The girl didn’t even stop to consider. “She was sitting here with me.” Then, ducking her head, she whispered, “Billy’s a plague and you showed him.”
Luckily, no one heard her and Beth maintained her guise of wide-eyed innocence.
A guise that Miss Lockhart saw through with one long look. But Miss Lockhart wouldn’t betray her. Beth knew that, just as she knew Miss Lockhart and Lord Kerrich would get married and adopt Beth, and make beautiful babies, and they’d all be a real family.
Kerrich joined the crowd to watch the fracas with admiration and amusement. This wasn’t the kind of party he usually gave, or even usually attended. In fact, he made it a point to avoid any party attended by children, especially these afternoon ladies’ parties where young people were given the chance to mingle with others of their age while their mothers exchanged gossip and the few men who attended listened to an obligatory piano—or in this case, harp—recital, then fled to the game room and smoked to clear the perfume from their lungs.
They were headed that way now—Lord Swearn and Lord Colbrook, Mr. Tomlin and Lord Albon, Grandpapa and Lewis, and Chiswick’s father, Lord Pitchford, all of them sneaking out like the desperately bored knaves they were.
Kerrich longed to join them, but this was his party, his idea. He glanced at the mess in the children’s chamber. He had to stay, at least this bit of a fracas livened it up.
Chiswick’s mother turned on him. “It is the fault of your misguided charity that we have been forced to clasp this asp to our bosom.”
Kerrich bowed. “What asp is that, my lady?”
“That…thing.” Lady Pitchford pointed her trembling finger at Beth.
Beth, who looked as pristine as a china-faced doll, and who Kerrich had seen blot out Chiswick with one smooth motion. “Did any of you see Beth hurt little Chiswick?”
The children and the governesses shook their heads, the governesses because they hadn’t been watching and the children because they hated Chiswick. Either reason seemed good enough for Kerrich. “There you have it, my lady,” he said. “Young Chiswick slipped.”
“That’s not what Billy says!” said the lady who once had been a candidate on his list of suitable wives.
“Ah.” Kerrich raised his monocle and looked disdainfully at Lady Pitchford. “But Beth is two years younger, two stones lighter and female. Are you saying my girl beat up your son?”
“She had the advantage,” Lady Pitchford said. “She’s a gutter brat!”
Annoyance swept away Kerrich’s fac¸ade of good humor. No one was going to pick on his damned foundling. “A gutter brat is what she is not. She is the child of a respectable family. Her father saved my life, and it is not charity that brought my dearest Beth into my home, but gratitude for the valiant spirit which lives in her.” He challenged the assemblage with his gaze. “I would take it ill should anyone else descend so low as to abuse the dear lass.”
No one from the crowd in the sitting room accepted the challenge. They murmured noncommittally and broke off into little groups, chatting about the weather and the newest fashions. The governesses went to their charges and began making little fusses about them to cover their previous neglect. And Miss Lockhart helped Chiswick to his feet and finished wiping him down.
“He’s not hurt,” Kerrich heard Miss Lockhart telling Lady Pitchford. “Although it would be best to get him home so the laundry maid could clean his costume.”
“They’re his favorite garments!” Lady Pitchford’s voice trembled.
Kerrich felt no pity for the woman or her son. Letting his monocle dangle from its silver chain, he said, “As clumsy as he is, he must change thrice a day. You’d best limit his sweets, my lady, or it’ll be a sore-backed horse that carries him.”
Miss Lockhart pulled him aside and like the vengeful flame scorched him with her quietly spoken words. “My lord, let us have no more of that. The lad is not deaf, and such ill-mannered comments must surely smite an already paltry spirit.”
“But he hurt Beth.”
“I know. But a child who is raised with cruelty learns only cruelty, and one can only imagine what life has created such a wretch.”
“You are very compassionate, but I believe it is groundless. The child is just spoiled!”
“Perhaps.” She leaned closer. “But I saw Beth’s activities as clearly as you, so please extend your courtesy to Lady Pitchford and Lord Chiswick as they leave.”
Being justly reprimanded brought him no more pleasure than being unjustly denounced, Kerrich found. In fact, it was worse, for it meant he was wrong—and that was a position in which he seldom found himself.
