Innocence and Impropriety

by Diane Gaston

  She sat opposite him and poured, placing one of the sweet-meats he’d given her on the saucer.

  ‘Rose…’ he began.

  She attempted a smile, but it vanished quickly. ‘I know. We must talk.’

  His brow furrowed, and he felt like whatever silver tongue he might possess had been badly tarnished. ‘Let me arrange a meeting with Lord Tannerton, Rose, before Greythorne becomes more of a problem.’

  She frowned at him. ‘Do you mean meet Lord Tannerton, or something else?’

  He picked up the sweetmeat, but could not bite into it. He returned it to the saucer. ‘A meeting only. You are not obligated for more.’ It was becoming torturous to think about the more that would eventually transpire once she accepted Tanner.

  She stared into her teacup. ‘And later?’

  He could not look at her. ‘If you find him…agreeable, there is no limit to what he might do for you.’

  ‘Ah, but it is what I must do…’ she murmured, her voice trailing off.

  He gave her a puzzled look. What was her reluctance? She was not without experience in such matters. She was friends with Katy Green, after all, whose station in life was very clear. Katy seemed to take the marquess’s interest in Rose as nothing unusual. And Rose had alluded to other liaisons—those gentlemen who drove her in Hyde Park, for example. A connection with a wealthy marquess ought to be eagerly sought after. Unless…

  He straightened his back. ‘Rose, is there another man…?’

  ‘Interested in me, do you mean?’ She pointed to a tray of cards on the table where he’d placed his hat and gloves. ‘Those fellows, I suppose.’

  He shook his head. ‘I mean a man who interests you.’

  ‘Me?’ It took a moment for comprehension to dawn. ‘Oh!’ She blinked rapidly, then raised her liquid emerald eyes to his. ‘No, Flynn,’ she said in a soft, low voice. ‘There is no one else.’

  He stopped breathing.

  Finally she averted her gaze. ‘Why do you ask such a thing?’

  He picked up his cup. ‘You have persistently avoided talking about the marquess.’

  ‘So you thought it must be another man.’ She regarded him with an ironic expression. ‘’Tis not enough I might not fancy being bartered like some fancy item in a shop.’

  He stared at her. ‘You are not being bartered.’ Though he feared she had captured the essence of the matter.

  ‘Of course I am,’ she said, her tone pragmatic.

  But why did she dislike it, if she would come out the winner?

  She stood. ‘Never mind it. I’ll meet your marquess.’ She crossed the room. ‘Tell me when.’

  He walked over to her, making her look at him. ‘Are you certain?’

  She cocked her head. ‘I’m certain. But I’ll not be obligating myself further than that. And I’d prefer Letty and my father not be a part of it.’

  He had no difficulty agreeing with that.

  ‘And no gifts, if you please.’

  That was unexpected, but easily done.

  ‘And you must be present.’

  He gave her a surprised glance. ‘I?’

  ‘Yes, and it would not look very well if I were the only woman with two gentlemen, so I would like Katy Green to come as well.’

  He nearly winced. ‘Miss Green?’

  She looked up at him through her thick lashes. ‘I do not want to be alone.’

  ‘I will arrange it,’ he said in a resigned tone. He’d not imagined being forced to watch Tanner charm her.

  She gave him a brave but false smile. ‘Good. That is settled. No need to talk of it further.’

  She drummed her fingers on the long wooden box that rested on a table in the corner of the room where they stood. ‘Let me show you something,’ she said suddenly.

  He raised his brows.

  She smiled with mischief. ‘Watch.’ She opened up the box to reveal a small pianoforte. ‘Isn’t it a treat?’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, a surprise as well.’

  She ran her fingers lightly over the keys. ‘It belonged to my mother. To take with her when she travelled in those days she was singing. It is in fine sound, too. Listen.’

  She pulled up a small stool and rested her fingers on the keys, playing random chords until she began a tune he recognised only too well, though he had not heard it for over a decade: ‘Shule Agra.’ She sang:

  His hair was black, his eye was blue

  His arm was stout, his word was true

  I wish in my heart, I was with you…

  He’d sung the song of a sweetheart slain for the Jacobite cause with the rest of his family at his mother’s pianoforte. When Rose came to the chorus, Flynn could not help but join her.

