The Chaperone's Secret

by Donna Lea Simpson

  One thing that was on his face for the world to see was his attraction to Lady Rowena. Sadly, she realized that it was quite likely Lord Pierson was just the sort of man her charge would fall in love with, for not only was he more handsome than any of her other suitors had been so far this Season, he added to his appearance a depth of feeling in his golden eyes and a regal bearing that even Prince Verstadt had not had, in Amy’s estimation. And his reputation, far from hurting his chances, only seemed to enhance his prestige in Rowena’s eyes.

  “How pleasant to see you again, my lord,” Rowena said as her guide bowed and disappeared back into the crowd.

  “How could I go anywhere but here, my lady, knowing you would again return?”

  Amy stifled a sigh as she realized her duty lay in promoting this match, if she felt it would offer a chance at happiness. She resolved to do the best for herself, which meant just that; if Lady Rowena appeared to favor Lord Pierson then Amy must do everything in her power to assist the couple, and then to convince the duke that the viscount would make a good match for his daughter. The duke, of a hasty and precipitous temper, was so angry and displeased with his daughter he would hand her off to Lucifer himself just to be rid of her from his house. They never saw one another when they did not quarrel, and the duke was unlikely to place any barriers in his daughter’s path if she finally decided to marry. That was Amy’s conjecture, anyway, but she would need Mrs. Bower’s opinion to bolster her own before she would feel in any measure secure.

  Lady Rowena and Pierson had been chatting amiably. It seemed Rowena’s dance partner for that half hour had been called away unexpectedly, and she had the time free. The Marquess of Bainbridge approached them again, his gaze darting from one to the other of the trio.

  “How goes the ball, Pierson?” he asked.

  “I’m enjoying myself quite well.”

  Bainbridge glanced at Amy, who was feeling rather de trop at the moment, with the lady and her ardent admirer so engrossed in conversation.

  “Miss Corbett, would you like to dance?”

  Amy, startled, immediately said, “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I am a companion and chaperone, my lord, not here for the entertainment myself!”

  But Rowena, with a significant expression, said, “Don’t be ridiculous, Amy. You will not insult Lord Bainbridge by refusing his kind offer. Lord Pierson and I are quite able to remain unchaperoned in this crowded ballroom for everyone to see. Go. Have fun.”

  It was virtually a command, and Amy, mindful of her eventual aim, which was that Rowena and Lord Pierson make a match of it, thought it might be wisest after all to leave them a half hour of free conversation. “All right,” she said reluctantly.

  “I am flattered by your enthusiasm,” the marquess said dryly as he took her arm and led her into the figures of the dance.

  Nine

  “My lord, I hope you do not think my reluctance made any reflection on you, for—”

  “No, no, I understand,” Lord Bainbridge said, guiding her to a line of couples.

  But he couldn’t possibly, Amy thought, glancing back through the crowd at Rowena and Lord Pierson. Determined, she turned her gaze away from them and looked up at her dance partner. “It was very kind of you to ask me, my lord.”

  “Not kind at all, Miss Corbett. You looked as though you could use a break from your duties and I was unengaged, that is all.”

  Separated by the figures for a moment, Amy glanced around the elegant ballroom. The Parkinson home was large by London standards, and their gathering august. Mrs. Bower was chaperoning a pretty little chit in her first Season, a Miss Naunce, daughter of an admiral who had been knighted for his courageous service to the crown. Amy wanted desperately to speak with her friend, for she still had some questions to ask about the likelihood of the duke approving Lord Pierson as a suitor for his daughter’s hand.

  She touched the hand of the last lady in the line and was rejoined by Lord Bainbridge, who then promenaded her around in a grand, sweeping circle.

  “My lord, I believe we were at your home for a literary tea just recently.”

  “And I believe you’re right,” he said with a wicked grin. “I must say that my sister remembers your visit very clearly.”

  Rowena’s disastrous flirtation with Lady Harriet’s beau came back to Amy and she fell silent.

