Innocence and Impropriety

by Diane Gaston

  Miss Dawes grabbed O’Keefe’s arm, grinning. The man replied, ‘Ah…ah…tomorrow, perhaps? Before I must leave for Vauxhall.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Flynn said.

  Greythorne eased the pressure on the glass, though he’d much rather have shattered it. Tannerton was ready to make an offer, he surmised. Greythorne would discover some means of outsmarting the man. Perhaps he would devise the plan before supping with the girl two nights from now.

  Flynn directed a worried glance in his direction. Good. The man ought to worry.

  Rose stood up, bringing Greythorne to his feet as well. ‘Would you like some tea, Mr Flynn?’

  Flynn quickly glanced from him to Rose and back again. The man was rattled, Greythorne was gratified to realise.

  But he frowned when Flynn’s expression set with sudden decision. Flynn turned his eyes back on the girl. ‘I fear there is no time. Lord Tannerton’s carriage is waiting. He is most eager for your drive today. Are you quite ready?’

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘How…how foolish of me. I shall get my hat and be with you directly.’

  ‘You did not tell us of this, Rose!’ Miss Dawes shrieked after her, but the lovely Rose had already disappeared through the doorway.

  Flynn stood with a perfectly bland expression, which Greythorne would have liked to strike off his face with the slap of his leather gloves. Tannerton was moving in. Greythorne swore silently.

  ‘Well…’Mr O’Keefe mumbled into the tension of the room.

  Wheels seemed to be turning in Miss Dawes’s head. She, no doubt, was trying to calculate how she might profit from this game’s new hand.

  Rose came rushing back into the parlour, still tying the ribbons of her hat. ‘I am ready, Mr Flynn.’

  Greythorne stepped forward, blocking her way. ‘It has been my pleasure to pass these brief moments with you, Miss O’Keefe.’ He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘Until we meet again.’

  ‘Good day to you, sir.’ She pulled her hand away and stepped around him.

  ‘Where are you going, missy?’ the shrill Miss Dawes cried. ‘You had better behave yourself or you’ll answer to your father!’

  Flynn spoke up. ‘A mere carriage ride, Miss Dawes. I assure you there is no reason to be concerned.’

  Rose took his arm, and the two of them walked out of the door.

  Greythorne swivelled to O’Keefe and his woman. ‘You will receive an offer from that man. I will top it. But I warn you, do not cross me on this, if you value your lives. I mean to be the winner and I’ll let no one stand in my way.’

  Flynn almost carried Rose down the flight of stairs to the outside door, feeling as if the very devil was at their heels.

  Greythorne.

  When they reached the street, he paused.

  She looked around. ‘Where is the carriage?’

  ‘There is no carriage,’ he admitted. ‘I invented the tale to get you away.’

  ‘Lord Tannerton is not waiting?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  She smiled and clutched his arm tighter.

  ‘We had best move out of view, though. I would not put it past Greythorne to follow us.’ He glanced around. ‘Shall we walk to the river?’

  They crossed through Covent Garden and continued to the Strand, where Flynn slowed the pace.

  More private now, Flynn asked, ‘What did Greythorne want? Did he make his offer for you?’

  ‘I was not party to the whole of his conversation.’ She stopped and looked at him worriedly. ‘Oh, Flynn! I must take supper with him at Vauxhall on Tuesday night. I could not think how to avoid it.’

  He frowned. ‘You shan’t be alone with him.’

  ‘But I will,’ she cried. ‘I am to go alone with him!’

  He touched her cheek, saying more softly, ‘You shan’t be alone with him. I will be nearby.’

  Her eyes searched his. A breeze lifted her bonnet and played with a wayward curl. He tucked it under the brim and laced her arm through his again. They continued walking.

  ‘I am thinking he is a bad man, Flynn.’ He felt her shudder as she spoke.

  When Greythorne had touched her hand, Flynn wanted to punch his face into a bloody pulp.

  ‘I promise I will be there, Rose. You may not see me, but I will not leave you alone with him.’

  She lay her cheek against his arm.