  ‘Shule, shule, shule agra…’

  He closed his eyes and let the sound of their melding voices float around him and seep into his skin, sending him back to Ballynahinch, to home and family.

  ‘Go thee, thu Mavourneen slaun,’ they sang, holding the last note for several extra beats.

  She rose and turned to him and their gazes held. ‘Beautiful,’ he said, bewitched.

  Without thinking, he brushed his fingers across her cheek. Her eyes darkened and she leaned closer to him. His nostrils gratefully inhaled her sweet clean scent, like the flowers in his mother’s garden. She tilted her face to him, so close he could feel her breath against his skin.

  He lowered his head slowly, wanting for just one brief moment to find home again in her lips. She remained perfectly still, waiting. His lips came closer, so close their breath mingled. A half-inch more and he would taste her—

  Voices sounded in the hallway, someone entering one of the other rooms, but enough to jar him from his reverie.

  He dropped his hand and stepped away.

  ‘Flynn?’ she whispered. Her eyes reflected his own wrenching need.

  ‘This is madness,’ he rasped. Madness for him to covet the woman his powerful employer laid claim to.

  She tried to come closer, but he held up his hand. ‘I must go.’

  She blocked his way to the door. ‘Why is it madness, Flynn?’

  He had no choice but to touch her. He put his hands on her arms and eased her aside so he could collect his hat and gloves.

  She stepped closer again. ‘Why is it madness?’ She scooped up the calling cards that had been piled next to his gloves. ‘It is what Tannerton and Greythorne and all these gentlemen want, is it not?’ She let the cards cascade from her fingers. ‘Why can it not be between you and me?’

  ‘Because of my employer, Rose.’ He pulled on his gloves. ‘It would be the ruin of my future. Yours as well. Do you not see that?’

  ‘But he need never know,’ she countered.

  ‘I would know. After all he has done for me, I would not repay him so.’ Did she think he could make love to her one day and face Tanner the next?

  He opened the door, but turned back to her. ‘You are indeed like your friend Katy, are you not? Do not tease me further with talk of needing time. I will not believe you.’ He started through the door but swung around again, leaning close to her face, as close as when he almost kissed her. ‘You are just what you seem, Rose. A fancy piece.’

  Her lips parted in surprise, but they remained as enticing as before. With a growl of frustration, he wrenched himself away and hurried down the staircase.

  Rose leaned against the doorframe, arms wrapped around herself. She squeezed her eyes shut. His words stung, but she knew he’d been correct. She’d behaved badly. Wantonly.

  She re-entered the room, shutting the door behind her and hurrying to the window. She watched him leave the building, his pace as quick as if pursued by lions.

  Leaning her forehead against the cool glass, she sang, ‘I wish in my heart, I was with you…’

  Vauxhall was not nearly as pleasant this night without Rose O’Keefe singing. Greythorne grimaced as Charles Dignum began. He stalked out of the Grove and strolled towards the Transparency. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed on
e of Vauxhall’s many delights—a woman with flaming red hair, laughing on the arm of that fool Sir Reginald, pulling him through the crowd.

  He sucked in a breath. That laughter gave him a twinge.

  He blew out the breath and walked on, scanning the crowd. He wanted a woman. Needed a woman. It had been a long time since he’d invited a woman into his den of pleasure. What harm to pluck another flower while he waited to win the elusive Rose from that—that—Corinthian Tannerton?

  Blood surged through his veins. He’d win Rose O’Keefe and show her his special set of delights, and once under his control, she would forget all about Tannerton’s pursuit.

  Greythorne wiped his face, grateful to the Diamond, Amanda, who had spurned him and lost the opportunity to experience his special talents. Because of the Diamond, he’d pushed himself to dare new delights. New heights. Nearer and nearer the brink.

  He’d also had to take more care. There were some who knew his brand of pleasure, and he dared not risk more exposure. He rubbed his hands together. The more secretive he became, the more daring as well. There were no limits in anonymity.

