“My lord!” Boothby turned quite pale. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I thought I made myself quite clear,” said his lordship plaintively. “I would like to find a tailor who could prepare for me some suits such as those a solicitor might wear. I can hardly ask Weston to do that for me, can I?”
“No, sir,” said Boothby, quite sure of at least that one fact.
“Then where,” said Eynsford slowly, “might I find someone who could?”
“But my lord, why would you want a suit like a solicitor’s?” asked Boothby.
“A whim,” said the Marquess airily. “I grow tired of being a nonpareil. Perhaps I will set a new fashion.”
Boothby swallowed. “But sir, our reputation! Yours and mine both!”
Eynsford smiled. “Do not worry, Boothby, you will not suffer. Now tell me where I may find a tailor.”
“Well, my brother-in-law is a tailor, my lord. Not a Bond Street man to be sure, but he is competent and has quite a following. I am certain he could make you something suitable,” said Boothby mournfully.
“Very good. Have him come here to discuss it with me, will you? As soon as possible,” said the marquess.
“Very good, sir,” said the valet woodenly. “Is there anything else?”
The marquess was once more studying himself in the mirror. “Hmmmm?” he said. “Oh, no, I will be going out now, Boothby.”
The valet staggered from the room and repaired to the servants’ hall, where he informed his colleagues that the master had gone stark, raving mad.
Chapter 14
The Marquess of Eynsford wheeled his elegant curricle through the streets of London. He was dressed in the simplest of black coats, a plain waistcoat, and a cravat tied without pretension to fashion, much to his groom’s consternation. Even though Boothby had relayed to the other servants their master’s recent odd behavior, Chisholm had received quite a shock when Eynsford made his appearance. The groom had considered the story to be merely one of his lordship’s whims, and thought the valet was making too great a fuss. Now, from his perch behind the marquess, his countenance betrayed no emotion at all, but he privately wondered if Eynsford had run quite mad.
His lordship, in turn, was pondering what response he might receive were he to be seen by an acquaintance. He fully appreciated that the appearance of a soberly clad man of business tooling a sporting curricle with prime cattle was odd enough to attract attention, and he knew that his clothing would not long disguise a figure as well-known as his own. Nothing, however, could persuade him to be driven in a closed carriage, and it was obviously impossible to change clothes once he had arrived at his destination. If he were seen he would doubtless think of a plausible story; his known eccentricity might even obviate the need for explanation.
The best solution, however, was to avoid being noticed, and so he bowled along at a considerable rate, maneuvering the vehicle deftly in and out of the busy London traffic.
“Where are we going, my lord?” asked Chisholm.
“Kensington Gardens,” said the marquess cheerfully.
“Kensington, my lord?” asked Chisholm. The idea that his lordship had gone mad took deeper root; only dowdies lived in Kensington, and he could not imagine why they would be going there.
“Certainly,” said Eynsford. “I have an ambition to stroll about there. I grow weary of Hyde Park.”
“Weary, sir?”
“Exactly.” The marquess swung the curricle neatly about a farm wagon blocking their path. The burly driver gave them a surprised look; businessmen were seldom such neat whips, and the horseflesh between the shafts of the curricle was far beyond the touch of anyone but a nabob.
“What are you about, sir?” asked Chisholm. He had served the marquess since he was a boy, and thought little of speaking his mind.
“About, Chisholm? Simply because I choose to visit Kensington today does not mean I am about something,” observed Eynsford.
“My lord, I’ve known you since you were a lad, and if you were ever up to mischief I knew it then and I know it now. I can tell from the look on your face, much less your dressing up in strange clothes and going to strange places.”
Eynsford’s lips twitched. “I think these clothes are very respectable, as indeed are Kensington Gardens.” he said.
“Aye, but when were you ever respectable?” asked Chisholm. “You can’t fool me, my lord.”
“Perhaps my behavior is a trifle unusual, Chisholm, but it is in a very good cause. I assure you, I am doing nothing illegal or immoral.”
