My Lady Notorious

by Jo Beverley

  “How foolish,” Chastity declared. “On behalf of the marquess, I mean. Cyn is remarkably capable.”

  “Yes, he is, isn’t he?” said Lady Elfled with glowing pride. “But truly, one wouldn’t have guessed when he was younger. It was one scrape after another for both of us. Rothgar has accepted the truth for years—he’s very proud of him. But you know men. Once they take these positions, it’s as if they are on either side of a gulf with no way to cross. You, my dear, are a much-needed bridge.”

  Lady Elfled Malloren was totally charming, and her welcome of Chastity seemed genuine. It occurred to Chastity to wonder why such a pretty, gentle woman had not married by twenty-four. It was doubtless true that Cyn was prettier—something in the bones—but with her red-gold hair and clear complexion, Lady Elfled was not lacking, and her manner was lively and kind.

  Chastity decided to put the lady’s mind at rest. “I’m pleased to be a bridge, my lady, and I will not create a new chasm. I meant what I said. I am not going to marry Cyn.”

  “Have you told him that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He didn’t take it to heart, but he will when he realizes how impossible it is.”

  Lady Elfled laughed. “My dear, you have a great deal to learn about Mallorens. Rothgar does not know the meaning of the word impossible, and Cyn is never balked from his goals. That is why they came to such a crisis in the first place. Now, as we are to be sisters, you must call me Elf, if you do not find it too ridiculous. And I will call you Chastity.”

  There seemed no point in fighting over it, and so Chastity agreed.

  “Good. I am going to enjoy having you here. You can have no idea how tedious it can be to be alone with just brothers. Men have no true sensibility.”

  Chastity’s expression must have protested that, for Elf grinned and said, “Are you going to tell me Cyn is the heart of sensibility? It must be the power of love, for I’ve not noted it before. Now,” she said briskly. “I am going to be very sisterly and suggest that what you would like above all things is a bath, and some more suitable clothes.”

  Chastity blushed to think of what she must look and smell like, but she could not take offense at such a delightful offer. “Yes, I would.”

  “Come, then.”

  Orders were given and Chastity was led upstairs to Lady Elfled’s own room, cozy with a fire.

  “I believe we are of a size,” her hostess said, and waved a hand at a set of armoires. “Choose what you will.” A maid came in and Elf said, “Ah, Chantal, assist Lady Chastity. Do you mind if I stay?” she asked Chastity.

  Chastity thought of her weals, bruises, and scarlet nipples. “I would prefer to bathe in private.”

  It was a strange request from a woman who had been raised with servants, and she saw Elf’s eyes register it, but nothing was said.

  Two more maids came in with a tea-tray, and plates of cold meat and cheese, breads, and cakes. The two ladies nibbled as Chantal presented clothes for their approval.

  “If you’re traveling to the wedding,” Elf said, “you want something elegant but not too fragile. What colors do you favor?”

  Despite her resolution to cut Cyn free, the sight of such masses of beautiful clothes made Chastity long to appear before him just once as her true self—the beautiful Chastity Ware. “A deep pink has always been my best color,” she said, “but I don’t think…”

  Elf clapped her hands. “Chantal! La langue de la reine!” As the maid went to another armoire, Elf said to Chastity, “It was absolutely the color a year ago, but it turned out to be quite impossible with my hair.”

  Chantal spread a beautiful gown on the bed. It was a deep raspberry silk, sprigged in a lighter shade and ruched around the edges of the open skirt. From a drawer came a petticoat of cream, sprigged in the raspberry shade, and a stomacher of matching brocade and seed pearls.

  “Lud,” sighed Elf, “I’m falling in love with it all over again… But,” she said quickly, “take it. You’ll be doing me a kindness. Chantal will kiss your feet!”

  “Indeed, milady,” said the maid with a giggle. “Once or twice a month Milady Elfled orders the dress, and I die a thousand deaths until she decides against it.”

  It was only too clear that the color would be disastrous against Elf’s pale skin and red hair, and so Chastity blissfully agreed.

