by Janet Woods
Once Adelaide was married off Aunt Edwina would have no further use for her, Vivienne thought. Then she’d pine away in Maidstone, meeting no men at all except worthies of the church and of her father’s acquaintance, who were intelligent and sometimes fun to argue with, but usually too old, too earnest, too religious, too married or just too patronizing towards women.
And she’d become one of those querulous women who regarded all men as unworthy, which would be wrong and judgmental of her. After all, everyone grew old, and most people, including herself, held firm opinions. As for women being patronized – she had a passing thought that it was because they allowed themselves to be.
Another thought hit her. Her father wouldn’t marry until she was settled, and this unknown earl might be her last chance to be rescued from the monster called spinsterhood.
He might fall in love with her!
Oh yes. Most likely the handsome earl will arrive on his white charger and carry you off, a tiny voice inside her mocked.
She came down to earth with a thud. It was possible he could simply be like her, one of those people who wanted to wed only for love. But how could he fall in love with her when she’d be measured against Adelaide?
She could kill her cousin, push her in the Thames or suffocate her with a pillow while she slept. Her sigh nearly deflated her. This earl had already turned her into a murderess and was fast becoming a nuisance. In any case, it took two people to fall in love, and that seemed rather remote, since Adelaide was secretly in love with Freddie Lamington.
‘Oh, my goodness, Vivienne … what did I say to bring that sigh from you?’ ‘Nothing, Aunt, I’m just a little tired after the journey.’
‘Then you must go and rest for an hour or two, else you’ll be dull company at dinner tonight.’
A little while later Vivienne kicked off her shoes and took out a writing block and her pen and ink. On the page she wrote:
Alexander LéSayres
Rank: Earl.
Home county: Dorset.
Age: About twenty-eight.
After that she wrote: Attributes: Sense of humour, intelligence, appearance, manners, disposition and ticked all but one, since he had them in abundance.
Her pen hovered over the inkwell. An earl! She’d never expected someone so elevated in position to call on her. Goodness, she was reading more into his manners than they deserved. He was an acquaintance of her Dorset relative, John Howard, who was well off by all accounts and was many times removed in the matriarchal Dubois family.
But then, so was she well off … extremely so. A pit opened up in her stomach and her hand began to tremble as she remembered exactly how well off she was. A blot fell from the nib of her pen, landed, and then spread into a perfect heart shape complete with arrow shaft and haft, and right next to disposition. She had been going to write ‘Provocative creature’ there. ‘An omen perhaps, and who am I to argue with fate,’ she murmured.
When she’d finished her chart she smiled encouragingly at the blot and murmured, ‘There you are, My Lord. Cupid must be hiding in my inkwell and you are not so ordinary after all. You are a man with a good heart, albeit a black one.’
Five
Had Alex known he’d already appeared on somebody’s list of possible husbands, he would have been astonished. He made his way from the coach terminal at the Black Bull in Bishopsgate, striding through the dirty, crowded streets to his accommodation.
It had been a while since he’d been in London and he noted that the city still had an air of excitement and bustle, and it still stank, especially now with the tide out. Exposed was a length of sour mud that choked on the detritus it was forced to absorb. Despite that he enjoyed the walk after the cramped condition in the coach.
The rooms were part of a gentleman’s boarding house. The landlady was named Mrs Crawford, and a surprise. About forty-five, she was graceful, and well dressed in rustling grey taffeta. She was also nicely spoken.
The entrance from the hall to the day room revealed a leather armchair at each side of the fireplace with a table between. Up a step and through the door, the bed looked comfortable. There was a washstand and a dresser with mirror. The rooms were clean and he complimented Mrs Crawford on her superior housekeeping.
‘I have servants to keep my house clean and tidy, otherwise it would attract the wrong type of gentlemen. Usually I cater for business gentlemen and then only by recommendation, since other classes often find it inconvenient to pay their debts. Mr Howard retains these rooms for his own use and they’re apart from the other tenants. May I know your name, sir?’