  “Miss Corbett, if I do not mistake your silence, you are concerned about my sister and her beau, Lord Newton-Shrewsbury. Please set your mind at ease. My sister was not, I think, seriously interested in Shrewsbury. Thank God, I say, for I don’t like the milksop. And I acquit Lady Rowena of any culpability in the affair even if others do not, for a lady so beautiful must attract men, whether she attempt so or not.”

  Amy sighed in relief but could no more speak than she could breathe right that moment. That she could not acquit her charge of guilt was reason enough to say nothing. And too, what had the marquess meant by adding even if others do not? Was there someone who saw Rowena’s game and remarked on it?

  “Pardon my curiosity,” the marquess said, “but how did one as . . . well, as young as you come to be a chaperone? Most of your ilk are rather more seasoned veterans of the London set.”

  Amy sighed at the repeated question and told him an abbreviated version of the truth, leaving out that she had no choice but to take the position due to her impecunious state, and making it instead an honor that she gladly accepted. She was getting quite good at the tale by now.

  “So this is your first Season. And your first charge is the daughter of a duke.”

  “I’m very fortunate, am I not?” Amy asked with as much verve as she could summon, smiling up at the marquess.

  “Yes. Very fortunate. All of London is puzzled by one thing, you know,” he said. “How is it that a young lady of her beauty and stature has remained unwed? And why does she continue to refuse suitors? Does she not wish to marry?”

  Amy’s mouth went dry. She had been faced with that same question in many guises in the last few weeks, but no one had been quite so blunt. She thought for a moment and then said, “Lady Rowena is as . . . as romantic as she is lovely. She has determined to wait for a man she feels she can love. I know that is unusual given her status, but her father is very indulgent and wishes only what his daughter wants.”

  “Indulgent, the Duke of Sylverton? I had thought the answer something different.”

  “What did you think, my lord?”

  “Let my musings remain my own, for we are all free in our own minds to think unflattering thoughts, you know, and not say them. It is what preserves a pleasant society.”

  Amy, unsettled, glanced up at him, but they were separated again by the figures of the dance. She passed by Lady Rowena and Lord Pierson, who were so deep in conversation that they did not even see her. That was a good thing, she said to herself with great firmness.

  The marquess was silent through most of the dance, but finally, as the last notes sounded, she worked up the courage to say, “My lord, your friend . . . he has a certain reputation in London. I am surprised he is even allowed into this ballroom, with what I have heard. What say you in his defense?”

  Lord Bainbridge took her arm and looked down at her, feigning alarm. “Ah, now the chaperone begins to show her teeth! So now I must defend my friend. Oh dear. Pierson has indeed managed to acquire quite the reputation over the last few years. But I may say with complete honesty two things: he has never, ever, even in rumor, been cavalier with a lady’s reputation or safety. And I truly believe that for reasons of his own he has decided he must mend his ways and begin life anew. He wishes to make amends for his past faults.”

  “That’s comforting, since he appears quite taken with Rowena.”

  “He’s gotten it into his mind that she is everything he approves in a lady, that is, she is mild and meek of temperament, gentle and loving with pets and children, as sweet of nature as she is fair of face.”

  Amy felt a quiver of apprehension at the marquess’s list. A more i
nappropriate description of Rowena she had never heard, save the “fair of face.” “My lord, if you would be so kind, would you guide me over to yonder bank of chairs by the wall where my friend Mrs. Bower sits, and if you would guide Lady Rowena to me as well?”

  “Are you feeling quite well, Miss Corbett? You look excessively pale.”

  Amy, leaning heavily on his arm, could say nothing to refute that assertion. Once near Mrs. Bower, though, she straightened and said, “Thank you, my lord. I think it was just the unaccustomed heat of dancing that made me faint for a minute. If you would bring Lady Rowena to me I would be eternally grateful.”

  With one backward look of concern, Lord Bainbridge disappeared into the crowd and Amy sank into a chair at her friend’s side. Miss Naunce, Mrs. Bower’s charge, a pretty, fluttery girl, was just taking the arm of a young gentleman and heading for the dance floor for the next dance. Amy waited until she was gone and then said, “Mrs. Bower, I am sorely in need of your advice.”

