A Lady Compromised (The Ladies)

by Pennington, Ava

  The Marquess stopped at that moment. He stared at his friend and then his opened palm slapped the smooth top of the mahogany table at his side.

  “No!” he gasped, shocked, “By Jove, I cannot believe my former mistress would be connected with that devious conniving snake of a Rosewood!” Blackwell whistled.

  “What a perfectly ghastly pair!” his friend said in revulsion, “So if I collect what I have only just heard, Mr. Rosewood convinced Gigi to ingratiate herself to you and become your mistress, all the while planning to blackmail you into sharing the profits from the smuggling business he suspects you have and plotting to marry the now-disgraced Lady Delia, using you as her seducer!” The Earl looked positively white.

  “I think it must have been he who damaged the carriage wheels on my way to escort the Smythe-Dunstons to Heppens Hall in order to get a look at me and find out with whom he had decided to deal. Though he could not have planned the ruination of Lady Delia in quite the way it happened.”

  “Durham?”

  “Because at the time that Lady Delia was running into my bedchamber—yes—that much is true, she was in fact running away from her guardian. It was his intention to force himself upon her to ensure she would marry him. She simply had the misfortune to run into my room, which was a dashed convenient story for Rosewood to spread!

  “So she did spend the night in your chamber!”

  “Certainly not! When she discovered that the chamber was occupied, she returned to her own.”

  “I see,” said Blackwell with a half smile.

  “Don’t even think of it, Simon,” his friend replied with a scowl.

  “I will endeavor not to. But what does it mean that he cannot locate his ward? Is the girl missing?”

  “She is missing. To him,” Durham said with a sigh. “She actually was living in Charles Street and was the young lady you met at Covent Garden and was introduced to as ‘D.E. Mannering.’”

  “Mason, you must be joking!”

  “Quite so! Which is why I literally dragged her outside into the garden at the opera. She has been living in Town as a ‘female novelist,’ hiding from her guardian and writing absurd romantic manuscripts. Most recently, the incongruously successful Annabelle’s Adventures, whose heroine’s exploits bear a shocking resemblance to the story circulating the ton regarding the Lady Delia and myself.”

  Blackwell reached for the brandy.

  “I rather believe I need a drink.”

  “Pour two for me.”

  “So the Lady Delia Ellsworth is actually Freddy’s luscious Mrs. Mannering.”

  “Not Freddy’s. Mine. And she is above-stairs, here, probably having a bath, though I will not think of that. But here is where she will stay until we find a way to extricate her from Rosewood’s guardianship.”

  “What?”

  “You can hardly believe that I would permit a young woman such as Lady Delia Ellsworth to continue living, unchaperoned and unprotected, in a tiny house on Charles Street under a barely disguised pseudonym while her crazed guardian is hunting her to force her into a marriage?”

  “I admit I failed to realize you were so well acquainted.”

  “It is my fault that her reputation is in tatters. It would seem only chivalrous to do my best to repair it.”

  “You think to keep her here and thereby repair it?” the Earl shook his head. “Not one of your brightest ideas, Mason.”

  “No one will need know it is she. I plan to have a very explicit conversation with her this afternoon about how she is not to leave the house, except to stroll in the back garden until I have resolved the situation. She cannot be seen, lest she be recognized.”

  “I foresee that going well.”

  “Thank you, sir, for your vote of confidence.”

  “Mason, a young lady with enough gumption to flee to London with only a maid, hire a house and servants, and support herself by writing a novel, is not likely to take kindly to being imprisoned by you.”

  “Imprisoned? I shall be keeping her safe!”

  “She will see not view it in that manner. She will suggest she was perfectly safe in her old lodgings.”

  “Then she is a simpleton.”

  “I would advise against telling her so.” The Marquess sighed and ignored his friend. “What will you tell Freddy?”

  “Why does he need to be told anything?”

  “Because he is in love with her.”

  “I can scarcely see how that is of concern to me.”

  “But it might be to her. Have you asked if she reciprocates his devotion? In fact, that might be a rather ideal resolution to the controversy. Lady Delia can marry Freddy! She is protected from Rosewood and off your hands.”

  The Marquess’ frown deepened and a shadow crossed his face. What if she was in love with Freddy? The thought had not occurred to him. But she had agreed to accompany Freddy to Covent Garden. Ladies did not generally agree to such outings absent some small degree of regard. He ought to ask her, but he was not certain he could stomach her answer if it was yes.

  “She will not marry Freddy,” he said. “The subject is closed.”

  Lord Blackwell looked askance at his friend, but said nothing.

  “Your confidence is quite overwhelming.”

  His friend began musing aloud. “Regardless, ought I to inform Gigi of her position as my former mistress? I feel I can hardly simply disappear and forget that she was plotting to blackmail me. And Rosewood is still Lady Delia’s guardian. I will prevail upon my solicitor to evaluate the will of the late Earl to see if there are any irregularities and evaluate the matter for Rosewood’s breach of fiduciary duty. That is why I have ensconced Lady Delia in Durham House. Until these matters are resolved, she must simply stay out of sight.”