Alex nodded. He was not about to expose his title until he’d looked over the merchandise on offer. After all, it was his only asset. ‘It’s Alexander LéSayres.’
‘And your profession?’
When the information she’d fished for wasn’t forthcoming, she said, ‘I can see you’re a gentleman. There are no rules, sir, but I don’t like rowdy, drunken behaviour or too much cussing. As for lady friends, if you are discreet I mind my own business.’
‘I doubt if I will entertain. I’m here to seek a wife.’
‘Ah yes.’ She looked him up and down, making him aware of his untidy state. ‘One who has run away from you or one you have yet to catch?’
He laughed at her unexpected sense of humour. ‘It’s the latter, I’m afraid. My home needs a woman and children in it.’
‘And the woman needs to be fair of face and sound of mind and limb.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m certainly not looking for a new hound, the pair I have at home are enough trouble.’
‘You’d like your chosen bride to have a fortune at her disposal, I take it.’
He shrugged. ‘That would be the ideal, though it seems rather cold-blooded in the light of day. I would not like her to think I married her simply for her fortune.’
‘Why not, if it’s true? Pretending you’re in love when you’re not is cruel. Business arrangements have their merit, though sometimes love tends to override logic when least expected. Good luck with your search. Mr Howard has vouched for you and he’s a truthful gentleman altogether, very polite and obliging … and as clever as they come.’
Such a compliment stated about John Howard surprised Alex.
‘If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, you look a little down at heel for the gentleman you so obviously are. It so happens that I have a suit of clothes that was left in lieu of rent. You can buy them if you wish, and since the previous owner went into the navy, nobody but us will know.’
Alex was wearing his dittos, black trousers and frock coat, and a hat with a curled rim. ‘My funds are extremely limited.’
She sighed. ‘The garments are no good to me and they include a pair of hessians that look as though they might be a good fit. You will be assessed by your appearance. The garments are hardly worn and you can owe the money to me.’
The woman was handsome and had a fine figure. She reminded Alex of Eugenie. ‘You would trust me with them when we’ve only just met?’
‘It seems so.’
‘I promised myself I wouldn’t fall into debt.’
‘If you are low in funds you could do some work for me instead. One or two tiles in the porch need fixing and the carpet on the stair is loose. The upstairs windows are grimy and the garden beds need weeding.’
‘I’ll be happy to help you with a few tasks in exchange, even if the clothes don’t fit.’
The woman smiled. ‘They will fit, My Lord. I promise.’
He laughed. ‘I have not given you my rank, so how did you guess?’
‘Easily. The way you talk, your manners and by the signature ring on your little finger. Besides, John Howard wrote of an earl named Alexander LéSayres who would be occupying his rooms, and asked me to expend every courtesy to you. I thought you’d be an older man.’
‘I share the same name with my late father. He died a couple of months ago. He did some business with Howard, I believe.’
‘And came off
the worst for it if you lack funds. John is an astute man who knows how to pursue an advantage when he senses one. He will just as quickly let it go if he doesn’t smell a profit.’
As he did when they’d tackled him over his father’s debt. That success had been down to Dominic’s devious mind. John Howard had obviously recognized a kindred spirit when he’d seen one in his brother. All Alex had to do was find a wealthy wife and his father’s debt would be covered, and he’d also be riding Dominic’s fine horse.
Mrs Crawford brought the clothing up. ‘I will leave you to try these on at your leisure, and then perhaps you’ll join me for tea. You will need some sustenance after your long journey.’
The blue double-breasted cutaway jacket, grey breeches and the dashing striped waistcoat of silvery grey brocade fitted him beautifully. There was enough room in the seat for comfort and it was taut, but not tight, across the shoulders. The shirtfront was pleated – no ruffles, he was pleased to note. Alex had brought with him several cravats that had belonged to his father. They’d been boiled and starched by the housekeeper.
