by Joan Smith
“Then you are not seeking my advice regarding a place to stay, or an introduction to the ton.”
“No. We had planned to leave today actually.”
“Ah, you have come to say good-bye,” he said. This was marginally better than not saying goodbye. At least they were paying some token homage to the head of the extended family. “It would have been more useful had you come to me when you arrived. Another time ...”
“I doubt there will be another time. It is this time that I need your advice, Cousin,” Samantha said, and opened her budget to Lord Salverton. It did not occur to her to attempt any tampering with the truth. She told her tale frankly, in words with no bark on them.
He listened as one in a trance as she spoke of lightskirts and gudgeons and Johnnie Raws and take-ins. It sounded like bad fiction to this upright lord, that a pair of adults could behave so foolishly as the Oakleighs had.
Yet he could not condemn them entirely. Her story called up painful memories of another misspent youth. She spoke of visits to Vauxhall and Astley’s Circus, of shopping and tours of Exeter Exchange, all, apparently, in the company of some female called Wanda Claridge. That Salverton was unfamiliar with the name told him the woman was unknown to society.
When she was finished with her story, he said only, “Why didn’t you make your bows like a lady instead of capering about town like a hoyden?”
“Good gracious, Edward, I am not on the catch for a parti. I am hardly a deb! I am well past that!”
Lord Salverton found room in his mind for displeasure at her usurping his Christian name without permission. “My friends call me Salverton,” he said through thin lips. “My relations more usually call me Cousin Edward. Am I to understand you have already chosen a parti, Cousin? Would I know the gentleman?”
“I am not engaged, though I have not entirely given up the notion of marrying when Darren brings home a bride. And that is why I came to you. I fear Darren has been caught by Wanda. Aunt Donaldson thinks she has shanghaied him off to Gretna Green, but I think they have gone to Brighton.”
“To be married?” he asked in alarm. Darren Oakleigh had inherited Drumquin upon his papa’s death. A handsome estate of seventy-five hundred acres, and a good income. Salverton had mentally assigned him to his cousin, Aurora Semple, who would make her bows in two years’ time.
“Well, I am not so sure it is marriage they have in mind.”
Salverton was somewhat reassured by this. “If it is only an—er—affair,” he said, “I trust he will be discreet.”
“He won’t have much to say about it. Wanda leads him around by the halter, and she doesn’t know the meaning of the word discreet. The thing is, Cousin, they took some money that didn’t belong to them, though I don’t believe for one moment that Darren knew that. I wager Wanda told him Sir Geoffrey owed her the thousand pounds. She was Sir Geoffrey’s chère amie as it turns out, only, of course, none of us had any notion of it.”
Salverton listened, dumbfounded.
“The story she told us,” Samantha continued, “was that he was her cousin, and trying to force her into marriage. But Miss Burridge, who lives in the flat above Aunt Talbot, who lent us her place on Upper Grosvenor Square, you know, says Sir Geoffrey is already married. Miss Burridge is a regular Jeremiah. She would paint the Archbishop of Canterbury black if she could, but as it turns out, it is no more than the truth about Sir Geoffrey. He says the money was stolen, in any case. He reported it to Bow Street. We had a call from a Mr. Townsend, which is why I came to you for advice.”
Lord Salverton’s face turned from tan to rosy red, then faded to something very like the color of a slug as this tale unfolded. An Oakleigh, kin to the Marquess of Salverton, being sought for theft! Capering about the countryside with a known harlot, and possibly in danger of marrying her, bringing her into the family!
This would have been enough to induce an apoplexy in his lordship at the best of times. This present May was the worst of times for such news. Not only was he on the verge of offering his hand and title (though perhaps not his heart) to Lady Louise St. John, eldest and best-dowered daughter of the Duke of Derwent; of equal importance, after long years of service he was being considered for elevation to the Tory Cabinet. The worst possible time for a scandal!
