MISS PYMBROKE’S RULES
Rosemary Stevens
Chapter One
“I make it a rule never to fancy myself in love,” Miss Verity Pymbroke stated matter-of-factly in response to Lady Iris’s odious suggestion that she marry. With unshakable composure, she raised her cup to her lips and took a sip of hot tea.
Seated next to each other on a dark blue satin settee opposite Verity were two older ladies, immediately recognizable as sisters, though their appearances differed.
Lady Iris was outfitted in the fashion popular in her youth, complete with powdered white wig, white paint, highly rouged cheeks, and a small black patch by the corner of her lined mouth. Other than this eccentricity of dress, Lady Iris was a pattern of practicality compared with her sister, Lady Hyacinth,
That lady, often concerned overmuch with her health, sat wrapped in a mound of heavy shawls, which served as protection against an imaginary chill in the room. She appeared much shocked at her young friend’s proclamation. “Verity, dear, how can you say such a thing? The gentlemen are so attractive. We females are helpless against their appeal and cannot resist falling in love with them. Why, I recall many occasions in the past where my genteel upbringing battled with my lustful passion for the gentlemen. The lure of love always prevailed, I assure you.”
Embarrassed by this bold assertion, Verity nevertheless found herself suppressing a smile. She suspected Lady Hyacinth’s amorous adventures were products solely of the lady’s imagination, but kept her own counsel on the subject out of respect for her kindly, if fanciful, neighbor.
Had Verity believed for a moment Lady Hyacinth’s past had been one-tenth as lascivious as the lady declared, she would have been appalled.
“I have yet to meet a gentleman who could sway me from my convictions of what is proper behavior for a lady,” Verity responded piously.
Lady Hyacinth absently raised a hand to her head and patted a red curl of a hue unknown to nature. “I confess I cannot understand you, dear child. Furthermore, it appears to me that what Iris has suggested is the only possible solution to your difficulties. There is no way other than marriage for a lady of good birth to be comfortable in the world, unless she has financial independence, which you do not.”
Unable to remain silent any longer, Lady Iris rapped her cane on the floor, causing the teacups on the table to rattle ominously. She barked, “Ye gods, Verity, I said you should marry, not fall in love. And as for pretending the two go together, I say stuff and nonsense! Don’t let Hyacinth put her wishful notions in your sensible head. I was married for thirty years, and I tell you I doubt I saw my husband above twice a twelve-month. It was an arrangement that suited us both. Can’t even remember his face, now that he’s been buried, tombed, and grassed over these eighteen years past.”
Turning her head to glare at her sister. Lady Iris continued with the outspokenness admired in her generation. “What do you know of marriage, Hyacinth? I take leave to point out you’ve never been married, and you’re perfectly content, aren’t you?”
Lady Hyacinth promptly clasped her hands to her ample bosom in a gesture of distress, her lined face a picture of anguish. Her sister’s thoughtless reminder that she remained a spinster at the rather advanced age of two and sixty was like a knife wound to her romantical heart.
Gasping for breath, Lady Hyacinth managed to utter, “Oh, I am having palpitations. Merciful heavens, how cruel you are, Iris.”
Alarmed, Verity set her teacup down and rushed to Lady Hyacinth’s side. She reached over and picked up a vinaigrette from a small table next to the settee and offered it to the older woman. “Oh, please, calm yourself. I know your sister did not mean to hurt your feelings.”
At this statement, Lady Hyacinth made a sudden, remarkable recovery and glowered around Verity at Lady Iris. Her voice took on a superior tone when she said, “You know I could have married anytime I pleased, Iris, but I could not settle on just one gentleman. Now that my health is so uncertain and I must remain here . . . well, I daresay it suits you since you desire company and the only gentleman who ever looked at you was that fusty old man you married because no one else would have you.”
“Damn your eyes!” Lady Iris shouted, raising her cane above her head as if to strike her sister.