He hung his finery on the back of a chair and unpacked his bag, folding the contents neatly into the dresser drawer before changing back into his dittos again. He kept the best until last, trying on the shining boots and thinking, new hessians … such a luxury. His smile was blissful as the soft leather boots with their little side tassels captured his calf muscles in a hug. He decided to wear them.
‘I wasn’t being serious about you working for me,’ she said when he went down to join her.
‘In a household of two men and a stepmother who does the best she can, and with barely enough money to pay the housekeeper, who also does what she can, we have learned to shift for ourselves. I’m not too proud to dirty my hands and I’ll be happy to help out with any tasks you care to give me, Mrs Crawford.’
‘You most certainly will not … an earl cleaning my windows? That would be a fine thing to entertain the gossips with. At least it would get you noticed, and you’d be laughed out of London – and that would defeat the object of your visit.’
‘You are right of course. The first thing I must do is pay a duty visit to Mr Howard’s relations,’ he told her. ‘Do you know of Mrs Goodman and her daughter?’
‘I do … that would be Edwina Goodman. The daughter is named Adelaide. The girl is a pretty, pert young woman with a reasonable dowry, I believe.’
‘That doesn’t sound like the young woman I was introduced to before. John Howard said her given name was Vivienne.’
‘Oh yes, I’d quite forgotten about Miss Fox. She’s John’s blood relative. She comes from a respectable home and is the daughter of the Reverend Ambrose Fox of Maidstone. She acts as a chaperone to Miss Goodman, I believe.
‘We’ve not met, but a friend pointed her out to me in the market place last year. I thought her looks to be fair and her carriage elegant. She was a little shabby and had a make-do air to her. I used to be a lady’s maid before my marriage to the late Mr Crawford, so do speak from some experience. I’ve been given to understand Miss Fox has a superior mind and is able to converse about many things. However she pales into insignificance when next to the cousin, who is a beauty.’
A twinge of pity for Vivienne touched a soft spot in his heart. It would be bad enough being a parson’s daughter; being poor as well as insignificant must be demoralizing for a woman. He decided he would be nicer to her. ‘I’ll invite her to dance.’
‘Then I’ll see what there is for you to wear, because first impressions count. In the absence of your manservant I could trim your hair to a more fashionable length, perhaps?’
He ran his fingers through it and laughed. ‘I have no manservant. Do I resemble the complete hayseed?’
‘If you will forgive me for being personal, you look more like the romantic, poetical type.’ She sighed. ‘No … we will not trim it, unless you intend to wear your cravat extremely high like a dandy. The longer length suits you.’
He was embarrassed by her casual observation. ‘Then since I’m used to it I’ll keep it this length. However, I would like some hot water so I can shave before I go out.’ He hoped his embarrassment wasn’t reflected in his eyes. He wasn’t used to flattery from women and resorted to clumsy humour. ‘If you ever meet my brother, don’t tell him I favour a poetical look, else I’ll never hear the last of it.’
She went to place a hand on his arm and then quickly withdrew it when he gazed at it. ‘I do believe my banter has embarrassed you, My Lord. You must get used to flirting in London. The ladies will expect it.’
While the atmosphere was still cordial he drew a firm line. ‘Thank you for your advice, I will take heed of it.’
She inclined her head. ‘Of course, My Lord, and I must stop chattering. I have better things to do with my time and so do you. My pardon for any embarrassment I caused you.’
‘You are making too much of it, Mrs Crawford.’
She bobbed a little curtsey and was gone, her tread hardly registering on the floorboards.
It was a short but interesting walk to the residence of Mrs Goodman. The soft June evening was balmy and Alex took his time, taking in the sights and sounds. The carts that had been laden with loaves of bread, fruit and fish earlier in the day were almost empty and heading back in the direction they’d come from, leaving rotting fruit and fish behind in the gutters for scavenging children, dogs and rats to sift through.
The space they’d taken up was now beginning to accommodate different fare. Beggars sat with hands cupped, a young girl sang, her plaintive voice high pitched. Around the next corner a woman of the night flirted her skirt at him as she adjusted a stocking.
