by Amanda Scott
Raikes chuckled, turning to Mollie. “The Beau is getting even, you understand, my lady. Alvanley put him out by pretending to know some fat, perspiring cit at the Opera and introducing Brummell to his notice. Fellow was delighted. ‘Brummell? Brummell?’ he said. ‘Ain’t you the fellow as sung such a good song at our club?’ Alvanley whispered in the fat man’s ear that he must be right, ’cause George certainly does sing a good song, though he’s too shy to admit it. So the fat man up and invites Brummell to his hunting lodge for Christmas. Promised him as good a bottle of port as any in England. It’s a fact. Heard him myself.”
The Beau’s expression did not change, but Mollie was certain he could not like hearing a tale that made the others laugh at him, so she was glad when Hawk returned to the original subject. “If you’re laying odds, George, I might as well take the bet,” he said, twinkling. “Seems to me you’ve lost well nigh every bet you’ve laid since I came back to England.”
Mollie again expected Mr. Brummell to take umbrage, but he did not. The lazy smile reappeared instead. “This is a sure thing, my lord. She won’t be able to resist the bait.” He patted Alvanley’s plump shoulder. “Then, too, my luck is about to change. I’ll not deny I’ve had a run of bad fortune at Macao, but when Breck here and I were walking home from Berkeley Street the other night—”
“At five o’clock Friday morning,” Lord Breckin corrected, lifting an eyebrow.
Brummell gave a slight shrug. “In any event, when I saw something glittering in the gutter, I stooped and picked up a crooked sixpence, which anyone knows to be a harbinger of good luck.”
“Previous owner must have thought so,” drawled Breckin. “Dashed thing already had a hole in it.”
“Can’t have brought him much luck if he tossed it in a gutter,” Hawk pointed out. The others laughed, and the discussion turned to matters of superstition. After a few moments, seeing that her husband meant to stay a while, Mollie excused herself and wandered off to find Lady Bridget. Before she could do so, however, she was accosted by Lady Andrew Colporter.
“How do you do, Margaret? You are looking well.”
Mollie answered politely, but the look in Lady Andrew’s eyes caused her some misgiving, and when her ladyship demanded a private word with her, she followed her reluctantly into a small anteroom.
“I cannot think what you want with me, Beatrix, but Hawk must be nearly ready to depart.”
“Don’t take that high-handed tone with me, young lady. I want to know if the news I’ve heard about you and that Muscovite is true or not!”
“Good gracious, Beatrix, what maggot have you got in your brain now?” Mollie demanded. “I collect that you are referring to Prince Nicolai Stefanovich, who is a perfectly respectable member of Monsieur de Lieven’s staff, so I cannot conceive—”
“Oh, can you not!” Her ladyship’s high-pitched voice dripped with sarcasm. “I suppose that next you will deny traipsing all over Dorothea de Lieven’s back garden with the man. Shifty, that’s what he is. And I’ll tell you to your head, Margaret, that he is more than you can handle. I have already told Hawkstone what I think about such a liaison, and he says there is nothing in it, more fool he. But I know you for what you are, better than he does.”
She went on in the same vein, but Mollie had ceased to listen, her heart thudding into her shoes at the thought that Hawk would now think every gossip in town was linking her name to Nicolai’s. Still, he had said nothing further to her, so perhaps he had assumed Lady Andrew was exaggerating. As, indeed, she was. The thought brought anger upon its heels, and when Lady Andrew took that moment to insist in her haughtiest tone that Mollie never so much as speak to “that fellow” again, the sparks leapt to her eyes. Drawing herself to her full height, Mollie told Lady Andrew to be silent.
“What?”
“You heard me, Beatrix. I have listened to more than I wish to hear from you on that or any subject. Whether or not I speak to his highness or walk with him in a garden—hardly a private walk, at that—it is my business and solely my business. Neither you nor Hawkstone, for that matter, has the right to tell me not to speak to the man. I have done nothing for which I need to feel ashamed. Not now and not during the four years of my husband’s absence, though you choose to think otherwise. Oh, I know you think you know all about me, and I freely admit I did some foolish things. But they were foolish, Beatrix, not scandalous. I should not have gone to the Bartholomew Fair, but only because it meant hobnobbing with rustics and cits, and because of the unfortunate fact that that particular fair very nearly turned into a riot!”
“I suppose you will next pretend to have been all decorum at Margate last year as well,” Lady Andrew retorted scathingly.
“Lady Bridget was with me.” Mollie’s tone was snubbing, but Lady Andrew was made of stern stuff.
“More shame to you that you dragged her there. And Biddy was not with you when you attended that dreadful masquerade at Dandelion Gardens dressed as a Vestal, of all things, and accompanied by a knight whose only claim to the title, as I understand it, was that he was errant!”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Mollie, hoping she sounded more astonished than she felt. “Where on earth did you come by such a tale?”
