Miss Pymbroke's Rules

by Rosemary Stevens

  His lordship’s gaze abruptly swung to the staircase. He made his bow to Louisa, smiling pleasantly. “You do not look at all tired from your journey, Mrs. Barrington.”

  Louisa determined to ignore the weakness of this compliment and set herself to flirting with Lord Carrisworth during the journey to the theater, a circumstance the marquess seemed to accept with cool equanimity.

  Verity endured the drive; her arms folded across her chest, and stared out into the dark night. It would be her responsibility to apprise her sister of his lordship’s nature. Of course, having only just arrived in Town, Louisa could not be expected to know of the marquess’s wicked ways.

  Lord Carrisworth had determined Louisa to be that most dangerous female, a widow on the prowl for a husband. He was relieved when, arriving at the Theatre Royal, he noticed his friend. Sir Ramsey. “Randy! Care to join my party? Let me make you known to these two charming ladies.”

  Sir Ramsey made an elegant bow while his puzzled gaze ran over Verity’s gown and coiffure. His hazel eyes brightened, however, when they rested on Mrs. Barrington. He offered her his arm immediately and engaged her in a conversation about her travels.

  As the marquess had hoped, Louisa recovered at once from his own lack of interest under the flattering attentions of Sir Ramsey. The two trailed behind, having to stop when Louisa discovered she had dropped her fan.

  Thus, Verity and Lord Carrisworth entered his box alone. The marquess had wisely timed their arrival after the often bawdy one-act play that usually preceded a Shakespearean tragedy.

  But he had not spared a thought for Society’s reaction to seeing London’s premier rake accompanied by such a Puritan-looking female. Quizzing glasses were raised. Opera glasses were trained on the pair. Some young bucks went so far as to stand on their chairs, hoping for a better view.

  Surely a man who had kept a string of dashing highflyers and was currently the protector of two mistresses who were twins, a four-bottle man, a man unerringly blessed with luck at Fortune’s sportive wheel and whose horses could trot against anything alive, would have no real interest in a woman like the one at his side.

  As fans fluttered and whispering reached a peak, the general consensus was the Marquess of Carrisworth was roasting them.

  Standing next to him, Verity felt miserable for the marquess. She was certain all the attention being given them was due to those dreadful lampoons circulating. Even though his lordship had brought the censure on himself, she found her tender heart touched with sympathy at his humiliation.

  She turned to him, her eyes filled with pity. “My lord, you must rise above such condemnation. You have learned your lesson, I think, and will behave more admirably in the future. I suggest, as a beginning, you send those two unfortunate French girls to a convent.”

  Chapter Four

  Laughter formed in the back of Lord Carrisworth’s throat at Miss Pymbroke’s assertions, but he suppressed it while gazing down at her earnest face. A quiet voice inside him said if she knew the truth, that it was she who was at the center of Society’s whispers, then hurt would be reflected in her brown eyes which, for the first time, were looking upon him with tenderness.

  The marquess decided he quite liked being the recipient of Miss Pymbroke’s compassion, and so he reached out a gloved hand and gave her cheek a careless pat. “Thank you. But I do not care one jot what people say.”

  Behind them, Louisa and Sir Ramsey entered the box. Lord Carrisworth saw everyone seated comfortably before sitting down himself. Louisa and Sir Ramsey glanced around the theater at the interested faces of the various notables watching their box and began a whispered conversation.

  The marquess was happy to see the widow occupied. It left him free to converse with Miss Pymbroke. “I hope you will enjoy the play. It is Romeo and Juliet.”

  Diverted, Verity turned her gaze to the stage. “I must admit, it’s one of my favorites.”

  “Ah, you are a romantic, then. Do not deny it,” he added swiftly. “It may interest you to know it was here in 1779 that Prinny first saw Mary Robinson. And, in 1791, his brother, the Duke of Clarence, met Mrs. Jordan.” He smiled seductively, leaned close to her, and murmured, “Many great love affairs have begun in this theater. Perhaps another will commence tonight.”

  Verity folded her gloved hands in her lap. “You are speaking of illicit relationships, my lord, ones not sanctioned by the laws or the church. I have no desire to converse about such immoral conduct.”