“Why the devil didn’t you come to me sooner!” he said in a voice several tones higher than usually heard under Salverton’s noble roof. He didn’t notice the strength of his voice, but the word “devil” struck his ear amiss. It was not one he approved of in others, and certainly not in himself, especially in front of a lady. Even a lady wearing coquelicot ribbons.
“We came to London to have a good time. Some fun, you know. There seemed no point in contacting you.”
The worst of this facer was that she didn’t even mean it as an insult. Salverton swallowed his ire and said in his most laconic accents, “Our views on what constitutes a good time do appear to be at odds. I could not have introduced you to lightskirts, to be sure. But there is no point crying over spilled milk. What have you done about Darren’s situation? Of course you’ve hired a lawyer.”
“I never thought of that,” she said, blinking her big blue eyes in surprise. “We never had anything to do with the law before, you see, except to bail out our coachman when he was drunk as a Dane and drove into the Shaws’ back porch, which is why we came to you. Whom would you recommend, Cousin?” she asked in a frightened voice that he felt suitable to the occasion.
“I’ll send a note off to my man, Withers.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he began to have second thoughts. To be taking the case to court was as good as announcing it in the journals. There might still be some way to wrap up the dirty linen. Sir Geoffrey might be induced to drop the case if the thousand pounds were returned, and perhaps some small political perquisite thrown in to ensure his silence.
“Would you mind speaking to him for me?” she asked. “I feel my best chance of finding Darren is Brighton. I am eager to be off.”
“Why Brighton?” he asked in trepidation. The half of polite London would be flocking to Brighton as soon as the Season closed.
“Because Wanda had a bathing costume made up."
Salverton waited for the significance of this. “Yes?”
“She would have no need of that in London, so I am sure she went to Brighton, and I have a fair idea where she is staying. Sir Geoffrey used to take her to a cottage he owns there, just outside of town. To visit his mama, she said. She had a key to the cottage.”
“Trespassing on top of all the rest!”
“Or they might be at a hotel. Miss Donaldson thinks so, but I am not so sure Wanda would waste the blunt. She is pretty tight-fisted when it is her own money. Or, in this case, Sir Geoffrey’s. I paid for everything when I was out with her a few times without Darren. It was only two ices and the fare for a hackney cab, but she never opened her purse. You would think it was welded shut,” she said with an air of grievance.
Salverton listened with a frown pleating his brow. “By all means, go to Brighton. Find Darren and drag him back to town. Meanwhile, I shall have a word with Withers.”
“The problem is,” she said, “we gave Darren all our money. If you could lend me a few guineas to take the coach, naturally I shall repay you.”
“The coach! You can’t travel on the coach. Take your carriage.”
“Darren took it as well,” she said, and shrugged her shoulders.
“Good God! Is there no end to his folly, leaving you and Miss Donaldson stranded, penniless, away from home. I’ll lend you some money. Be sure you take a couple of footmen with you.”
Samantha uttered a weary sigh. “We dispatched them this morning. We were to go home today, you see.”
“I’ll send a few of my men with you and Miss Donaldson.”
“Auntie won’t be coming. Someone must stay here in case Darren shows up.”
Salverton sat, shaking his head in disbelief. It was becoming increasingl
y clear that the whole bunch of them were not only green as grass, but mad as well. The chit couldn’t go alone, and he had no wish to drag any of his other female relatives into the business. He trembled to think what new folly his cousin would stumble into if he let the girl go scrambling off to Brighton alone in a public conveyance in that garish bonnet. There was nothing else to do. He would have to go with her and make sure the matter was contained within the family.
It would mean missing Louise’s dinner party, but he had cautioned her he would have to leave early, so he could say an emergency meeting had been called. Salverton considered himself an honest man, but even his strict code found room for a social lie. It would spare Louise worry. He would be home to take her to the opera tomorrow night, and for her ball the next evening. He couldn’t miss that ball. If all went well, the Duke of Derwent would announce the betrothal of his eldest daughter to the Marquess of Salverton.
"I’ll go with you,” Salverton said in a voice more resigned than eager.
