by D. L. Carter
Millicent almost stumbled to the floor in shock, then took Beth's wrists in her hands and tried to pull the girl free before she discovered the bosom hidden beneath.
“Lady Beth, please, unhand me.”
“Oh, Mr. North, please promise me that I shall not have to marry Attelweir.”
Millicent cast a helpless look toward Shoffer who closed the doors before coming to his sister's side.
“Beth, my dear. Do not fear.” Shoffer caught Beth around the waist and drew her firmly away. “I promise you shall not marry where you do not will.”
“But Grand’Mere… You do not know her when she is determined. She wants this marriage and will make it happen unless we act to prevent it.”
Shoffer rocked the small girl in his arms and tried to comfort her. Beth endured the embrace a few moments longer, then shook him off to return to Millicent.
“Mr. North, I entreat you. Promise me that should it come to that point, that you will speak for me. I cannot bear it that there be a chance that I should marry Attelweir.”
“Beth, this will not do.” Shoffer took her arm and tried to lead her to a chair. Instead Beth seized hold of Millicent's hand and would not be moved. “You do not need to fear. I will not permit him to trouble you.”
“But I do,” cried Beth, her knuckles white. “Would you just promise me, Mr. North, that you would marry me yourself should it ever come to a choice? I would go to Gretna with you, if necessary. Timothy would not mind.”
“Yes, he would,” said Millicent, meeting that man's eyes. “And so would I. Lady Beth, I shall not do this to you. Were I to make a promise to marry you, if ever it should be a choice between me and Attelweir – not a flattering choice, mind you – then it would weigh in your mind and twist and change in the passage of time until you came to believe that there was an understanding between us. Then, in your mind, it would become an engagement. Thereafter, you would cease to try and go about, meet with people, and seek to find the man you are meant to marry. I will not be the cause of your future unhappiness. You deserve a husband who will love you as he should. Let it be instead, I will promise should ever you need my assistance in reaching the safety of your brother's side, then I shall give my heart's blood to see it done.”
“That is not good enough!”
Millicent shook her head and stepped away. “It is all I can offer you, dear Lady Beth. I do not love you as I should to be your husband.”
“It is not enough,” repeated Beth, and bursting into tears she fled the room.
Millicent and Shoffer exchanged looks of masculine confusion and despair.
“Why is she in such a taking?” demanded Shoffer. “Does she not believe me? How can it be that she does not trust me? Why does she turn to you? Does she not know I shall do anything that is required to be certain Attelweir is kept from her?”
“I begin to think that Lady Beth is a trifle young for marriage. Too young to be out.”
Millicent turned away and considered, briefly, helping herself to a drink to steady her nerves. Of all things for Beth to demand, a marriage? If it were not so very sad it would be laughable.
“She is all of seventeen. That is not an unreasonable age to be out. Still, she is easily overset and shy. A delay of a year or so before marriage would not go amiss. I should not like to prevent her having a season this year; that would seem too much like punishment and she needs the practice of going about in society,” Shoffer went to the door and closed it slowly. “I tell you in confidence, North, I do not believe my grandmother or Mrs. Fleming do her any good at all. But what am I to do? Beth must have some chaperone. There are some services I cannot provide her.”
Millicent picked up and set down crystal decanters without turning her head. “If only in jest, I would suggest you find that woman of the ton whom your Grandmother despises and install her at your sister's side.”
Shoffer grunted and flung himself into the nearest chair.
“If it were a case for jesting, I might even act on your advice.” He covered his face with his hands. “Be a friend and pour me a glass of something.”
Instead of making use of the bottles before her, Millicent crossed the room and gave the bell pull a strong yank. When the downstairs maid appeared, Millicent sent her off for a tea tray. Shoffer dropped his hands to his lap and stared at her.
“Tea? Truly, you are an odd fellow.”
“But still a friend.” Millicent refused to blush. “There are times, I have noted, that a sad mood is not improved by drink.”
