“We won. Tell me anyway. I was a help tonight, wasn’t I? They were speaking Spanish, you know. Not every female could have translated for you.”
“You mentioned that before. Twice. Yes, you were invaluable. Spotting Fordyce, overhearing the conversation, knowing Spanish.” He rolled over, on his side of the bed, the dog between them. “In fact, if you hadn’t sought a new career, we’d never have known Fordyce existed.”
“Amazing, isn’t it? If I hadn’t lost my last position, I never would have met you.”
“Amazing.” He fluffed up his pillow. “Fate. Luck. Magic. Good night.”
She ordered the dog off the bed and rolled close enough to breathe in his ear. “Harry.”
He tried to pull the covers over his head, but Simone held onto them. “Very well, you were excellent. And your brother is coming to London. Now go to sleep.”
Go to sleep? Simone sat up, pulling all the blankets with her. “What? When? He mustn’t know about us!”
Harry sighed and rolled onto his back. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you now. You’ll worry yourself sick. There was a fire at his school, and the boys were sent home early for the summer holiday. He had no address for you, so the headmaster wrote to Viscount Rexford, Auguste’s new guardian. Rex is fetching him to town, along with the earl and Lady Royce. And Rex’s wife, and the twins. Your brother will be ensconced in one of the finest homes in London, among people of impeccable reputations, now.”
“Now?”
“The earl did father an illegitimate son, you know. He was also suspected of tampering with justice once. His wife left him and lived apart for decades. His heir was despised in the army, then became a morose hermit. Rex’s wife was accused of murder, but she didn’t do it. Oh, and the twins were born a bit early.”
“Are you sure it’s a good place for my brother?”
“It’s far better than the Kensington house, don’t you think?”
“What if he finds out? About us.”
“He won’t. But if he discovers that you were willing to sacrifice yourself to save him from the mills or the mines, he’ll be grateful.”
Simone thought her brother would be furious that he wasn’t the one to make the sacrifice. She had to get him out of London, fast, away from Harry’s family, who had to know something. Lord Rexford must wonder why he was named guardian, after all. “I can understand about the viscount fetching Auguste, which is very kind of him when my brother could travel by coach to Royce Hall in the country. But to drag his wife and children to London? And Lord and Lady Royce also?”
Which was precisely what he did not wish to discuss, and why he was sleeping as far from Simone and temptation as he could get without falling on the floor. He wished he could lie for once and mention errands in town, a session of Parliament, plans to renovate Royce House for the next season when Daniel’s sister was having her come-out. They all might be true, but those were not the reasons the Royce clan was coming to London.
“They are all coming to rescue you, I fear. Daniel felt he had to tell them. The oaf can’t even lie in a letter. They have decided that Miss Ryland’s reputation will be safer if you stay with them in Grosvenor Square until the countess or Rex’s wife can find you a governess position. Perhaps one of them needs a companion.”
“That sounds ideal. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I still need Noma Royale for a few more days and you’d start acting like a proper female again.”
And because he knew what they all expected, nay, what they would demand. Simone was too innocent to realize, or she did not know the rules that governed polite society. Or else she decided that her sojourn as a light-skirt meant they no longer applied. He always felt his bastardy kept him from those lofty precincts and the laws that held sway there.
But she was not like his own mother, an opera dancer who was not born to respectable gentility, not educated like a lady, not a blasted Ryland of Cumberland. They were not going to let him forget he was a gentleman, despite his tainted birth.
Simone was thinking about how to get Auguste away from Harry’s family. With the winnings she already had, plus her salary from Harry, she did not have to work for a while. “Perhaps Auguste and I can go to Brighton for the summer, or rent a country cottage somewhere.”
“You’ll be invited to the coast when the family returns there. Your brother will love it. Rex can teach him to sail and ride and fish.”
“Will you be there?”
“I went once, for the twins’ christenings.” That was all he was going to say about the matter. “Now go to sleep. We’re going to Richmond tomorrow, and then you have to perform at night.”
“I can’t win, so why bother?”