  Silk underwear was also laid out, and then they were told the bath was ready in the dressing room.

  Chastity took the stockings and chemise and went to bathe herself, only too conscious of being remarkable.

  Once stripped she looked at her body in a clear light. No wonder Cyn had been angry. She had scrapes and bruises she’d not even been aware of. The weals on her thighs were a dull red. She had dark finger-marks on her arms, and a nasty swelling on her temple where the odious Pog had felled her.

  And there were the nipples. What had it cost Cyn not to even mention them during their lovemaking at the inn?

  For a moment she felt like finding a hole to hide in, but then she reminded herself that Cyn had never seen her looking pretty. He would. Just this once.

  She sank into the huge painted tin bathtub with a sigh of contentment. The water was just the right temperature, and a delicate perfumed oil had been added. On a stand beside the tub were cloths and fine soap. This was the life to which she had been raised.

  She washed every inch, then she tossed off her wig and washed her hair. In this one respect, her disfiguring crop was useful. She dried it with a towel and relaxed in the tub.

  She forced herself to face her bleak future. Even Nana was doubtless now barred to her. Her father would cast her off entirely, and she couldn’t cling to Cyn. She’d have to take care of herself.

  The thought terrified her.

  Perhaps she could be an actress… But she had no particular talent in that direction, and most actresses were said to be whores. If she couldn’t bring herself to be Cyn’s whore, she certainly could be no other man’s.

  She thought back to Cyn’s request of Rothgar—that her reputation be restored and her father’s consent be obtained. If only… But the reaction of all present had emphasized just how impossible a dream it was.

  She climbed out of the bath before she fell to weeping. She dried herself, combed out the wig, and put it on. She dropped the silk chemise over her head, and it slithered down to her calves. This was a more proper garment than the one her father had provided, or the one she’d found at Rood House. It was delicate but opaque, and hid most of her wounds. It was beautifully edged with white-on-white embroidery at the hem and neck, and included a foam of exquisite silk lace at the elbows.

  It made Chastity feel beautiful just to wear it.

  She eased on the white silk stockings clocked with rosebuds and tied the pink garters, smiling sadly at the memory of the garters Cyn had bought in Shaftesbury. Perhaps she could rescue those garters if Verity still had them, and treasure them into her lonely old age.

  The tickling little fear came back to her. What if she were pregnant? But she wouldn’t let that sway her. She must find a way to cut Cyn free. She would handle other problems when she had to.

  When she returned to the bedroom, Lady Elfled smiled at her. “Do dress. I can’t wait to see that gown on you. I’m sure it will be perfect.”

  Chantal assisted Chastity into the hoop frame which would hold the light skirts out without the bulk of heavy petticoats. The white silk petticoat that went on top hardly weighed a thing. The brocade stomacher felt comfortingly secure around her torso and over her breasts.

  Chastity watched in the mirror as the layers performed a magical alchemy upon her appearance. Her spirits lifted. It was like armor—a fragile, gossamer armor, but armor all the same. Within it she felt all woman, and empowered.

  “You have a lovely figure,” said Elf frankly. “Your waist is trimmer than mine. To achieve that effect, I’d have to be gasping.”

  When Chantal had tied the stoma
cher laces, she held up the gown and Chastity slid her arms into the sleeves. The maid fastened it at the front and, with a slither of silk on silk, the outfit was complete.

  “Parfait,” breathed Chantal.

  “Indeed,” said Elf. “That certainly is your color.”

  Chastity smiled at the image in the mirror. The deep pink brought out roses in her cheeks and lips; the beautiful cut of the stomacher pushed up the swell of her breasts without the slightest hint of indecency; the opaque silk of the chemise covered that swell in a soft, tantalizing cloud.

  She moved, feeling the light silken skirts sway and dance, held out to a six-foot span by the hoops. She twirled and sank into a court-curtsy, laughing for the delight of being a woman.

  Elf took her hands to raise her. “Oh,” she said, “I wish I had what you have!”

  “What is that?” asked Chastity.

  “A power over men.”

