His Mysterious Lady, A Regency Romance (Three Gentlemen of London Book 2)

by G. G. Vandagriff

  Moving through the crowd, he witnessed Miss Virginia Livingstone standing between a mangy black dog and an unlovely youth with a stick. The poor canine was visibly trembling, as was the lady, who stood with her umbrella raised.

  The youth sneered, “’E’s my dog, lady. Oi’ll treat ’im as oi loike.” Darting around her, he attempted to spur the creature on by striking it with his stick. The dog yelped, and, like an avenging angel, Miss Livingstone brought her umbrella down on the boy’s head. He whirled on her, his stick raised.

  Horrified, Tony stepped forward and grabbed the stick just before it made contact. “Here, now! You do not treat ladies or even dogs with a club!” With his other hand, he grabbed the youth’s dirty shirt. Turning to the crowd gathered, he said, “Someone fetch a constable!”

  With a look of stark terror, the boy yanked himself out of Tony’s hold and took to his heels. In a moment he had disappeared down an alley.

  The pitiful dog whined, and to Tony’s horror, Miss Livingstone picked it up and cuddled it under her chin. “Poor mite. There. We won’t let him hurt you again.”

  “My dear Miss Livingstone,” Tony said, “I feel certain the creature has fleas.”

  She looked at him with desperate eyes. “Oh! Lord Strangeways! Thank you. This poor thing has been beaten all over. He’s terrified and bleeding.”

  Tony’s heart melted at her tragic look. Was there any other woman of his acquaintance who would have risked her own safety for a mistreated dog? He said gently, “What do you intend to do with him?”

  Her brow puckered. “I don’t know. I didn’t think, I guess. My aunt will never take him in.” She smiled at him. “I don’t suppose you have use for a dog?”

  He shook his head emphatically. The crowd began to disperse, and a young woman in the clothes of a servant approached them. Good. Miss Livingstone had at least come out with her maid. If she were unchaperoned, that would have been an even worse situation. He prayed the gossips wouldn’t get hold of it.

  Tony found himself saying, “Come, we’ll find a cab. I know exactly where to take the fellow.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I feel certain he’s starving. Every one of his ribs is protruding.”

  At that moment a cab pulled up and deposited two gentlemen for Hatchard’s. Tony hailed it, and in a trice he, Miss Livingstone, her maid, and the dog were on their way to Blossom House.

  “I am taking you to Lady Clarice Manton’s. She is the kindest woman in London,” Tony said. “Her companion, Miss Braithwaite, is downright eccentric. She collects beetles and owns a tortoise. Between them they manage several charities and have a fondness for pets.”

  “This is awfully kind of you, Lord Strangeways. I do not know what I would have done had you not materialized the way you did. Again.”

  “As I told you, I live to rescue damsels in distress. I had thought you were going to be my Cinderella, disappearing the way you did last night.”

  She threw him a startled glance. “I’m sorry. My aunt wished to go home.”

  “So I gathered. I believe she had some objection to me.”

  He could feel her grow uncomfortable. “Not at all,” she responded.

  “That is good. I am sorry for the circumstances, but I am glad I was to hand today.”

  “I might be lying unconscious on the street had you not been,” she said with a shudder. “I wasn’t thinking. I just reacted on instinct when I saw this poor creature being beaten.”

  He sensed that there was more to her reaction that she wasn’t telling him, but he did not press her. They had arrived at Blossom House.

  Pursley, Lady Clarice’s butler, wearing his white Georgian wig, did not even blink when he saw an unknown woman carrying a filthy mutt. Instead he promptly showed them into Lady Clarice’s Sitting Room for Gentlemen Callers—a dark-blue room with maritime paintings and white moldings. He led Virginia’s maid into the back regions of the house.

  Moments later, their hostess sailed into the room. “Tony! How is your dear mother?” she asked. Lady Clarice was a buxom dowager with a head of white hair. As usual, she cradled her fat Siamese cat, Queen Elizabeth. The pet hissed at the sight of the dog. “Oh, my! Who have we here?”

