The Earl's Invention

by Diana Campbell

  She climbed out of bed and trudged to the dressing table, sat down, spread the napkin on her lap, and picked up the fork. But she had no appetite, and confident that even Nell's sharp eyes could not penetrate her back, she replaced the fork on the tray.

  Evidently David was still angry, and during her fitful tossing and turning, Bonnie had been forced to admit that he had a point. He had been far too harsh with her, of course; he had no right to charge that she had sought to conduct a “private assembly” on the fringes of Lady Lambeth's ballroom. But she was compelled to own, in retrospect, that it might appear she had taken undue advantage of the situation. David had bought her clothes, paid for her stylish coiffure, created the myth of her fortune . . .

  In short, she was the earl’s invention, and perhaps he was entitled to fly into the boughs at the notion that she had deliberately used their project to gain a foothold in society. An erroneous notion, it was true, but one she had unfortunately reinforced with her waspish remark about killing two birds with one stone. She had never thought to convert their charade to a come-out for herself, and she wished for perhaps the hundredth time that she could retrieve her impulsive words.

  But she could not; she had reached that dismal conclusion at least a hundred times as well. She could not snatch her comment back, so—grim though the prospect was—she perceived no alternative but to apologize to David. Not for her actions; she remained convinced that she had in no way invited the attentions she had received at the ball. But if she confessed she had spoken rashly, he would surely concede that he, too, had been unreasonable—

  “Humph!”

  As so often happened, Nell had stolen up behind her, and Bonnie guiltily groped for her fork.

  “I daresay you and Mr. David between you left enough of your breakfasts to feed half the beggars in London. But come along; we’ll get you dressed.”

  Bonnie’s jaw sagged with astonishment, for this was another first. In Nell’s personal lexicon of sins, “failure to eat” ranked as the deadliest, and she normally lamented every morsel of food left on Bonnie’s plate. But—now judging it best not to try the abigail’s unexpected tolerance too far— Bonnie leapt up, hurried to the mahogany chest beside the wardrobe, stripped off her nightclothes, and donned her corset and drawers. Nell bounded to her side, carrying the lime-green walking dress she had previously laid upon the bed; and as Bonnie stepped into the gown, she detected the clatter of a carriage in the street below.

  “What did I tell you?” Nell said triumphantly, beginning to fasten the hooks and eyes. “You’ve a guest already, and it’s not yet one o’clock.”

  Good God, Bonnie inwardly groaned; she had failed to consider this complication. How was she to dismiss the caller with Nell on the listen for her every word? She couldn’t instruct Kimball to report that she was still asleep, and she certainly couldn’t claim she was not yet dressed. So there was nothing for it but to chat with her admirer a moment and then affect the onslaught of a sudden mysterious indisposition.

  And if she was quick about it, her parti would be gone long before David returned.

  “There.”

  Nell finished her fastening at last, and Bonnie dashed to the dressing-table mirror to inspect her reflection. Fortunately, Monsieur Michel’s coiffure required only a modicum of correction, and after patting a few wayward curls into place, she applied a dab of rouge to either cheek. She had just completed this endeavor when she heard the expected tap at her bedchamber door, and she watched in the glass as Nell threw the door open.

  “Miss Bonnie?” As she had also expected, Kimball was bearing a small silver tray. “You have a caller.” He proffered the tray, and Bonnie turned reluctantly around. “Lady Pamela Everett.”

  “Lady Pamela!” Nell grimaced with annoyance.

  “Lady Pamela?” Bonnie echoed, expelling another sigh of relief. “I fear you misunderstood, Kimball. I'm sure she wishes to see David.”

  “She did inquire whether Mr. David was home." Kimball bobbed his head in agreement. “However, when I advised her he was not, she requested to speak to you."

  “How peculiar,” Bonnie murmured. She had obtained a distinct, if inexplicable, impression that her ladyship did not much welcome the sudden arrival of the earl's “niece." “Perhaps she wants me to convey a message to David ."

