The Incomparable Miss Compton

by Regina Scott

  Sarah tried not to frown. Was that really how her cousin felt? She had the feeling that Persephone wanted nothing more than to escape her sensible advice. She cast a glance up at her cousin, but the girl was gazing wistfully at Lord Breckonridge with such longing that Sarah wondered that the fellow didn’t expire on the spot. Lord Breckonridge, however, was digging into his own food with gusto. Catching her gaze on him, he winked conspiratorially. Sarah instantly dropped her gaze to the lobster patty below.

  “Well, it appears you could not do better than your cousin for advice, Miss Persephone,” he said after a short while. “She strikes me as most level headed.”

  “Very level headed,” Persy agreed readily. “She is steadfast in her loyalty and unswerving in her service.”

  Sarah nearly gagged on the sweet meat. Persy made her sound like the family spaniel! Glancing up again, she found both of them beaming at her. She smiled self-consciously.

  “You are too kind, cousin,” she managed. “Now perhaps I might provide a bit of that unswerving service. I hear the music continuing in the ballroom, so surely you are missing a dance. If you are finished, we should go. Doubtless Lord Breckonridge has better things to do all evening than entertain us.”

  “On the contrary,” he replied readily. “I find that I am the one being entertained.”

  Sarah glared at him. Persephone gave her gossamer giggle.

  “Oh, my lord,” she said, “you tease us terribly. I vow I do not know when I have had a more gentlemanly escort.”

  He inclined his head in a bow of acknowledgement of her praise, but somehow, Sarah did not think he was pleased. He turned to her. “Are you ready to return to the ballroom, then, Miss Compton?”

  Sarah glanced longingly at the remaining desserts on her plate. But, looking up, she saw that only a few of the guests had availed themselves of the food. Apparently they expected the stale cakes and weak lemonade that was usually served at Almack’s. In the meantime, the duke was left to his own devices and the wiles of the hundred or so young ladies present. Indeed, most of the people in the room with them were gentlemen. Several, including the Byronic fellow in black, still lounged near the door, most casting glances at Persephone. The only group of young ladies cast similarly longing looks in Malcolm’s direction. Sarah felt caught between two fires and very likely to be burned in the process.

  “Yes, I believe I am,” she replied with a sigh.

  He rose. “Then allow me to escort you. I will then take my leave.”

  “Oh, must you?” Persephone begged, rising in a rustle of silk. “We have enjoyed your company, haven’t we, Sarah?”

  He was watching her again. In truth, there had been moments when she intensely enjoyed his company. Now, however, she scarcely knew what to think.

  “We have kept Lord Breckonridge to ourselves long enough, Persy,” she said, head high. “Thank you, my lord, for your time.”

  He bowed to each of them. “Ladies, my pleasure. May I ask one more favor?”

  “Anything, my lord,” Persy breathed.

  He said nothing, watching Sarah. His dark eyes were hooded, but she could feel his tension. She could not imagine what could be so important to him, but she nodded as her heart began to beat more rapidly once again.

  “If I may call on you later in the week? I would like to further our acquaintance.”

  Further their acquaintance? Sarah felt the blood rush to her face. She cast a quick glance at her cousin, who was staring, wide eyed. She glanced back at Malcolm, but he was still watching her. For a moment she had the insane idea that he was holding his breath.

  “Certainly, my lord,” she proclaimed. “It would be our pleasure.”

  He bowed again, but not before she sighted a smile of triumph. Her gaze followed him from the room. Then she turned to meet Persy’s stare.

  “We did it, Sarah,” she said breathlessly. “We won the prize.”

  Sarah swallowed, nerves tingling. “Nonsense, Persy. I can’t think what you mean.”

  “The ball, silly,” Persy replied. “All these ladies, vying for the attentions of the prince among men. Only we caught him first.” She smiled dreamily as her entourage closed around her once more. Like a princess in a fairy tale, she was whisked back to the ball on a cloud of murmured praise.

  Sarah followed more slowly, wondering. They did indeed seem to have attracted the interest of the handsome prince.

  But was it the princess or her lady in waiting whom he fancied?

