He sauntered away. Pierson watched him go and said, “He is really acting in the most peculiar manner. What did you two talk about during your dance?”
“Uh, well, we spoke of Lady Rowena and how I came to be her chaperone, and we . . . we spoke of you, my lord.” She colored and turned her gaze away.
“Did he say anything unflattering? He has an odd sense of humor, so if he did you must disregard him.”
“Unflattering? No, he said you were becoming more serious in your life and were quite taken with Lady Rowena. Was he not correct?”
Her steady gaze directly into his eyes was unsettling. He did not feel at all ready to confess his emotions, and especially not to the girl’s chaperone. Damn Bain! Why did he have to become so loquacious?
“I think Lady Rowena is a beautiful young lady with exquisite manners, and I am intrigued by her gentle character and mild temperament. More than that I do not think it necessary to say.” Damn, he sounded so stiff, like a methodistical prig.
She chewed her lip.
He took a deep breath and said, “I would ask if I might take her for a drive tomorrow afternoon, if that’s permissible.”
Her uncertain expression pokered up into a formal rigidity. “I don’t have my engagement calendar with me, my lord, but I’ll send a note by post or footman first thing in the morning.”
“All right.” He frowned down at his leather shoes, noting a fray in the tying ribbon as he pondered how to get Miss Corbett back to her formerly relaxed and chatty self. She was glancing around uneasily, as if noting for the first time that many of the other chaperones were looking askance at them. He wondered how his uncertain reputation would affect the young chaperone. Would she be an outcast for allowing him so much time? Should he have thought of that already and gone away? He leaped to his feet.
“I shall await your answer tomorrow, Miss Corbett, concerning the carriage drive. Until then, your servant.” He bowed very formally, and sauntered away to find Bain.
• • •
Amy sat perfectly still, wondering at her own state, her nerves on edge, her stomach in knots. She hadn’t felt that way when Lord Bainbridge spoke to her, and yet just fifteen minutes in Lord Pierson’s company left her anxious and miserable.
Mrs. Bower moved over one chair and whispered, “That young man is taking efforts I have never seen him take with anyone. He must be terribly in love with Lady Rowena already to be mending his ways so thoroughly.”
“Do you think so?” Amy asked.
“I do. It is the talk among all the ladies. Some don’t approve, but I’ve done my best to help his reputation, reminding them that many a young gentleman sows his wild oats before settling down, marrying and begetting an heir.”
“He wishes to take her for a drive tomorrow.”
“What did you say?”
“That I would send him a message tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Don’t let him be too sure of himself.”
“It’s not that, Mrs. Bower. I can never be sure what mood Rowena will be in when she awakes. She sometimes take it into her head not to do things at the last moment, and then blames me or her father. And then I can’t lay the blame where it belongs or I risk painting a very unflattering picture of her nature.”
“Hmph. A very truthful picture, you mean.”
“A truthful picture of her nature will not catch her a husband. I must protect my own interests. Better I should appear capricious and unmannerly than that she should.”
“Good, I’m happy to hear you speaking so sensibly.” Mrs. Bower nodded her purple-plumed head, the feathers dancing, little bits of the fragile plume breaking away and floating to the marble floor. “You’ve wisdom in that head of yours far beyond your delicate years, and I have no doubt that if you stay the course you’ll prevail.”
“Oh, I haven’t given up the fight, Mrs. Bower.” Amy took in a deep breath and stiffened her spine and her resolve. “It is a risky affair and may all come to naught, but I may as well do the best I can and hope it works out. If Rowena does marry, and His Grace does honor our agreement . . . well, I won’t have to work for a long while. I shall have my cottage and my sewing and life will be easy for a time for both myself and my poor Aunt Marabelle. I have never seen Lady Rowena so intrigued with anyone as she is with Lord Pierson. And he is handsome and amiable, or so he seems anyway.” She chewed her lip. “Tell me, you don’t think there is anything vicious about him, do you? He would not hurt her?”
“Of course he would.”
Shocked, Amy blurted out, “What?” Heads turned their way and she lowered her voice below the music and whispered, “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t mean he would beat her, though a good beating might teach her a thing or two—”
“Mrs. Bower!”
“All right, child, I know I speak m’mind too coarsely. Don’t mind me; I don’t truly advocate beating. You know me better than that by now, I should hope. What I meant is, all men are capable of hurting a lady. Men have interests and needs we can’t even begin to understand. Stands to reason. Got that thing between their legs doing all their thinking for them.”
“Mrs. Bower!” Amy felt red flood her face and her cheeks burned. Sometimes the other woman’s country coarseness slipped when they spoke intimately, though she would never say such a thing in public.
The older woman chuckled. “Keep forgetting you’re an unmarried gel. The other old bats like me would have a good chuckle over that. In my day we spoke our mind, with none of this false delicacy. Anyway, to frame it differently, the gentlemen will do things that injure our poor, frail hearts, but the dears don’t mean to. It’s just their way.” She shrugged and heaved a philosophical sigh. “They drink and they wench and they gamble. As long as they come home at the end of the night, it’s best if a wife doesn’t know too much more than that.”