  They walked down Savoy Street to the water’s edge, standing below the new Waterloo Bridge that had just opened on the anniversary of the great battle. They stood side by side watching the wagons, carriages and riders cross. Flynn was only too aware of his desire to wrap his arm around her and to savour this closeness. They did not speak for a long time.

  ‘Why did you call upon my father, Flynn?’ she finally asked.

  He could not look at her. ‘To make Tannerton’s offer.’

  She moved away, ever so subtly, but suddenly a gap as wide as the Thames seemed to separate them. ‘I see.’

  ‘Lord Tannerton will make so generous an offer, Greythorne will not top it,’ he said. ‘We will not let him win you, Rose.’

  She merely nodded.

  He faced her, stroking her arms. ‘Greythorne will not plague you again.’

  She looked into his eyes. ‘What do you know of him?’

  He paused, unwilling to share the sordid details of Greythorne’s perversions. ‘As an eligible and wealthy earl,’ Flynn said, ‘he is welcome in the best houses. But he is essentially a cruel man.’

  She seemed to weigh this scanty information. He thought she would speak, but she did not.

  Her lids fluttered and she gazed up at him. The lock of her hair came loose again to play in the wind. The clatter of the vehicles crossing the bridge sounded in his ears almost as loud as the pounding of his blood.

  He leaned down, knowing he should not, but unable to help himself. With gentle fingers he lifted her chin, and she rose on tiptoe. He knew now how soft her lips were, how warm they felt, how she tasted. He placed his lips on hers and came home. He cupped her cheeks with his hands, fearing she would pull away before he’d taken his fill. There was nothing chaste about the kiss, although only their lips touched. It awakened his body and all his senses and sent him soaring into the heavens.

  Finally, like a man waking reluctantly from a dream, he broke the contact.

  ‘Flynn,’ she whispered, sounding out of breath.

  What was he to do with this passion he had neither the strength nor the desire to control? He might be betraying the man who employed him, who believed in him, and trusted him implicitly, but Rose brought him back to life, to home. With Rose, he felt like a boy again, running across emerald hills. He wished to raise his voice in song. He felt himself bursting to be free.

  But he needed to bury himself again to play the dispassionate negotiator with her father, the faithful assistant with Tanner. What was painful now, merely watching Tanner talk with her, would soon become torturous when Tanner took her to his bed.

  Flynn gritted his teeth. ‘Tomorrow I must speak to your father. Make Tannerton’s offer.’

  The next day Rose waited for Flynn to call, knowing he would not escort her to King’s Theatre for her lesson. Rather, he would closet himself with her father and determine her fate. When his knock sounded upon the door, she felt the familiar thrill at the prospect of seeing him, of feeling his gaze upon her like a soft caress. But she also felt despair.

  Her father admitted him to the parlour. He looked so ashen, Rose feared for his health.

  ‘Lord Tannerton is waiting below to take you to King’s Theatre,’ he told her. She hoped her father and Letty did not perceive the tone of doom in his words.

  So, after an aching, shared, agonised glance, Rose left him standing with her father.

  When she reached the outside, Tannerton walked up to her, smiling. ‘Good day, Miss O’Keefe. Are you ready for your lesson? I thought you might enjoy a sporting ride to the theatre.’ He gestured to the waiting vehicle, a high-perch phaeton drawn
by two horses black as night and held in tow by a small man in livery.

  She delayed. ‘How am I to even get up there?’

  He grinned. ‘I will assist you.’

  He climbed on to the seat and reached his hand down to her. She grasped it, and he pulled her into the seat as if she were made of feathers. As soon as she was settled, he took the ribbons in his hands, and the tiger, who had been holding the horses, ran to the back and hopped on.

  He glanced at her. ‘I hope you do not mind only two horses. I’ve raced the vehicle with four, but four on these busy streets make the journey tedious.’

  ‘I am sure I do not know if I mind,’ she responded. ‘I’ve not been riding in a phaeton before.’

  From the high, open seat Rose could see everything on the street. The novelty of it almost distracted her, but her mind was back with Flynn speaking to her father.

  ‘Forgive me for not calling for you at your rooms. Flynn gave me strict orders to stay away.’ Tannerton’s expression was serious.

  Perhaps his mind, too, had turned in the same direction.