Samantha leapt to her feet as if he had struck her. “Oh, no! I would not dream of putting you to so much bother, Cousin. Just lend me a few guineas.”
“No female cousin of mine is going alone on the coach to a strange city. You can’t stay alone overnight in a hotel.”
“But I can hardly stay with you in a hotel,” she pointed out reasonably.
“You are my young cousin. I am your ad hoc guardian for this occasion,” he said, but a pink flush crept up from his collar. What would Louise say if she ever heard of this?
“In any case, we shan’t be staying overnight. We’ll take my carriage, find Darren, haul him back, and arrange matters with Bayne. We’ll be back by morning. I have a few notes to write before leaving. I was just working on this budget report for the prime minister. It is due this week.”
“The prime minister! Really!” she exclaimed, showing the proper degree of awe.
“Lord Liverpool counts on me to a considerable extent,” he said as modestly as the words allowed. When she just smiled, he added, “You might as well remove your pelisse. This will take a few moments.”
While Samantha did not relish spending so many hours in Salverton’s company, she knew his carriage would be preferable to the coach. And it would be well to have a gentleman with her, too, for finding Darren and Wanda might require a deal of legwork. She took off her cape and spread it over the back of her chair.
“It is very kind of you, Cousin,” she said. “I meant only to ask your advice, and perhaps borrow a little money. Miss Donaldson said you would know what to do, and I see she was right.”
Salverton smiled at this sensible speech. It was at this point that he noticed his cousin was remarkably well preserved for a lady in her twenties. In fact, she was prettier than she had been five years before, at Celine’s wedding. A late bloomer. Her figure, especially, had blossomed remarkably. He couldn’t remember her having such full, lush breasts before. The face was also pretty, but he would ask her to change her bonnet before leaving.
He rang for his butler and called for his traveling carriage. This done, he drew out a sheet of crested vellum and began to write. Samantha sat and watched him as his pen made bold strokes across the page.
“Who is Louise?” she asked.
His head rose and his steely eyes stared at her. “Is it the custom in Milford for a lady to read a gentleman’s private correspondence?” he asked sarcastically.
“I was not reading the letter, Cousin! Only the name. Good gracious, don’t tell me she is a lightskirt!” she exclaimed.
His gray eyes turned a shade darker. “Certainly not! She is the eldest daughter of the Duke of Derwent, if you must know.”
“Is she your sweetheart?” the incorrigible lady asked.
“I hope to marry her.”
“Is she pretty?”
“She is considered tolerably handsome.”
“Oh, a marriage of convenience,” Samantha said. “Of course. I should have guessed.”
Salverton’s jaw quivered in indignation.
She immediately lost interest in the letter and amused herself by opening her reticule and stacking up her shillings and pence on the edge of his desk to facilitate counting them.
As Salverton applied a wafer to seal his letter, the butler came to tell him his carriage was waiting.
Salverton and Samantha went out to a handsome black, crested carriage drawn by a team of four high-stepping bays.
“We shall be there in no time,” Samantha said, admiring the team.
Salverton held the door while she scampered in. “First we shall stop and have a word with Miss Donaldson, while you change your bonnet,” he said.
“Miss Donaldson knows I shall be going to Brighton,” Samantha replied, fingering the velvet squabs of the carriage and running her eye over the glitter of what was probably silver appointments. “I brought my bandbox with me.”
“You will want to change your bonnet, in any case.”
“The servants have gone on ahead to Drumquin with most of our trunks,” she said, although she had, in fact, kept another bonnet behind, as this one was considered too fine to subject to the long journey home. “You don’t seem to realize, Cousin, speed is of the essence if we hope to keep Darren out of Newgate.”
Jail! He could almost hear the door clang, and the death knell of his own aspirations. Salverton was perfectly alive to the urgency of the matter and decided no one who mattered would see the garish bonnet.
“Spring ‘em, Foley,” he called to his coachman, and the carriage lurched into motion.
