by D. L. Carter
“What shall I say if I do not like it?” Beth reached for Millicent’s sleeve requiring her to dodge again. “I cannot offend a gentleman by saying his work is bad.”
“Say that you find you prefer Shakespeare.”
And with that Millicent fled the house without the benefit of breakfast.
Uncertain what to do with herself since her plans for the day had been to take a leisurely breakfast followed by reading letters from her tenants, Millicent paused at the side of the road and scowled at the footpath.
“What did the sidewalk do to offend you, Mr. North?”
Millicent glanced up, warmth replacing the chill in her chest at the sight of Shoffer astride his favorite grey horse. Following him on a leading rein was the small mare on which Shoffer had taught Mr. North to ride properly.
“My God, I must be in a bad way if I am glad to see you here ready to go riding,” said Millicent.
Shoffer laughed.
“Poor Mr. North. Have the ladies driven you from your own house? Come on up, fellow. A ride will clear your head.” When Millicent hesitated, Shoffer continued. “In your case, it will not matter that you are not in riding clothes.”
“I am more interested in finding something to eat since I was driven out before breakfast.”
“Well, if that is the case we shall ride to White’s. I intended to introduce you there once your wardrobe was improved, but since you have proven that is a futile hope, I may as well take you now.”
“I do not mind where we go as long as they serve coffee.”
Millicent hauled herself into the saddle and found that she could not return Shoffer’s cheerful grin. After riding for a few minutes, Shoffer turned in his saddle to regard her thoughtfully.
“You are not yourself this morning, North. Is something troubling you?”
Millicent concentrated on persuading her horse to follow its stable mate. She had no idea what to do. Shoffer had asked her to aid Beth in gaining confidence with her conversation all the time believing that Beth was safe from forming an attachment to Mr. North. But from the girl’s behavior this morning, an unrequited attachment was becoming a distinct possibility. Millicent was reluctant to risk her own friendship with Shoffer by revealing her concerns. The only reason Shoffer continued the acquaintance was the belief that conversation with Mr. North was good for Beth. After only one ton party, Mildred’s and Maude’s entrée into good society was still dependent on the duke’s good opinion. Were he to withdraw his support, no invitations would arrive.
Some part of Beth’s enthusiasm for Mr. North might come from the fact that he was not the Duc of Attelweir. Once her brother was able to convince her that there was no risk of a marriage Beth might pay attention to other gentlemen.
“North?”
“Forgive me, I am a little fatigued. I had no idea ton parties exited so late.”
“Generally, gentlemen do not aspire to dance every dance,” said Shoffer. “Although, I do not say that to criticize. I am certain the young ladies appreciated your labor.”
“My feet may never forgive me,” said Millicent with a tired grin. Indeed, her feet were very sore and she would have to get a new pair of evening shoes, or two or three, if she intended to repeat last night’s performance.
“It was your own doing,” said the duke with complete lack of sympathy. “But I shall not be distracted. You are quiet and solemn. An uncommon enough circumstance that one familiar with your moods would be wise to take note. Come, I have sufficient respect for your intelligence to listen when you speak your mind. Is it about Beth?”
Millicent almost fell off her horse. Did the duke know about Beth’s childish partiality? If the child had repeated that declaration that she would wed only Mr. North, the duke would be well within his rights to run her through and chase Felicity and the girls all the way back to Yorkshire.
However, Millicent realized as she brought her horse back under her control, he would not be so calm if that were the case.
“Mr. North, you begin to worry me.”
“Please, Your Grace, am I not permitted a quiet moment like any other mortal?”
“Now you have gone and fully aroused my curiosity. What troubles you?”
Millicent sighed. She had no one to blame but her own transparent nature.
“I would call it nothing serious; except, well, I think Lady Beth is still entertaining an attachment to me that I swear to you I have done nothing to encourage.”
“Good God, does she still have the idea that she needs to be saved from Attelweir? I thought I had dealt with that entirely.”