“That is painting a bleak picture of married life, madam,” Amy said.
She grimaced. “I buried two husbands of my own, an’ each of ’em was worse ’n the other. I was glad it was just other women, for if it had been gambling or drinking it would have been the worse for me. Another woman kept ’em happy and docile-like. But it’s not all bad, you know. A woman can always take a lover or two of her own, once the begetting is out of the way.”
Amy did not reply. If she managed to marry Rowena off to him, would she be condemning the girl to a lifetime of unhappiness with a rake and a scoundrel? She must think seriously on the topic, and in the meantime not allow him to advance his cause too much. She wished to observe him more, speak with him more, gauge his character for herself before allowing even such a termagant as Rowena to fall in love with him. Despite the call of self-interest, the girl was her responsibility and she would not hand her off to a rogue just to receive her reward.
With that resolution made, she felt a fraction better. For the rest of the evening, though Lord Pierson remained at the ball, he did not approach them again, choosing instead to speak to the host and hostess at length. Lady Rowena danced every dance, and Amy sat with Mrs. Bower, wondering how her life had become so far removed from the humble circles in which she had grown up.
Eleven
The ride home had been silent up to this point, but Rowena, apparently forgetting her anger with her chaperone, was in a merry mood. She knelt on the seat and pointed out the window toward the curb, the spot lit by gaslight. “Look, Amy, that is the very spot where James splashed that drunken sot last week! I wish I could see that again.”
“I would rather not remember that, Rowena.” That image had haunted Amy since that night, though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was just that the fellow had seemed so abjectly miserable. She disliked seeing anyone in such a sorry state. “I hope the poor gentleman got home that night and I pray he didn’t catch pneumonia.”
“He was likely not going home,” Lady Rowena said, sitting back down on her seat. “He likely deserves it if he did catch something nasty, though I doubt it would be pneumonia.�
��
“Rowena, don’t . . .” Amy shrugged and decided against any attempt at correction. Rowena was who she was. That she concealed her true nature in public proved that she knew it was unpleasant, and that she could curb her tongue when she so desired.
“Don’t what?” Rowena’s lovely, pale face glowed in the faint light from the coach lanterns.
“Never mind,” Amy said.
“No, go on. Say it. What am I doing wrong now, in your delicate, overwrought estimation, dear, sweet chaperone?”
Her tone was acid and Amy had had enough. She folded her hands in her lap, squeezing them together, and turned to Rowena. “Don’t speak to me like that again. I will not stand for it. I’m not in your employ, but your father’s.” Her voice shook. She took in a deep breath. “If you wish to address me, do so with civility from now on.”
The young lady’s eyes widened in shock and Amy waited for the outburst of vitriol that was sure to follow such a dressing down. Then the young woman’s lip quivered. She bit down on it, but finally emotions burst forth.
Lady Rowena laughed, throwing back her head and guffawing in a most unladylike way. When she recovered, she said, “I can’t say I like you any the worse for your impudence. I had thought you incapable of speaking your mind, but the last few days have shown me to be wrong.”
Amy was taken aback and unsure how to respond. The girl continually surprised her. Slowly she said, “I will not stand for ill treatment anymore, Rowena; I mean that most sincerely.”
“I understand. Whether I choose to honor your declaration or not, you shall see. You may demand all you like, and I’ll choose to go along with you . . . or I may not.”
Amy watched her. With the new candor between them, she decided to surge on. “Why do you take such great pains in public to appear to be demure and ladylike, when in private you behave however you wish?”
The girl’s eyes were calculating in their assessment of Amy. “Gentlemen do not like an ill-mannered lady, is that not so?”
“Yes,” Amy agreed.
“And I find it amusing to be the most sought after lady of the Season.”
“You mean you enjoy gentlemen falling in love with you, only to reject them ultimately.”
“Don’t mistake my laughter of a moment ago for a license to be impertinent, Amy,” Rowena said, a hard glint in her eye and a pugnacious lift to her chin.
“And don’t mistake my statement for empty posturing. I meant what I said. I will not allow you to speak to me in a way I find discourteous or uncivil.” Amy swallowed back her fear at speaking out in such a bold, harsh manner. She must do this or be miserable.
“And what will you do to stop me?”
It was a moment of truth, Amy realized. She had bluffed and was being called on it. Now what could she do? Rowena held all the power, in truth, but Amy must not acknowledge that. The carriage creaked and swayed in the utter silence between the two ladies. It was time for a gamble, Amy finally decided. “I will quit and go home,” she said, sure that Rowena did not know all the details of her life and her inability to do that.
“And how will that affect me?” Lady Rowena watched Amy’s eyes, her expression blank and calm.
“You cannot go out without a chaperone and maintain the fiction that you are a demure young lady. Your father will have to hire someone else, and it may be someone you will not like half so well as me. You detested your chaperone last year; I have heard all about it from the servants. Despite your efforts to appear in harmony with her in public, the woman, often the worse for her fondness for gin, spoke openly of your irascibility and her dislike of you. It damaged your reputation ever so slightly. Another such Season will erode your reputation even more.”
The two women stared at each other for a long moment.
