A Lady's Virture

by A. S. Fenichel

  Holding his laughter back, he said, “You see how well you know me.”

  “Indeed.” Playfully she slapped his shoulder. “I’ll speak to her ladyship, and you will think of something respectful to say when you arrive.”

  “Thank you, Sylvie.” He kissed the top of her head and breathed in her scent.

  “You should go inside. I have been here before and know a way in through the kitchen garden.” She pointed to her right.

  “Are you sure you will be all right?”

  “Of course. Go and don’t look so…whatever that look is.”

  Having no idea what she meant, he tried to have a bland expression. “How is this?”

  She laughed. “Very British.” Slipping under his arm, she disappeared behind an evergreen. Her whisper filtered through the greenery. “And Tony, I will not ask for another kiss, despite how lovely they are.”

  Inside the ballroom, he found Miles and more of the wine. “I’m going to White’s if you’d like to join me.”

  “I have had my fill of wine and debutantes for one night. A brandy and some male company might be just the way to end this night.” Miles put his glass on the table, and they called for Anthony’s carriage.

  In the carriage, they were stopped by traffic and a sudden rain shower.

  Miles opened the shade and peered out. “Have you decided what to do about Miss Dowder?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Miles laughed. “That clear, is it?”

  “My life used to be very simple, and now it is like crossing the Atlantic, and daily, I’m concerned with my survival.”

  Still amused, Miles tapped out a tune on the wooden frame of the carriage window. “You’ll live, my friend. One way or the other, you’ll still be here in the morning.”

  In the morning he would see his Sylvia again. It warmed his soul, and even that terrified him.

  The horses jerked forward, and they made their way through the wet streets toward St. James.

  Chapter 9

  The morning paper had Sylvia seething. Sitting at her writing desk, she reread the article that all but called her a whore. How dare this ninny say she had questionable morals.

  A knock at her door forced her to take a deep breath. “Come in.”

  Lady Honoria Chervil popped her head in, and the rest of her billowed in on the breeze in a wispy dress far better suited to a young girl. “Oh, I see you’ve already seen the paper. I was hoping to soften the blow.”

  “I can’t believe anyone would say such hurtful and untrue things. I was not loose at the ball. I only danced with Lord Grafton one time, not three as this E. M. Whitewall says. I certainly didn’t dance another three with Miles Hallsmith. In fact, I never danced with Mr. Hallsmith. I greeted him, introduced him to Miss Fletcher and bid him a good evening.”

  Honoria sank into the chair a few feet away. “Did you disappear into the garden for several hours?”

  Fury Sylvia hadn’t felt since Hunter betrayed her scorched her tongue, forcing her to take several breaths before answering. “Ten minutes to catch my breath from the hot ballroom.”

  “Could Grafton have gone missing in those same ten minutes?” Honoria raised her brows.

  Sylvia scanned the article. “It doesn’t say a word about that.”

  “No. I just wanted to see how you would react.” Her voice took on a singsong tone. “And I got my answer.”

  “The point is that ninety percent of this is fabricated. E. M. Whitewall, whoever she is, has made up a hurtful story about me and I have no idea why.”

  “You might look at it another way.”

  “What other way is there to see a fraud?”

  Honoria shrugged. “Perhaps she was trying to help you in her own way. It is possible she hoped to force Grafton’s hand. Clearly the two of you have feelings for each other, yet you both claim or pretend otherwise. Miss Whitewall may think a little nudge is all you two need to move on to the next natural step.”

  “Lady Chervil, please do not tell me you are E. M. Whitewall.”

  “Of course not.”

  Sylvia was able to breathe again. “Thank goodness. She is wildly out of order, if she is trying to be helpful. Besides, it would never work.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. His lordship is downstairs now, looking ready to do someone harm, and defend you to the end. He has been pacing and ranting to Lady Jane for half an hour about the lies in the paper.” Honoria stood and sashayed to the door. “I suppose you had better finish dressing and come down.”

  It was eight o’clock in the morning. No one, not even a brash American, called at such an hour. Putting the paper aside, Sylvia sighed, then finished her morning toilet and rushed down the stairs.

  Anthony’s voice carried through the office doors, down the hall, and into the foyer. Several ladies and household staff had gathered at the bottom of the steps to listen to the commotion.

  “You should all find something else to do,” Sylvia scolded as she stormed past. As the yelling grew louder and she was out of view of the rest of the house, she slowed her gait and waited.

  “You can’t possibly believe what that woman wrote,” Anthony said.

  “I never said I did, my lord. You are clearly upset, and for that I am sorry, but I do not control the gossip printed in the newspaper.” Jane’s voice was steady and as unaffected as always.

  “Miss Dowder is a lady through and through.” It was sweet that he was so staunchly defending her. Some bit of her resolve to stay away from private moments with him melted away.

  “I never doubted that,” Lady Jane said.

  Sylvia knocked but pushed through before being given leave to enter. “My lord, your call is unusually early.”

  He turned toward her voice and froze, his eyes wide but filled with regret. “Sy—Miss Dowder, are you all right?”