Lady Hyacinth, having successfully goaded her and knowing full well Lady Iris would never harm her, assumed a triumphant expression at her sister’s display of anger.
“Ladies!” Verity exclaimed. She edged her way to sit between the two women on the settee and grasped a hand of each—one plump and one thin. “Do I need to remind you of the importance of a harmonious relationship among one’s family members?”
Lady Iris rolled her eyes.
Lady Hyacinth sighed with resignation.
Both sensed one of Verity’s high-minded sermons on “Treating One Another As You Wish To Be Treated Yourself” coming on. They knew once Verity got started on what she considered to be her “moral duty,” little could stop her.
Verity stood up and turned to face the ladies. She threw back her head in a noble posture and lectured. “Each of you needs the other above anyone in this world. You must value your connection and not allow petty feelings of jealousy or competition to loosen family bonds. How I miss my own dear sister, Louisa.”
Distracted momentarily from her purpose, Verity’s gaze turned toward the sunlight shining in through the tall windows of the drawing room. Her voice took on a wistful tone. “I have written Louisa several letters begging her to come home from Portugal. Her heart must yearn for the consolation that only a sister could give her during her time of grief.”
Lady Iris seized the opportunity of Verity’s digression to return the conversation to her young friend’s plight. “It’s been two years now since Louisa lost her husband in the war, and she still hasn’t torn herself away from all those soldiers to see how you fared. Not even when your mother, God rest her soul, passed away last spring. Verity, you’ve got to stop thinking Louisa will come home and share your financial difficulties.”
“Yes, Verity dear,” Lady Hyacinth said with something like a sniff. “Take it from one who knows. Having to rely upon a sister for one’s bread can he lowering for a delicate constitution.”
Lady Iris scowled at Lady Hyacinth. “Hmph. It hasn’t kept you from eating Cook’s scones. And as for your stomach being fragile, I say fustian. I never knew anyone who could pack away the food—”
Lady Hyacinth interrupted her, saying hotly, “If you knew anything at all about current fashions. Iris, you’d know the Regent himself prefers plump ladies.”
Verity experienced a moment’s worry that the sisters were working themselves up to another quarrel.
But Lady Iris refused to give her sister the satisfaction of reacting to her taunt and instead directed her attention to Verity. “If you do not contemplate marriage, then according to the intelligence your man of business imparted this morning, you will shortly be under the hatches.”
Verity could not repress a shudder at the truth of these words. She sighed heavily. Although he did not stir any romantic feelings in her, there was one man she might marry.
If only her friend, Mr. Cecil Sedgewick, would propose, she mused. She could easily envision a life spent with that worthy gentleman.
They would devote their days to good works. Evenings would be spent quietly conversing by the fire. They would be content to grow old together, and Verity need never fear the life her mother had endured married to a despicable rake.
Absent from their lives for many years, her father had returned from a dalliance in France only to further betray his wife. This brought on a decline that eventually led to her death last year, allowing her wayward husband to retu
rn to the continent sans a care for his daughter.
Alas, Mr. Sedgewick had never mentioned marriage. No doubt, Verity decided, his mind was far above it. He devoted his time to expounding on moral purity hoping to impress the bishop, for he earnestly hoped the bishop would award him a position.
What Verity didn’t realize was the deep hurt inside her caused by her father’s careless treatment of his family had put a fear in her of all gentlemen. This fear took the form of a moralizing and prudish nature in a previously outgoing and cheerful child.
Picking up her reticule, Verity spoke in a low voice, “Yes, you are right, my lady. If you will excuse me, I must go home. I shall work in my rose garden and try to think of a way out of my difficulties.”
Lady Iris had been watching the play of expressions across the young girl’s face. She rose to place her veined hand on Verity’s arm. “Stay a moment, gel. I have another idea.”
Lady Hyacinth stood as well, and she and Verity looked at Lady Iris expectantly.