  “Message indeed!” Nell emitted a snort of disdain. "Lady Pamela has been chasing after Mr. David above a year now, and I daresay she thinks to enlist you in her cause." She transferred her bright black eyes to Kimball. "Tell her Miss Bonnie is otherwise occupied—"

  “No!” Bonnie interposed.

  She was far from wishing to befriend Lady Pamela; to the contrary, she had instinctively disliked the woman from the moment of their introduction. But Nell's remarks had rendered her excessively curious, and she shook her own head.

  “No," she repeated. “Please show Lady Pamela to the drawing room, Kimball, and advise her I'll be down shortly.”

  In the event, "shortly" extended to nearly fifteen minutes, during which interval Nell expounded her unflattering opinion of their visitor. At the crux of this opinion was the abigail's belief that her ladyship would have been wed long since did she not entertain such an exalted notion of her importance.

  “Being as she’s the daugher of a marquis, I mean," Nell elaborated with a sniff. “I fancy she expected to marry a duke. Or even a prince, if any of their royal highnesses had been readily available. But then, about a year ago, she must have woken up to the fact that she’s not getting any younger. Must have decided to set her cap at the handsomest, richest earl she could find. Mr. David, to be precise. So she started trying to look like she was eighteen again ..."

  Nell was still grumbling in this vein when Bonnie judged that Lady Pamela—whatever her sins—had been permitted to cool her heels long enough; and with a nod at the crusty old servant, she left the bedchamber and descended the stairs to the first floor. She collected, as she approached the saloon, that Kimball had ordered tea for their guest: she could see a silver tray on the table in front of the Hepplewhite sofa. However, she further observed when she stopped in the drawing-room archway. Lady Pamela was not drinking the tea. Indeed, her ladyship was not even seated on the couch; she was slowly circling the room, pausing to study each individual item of furniture. At length, Bonnie surmised that Lady Pamela was planning the redecoration she would order when she won the hand of her rich, handsome earl; and though she could not have said why, her vague dislike swelled to intense animosity.

  “You asked to see me, Lady Pamela?” she snapped, stepping on into the saloon.

  “Ah, yes."

  Her ladyship turned lazily toward the entry, and Bonnie noted that she was once more clad in a simple white muslin dress. But in the brilliant sunlight streaming through the open draperies, the lines in her face were deeper, harsher; and

  Bonnie now estimated—with considerable satisfaction—that she was some years beyond thirty.

  “Yes, I did request to see you, Miss . . . ah . . . Carlisle. Shall we sit down?”

  Lady Pamela sank into the oval-back chair she had most recently been appraising and waved graciously toward the sofa. It was a clever attempt to seize the initiative, Bonnie conceded: an uninformed witness to the scene might well collect that Lady Pamela was the hostess and Bonnie the unwelcome intruder. An impression that would be reinforced if she took the designated place on the couch, and she consequently stood her ground in the archway and granted her ladyship a cool smile.

  “I haven’t the time to sit down," she said. “I was . . ." She elected to borrow from Nell. “I was otherwise occupied when you arrived. I consented to receive you because I assumed you wished me to relay a message to Uncle David.”

  “Uncle David.” Lady Pamela chuckled, but the sound was utterly devoid of amusement. “Let us be candid with one another, Miss . . . Carlisle. I shall begin by frankly owning that I did not come to see Lord Sedgewick; I came specifically to speak with you. To speak privately with you
. I inquired after Lord Sedgewick only to ascertain that he was from home.”

  She had been right about the voice, Bonnie thought absently: her ladyship was speaking firmly, crisply, with no trace of the breathless uncertainty she had employed the night before. Of more immediate import, however, Nell had been right about Lady Pamela’s motives. She was obviously seeking to enlist the earl’s niece in her campaign, and much as Bonnie misliked the woman, she didn’t wish to be rude. It therefore seemed imperative to terminate the conversation before her ladyship could overtly solicit her assistance, and Bonnie groped for the polite—but unequivocal—words that would accomplish this objective.

  “I fear you grant me too much credit," she said at last. “I’m quite incapable of influencing my uncle."

