under ten months to ensure he inherited the Astley fortune and estates. But if that wretched girl was snooping around somewhere . . .

  How could she be? She knew nothing of London. She couldn’t take care of herself here, and obviously she hadn’t sought the help or protection of friends. So if she managed to make the journey alone without coming to grief, she was somewhere lost in the depths of the city. And if that was so, she’d be no trouble to him. She was probably lying in an alley with her throat cut, or worse.

  Luke felt somewhat restored. He’d handled the lawyer well, he thought. Clarissa was unlikely to be a problem. If somehow she managed to turn up on his doorstep he would deal with her then. She could disappear without a trace and everyone would assume an accident had befallen her in the lanes and alleys of this dangerous city. But to settle the last niggle of anxiety he yelled for the manservant as he reentered the parlor.

  “Send a message to the livery stable at the top of the hill . . . fetch that stableman, Ed, down here. I need him to do something . . . oh, and tell Clara to make me breakfast . . . sirloin, bread, eggs.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Luke kicked a fallen log back into the hearth.

  He was at his breakfast half an hour later when the servant brought Ed into the dining room. “You wanted me, sir.”

  “Yes, I did.” Luke buttered a slice of bread. “Help yourself to ale.” He gestured to the jug on the sideboard.

  “Thankee, sir.” Ed filled a tankard and drank deep. He was a youngish man, with the shoulders and huge hands of a prizefighter. The muscles of his thighs swelled against the leather britches, and the buttons of his leather jerkin strained across the breadth of his chest.

  “I want you to go back to the house in Wapping . . . check on the boy. Find out how he is. You told me he’d not last above a month. I need to know how long it’s going to be.”

  The stableman nodded slowly. “If’n ’tis takin’ too long, sir, you could always send ’im up the chimbleys.”

  Luke shook his head. He couldn’t do that; the risks were too high. Chimney sweeps died all the time, it was true, but it was always possible the death of a child would cause an inquiry if it happened in the house of some nosy do-gooder among the gentry, and the trail could lead back to him. It was unlikely but not worth the risk. Whereas a quiet death of infection and malnutrition could not be laid at his guardian’s door. He’d have the child in a closed coffin before anyone could question the cause of death. There’d be an elaborate family funeral, and it would all be over.

  But where in hell was Clarissa? He couldn’t be totally easy until he knew. He took a draft of ale and said through a mouthful of sirloin, “Ask around, too. Find out if anyone unusual’s been seen . . . anyone’s been snooping. Understand?”

  “Aye, sir. ’Tis clear enough.” Ed set down his tankard. “But I’ll be needin’ the fare. Costs a pretty penny to get to Wapping, even on the river. I’ll be needing a shilling.”

  Luke grimaced. “A shilling, that’s daylight robbery.”

  “ ’Tis what it costs.” Ed regarded him steadfastly until Luke fumbled in his pocket and finally laid a shilling on the table. He pocketed it with a brief nod. “I’ll be back later.”

  “See that you are.” Luke dipped some bread into his egg yolk and waved an irritable dismissal.

  Jasper escorted Clarissa to the door of 32 King Street after their visit to the milliner. “I will return for you at three o’clock, Clarissa. It’s the hour when fashionable London is walking and driving in the park. One must, after all, see and be seen at least once a day.”

  A touch of scorn had entered his voice but when she gave him a curious glance he continued blandly, “So we’ll join the throng on a drive in Hyde Park, but we’ll not stop for conversation and introductions, however anxious people seem to be for them. The object of this exercise is to arouse curiosity and set the gossips’ tongues wagging.”

  “Hence my new gown,” Clarissa murmured.

  “Hence your new gown,” he agreed. “And it becomes you, my dear,” he added. “As I believe you are well aware.” An amused smile accompanied the comment and she couldn’t help an answering chuckle.

  “It is a particularly fine gown. And I thank you, sir.”

  “Oh, you’ll earn its price,” he said lightly. “I have no doubt about that.”