Miss Lockhart left him standing there as she went to Beth. “Come, dear,” he heard her say. “We should bid farewell to your guest and extend the hope that any future visit will proceed more peacefully.”
To Kerrich’s surprise, the good-byes went smoothly under Miss Lockhart’s iron rule, with Beth easily performing her hostessing duties and Chiswick giving no more than a whimper as he backed away from her handshake.
And although Kerrich hated to give the appearance of obeying Miss Lockhart, he found himself following Lady Pitchford and her son into the foyer, offering up his apologies for the ill-fated scene and extending his insincere hope that they would visit again one day.
The very worst came when the door shut behind them and Miss Lockhart said approvingly, “Well done, my lord! That was exceptionally generous and well mannered of you.”
He lifted his monocle, glared down at her and with withering sarcasm said, “Miss Lockhart, I do not know what I did before you came.”
“Nor I, my lord.” Lifting her skirts, she followed Beth up the stairs to the children’s play chamber. “You may thank me for my guidance later.”
Chapter 12
That woman. Annoyance ate at Kerrich. Miss Lockhart was either returning his sarcasm with interest or, what was worse, thought him honestly indebted for her tutelage. He stalked through the sitting room, smiling with false affability at his guests and scarcely noticing that they cowered when he spoke to them. He didn’t need anyone to teach him his manners. Miss Lockhart had been hired so the foundling he was using in his scheme would cause him no trouble, and she had best remember that.
So he would go where the men had gone to drink and play cards. The game room. Standing in the doorway, he stared at the gentlemen who had so gladly abandoned him to the scene with Lady Pitchford. Grandpapa held court in a wide cushioned chair. Lewis diffidently stood off to the side, not playing cards, not conversing, the odd man out as always, although Kerrich thought that his own doing rather than any snobbery on the part of his visitors. And the others, his guests, his compatriots, his friends…he glared. There had been a time, and that time only a month ago, when he had laughed at these men. He’d listened to their complaints for years, and he’d called them henpecked. In thrall to their wives.
If Kerrich thought about it, he might begin to see similarity between these men and himself, especially with Miss Lockhart’s voice still ringing in his ears. It was not to be borne.
“Kerrich, come in!” Lord Reynard called out. “These gentlemen were just asking me about your sudden philanthropic bent.”
“Actually, I believe my exact words were, ‘What in the hell is Kerrich doing taking on a child and a governess?’ ” Lord Swearn sat at the card table waiting for his next hand. The man was fifty, with hair growing out of his ears and none on his head. One might assume a man of his age would know better, yet he and Lady Swearn had produced a child just last year. He couldn’t even claim an old man’s foolish indulgence for his young wife, for they’d been married twenty-five years and the baby was the youngest of seven.
“Yes, man. You’ve been an inspiration to me. No wife, no children—a peaceful life.” Lord Pitchford grinned as if he were kidding, but no one thought he was joking. After all, his wife and child were gone and he still lingered, leaning against the sidetable, puffing on a cigar and looking large and self-sati
sfied. But Lady Pitchford knew how to cut him down to size. When she started talking, he shriveled and moped like a chastised lad.
“I told ’em why you took little Beth, but they just squawked like the bunch of peahens they are.” Lord Reynard good-naturedly insulted the men he’d known since they’d been—as he often called them—snot-nosed brats.
“That’s all very well for you to say, sir,” Lord Colbrook said. “You haven’t got a wife.”
“Aye. And I miss her.”
Colbrook flushed at Lord Reynard’s crisp tone. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t think.”
“You haven’t the equipment to think.” Kerrich tapped his forehead.
Colbrook nodded morosely and dealt the cards. He happily did as his wife told him, for even he acknowledged her wit and brilliance outpaced his own.
“The point is, Kerrich, you could have given the child a good life without taking her into your own home. And that witch of a governess!” Mr. Tomlin swallowed his whisky as if the mere memory of Miss Lockhart caused him pain.
Before his marriage, Mr. Tomlin had been only the wild, moneyed son of a half-noble merchant. Well did Kerrich remember the times they’d had on the town. They had drunk, they had wenched, they had fought, although Tomlin had been a miserable fighter with a tendency to get in the way at just the wrong moment.