“That is as may be, sir,” said Chisholm, “but it hardly reflects well on your credit to be seen in such a way.”
“I had no idea that you held my reputation so dear, Chisholm. You were always wont to tell me if I grew too high in the instep, and now you are positively encouraging snobbery.”
They bowled into Kensington Gardens and the marquess drew up his horses. He waited for Chisholm to go to the horses' heads, then leapt from the carriage. He tossed the reins to his groom. “Walk ‘em,” he said. “I have no idea how long I will be.”
Chisholm stood, shaking his head, as Eynsford strode off into the park. He had no notion what game his master was playing, but felt that if the marquess thought he was going to gammon anybody into thinking he was anything but a highly-bred nobleman, he was doomed to fail. No person of the middle class walked with that assured stride or held his shoulders in quite that confident way. His lordship carried himself as though he owned the world. Chisholm spat contemplatively and began to walk the horses.
Eynsford strolled through the grounds, seeking an angelically blonde head. A turn around the park revealed nothing but some giggling schoolgirls and a young couple who looked at him guiltily as he sauntered past. But his second pass achieved its aim; he perceived Lady Morgan and her two small children at some distance, Jamie and Emily frolicking with a ball, their mother watching from a bench, a fond smile on her face, and a nursemaid hovering in attendance. Her fair hair was bound back in a severe style and her dress was still of sober black, but her eyes held a depth of happiness and calm. Phillip paused, gazing at her in admiration.
As he stared, Emily failed to catch the ball tossed by her brother, and she came running across the lawn, her ringlets flying out behind her. As providence would have it, for the marquess if not for Emily, she stumbled and went sprawling only a few feet from where Eynsford stood. Immediately she let out a wail.
Phillip, grateful for once that his sister had a large brood of children that she insisted on bringing to his country seat every summer, ran a few steps and, kneeling down, lifted Emily to her feet. Her pretty white dress was stained with grass, but she was otherwise unhurt. He found himself gazing into tearful eyes as blue as Letitia's.
“There, my girl,” he said. “I think you took no harm.”
The child's lips quivered as she stared at the strange gentleman and wondered whether to continue crying or not. The marquess fished out his watch and held it towards her, catching the sunlight on its gold surface.
“See, isn't it pretty?” he asked. The glinting piece of jewelry distracted Emily from her woes, and a smile broke out on her face as she contemplated the watch.
Letitia ran up, James close behind her, with the nursemaid trailing behind.
“Emily, are you hurt?” she asked, a nervous edge to her voice.
“I believe she is quite well, ma'am,” said Eynsford, rising to his feet. “Her dress may never be the same, but she most certainly will recover.”
Letitia kneeled down and inspected Emily hastily. The stranger's words appeared to be true, for Emily merely smiled at her and then reached chubby hands towards the watch the gentleman still held in his hand.
Letitia laughed. “You are right, sir,” she said softly. “You have succeeded in driving her fall from her mind. You must have children of your own.”
“Unfortunately I do not,” said the marquess. “But I have many nieces and nephews who enliven my e
xistence.”
“I thank you for your aid, sir,” said Letitia. “It was very kind of you to stop for a small child.”
“I am glad I could be of assistance, ma'am,” said Eynsford. There was a small pause. “I realize the circumstances are unusual, but perhaps you would allow me to introduce myself,” he continued. “I am Mr. Phillip--Markham, a solicitor in the Inner Temple, visiting a client in Kensington.”
The nursemaid gave him a look of astonished disbelief, but Letitia only smiled at him and extended her hand. “I am Lady Morgan,” she ventured. “I live here in Kensington.” She reflected that this solicitor was a remarkably handsome man. Lady Morgan had always thought of solicitors as resembling Mr. Linkwall or Mr. Askworth, Isobel's solicitor, who were elderly gentlemen. This very tall and excessively beautiful individual did not resemble them in the least. He was, however, dressed like other solicitors she had met. Naturally, she thought, there would have to be some young solicitors, for where else did the elderly ones come from?