  Deliberately misunderstanding her, Lord Carrisworth said smoothly, “You have no desires? When I look into the velvet depths of your eyes, Miss Pymbroke, I find that hard to believe.”

  Those same eyes smoldered dangerously when Verity said, “Sir, you are impertinent. Our connection exists only because you are leasing my home. I would thank you to remember I am here this evening because of a promise you extracted from me, and ask you to cease these practiced compliments.”

  The marquess replied to this request with mocking gallantry. “I shall obey you in this, as in everything, my landlady.”

  As the play began, he sat back to enjoy Miss Pymbroke’s reaction.

  In the beginning, her face was set, and he imagined her mind working on the problem of reforming the actresses.

  But slowly, as the story progressed, he could tell she had been drawn into the plight of the characters. She leaned forward in her chair in rapt attention, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. During the tragic ending, when Juliet thrust the knife into herself, tears trembled on Miss Pymbroke’s long eyelashes before falling to travel down her ivory cheeks. She reached into her reticule and produced a dainty handkerchief.

  Fascinated by her refreshingly genuine response the marquess never took his gaze from her.

  They did not stay for the afterpiece, Lord Carrisworth judging it best to leave while Miss Pymbroke was still plainly moved by the performance. As they made their way toward the waiting coach, she appeared remote and distracted.

  The marquess handed Miss Pymbroke into the vehicle, watching Sir Ramsey taking a prolonged leave from Mrs. Barrington. The baronet could be seen raising the widow’s hand to his lips and kissing it for what seemed an overlong time.

  Carrisworth noted the look of disapproval on Miss Pymbroke’s lovely face. Deciding the pair had gone on long enough, he called to his friend. “Randy, will I see you at White’s later on?”

  Sir Ramsey broke away from Louisa with obvious reluctance. “I am not moving from this spot until Mrs. Barrington says she will be at the Foxworths’ breakfast tomorrow.”

  Louisa gave a practiced trill of laughter. “La, sir, I have not been invited anywhere yet.”

  “What has that to say to anything, my dear Mrs. Barrington? I daresay Lady Iris has received a card, and as her guest you must be included. Say you will go, else I shall stand in Brydges Street all night,” Sir Ramsey warned.

  Louisa cast him a coy look. “Very well, I shall attend, but only if you give me your escort. Lady Iris may have sent her regrets, and I should not like you to wait for me in vain. You might find another lady upon whom to bestow your attentions.”

  “Never!” Sir Ramsey assured her. “I shall consider it an honor to escort you and shall call for you at three.” With a final bow he turned and walked toward his own carriage, whistling a jaunty tune as he went.

  Inside Lord Carrisworth’s comfortable coach, Verity drew in her breath sharply. Louisa’s behavior was really too bad. Before long, if her sister was not careful, she would be labeled fast.

  Louisa settled in the seat next to Verity, and the coach set out over the cobblestone streets. Presently, Verity was brought out of her musings by the marquess. “Did you enjoy the play, Miss Pymbroke?” he asked quietly.

  Verity’s innate honesty forced her to be candid. “Yes, my lord. I confess it was like nothing I have ever experienced. I felt transported to another time and place. It was delightful.”

  “And would you not agree, the actresses savor their performance
s onstage? That they consider what they do an art?”

  Verity looked up to see if he was taunting her. But his face merely reflected a polite interest. “They seem proud of their profession,” she admitted. “No wonder they would not listen to my urgings for them to find another means of making their living.”

  Louisa broke her silence to ask incredulously, “You’ve been moralizing to a group of actresses? How could you be so silly, Verity?”

  Verity’s hands twisted the strings of her reticule. “Father left us for an actress ...” she whispered.

  “Lud, that wasn’t Mary Jennings’s fault. Father had his own weaknesses and made his own decisions,” Louisa stated with the air of one to whom the matter had long since been resolved.

  “Mary Jennings, was that her name?” Verity asked, the likeness painted on the miniature springing into her mind.

  “She was the one named at the time by the tattlebearers,” Louisa replied with a yawn.