  Chapter Five

  Sarah wasn’t the only one asking the question. Malcolm was not a little surprised to find an excessive amount of interest in his behavior at the ball. To his mind, he had been rather blatant in his attentions. Indeed, had he shown as much interest in an act introduced to Parliament as he had shown in Miss Compton, his opponents would have had no doubt as to how he intended to vote. Yet he had not even quit Almack’s before he was questioned on his intentions.

  The first person was Prestwick.

  “Very nice,” he complimented Malcolm as he exited the refreshment room. His position near the door left no doubt that he had been lying in wait.

  Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

  Chas shook his head. “Come, Malcolm, I know a ploy when I see one. God knows, I’ve used them often enough. I merely wished to express my appreciation at your subtlety. For a moment, even I thought you were interested in the elder Miss Compton.”

  “And now you think otherwise?” Malcolm asked with a frown.

  Chas chuckled. “Of course. Oh, I’ll grant you Miss Compton is handsome in a sturdy sort of way. But she cannot hold a candle to her cousin.”

  “There we quite agree,” Malcolm replied. “Prestwick, I am surprised at you. A man who could recognize the depth of character of your fine wife should have better sense. Miss Persephone is a delightful young lady, I’m sure, but she’ll take a great deal of maturing before she can be the woman I need. From what I can tell of her cousin, however, Miss Compton is very nearly perfect.”

  Now Chas raised an eyebrow. “I stand corrected. Well done, Malcolm. I see you abide by your principles even in the face of very real temptation. Very well, then. I’ll say no more on the matter. Miss Compton it is. I wish you the best of luck.”

  “Luck?” Malcolm snorted. “Luck has very little to do with it. The lady appears to possess certain characteristics I require. I need to confirm those characteristics, and then I need to determine what I have that would make her find me similarly attractive.”

  “Besides money, position, and questionable charm?” Chas quipped.

  “Precisely,” Malcolm replied. “Tell me, what do you know of her?”

  Chas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Not a great deal, I suppose. I believe someone said she had a short Season herself some years ago. They come from Suffolk, I believe. She stands as guardian dragon to the fair princess Persephone.” He shrugged. “Rather pitiful collection of facts. Try asking your valet.”

  “My valet?” Malcolm frowned. “What the devil would my valet know about Miss Compton?”

  “A very great deal,” Chas informed him. “Surely you know the network our servants have. How else do you think gossip flies so quickly through this city? Rames has been invaluable to me. He’s saved my skin from a vengeful relative more times than I care to admit. I’d wager your man would be similarly helpful if you ask.”

  “Perhaps,” Malcolm allowed. “I’ll consider the matter. First, I need to make my regrets to your lovely wife.”

  “Allow me the pleasure of accompanying you,” Chas replied. They strolled across the ballroom to where Anne was visiting with a number of the young ladies in attendance. As he approached, Malcolm saw that visiting was not the right word. Instead, Anne was carefully pointing out young gentlemen to whom she might introduce the ladies. Conversation ceased immediately as the ladies spotted Malcolm and Chas. Lips curled into smiles, and fans began to beat rapidly. Malcolm swept Anne a bow.

  “Dear Lady Pre
stwick, I must take my leave of you.”

  He could feel the stilling of the wind as the fans halted.

  “Always a delight, my lord,” Lady Prestwick replied with a deep curtsy. “And will you tell me one thing before you leave?”

  He straightened, feeling the heat of a dozen gazes on his face. “Anything you desire,” he replied magnanimously, although he feared having to answer before such a company.

  “Did you enjoy the ball?” she asked blandly.

  He grinned at her. There was a teasing light in those gray eyes, a light for him and her husband alone. God bless the woman, he thought. “I enjoyed it immensely,” he replied.

  She smiled. “Then I am well pleased. Will we see you for dinner next week?”

  “With a certainty,” he agreed. Bowing again, he quit the room, thinking that Chas Prestwick was a lucky man.

  It remained to be seen whether Malcolm would be similarly fortunate.