  “You disappoint me.” Lady Pamela shook her head. “I was honest with you, and I was in hopes you'd be equally honest with me. But apparently you’ve determined to play your part to the bitter end. Well, it will avail you nothing. Miss Whatever-Your-Name-May-Really-Be, because I know you are not Lord Sedgewick’s niece.”

  How did she know? Bonnie wondered wildly. She had successfully deceived everyone else at the assembly; how had Lady Pamela, of all people, surmised the truth? She opened her mouth to ask, but it was so dry that the question died in her throat. And fortunately, as she moistened her lips, she realized that her ladyship’s accusation might, in fact, be only a guess.

  “Not Uncle David’s niece?” Bonnie distantly commended herself for her indignant tone. “However did you conceive such an absurd notion?”

  “Oh, come now.” Lady Pamela issued another mirthless chuckle. “I am hardly a child.”

  “No, you are not,” Bonnie pleasantly agreed.

  A dull flush suffused her ladyship’s cheeks, and Bonnie thought—nay, prayed—she was grinding her crooked teeth.

  “My point being”—Lady Pamela’s voice was now gratify- ingly shrill—“that I am well aware of Lord Sedgewick’s numerous cheres amies. Indeed, his sister has warned me of his rakeshame ways at every possible opportunity. Since I am also well aware that it is in Lady Hellier’s interest to prevent Lord Sedgewick’s marriage, I shouldn’t be in the least surprised to learn that she promoted this arrangement.”

  Arrangement? Bonnie knit her brows in puzzlement. For all the sense her ladyship was making, she might have lapsed into a foreign tongue. Not French; Bonnie was reasonably fluent in French. Greek maybe.

  “I haven’t the faintest notion what you’re talking about,” she rejoined aloud. “Evidently you're suggesting that I’m somehow in league with Aunt Judith, and the fact is I have not yet met her.”

  “Aunt Judith.” Lady Pamela shook her head again. “You’ve mastered your lines prodigious well; I’ll give you that. However, I’m inclined to believe you do not know Lady Hellier, which renders the situation exceedingly surprising indeed. I can scarcely conceive that even Lord Sedgewick would ensconce a cyprian beneath his very roof. You must possess charms which are quite invisible to me.”

  “Cy-cyprian?” Bonnie stammered incredulously. “You think that I . .

  But it was appallingly clear what Lady Pamela thought, and Bonnie was struck by a terrible suspicion. A suspicion so horrifying that her knees began to quiver, and she sagged against the doorjamb. Had David anticipated her ladyship's misapprehension when he contrived their charade? Had he plotted to kill three birds with a single stone?

  ‘‘Be that as it may, you have created an excessively awkward situation." Lady Pamela seemed to be speaking from a vast distance. ‘‘I shouldn’t like it to be said that I was compelled to pry a husband directly from the arms of his barque of frailty. I am prepared to make restitution, of course. Very generous restitution; state your price, and if it is remotely reasonable, I shall meet it.”

  “Are you . . Bonnie once more licked her lips. “Are you proposing—”

  “I am proposing a far better bargain than you have with Lord Sedgewick,” Lady Pamela interposed kindly. ‘‘He will tire of you in a few months—half a year at most—and cast you out. Whereas I am in a position to ensure your comfort for the indefinite future.”

  “No.” Bonnie frantically shook her head. ‘‘You have altogether misconstrued—”

  “I’m sure he’s perfectly splendid in the bedchamber.” Lady Pamela tendered a sympathetic smile. ‘‘But you cannot trade a lifetime of security for a week or two of passion.

  “Half a year” had now shriveled to "a week or two. Bonnie noted, while “the indefinite future” had blossomed to “a lifetime of security.” Had she watched such a scene upon the stage, she would have burst the seams of her dress

  with laughing; as it was, she could only lament that David wasn’t present. Indeed, she lamented his absence most bitterly because she desperately wished to strangle him with her bare hands.

  “You don’t understand. Lady Pamela,” she said as levelly as she could. “I am . . But she could hardly say she was the earl’s invention, a figment of his vivid imagination, and she clenched her hands. “I am not a cyprian,” she concluded lamely.

