Abby couldn’t prevent a blush from staining her cheeks. “Um…not exactly. He asked me to stay, and then he…kissed me.”
“Oh, better and better!” Clara said, practically beside herself with excitement.
“I’m not sure he thought so. He didn’t want to kiss me, and he was annoyed about it afterward.”
“Of course he was. Men always are.” She patted Abby’s arm. “But it’s about time somebody annoyed his lofty lordship. He’s had everything his way for far too long.”
Abby suspected that wasn’t entirely true, but she had no basis for that opinion yet.
Suddenly McFee appeared in the doorway. “Lady Brumley is asking if you are in, madam. What would you have me tell her?”
Abby sighed. The last person she wanted to see was Lady Brumley. But she had to face the woman sooner or later. She might as well do it with a friend at her side. “Have her join us, Mr. McFee, thank you.”
As soon as Mr. McFee was gone, Clara asked, “Quickly, tell me what Lady Brumley was talking about in her column. I’m sure that’s why she’s here.”
“You mean the one she wrote after Spencer’s dinner party?”
“No, no, this morning’s column. She said that the new Lady Ravenswood was keeping a treasure under her hat that would impress all of society once it was unveiled. What the dickens did she mean?”
“I have no idea.” Abby jerked up in her seat, alarm gripping her. “Oh, no, what else did she say? Did she talk about my pitiful showing last night?”
Clara had no time to answer, for Mr. McFee appeared in the doorway to announce Lady Brumley. Abby rose to greet the new arrival with a sense of impending dread.
Lady Brumley breezed in like a ship in full sail. “I’m delighted to see that you are sans husband. Perhaps we shall finally have a chance to talk.”
“Good afternoon.” Abby tried not to show her anxiety. “You know Lady Clara Blakely, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Without waiting for an invitation, Lady Brumley headed over to Clara’s side. “I’m glad you’re here, too. You can help me convince Lady Ravenswood.”
“Convince me of what?” Abby asked.
McFee cleared his throat, and she glanced up.
“Will that be all, my lady?” the butler asked.
She blinked. He’d called her “my lady.” How very odd. And something in his expression said that he expected more than a cursory reply. When she hesitated, he mouthed a word that looked like “tea,” and she started, mortified that she hadn’t thought of it herself. But then she and Papa had rarely had callers in recent years.
“Uh, Mr. McFee? Would you please have some tea brought in?”
“Certainly, my lady,” he said with an approving nod.
As soon as he’d disappeared, Abby turned to find Lady Brumley scowling.
“Come sit down, dear girl,” the older woman said as she perched herself atop the velvet-upholstered sofa, and Clara followed suit. “You and I must talk about the behavior expected of a viscountess.”
Abby’s heart sank. The last thing she needed was a lecture from Lady Brumley about her mistakes at the ball.
“I’m sure she’ll learn it all in time,” Clara put in, attempting to intervene.
“She’d better learn it quickly, if she intends to keep a man like Ravenswood toeing the line,” Lady Brumley retorted.
“There’s no need to point out all my errors last night.” Abby sank into an armchair across from the woman. “I know my dancing was disastrous and—”
“Oh, pish, who cares about dancing? You can learn the steps in an afternoon. No, I’m speaking of more important things—like how you address your servants.”
“My servants?” Had she somehow managed to insult the unflappable McFee?
“A viscountess does not ask her butler to have tea brought. She commands it.”
The very idea appalled Abby. In America, even the finest families had few servants, and those they did have tended to be resentful of authoritarian commands. Here in England, the servants seemed to accept their lot without question, which she found very peculiar. “But that’s so…so…”
“Overbearing?” Lady Brumley finished.
“Yes,” she said weakly.
“I should hope so,” Lady Brumley answered. “How else can you show your servants that you’re in charge of your own household? If you don’t, they’ll run roughshod over you and then gossip to their fellow servants about how ‘common’ their mistress is. Before you know it, the whole city will be talking about it.”
“After last night, the whole city is already talking about how common I am,” Abby said dryly.
