Lord and Master

by Rosemary Stevens

  Anthony was seized with a desire to order the cat back into the basket until he heard Miss Kendall’s musical laugh ring out.

  “Did you see that? He flew across to you! Oh, my lord, I would not say he was my cat. Indeed, he seems much attached to you.”

  “Grraow,” agreed Mihos. He raised a paw to the earl’s chin.

  “I suppose you are correct, Miss Kendall,” Anthony agreed grudgingly. He patted the cat’s head awkwardly. Every time Mihos stretched a paw toward his face, Anthony was convinced it was to claw his nose off. As yet, though, the cat had only been affectionate. “And he is quite the acrobat. I am persuaded that Mr. Cuddlipp did not understand the cat’s true value by keeping him locked in a cage.”

  “He appears the picture of health, my lord, and does seem rather agile,” Daphne said, watching with approval as Lord Ravenswood handled the cat.

  “Yes, you could say that.” The cursed animal had hardly awarded him a moment’s peace since taking over the household. Always “flying” from place to place and wanting to be in his lap, atop his desk, or worst of all, draped about his shoulders. And while Anthony assured himself he would never change his mind regarding felines, he supposed Mihos must be tolerated.

  Feeling seven kinds of a fool, he stroked the cat’s striped fur, aware of Miss Kendall’s scrutiny. “He would not get along well with your dogs, so I am forced to house him.”

  Miss Shelby said, “You should feel honored, Lord Ravenswood, that the cat has chosen you as his person. Daphne told me the story of how you rescued him at Astley’s.”

  Anthony eyed the woman curiously. It seemed she was Miss Oakswine’s replacement as Miss Kendall’s companion. She appeared foolish, but harmless, which was more than could be said for her predecessor. “What can you mean, the cat chose me? I assure you, he was in no position to choose anything, being at death’s door.”

  Eugene spoke up from his position behind the earl’s chair. “Master, a cat belongs only to himself. He chooses to share his life with a human so that he may have his basic needs insured.”

  Miss Shelby nodded her head adamantly. “How true, Eugene. I can see what would have happened had Lord Ravenswood not saved Mihos.”

  At this point her eyes grew dreamy, and her voice became impassioned. “That nasty-sounding Mr. Cuddlipp would not have taken proper care of him. Mihos would have grown thinner, feebler, and less likely to hold the attentions of the patrons of Astley’s. One day, in a fit of temper, Mr. Cuddlipp would have grabbed him from his cage—”

  “And thrown him out into the snow,” Eugene finished for her.

  “Yes! Yes!” Miss Shelby cried. “The poor little dear would trudge on—”

  “His paws barely able to cut through the snow, as weak as he was.” Eugene moved to sit next to Miss Shelby on the sofa. The two became quietly engrossed in their predictions of what might have been.

  Anthony shook his head at the two older people and then glanced down at the purring cat in his lap. “You have no idea of the adventures you have missed,” he informed him.

  Daphne’s eyes twinkled. “My lord, if I may be so bold, why have I not seen you about in Society, coming to the aid of other felines?”

  Anthony turned to answer Miss Kendall’s question. She was a vision today in a simply cut yellow silk gown with tiny puffed sleeves. A strand of pearls was about her neck, and pearl earbobs contrasted with the red of her hair.

  He found himself admiring the creaminess of the white skin exposed by the gown’s bodice, which was cut low. Only when a pink tint appeared on her skin did he realize he had been staring rudely at her.

  “I have just returned to England after living for the past seven years in Egypt,” he answered.

  Her finely arched brows came together. “You do not have the complexion of one who has spent much time in the hot sun.”

  No one would ever accuse Miss Kendall of being a slowtop, Anthony mused. “How astute of you. I fear the last eleven months of my stay in Egypt were spent indoors, largely confined to my bed.”

  “How dreadful, especially for an active gentleman.”

  Anthony drew in a deep breath. “Yes, it was difficult. I contracted a fever that I could not seem to shake, despite every cure Eugene pressed on me. Each time I thought I had regained my health, the sickness would return and drain my strength again. One of the consequences was that I lost all the tan color I had acquired in my skin.”