  “What is it, my dear?” The elderly lady shifted closer and her stays creaked alarmingly.

  Amy related her current concern. Since Mrs. Bower was already the trusted recipient of her worries up to that point, she only needed to add her new concerns about Lord Pierson, his intentions, Rowena’s feelings in the matter and the viscount’s viability as a candidate for her hand, especially given the duke’s fractious and unpredictable nature.

  “I could encourage both in their friendship, Rowena and Lord Pierson, only to have the duke fly into a rage at the mere thought of his daughter with a gentleman of such a reputation. And then where would we be? It’s going to be difficult enough to get Rowena wed, but if the only man she has appeared to be truly interested in so far this Season is ineligible for her hand, I don’t know what I shall do.”

  “Why does every girl love a rake?” Mrs. Bower queried fretfully. She furrowed her thick brows and clicked her teeth. “I would say this, my dear: if Lady Rowena appears truly taken with Lord Pierson, then I think you ought to encourage him. There is a much greater chance that the duke will approve his suit just to rid himself of his daughter than that he will reject him.”

  “What do you know of Lord Pierson’s situation?”

  The lady twisted her mouth and chewed her cheek. “Lord Pierson, eighth Viscount Pierson; old name, but not so honorable in the last few generations. I will say this for the present viscount: unlike his father before him, there truly seems to be nothing vicious about this lad, just a little wild. His father, now, he was a different sort. He was a tyrant and a bully, from all reports. This one merely seems to drink too much wine—and where, I may ask, will you find a gentleman who does not?—and like ladies of a loose morality, and there again, what gentleman does not? I think he has been damned by his name, for some part, and then . . . there have been incidents.”

  “Incidents?”

  “Incidents. Ahem . . . your charge is coming this way.”

  “Quickly then,” Amy said, leaning toward her friend. “Tell me at least some.”

  “He is said,” Mrs. Bower whispered, “to have ridden his horse through a Venetian breakfast and directly to the fountain in the garden of a certain Lady Decker, a social climber of the most odious sort.” She chuckled. “I would have given much to see that. But anyway, he has been said to take part in debauched revels at some of the less stately residences, and there was one incidence of public nudity.” The older woman cleared her throat and tried to look censorious, but she ruined it by chuckling. “What a scoundrel! There were various other revelries, but on a more serious note he is said to play deep at the card table, money he can ill afford.”

  “Is he poor?” Amy was alarmed, for the duke was notoriously clutch-fisted, and if he thought his daughter could be a claim on his purse even after marriage, it might prove to be an impediment.

  “Not poor,” Mrs. Bower said, frowning. “I have heard of no claims against his estate, such as it stands. But he will have much to do, I think, to bring his country estate back to its proper beauty. Mind, I do not know this for certain. He could be into money-lenders for all I know. Or he could be making great strides in turning his fortunes around.”

  Amy sighed, staring down at her gloved hands. “You don’t think he is a fortune hunter, do you?” She looked up at her friend. “I will not countenance that, even if he should be Rowena’s choice. I will not let her be unhappy for the rest of her life just so I may be free of worry.”

  “I’ve seen no sign of that, nor heard word, dear. And surely, if he had been on the lookout for a fortune I would have heard from someone in my circle,” said Mrs. Bower with a sympathetic expression. “Chaperones are very careful about that kind of man, and we tell each other what we know and hear. It is the same with gentlemen of a violent bent; we are very careful of those kinds. I would not subject one of my girls to that anguish. But as to Lord Pierson’s financial situation, I will ask around—”

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Bower, I would not have him embarrassed by inquiries—”

  “My dear, please!” Mrs. Bower said, putting one hand on Amy’s arm. “Credit me with subtlety, at the very least. I’ll make my inquiries discreetly. That he has been admitted to the Parkinson house speaks well of him, for they are very high sticklers.” She looked thoughtful, her gaze settling on Amy’s face. “And what of his friend, Lord Bainbridge?”