  Lord Carrisworth said gently, “Miss Pymbroke, most of the actresses have no home to return to, no family capable of providing for them. And, as you saw tonight, even if they did, they would probably choose to remain where they are. Think on it and see if you can still find it in your heart to condemn them.”

  Verity experienced a gamut of perplexing emotions. Under the marquess’s steady scrutiny, she could barely think. This serious side to him caused her heart to beat hard.

  For some reason, when he spoke thoughtfully, she found his appeal much stronger. When he was clearly flirting, she found it much easier to resist his charms. This glimpse of a sincere, unaffected demeanor drew her to him, frightening her.

  She was grateful when the coach stopped in front of Lady Iris’s and could have screamed in frustration when Louisa asked his lordship to share their tea tray and the invitation was accepted.

  Entering the drawing room, the party found Lady Iris sitting on the dark blue settee, attended by the sisters’s maid, Beecham.

  Her ladyship took one look at Verity’s gown and stomped her cane on the floor so hard that Empress, curled in her mistress’s lap, awoke with a start. The cat jumped from Lady Iris’s lap to the floor, her slanted blue eyes glaring at the company in reproach for this disturbance.

  “By Jupiter, Verity, how could you have gone to the theater dressed like the lowest parson’s daughter? If you’ve taken it into your head to go about in Society—and it’s past time you did—you must be properly gowned first.”

  Verity bristled. “I would like to go out more. But, must appearances count for so much? I do not believe in improving overmuch on what the Good Lord has given me.”

  “He didn’t give you that gown,” Lady Iris howled. “You had it off some unfashionable dressmaker.”

  “Good evening, Lady Iris. Mrs. Barrington promised me a tea tray,” said Lord Carrisworth, trying to divert the elderly woman’s attention while everyone sat down.

  “Bring the damn tea tray, Beecham,” Lady Iris commanded, her gaze moving from one person to the other as if trying to fix blame for the social solecism committed by her young friend.

  As the hour was late, Louisa forgot for a moment that Verity’s appearance suited her purposes. She was goaded into saying, “You should have seen the way people laughed and stared at Mouse at the theater. I declare they all thought it was a rare joke.”

  Verity’s mouth dropped open in astonishment at the revelation it was she, and not the marquess, who had garnered the unsavory attention.

  Seeing Miss Pymbroke’s crestfallen expression, Lord Carrisworth experienced a strong desire to slap Mrs. Barrington’s face. Instead, he decided to raise Miss Pymbroke’s ire. That would at least remove that wounded look in her brown eyes, a look he was finding he could not bear.

  He raised his quizzing glass, studying the dress in question. Then he quickly dropped it, as if in disgust. “It is a perfectly horrid gown, Miss Pymbroke. Surely your year of mourning is over. You are one to follow rules. What do the rules state regarding when a lady may put off her blacks?”

  The marquess was content with the swift shadow of anger that swept across her face. She had no chance to respond to him, though, because Lady Iris had found a person she could hold responsible for her young friend’s attire.

  “Louisa, I’d have thought you, as Verity’s loving sister, would have instructed her as to how to dress, mayhaps lent her a gown.”

  Seeing the look of offended hauteur crossing Louisa’s features, Lady Iris pressed her point. “Yes, Louisa, now that I think on it, you will want to share your gowns with Verity. Beecham tells me you had four trunks’ worth of ’em for her to unpack, so you won’t care a rush about giving half of them to Verity. She can’t afford new ones and won’t allow me to help her. Of course, Beecham will have to make them over to fit her, Verity being better endowed than you, but then at your age everything begins to droop.”

  From her position on the floor, Empress miaowed in evident agreement.

  Louisa rose, her color heightened. Unable to trust herself not to tell Lady Iris exactly what she could do with her ideas she said stiffly, “I shall select some gowns for my sister in the morning.”

  Verity stood and embraced Louisa. “Thank you. You are the best of sisters.”

  Hearing this statement, Lord Carrisworth and Lady Iris exchanged apprehensive looks.

  Louisa broke away from Verity and curtsied to his lordship. “Good night, my lord.” In her haste to quit the room she nearly collided with a footman carrying the tea tray.