  A maid entered with a tea tray, and Miss Kendall poured a cup and passed it to him. Anthony noted her long, slender fingers and suddenly remembered brushing them with his the day before in the Park.

  She was kind enough to prepare tea for Miss Shelby and Eugene as well, he noted. Turning her attention back to him, she asked, “What did you do in Egypt before you became ill?”

  “I dealt in Egyptian antiquities.”

  Her green eyes widened with interest. “How fascinating. I read in the Times about a very important Egyptian statue having been stolen recently. The Egyptian authorities believe someone in England may have it.”

  “Yes, my friend, Mr. Bullock, told me of the theft,” Lord Ravenswood said, thinking what a pity it was Miss Kendall possessed a keen intelligence, was well-informed on current events, and therefore an unsuitable female. She really was remarkably pretty and well mannered.

  Seated next to Miss Shelby, Eugene stiffened as he heard his master discuss the theft of Bastet. Anxious to turn the subject, he said, “Some of Lord Ravenswood’s artifacts are being shown at Mr. Bullock’s new Egyptian Hall.”

  Miss Shelby gasped with pleasure. “Oh, I have always wanted to travel, but it has not been meant to be, as yet, in this lifetime. How I would enjoy seeing wonderful treasures from another country.”

  A delicate flush rose in Miss Kendall’s cheeks at Miss Shelby’s none too gentle hint to be taken to the exhibit at the Egyptian Hall.

  Lord Ravenswood was not a man usually given to impulse, but he found himself saying, “I should be delighted to have you and Miss Kendall join me next Thursday evening, if you would care for it.”

  “My lord, you are kind but—” Miss Kendall began, until her companion interrupted her.

  “Yes, too kind,” Miss Shelby beamed, “And we are happy to accept your invitation. Why, I predict it will be a most enjoyable evening, would not you say so, Daphne?”

  “Of course,” Miss Kendall murmured, shooting the earl a rueful smile.

  The fact that he was an English gentleman forced Lord Ravenswood to reach for Miss Kendall’s hand and give it a quick, reassuring squeeze to lessen her embarrassment.

  At least that is what he told himself caused the action.

  He noticed when he released her fingers, she clasped them tightly with her other hand, but he had no time to wonder at the movement as a loud crash came from behind the closed drawing room doors.

  Daphne rose to her feet just as Cramble threw open the door, and Holly, Folly, and Jolly rushed in. “They want their bed, miss,” the elderly butler explained, indicating a large sheet of flannel in the corner of the room.

  Three sets of paws skidded across the floor. Three dogs halted at precisely the same time, and three noses sniffed the air and immediately detected the presence of a feline.

  “Oh, dear,” Miss Shelby groaned.

  “I shall take care of this,” Lord Ravenswood assured them.

  “Come, Mihos, back in your basket,” Eugene instructed.

  The striped cat slipped from the earl’s grasp and jumped to the back of his chair. Balanced on all four paws, Mihos glared down his whiskers at the dogs, who seemed paralyzed with shock. Looking every bit as fierce as a great tiger cat of India, Mihos hissed at them.

  As one, Holly, Folly, and Jolly turned tail and ran for the flannel, where they cowered in one big, moist-eyed heap.

  Mihos sailed gracefully through the air above the tea things and into the basket Eugene held, indicating the visit was over.

  * * * *

  Very late that night, Eugene op
ened the door to his room and entered, followed by Mihos. Bolting the door shut behind them, Eugene placed his candle down on the bedside table and crossed the room to light a stick of incense.

  Mihos sneezed delicately.

  “Little tiger, do you not like the scent of jasmine?”

  Mihos sneezed again in answer, then jumped on the bed and waited expectantly.

  Eugene walked to the armoire and bent to retrieve the statue of Bastet. Reverently he unwrapped the figure of a cat’s head with a woman’s body from the velvet and placed it on the table.

  He then knelt in front of it, bowed his head, and began murmuring prayers.

  From his position on the bed, Mihos studied the man and reached out a tentative paw to touch his turban.

  Eugene completed his prayers, opened his eyes, and addressed the statue. “We make progress, Bastet. Lord Ravenswood held Miss Kendall’s hand today. It was only briefly, but I am satisfied.”

  Mihos roared enthusiastically.