  “He is a very pleasant man, certainly.”

  “And he danced with you?” Mrs. Bower said with an arch look.

  “Out of kindness, ma’am, I assure you,” Amy said, shocked at the implication behind the woman’s words.

  “Kindness is not a quality the young gentlemen are noted for. He seemed most gallant. I would not turn him away, if I were you, for he may see in you just the sort of young lady—”

  “Mrs. Bower!” Genuinely shocked, Amy stared at her friend. “I cannot believe you would think a marquess would look upon me with matrimony in mind, and there is not another end I would countenance for myself. But my background, my connections are not such . . . not that I have aught to be ashamed of, for I haven’t—my father was a gentleman and my mother the granddaughter of an earl—but my origins are humble compared to Lord Bainbridge . . .” She faltered to a stop as Rowena approached on the arm of the man himself, trailed closely by Lord Pierson.

  “I have delivered the young lady, Miss Corbett; now, as my reward, may I ask to sit with you and this charming lady,” he said, bowing to Mrs. Bower, “while Lady Rowena goes off with her next partner?”

  As Mrs. Bower snickered and elbowed Amy, Amy saw Rowena’s extreme pique, and was grateful when Lord Newton-Shrewsbury, her next partner, appeared promptly to claim her. Lord Pierson glowered darkly at the other man, who scuttled off with his prize on his arm.

  As Lord Bainbridge took a seat by her, a fact that was noted and was providing fresh gossip among the other chaperones, Amy watched Lord Pierson, studying his expression. What had he and Rowena spoken of? Was he happy with the outcome, and did he still feel the same attraction for her that had been evident from the beginning of their acquaintance?

  She turned to Lord Bainbridge. “Thank you, my lord, for fetching Lady Rowena. I hope you did not have to interrupt a conversation between her and Lord Pierson?”

  He shrugged and lounged back in an unforgivably lax attitude for a public ballroom. When Mrs. Bower gave him a stern look he straightened. “Uh, I believe it was mostly maidenly blushes on Lady Rowena’s part and manly silence on my friend’s.”

  Lord Pierson joined them at that point and said, “Bainbridge, shall we hie ourselves off to the card room until my dance with Lady Rowena?”

  “I’m in the middle of a conversation, pudding head,” Bainbridge said irritably.

  “I am sorry,” Pierson said with a contrite expression, bowing to Amy. “My apologies, miss. It’s so unusual to see my friend making an attempt to be pleasant to any member of the female sex that I was taken by surprise.”

  “What he is trying to say is he is so seldom
in the company of proper ladies,” Bainbridge returned acidly, “that he has not seen me speaking to any lady at all.”

  Pierson gave him a look of disdain. “Miss Corbett, please ignore my friend’s attempts to blacken my reputation. He is clumsily trying to make himself look better at my expense.”

  “I would never do that. Why would I,” Bainbridge said airily, “when you are so adept at making yourself the goose?” His gaze caught on something in the distance. “Excuse me for a moment, Miss Corbett, Pierson. I believe my sister is summoning me from across the room and I must obey.”

  Amy watched him go, his stride long and loping. She desperately hoped his sister’s urgency was not occasioned by Rowena’s dancing with the lady’s former suitor. In spite of all Lord Bainbridge had said to acquit Rowena of any wrongdoing, it was clear that someone had interpreted her behavior far too accurately and had openly said so.

  “Lady Harriet wished to tell Bainbridge she is leaving, I believe,” Pierson said, crouching down at her side to speak to her more easily. “I think she is promised to another ball this evening, as well as this one.”

  Relieved, Amy turned to the viscount, and was startled to find his face so close to hers, his warm breath mingling with her own. “D-do you know Lady Harriet well? I must say she is my idea of the perfect lady.”

  “If you like being challenged on every word you utter, I suppose,” Pierson said doubtfully.

  Amy thought wryly that he had not experienced being challenged until he had seen Rowena throw down the gauntlet. “An opinionated lady is not to every gentleman’s taste.”