“As you wish, then. North, I am at a loss. Perhaps your cousin can aid me? Could she chaperone Beth alongside your cousins? I would be willing to put them up at Trolenfield house in return for the favor.”
“Felicity? No.” Millicent did not even hesitate before answering. “No, I am sorry, that will not do. Although both her parents are of old and good stock – an earl or some such in her history – and her husband the second son of a baronet, my cousin must be considered by the ton to be the wife of a tutor, since that is how her husband spent his life. She has no standing that the ton would acknowledge and her chaperonage would not advance your sister's state.”
“Then what am I to do?”
The tea tray was fetched in and the maid poured out for both of them before vanishing. Millicent obeyed Shoffer's gesture and sat in the great chair opposite his before the unlit fireplace. Millicent settled her feet on a footrest and was surprised when Shoffer's booted feet joined hers from the other side. She considered removing her feet. It was, after all, his house and his footstool. But when Shoffer merely sipped his tea and stared into the distance, Millicent relaxed and allowed herself to be cheered by his nearness. Even for an instant permitted her foot to rest against his. Two layers of leather and bootblack separated their skin and yet she felt warmed by the contact. Millicent smiled at her own foolishness while Shoffer scowled at the ceiling.
“She turned to you, North. You. If I were a lesser man, I would hate you for being the one she trusts. That she believes will aid her.”
“I think, Your Grace, that there is more to her terror than we currently understand. Your sister is the only one who can explain her actions.”
“Come, North,” said Shoffer, after another ten minutes had passed. “There must be something you can suggest.”
“Coming from my so very great experience with the ton?” Millicent sighed. “From my history of many seasons spent in London? How can I help you? I do not even know where Attelweir is.”
“Attelweir is some small province of France. The present duc escaped during the early days of The Troubles and has been living on the charity of social climbing nitwits since then. ”
“He has no money, then?”
“No income, no estate, and no hope of any, considering that he is related, distantly, to the Bourbon Kings and Napoleon despises him. His lands have all been given away to the Tyrant's friends.”
“Then why does the dowager favor him so much? It is clear that much of his interest must be in your sister's dowry. He has nothing to offer in return.”
“Rank, and rank alone. He was born a duc. He is not considered good ton, despite his rank, and many hostesses do not send him invitations. If I had but known that my grandmother was encouraging his attendance upon my sister, I would have acted to prevent it.”
“From the way Lady Beth is behaving, it has not gotten to the point of proposal.”
“True enough, and I am thankful for it. I shall take time this evening to speak to my grandmother. I shall make it clear that Attelweir will be given his congé. With luck he will accept it.” Shoffer glanced toward the windows. “It looks as if we shall have fine weather tomorrow. I am sorry to miss your riding lessons. Perhaps Beth and I shall take rooms in Bath for a little while and you can present your family to her.”
Millicent closed her eyes and tried to imagine close contact between her mother, sisters, and Lady Beth. Too much time spent in conversation could bring many opportunities for Fel
icity to blurt out the truth.
“I do not believe that will advance Lady Beth's cause,” said Millicent, after a longish pause. “I think, perhaps, you should make a list of your female distant relatives and acquaintances. You could go on a tour for the last few weeks of summer and call upon them. If you are blessed you may find someone Beth feels comfortable with who can accompany her to London for the season.”
Shoffer considered this, then nodded. “You are right. I have family enough that someone could be found and the traveling and socializing without the pressure of a house party would benefit Beth.”
A yawn took Millicent by surprise. “Forgive me, but I have been traveling and if we are to leave tomorrow, I should pack and rest.”
“Oh, yes, of a certainty. But before you retire, I promised myself there is something we would do on the first day of your visit and I am determined to keep to my plan.”
“Oh?” Millicent tried again to raise her eyebrow. “Some entertainment in my honor?”
“Entertaining for me. Come lad, up. My valet is waiting to give you a haircut.”