  Clarissa contented herself with a raised eyebrow. “I applaud your confidence, my lord.”

  He laughed, tilting her chin for a quick kiss as the steward stood waiting in the open door. “At three o’clock sharp. Mind.”

  “I’ll be ready.” She hurried past the steward, giving him a quick smile of thanks as he closed the door behind her. She had reached her own chamber and was struggling with the laces of the new gown when someone knocked at the door. She had no desire for visitors, and most particularly not Nan Griffiths, and went to open it with ready excuses on her tongue. Maddy and Emily stood on the threshold, a group of young women behind them.

  “We have to know the story . . . oh, what a beautiful gown.” Maddy bubbled into the room and the rest came after her. “Mother Griffiths won’t tell us a thing, and she’s normally quite happy to discuss the girls’ good fortune.” She perched on the bed, swinging her slippered feet. “Come on, Clarissa, tell all. What’s he like, the earl? Is he good? Gentle . . . rough? What kinds of things does he want?”

  Clarissa shook her head in momentary bewilderment. How was she to answer any of this? They were all exclaiming at her gown, feeling the material, discussing it as if it were on a dressmaker’s dummy instead of a living person.

  “Yes, Clarissa, you can’t keep anything from the rest of us,” Emily chimed in. “What’s the earl like in bed?”

  Clarissa took a deep breath. She had no idea how to invent a description that would satisfy these women who knew all there was to know about men and their proclivities. She said, “I don’t know, because it hasn’t happened yet.” An astounded silence fell over the group. They gazed at her in awe. “You . . . you refused him?” Maddy said eventually.

  “No . . . not exactly. I asked him to wait a little . . . to . . . to court me.” It sounded so unlikely, even to her ears, that she was not surprised when as one they burst into gales of laughter.

  “Oh, give over, Clarissa,” Em exclaimed through her laughter. “Of course you didn’t. Tell the truth now.”

  “I am,” she said calmly. “Would one of you help me with these laces?”

  A rather mousy-looking girl stepped forward at once and swiftly unlaced her gown. Clarissa stepped out of it and shook out the folds. “It is pretty, isn’t it?” she said with a mischievous smile.

  “Far too pretty for a gift from an unrewarded lover,” one of the other women declared. “We don’t play games here, girl. You’re new and we make allowances, but there are rules, and one of them is we share what we know about clients. It gives us all a degree of protection. The more you know about a man, the better able you are to deal with him and the whole tribe of ’em. So, tell us the truth.”

  Clarissa wondered if there was a hint of menace in the demand. The woman was something of an Amazon, a rather brawny, freckle-faced woman with big hands. Before responding she put on her own chamber robe, taking her time as if completely unthreatened by
her audience. “As it happens, this is the truth. I decided I would fix the interest of the earl more securely if I made him wait. If I played the game of a little now, a little later, but always the promise of everything in the end.”

  “And he agreed?” There was a universal wide-eyed gaze of astonishment.

  “Apparently,” Clarissa said calmly.

  “Probably he can’t get it up anymore,” the Amazon hazarded. “No red-blooded male would contract with Mother Griffiths for a girl’s services and then not use them. He must be trying to hide the fact that his sword’s lost its steel by pretending to have a mistress.”

  Clarissa wondered how Jasper would react if he could hear this matter-of-fact discussion of his manhood. She felt rather as if she had betrayed him in some way, which was absurd.

  “I don’t have that impression,” she said. “He seems red-blooded enough to me. I think he enjoys the game . . . the suspense of it. I’m going driving with him later this afternoon.”

  “Well, if you really are keeping him dangling, you’d better not push him too far,” the Amazon said. “Things could become nasty . . . take a rough turn. We’ve all been there.”

  “I’m on my guard,” Clarissa said. “But I thank you for the advice. It’s well heeded, I promise.” It seemed to placate the woman and she gave a short nod of acknowledgment.

  “Does Mother Griffiths know the game you’re playing?” Maddy asked.