The tide was in, the river high, the stink hardly noticeable now. Perhaps he’d grown used to it.
By the time he arrived on Mrs Goodman’s doorstep some twenty minutes later the smell hardly registered at all.
A muscular footman answered the door and led him into a small reception room. The man took his card and his hat and gloves. ‘Please be seated, My Lord. I’ll inform Mrs Goodman.’
Instead, Alex went to look through the window, so he wouldn’t have to go to the effort of standing up again when the ladies finally sorted themselves out. The servant had left the door slightly ajar. He crossed the room to close it, overheard the sound of slippered feet running hither and thither and a whispered conversation in which his name was mentioned.
He should have closed the door, but didn’t when he heard a high-pitched giggle and, ‘You must go and ask the maid to arrange your hair, Vivienne.’
The reply was softly spoken but vehement. ‘Damn my hair. Lord LéSayres won’t even notice me let alone examine every hair on my head. Do we have to go through all this fudge every time a man calls at the house?’
‘If you want to catch a husband—’
‘Catch …? How mercenary. At the mention of marriage we would run in different directions. And since the earl will be able to run faster than me I would have expended my energy for nothing, and he would have caught nothing of use.’
For that remark alone Miss Fox endeared herself to him.
More footsteps, then a breathless, ‘Oh there you are, my dear girls. Adelaide, will you stop grinning. As for you, Vivienne, pinch your cheeks … you are much too pale. You’re not going to faint are you?’
The one called Adelaide giggled. ‘Oh what fun if you swooned into his arms. Perhaps you should loosen your stays. Or perhaps he will loosen them for you.’
‘I’m not the swooning type, and if he makes an attempt to loosen my stays I shall strangle him with them and hang him from the nearest tree as a warning to others.’
Alex grinned broadly because he’d almost heard the sigh she repressed. Who would have thought his arrival could cause such a hubbub in a household. He quickly closed the door and headed for the nearest chair, had barely got his rear on the cushion when the door opened and he was obliged to stand again when two young women entered, swept along before an older one
.
‘Mrs Goodman.’ He kissed the older woman’s hand.
She was handsome, though well powdered.
The hand he’d kissed fluttered to her cheek and she said, ‘May I introduce my daughter, Adelaide.’
Like mother like daughter. Adelaide Goodman giggled and bobbed a curtsey when he kissed her hand too. She was a pert and petite little miss who had a doll-like appearance, and who took after her mother for looks.
‘And you have met Miss Fox before, I’m given to understand.’
He bowed a little and murmured, ‘We had a mutual interest in pigs, I recall.’
Mrs Goodman’s voice lifted an octave. ‘How very odd.’
Vivienne Fox slid her hands behind her back and stabbed him with a challenging glance. ‘My Lord … we meet again. I’m so honoured.’
‘The honour is all mine, Miss Fox. Your uncle sends his felicitations with a fervent hope that you’re keeping well.’
Her eyes narrowed a fraction and she moved to a chair next to her aunt. ‘How kind of him to remember me. You’ll be able to tell him I’m in perfect health. Do be seated, My Lord.’
He moved to the settee opposite her and examined this slightly aggressive wallflower more closely. Her modest blue gown fitted her figure perfectly. A wide mouth had a natural pout to the bottom lip that invited a kiss, and she was tall and graceful. For certain she wasn’t a flirty little chit, and thank goodness for that. She didn’t look all that plain to him either, but interesting … more the classic type of woman with her high cheekbones.
He decided to test her mettle. ‘You most certainly seem to be healthy, Miss Fox, though you look a little pale to me—’
Mrs Goodman pounced on that with gleeful satisfaction. ‘There, I said you looked sickly.’
‘I didn’t mean it in that sense, Mrs Goodman. I was about to refer to the rustic tan most of my acquaintances acquire at this time of year. It has been a hot summer has it not? Miss Fox has a fine, unblemished complexion, one that must be the envy of every other woman of her acquaintance.’