  He grinned, imagining this girl’s laughter fading, her eyes widening, mouth opening, cries ringing against the walls of his special room.

  He donned the mask he kept in his pocket, the mask that protected him, the mask that freed him. The red-haired woman might be occupied this night, but there were other blooms to be plucked.

  And Greythorne loved to cut flowers.

  Chapter Six

  The message from Flynn arrived for Rose the following afternoon, delivered into her father’s hands. ‘Mary Rose, it is from that marquess’s fellow,’ he said.

  Letty, interrupted from admiring how the emerald ring sparkled on her pudgy hand, ran to his side. ‘Well, what is it? What does he say?’

  Letty snatched the letter from her father and walked over to read it by the light from the window. ‘He wants to meet her! Two days hence.’ She dropped the letter on the table. ‘Did I not say it would be so?’

  Rose picked up the paper, reading that the selected meeting place was King’s Theatre, to see a performance of Don Giovanni. She pressed the paper against her beating heart. Flynn was giving her King’s Theatre. A real opera, too, with performers singing out the whole story. It was almost exciting enough to forget that he’d pushed her away, accusing her of acting like a harlot. Or that she must meet the man who wanted her to be his harlot.

  Letty snatched the paper from Rose’s hand. ‘Let me read it again.’ Her lips moved as she went over the words. She handed it back to Rose. ‘He is saying that Miss Green must come with you.’

  ‘I asked that she be invited. She is one of the girls I lived with.’ Rose had never explained much to her father about living in Miss Hart’s house. She never explained anything to Letty.

  ‘Where do you meet the marquess?’ Her father took another sip of gin.

  ‘She will ruin it, I know she will,’ Letty grumbled, crossing the room to pour more gin for herself, drinking it alone in a sulk.

  ‘At King’s Theatre, Papa,’ Rose replied.

  He smiled at her. ‘Your mother sang at King’s Theatre. Did you know that, Mary Rose?’

  ‘I did, Papa.’

  He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Daughter, you are saying you want to sing. Here is your chance!’

  She laughed. ‘Papa, I am to watch the opera. And the marquess will not be asking me to sing.’

  ‘I keep trying to tell you the way of things.’ He put his arm around her and sat her down in one of the chairs. He sat opposite, still holding her hand. ‘A woman in the theatre gets work by pleasing the right people, if you get my meaning. This is the life you chose.’ He reached over to pick up his glass of gin from the table. ‘The marquess has a lofty title and money. ‘Tis said he is very generous to his girls.’

  ‘Papa,’ she entreated. ‘I’m certain I can make money singing. The newspapers said nice things about me. I’m sure to get another job after the Vauxhall season is over.’

  Her father took a sip, then shook his head. ‘You’ll be hired to sing if you have someone asking for you. Like I could ask Mr Hook for you, being in the orchestra and all. But in the theatres, you need a patron, Mary Rose. And if this marquess wants you to sing, you will be finding work.’ He took her hand again and made her look at him. ‘If you displease such a man, if you spurn him, you’ll never work again. All he has to do is say the word.’

  Rose glanced away. Flynn had said as much. The marquess had the power to dash her dreams.

  Her father squeezed her hand until she looked at him again. ‘Listen, your own darling mother might have risen to greatness. She had the voice, the prettiest voice you’d ever be wanting to hear, and she was as lovely—you favour her, Mary Rose.’ He smiled sadly. ‘She caught the eye of such a man as your marquess. An earl, I’m remembering he was. But she was wanting me, instead.’ He shook his head as if he could still not believe it. ‘The earl was mighty angry, as you can imagine. And then neither of us could find work anywhere. By then you were on the way, and I took her back to Ireland. It was a long time before the earl forgot, and I could return to England to earn good money again. And then, of course, your mother got sick…’ His voice faded.

  Rose bowed her head, her emotions in a muddle. Her beautiful mother had been faced with such a choice? Her mother had chosen love. Had that not been right?