“Fine. Then the countess will find you a position. She knows everyone in town.”
Simone did not cherish the idea of proper employment the way she used to, not with a small fortune in sight. Governesses, even ladies’ companions, made a pittance in comparison. “I am ahead now, but Claire will win the talent contest. And she’ll also take the Quality judging. She looks like a queen, and acts like one, too.”
“But you act like a lady.”
She put a hand on his chest. “I don’t feel like a lady tonight.”
He set her hand back on the covers. “Well, you are one. You’ll spend a sennight as a courtesan, no more, and it is just an act. An act,” he repeated, more for himself than for her.
“No one will know if we stop pretending.”
“I will.” Lord, he could almost taste her lips, but he imagined his father’s disappointment. And the countess’s disgust. Even Rex, the half-brother he had come to cherish, would be angry. And what of Mrs. Harrison, the woman who had raised him to be better than a bastard, and his own housekeeper, who believed him honorable, if not saintly?
Dammit, they all lived by society’s rules, he told himself. He did not. Then he recalled that Simone ought to. He kissed her chastely, briefly, brotherly. And cursed to himself for another hour.
*
They were a much smaller crowd going to Richmond than originally planned. The banker was gone, of course. His mistress, after learning of his arrest and undergoing an interview with that lummox Daniel Stamfield, packed her bags, and a few of Spenser’s, to leave with the visiting baritone. Miss Hanson felt she might as well go, since her pianoforte playing had little chance of winning the talent contest.
Sir Chauncey Phipps’s bedeviled ballerina, who had higher odds of earning a few guineas, left after the ball with the wealthy young viscount, a surer bet. Sir Chauncey himself was suffering a morning-after headache that could only be relieved by more of what caused the pain, so he never left Gorham’s library.
Alice suffered morning sickness too, so Lord Comden stayed back with her.
Claire did not wish to visit the maze. Or see any of her guests. Gorham told her Spenser had taken ill, rather than have her suffer the ignominy of another spy or swindler at her house party. Maybe she was right to go to Cornwall, he thought. Even though he hated the idea, the scandals might not reach there. He stayed at Griffin Manor to keep her company.
Harry and Simone rode. The rest drove. Since there’d be no contest at the maze, the men took to betting on whose curricle was faster. Sir James Danforth was so determined to win he took a turn too sharply, struck a signpost with his rear wheel, and had to pull over to inspect the damage. He blamed Sandaree for distracting him with her stupid screaming. Lord Ellsworth took her up in his phaeton, leaving Danforth shouting at his groom, his horses, the conditions of the road, and the damned house party.
Harry took a shortcut, he said, through Griffin Woods. Simone hoped he meant to have a private picnic, or a private tryst. Instead he met an officer in uniform and exchanged a few words she could not hear.
At the maze, Maura and her lover got lost, but everyone could hear her giggling, so shouted directions. Danforth never showed up. Lord Ellsworth with his cane and Mr. Anthony with his years, argued over who was to esc
ort Sandaree. Two couples decided to stop at an inn for ale rather than bother with the exercise. And Ruby and Lord Bowman got in an argument over his not letting her handle the ribbons of the curricle he’d bought her. Everyone heard that, too, so their party was being well noticed, which suited Harry.
He led Simone into the maze at such speed she was nearly out of breath when they reached the center. Again she hoped his haste meant he was eager to get her alone, but all he did was gather a folded note stuck under a bench there, and start back out.
“Harry, are you angry with me?”
He was angry with himself. This was a crucial time for his plans, for the country. Every second he thought about taking her in his arms, peeling away her clothes, spreading her glorious hair through his fingers, was a second—hell, it was minutes and hours—he was not concentrating on his job. He almost sympathized with Danforth. Besides, today he could not afford to be out of sight of the company, whether he wished it or not. “Of course I am not angry at you. Let us stop at that inn the others found. I am thirsty.”
Of course he was angry, Simone decided. Why else was he so cold and unfriendly? He didn’t want her as his mistress and she’d been too forward. He was foisting her off on his family because he did not want her as anything else, either. He didn’t trust her with his plans, wouldn’t reveal any of his messages or notes, and hurried to be done with her company.