“What fustian. Granted, they may be discussing how clumsy you are or how unfashionably you dress or even how American you are. But they haven’t got round to ‘common’ yet, and you must make sure that they don’t.”
When Abby paled, Clara rose to her defense. “Really, Lady Brumley, I don’t think you’re helping—”
“Of course I am. The girl was clever enough to snag Ravenswood, wasn’t she? No matter how she managed it, she can’t rest on her laurels now. She must learn all she can about how a woman in her position behaves.” She leveled a piercing glance on Clara. “And you must teach her. Your father gained his title late in your life, so you know how difficult it can be to learn all the niceties. Take her in hand, and I’m sure she will be socially presentable in no time.”
“Given how freely you’ve expressed your opinions about a woman you barely know,” Clara said icily, “I assumed you wanted to take on the task.”
“Lord, no. I’m here about another matter entirely.” Lady Brumley opened her reticule and drew out the vial of Mead she’d stolen, then brandished it at Abby. “This concoction of yours is marvelous. You hold a treasure in your hand, young lady.”
Abby brightened. “So it finally did work on your indigestion.”
“Indigestion? Oh no, I’m speaking of perfumes.” She shook the bottle. “This is the finest fragrance I’ve come across in years. Have you any idea how difficult it is to find a decent perfume these days? One that is delicate, yet lasts?” She thrust the vial at Clara. “Smell this, and tell me if that isn’t the most delicious scent ever to tickle your nose.”
Clara’s face clouded with surprise as she took the bottle, opened it, and sniffed.
“Pay her no mind,” Abby put in. “Yes, I suppose the Mead does smell nice, but it’s meant to be a cure—”
“Never mind what it’s meant to be,” Clara broke in. “I seldom agree with Lady Brumley, but in this case she’s right. This is marvelous. Quite the loveliest scent ever.”
“You see?” Lady Brumley straightened her current headdress, a bizarre turban of twisted silk and ribbon that featured a circlet of gold anchors. “Follow the lead of those fellows who created Eau de Cologne. They meant their elixir to be a cure, too—I heard that Boney himself drank bottles of it. Tried it once myself—nasty stuff. But as a scent, it became all the crack.” Her eyes gleamed. “Until this, that is. Yours is twice as fine.”
Abby glanced from Lady Brumley to Clara, who nodded her agreement. Just then, the maid brought in the tea. Mechanically Abby went through her duty as hostess by pouring it, but her mind was on Lady Brumley’s startling assertions.
She’d always known the Mead had a lovely aroma, but she’d figured it was only her keen nose that made her notice it. She did use it to sweeten her breath, which wasn’t unusual since plenty of medicines also worked as breath sweeteners.
But perfume? She’d never considered it a perfume. Then again, she didn’t use perfume—Mama had always said that soap and water were all the perfume any woman needed. It had also seemed somehow unnatural to add a scent to one’s skin.
“Why are you telling me this about the Mead?” Abby asked Lady Brumley.
“Because you should take advantage of it. I understand that his lordship has invested in your father’s company and his brother is a partner, so if you can persuade them to produce
the Mead as a perfume, it might become a resounding success.”
Lady Brumley flashed her a calculating smile over the brim of her teacup. “Of course, I’d be happy to lend my assistance. A few hints in my column will have my readers clamoring for information about this new find. And with you and me both wearing it in public—and you, too, Lady Clara, if you wish—people will begin to ask about it. Then voilà, I’ll reveal that it’s all the rage and your husband’s family will reap the financial benefits.”
Lady Brumley added with a sly wink, “Your husband will be most grateful, I’m sure. His brother’s injury makes the man unable to pursue the matter at present. But if you take matters in hand, the company will already be on a sound footing by the time Mr. Law is up and about again. Customers will be lined up to buy the Mead. That would increase your husband’s investment and raise your usefulness to him. Men always like women who bring something other than their pretty selves to the marriage.”