Lady Iris took a deep breath and began. “I’ve thought of a plan that will benefit us all. I have heard how difficult it is to lease a house for the Season, especially now when it’s already March. And a house at a desirable address, which South Audley Street most certainly is, would fetch a prodigious sum. Verity, you must hire your townhouse out for the Season. You may come and live with Hyacinth and me.”
Lady Iris saw the protest rising to Verity’s lips, and she squeezed the girl’s arm gently. “Wait, before you say a word. I know your rule about accepting charity, but pray, listen a moment.”
Cleverly, Lady Iris appealed to Verity’s righteous nature. “You will be helping us, as well as yourself, because we shall expect you to pay us a small amount for living here. And Miss Woolcott may return to the country as she has wished to do this age.”
Verity’s brows had drawn together in consternation at Lady Iris’s scheme, but at the mention of a way she could not only help her two friends, but could please her old governess too, her countenance lightened. “It may answer.”
Lady Hyacinth gasped aloud. “Oh, do say yes, dear Verity. While it is most pleasant having you reside next door, why, to be in the same house shall be the coziest thing imaginable. Besides, think of the money you will have even after you pay us part of the leasing income. And I assure you that any sum you give us will be most welcome. Iris can be somewhat of a spendthrift, leaving me in doubt sometimes whether I shall be able to pay for my patent medicines. That awful man at the apothecary has refused me any further credit—”
“Enough, Hyacinth!” Lady Iris commanded her sister. Glancing sidelong at Verity, she said, “Naturally, if you feel you could not bring yourself to reside, even just for the Season, with two cantankerous old women like Hyacinth and me, we’ll understand.”
Verity gave each lady a quick hug. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would adore staying with you. You must know how much I rely on your kindness and friendship.”
Both older ladies beamed.
“But where will we find a respectable family to lease the house?” Verity asked doubtfully.
“You leave that to me,” Lady Iris said, leading her to the front door. “We may not find a family but perhaps a lady and her companion, or even, er, a gentleman.”
Verity whirled around to state firmly, “I must make it a rule that whoever it is be of a virtuous mind.”
“As you wish, Verity,” Lady Iris said with unaccustomed meekness just before closing the door on her young friend.
“This is so exciting,” Lady Hyacinth declared, rubbing her hands together. “I must go upstairs and decide on a bedchamber for Verity so the maids can begin airing it at once. You cannot know how devastating dust can be to one’s respiratory system.”
Lady Hyacinth trailed up the stairs in her bundle of shawls, leaving Lady Iris to return to the drawing room.
Out from under the settee a beautiful silver-gray cat emerged, blinking her slanted blue eyes at the increased light. Around the top of her head was a ring of pure white fur, giving the impression of a crown. She placed her front paws forward and indulged her fluffy, long-haired body in a good stretch.
“Well, Empress, she’s agreed to my plan ... or what she knows of it,” Lady Iris said, arranging herself on the settee.
The cat wound sinuously against the lady’s skirts.
Reaching for a saucer and the cream, Lady Iris poured a tiny amount of the rich liquid for the purring cat and placed it on the floor.
“Now all that needs to be done is to convince Carrisworth to move out of his house and into Verity’s. A small task, indeed,” Lady Iris stated, sarcasm lacing her gruff voice.
Having devoured the cream, Empress began the dainty task of washing. Licking her paw thoroughly, she used it to clean around her whisker pad.
“After that,” Lady Iris said with a yawn, “it will be simple enough to bring the two around to my way of thinking. Verity needs someone like my cousin’s grandson. A man who’ll keep her from being so serious. And Carrisworth ….”
Lady Iris leaned back to rest her bewigged head on the back of the settee and paused in her strategizing to consider his lordship. “Let us just say that many a rapscallion has been brought to mend his ways by the love of the right lady. Yes, the two will balance each other agreeably, Empress.”
The cat paused in her ministrations to gaze at her mistress with an oddly thoughtful look.
“But how do I wrest Carrisworth from his home? ’Tis a puzzle,” Lady Iris muttered before drifting off into a light sleep.