And now? Bah, he spent the evenings at home with his pretty young wife, or chained to her side through all the proper entertainments as they sought to cement their place in society for the sake of their children.
And Lord Albon, silent and plucking the cards off the table with the concentration of a dedicated gambler, was the same as all the rest. Strong and resolute in his life outside the home, yet there within its walls, he bent to his wife’s wishes when any real man knew he had to keep a firm hand on the reins.
Fools, all of them. “So, Tomlin,” Kerrich asked, “aren’t you the man who called himself ecstatically happy in his marriage? Who told me I ought to find myself a wife? Have children? Are you now saying it’s not as wonderful as you would have had me believe?”
“It’s just as wonderful as I told you.” Tomlin picked up his hand of cards. “But there’s one thing that makes it that way, and you’re not getting that.”
“A little frigging makes it all worthwhile, does it?” Kerrich accepted a brandy from the footman, and watched as Lewis poured himself another one and filled it to the top. Lewis wasn’t a heavy drinker. Did the presence of Swearn, his former employer, make him uncomfortable?
“More than a little, if you’re lucky,” Pitchford said.
The married men all laughed as if they knew something Kerrich didn’t.
But Kerrich could shut them up. “How often are you lucky, Pitchford?”
Pitchford’s fatuous grin faded.
“Besides,” Kerrich said, “when I’ve an itch I can buy a woman to scratch it.”
“Not with that little lass in the house, you can’t.” Lord Reynard had strict notions of a gentleman’s proper behavior, and he never hesitated to air them.
“I’ll go out for it, sir,” Kerrich assured him.
“What’s wrong with the governess?” Lord Reynard asked. “If a man’s got eyes to see, she’s a demmed fine figure of a woman.”
A few discreet coughs and curled lips followed his statement.
Lord Colbrook had arrived late enough to miss Miss Fotherby’s harp recital—deliberately, no doubt—and he asked, “What is wrong with the governess?”
“Nothing, if you like that corpselike complexion.” Then Tomlin realized he’d maligned Lord Reynard’s opinion of her, and glanced at him in alarm.
“Miss Lockhart has her moments.” Lord Reynard spent most of his days at the United Service Club, talking business with his old friends, but Kerrich had several times caught him chatting with Miss Lockhart.
“I’d say she’s had her moments,” Albon said. “Now are we going to play cards, or talk?”
“Lockhart.” In one of his annoying mannerisms, Colbrook flipped his cards back and forth, back and forth. “Lockhart, Lockhart. I know that name. Wait a minute—is she that Ripley daughter? Can’t remember her first name, but the family was from Somerset.”
“Pamela Lockhart Ripley,” Lord Reynard said. “Yes, that’s her.”
Colbrook gave a crow of laughter. “Then you’re all jesting me. You buffoons!” He smacked Albon on the arm with his fist. “The incomparable Pamela is here, in this very house? Kerrich, you dog, no wonder you adopted the orphan. Tell me, have you stormed the citadel yet? I understand it’s well-fortified and never been breached, but if anyone can do it, you can!”
Everyone stared at Colbrook. Everyone except Lord Reynard, who with an enigmatic smile gazed into his drink.
“Colbrook, what are you babbling about?” Tomlin asked.
“She’s famous. Beautiful woman. Untouchable.” Colbrook wiggled his eyebrows. “Or has been until now, eh, Kerrich?”
Kerrich sipped the brandy and ignored the niggle of discomfort. “Actually, she’s quite plain.”
“That’s polite,” Swearn observed.
“No.” Colbrook didn’t believe it. “You nodcocks are jesting with me.”
“Fetch Miss Lockhart for us,” Kerrich commanded the footman.
With a bow, the footman left.
Kerrich leaned against the wall where he had a good view of the chamber’s inhabitants. Those at the card table played their game, the slap of the cards the only sound in the room, but the ones who had met Miss Lockhart grinned at the thought of the coming entertainment. Lewis poured another drink for himself, and Kerrich could cheerfully predict he would have an aching head in the morning.