Eynsford took her hand and smiled down at her. “My condolences on your recent bereavement,” he said, indicating her mourning dress.
“Yes, 'twas very sad,” said Letitia, feeling a pang of guilt at her lack of actual sorrow. “My husband died in a hunting accident.”
“How terrible for you,” he said.
“It has been difficult,” murmured Letitia. “But my children make me very happy.”
“Children are indeed a great blessing,” agreed his lordship.
Jamie tugged on his mother's dress and held his ball up to her.
“If you will permit me, Lady Morgan, I will play with your son. That will give you some moments to comfort your daughter,” said the marquess.
Letitia hesitated. Though Emily seemed to be little in need of comforting, James' face had lit up at the prospect of playing ball someone other than his mother and sister.
“Thank you,” she said. “That would be kind of you.”
Any of Lord Eynsford's acquaintances would have been startled to see how he conducted himself in the next few minutes. As Letitia and Emily sat on the bench and watched, the haughty tulip of the ton engaged in tossing a red ball back and forth with a sturdy youngster. Oddly enough, he found himself enjoying it, and gave James considerable advice on the correct way to hold and handle the ball. Lady Morgan looked on with pleasure, and reflected that James' own father had never given him this sort of attention. The gentleman was kind to take an interest in her son.
After a quarter of an hour the marquess detached himself from James and strolled over to where Lady Morgan sat.
“You have a delightful boy there,” he said. “A fine young man.”
Letitia beamed at him. “You are very kind, sir. I hope he will be a credit to his family.”
“I am sure he will,” said Lord Eynsford, reflecting that he could hardly help being an improvement on his father. “And now I must be going. It was very pleasant to make your acquaintance, Lady Morgan. Perhaps I will see you again here in the gardens?”
Letitia favored him with a smile. “I come here almost every day,” she said. “If you are a frequent visitor we will doubtless encounter one another again.”
“I hope that we may,” said his lordship, bowing.
After Mr. Markham had left them, Letitia had the children gather up their toys and they began to walk back to her house. As she did so she saw a curricle tool by, and it seemed to her that it was her new acquaintance at the reins. For a moment she reflected on whether it was normal for solicitors to be driving sporting carriages, but it occurred to her that they, like everybody else, needed to get about.
In the curricle Chisholm was viewing his master with a jaundiced eye.
“Did you have a pleasant stroll, my lord?” he asked.
“Certainly,” replied Eynsford. “The grounds are delightful.”
“And all you did was walk?” asked the groom.
“To be sure,” said his lordship. “What else would I be doing?”
The groom didn't respond, but pulled a sour face. There was a lady in it, no doubt, he reflected. If that was the case, then he would know about it soon enough.
Eynsford, for his part, was pleasantly bemused. He had not experienced the same emotions that he had seven years ago in Lady Wiggin’s ballroom, and yet he had found Letitia to be neither silly nor insipid. Her air of calm had been as attractive to him now as her charm had been before. And she was still incredibly beautiful, her looks only enhanced by the faint aura of tragedy that hung about her. It occurred to the marquess that Mr. Markham, who had been intended to make only one appearance in Kensington Gardens, might possibly walk there again.
Chapter 15
Over the next few weeks, to Chisholm’s dismay and Letty’s maid’s astonishment, Mr. Markham encountered Lady Morgan many times in Kensington Gardens. A friendship sprang up between them that surprised them both. The marquess, for his part, had not expected to find that Lady Morgan held his interest, for in his experience few women did.
However, before long Eynsford discovered the core of humor and determination that had caused numerous others, including Isobel, to think very highly of Letitia. He learned that she was not only possessed of charm and beauty, but also intelligence, wit, and a well-developed sense of the ridiculous. If her temper was mild, that did not mean it could not be roused, and he came to realize that she felt strongly about any number of topics.