  Her father’s eyes filled with tears. ‘She got sick, but I was here in London. Working. Never to see her again—’ He lowered his head, his shoulders shaking.

  Tears poured down Rose’s cheeks as well. If she had not been born, perhaps her mother might have returned to the stage. Perhaps she would have become the darling of the London theatre. But her mother had chosen marriage and childbirth and poverty. If she had chosen that earl, perhaps she would have lived.

  Rose put her arms around her father. ‘Well, I’m meeting the marquess, so there’s nothing to fear.’

  He lifted his head again and gave her a watery smile.

  Rose returned a fond look. She wanted to sing, not only for herself, but for her mother. Let her mother live again through her.

  Letty called from her corner of the room. ‘What are you talking about, Alroy? I hope you are telling your daughter to get off her duff and take what this marquess wants to offer us.’

  ‘I have convinced her, I think.’ Her father sniffed and patted Rose’s hand again.

  ‘I’ll meet the marquess, Papa,’ she repeated.

  He smiled again and raised his glass to his lips. Rose left her chair and went to her bedchamber to don her hat, gloves and shawl. When she returned to the parlour, Letty was busy talking with her father of where they might live when the marquess’s money was in their pockets.

  ‘Henrietta Street, I’m thinking,’ Letty was saying. ‘But a proper house, not three rooms—’

  ‘I’m going out, Papa,’ Rose broke in.

  Her father looked up. ‘There’s a good girl, Mary Rose. Watch out for yourself.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Letty laughed. ‘We don’t want you damaged.’

  Rose walked out the door and down to the street. It was a grey day, and she hoped it would not rain. She headed for Covent Garden to find a hackney carriage.

  She had never visited Katy, who now lived at Madame Bisou’s gaming-house. Madame Bisou had invited Katy to live there after they left Miss Hart’s. The other girls had chosen love, Rose reminded herself.

  Rose wanted success, now more than anything.

  She found a carriage and told the coachman, ‘Bennet Street, please.

  He let her off at the junction of Jermyn Street and Bennet Street and she walked to a sedate-looking house where anyone might have lived. A large footman answered her knock.

  ‘Good day to you,’ Rose said. ‘Would you please be telling Miss Green that Miss O’Keefe has come to call?’

  The footman put a finger to his cheek. ‘Miss Green?’ His confusion suddenly cleared. ‘
Oh. Katy. Just a moment.’ When he returned he said, ‘Follow me.’

  He led her above stairs to a sitting room. Both Katy and Madame Bisou sprang to their feet when she entered.

  ‘Rose! How good to see you.’ The madame kissed Rose on both cheeks. ‘You’ve not been here since Katy moved in.’

  ‘Forgive me, Madame,’ Rose responded, only now realising how much she had missed this woman with her false French accent. The girls had quickly figured out Madame Bisou was not really French. The madame’s hair colour, an unnatural red, was false as well.

  There was nothing false about her large breasts, pushed up to show to best advantage in her low-cut dress, nor about her generous, loving nature. Rose gave her a heartfelt hug.

  Katy came over and Rose also hugged her. ‘Who’d have thought you would visit? Vauxhall’s newest flower doesn’t need a gaming hell.’

  Madame Bisou stepped out of the room to arrange for tea and Katy pulled Rose on to a settee.

  ‘So why are you here?’ Katy asked. ‘Have you met up with the marquess? Have you come to tell us about it?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Rose said. ‘But you are not far wrong.’

  ‘I knew it!’ said Katy.

  Madame Bisou walked back in. ‘Tea will be coming, but I must not stay, Rose. I must get back to Iris.’

  Katy turned to Rose. ‘Iris was badly hurt last night.’

  Rose did not know the girl. ‘I am sorry to hear of it.’

  ‘She went with me to Vauxhall,’ Katy cried. ‘But I left her with some fellows when Sir Reginald showed up.’

  ‘It was not your fault, Katy,’ Madame Bisou said. ‘These things happen.’

  ‘What happened?’ Rose asked.

  Katy’s eyes flashed. ‘She went with some man. A gentleman, she thought, because he had fine clothes, but he tied her up and used a whip on her—’