Chapter Three
The first glimmering that this trip was not to go as smoothly as Salverton hoped occurred before they got out of London. In fact, it was at the corner of Piccadilly that Lord Carnford, a fellow Tory and colleague, recognized Salverton’s carriage and signaled his coachman to stop.
Salverton uttered a mild profanity, apologized, and said to Samantha, “Sit in the shadows and don’t speak.”
Samantha crouched in the farthest corner as Carnford hopped out of his carriage and advanced to the window of Salverton’s rig. Before nightfall, even the darkest corner was not very dark, however, so she turned her head aside, hoping to conceal her face by her bonnet.
“Glad I bumped into you, Salverton,” Carnford said. “I wonder if you would mind delivering my apologies to his grace. I was to dine at Derwent House this evening, but I have had a frantic note from my aunt Hettie. It seems her husband has suffered a stroke—died this afternoon. She needs me to handle the arrangements for her. Derwent will understand. I wrote my apologies, of course, but did not take time to give a reason.”
“I’m very sorry to hear of your trouble, Carnford, but it happens I had to cancel the dinner party myself.”
“Indeed?” Carnford waited, fully expecting to hear a tragedy outpacing his own, for he knew Salverton would not willingly offend the duke.
“A family emergency,” Salverton said briefly.
Carnford’s sharp eyes strayed over his friend’s shoulder to the fetching blond lady trying to hide in the corner. His jaw fell an inch. “Ah, just so,” he said in a high, disbelieving voice. Salverton with a lightskirt! He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen her with his own eyes. Lord Salty was back to his old tricks! A reckless grin formed on his lips and he said in a low, insinuating voice, “Mum's the word, old chap.”
Salverton replied coolly, “This is my cousin, Miss Oakleigh, from Drumquin.” Samantha pulled herself farther into the corner, trying to disappear. “Don’t you want to meet Lord Carnford, Cousin,” Salverton said grimly.
“I am certainly eager to meet your cousin,” Carnford leered.
Samantha leaned forward and smiled. The setting sun shone on her garish bonnet, and illuminated her pretty face, with a few wayward curls slipping over her cheeks. “Ever so pleased to meet you, milord,” she said with an uncomfortable smile.
“The pleasure is mutual, Miss Oakleigh,” Carnford said, and went, laughing, to
his carriage.
Salverton turned on his cousin in wrath. “Ever so pleased to meet you!” he exploded. “Where the devil did you pick up that ill-bred phrase? You sounded like a lightskirt.” In his overwrought condition he failed to notice he had used improper language again.
“I daresay I had it of Wanda,” she said in a small voice. “All her friends say it. I thought it was the smart, London way of greeting, and didn’t want your friend to think me a flat. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Cousin.”
“Embarrassment doesn’t begin to cover it. In future, pray use proper English if we meet anyone else.”
“Would you like me to sit on the floor?” she asked. “I could pull this blanket over my—”
“Certainly not! Damn Carnford and his long nose!”
He jerked the drawstring and the carriage proceeded on its way. Salverton comforted himself that at least Carnford wasn’t going to the duke’s house that evening. By tomorrow he would be back himself to explain the matter to Louise.
“Did he think I was a lightskirt?” Samantha asked.
“Yes. No! No, of course not. You shouldn’t say—you shouldn’t even know about such things.”
“I am two and twenty, Cousin. And I think he did take me for your bit of muslin. As your match with Lady Louise is a marriage of convenience, surely it is not unusual that you should have a woman on the side.”
“It is not a marriage of convenience!”
“You called her tolerably handsome. A man in love doesn’t say that—unless she is actually an antidote. Is that the case?”
“You have a strange notion of my taste! I am hardly in a position where I must marry an antidote to lend me cachet.”
“No, you need not, but I wager a duke’s eldest daughter is well dowered.”
“It is not cream-pot love. I have money and estates of my own.”
“You are also possessed of an overweening ambition. I know the duke is very important, for one hears his name even in Milford.”