He enjoyed asking her about Society and listening to her candid and often humorous answers; she was clearly cynical about the world from which they came. It amused him to ask her questions about people he was also acquainted with and hear her candid dissections of their characters. But, his vanity was piqued by her apparent lack of interest in him as a man.
Phillip knew that, even dressed in simple clothing and lacking his title, he cut a dashing figure. Yet while her attitude was always open and friendly, he could detect in her no hint of coquetry. She accepted him simply as Mr. Markham, a solicitor and sympathetic friend, and no more.
Letitia had not bothered to examine her feelings for Mr. Markham, for she had no reason to think of him as anything but a welcome, if unexpected, friend. She liked to seek his advice on questions that were troubling her, and she soon learned that his suggestions were sound. He was sympathetic and kind, but she also found that he had a sharp sense of humor that lightened even the most serious conversation.
The days passed pleasantly for Letitia, who managed her home, went driving with Isobel, read the latest novel by Fanny Burney, wrote several letters to friends, and, despite her fears, was not visited by the Bishop of Mainwaring. She was becoming accustomed to the daily routine of her life, enjoyed the quiet routine she had established. She realized that when her money was not constantly going into the pockets of moneylenders and gamblers due to her husband’s caprices, she was a good manager of her assets, and noted with pleasure that each week her income exceeded her expenses.
For Lord Eynsford, time lagged except when he visited Kensington Gardens. He attended Almack’s again with his long-suffering mother and danced with a number of insipid young ladies, which encouraged the rumor raging through the ton that he was hanging out for a wife. When to assuage his boredom he stood up with Lady Exencour, the gossips fostered the notion that he was planning to steal away his friend’s wife. He then visited Watier’s, where he stayed late at the gaming table, waking the next morning to discover that he had won 200 pounds and drunk far too much brandy. He rose and wandered across his luxurious bedroom to his mirror, where he surveyed himself lazily.
“You are a wastrel, Eynsford,” he informed his reflection. He rang the bell for his valet.
“The black suit, Boothby,” he said when that worthy entered.
“Excuse me, sir?” said the valet.
“You heard me. The black suit your brother-in-law made for me.”
Boothby blanched. “But sir, I understood you would not be wearing that suit again.”
“You misu
nderstood me, then. I wish to wear it today. Do not tell me that you burned it, for I did not say that you might.”
“Of course I did not burn it!” said Boothby indignantly. “I thought I might give it to the butcher.”
His lordship’s lips twitched. “You will not dispose of it. I will be wearing it in the future. I might have a second suit made, as well.”
“Another suit?” Boothby looked close to tears. “Sir, if I might--”
“You may not,” said Phillip sternly. “Now bring me the suit, and have a second made up in blue.”
Boothby retired, looking crushed, and returned shortly with the requested clothing. He helped the marquess into it, a martyred expression on his face.
Phillip inspected his appearance closely. “Admirable,” he said. “I look excessively respectable.” He turned to his valet. “Do you not think so, Boothby?”
Boothby sniffed. “Your lordship naturally looks well in anything you deign to wear,” he said.
“How forbearing of you,” Phillip responded.
Eynsford strolled downstairs, ignoring the startled eyes of his staff, and sent around to the stables for his curricle. After consuming a light breakfast and perusing the papers, he went outside, to find his carriage and groom waiting, a censorious look on the face of the latter.
“Aye, I heard you were up to your nonsense again,” said Chisholm.
“Tongues will wag,” observed his lordship. “But surely, Chisholm, you know better than to listen.”
“More than servants’ tongues will be wagging if you keep this up, my lord,” said Chisholm.
“Ah, but we are above the talk of the masses, are we not?” asked the Marquess. He laughed at the disapproving look on Chisholm’s face. “Do not fret,” he said in a kindly tone. “No harm will come of this.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Chisholm as Eynsford climbed into the carriage. “Are we going to Kensington Gardens again?” he asked.
“Of course. I found the air there particularly salubrious,” said Phillip.
An Indecent Charade: Letitia's After Dark Regency Romance Page 8