  “I assure you, Lord Grafton, I am uninjured. A little false gossip will not topple me or the Everton Domestic Society.”

  “Did you lose your post with Miss Fletcher?” He crossed his arms over his chest then put them at his sides before crossing them again.

  “Not that I’m aware of.” She looked at Jane for confirmation.

  Jane sat behind her desk and sighed. “No, but this gossip will make it difficult for the Fletcher family to continue with you as their Everton lady. At least until the next bit of news hits the papers.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Sylvia hated to admit it, but her name in the paper saying she behaved badly at a ball made her a poor choice to bring a young lady out in society. Of course, the ton would get over it and move on to another story in a week or two.

  “I will ask Ann to take over. I believe Lord Grafton would like you to return to your former post if that will suit you, Miss Dowder.” Jane jotted a note as she spoke.

  “I am familiar with the case and am happy to return if his lordship is certain his temperament can bear it. I have not changed and will continue to give my honest opinion, even if it is not what you wish to hear.”

  He bowed. “I have already apologized, Miss Dowder. I will not lose my temper again. Though, I do admit my mother is a touchy subject. Perhaps you might tread more gently regarding her?”

  It took an effort to not giggle at the truth. “I will do my best.”

  Jane stood. “Good. That is settled then. However, I’ll warn you both that if more gossip about the two of you should rear its nasty head, I will have to pull Miss Dowder for her own protection. If she were ruined for society, it would be hard to keep her working. I would hate for us to have an issue of that kind.”

  “It will not be a problem, my lady.” Sylvia cringed. She couldn’t afford another scandal looming in the background. One per year, or lifetime, was more than enough. “Shall I walk you out, my lord?”

  “Thank you.” He grabbed his hat from the chair and followed h
er.

  The foyer was blissfully empty. At the door, he leaned close to her ear. “Are you truly all right, Sylvie?”

  “Yes. Just a bit annoyed. I wish I knew who E. M. Whitewall is.”

  He smiled, and it sent a shock through her that settled between her legs. Something about him turned her into a wanton. “I’m sure Miss Tattler will put things right again. She has a way of putting people in their place.”

  It was the perfect vehicle to get her revenge. She should go speak to Anthony’s cook first, but she had to write a new column before the paper went to print. “Will you tell your cook that I will come to see her this afternoon? I want to settle on the menu, and I also need to speak to the staff about the table setting.”

  He bowed. “I shall be available this afternoon as well, should you need my input.”

  “Good day, my lord.”

  With a quick nod, he was gone, down the steps and into his carriage.

  At a run, Sylvia charged up the steps to her room and pulled out parchment and ink. Fire with fire was the only way to finish this. It was a pity she couldn’t figure out who E. M. Whitewall was, but it still had to be stopped.

  * * * *

  Sylvia finished her article and delivered it to the Whisper before taking the Everton carriage back to Anthony’s house.

  “How long do you think this will take, Miss Dowder?” Mrs. Horthorn asked.

  “I expect it will be a few hours. Do you have another appointment?”

  She held up her bag of knitting. “No. I’ll just settle myself in that lovely front parlor, and you do what you need to. I can’t see how my services will be necessary for a meeting with the cook.”

  “Very well. I’ll collect you when I’ve finished.” Sylvia went to the kitchen but was informed the cook had stepped out and would be back in half an hour, so she walked out to the garden and thought how lovely it would be to light the path for the ball. She would speak to the gardener about some torches.

  “I heard you had arrived, Sylvie.” Anthony’s low voice warmed her inside and out.

  She pointed to the path. “Don’t you think some torches to light the path would be lovely for the ball?”

  “You mean to keep people out of the shadows?” His smile was wicked and wonderful.

  First, she’d practically begged him to kiss her, and now she was ready to swoon over a smile. She must be losing her senses. “I’m sure if people want to find a shadow or two, they will do so regardless of the torches. I just think it will be beautiful from the veranda.”

  “Then we shall have torches.” His expression grew serious. “Have I ruined you, Sylvie? Would you tell me if I had?”

  A knot formed in her gut. “No, Tony. It will be fine. I have endured far worse gossip, and this too will be forgotten in a short time.”

  “You didn’t answer the second question.” He stood so close to her that as they looked out over the small wilderness of a garden, his pinkie finger touched hers.

  “There is nothing you could do about it, so if I am honest, no. I would not tell you, but I think you would know from what others say.” Just the tiny bit of skin touching worked a warm haze through her, and she wished she could stand like that all day and keep the contact.

  Sorrow, need, and something new etched lines around his beautiful mouth and those unusual eyes. “I am here to do whatever you need.”

  Was he talking about the ball or something else? She didn’t know, but it wouldn’t do to assume he’d just offered to fix things if she were ruined, since there was only one way to do that. It was impossible that the Earl of Grafton had just proposed, so Sylvia assumed he meant with the ball. “I’m sure I can manage. I’ll just go and see if Cook is back in the kitchen.”

  It took all her strength not to run as fast as she could away from him. He had just meant to help with the ball. Her heart was pounding out of her chest. In the servants’ hall she whispered, “Don’t be a fool, Sylvia. Nothing can come of any of this and you wouldn’t want it to anyway. You have a good life mapped out for yourself, and he is only an assignment.”