  In his mind Eugene went back in time to once before when he thought he might obtain his freedom. He had still been a young man then. But, instead, he had been given to Lord Montcross and served him for thirty years.

  Now he had another chance at the freedom he craved.

  Mihos leaned closer to the statue and sniffed it curiously.

  “If I am not mistaken, I have an ally in Miss Shelby,” Eugene said thoughtfully. “She is a knowing one. Did you send her to me as well, Bastet?”

  Mihos rubbed his whisker pad against one of the ears of the cat-woman statue, and it wobbled alarmingly.

  Eugene grabbed it before it could topple over. The goodwill of the goddess was crucial to his plans. Respectfully he encased her in velvet, and secreted her in the armoire.

  Chapter Three

  Two evenings later, Daphne and Miss Shelby handed their wraps to a footman and walked into Lady Huntingdon’s crowded drawing room. Both ladies enjoyed music, and had agreed with enthusiasm to attend Lady Huntingdon’s musicale.

  Chairs had been arranged around the candlelit room so that the company might best appreciate the tenor’s efforts. Daphne and Miss Shelby made their way through the crush to find seats before the singing began.

  Daphne was nodding to an acquaintance when, next to her, she heard Miss Shelby gasp. Daphne halted and turned to look at her companion.

  “What is it, Leonie?” she questioned, seeing Miss Shelby’s cheeks had lost their peach color and were instead a pasty white.

  “Lord Guy is here. Over by the fireplace,” Miss Shelby moaned. Her hands shook, and the fan she was holding fluttered to the ground. “He will see me and turn me over to the authorities!”

  Daphne turned her head and gazed across the room to see the gentleman responsible for her companion’s loss of employ and her subsequent fear of the hangman’s noose.

  The Duchess of Welbourne’s nephew was a young man in his early twenties. He stood surveying the gathering with an affected air of disdain. He was foppishly dressed in a sky-blue coat, and his blond hair had been teased high on his head.

  “Leonie, as I have been telling you these three days past, I am very certain that if the Duchess had any proof of treachery on your part—which of course she could not, since there was none—she would have produced it by now. You are quite safe,” Daphne told her. “And Lord Guy looks like he concentrates his attention on his coats.”

  Miss Shelby’s lips trembled in what passed for a smile of thanks at a passing footman, who had bent and retrieved her fan. “I pray you are right about the Duchess. As for Lord Guy, looks can be deceiving, Daphne. He is quite penniless and dependent on the Duchess of Welbourne’s charity, of which she has little. I feel he took the ivory cat and sold it to pay his tailor.”

  “And you were the one to suffer,” Daphne responded with some heat.

  “Yes, my child, but as long as I am not being charged with stealing, I am happy at the way things have turned out for me,” Miss Shelby told her. “Besides, the real person to pity will be the lady Lord Guy takes for a wife. ’Tis said he is hanging out for money and not just any heiress will do. Lord Guy wishes for a wife whose combination of wealth and beauty will make him the envy of his friends.”

  “Is that so?” Daphne inquired, a gleam of mischief flashing in her eyes. “I may not be accounted an Incomparable—

  “Daphne, never say so! You are the most beautiful lady present,” Miss Shelby exclaimed vehemently.

  Daphne laughed and reached over to give Miss Shelby’s hand a quick squeeze. “Oh, Leonie, I suspect you will do much to keep my spirits high. I was going to say that, while I may not possess the amount of beauty Lord Guy requires, I am sure he could be influenced by the size of my dowry. Perhaps he would be impressed enough to clear the name of my companion if I asked it of him.”

  Miss Shelby placed a restraining hand on Daphne’s arm. “No, my dear, I would strongly advise against any pretense where Lord Guy is concerned. He has a decided cruel streak.”

  As if sensing their scrutiny, Lord Guy minced over to where they were standing and bowed in front of Daphne. He examined every detail of her toilette: her elegant auburn curls, the expanse of creamy-white bosom, and her russet silk evening dress and matching slippers.

  Lord Guy would never have even dreamed of speaking to a personage as low as Miss Shelby, especially at a social event. However, his curiosity regarding Daphne made him put aside such strictures.