  Chastity felt her face burn. “I don’t… If I do, it has served me ill.”

  “Has it?” asked Elf, rather sadly. “But you have Cyn ready to fight dragons for you.”

  Chastity didn’t understand the wistfulness in the other woman’s eyes. Surely Lady Elfled Malloren, with her rank, her dowry, her looks, and her sweet nature, had attracted the attention of many men. “I’m sure any man would be willing to fight dragons for you too, Elf.”

  “Perhaps,” said Elf, but with a sigh. Then, “Come,” she said briskly, before Chastity could comment, “let Chantal apply a little maquillage to conceal that bruise, and we will see what my august brother has planned.”

  Chastity sat obediently for the maid to work. “I don’t care for heavy paint,” she told the girl.

  “Bien sur que non,” said the maid. “This is for country wear, after all, milady. Just a cream over the meurtrissure, and a little rouge on the cheeks and lips…”

  When the skillful maid finished, the bruise was scarcely noticeable, and Chastity’s looks were subtly enhanced. Chastity smiled. “You are a genius, Chantal.”

  “Bien entendu,” said the maid complacently. “I will select other garments for you, milady.” She twinkled a mischievous, three-pointed smile. “Be assured that they are ones Milady Elf should never wear.”

  “Horrid monster,” said Elf, without rancor. “She has the right of it, though. You’ll be doing a kindness by removing temptation. Chantal, dispose of those old clothes.”

  The maid gathered Chastity’s garments, then gave a little cry of annoyance. “I have pricked myself!”

  Before Chastity could say anything, she had pulled out the pearl pin. “Is this yours, milady?”

  Chastity thought of denying it, but she could see a wide-eyed Elf had already recognized it. “Yes,” she said, and took it, weary of deceptions and deceit. She fixed it in the front of her stomacher, then looked at Elf, who had become very pale. “Rothgar’s not my lover,” she said.

  “Oh,” Elf murmured. “Good. Really, I don’t know what would happen if two of my brothers fought over the same lady… Are you ready to go down?”

  Chastity looked in the mirror again, and despite her appearance, trembled at the thought of facing Rothgar. She needed a weapon. “I think… I really think I need a fan.”

  In a moment she had one, a painted cream parchment. She flipped it open, then let it riffle shut. She took a deep breath. “Now,” she said, “I am ready.”

  They found Rothgar in the Tapestry Room. He was staring thoughtfully into the fire, but turned at their entrance. Chastity saw genuine admiration flicker over his features, and he gave her a deep bow.

  “Lady Chastity, I am reminded why my brother is ensorcele.”

  Chastity curtsied deeply. She flicked open her fan and regarded him from behind its protection. “Your brother, Lord Rothgar, has never seen me like this.”

  He raised her. “Then I rejoice for him even more.” He saw the pearl pin. His lack of surprise told her he’d known she was the half-dressed woman he had met on the stairs of Rood House. But since when had he known?

  Elf looked between them anxiously, but Rothgar smiled at his sister, a smile of genuine warmth which said much about his feelings for his family. “If that gown was in your wardrobe, my dear, I am deeply grateful to Lady Chastity for coming among us to relieve you of it.”

  “Horrid man. Some redheads can wear pink.”

  “Some, yes. But not you, and not that shade, I fear.” He settled both ladies in chairs. “I think we should assume that Cyn can deliver the license to Long Knotwell today. I believe an hour and a half in the coach should take us there. Perhaps we should leave in one hour. If it is necessary to stay the night, there will, no doubt, be somewhere to accommodate us.”

  “I am to come too?” asked Elf.

  “Assuredly. I must go, to escort Chastity. You must come with us as chaperone.”

  Elf’s eyes flickered to the pin. Rothgar sighed. “What a low cast of mind you have to be sure, my dear. Lady Chastity did nothing unseemly for that bauble.” His eyes were satirical as he added to Chastity, “You may want to consider, however, whether you wish to explain it to Cyn.”

  “I have done with subterfuge,” she said coolly.

