Lord and Master

by Rosemary Stevens

  LORD AND MASTER

  Rosemary Stevens

  Chapter One

  “Harkee, Harkee, Ladies and Gents! See the world’s smallest tiger!” a loud male voice cried to the patrons of Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre.

  Miss Daphne Kendall, entering the horseshoe-shaped theater accompanied by her companion, Miss Oakswine, just missed the invitation.

  “May God forgive you, Daphne, for pestering me into taking you to this horrible place,” Miss Oakswine railed at her employer while the two women made their way toward their seats.

  Daphne stopped herself from cringing before Miss Oakswine noticed. Any sign of weakness seemed to fuel the woman’s fire, making Daphne subject to a prolonged rebuke that invariably digressed to a wide number of topics.

  Instead Daphne gazed about in pleasure. Astley’s boasted the largest stage in England, and at the foot of the stage was an orchestra pit. Tiers of seats and private boxes ensured the comfort of those who came to enjoy the entertainments offered.

  Miss Oakswine was not one of them.

  “Pshaw! I can feel my nose beginning to run from all the dreadful animal dandruff in the air. Trained horses and dancing dogs! Heaven only knows what I shall have to endure. Of a certainty my health shall deteriorate over the course of the evening. And you know any sort of anxiety is bad for my weak heart.”

  “Perhaps if you try to enjoy—” Daphne began, glancing sympathetically at the older woman.

  In answer, Miss Oakswine pulled a yellowed handkerchief out of her reticule and applied it with vigor to her long, pointy nose.

  “Oh, I am sorry,” Daphne said, and averted her gaze.

  She was indeed remorseful, hut not overly so. For the long-suffering and loudly complaining Miss Oakswine and her sneezing fits threatened to spoil the much anticipated visit to the famous Astley’s.

  Daphne’s own sorrow was rooted in the past, three years before, when her carefree parents had been tragically killed in a carriage accident. Tears threatened as she remembered her dear Mama, who had shared a love of all creatures with her only child.

  Daphne blinked rapidly, then a reluctant smile came to her lips when a picture formed in her mind of her Papa, and how he would merrily tease that he held second place in their hearts to their beloved animals. Amid laughter, they would fall upon him with hugs and assurances that it was never so.

  After her parents’ deaths, Daphne had still been in a grief-filled haze when her adored country home had gone to a distant male relative, who was the new viscount, and his large family. And while Daphne later told herself she should be grateful she was left the London town house and a large dowry, she could not help missing the freedom of the country and the cherished long walks with all her pets gamboling about at her side.

  Furthermore she found living in Town with her mother’s old school friend a daily trial to her patience. Employing the woman had seemed such an expedient solution to her need as a young, unmarried lady to have a companion reside with her for respectability.

  When Miss Oakswine had written Daphne, expressing her condolences on the loss of her mama and papa and offering her services, seventeen-year-old Daphne had penned an immediate acceptance, hoping the lady would have the same sweet nature as her mama.

  But it had not taken long for Daphne to realize her error. Miss Oakswine swept into the town house two days after the girl’s arrival in London and immediately established her authority over the household. Inside of a day, she succeeded in having the exuberant, albeit clumsy, puppy Daphne had found whining and shivering outside the kitchen door, banished from its free run of the house to the scullery.

  The following week the puppy mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again.

  Daphne had wept for the little fellow, but Miss Oakswine had merely twitched her long nose and declared it was for the best. In the future, Miss Oakswine had decided, there would be no animal in “her” house. Over time, Daphne learned to be satisfied with sneaking food to the stray cats and dogs that always seemed to make their way to the kitchen door.

  Bringing her thoughts back to the present, Daphne guided her companion to seats in the third row. Miss Oakswine tucked her thoroughly wet handkerchief back into her reticule, sat herself down, and continued her lecture. “Horses! I suppose one must tolerate them, for they are necessary to getting about Town. But they are the only exception to my aversion to animals, as you should well know by now, Daphne. By the Lord! Must we sit so close to the ring?”