Millicent shrugged. “Perhaps to your satisfaction, Shoffer, but not to hers. Forgive me for being intrusive, but have you and Lady Beth ever talked about her being put into the armoire by her grandmother?”
“I have assured her that it will never happen again.”
“But perhaps,” said Millicent softly, “you should find out how many times it has happened before.”
Shoffer turned in his saddle to stare. “You cannot be serious.”
“I wish I were not. It occurred to me at the time that Mrs. Fleming was entirely too calm about the matter. If it was just the one occurrence at your home, one would hope that Mrs. Fleming would have become disturbed and raised an outcry. But the fact that she seemed to accept the … event … indicates to me that it probably was not uncommon in the duchess’s household.”
Shoffer closed his eyes, bending forward for a moment over his saddle.
“Dear God, forgive me,” he moaned. “I left my poor sister in her hands.”
Millicent risked her balance to reach across and briefly squeeze Shoffer’s wrist.
“I may be wrong. Indeed, I hope I am. Let us not judge the duchess so harshly without full knowledge.”
Shoffer drew a deep breath and sat straight, his face calm even while his eyes burned with suppressed rage.
“You are right, my friend. I should speak to Beth, no matter how hard it may be for both of us. I must find out all the threats and punishments that were levied on my poor sister as I cannot promise to protect her unless I am fully informed.” He pulled his horse to halt outside a rather plain building. “This is White’s. There is nowhere else in London with better coffee and chocolate.”
“I would beg you, Your Grace, not to have any expectations of my application to this august body. I am not interested in politics, or cards and gossip, so would have nothing in common with the gentlemen here.”
Shoffer grinned as he dismounted and passed his reins and a few pennies to one of the urchins who hung about outside the club.
“You were driven from your house this morning by the women of your family. You have more in common with the gentlemen here than you imagine.”
* * *
The proffered breakfast was substantial, but essentially tasteless with the exception of coffee, which was well deserving of White’s reputation.
Millicent was contemplating the last dry scone when three gentlemen crossed to stand beside their table and await the duke’s notice.
“Mr. Wentworth. Mr. Offen,” said Shoffer. “How do you, sirs?”
“Well enough, thank you, Your Grace,” said Wentworth. “I wonder if I might make my friend known to you? The Honorable Mr. Joseph Martindale was with us at Cambridge.”
Shoffer gave a slow nod in acknowledgment of Martindale’s bow. Millicent swallowed a smile and the last of her coffee when the gentlemen turned to her.
“And this is Mr. Anthony North,” said Shoffer. “I believe you spent some time in company with his cousins yesterday evening.”
“Indeed,” said Wentworth, looking Millicent up and down as if he could not believe such well turned out young ladies could possibly be related to the shabby man before him. “Charming gels.”
“I will be sure to tell them you said so,” said Millicent. “Although, such extravagant compliments to their beauty are likely to turn their heads.”
Shoffer grinned and settled back in his
chair to watch. His friend had shaken off his odd mood and was back to his humorous self. For the next ten minutes North chatted, joked, and expounded on the most illogical thoughts until the three interlopers were quite confused.
“You look to be of an age with us,” said Wentworth. “I do not believe I saw you at Cambridge. Did you perhaps attend Oxford?”
He said the word as if Oxford were the same as the trash that was never completely cleared from London’s streets. Considering the legendary enmity between the two schools, Shoffer considered the fribble was trying to gain the upper hand over North.
“Hardly, sir, I was educated at home by my … m … other.”
The other gentlemen did not know how to respond to that answer and stood speechless.
“Poor witty mother, witless is her son,” came a stentorian voice behind them.
Shoffer gritted his teeth and turned. The Duc of Attelweir, tall, white-haired, and as dignified in his bearing as he was degenerate in his morals, posed in the center of the dining room, his coterie of cats, the Earls of Wallingford and Trentonlie and the Comte of Le Forhend, arranged around him.
“Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew, Act Two, Scene One,” cried North, clapping his hands. “Who shall offer a quotation next? Although, I do not believe you quoted it properly, so I suspect it does not count.”
Shoffer, accustomed to North’s lightning changes of subject, merely smiled. The others stared.
“Such a charming collection of young men you have gathered around you, Your Grace,” said De Clerk, the Comte Le Forhend, with a smirk as he stroked his hand down Wentworth’s sleeve, then fell silent when Attelweir waved his lorgnette.
“I am so pleased to have found you, Shoffer. When I called at your house this morning I was told that both you and your sister were from home. I was most distressed not to be able to pay my respects.”
Shoffer said nothing, merely nodding in reply.
“Perhaps I shall call this evening…”
“Do not bother, Attelweir. I have instructed my butler not to admit you.” When their listeners gasped, Shoffer continued. “It is a pity that you did not take me at my word; it would have spared you this embarrassment. I was quite clear in the letter I sent you. I will not permit you near my sister. If you approach her at any time, at any social event, I shall have you dragged from the room.”
Attelweir paled, but a faint smile curved his lips. “You should be more careful how you phrase yourself, Shoffer. One might think that Lady Elizabeth has not behaved in a manner suitably virtuous for your fine English sensibilities.”
Shoffer paled at the insult and would have risen, except North joined the conversation.
“Oh, do not worry about Lady Beth,” said North grinning. “She is well able to protect her own reputation. Anyone foolish enough to offer her impertinence in either word or deed best know a good sawbones for she is a prodigious good shot.”
“Shot,” gasped several voices.
“Yes, shot.” Shoffer sent a grateful glance toward North. Thank goodness North had remembered Beth’s unusual talent. “Lady Beth has a pistol for every day of the week. If a gentleman she despised were to approach her, or to spread rumors about her, why he might find himself standing on some misty meadow at dawn facing her pistol and I would give not a tinker’s damn for his chances.”
Shoffer stared into Attelweir’s eyes, hoping the man would make a move that would justify Shoffer driving his fists into his face until that perfectly benign countenance was a broken mess, to match the degenerate soul within. Unfortunately, Attelweir was wise enough to do nothing. With a bow he turned and with his friends arranged about him, stalked away.
The young bucks remained until North made shooing motions with his hands.
“Away you go. Have you not gossip to spread?”
Wentworth, Offen, and Martindale glanced toward Shoffer who raised an eyebrow in return.
“Oh, no. We would not dream of saying a word,” cried Wentworth, proving himself the brightest of the lot, and gathering his friends, they escaped.
“Well, that was fun,” said North, returning to his seat and investigating the contents of the cold coffee pot.
“Was it?” Shoffer’s voice was cold.
“Of course not. It was perfectly dreadful. Being the center of such a scene turns my stomach.” North leaned back in his chair. “What are we going to do about that leech? Will the gossip that you have cut him be enough to keep him from Lady Beth?”
Shoffer folded his arms across his chest. Attelweir’s pockets were notoriously to let. The man supported himself with gambling, but luck was inconsistent and dowries the size of Beth’s more certain. As long as Beth was unmarried, there was a risk Attelweir might do something, possibly conspire to compromise the poor girl and force her into marriage. He was not to be trusted, the snake. Despite his own best intentions, Shoffer could not stand guard over Beth every moment. A balance must be struck between safety and captivity.
Shoffer pushed the back of North’s chair, almost toppling him to the ground.
“Come on, man, up,” cried Shoffer. “The day is wasting.”
“What? Are we late for an appointment?”
“You have reminded me; I have not bought the guns I promised Beth.”
North threw a few coins onto the table and scrambled after him. “I hesitate to remind Your Great Graciousness, but ’tis Sunday. The stores are closed.”
Shoffer halted and turned to face him. North grinned and recoiled, one hand coming up to shield his eyes.