“Do you dare to deny it?”
“I shouldn’t think of dignifying it with a denial,” Mollie retorted. “I have come to know that you derive your greatest pleasure from believing the worst of me.” When Lady Andrew looked as if she would speak further, Mollie held up an imperious hand. “I won’t hear another word. You have tried to make mischief and you have failed. There is nothing further to be said.” With that she turned on her heel and left the room.
Inwardly she was seething, but there was a sense of relief as well. Lady Andrew had censured her behavior at Margate before, but her strictures had always centered upon her belief that Mollie had no business to be in a holiday resort while she was still in mourning. Mollie had not known for certain that Lady Andrew was aware of her attendance at the masqued ball. Since the woman had hitherto made no mention of the subject, it must be that she had heard only rumors and did not know that the story was true. She had not named Mollie’s escort, after all, though her description of him was accurate enough, and since Mollie had been masqued and had left the party before midnight, there was no way now for Lady Andrew to make certain of her facts. But if she had heard the rumor, no doubt she had passed it along as fact to Hawk, for it was not in her nature to have done otherwise. And if Hawk had heard about the masquerade, he had heard the worst of his wife’s follies.
Oddly, the thought that he must have chosen not to believe the tale, since he had not so much as asked her about it, stirred her old resentments. She had been treading lightly for fear he would cast old accounts in her face, but if he had not seen fit to write her when he first heard about it—as, indeed, he had written to blister Lady Gwendolyn when she had taken up with Lord Featherby—and if he had said nothing to her since then, except to apostrophize his aunt for a long-nose, then she had nothing to fear from him. And since there was nothing to fear, there could be no reason not to go on as she pleased.
She had been making her way through the crowded room, absently searching for Lady Bridget, as these thoughts tumbled through her head. But suddenly a broad, bemedaled chest loomed up before her.
“My lady, I am pleased to see you.”
“Your Highness!” She looked up to find him smiling at her. There was no hint of the overbold attitude he had taken with her at Ashburnham House. Instead, his expression reminded her of a puppy uncertain of approval. Her first inclination had been to exchange a polite word or two and then be on her way, but the prince exerted himself to charm her, and his methods were much more to her liking than they had been before. Added to that fact was her lingering resentment at being ordered first by her husband and more recently by his interfering aunt to have nothing to do with Prince Nicolai. Mollie wanted to show them both that she could captivate the prince without being captivated by him. Thus it was
that she allowed him to engage her in charming conversation for a full twenty minutes before she saw Lady Bridget signaling to her that it was time to depart. She smiled at the prince.
“I must go, sir, but I hope we will see you at our soiree Thursday evening.”
“You will see me, my lady,” he assured her. “Nothing could keep me away.”
Blushing at his tone, Mollie turned away to join Lady Bridget.
“I cannot like that gentleman,” her ladyship said in a worried undertone.
“Oh, he is perfectly harmless, ma’am, I assure you. I cannot think why you have not been presented to him before, but I shall make a point of doing so Thursday, when he attends our soiree.”
“Never say you invited him, Mollie. I am certain Gavin will not like it, and for that matter I cannot think why you want a soiree. You never wish to go to them yourself, and though I cannot but know there is some fine talent among our friends and acquaintances, most of them are amateurs compared to what one hears at Covent Garden or the Opera. Lofting tells me you have even arranged for a harp to be brought in.”
“Yes,” said Mollie, chuckling, “for Hawk particularly wished to hear Miss Aisling play. Just as he wished me to invite Prince Nicolai and Madame de Staël. I think he has some game in mind that he does not choose to share with us, ma’am.”
“Oh,” said Lady Bridget, her forehead smoothing at once. “If Gavin desires it, then there is no more to be said. I tell you, my dear, it is so comforting to have one’s affairs in a gentleman’s capable hands again. I know you have managed well enough since Thurston passed on, but you will own that it is never so comfortable when the running of things is left to a mere female. Only think what it must have been like to live in England when a woman was actually governing the entire country! Things must have been always at sixes and sevens. ’Tis no wonder the Spanish thought they could sail over and take the throne.”
Mollie stared at her. Clearly Lady Bridget had little understanding of either history or current politics if she believed the Regent or his mad father more capable of handling the reins of government than Queen Elizabeth had been. Or any other English queen, for that matter. It was all of a piece, though. Trust sweet Lady Bridget to assume that Hawk was better able to guide their affairs than Mollie had been, simply because he was male. Well, she would show them all that she was capable of handling her own affairs, at least, without interference from anyone. She had successfully routed Lady Andrew. Now she would show Hawk that she could choose her friends, run her life—yes, and even deal with Ramsay’s problems, whatever they were—without help or hindrance from a mere husband.