  Daphne ignored the woman, a stratagem that had served her well over the past three years. Now that they were comfortably seated, her attention was caught by the spectacle of a series of clowns spilling out into the arena, causing adults and children alike to shriek with excitement.

  One particularly exuberant boy with red hair a few shades brighter than Daphne’s auburn locks, jumped up and down, shouting and pointing. Behind the clowns, a shabbily dressed man pulled a wheeled cage around the edge of the ring to Daphne’s left.

  “See the world’s smallest tiger!” the shabby man yelled.

  Daphne looked in his direction, and her light green eyes widened. Painted a garish bright orange, the cage contained the most pathetic cat Daphne had ever seen.

  She supposed its apricot-colored fur, contrasted by darker brownish stripes, could qualify it as bearing a resemblance to the great cats of India. However, the animal lay listlessly on its side, eyes almost closed, in the manner of one who has totally given up on the world.

  While the shabby man poked and prodded the “ferocious” beast, Daphne moaned in scarcely audible protest.

  After staring compassionately for several moments, her outrage grew to the point where it propelled Daphne from her seat to follow when the man led the cage out of the ring.

  Miss Oakswine screeched an objection at this unexpected turn of events. She leapt from her seat and scurried behind while Daphne made haste to catch up with the man and his cage. On the point of exiting the public area, Daphne and her unnoticed follower reached the wheeled cage.

  “Sir! Sir!” Daphne called.

  The man turned and stared rudely at the beautiful lady in the expensively cut dark green gown. His eyes narrowed when he comprehended the light of battle in her expression.

  “I am Miss Kendall, and I wish to speak with you about your cat.”

  “My name’s Cuddlipp, and it ain’t a cat. He’s the world’s smallest tiger,” the man responded stubbornly.

  Daphne eyed her opponent’s greasy black hair with distaste. Obviously, if he was not even willing to admit the cat was a cat, social niceties would serve no purpose. She decided to come right to the point.

  “Mr. Cuddlipp, it is apparent the animal is in a sad condition.”

  “What? I gives him scraps every day or two. He’s better off than wandering the streets, where I found him.”

  Daphne thought of inquiring how Mr. Cuddlipp came to find a tiger wandering the streets of London, but held her tongue. Perhaps a measure of tactfulness was called for here.

  Unfortunately Miss Oakswine, who had also arrived on the scene, put no such strictures on her own speech. “Daphne, come away!” she said breathlessly, one hand pressed to her heaving chest. Inhaling a lungful of air, she continued. “Like all men, it is plain to see that common sense is foreign to Mr. Cuddlipp’s nature. And what can the fate of that animal possibly have to do with you?”

  Mr. Cuddlipp glared at Miss Oakswine. “I don’t know who you are, lady, but you’ve got the longest nose and the smallest ears I’ve ever seen on a human.”

  The hairs on Miss Oakswine’s head, which were prone to stick out in every direction, quivered with her indignation. “Daphne,” she hissed, “let us return to our seats immediately! People are looking our way. It
will not do to be seen arguing with someone dirty as a sweep.”

  “Mr. Cuddlipp, I shall give you ten pounds for that cat,” Daphne pronounced firmly.

  “Oh, I am having palpitations,” Miss Oakswine moaned.

  A choking sound emitted from the man’s throat. “Ten pounds? You must be daft. Anyhows, he’s not for sale.”

  Daphne glanced at the cat, which had not moved an inch. It appeared likely to cross the threshold of death’s door at any moment. Daphne felt a renewed surge of pity for the creature. “Twenty-five pounds, Mr. Cuddlipp.”

  The man screwed his eyes up and considered the tall, elegant female before him. Daphne returned his gaze without flinching.

  Once again, though, Miss Oakswine took it upon herself to interrupt the proceedings. “Daphne, how many times have we spoken of how insensitive men are? How they are little more than animals themselves? Your very home was taken away by a man who never even offered to give you houseroom. Why you stand here and try to deal with this churl is beyond anything.”

  Mr. Cuddlipp’s face went red under Miss Oakswine’s latest insult. “I don’t wants your money. Miss Kendall. You’d be better off spending it on more cordial company than what you’ve got there.” He jabbed a finger in Miss Oakswine’s direction. “She can’t be any relation of a beauty likes you, as ugly as she is.”