  “Ah, Miss Shelby,” Lord Guy drawled, tearing his gaze from Daphne. “Regrettably I did not have a chance to bid you farewell before your, er, somewhat hasty departure from our house. I can see you have done well for yourself, though. May I beg an introduction to the divine lady you accompany?”

  Miss Shelby obliged him with a sour note in her voice.

  Daphne, however, favored him with her best smile.

  Encouraged by this beginning, Lord Guy asked if he might guide her to her seat.

  “That would be most welcome,” Daphne responded, taking his arm. She privately felt disgusted by the fop’s persistent examination of her person, now amplified by the use of his quizzing glass.

  Watching them, Miss Shelby shrugged her shoulders and wandered away to the back of the room where the companions were sitting.

  Determined to maintain a pleasant demeanor for Miss Shelby’s sake, Daphne seated herself and gave Lord Guy her full attention, enchanting him by opening the conversation with a remark about his boots. “Why, I have often noticed the gentlemen have tassels adorning their Hessians, but never have I seen pom-poms.”

  Lord Guy puffed out his chest. “I believe I shall set the fashion with them, Miss Kendall. Like these, each set is dyed to match whichever coat I wear.”

  “Indeed?” Daphne said in an encouraging manner. She suppressed a giggle at Lord Guy’s fashion invention.

  “You see,” he went on, moving his leg so she might have a better view of his boot, “Meyer & Miller in Pall Mall devised this loop so I might change the pom-poms at will. Anyone must admire the way they swing with each step I take.”

  “They are certain to be the subject of many a conversation,” Daphne assured him.

  Across the room at that moment, Lord Ravenswood arrived, accompanied by Eugene. Anthony’s strong masculine presence drew the eyes of several of the ladies. He wore a bottle-green evening coat over black breeches. A white waistcoat served as a cool contrast to the darker colors. His only jewelry was the sapphire ring on his right hand.

  Eugene left his master’s side to take up a place where he would be out of the earl’s way, but at the same time could keep a watchful eye on him.

  Almost at once, Anthony was set upon by his hostess and Wilhelmina Blenkinsop. The Blenkinsops were wealthy members of the untitled gentry. They were resolute in their decision that their much coddled eighteen-year-old daughter, Elfleta, should marry a title.

  To that aim Mrs. Blenkinsop had arrived in Town before the Season had begun to nurse the ground for eligibles. She had a list of
possibilities for her “Elf,” and ever since she heard of the earl’s return to London, his name had been at the top.

  The Elf in question resembled a ghost more than any other storybook character. Elfleta was a thin girl with dull blonde hair and a thin chest. However, she had been dressed by the hands of an expert lady’s maid. She wore a beautifully cut gown of thin white muslin, and a coronet of tiny white roses rested in her hair. To her credit she did possess rather pretty hazel eyes.

  Her expression was one of perpetual contentment. This was because she rarely had thoughts of her own, finding it simpler to go along with whatever her strong-minded Mama wished. She expected to adopt whatever opinions her husband held when she married, if, indeed, she were required to have an opinion on anything at all.

  Lady Huntingdon performed the introductions, and Mrs. Blenkinsop wasted no time at all in embarking on her campaign.

  “My lord, I understand you are renting a house in Upper Brook Street,” she began in a friendly rush of words that contained an undercurrent of steel. “We reside just around the corner in Grosvenor Square. You must dine with us one evening this week. I am sure our excellent French chef could tempt your palate. Oh, my, where are my manners? May I present my daughter, Elfleta?”

  Anthony bowed over Miss Blenkinsop’s gloved hand. She smiled at him in a rather vacant way, and he studied her consideringly.

  The earl cast his mind over the gossip he had overheard at White’s that afternoon. Blenkinsop, Blenkinsop. Of course. Plenty of money and good bloodlines, if no title. Ah, that was it. The family desired a title and believed this wisp of a thing could get it for them.

  Ten minutes later, after sitting and conversing with Miss Elfleta Blenkinsop, Anthony thought they might be correct. She was obviously well brought up and conducted herself with decorum.

  She claimed modestly to be proficient at the ladylike accomplishments of stitching and watercolors, which was all well and good in Anthony’s opinion. But, most to his taste, not once had a single gleam of intelligence sparkled from the depths of Miss Blenkinsop’s eyes.