  “Indeed. I just wonder if hiding her in the middle of London as the Little Season begins is the best strategy.”

  “People will see what they expect to see. And I will not entertain until she is…until she is free from Rosewood.”

  “Let us see if there is anything else to be gained from the remainder of the letters.”

  The two men proceeded to read Gigi’s correspondence together and soon discovered that she and Rosewood had known each other for a number of years. It was not until the most recent letter that the men were able to determine it was the two of them who had been the ones responsible for the attempt to pass a ship off as one of Durham’s at his grandmother’s estate.

  The Marquess let out a low whistle, despite his growing fury. “To think, I didn’t suspect a thing the entire time I stayed at Washburn,” he said.

  “There was no reason to, Mason,” his friend responded. “You had no idea then—nor did you have any idea when you took Gigi as your mistress.”

  Durham stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. Or at least I ought to have. I was nearly not the one who selected Gigi. She chose me—and let me know it—one evening at the opera. I assumed that she had some idea of who I was and that I was between mistresses. I set her up the next day. All very easy—rather easier and less expensive than what is usually required to procure a new mistress. I ought to have been on my guard. All that time…she had been plying me for information.” Durham seemed less disturbed by Gigi’s betrayal than he was furious at the fact that he had not guessed it sooner.

  “Well, we can’t exactly collect Rosewood and deliver him up to the authorities, now, can we? We can’t risk it being known that I used grandmama’s estate for smuggling or the whole operation will be compromised. Rosewood will keep quiet because he thinks he may still benefit as well. We will simply have to find him first.”

  “It is rather a strange coincidence that Rosewood is also guardian to Lady Delia Ellsworth, ruined by none other than Rosewood, and, rather, you yourself. Do you think anything of it?”

  “I wonder, Simon, was Lady Delia cooperating with her guardian? Perhaps Rosewood sought to use Delia first, and, when that failed, sent Gigi instead?” He closed his eyes,
not liking what the thought did to his insides.

  “That seems highly unlikely. After all, Rosewood is the one who provided the gossip to destroy her. Given that he had the information and didn’t confront you with it in either an attempt to force you to marry the girl or in an attempt to blackmail you with the information to obtain information in return, it doesn’t seem as if she is likely to be part of the plot.”

  “Well, as she is here, we can certainly ask her ourselves. Though I am certain she is aware of nothing. She is so terrified of Rosewood and there is no way she would help him.”

  “Terrified?”

  “He assaulted her at Washburn Court.”

  “Assaulted!”

  “She escaped with only a bruise, but it was not a pleasant experience. Recall, it was him she was running from the night she found me in my bed.”

  “True.”

  “Well,” Simon said, rising, “I must meet today with my contacts to obtain information about these latest developments. We still don’t know how Rosewood and Gigi discovered the secret code, nor do we know how they determined that the Chateau was a base for smuggling. And you have a willful young woman to attempt to corral.”

  “I am fully convinced of my competence in this area.”

  “That’s what I find frightening. Until next time.”

  After Simon’s departure, he decided he had better visit Lady Delia to discuss her stay at Durham House. He was sure she would understand the necessity of remaining hidden.

  Chapter 22

  Lady Delia had bathed, napped, and was finishing dressing, when the maid brought a request for her to meet the Marquess in his study. She flushed a bit with nervousness, remembering their morning’s discussion of marriage and hoped he would not bring it up again. She was afraid he would pressure her and she did not wish to reveal that she would not marry him unless he loved her. Perhaps it was a silly prerequisite. After all, not many ladies were able to do as they pleased when it came to choosing a marriage partner and why should she be any different? But, tugging at her heart, was the desire that she should love her spouse. She need not marry for money as she had a fortune of her own, and she was lovely enough to attract a man who was rich enough not to require an heiress. It was a sad, but accurate assessment of the market for marriageable young ladies: bloodless and mercenary. But Lady Delia knew her options were less limited than the vast majority of young women in Britain.

  As for whether she loved the Marquess, she was certain that she did not. He made her vastly uncomfortable and was excessively bossy. But did admit that she was attracted to him. Which was different from loving him, of that she was quite certain. He would simply have to be patient—because Lady Delia had no intention of marrying without time for consideration.

  When the message came from Amelia that his lordship wished to see her, she braced herself to stay the course and refuse his respects, if he renewed them. She glanced in the mirror and noticed that while her color was high, she looked otherwise quite presentable. She wore a pale yellow morning gown of thinnest muslin, embroidered with tiny green leaves that she had ordered only a fortnight before as a present to herself now that she decided she need not wear mourning anymore.

  As she walked into the Marquess’ study, she found it as she expected: furnished with heavy, dark pieces covered in leather and piled high with paperwork. She wondered why he did not receive her in the drawing room, like a proper host. When she saw him again, cleaned up after his long night and clothed in a wrinkle-free coat of superfine wool that molded his broad shoulders, she shuddered slightly and told herself not to think about how beautiful he was.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Delia,” he said, making her a most proper bow and leading her to a comfortable chair near the tall windows with a view of the garden behind the house.