  Miss Oakswine drew a sharp breath. “You rattling sinner!” She moved as if to crack Mr. Cuddlipp over the head with her reticule.

  Daphne felt a wave of frustration at her companion’s behavior. She feared the opportunity to rescue the cat was slipping from her grasp.

  “May I be of assistance?” a deep masculine voice asked.

  Startled, Daphne swung around to face the stranger.

  He was of above-average height and powerfully built. His hair was a rich dark brown and showed a tendency to curl slightly. His skin was very white, and his mouth was firm. He was dressed impeccably in slate-gray, and a large sapphire burned darkly on the ring finger of his right hand.

  But what Daphne noticed most about him were his eyes. The color itself was not unusual, being an ordinary deep brown. What was remarkable was the intensity she saw in their depths. His eyes seemed to possess a power to draw her to him and to veil just the two of them in a web of intimacy.

  Daphne had experienced two Seasons since her arrival in Town, and her period of mourning had ended. She had danced and flirted with many gentlemen and would have remembered this particular one had she seen him before.

  “Forgive me for intruding, Miss—”

  “Kendall. I am Miss Daphne Kendall, and this is my companion, Miss Oakswine.”

  “And I am Ravenswood.” He bowed gracefully to both ladies. “I could not help but observe that a controversy of some nature was taking place between you and this person,” he said, indicating Mr. Cuddlipp.

  “My lord,” began Miss Oakswine, who knew her peerage and recognized at once she was dealing with the Earl of Ravenswood. Not that male members of the nobility inspired much more respect than commoners. Men were men in Miss Oakswine’s view. Rather like sheep or cows. “My charge insists on squabbling with this vile man over a cat. She has always been foolish beyond permission when it comes to animals, but this incident surpasses her galaxy of stupidities.”

  The earl raised one dark eyebrow at Miss Oakswine, and she seemed to shrink. Then his dark brown eyes met Daphne’s. “You wish to take this cat home with you. Miss Kendall?”

  Daphne felt she had lost control of the situation, if indeed she had ever had command. She was a clever and intelligent girl and was not used to others interceding on her behalf. “Yes, my lord. But I am perfectly capable of sealing the bargain with Mr. Cuddlipp without any help, though I do thank you for your concern.”

  One corner of the earl’s mouth twitched.

  Mr. Cuddlipp entered the conversation. “And I’ve told you, miss, that you could not buy the tiger, so that’s that.”

  Lord Ravenswood turned his head and glanced down his nose at the cat. To Daphne’s utter amazement, the animal strained to raise a paw in his lordship’s direction.

  Daphne thought she saw a shudder of distaste cross the earl’s handsome features, but it was gone so quickly, she believed she must be mistaken.

  A rusty noise issued from the cat’s throat. It was not a meow. The odd sound was more a cross between a growl and a weak tiger’s roar.

  “The monster!” Miss Oakswine declared. “I have never heard a cat’s meow sound like that. Heaven above only knows what the animal’s nature might be.”

  “Mr. Cuddlipp,” Lord Ravenswood stated in a tone that would tolerate no argument. “You will accept my generous offer of one hundred pounds for the cat, release him from his cage, and hand him to Miss Kendall. I shall do you the favor of not inquiring of Mr. Astley as to why this particularly woeful animal was permitted to be a part of one of the entertainments, when everyone knows Astley’s reputation for excellence.”

  There was a collective gasp.

  Mr. Cuddlipp’s face lit with joy over the huge sum of money.

  Daphne was torn between shocked indignation at the earl’s high-handed offer and relief that the cat would suffer no more.

  Miss Oakswine was furious. “Daphne! You will not bring that creature into the house. I absolutely forbid it!”

  But Daphne had not come this far only to go away empty-handed. She strained to keep her voice level. “I must contradict you, ma’am. This cat needs nursing, and I shall see to it in the kitchen. We shall not disturb you.”

  Lord Ravenswood eyed the pair curiously. “Miss Oakswine, are you by way of an aunt or some other relation of Miss Kendall’s?”