“All right,” Rowena finally said. “I accept your terms.” She leaned over and stuck out her gloved hand. “I cry peace between us.”
“Peace, then,” Amy said, taking it and shaking, even though she was under no illusion that this was in any way a final resolution.
“But you will call me Lady Rowena,” the duke’s daughter said, a haughty lift to her head.
“Then you will call me Miss Corbett.”
They stared at each other for a long moment in silence, the monotonous rattling of the carriage the only sound.
“What did Lord Pierson speak of to you for so long?” Lady Rowena asked finally.
“Various things. He asked if he could take you for a carriage ride tomorrow afternoon.”
“What did you say?”
“That I would answer tomorrow morning.”
“I think I shall go.”
“You will if I say you may,” Amy said.
Rowena narrowed her pale eyes, her blond brows squinting to a pinched V. “Don’t imagine our agreement extends to you truly deciding on all of my social engagements.”
“I will agree to consult you on every engagement if you promise to at least honor the ones you say you will and don’t change your mind at the last minute. It is incredibly rude.”
The young woman stared at Amy for a long minute. “All right.”
“That said, there are still some that one must not shun. You do see that, don’t you, Lady Rowena?”
“I suppose,” the young woman agreed reluctantly, twisting a corner of her fringed shawl into a knot. “Why are they always the most boring ones?”
“I don’t know. But they are generally the ones that reflect most on one’s social standing. As the daughter of a duke, you will always have social duties that you cannot neglect.”
“That is quite enough of a lecture, Amy. I don’t need to be told my duty; I have lived as the daughter of a duke my whole life, you know. I will allow that I do have some engagements I must attend, even though I would rather not. I just wish—”
“Wish what?”
Lady Rowena turned her face away to the window. “I just wish my father would give me my due and acknowledge that I am a grown woman now. He treats me as a child still.”
“Have you considered that you very much act like a child in his presence?”
“That’s absurd!”
“No, it isn’t,” Amy returned, as gently as her agitation would allow. Their new footing was being tested, and she must go carefully. “You view every word from him as a challenge. You become petulant and have even, on occasion, stamped your foot. That is the action of a child.”
“But he is just as bad! He rages and hollers and stomps off to the library as if he—”
“His behavior is no excuse for yours,” Amy interrupted. “He is a man and a duke, and as such will determine his own behavior. Besides, we aren’t speaking of him but of you. An adult is in control of their emotions and will not let others irk them into poor behavior. A lady even more so, for a calm demeanor is to be wished for in all cases, even, or more pointedly especially, in front of the servants. They do talk.”
Rowena was silent after that, and Amy thought it best to let her be. She longed to ask the young woman what she thought of Lord Pierson, whether on further acquaintance she thought she might like him, but it was best, after such a breakthrough as they had had, to let her think on it.
And besides, she had her own thoughts to mull and her own emotions to ponder.
• • •
The letter, received at Pierson’s townhome very early in the morning from a liveried footman with the Sylverton emblem, merely said that Lady Rowena would be free for a drive in the park between four and five that afternoon, and that she would be pleased to see Lord Pierson. Miss Corbett was as good as her word.
“How do I look, Rupert?” Pierson said, standing before his glass and preening for his valet.
“Very presentable, my lord,” Rupert murmured, brushing lint from his employer’s best black hat.
“Presentable! Someday I shall wrench a compliment out of you, you dour curmudgeon.”
“When that day comes we may both expire from astonishment, my lord.”
<
br /> “No doubt. I am off to court a young lady, Rupert.” He turned and took the hat from his valet.
“Very good, my lord.”
“Things may change drastically, Rupert, if I am successful.”
“And if you are not?”
Pierson, for the first time, glanced at his valet’s face. His first thought was that it was very lined for a fellow so young. He knew for a fact that his valet was several years younger than himself, but life and worry had scarred his visage. “I say, Rupert, have you found a replacement for Dorcaster yet?”
“I did not know if I should. Is there . . .” He trailed off, though his gaze never left his employer’s face.
“What is it, Rupert?” Pierson stopped fussing and waited, but Rupert was silent. “Is there what? Spit it out, my good man.”
“Pardon me, my lord, but is there money to hire a new butler?”
Pierson sighed and sat down heavily on the chair by his dressing table. He ran his hand over his carefully coifed curls, but the valet did not even flinch. “You seem to know very much about my private affairs for a valet. S’pose that’s the way of a good servant. Is there money for a new butler? Strictly speaking, no. Can we do without one?”
“Yes,” Rupert said, straightening. “We can certainly do without one. I shall put it about that since Mr. Dorcaster left you do not see the necessity of hiring a new one for what is left of the Season. That should stop any rumors.”
Pierson nodded. “What a good fellow you are, Rupert. I don’t know why you have stayed with me when I have at times been a sore trial.”
“But there are better times coming, my lord,” Rupert said, handing him his walking stick with a weary smile.
Pierson stood and nodded. “There are, old man. There are better times coming. I have a purpose now. I have seen a vision, and if I can only snatch that fair vision from heaven, I shall be a changed man.”
Rupert’s smile died just a little. “I wish you luck then.”
The Chaperone's Secret Page 11