  “Good afternoon, my lord,” she replied formally, hoping that if the conversation could continue in this manner, it would do a vast deal for her scampering nerves.

  “Do you find your chambers appropriately comfortable and suitable to your needs?”

  “But of course,” she returned. “I am quite comfortable. Thank you, my lord, for proving so excellent a host. I do hope I may trouble you to ask for a sitting room where I might write without disturbing anyone?”

  “Of course,” Mason said, “But write? Do you have so many letters? I rather thought you were in hiding.”

  “Not letters, my lord, but my novel. I must finish it before the twenty-second. It is due to the publisher on that date.”

  “Certainly you are not proposing to draft a second work of romantic fiction?”

  “I do indeed! How else am I suppose to support myself—“ and at the Marquess’ wave of a hand, she continued, “And even if I am able to gain control of my own fortune, I rather enjoy it. A lady should have an occupation to keep her busy.”

  The Marquess laughed and asked, “Do you intend to take up study of the law also? Opera singing?”

  “Do not be flippant, my lord. I do not intend to sit about and spend hours with a modiste or having my hair done. I should go quite mad.”

  “In that case, since ordering clothing and having one’s hair dressed seems to imply a level of social interaction that is not quite safe for you at this point, I must approve of your literary ambitions.”

  “It’s not as if they require your approval.”

  “Lady Delia, I do not suggest they would, only that I am pleased to assist you in any way.”

  “Excellent. In that case, I shall need to procure plenty of paper and a good fountain pen, as well as a small writing desk. Preferably, near a window. I have a short list of things I will also be needing, if I am to stay in your home, even as a refugee, until the matter of my guardianship has been sorted out.”

  “If you would provide me with this list, I should be happy to arrange for the necessary purchases.”

  “Oh no, I could not let you procure them. I much prefer to buy them myself. It will do me good to get out of the house.”

  “My dear Lady Delia, it will not be possible for you to leave the house while you are enjoying my hospitality because you simply cannot be seen. Not only can you not be seen coming and going from my residence, you must avoid being seen about this area of London. It’s not a little out of the way place like Charles Street—why, you might be recognized. Finally, it is not safe. Your purported guardian has designs upon your person.”

  “What on earth is that to mean? Designs upon my person? Have you spoken with him?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I am in possession of various items of his correspondence and it is clear from these letters that he intends to compromise you in order to marry you and gain your fortune.”

  “He wrote this in a letter to you?” Lord Durham squirmed. He had hoped it would not come to this.

  “Not me, precisely.”

  “You pilfered his personal letters while at Washburn Court!”

  “Certainly not. The truth is—your guardian has a relationship of which I was unaware. A relationship with a person I know, to whom he confided these matters.”

  “And who might this person be? How am I to be sure that you are not the person for whom they are intended? I may point out that you are the person he suggested was responsible for my ruination?”

  “Delia, you have my word.”

  “Your word?”

  “Must I be satisfied with this?”

  “You must, at this time.”

  “I dislike these secrets, Mason,” she said, slipping into the use of his first name at her confusion and discomfort. He was at her side in an instant and took her hand.

  “My dear Delia—“

  “Do not condescend to me,” she begged, her eyes on his face. “Whatever is going on?”

  Unable to help himself, he pulled her onto his lap in the chair. She gasped but he held her close, one arm around her waist and with another he took her hand.

  “You need not worry—only trust that I can protect you as long as you remain in
this house. I intend to discover how Rosewood was able to induce your father to draft guardianship provisions so conveniently in his favor and why he has been in correspondence with this—acquaintance—of mine, and for what. I only want you to know that you are safe here and you must trust me. I can and will explain everything to you as soon as I know anything. But at this point, I do not know enough.”

  “Why not tell me everything now?”

  “Because part of what I must tell you is my own fault. And I mean to repair the damage I have done through my own stupidity before I reveal it to you.”

  Delia looked decidedly displeased and then decided not to rise to the bait.

  “You are a silly, vain man and because of your vanity, will not apprise me of a mistake you have made that puts me in danger. That sounds exceptionally clever,” she said, lightly pushing against his shoulder with her gentle, tapered fingers.

  “I’m pleased you are able to think as ill of me as if I had revealed my mistake,” Mason replied, taking her hand and lightly kissing the tips of her fingers. She shivered.

  “I will think of you as I please, particularly if it is bad,” she said. “Just as I shall not forgive you for forcing me into that shocking nightgown last night.”

  “Do not speak of that!” growled Mason. “I cannot be responsible for my actions if I begin to think of you in that ridiculous negligee. And now it’s too late,” he said.

  He moved a hand to her shoulder to trace the delicate line of her collarbone to her chin, which he lifted to kiss her lips. His mouth was soft but firm and as she kissed him, the strange feeling deep in her belly began to flower again and she made a little moan as she opened her mouth. At that, the Marquess deepened his kiss and ran a hand down her leg to the bottom of her skirts, which he lifted as he brought his fingertips slowly up the inside of her calf to her knee. Her stockings were tied just below the knee and as his warm fingers touched the bare flesh, she jumped slightly but relaxed into his chest as he moved her knees apart.