  “Lady Clarice, may I present Miss Virginia Livingstone, Lady Ogletree’s niece? The dog does not yet have a name, I’m afraid. Miss Livingstone, this is Lady Clarice Manton, rescuer of the unfortunate.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Miss Livingstone said. “Lord Strangeways told me that this was where we should bring this poor creature.”

  “I sense there is a story here,” the lady said.

  Tony said, “This forthright and intrepid young lady rescued the fellow from an urchin who was beating him in front of Hatchard’s.”

  “Of course you did exactly the right thing,” the lady said. Instantly, she rang for Pursley. When the butler stepped into the room, she said, “Bring Miss Braithwaite to me, if you please.” Turning back to Miss Livingstone, she explained, “Sukey will see to the poor mite. She is an expert with animals of any sort. I believe she even has a treatment for fleas.”

  “You are terribly kind,” said Miss Livingstone. Her gratitude appeared to have brought her to the verge of tears. “I have no idea what I would have done with him.”

  Tony’s heart was touched again. “I think it only right that you should have the honor of christening the poor little fellow.” He looked to where Miss Braithwaite’s large tortoise was waddling into the room. “Meet Henry Five.”

  Miss Livingstone’s eyes grew round. The reptile was followed by the diminutive, gray-ringleted Miss Susannah Braithwaite, a woman who had always secretly terrified him with her intelligence.

  He introduced the two women.

  “Poor little fellow,” Miss Braithwaite said, taking the dog from Miss Livingstone. “You have brought him to the right place. He needs food, a bath, and some bandages, if I am not mistaken.”

  “How will he get along with your tortoise?” asked Miss Livingstone.

  “They will become accustomed to one another in time.” She held up the dog in front of her and studied him. “Now, what is your name, sir?”

  “I think he should be called Nathan Hale,” Miss Livingstone said and then blushed ferociously. “I forget I am in England now.”

  Intrigued, Tony said, “Please tell us about Nathan Hale.”

  She raised her chin, a twinkle in her eye. “He was an American patriot. I doubt that you have ever heard of him. Like this poor little dog, he sought liberty.”

  Tony said, “Suitable for what I think is at least partly a Scottish terrier. But you can’t go about calling the poor brute a given name and a surname. You will have to shorten it.”

  “Very well,” she said, looking him in the eye. “He shall be Mr. Hale. He is incognito in England, but when he returns with me to America, his full identity shall be known.” Turning to the ladies, she asked, “Shall you feel anxious, housing a fiery American patriot?”

  Miss Braithwaite laughed. “For now, he has a sweet nature. I will let you know if I see any signs of sedition against the British Empire. Now I will take him into the scullery and get him some bread and milk to start with. It was good to meet you, Miss Livingstone. Another day, we shall have to have a longer visit.”

  The woman left the room with her charge. Tony, no longer worrying about being saddled with a puppy, turned to Lady Clarice and began talking about his mother.

  After settling that the woman should call on Lady Strangeways, their hostess turned to Miss Livingstone.

  “Unless my ears deceive me, my dear, you are from the American South. Whatever brought you to England in the middle of a war?”

  Trust Lady Clarice to get right to the point!

  “It is a long story, my lady. I shall be visiting Lord and Lady Ogletree for some time. His lordship is my grandfather’s brother.”

  Hmm. An evasive answer, Tony thought. Had she been orphaned? If so, how had she managed to get to England through the
blockade? And how did she feel, fetching up in the enemy’s country? With the naming of her dog, he detected she was not one of those American ladies who had come to England prior to recent hostilities seeking a title. She was of Republican sympathies and bound to retain her own identity and citizenship.

  At that moment he noticed the giant tortoise eyeing his Hessian boots. The pet had a special fondness for them, having lived for many years in the household of the Duke of Devonshire.

  Lady Clarice nodded. “Lord Ogletree is a lovely man. He gives very generously to our charities, though he does not come to London often.”

  “Charities?” asked Miss Livingstone.