“Oh, oh, the ducal stare. Spare me! How could I forget? Mere law and day of rest cannot stand against it.”
“Try not to be more of a fool than is needful,” said Shoffer and led the way from White’s.
“That is a hard path to walk,” muttered North and hurried along behind.
Chapter Ten
Trolenfield House was in a state of carefully managed and genteel uproar when they returned later that afternoon. Despite the heavy parcel that filled his arms, Shoffer managed to enter the main hall and pass halfway up the stairs toward the private chambers before his butler appeared. Shoffer’s first impression was that the man, wide-eyed with his remaining hair standing on end, was fleeing some threat.
“Whatever is wrong? Is the house afire?”
The butler halted and settled his coat. “Not that I am aware of, Your Grace.”
“Then why are you running?”
“I do apologize, Your Grace. The household is somewhat disturbed by the unexpected arrival of the dowager duchess.”
“Traveling on a Sunday?” observed North. “Most unexpected.”
Shoffer could feel the air seize in his lungs.
“Where is my sister?” he gasped.
“Her Grace and Lady Elizabeth are taking tea in the wi…”
Shoffer charged up the stairs and ran down the corridor to the upstairs parlor. He burst through the door, not waiting for a footman to open the door, and came to a sudden halt facing his grandmother. His sister was seated on the same chaise lounge as his grandmother, her eyes downcast and hands folded on her lap. Despite his labors she was back to being the little mouse she had been under their grandmother’s tyranny.
“What are you doing in my house?” demanded Shoffer, then caught Beth’s warning glance toward the window. He turned to find himself facing Lady Sally Jersey.
Of all the people to be there to witness this scene, this was the worst! The patroness of Almack’s held a tea cup in one hand, a marzipan in the other, and stared at Shoffer open-mouthed. Of those persons frozen in the room, Lady Sally recovered first.
“Good heavens, Your Grace, are you unwell?”
There was a glitter of malicious curiosity in the gossip’s eye. Shoffer swallowed a groan, but gave the old woman a respectful bow.
“You understand my concern, dear Sally,” murmured the dowager with unruffled calm. “Shoffer is a man with a great number of responsibilities. It is just as well that I recovered enou
gh to come for the season to relieve him of the burden of taking his sister about. He is so fatigued that he has quite forgotten his manners.”
Shoffer straightened out of his bow and glared at his grandmother. He did not doubt that this scene had been arranged, although he was at a loss as to how she had managed it. To have arrived, settled in, and summoned Lady Jersey in the short period of time he had been out of the house was impressive.
Annoying, but impressive.
His grandmother was not a fool. She would want the perfect witness to inhibit Shoffer’s protests. Given the importance of Almack’s to any young woman’s social standing, the dowager probably thought having Lady Sally Jersey in the room would stop his mouth.
She was about to learn how ill-advised this move had been.
Shoffer pulled himself up and stalked across the room to yank the bell pull. While he waited for a response only a few seconds in coming, he crossed to take his sister’s hand and help her to her feet, then held her close against his side.
When the butler arrived Shoffer spoke with as much calmness as he could manage.
“Apologize for me to the staff for adding this burden to their Sunday, but my grandmother’s house in King’s Square is to be readied for her occupation before nightfall.”
The butler paled, but instead of protesting the impossibility of accomplishing such a task, he thinned his lips and nodded.
“Make certain that all of the dowager’s baggage and servants are taken there at once.” Turning to the stunned old woman he continued. “Enjoy your tea, Your Grace; I am certain everything will be ready for you, alone, by nightfall.”
“Your Grace?” Lady Jersey regarded the dowager with surprise. “I was under the impression you were residing in Trolenfield House for the season?”
“Oh, do not mind him, my dear,” said the dowager, once she had recovered her voice. “My grandson has come under the influence of a most disreputable personage of very low estate and you can see what damage it has caused.”