  * * * *

  Someone else wondered about Malcolm’s choice of bride, but he was too sure of himself to ask. Besides, asking might betray his interest. Rupert Wells had learned to hide any interest behind a thick mask of ennui. So long as no one knew he was interested, no one could take away what he cared about. It was a tool that stood him in good stead in Parliament.

  Unfortunately, Breckonridge was conversant in the tool as well. Anyone else watching him would have been hard pressed to tell which of the ladies he fancied. True, he’d danced twice with the elder Miss Compton, but, by the looks that had flitted across her face at supper, she was not entirely pleased by his attentions. Her face, at least, was as open as the betting books at White’s. She was at best confused and at worst embarrassed by the entire evening. And while she was somewhat attractive for an older woman, she was no comparison to her cousin.

  He allowed himself a smile as he strode home in the night from Almack’s. Breckonridge was no fool. A man with a beautiful wife could command loyalties. Surely he was after the Incomparable Miss Compton. If Rupert had found her a bit shallow and vacuous, that did not signify. He’d seen the way she toyed with her admirers. She had a natural gift for manipulation, a gift only enhanced by her beauty. She’d make an excellent wife for a rising politician. Breckonridge was more transparent than the man thought. Perhaps Rupert had him at last.

  His long fingers tightened on the handle of his ebony walking stick. Breckonridge had provided him with one difficulty after another. The man was well respected, though Rupert liked to remind himself that the respect was only because of the fellow’s size and prowess. If the members of Parliament knew him as Rupert did, they would have turned their backs on him years ago. That, of course, was another problem. Breckonridge was a master at dissembling. No one truly knew him. And one could never quite catch him being uncivil to anyone. They all thought him a jolly good fellow.

  Rupert, however, knew him for a black-hearted devil, and he would not rest until all of London knew it as well. With any luck, the Incomparable Miss Compton would help him in achieving his goal. If not, he’d find another use for her. If he could not expose Breckonridge, at least he could make the man pay. It did indeed look as if his luck was turning.

  His smile deepened as he disappeared into the darkness of London.

  * * * *

  By the time Malcolm’s carriage stopped before his townhouse in Grosvenor Square, he had his campaign planned. There were any number of ways to learn a person’s background in London. He had thought he had used them all over the years. A few discreet inquiries could go a long way to determining whether Miss Compton was all she seemed. He would start in the morning.

  He had to admit, however, that he was enheartened. From the first he had found her attractive with her witch’s eyes and seductive curves. It was a pleasure to learn that she had intelligence and fire as well. From what her cousin had said, she apparently had experience in household management. She was certainly familiar with the London social scene, having to chaperone her cousin through it. She seemed of sturdy stock; the dancing had not winded her. Perhaps that would bode well for her success in child bearing. She was not a conservative Tory, but neither was she a radical Whig. She knew something of politics and governance. He could find nothing that would deter him from pursuing her acquaintance further.

  Except the fact that she collected rocks.

  He smiled, remembering her set down. There was a story there; he was certain of it. Perhaps he could get her to reveal it the next time they met. She would not divulge it easily, that much was clear. Sarah was a strong-willed woman, exactly what he needed. He looked forward to persuading her of that fact.

  Appleby was just turning down the bedclothes when Malcolm entered the room. Malcolm started to wave him out, then remembered Chas’ advice. He eyed the fellow appraisingly as his valet went to stir the coals of the fire. The red glow from the black marble fireplace cast a somber look to the fellow’s narrow face. Of course, it took very little to make Appleby look somber. All Malcolm had to do was pick the wrong coat.

  “Is something amiss, my lord?” the man asked in his slow, quiet voice as he straightened and caught Malcolm watching him.

  “Do you mix much with other servants, Appleby?” Malcolm asked.

  His valet’s eyebrows rose at the personal question, and Malcolm realized it was probably the first of its kind. “I’m not certain what you mean, my lord,” the fellow murmured.