  “Sukey and I feel very strongly that the best way to help the poor is to teach them to read. We have several plans in the works, but they will take money to put them in play. We stage benefits during the Season to raise funds. There is to be a balloon ascension on Saturday. In fact, Tony dear, do you not have a balloon in the race?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Miss Livingstone. “A balloon ascension! I have never been to one. How thrilling!”

  “Our committee is selling tea and cakes,” said Lady Clarice. “Would you like to join us, dear?”

  “I would love to,” Miss Livingston said. “What a good idea.”

  Henry Five had Tony’s boots in his sights, Tony was certain. He rose and walked to the mantel. “Shall I call for you that morning?” he asked. “We will be up very early filling the balloons, but the ascension is not scheduled to begin until eleven o’clock.”

  “That would be lovely. I shall have to convince my aunt to accompany me, however.” Miss Livingstone gave a little cry and looked at the watch pinned to her bodice. She rose hastily. “I must be on my way home! I am certain my aunt’s nap is over and she is wondering where I am. I wouldn’t like to worry her.”

  Tony read alarm in her face. Was she afraid of her aunt or just concerned as a normal guest might be? “Of course. Let us leave at once before Henry Five takes a slice out of my boots. My valet would skin me alive!”

  “We will be setting up at ten on Saturday,” Lady Clarice told Miss Livingstone.

  “I shall be there, if possible,” the young lady said with a smile.

  After they had taken leave of their hostess and Miss Livingstone had thanked her graciously for adopting Mr. Hale, her maid joined them.

  “Half Moon Street isn’t far from here, is it?” Miss Livingstone asked Tony. “Sarah and I can walk home.”

  “It isn’t far, but I will see you to your door,” he said. As he took her arm in his, he felt a dart of energy course through him at their attachment. He did not know whether to be alarmed or pleased at the evidence of his feelings. It had been a while since he had felt such an attraction, and this was so sudden. There was too much he did not know about the lady.

  The walk to Shipley House was short, and she promised to be waiting for him on Saturday just before ten o’clock. When they said farewell, her eyes were filled with gratitude.

  “Thank you so much for coming to my aid today. And for introducing me to those lovely ladies. Now I must get inside before my aunt sends a constable looking for me!”

  What an extraordinary woman! But he was safe from any temptation to indulge in his attraction. With her talk of taking the dog with her to America, it was clear she had no intention of staying in England. However, he couldn’t help but be curious about her. She was the most unusual lady he had ever met.

  Upon his arrival home, Tony went to the library, where the afternoon post was waiting for him. The letter on top caused his heart to lurch.

  Pamela.

  He could not imagine why she was writing to him. After staring at the missive for a moment, heart pounding, he ripped it savagely into four pieces, which he tossed on the fire, then went in to tea.

  Chapter Two

  “Where have you been, my gel?”

  Virginia’s aunt stood in the hallway in a towering rage, her hands on her hips. The situation called for some serious diplomacy.

  “Merely to the bookshop. I took Sarah with me, so I was adequately chaperoned. I’m sorry if you were worried, but there is nothing to read in Uncle’s library.”

  “There are heaps of books!” Aunt Lydia looked like a termagant, her aged face red, her nostrils distended, her jaw set. Neither Virginia nor her uncle had counted on Aunt Lydia being so embarrassed about providing a home for an American niece.

  “Uncle can hardly be expected to possess women’s novels.”

  Her aunt tapped her foot. “If you were at the bookshop, where, then, are your purchases?”

  This flummoxed Virginia for only a moment. “They are being delivered. There were too many to carry.” She went to her aunt, put her arm about the woman’s waist, and led her to the sitting room. “Now, tell me. Have you heard from Uncle? Has he arrived safely in Dorset? Did he find all well on his estate?”

  The woman’s rigid posture softened only slightly. “He has many things to see to.” Virginia sighed. “Uncle is a dear.”

  The remainder of the afternoon was spent doing penance. Virginia embroidered in her aunt’s sitting room and listened to a long list of the woman’s tribulations. All would-be callers were told the ladies were not at home to visitors.