With a groan, Pitchford sank into a chair beside Lord Reynard, muttering, “Gotta rest before I go home.”
Kerrich knew he should be anticipating Colbrook’s surprise, too, but he didn’t like this…this case of mistaken identity. Colbrook’s error only reminded him of his impression in Madame Beauchard’s fashion salon—that Miss Lockhart was more than she seemed. But how could she be? She had been hired through Miss Setterington. He’d viewed her references. What could the woman be hiding?
She appeared in the doorway, a female of medium height and undefined age. A female Lord Reynard thought handsome and fitting to be Kerrich’s bride. The men stopped their game, dividing their attention between her and Colbrook, and if anything her visage grew more severe. Advancing on Kerrich, she curtsied. “You sent for me, my lord?”
“Yes, I did.” He scanned her countenance, composed, cold, yet tinged with wariness. Not unnatural, he told himself. Most women were chary when bearding a group of men in their den. Over her shoulder, he saw Colbrook sitting pop-eyed while the others did a poor job of smothering their merriment. What had seemed a simple idea when he’d called for her now seemed cruel and contemptuous. With no explanation, he said, “You may go now.”
Confused, she hesitated.
“Now,” he repeated.
With a curtsy, she glided from the room at the same dignified rate with which she had entered it.
If Kerrich could have, he would have spared her the laughter that broke out as soon as she crossed the threshold.
“Now that we’ve got that cleared up, can we play cards?” Albon demanded.
“You see, Colbrook, what a beauty she is?” Tomlin teased.
“There must be some mistake,” Colbrook said. “There must be two Miss Lockharts.”
The others hooted.
“Well, there must!”
“I hope there’s not two of her,” Swearn said.
“She’s ugly.” Tomlin squinted as if the sight of her had hurt his eyes. “Kerrich, how can you bear to have her about?”
Incredibly, Kerrich found himself saying, “She’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad, eh?” Lord Reynard sounded intrigued.
“Not to look at, of course. Although she’s not hideous.” All eyes were on Kerrich, and he wisely refrained from mentioning t
hat on her, at least, spectacles were handsome. “I like to talk to her.”
In unison, at least three of the men exclaimed, “You like to talk to her?”
“When did you become a choir?” Kerrich gibed.
“What’s the matter?” Swearn asked. “You haven’t ever met a woman you like to talk to?”
“No.”
“Come to think of it,” Pitchford said reflectively, “neither have I.”
“That’s because you have no conversation,” Kerrich roundly condemned Pitchford. “I do like to talk to her. Miss Lockhart doesn’t care about my looks or my money, she tells me the truth in all things.”
Tomlin leaned back in his chair. “So she is like a wife.”
Albon threw down his cards in disgust. “I give up. You lot will never play, and this is a good hand, too.”
All the other players threw their hands on the table.
“You know what she said today?” Kerrich was starting to enjoy himself. “She chided me for being rude.”
“You’re damned rude all the time,” Swearn said.
“Never had a woman say so before,” Kerrich rejoined. “I like having a woman converse without being coy and flirtatious.” He realized he meant it. “When she first met me, I looked her over and said, ‘You’ll do,’ and she said, ‘I was thinking the same about you.’ ”
The men guffawed.
“She dared?” Colbrook’s eyes were wide and awed.
“She’s dared more than that over the last few days. Haven’t been slapped down so rudely since I wore knee breeches.”
“I like her already,” Tomlin said.
“You would.” Kerrich exchanged a grin with him. Tomlin was, after all, still Kerrich’s best friend.
“You’re infatuated,” Swearn said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not my type. I go for handsome, sleek, silly women, not overly pale, sharp-tongued termagants.”
Lord Reynard cackled. “You’re in love at last.”
Kerrich swung around on a surge of anger.
But this was his grandfather. Although Lord Reynard had the right, he seldom took the advantage and made comments about Kerrich’s emotions. When he did, Kerrich always laughed them off. Why was Kerrich furious now? “With all due respect, sir, I don’t love any woman. Although I suppose if Miss Lockhart were here she would tell me I have a duty as host to circulate among the more feminine of my guests.”
Rules of Engagement Page 11