  ‘I see,’ was all she could think of to say.

  He gave her a wry smile. ‘I suppose Flynn thought I would bollix the whole matter.’

  ‘Bollix it?’

  ‘I’ve no head for such things,’ he explained. ‘Flynn is the negotiator. I either say I’ll pay the moon just to get the tedious business over with or wind up in fisticuffs.’

  Somehow neither choice seemed to flatter her.

  ‘Do not fear.’ His voice turned kind and he placed a hand upon hers. ‘Flynn will see everything turns out.’

  He made a neat turn on to St Martin’s Lane, tucking the phaeton between a hackney carriage and a curricle driven by a young man concentrating fiercely. Rose spun around to look at him. It was Robert Duprey, her friend Mary’s husband! They must have returned from Bath. He did not notice her, however, being too intent on his driving.

  ‘I have what I hope will be good news for you.’ Tannerton looked as casual holding the ribbons as Duprey had been tense.

  ‘Yes?’ she said politely.

  He cast her a quick glance. ‘We have spoken with Ayrton…’

  Rose could guess the we meant Flynn had spoken to Ayrton.

  ‘Miss Hughes and Signor Angrisani will rehearse you for the chorus. You will perform with the opera.’

  This was what she had dreamed about, but the expected elation did not come. ‘Thank you.’

  He stopped the phaeton in front of King’s Theatre and helped her down from the high perch. Though his hands spanned her waist, she felt none of the thrill she experienced at Flynn’s touch. He walked into the theatre with her and sat in the back while she made her way to the now-familiar stage.

  Her lesson was gruelling, but, as before, so filled with learning she did not mind it. She almost forgot about Flynn and her father. Miss Hughes and the signor taught her how a chorus must sing with one voice, how she must meld her voice with the others, like she had done in church. The girl whom Rose would be replacing came to sing the part with her.

  During a break, Rose asked her, ‘Do you mind if I take your place for one performance?’

  The girl looked stunned at the question. ‘Good heavens, no. I will make more money not performing.’

  Flynn would pay the girl generously so Rose might have a dream come true. Rose corrected herself. Flynn might hand the money to the girl, but the money came from Tannerton. She wondered how much each of these people was being paid so she could sing at King’s Theatre.

  As the lesson came to its end, Signor Angrisani said, ‘You must attend the performance tonight and as many times as you are able so you will see how you should move. Mr Ayrton has scheduled you to sing this next Saturday.’

  Her life would thoroughly change.

  When she walked back through the theatre to where Tannerton waited, her heart skipped a beat. Flynn was with him. She felt his eyes upon her as she made her way to him.

  ‘Flynn?’ she asked as soon as she came close.

  He knew precisely what she asked. ‘The offer is made,’ he said. ‘Your father has been compelled to wait for Greythorne before accepting.’

  ‘Compelled?’ she asked.

  ‘Not a thing to be concerned about,’ Tannerton interjected. ‘Greythorne will be dealt with.’

  The marquess was pacing the aisle, looking as if he were eager to leave the place. ‘Shall we go?’

  She nodded. He strode quickly to the entrance, leaving her to fall into step with Flynn.

  ‘What does he mean, “Greythorne will be dealt with”?’ she whispered.

  Flynn shrugged. ‘I presume he means we shall win. He dislikes losing.’

  The phaeton was not out at the front of the building. She presumed the tiger was walking the horses around. Tannerton looked a bit more at ease out of doors.

  He walked back to Flynn and Rose. ‘Are you able to attend the opera tonight?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes.’ She thought she would attend even if she had to walk to the theatre and back.

  ‘Good. Excellent.’ The phaeton rounded the corner, and he walked back to the street. As it pulled up, he said, ‘I believe I shall charge Flynn to take you.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I cannot sit through the same opera twice. I hope you will forgive me.’ He turned to Flynn. ‘Are you able to do it? Are you able to escort Miss O’Keefe tonight?’

  Flynn gave Rose a burning glance before answering, ‘If you wish it.’

  Greythorne had made certain he watched at the hour the secretary was to arrive at O’Keefe’s lodgings. He watched the man arrive with Tannerton, watched the lovely Rose drive off with the marquess. Then he waited until the secretary left the lodgings again. Tannerton’s offer was made, then.