  “I can only emphasize that you must be absolutely silent on the manner of your arrival in England.”

  “I assure you I have no intention of speaking of it, Aunt.”

  Virginia had not been a guest in the house long before she understood completely why her uncle had chosen a life at sea. Had he not been elevated to the peerage by the death of a distant relation, he would undoubtedly have risen to the rank of admiral by now.

  The afternoon passed somehow. She was not fond of embroidery and wished mightily that she were awaiting a delivery of novels. Her lack of congenial occupation wore on her, as did her aunt’s company. Virginia missed her home, her country, and most of all her parents.

  * * *

  The smoke was choking her. The heat of the enormous flames felt like it was searing her alive through her nightgown.

  “Mother! Papa!” she screamed, but she could not even hear herself above the roar of the fire and the crashing of the walls in front of her. She could almost feel the blaze sucking her in. Terrified, she turned and ran back toward her bedroom.

  She smacked into a solid presence in the smoke.

  “Come, chile, Mammy can carry you.”

  She dissolved into the comforting figure of her old nurse as though she were indeed a child again. Mammy hurried down the back stairs as walls fell behind them. They were barely out of the house when the ceiling collapsed.

  “Mother, Papa!” she screamed again.

  Virginia woke screaming, kicking off the constraining quilts. Tears rained down her face.

  Mother. Papa.

  The sickening reality stole over her for the hundredth time. Her parents were gone, having perished in the fire, along with Mammy’s husband, as they tried to get the house slaves out.

  No one ever determined how the fire started. The British were suspected, and for months Virginia’s anger had burned as hot as the flames that destroyed her home. Rage had governed all her actions. Though her kind neighbors had taken her in, she had been obstinately silent.

  Her horse had survived, and she had spent hours on its back, trying to run away from her pain and the tragedy that stalked her. Her hatred of the British grew.

  Now, she began to shiver in convulsive waves. Drawing the covers back over her, she struggled to leave the memories in the past.

  The few people she had met that day were kinder than she had expected. Indeed, she was fighting a fierce attraction to a viscount, of all people! Of course, anything further was impossible. He represented a social system, not to mention a government, she despised. She had never expected to find a country completely untouched by war. If one judged Britain by its high society, one might not even realize a war was taking place with America or with F
rance. The whole situation had a way of deflating her anger. It was as though she had landed on the moon, so far away from home did she feel.

  She must live in the present. She must move forward with her life, but when would the nightmares stop? Did she really want them to? The only place her home and parents lived was in her memory.

  * * *

  The following day her aunt declined visitors again and, after luncheon, retired to take her rest, leaving Virginia free to visit Hatchard’s once more. Before the war there had been advertisements in the Charlottesville newspaper for the grand London bookseller. One could order books. She had begged her mother to do so, but her mother had said such an order would take months to receive.

  Now Virginia was determined to try again to visit the bookstore that had so captivated her imagination. It claimed to carry all the latest fiction. Perhaps if she immersed herself in a good book, she could rid herself of the nightmares—or at the very least have something to read when she woke at night.

  Once again she took her maid, Sarah, and left the house. She hailed the first hackney to pass them and directed the jarvey to Hatchard’s Book Emporium.

  As the establishment came into view, the store’s appearance—which she had not had a chance to discern the day before—delighted her. With an entrance set back from the street, it had large, many-paned windows showing off the collection inside. It looked to be a place in which one could lose oneself—just exactly what she required today.

  She and Sarah entered the store, and while her maid sat in an armchair by an open fire, Virginia began browsing the shelves looking for the newest fiction. Delighted to find several books she had not read, she dipped into them to sense whether she would enjoy them. While she was thus employed, a blonde sprite with dancing amber eyes approached her, saying, “Ooh, that is a very good one! Pride and Prejudice.”

  Virginia smiled at her. “You have read it, then?”

  “Yes. I wish the author was not anonymous. I would love to meet her.”

  “Is there anything else you can recommend?” Virginia asked.

  The girl studied her openly. “You speak like an American.”