Millicent did not have to fake her collapse. A valet to put his hands on her? “No. I beg you. No.”
Shoffer would not hear any of Millicent's stammered protests or excuses. It was not as if she could tell the truth. She was afraid that the experienced valet would be able to tell by some mysterious sense, by the shape of her head or some such, that she was not a man. Indeed, even as they tried to force her into the chair she resisted the removal of her loose fitting coat and refused to untie her cravat. Frustrated and amused, Shoffer threw a heavy sheet toward her with which to cover her clothing.
“All right, then, keep your neck cloth,” cried Shoffer. “Do not complain to me if your neck itches for the next seven days.”
Millicent sank down in the proffered chair, the cloth raised to her chin and tented around her body; she regarded the instruments of hair cutting fearfully. Shoffer's valet, a middle-aged, egg-shaped man called Ikelsby, dropped Millicent's secondhand coat onto a bench and regarded the hacked off, uneven ends of her hair with an expression of disgust.
“When we get to London, Ikelsby,” said Shoffer from his position of comfort on a couch at the other side of the room, “you shall confer with your colleagues and see if we can find some strong soul who can undertake to make over our friend North.”
“I beg you would not,” said Millicent, shrinking away as the shears came closer.
“I believe,” said Ikelsby, making the first cut and struggling to find a diplomatic reply, “that it will be difficult to find a gentleman's gentleman who could give satisfaction.”
“Yes. Exactly.” Millicent's eyes, wheeling in panic, focused on Shoffer. “Besides, who would give up London for Yorkshire?”
There was no way she could keep the secret of her gender from so intimate a servant as a valet. Impossible. That was one of the reasons she made no attempt to dress in a fashionable manner. Her loose coats and trousers were as necessary as the cravats around her chest in maintaining her secret.
“I was thinking some batman who lost his master on the battlefields might do,” continued Shoffer. “A strong sergeant type with a bullhorn voice to keep Mr. North in line.”
“It would have to be someone of that type.” Ikelsby pulled on her hair and cut and tugged this way and that until her scalp ached and tears threatened.
The ordeal ended without anyone feeling much the winner. Ikelsby snipped and combed and arranged locks, but never professed himself to be satisfied. In the end, he sighed and held up a mirror. Millicent regarded the result without enthusiasm.
“It seems,” said Millicent, moving her head first one way, then the other, “that you have done as much as you could with such poor goods. You have at least left me my ears.”
Her only emotion, in viewing herself, was relief to have survived without being revealed. Shoffer regarded the results unhappily.
“We shall never make you a Corinthian, Mr. North. Nor shall you give Brummel any point for concern.”
“Neat and clean is the best we can hope for,” added the valet, sadly. “With no reason for ambition it would be difficult to find a valet for Mr. North. Our role is to turn our masters out as best they can be, but Mr. North…”
His voice trailed away and all the men in the room nodded together. Mr. North would never be a fashionable man. Millicent stared at her reflection, wondering why it was that she was tall and plain as a woman and still unhandsome as a man. It hardly seemed fair.
“Your cousins,” said Shoffer, with some hesitation, “do they much resemble you?”
Millicent considered the question odd and thought before answering.
“The ladies are generally considered to be pleasing in their looks and address,” she ventured, and seeing Shoffer's shoulders relax, Millicent laughed. “Oh, dear. Were you fearing you must give consequence to ladies who are not worthy of your attention? Poor duke. How sad. No, do not worry. All the good looks in the family were granted to the ladies, as is to be preferred. They are both charming and pretty.”
Rising from the chair before some other attack be planned, Millicent tossed the sheet onto the floor and retrieved her coat.
“With your permission, I shall retire, if I can but find out in which closet the dowager hid my bags. Or, perhaps, I should begin digging in the garden?”
Shoffer gave the bell pull a tug. “The upstairs maid will direct you. Considering the weather, if you rise early enough we shall go riding before departure. I shall send a note to Beth to ask she join us.”