  Malcolm prowled over to the bed, debating how much effort to put into the questioning. He didn’t want to alienate the man -- he had little time to hire a valet and train him to work as Malcolm preferred, which was quickly and silently. On the other hand, having another avenue to learn about his fellow Parliamentarians would be very helpful. One never knew what obscure fact could win an argument. He had gotten Lord Wincamp to vote against the Corn Laws by pointing out their potential effects on badgers, which happened to be on the fellow‘s ancestral shield.

  “Lord Prestwick informs me,” he said carefully, keeping his gaze on the gold-shot green bed hangings, which appeared to need a thorough cleaning, “that his valet entertains him with stories from other servants and their masters. I note that you do not do so with me.”

  He could hear the frown in his man’s voice. “I never had the impression my lord enjoyed stories. In fact, I rather had the impression my lord would prefer I not speak at all.”

  “Certainly you may speak,” Malcolm told him, feeling annoyed for no reason he could name. “Particularly if you had something useful to speak about.”

  Glancing up, he saw Appleby’s brow clear. “Useful? I see. My lord would perhaps like tips on fashion or personal hygiene?”

  “My lord would not,” Malcolm snapped. “I’m no fashion leader like Brummell.”

  “You certainly aren’t,” Appleby agreed with a sigh.

  Malcolm frowned. “Was that a comment on my dress, Appleby?”

  Appleby frowned as well. “Certainly not, my lord. However, may I point out that my lord did just indicate that he prefer I speak? Perhaps my lord would prefer to return to our usual silence?”

  Malcolm took a deep breath and prayed for patience. The bed hangings would not be cleaned until he had a wife to oversee the household. There would be no wife unless he exerted himself to find one. And Sarah Compton was the most likely candidate.

  “Appleby,” he said carefully, “I understand that there is a chain of servants who bandy information about their masters and associates. What I am trying to ascertain is whether you are connected to this chain and whether you would be willing to pass information from it to me when asked.”

  “I see,” his valet intoned. “You would like me to relay gossip. I generally try to avoid gossip as it is always overblown and frequently dead wrong. So, I would say this would be an addition to my duties, and I do not think I could add to my duties without expectation of an increase in pay.”

  Malcolm cocked his head, amused despite himself. He would not have thought the fellow held such scruples, nor that he
held them so cheaply. “I imagine additional remuneration can be arranged for the right information,” he allowed.

  Appleby inclined his head. “Always your servant, my lord.”

  “Very well,” Malcolm agreed. “See what you can find out about Miss Sarah Compton, late of Suffolk.”

  Appleby stared off toward the far end of the room, for all the world like some gypsy going into a trance. “Miss Sarah Compton,” he mused, voice echoing oddly. “Yes, of course, Miss Compton.”

  “You know her?” Malcolm asked with a frown.

  “It’s possible,” Appleby intoned. “Yes, quite possible. Elegant female, chaperoning the Incomparable Miss Persephone Compton?”

  “Yes, deuce take it,” Malcolm admitted, “the very one. Speak up, man. What have you heard?”

  Appleby blinked and focused his bleary blue eyes on his master. “Why nothing. Nothing at all. But perhaps I can remedy that by the time you awake in the morning.”

  “See that you do,” Malcolm growled, thoroughly put out with the fellow. “I expect a full report at breakfast.”

  “Your servant, my lord,” Appleby replied, starting to bow himself out.

  Malcolm held up a hand to stop him. “And Appleby, I don’t think I need to remind you that you are not to relay information about me without asking first.”

  Appleby froze halfway up from his bow. “You would give me permission to gossip about you?”

  “If it suited my purpose,” Malcolm explained. “It might be an expedient way to let a colleague know of my opinions without advertising them, or humbling him. However, in all other circumstances, I expect you to be silent about my doings.”

  “Will not the other servants see this as a difficulty, my lord?” Appleby asked, licking his lips as he slowly straightened. “I imagine I shall have to pay in some way for their confidences.”

  “I pay no one to stand as betrayer,” Malcolm informed him, scowling at the very thought. “Understand me well, Appleby. If servants are talking of their own free will, I see nothing wrong in listening. In fact, it appears to be expected that you will relay it to me. However, I do not want to offer any inducement to them to tell tales on their masters. That betrays a trust. Do you understand?”