  “I haven’t told her,” Clarissa responded. “I don’t consider it her business. If Lord Blackwater chooses to tell her, that’s no concern of mine either.”

  “Best hope that he keeps his mouth shut,” the mousy one declared. “Or there’ll be trouble. Mother Griffiths doesn’t take kindly to us setting our own rules.”

  “True enough. You’re playing with fire, girl. You take my word on it.” The Amazon was moving to the door as she spoke. “We’ve a card game to finish.” The others left with her except for Emily and Maddy.

  “She seems rather intimidating,” Clarissa observed, sitting at the dresser to brush her hair.

  “Oh, don’t take any notice of Trudy. She’s got a big heart underneath it all,” Emily said. “You’d be surprised how many men like a bit of bullying. Trudy does very well by them, scolds ’em, then babies ’em until they don’t know which way is up. They love it . . . keep coming back for more. Mother Griffiths thinks the world of her.”

  It seemed there was always something new to be learned about the world inhabited by the ladies of the night, Clarissa reflected, pulling the brush through her hair with rhythmic strokes.

  “You want I should curl it for you before you go out with his lordship?” Emily inquired. “Won’t take but a minute.”

  “Would you really?” Clarissa smiled gratefully. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Not a bit of it,” Emily said cheerfully, and went off to fetch the curling iron.

  She was halfway through her hairdressing when Mistress Griffiths came into the bedchamber without ceremony. She carried a hatbox and a wrapped parcel and spoke as she set her burdens down on the bed almost as if she was carrying on a previous conversation. “Oh, that’s good, Emily. A little curl never goes amiss. The gentlemen do like it.” She surveyed Clarissa critically. “Yes, the curl softens your face, my dear. Now, see what has just been delivered for you.”

  “Who from?” Clarissa turned on the stool as Emily suspended her operations.

  “I believe it was Lord Blackwater’s footman.” Nan swiftly unfastened the ribbons around the hatbox. She lifted the lid and took out a cream straw hat with black velvet ribbons. “Oh, very modish.” She held it up. “His lordship had always the most exquisite taste. Try it on, my dear, and Emily can arrange the ringlets to cluster around your ears. It will look charming.”

  Emily took the hat before Clarissa could reach it. She turned it around between her hands, examining it carefully. “It is very pretty, and the black velvet will be a most fetching contrast to your hair.” She set the hat on Clarissa’s head and deftly tweaked the ringlets to frame her face beneath the brim. She tied the velvet ribbons beneath Clarissa’s chin and then stood back with a nod of satisfaction.

  “Yes, delightful,” Nan declared, unwrapping the other parcel to reveal a pair of dark green kidskin half boots and matching gloves.

  The hat, boots, and gloves would go beautifully with Hortense’s apple-green gown, Clarissa reflected. Jasper had clearly given much thought to the matter of her costume for her first exposure to the polite world. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about fashion, but perhaps that wasn’t surprising. Hortense had probably educated him in more ways than those of a good lover. She fetched the gown from the armoire and laid it on the bed beside the boots and gloves.

  “Very pretty.” Nan nodded her approval. “I hope you realize how fortunate you are, Clarissa, to have attracted such a notable and generous protector.”

  “Oh, believe me, madam, I am all too aware of my situation,” Clarissa murmured, untying the ribbons of the hat. “I am to drive with his lordship in the park at three o’clock. I daresay he wanted to be sure I was suitably dressed to reflect well upon him.”

  Nan’s eyes widened. So this was to be a public affair. They were unusual in her business, reserved for affairs of the heart, not the purely commercial liaisons that were her stock-in-trade. But Jasper could not have fallen in love with the girl, not in such a short time. He was too experienced in the ways of the world to allow that to happen.

  “Well, make sure you look your best, and don’t keep his lordship waiting.” With which parting shot, she sailed from the chamber.

  “Does she never knock on a door before entering?” Clarissa asked.