  “Excellent.” Chastity heard a wealth of meaning in that. “Elf, my dear, perhaps you could arrange for some items for Lady Chastity to take with her in case we need to stay the night. If Chastity’s sister is also poorly clad, she would surely appreciate more sacrifices from your wardrobe, especially an outfit suitable for her wedding.”

  Generous Elf rose immediately. “Of course.” At the door she hesitated and raised her brows. “I thought I was to be chaperone, brother dear.”

  Rothgar smiled at her. “I assure you, I never ravish my brothers’ promised brides.”

  “None of your brothers has ever had a promised bride before.” she pointed out.

  “Even so.”

  With a shake of her head, Elf left.

  Chastity pulled out the pin and offered it to Rothgar. “Here, my lord. You had best have it back. Not because of Cyn, but because I do not want it.”

  He made no move to take it. “But it looks very well there, and you earned it.”

  When he refused to take it, she let it fall to the carpet.

  He ignored the valuable pin and considered Chastity. “When we kissed in London, I found you intriguing,” he said, startling her into unfurling her fan again. “I see my instincts were sound, as always.”

  Chastity’s heart began to flutter. Dear Lord, not more complexities. She fanned in the rapid way that warned a gentleman that the topic was not to her taste. “Are you claiming to love me?”

  “Oh, no,” he said calmly, watching her with those cool gray eyes. “If I loved you, none of this would have happened, would it? But you interested me…”

  Chastity felt as if she were fencing with him, and suspected she was outclassed. She flipped the fan shut and tried a crude, slashing move. “I was with Cyn at Rood House.”

  “But of course,” he parried lazily.

  She threw another wild blow. “I intend to marry him.”

  “But of course,” he said again, a master swordsman toying with a novice.

  “Why ‘of course’ ?” she demanded.

  “Because if you didn’t,” he remarked, “you’d be just the whore you are painted.”

  It was a thrust at the heart. She looked down at the fan in her hands. “Perhaps I am,” she whispered.

  “But I couldn’t possibly permit my brother to marry such a woman.”

  Chastity felt hope leave her, hope of something she had determined to deny herself, and yet had clung to all the same. She raised her chin to face him. “You might not be able to stop him.”

  She expected him to sneer at such a challenge, but instead he abandoned the contest and stared pensively into the fire. “You are quite correct. And I would not dare try to balk Cyn again.”

  It appeared, incredibly enough, an admission of defeat. Chastity found that she was, quite unconsciously, dra
wing her open fan across her eyes in a message of sympathy. “Why not?” she asked.

  “I have a somewhat autocratic tendency,” he said levelly. As well say a wolf has sharp teeth, thought Chastity. “When Cyn wanted to go soldiering, it seemed inappropriate. He was not even eighteen and looked younger. If a serious thought had ever crossed his mind, I had been unaware of it. On the other hand, I had extricated him from any number of scrapes, the consequences of which could have been serious. The army has a harsh way of dealing with mischief, even from its officers…”

  He looked directly at her, and her fan was no protection at all. “You would not, of course, have ever seen a flogging.”

  Chastity shook her head.

  “Men are flogged even for mislaying their equipment. Fifty lashes, perhaps. For more serious offenses, the total rises into the hundreds. Officers are generally immune to such punishment. They can, of course, be shot. You must remember the execution of Admiral Byng, whose crime was not applying himself sufficiently to the relief of Minorca. He was shot, as Monsieur Voltaire so succinctly put it, ‘pour encourager les autres.’”

  Chastity let the fan fall closed.

  “I misjudged Cyn, of course,” said Rothgar contemplatively. “It was boredom that led him into mischief. He has ordered and supervised any number of floggings, and at least two hangings.” He looked at her. “I am not saying that is as difficult as enduring the punishment, but I am a magistrate, and I know it is not easy.”

  Chastity tried to imagine Cyn in such a situation and failed. Her winsome, lighthearted lover was capable of such harshness? Then she remembered the casual story of the shelter made of corpses. It had been a warning, deliberately given. Did she know him at all? How could she expect to from less than a week of mayhem?

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, and it was a plea that he stop.