“Oh, will the fun and frolic never end?” drawled Millicent and bowed herself out of the room.
The upstairs maid was approaching already and Millicent begged to be guided to her bed. As they walked past the dowager's chamber, Millicent could hear that lady's voice raised in a scold. She considered returning to Shoffer to let him know someone was being harangued, but decided she did not want to overstep. Besides, if it were Mrs. Fleming on the receiving end of the sharp edge of the dowager's tongue, then it was no more than that lady deserved. Instead, she took herself off to bed to dream that it was Shoffer who combed her hair and it had miraculously grown, her shirt and trews turned to silk ball gown and her beauty was revealed to the duke. And he, seeing her, saw how little beauty there was to be, turned away.
She awoke to a tear stained pillow and bright sunlight.
* * *
Timothy Shoffer, Duke of Trolenfield and master, somewhat, of most of what he surveyed, regarded the spread on the breakfast board without enthusiasm. He had gone, late the previous night, to try again to speak to his sister, only to be told by that lady's chaperone that Beth was retired for the night. Beth's difficulty with company was a constant source of frustration and fear for the duke and he was grateful that providence had granted they meet the one person in all England who seemed able to break Beth out of her shell.
Beth had been taken from their home after the death of their parents from a purulent fever when Shoffer was in his twenties and Beth a mere child. It had been their grandmother's decision, then. Shoffer, the dowager declared, would be too busy coping with his new responsibilities to bear with the problems of a young girl. So, away went Beth leaving Shoffer to grieve alone.
Looking back Shoffer was certain that he had permitted Beth to be taken away not so much out of the conviction she would do better with a female relative, as much as Shoffer's determination to get the duchess out of the building as soon as possible after the funeral. The guilt of that selfish act ate at him now.
Poor Beth. He had not given a thought to how she would suffer. He thought the dowager and the little girl would be a comfort to each other, but it was obvious that had not occurred.
There was nothing Shoffer would not do now to make amends for that neglect. They were both lucky to have met Mr. North, someone they could both enjoy. Mr. North possessed that unique talent of being able to make himself agreeable to company, both high and low, male and
female. If they had not met, Shoffer was certain he would still be living with a silent Beth, helpless to deal with her woes.
Glancing toward the windows, Shoffer took note of the brilliant sunlight. He gestured toward the waiting footman as he took his seat at the head of the table.
“James. Have a message taken to my sister; ask her if she would like to join Mr. North and myself for a riding lesson. Then take yourself down to Mr. North's room and have him chased out of bed.”
“No need,” said his friend, entering the room tugging at the collar of his ill-fitting riding coat. “Here I am and ready, if unwilling, to be bounced about like a sack of potatoes.”
“The sooner you learn proper posture the less bouncing there shall be.”
As Mr. North made his way down the sideboard selecting a little of this and a little of that, Shoffer congratulated himself for not being misled by North's appearance of shabby gentility, nor by his humorous way of talking. In these last few months, the man had proved himself capable of good sense, when required, and celebration in its proper hour. Shoffer looked forward to receiving his letters with an eagerness he felt for no other. Of all the people he had met in his years of attending ton events, Shoffer could think of no one whose company he had enjoyed more.
The footman returned at that moment and hesitated at the door.
“What is it, man?” demanded Shoffer.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace. Sally, Lady Elizabeth's maid, says how her bed has not been slept in.”
“Excuse me?” Shoffer put down his knife and half rose from his chair.
“Lady Elizabeth, Your Grace. Sally went in to see if Lady Elizabeth was awake and she found the room empty. She says how Lady Elizabeth did not call her last night to help her get ready for bed, nor give her instructions for this morning and now Sally cannot find her.”
Shoffer shot out of the room as if attached to a firework. Mr. North dithered for a moment before putting down his plate and running after him.
“Did anyone enter or leave the house last night?” demanded Shoffer as they ran past Forsythe in the main hall.