Abby hadn’t considered that. Spencer owned half the company at present, and he’d always been concerned about his brother’s future. If she could make keeping her a financial and familial asset…
Clara eyed the older woman with suspicion. “Why on earth are you interested in promoting this enterprise? What is it to you?”
Good question, Abby thought.
“Ah, you know me so well. And I do have an ulterior motive. For one thing, I want an endless supply of this fabulous elixir.” She held the bottle up to the light. “What Lady Ravenswood gave me is already half gone.”
“I didn’t give it—” Abby began.
“Secondly, I expect a certain percentage of the profits in exchange for my help.” She patted her elaborate turban. “My tastes are expensive, you see, and my dear departed husband didn’t leave me quite as well off as I would like.”
“That certainly explains your interest,” Clara remarked. “But you’re taking a risk, you know. What if Mr. Law never recovers from his wounds?”
Clara exchanged a glance with Abby. Yes, Spencer’s brother might indeed never be found. But they could hardly tell Lady Brumley that.
“Pish, who needs a man for this?” Lady Brumley said. “Lady Ravenswood is the one who concocts the stuff. As long as she can provide the bottles and her husband approves—”
“Are you sure that he will?” Abby asked.
“Why wouldn’t he want everyone talking about his wife and her fabulous perfume?” Lady Brumley asked.
“But I’d always heard that the English consider it crass for those of rank to be involved in trade.”
“It is, but you’re the inventor, my dear, and that’s quite another thing. It’s rather exotic for a lady to invent something. As long as no one knows you are participating in the actual business of it, it will only enhance your reputation.”
“Lady Brumley has a point,” Clara put in. “And it never hurts a woman to have something of her own. So that rather than being known as his lordship’s wife, you’d be known as the lady who created the scent.” She stared hard at Abby. “You see what I mean?”
Abby did. Clara figured that if Nat was never found and things got sticky with Spencer, she might have to start up her own company, if only to pay for passage back to America. And she’d need customers if she struck out on her own. Abby hoped it never came to that, but she supposed having something to fall back on wasn’t a bad idea. “And you’re sure that my husband will be pleased to see the Mead succeed?”
“This will make you the toast of the town.” Lady Brumley shook the bottle of Mead. “After one whiff, ladies will be congratulating you for your superior nose, and your previous faux pas will be forgiven and forgotten. Your husband will be delighted.”
“In that case,” Abby said, “what do you need from me to make this work?”
Setting her cup down, Lady Brumley got right to business. “First of all, the mixture needs another name. I’m sorry, dear, but Dr. Mercer’s Medicinal Mead isn’t going to have ladies fighting over it at the nearest shops.”
“How about Abigail’s Aromatic Elixir?” Clara suggested.
“That sounds like smelling salts for maids,” Lady Brumley snapped. “No, I was thinking of something like Scent of the Sea.”
“You mean like brine?” Clara said dryly. “I think not.”
“What about Abby’s Scented Water?” Abby put in.
“Oh, no, that’s much too plain,” Lady Brumley said.
“I’ve got it!” Clara exclaimed. “Heaven’s Scent—you know, like ‘heaven-sent.’”
Lady Brumley pursed her lips in thought, then repeated the name a few times. “Yes, that’s lovely. I like it. Heaven’s Scent. I shall start talking about the new Lady Ravenswood’s mysterious beauty secret in tomorrow’s column. We’ll have a week of hints to whet their appetites. By the time I’m done, they’ll be clamoring for the secret.”
“Or tired of hearing about it,” Abby said, still a little skeptical of this plan.
“No woman ever tires of hearing about the latest beauty secret, my dear.” Lady Brumley set down her half-empty cup of tea. “And after the hints, we must unveil the scent publicly. I have just the thing for it. I shall give bottles as gifts to the ladies at my breakfast a week from Saturday—you and your husband were already invited, of course. Then Sunday’s column will feature the revelation about Lady Ravenswood’s new scent.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Abby said. “How many bottles will you need?”
“Oh, a hundred should do it.”
“A hundred!” Abby exclaimed. Today was Thursday. That gave her only nine days. “I don’t know if I can manage that.”