  Mr. Cuddlipp snickered.

  Daphne felt her cheeks warming, and her temper slipping, at what must appear to his lordship as her inability to control a paid companion. The fact that this was somewhat the truth goaded her into addressing him tartly. “My lord, Miss Oakswine suffers sneezing fits around animals, and I have respected her feelings in the past. However, on this occasion, it cannot signify. The cat’s very existence depends upon me.”

  Miss Oakswine appeared on die brink of apoplexy, until suddenly, a cunning look came into her eyes. “My lord, perhaps you could take the animal home with you. I am certain a gentleman of your rank commands a large staff that could easily care for one cat.”

  To Daphne’s irritation, Lord Ravenswood paused and considered this statement. Once again he turned toward the cat, who immediately replied, “Grraow,” in seeming agreement to the plan.

  The earl’s gaze returned to Daphne. She felt what could only be called a magnetic pull when he looked directly into her eyes. She managed to refrain from tapping her foot as he surveyed every aspect of her appearance, although she could not prevent the color from rising in her cheeks.

  Miss Oakswine drove the final nail into the coffin. “I need not remind you, my lord, that it would be most improper, and would, indeed, set tongues wagging if it got about that Miss Kendall, as an unmarried lady, accepted a gift from you. Especially such an expensive one.”

  Daphne drew in a quick breath at her companion’s audacity.

  Lord Ravenswood’s expression turned grim. “Yes. The only thing is for the cat to return to Upper Brook Street with me.”

  Before Daphne could voice any protest, his lordship raised a well-groomed hand. A strange-looking man promptly appeared at his side. Daphne realized he must have been standing close by, waiting for just such a signal.

  He was not tall, but his height was enhanced by a large white turban that sat imperiously atop his head. In the center of the front of the turban was an enameled pin portraying a vibrant likeness of an eye.

  The servant’s skin was nut-brown in contrast to his flowing white garments. He wore flat, gold-colored shoes from which red tassels dangled.

  The look he bestowed on Miss Oakswine was nothing short of malevolent. However, he quietly produced the required sum of money and paid Mr. Cuddlipp for the cat.
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br />   “Eugene,” Lord Ravenswood directed his servant. “Remove the cat from that cage and let us be on our way.”

  Eugene, whom Daphne guessed was a native of India, or perhaps Egypt, and nearing his sixtieth birthday, moved silently to obey the order.

  Daphne watched as the cat was gently extracted from the cage, while Eugene spoke to it soothingly in a tongue she could not understand. The animal lay calm, like a sleeping infant, in the cradle of the older man’s arms.

  Miss Oakswine twitched her long nose in satisfaction.

  Mr. Cuddlipp took his money and began walking away with a jaunty step. He turned for a moment to call back, “The tiger’s name is Mihos.”

  Eugene’s silver eyes widened, and a faraway expression came into them. He held the cat close to his chest.

  Daphne looked regretfully at Mihos, who, she decided, really did look like a miniature tiger. Even his eyes were a golden amber color.

  As if sensing her distress, Lord Ravenswood turned to address her. “Miss Kendall, after the animal is recovered, may I call on you? I shall bring Mihos with me, of course.”

  “Yes, my lord, you are most kind.” Daphne looked into his dark brown eyes once more and felt the stirring of attraction. She curtsied to him, and he bowed, then moved away with Eugene a few steps behind.

  It would not do, she told herself. Like all the others, he would find her Fatal Flaw. The one she herself did not know the exact nature of, but which eventually put off even the most ardent of her suitors.

  After two Seasons full of admirers, who consistently balked at the point when they might have been expected to make a declaration, Daphne had lost hope of forming with any gentleman the kind of attachment her parents had enjoyed. Fortunately she had not had her heart broken, for her affections had not yet been engaged by any of the gentlemen. And, she reminded herself, she had long ago determined to marry only for love.

  She was brought out of these depressing musings by the sight of a man in a brightly colored costume, who was leading an elephant out of the ring and toward the exit where Daphne and Miss Oakswine were standing.