  “No,” her ladyship hissed, “it is you who do not understand. I intend to wed Lord Sedgewick, and I am accustomed to having my way. I have not permitted Lady Hellier to intimidate me, and I certainly won’t be thwarted by a brazen little bird of paradise. I had hoped we could reach a civilized agreement, but since you have rejected that solution, I shall be forced to resort to other methods. Perhaps you are not aware that my father is the Marquis of Haverford.”

  “I was told your father is a marquis—”

  “And my elder brother is the Earl of Walsingham.” Lady Pamela flew heedlessly on.

  “You are to be congratulated for your excellent choice of relatives," Bonnie said dryly. “However, I fail to perceive any connection between them and me.”

  “They have every connection to you.” Her ladyship’s green eyes were glittering with malice. “I believe I indicated that I am accustomed to having my way, and Papa and Richard are accustomed to seeing I do. Indeed, they go to considerable lengths to give me what I want. Such considerable lengths as occasionally to become . . . Shall we say unpleasant? Unpleasant for the obstacles to my happiness, I mean.”

  Bonnie was again reminded of a play, and at this juncture, she would have criticized the author for his amateurish lack of subtlety. Lady Pamela had not bothered to cloak her threat in even the thinnest of veils, and for a moment, Bonnie could only gape at her.

  “Are you threatening me?" she asked gratuitously when, at last, she found her tongue.

  “Interpret my words as you will." Her ladyship rose and brushed an invisible speck of lint from the skirt of her dress. “But do not profess to be surprised should something . . something unfortunate occur. No, pray do remember that you were duly warned. And do not trouble yourself to ring for a servant to show me out. I have been here before.”

  She sailed across the Axminster carpet but stopped in the archway to fasten her cold green eyes on Bonnie.

  “I have been here before," Lady Pamela repeated, “and I shall be here again. Long after you are gone, I shall be here.”

  She walked on out of the saloon, walked unhurriedly down the corridor to the stairs, but Bonnie did not move until she heard the slam of the front door. With that comforting sound reverberating in her ears, she drew herself up and, her knees still alarmingly unsteady, made her own way across the carpet and collapsed on the edge of the sofa. She would have conjectured that she and Lady Pamela had talked for some hours, but when she idly felt the teapot, she discovered it still warm. She poured herself a cup—her hands trembling rather more than her knees—and ventured a cautious sip. But the tea was, in fact, only lukewarm, and Bonnie gulped it down and shakily replaced the cup in the saucer. She then wnggled to the back of the couch, closed her eyes, and began to ponder what she should do.

  The apology she had intended to deliver to David was out of the question: her transgressions paled to utter insignificance in comparison to his
. No, far from planning to apologize, she was sorely disposed to end their charade at once. It would be fitting punishment for the earl if she packed up the elegant new clothes he had bought her and fled to Aunt Grace—leaving him to explain to Lady Hellier why their “niece” had disappeared as abruptly as she'd arrived. David would be excessively vex of course, but she doubted he would chase her all the way to Nantwich to retrieve a few gowns.

  Indeed, now Bonnie thought on it, she doubted his lordship could track her to Nantwich. Insofar as she recalled, she had mentioned only that Aunt Grace lived in Cheshire, and David had never inquired the name of the town. So she could probably vanish without a trace, which would overset the earl for a day or two and positively delight Lady Pamela . . .

  Lady Pamela. There was the rub: if Bonnie left, it would appear she had yielded to her ladyship's empty threats. And they were empty, Bonnie assured herself, determinedly ignoring the prickle of apprehension at the base of her scalp. What “unfortunate” thing could possibly happen? People were attacked in the streets of London every day; that was true. But not here, in the city’s finest neighborhood, mere yards from Grosvenor Square. No, Lady Pamela’s threats were so much hollow bombast, and she could not be allowed to suppose they had driven Bonnie away—

  “What an astonishing surprise!”

  Bonnie had not detected the earl’s approach, and she started and opened her eyes. He was standing in the drawing-room entry—one broad shoulder propped against the jamb—and peering at her as though, indeed, he were quite amazed.