  “Did you say something, miss?” Cook asked as she tromped down the hall. Her girth nearly the same as her height, she moved well for her size.

  “Just talking to myself about the ball. I have quite a lot of ideas about the meal if you have some time?” Sylvia sat at the long wooden table in the kitchen where the servants took their meals, and the cook sat adjacent to her.

  “I assume you’ll want to start with a white soup.” Cook put on a pair of spectacles to look at Sylvia’s list.

  “Yes. That would be perfect, and I thought roast fowls and a game pie should follow with lamb, savory cake and aspic as well. Can you do a few meringues?” She had a vision of the table with all the silver, candles, china and crystal gleaming around the most beautiful food. No one would turn up their noses to the newest member of the peerage if she could help it.

  “I see you want to be makin’ a big show for the guests. I can do it, and I’ll add a few more sweets to decorate the table up right. I’ll not have his lordship looked down upon just because he’s an American.”

  These servants had served and loved Lady Collington, but they had embraced Anthony as their own. He was charming and good to them, that was obvious in their quick loyalty. “That’s just it. We must have everything just so and keep those wagging tongues quiet.”

  With a nod, Cook said, “I’ll be doin’ my part, miss. Not to worry. The house looks fit for all the finest people thanks to you, and I know it will all turn out well.”

  “Thank you.” Sylvia left the kitchen in search of the gardener; then she found Wells for a quick word about staff and serving. Once she was sure it was all in order, she knocked on Anthony’s study door.

  “Come in.”

  She pushed through the threshold. He had one hand threaded through his hair and the other leaning on the desk. His coat was slung on the back of his chair, leaving him in his white blouse, hunched over a piece of paper. She longed to read over his shoulder and run her fingers through that mass of thick hair. It took her a heartbeat to gather herself. “I wanted to let you know Mrs. Horthorn and I will be leaving now.”

  He stood. “Do you need anything from me?”

  “Everything is in order. Ann sent out the invitations, and I think all good London society will be attending your ball. My sister wrote to me this morning to say how excited she is to attend, and both her suitors will be present. That should make my evening more interesting than need be.”

  He pulled his jacket on and sat when she did. “I hope she chooses Stansfield. I’ve always thought Parker a bit big for his britches.”

  “Is that your American way of saying he is a snob?” She giggled. “In that case it explains why Mother likes him so much.”

  “Speaking of mothers.” His smile faltered. “My mother has asked that Mr. Condon be invited to the ball.”

  Part of her wanted to jump for joy that Mrs. Braighton had found a friend to stave off any loneliness, but the other part worried that this was about to become a fight with the one man she never wanted to fight with. She leaned forward and put her hands on the desk. “What do you think about that, Tony?”

  Leaning back in his chair, he put his hands over his face and rubbed before letting out a long sigh. “I want to protect her the way my father would have. I asked around about Mr. Condon, and anyone who knows him or has done business with him says he is a good man with a lot of money. He hails originally from Ireland and is Catholic. My mother was raised in the Catholic Church, and they have much to talk about, both living in England now. I want to keep her safe, but I also want her to be happy. My father has been dead almost six years. Maybe it’s time.”

  “Six years is a long time to be alone.” She kept her voice low and even.

  His gaze met hers. Whatever he wanted to say, he shook it away and put
a typical English mild expression on his face. “It is time I realized my mother is a grown woman who can make her own decisions without my input or direction.”

  Suddenly she hated that bland expression. It didn’t suit him at all. He was fire and ice, not this cool facade that the gentry always put on. What had he been about to say to her about being alone? Why hadn’t he said it? “That is very mature of you.”

  “I’m learning. Anyway, if I had found out something untoward about him, I would have advised my mother of his bad character. Since I can’t do that, I’ll keep my own counsel and see what happens.”

  “It will be a grand ball, and your mother and Mr. Condon are only two people. You will have a hundred others to deal with on the night.” She stood, and so did he.

  “More than I’ll want, for sure. Did you need anything else from me?” He rounded the desk.

  “Everything is taken care of unless you would like to handle the wine selection.”

  “I’ll not have the sweet watered-down mess that is usually served at these events.” There was the fire she loved.

  “You may serve whatever wine you wish. Just be sure you can afford the drunkards you will create.” She laughed.

  He frowned. “I see your point. Perhaps I will reserve the good wine served to close family and friends.”

  “Another wise decision.” She walked to the door.

  “Did you write your rebuttal?”

  “You will have to wait for tomorrow’s paper and find out,” she teased him.

  Anthony raised an eyebrow. “You would make me wait after all the secrets I have shared with you.”

  “I have not had a new secret in some time, my lord.” Treading on dangerous ground, she should not flirt, but couldn’t help herself.

  He leaned in. “I will tell you one, if you tell me one.”

  The heat of him was like a warm blanket she wanted to crawl under and never leave. “I don’t think I have any more secrets. Why don’t you ask me something and I’ll tell you?”

  There was that serious Anthony again. “Was March the love of your life?”