She’d failed at winning his affection as surely as she’d fail at winning the contest.
*
Claire made the introductions. She had regained her confidence, with Gorham’s help. What could compete with her singing? Silhouettes? Whichever song or dance Daisy or Simone could perform? Hah. The ballet might have been in the running, but that was eliminated now, along with the harp and the violin. The Shakespeare? Doubtful. The jig or the card tricks? Never. The nearly obscene Indian dance? Even the men had to have more respect for culture than that.
She gave Daisy a wide smile.
While Captain Entwhistle looked on fondly, Daisy stepped to the front of the music room where she’d placed a trunk. Claire whispered to Gorham, “Lord, I hope she is not going to put on a sheet and strike poses of Greek goddesses or something.”
She didn’t. Daisy excused her lack of brilliance. She could sing a little, she explained, and dance a little, even play wooden pipes, but all without the overwhelming talent of the others. So she did what she did best. Or second best, she added with a blush and a glance toward the captain, which drew a laugh. She opened the trunk and brought out an entire layette for Alice’s infant: tiny gowns and caps, swaddling clothes and blankets, bibs and knitted socks so small they might have fit a man’s thumb. Baby things were often plain and serviceable, but these were smocked and gathered, embroidered with miniature rosebuds, trimmed with bits of lace and ribbons contributed by half the women. The blanket from the wool Simone had bought now had a fringed edge, and a bonnet to match. Alice passed each garment around, while she wept. So did most of the women, including Claire, who fondled every little item.
More than one of the men wiped at his eyes, too. A few had never handled infant wear, or an infant, and marveled at the small size. They all, except for Lord James Danforth, put a coin in the trunk.
“What kind of entertainment is this?” the duke’s son asked with his usual sneer. “I thought the entertainments were supposed to be high toned, not celebrating another bastard.”
Harry tossed another coin into the trunk with a resounding clink.
Then came Ruby’s turn. She had intended to sing also, she confessed. She smiled at Claire and said, “I am not that big a fool. But I can entertain you, and give you a memento to take home with you.” She gestured toward a screened enclosure erected at the back of the room, with oil lamps directing light onto it. “Claire, you come first.”
In no time at all, Ruby had Claire’s elegant profile cut out of black paper. She didn’t stop at her patrician nose, but included her plentiful bosom.
Claire handed it to Gorham and pushed him forward. She wanted the cutout of him to take with her.
“I usually do the gents in a more personal way,” Ruby said with a wink, “if you get my drift.”
“Not in my music room, you won’t,” Claire insisted. “Anyone who removes his unmentionables will be out of the house and out of the wagering.”
So Ruby traced profiles only at first. She was fast and accurate, and laughed while she worked. She added a wine glass held to Sir Chauncey’s mouth, put a needle and thread in Daisy’s hands.
She refused to do Bowman’s silhouette. “I already have one that I’ll keep the rest of my life. I’d show it to you gents, but that would ruin your night.”
She captured Maura’s turned up nose perfectly, and then Lord Ellsworth’s hawk-like beak. Alice and Comden posed opposite each other, so she made their lips touch on the paper. Ruby thought she couldn’t do Harry or Noma justice in black, not with their vivid coloring, so she got Mr. Black to sit still and cut out the dog’s silhouette.
Danforth despised his picture; he claimed his nose was not that high. No one agreed. Sandaree chose not to pose, but Ruby cut a black flower for her, like the henna vines Sandaree painted on her hands. Sandaree bowed and said she would cherish the cutout along with Noma’s shawl, gifts from her friends in this foreign land.
For the captain, Ruby put a sailing ship in the background of his profile. For Mr. Anthony, she took away a few of his chins. She cut a bust of Shakespeare for the actress, a race horse for the baronet. Done with the silhouettes, she took up black page after black page and let her scissors fly while snips of paper fell in a dark blizzard at her feet. She made a chain of paper daisies for Daisy, paper dollies for the baby, a curricle for Bowman, a waltzing couple for Noma.