  Lady Iris turned her attention to the marquess. “Carrisworth, in future I expect you to request my permission to escort Verity about. I know she’s not my ward, but she’s living under my roof and needs guidance.”

  “Very well, my lady,” the marquess replied with easy grace. He accepted a cup from Verity and asked, “Do you go to the Foxworths’ tomorrow? Mrs. Barrington is being escorted by Sir Ramsey, and I should be happy to drive you as well as Lady Hyacinth and Miss Pymbroke.”

  In the act of preparing a cup for Lady Iris, Verity ground her teeth in exasperation. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but are my wishes not to be taken into account?”

  “No,” Lady Iris said baldly. Then her gruff voice softened. “It’s been over a year since your Mama was consigned to her tomb. You needn’t be covering yourself in mourning clothes or staying home for the rest of your life. You should be around people your own age, having fun. That’s what’s wrong with your generation. You’re mealy-mouthed and don’t know how to have a good time.”

  With a perfectly bland expression, Lord Carrisworth said, “How right you are, Lady Iris. Perhaps together, Miss Pymbroke and I might somehow contrive.”

  Verity frowned at the marquess, but before she could say anything, a scream pierced the air. Another quickly followed, catapulting the company up the stairs to find their source.

  The marquess was first in the upstairs hallway. He followed the sounds of the continued screeching and flung open the door from which they emanated. It was Louisa’s bedchamber, and she stood by the fireplace, white-faced with terror. In her hand, she held a heavy poker.

  Verity and Beecham arrived with a breathless Lady Iris on their heels. The trio rushed into the room full of questions. Louisa stood mute, using the poker to point toward the four-poster bed.

  Lord Carrisworth crossed the room and let out a derisive laugh. “Is this what all the wailing is about, madam?”

  The bedclothes had been turned back for the night, and on one of the pillows lay a dead mouse.

  A chuckle escaped from Beecham before she moved forward to remove the offensive sight. Lady Iris barked out a laugh, muttering about how they weren’t so missish in her day, and Verity was left to comfort her sister.

  But anger had replaced Louisa’s fear. She glanced across the room and saw Empress framed in the doorway, a triumphant expression on her feline face. “That horrible cat did this deliberately to spite me. After dinner I told it to go away and catch mice, and look what it did! It
is a nasty creature and should be kept below-stairs if not thrown out into the streets.”

  “What ... did ... you ... say?” Lady Iris demanded, glaring at the widow.

  “Oh!” Louisa cried, bursting into false tears in hopes his lordship would console her.

  Unmoved, the marquess promptly said, “I cannot abide a watering pot. I shall see myself out.” He bowed to Lady Iris, informing her he would call to escort them to the breakfast tomorrow at three.

  Raising Verity’s gloved hand to his lips, he pressed a brief kiss upon it. He stared into her flushed face for just a moment. Then he was gone.

  Lady Iris picked Empress up and slung her pet over her shoulder. The cat cast Louisa a feline grin while riding out of the room on her comfortable perch. Lady Iris’s gruff voice could barely be heard in the hall. “How about a dish of cream to wet your whiskers, Empress?”

  After Beecham had changed the pillowcase, Louisa was left alone with Verity.

  “Dear sister, let me help you into your night rail. You have suffered a shock and would be better for some rest. I am persuaded I should have asked Beecham to bring you some hot milk before I dismissed her,” Verity said, fussing with the tapes to Louisa’s gown.

  Louisa’s temper snapped. She flung Verity’s hands away. “Go away and leave me in peace, Miss Do-good. I cannot bear your moralizing now, and I can tell you are ready to launch into a sermon.”

  Verity had been ready to do just that, thinking of Louisa’s use of cosmetics, the low cut of her gown, and her bold manner with Sir Ramsey. But she shrank from the look in her sister’s eyes, contenting herself by saying, “Your nerves are overset. We shall say our prayers together and then—

  “Out!” Louisa shrieked.

  Verity hurried out, cringing when her sister slammed the door after her. She leaned against the wall, breathing deeply.

  One thought crystallized in her brain. It was her duty to guide her sister toward more virtuous ways. She might have to give up as lost her mission with the actresses. But here was someone closer to her who was important.