“Of course you can. I’m paying for the bottles.” She withdrew a bank note and handed it to Abby. “This should be sufficient to cover your expenses.”
As Abby gaped at the amount of fifty pounds, Clara said, “She’ll have the bottles ready, don’t you worry.”
“I’m not in the least worried.” Lady Brumley rose to fix Abby with a stern look. “I always get what I want.”
As Abby and Clara rose, too, Lady Brumley started toward the door like a ship tacking to face the wind. Then she paused. “One more thing, my dear ladies. Do keep this a secret. You may tell your husbands, but don’t tell any of your friends.”
“Why not?” Clara asked.
Lady Brumley rolled her eyes. “For effect, of course. I don’t want anyone hearing of my discovery until I present it.” She waited until she had their joint agreement, then swept from the room in a cloud of Mead scent and superiority.
Abby collapsed onto her seat the second the woman was gone. “Dear heaven, is she always like that?”
“Oh, yes.” Clara sat down, too, and lifted her cup of tea. “Lady Brumley thinks herself the epicenter of polite society. Most of the time she’s right.”
Abby shook her head. “How can I have a hundred bottles of the Mead—I mean, Heaven’s Scent—ready for Saturday? I haven’t even found all the ingredients yet, or the bottles. Then labels must be hand-lettered, and the bottles cleaned…”
“But surely that won’t take more than a few days,” Clara protested.
“I only have two. It must sit at least a week for all the ingredients to meld properly. So I have to prepare and seal all the bottles by this Saturday just to have it ready for next Saturday. How on earth will I get everything done?”
“What you need is lots of busy hands to help.”
“I suppose I could hire people, but I don’t know how much of this fifty pounds I’ll need for ingredients. And I don’t want to bother Spencer’s servants when they have their own duties.” Especially after Spencer’s comment about a wife’s disrupting his household.
Clara straightened. “I have the perfect solution. Lord Ravenswood may not have told you, but I run a charitable home for the reformation of pickpockets. My young charges need to learn useful skills, and this could be perfect. You could show them how you make the perfume, and they could help you put the bottles together. One of my
girls has a fine hand with lettering. I can’t guarantee they won’t bungle a few bottles, but—”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Abby broke in. “I would dearly love to meet them. I so rarely get to be around children, and I do adore them.”
Clara laughed. “You might not adore these after you spend a few hours with them, but I know they’ll adore you. The minute you walk into the Home—”
“The Home? We can’t make the perfume at your institution—I doubt you have a large enough work area for the sort of project we’re discussing. Besides, I don’t want to cart the bottles back and forth once they’re filled.” Abby thought a moment, then added, “And there’s plenty of room here, anyway. There’s a huge schoolroom upstairs that’s merely gathering dust. I’m sure Spencer won’t mind if I take it over for a while.”
“I don’t know, Abby. Given how he feels about children, are you sure he’d want a lot of them running around his house?”
That brought her up short. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She pursed her lips. “But do you really think he hates children?”
“Is it worth risking his anger to find out?”
Angering Spencer needlessly wouldn’t help her situation. She wanted to entice him into keeping her, not tempt him to throw her out on her ear. “No, I suppose not.”
“Ah, well, it was a nice idea. And at least I can still help. I’ll bring a couple of the older girls—we’ve got two or three who might do. But I’m afraid I can’t stay away from the baby all day—our new nursemaid is one of my young charges, and she’s still nervous that she’ll do something wrong. So I promised I’d stay close to home for a while. Though truthfully, Lydia is such a contented thing, I can’t imagine she’ll give the girl much trouble.”
Envy mingled with yearning in Abby’s breast. She’d wanted children of her own for so long. How lovely it would be to have Spencer’s children.
But if he really hated children, he might not want any babes at all. No, he couldn’t really hate children, could he? That didn’t even make sense. Anyway, a man of his station was supposed to sire an heir. He’d swallow his aversion if only for that.
Married to the Viscount Page 17