Even Sir Chauncey stayed awake to watch Ruby work. “Amazing. I’ve never seen the like.” Everyone agreed with that.
Then it was Simone’s turn.
She knew Claire intended to sing again that night, so she suggested their hostess perform now, while she arranged her props and clothes. Mr. Anthony said it was only fair that Sandaree have an encore too, so Simone had enough time to finish her preparations. Sarah waited in the sewing room to help, and Metlock was there with Harry’s costume. Harry was still going to be her partner, for tonight, anyway.
When they were ready, Metlock carried a cloth-covered table into the music room, followed by Sarah with a candelabra to place on top. They lowered the room’s oil lamps, casting shadows everywhere but at the table where they placed three chairs, two in front, one behind. Then Harry strode in, wearing a red scarf around his neck, and a red sash around his waist. A sword hung at his side. He had on a white shirt with billowing sleeves, and wore his black hair in disordered waves. He was so handsome, smiled so confidently, that Simone almost forgot the speech she’d prepared. He held his hand out for her to come forward.
She walked into the room, her bracelets tinkling, the hoops in her ears glittering, and her red hair loose down her back. She wore a white drawstring blouse with embroidery at the low neckline, a loose piecework skirt with the bright red petticoat showing beneath the hem.
“What the devil…?” someone asked.
“No devil,” she said. “But there are some who consider Gypsy fortune tellers Satan’s servants. I do not. You should not, until you hear what I tell you. First I wish to relate a tale about my mother, who was half Gypsy. She never said she had the Sight, but she twice had a vision of my father drowning. She never let him go near a boat after that, not even a rowboat on the shallowest of lakes. She refused to let him swim or fish from shore. One rainy night he was thrown from his horse and landed in the ditch.” She paused for dramatic effect. “He drowned.”
A hush fell over the room.
“So cross my palm with silver and I will tell what I see. Who dares to go first?”
Sir Chauncey Phipps did. He handed Simone a coin and she took his hand in hers and closed her eyes. She hummed in a long-drawn note, and
the room seemed to resonate with the energy of her concentration. Maura gave a nervous giggle.
“I see you smiling,” Simone finally said. “With no drink in sight. You stand tall and steady, totally sober.”
“Impossible,” someone called out.
Simone ignored the shout and the laughter. “You are in the country with a woman. She is dark-haired and has a pebble in her shoe. No, she has a limp.”
Sir Chauncey snatched his hand back. “I know what you are doing. You heard rumors of my past, that’s all. Well, that woman is married.”
“No, my friend. She is widowed. She is waiting for you in York.”
Sir Chauncey looked at Harry. “Truly?”
“Yes.”
Sir Chauncey wiped at another tear. “I never thought— That is, I need a drink. The last one I’ll have for a while. You say Cornelia is waiting for me?”
Next Simone “saw” the actress playing the leading role in a successful new drama at Drury Lane. There’d be no more dreary traveling troupes for her. She described a vision of Maura back in Ireland with Caldwell, surrounded by young horses frolicking on green grass.” How did you know I was thinking of setting up a racing stud?” Caldwell demanded.
Simone held one finger to her lips. “It’s in the blood.”
Captain Entwhistle, she predicted, was going to be offered command of one of his majesty’s new ships, and he was going to take Daisy with him as his wife, now that peace ruled the seas.
“His wife?” Daisy started crying. “I never hoped for that.”
“Why not?” the captain asked after he placed another coin in Simone’s hand. “Have to set a good example for my men, don’t I?”
Next she described the vision of Mr. Anthony on a ship, too. He was sailing back to India, to warmth and great luxury. He had a woman to keep him company on the long journey, one who knew the country, could converse in several dialects, and was familiar with the intrigues of the princes and their courts.
Mr. Anthony looked toward Sandaree. “Would you care to accompany me, my dear?”
“I should like nothing more, sahib. But my master—”
The Scandalous Life of a True Lady Page 28