Empress took a last glance at the slumbering lady before she slipped through an open window and escaped into the Mayfair streets.
* * * *
Later that night over in Mount Street, Peregrine Rolf, the seventh Marquess of Carrisworth, was entertaining guests. The occasion was his thirtieth birthday. His town-house overflowed with all manner of persons, whose greatest common interests appeared to be a love of strong drink and the pursuit of pleasure.
Damsels of the Fashionable Impure, fueled by free-flowing champagne, and scores of drunken young bucks evoked an atmosphere that would make a Cyprian’s ball seem like a church meeting.
Although his neighbors were long used to his lordship’s fondness for parties, even they had closed their windows and drawn their curtains against the raucous noise and indecent sights.
“By Jove, I would have wagered a monkey this was to be a quiet celebration, Perry,” Sir Ramsey “Randy” Bertrand goaded his friend. “Perhaps a simple party of three.”
Lord Carrisworth, rather the worse for copious glasses of champagne, lounged in a striped chair. He languidly raised his quizzing glass to study a passing female whose gown had fallen from her shoulders, leaving her charms blatantly displayed.
His lips spread in a devilish grin before he responded to Sir Ramsey. “Have you been visiting the print shops in Bond Street, Randy?”
“No need to. The caricatures of you and the twins are all over town. You cannot be surprised. Even you have to admit putting Monique and Dominique under your protection was bound to set tongues running on wheels.”
Lord Carrisworth raised one dark eyebrow. “Being a gentleman, I admit nothing.”
“A gentleman? That’s rich.” Sir Ramsey let out a shout of laughter.
The marquess joined him in his mirth. But what Perry was really not admitting, not even to Randy, was the exact nature of his relationship with the twins.
Monique and Dominique had taken the theater by storm one month earlier upon their arrival from France. Sixteen-year-old identical twins with golden blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, and luscious figures, their innocence had immediately captured the interest of Lord Armstrong and Lord Davenport, aging lechers with large purses. The two lords had argued loudly at the clubs as to which gentleman would have which of the girls first.
Listening in disgust, Perry had not been able to bear the thought of the young girls being used by the smelly old rogues. In a show of altruism tha
t shocked even himself, he had promptly made them both a very generous offer, which was quickly accepted, and established them in a house in Half Moon Street.
He then sat back to savor the resulting outrage amongst the ton. What he had not done was anything more than keep up the pretense that they were his mistresses by escorting the girls to the Park or the Opera. The reality was that he considered them no more than tiresome children.
Sir Ramsey tossed off another glass of champagne. “Where are the fair charmers this evening?”
Waving a manicured hand in a careless gesture, Carrisworth replied, “I have given my servants the night off, so I shall no doubt call upon the twins later to, er, help me out of this tight-fitting coat.”
More masculine laughter followed this pronouncement.
Neither gentleman noticed when the silver-gray cat hurried past the entryway of the drawing room.
Empress eased her way into the deserted kitchens. No tantalizing smells were in the air. No cook was bustling about, ready to stop her work for a moment to hand the pretty kitty a treat.
The cat made her way over to where the scullery maid usually slept on a straw mat in the corner. The girl’s absence left Empress without anyone to pull a string or an old ribbon across the floor in a much-loved game of chase.
Her whiskers turned down, Empress left the kitchen to stalk off into a deserted anteroom. A single branch of candles, placed on a table by the window, provided a soft glow of light. The cat crossed the room and hopped up onto the table. Placing one dainty foot in front of the other, she padded across the smooth wood surface.
Unfortunately for the marquess, the branch of candles was placed perilously close to the edge of the table near the draperies. A flick of the cat’s tail sent the candles to the floor.
It took mere minutes for the flames to spread.
At the first cries of “Fire!” the Marquess of Carrisworth instantly sobered. His shouted instructions for everyone not to panic went unheeded as people scrambled for the stairs leading to the hall.
Miss Pymbroke's Rules Page 1