  Greythorne then had called upon O’Keefe and his avaricious woman. He’d put the devil’s fear into them, telling them he would match Tannerton’s offer.

  The sums the marquess was prepared to settle on the beauteous Rose and her father were insane. Greythorne had no intention of paying so much. After the woman became a bore, he would cut off the money and seize the property. What could she or her father do? Go to the magistrate? Ha! Let her run to Tannerton then. He could pay for what was left of her.

  Greythorne smiled inwardly, remembering the look of terror on O’Keefe’s face at his parting words. A little menace always put a proper seal on a business transaction.

  Chapter Twelve

  That evening when Flynn helped Rose into Tanner’s carriage for the trip to the theatre, her excitement was less for the performance than for being alone again with Flynn. She needed to talk to him. About the offer to her father. About singing in the opera. About kissing him.

  She frowned when he did not sit next to her, taking the backward-facing seat. She looked at him questioningly.

  ‘We must take care, Rose,’ he said. ‘It is madness to—to—’

  ‘To kiss?’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘To kiss.’

  She stared at him, wanting to protest, but she saw the suffering in his eyes. She turned to the carriage window without attending to what she saw there. ‘Tell me of your interview with my father.’

  He explained the offer, and her jaw dropped in disbelief. Surely no man paid so much for the favours of a woman? Flynn explained that Tannerton wanted to ensure Greythorne bowed out.

  By the time they sat in the opera box, Rose forced herself to attend to the performance. Flynn sat no closer to her there than in the carriage, but close enough that she could share with him all the impressions, all the questions, all the wonder she had kept inside the first time she had seen Don Giovanni. They paid particular attention to the chorus, to the role she would play, a role so small she suspected no one else in the audience gave it the slightest heed.

  Rose contented herself with Flynn’s company and his conversation. It might be all she had left of him.

  On the ride home, he asked her, ‘Do you prefer the opera, Rose? Woul
d you rather perform there or at Vauxhall?’

  She thought about it. ‘The opera is so grand.’ She thought of standing on the same stage as her mother had—only it was not the same stage, because that theatre where her mother performed had burned down. Still, she felt as if it were her destiny to stand in her mother’s place, to sing as her mother had done, and perhaps realise the dreams her mother had harboured in her heart until childbirth had robbed her of her health.

  ‘Which do you prefer?’ she asked him, needing to stop thinking of this.

  He did not hesitate. ‘Vauxhall.’

  Her brows rose in surprise.

  ‘The opera is grand spectacle, I grant you,’ he explained. ‘But there is nothing more beautiful than you singing at Vauxhall.’

  Her insides melted.

  The warm feeling remained with her the rest of the carriage ride, to the door of her lodgings, to the door of her father’s rooms.

  She turned to him, extending her hand, keeping within the boundaries he had set for them. ‘Thank you, Flynn.’

  He took her hand in the dim hallway, but used it to pull her to him, to where she truly belonged. In Flynn’s arms.

  He kissed her, long and hard, like a man returning home from a long journey.

  Tannerton sat in one of the comfortable chairs near the bay window at White’s, nursing a brandy and mentally tabulating his winnings at whist. It was hopeless. He could not remember how much he started with, how many vouchers he’d written, then torn up, how much his last hand had netted him. Suffice to say he’d come out ahead. Let Flynn do the sums.

  The door opened and he heard an angry voice call, ‘Where is Tannerton?’

  Tanner grinned. He’d wondered how long it would take. He sat tight until the man rushed towards the card room. He imagined him searching the coffee room, the game room, the privy. He started to hum, swinging his leg, watching in the direction from which the man would return.

  He caught himself humming that ghastly tune those opera people had Miss O’Keefe sing over and over until Tanner thought he’d go mad if he heard it one more time. Now it was still plaguing him. He was not putting up with another voice lesson. Let Flynn take her. Flynn actually liked that ghastly music. Why could they not sing the kind of music found in dark taverns smelling of ale and the sweat of men who actually toiled for a living? Give him a bawdy song any day. At least a bawdy song had some wit.