  “Only if we’re with a man,” Maddy responded. “If we’re alone she just comes in when she wishes.”

  “It is her house,” Emily pointed out.

  “That should not excuse discourtesy,” Clarissa pointed out.

  They both looked at her as if she’d taken leave of her senses. Since when did courtesy have anything to do with the lives they led? “Where were you before you came here?” Maddy asked.

  “In the country, working for a family,” she improvised. “They treated me well enough until their youngest son said he was in love with me and wanted to marry me. They threw me out then, and I wandered around London for a few days earning my keep as best I could, then ended up here.” Her newfound ability for invention never ceased to amaze her.

  “You were lucky then,” Emily stated. “You could’ve found yourself in a lot worse places.”

  Clarissa merely nodded and changed the subject before they could come up with any more awkward questions. “I haven’t eaten since dawn and I’m famished.”

  “Ring for something.” Emily pulled the bellpull on her way to the door. “The servants are quite used to serving food at different times. I had a man once who wanted dinner at three in the morning . . . a real dinner, mind, three courses, each one served by liveried footmen.” She grinned. “We sat at table as naked as jaybirds, with nothing to cover us but a table napkin on our knees.”

  She laughed, Maddy with her, and Clarissa joined them. There was something indomitable about the way these two saw their lives. Instead of seeing themselves as the bond slaves they were, bought and sold to service men’s needs, they managed to see the good things, to find blessings in the most unblessed situation.

  Emily laid a hand on the latch. “Come on, Maddy, you promised to help me sew the torn flounce on my red gown. I need it for tonight. I’m expecting a visit from that young man I told you about, the one who starts sobbing just before he goes off the top. He’s always finished almost before he’s begun and the red dress always gets him so excited I can get rid of him even quicker. See you later, Clarissa.” The door closed behind them as they went off chattering.

  Chapter Eleven

  Promptly at three o’clock Jasper’s curricle drew up at the door. Clarissa had been waiting in the parlor, looking out onto the street, and a
s soon as she saw him went out into the hall. The steward opened the door for her.

  Jasper jumped lightly down from the curricle. “I approve of punctuality,” he said with a smile. “And I’m glad I was right about the hat. It suits you to perfection.”

  “I can only commend your taste, sir.” She gave him her gloved hand as she stepped up into the vehicle. “I trust it won’t become too chilly. I thought you would probably not wish me to hide my expensive finery from inquisitive eyes under a cloak, so I’m prepared to shiver if that is your pleasure.” She settled on the bench, smoothing down her skirts as she spoke, her teasing tone matching the somewhat mischievous smile she cast him.

  “Indeed, madam, I have no desire to see you suffer,” he returned with mock gravity, the gleam in his black eyes matching her own. He reached under the bench and drew out a fur-trimmed rug, which he wrapped around her legs. “There now; you should know, madam, that your comfort is always at the forefront of my mind.”

  Clarissa went into an involuntary peal of laughter. His tone was so sanctimonious, his expression so earnest, it was irresistible. He was so instantly responsive to her moods, so more than ready to match her point for point when the urge to say or do something provocative overtook her. And she realized suddenly that she felt more comfortable in his company than she had ever felt in anyone’s outside her own family.

  The realization stunned her, and her laughter died. Jasper shot her a quick, questioning glance. She looked surprised about something, he thought, plaiting her gloved fingers against the lap robe as if it were the most absorbing activity.

  She looked up, aware of his regard, and a faint flush highlighted her cheekbones. “Is something the matter, my lord?”

  “No, except that as I’ve pointed out before, I have a name, and I would like you to use it.” It was a dry comment. He took up the reins, flicked the whip lightly, and his horses set off, the groom jumping up on the box behind.

  “Sometimes my lord comes more naturally to my tongue.” The dryness of his tone enabled Clarissa to reclaim her equilibrium, banishing whatever fanciful reflections she’d been having, or at least putting them in abeyance. “It seems more suited to the true nature of our relationship.”