10
MOLLIE WENT IN SEARCH of Lord Ramsay as soon as they returned to Grosvenor Square. He was not anywhere to be found, but he had left word with Lofting that he expected to dine at home, so she asked the butler to tell her brother-in-law that she wished to speak with him immediately upon his arrival. Then she joined Lady Bridget in the large drawing room overlooking the rear gardens, where she was discovered some moments later by an enthusiastic Lord Harry.
“By Jove, Mollie, the Tower is something like! They’ve got all manner of creatures there. I saw a black bear all the way from the colonies and even a tiger from India. Bates says we may go again, and I think you would like it above all things if you was to go with us. You, too, Aunt Biddy,” he added kindly to the little lady, who sat in an armchair near the window, plying her needle.
“Dear me,” she replied, “but I should be afraid such horrid beasts might attack someone. I wonder that they allow them to be kept in the city.”
“Oh, pooh, there’s not the least danger,” Harry scoffed. “They’ve got them in cages.”
“Did you get to see the displays at Sir Ashton Lever’s museum?” Mollie asked.
“Yes, and there was a music box from Germany, Mollie, a huge thing. Filled a whole wall. One puts in a sixpence and it plays like a complete orchestra. The most marvelous thing. I’m not much of a dab for that fellow Haydn, and it played one of his pieces, but it was remarkable all the same. There was a mechanical bird in a golden cage, too. For a penny one might hear it sing. It sounds like a real canary, I promise you.”
“In fact, you enjoyed yourself.”
“By Jupiter, didn’t I! There are so many things to see here. Gaslights and who knows what all? If only I needn’t do lessons all day, I might see a great deal more,” he added coaxingly.
Mollie grinned at him. “You won’t get ’round me so easily as that, Harry. You know your brother is making arrangements to send you to Eton. You would not wish to be unprepared and have the other boys think you a dunce.”
“No, of course not,” he agreed, much struck. “And I shall be going on for ten before I even set foot in the place. Ramsay and Hawk both went when they were eight.”
“Indeed, so you must apply yourself in order to avoid being sent to the headmaster’s study. I understand that can be a most painful experience.”
“Oh, I don’t worry about that,” Harry said scornfully. “I suppose I know better than to ask for trouble.”
When he had gone, Mollie turned to Lady Bridget, smiling. “You know, I believe school will be a wonderful experience for him, but I confess I’m not overanxious to see him leave.”
“Well, you’ll soon have children of your own for us to cosset, my dear,” her ladyship replied comfortably, “and a gentleman must always benefit from a good education.”
Mollie agreed with that sentiment, but although Lady Bridget seemed disposed to continue the conversation, she soon excused herself to change her clothes for dinner. With the assistance of both Cathe and Mathilde du Bois this task was speedily accomplished, and no sooner had she dismissed them and retired to her sitting room than there was a light tap on the door and Lord Ramsay stepped inside the room.
“Lofting said you wished to speak with me.” He looked tired and his tan seemed to have faded. There were lines at the corners of his eyes and dark circles beneath them, both signs that he had been going the pace too hard.
“Come in, Ramsay, and sit down,” she said.
“I’ve got to change for dinner, Mollie.”
“I’ll order it put back, if necessary. I want to talk to you.”
“What’s amiss? You in the briars again?”
“No, it’s your problem I wish to discuss. Sit down.”
Eyeing her warily, he took his seat with an air of forced casualness. “I cannot conceive of what you might want to discuss,” he said.
“You are in some kind of trouble, Ramsay. It stands out all over you.”
“Fiddlesticks. All your eye and Betty Martin, Moll. What put that maggot in your cockloft?”
“A number of things suggested the possibility, but now that I see you, I know it for a fact. Cut line, Ramsay.”
He smiled faintly at the slang expression. “It’s nothing. Merely a reverse or two. Nothing I can’t sort out in the wink of an eye, and certainly nothing for you to get into a pother about.”
“Have you discussed these little reverses—I collect you mean financial reverses—with Hawk?”
The young man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “No, I haven’t wished to bother him. Not that there is a problem, Mollie. You’ve imagined things,” he added lamely.
“How much, Ramsay?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You needn’t, for I mean to get to the bottom of this. How much do you owe?”
He looked as though he would continue in his denials, but Mollie stared at him unwinkingly, and finally, with a dismissing wave of his hand, he said, “’Tis the merest trifle, Moll. Not a cent above five hundred, I promise you.”
“Five hundred pounds!”
“Well, guineas, actually, but I’ll come about. Even Brummell’s luck is said to be on the turn, you know.”
“All because of some silly sixpence,” she told him. “I heard all about that. But I’ve yet to hear that he has actually won any money. Surely, you cannot mean to go on be
tting when you’re already under by so much.”
“Well, I’ve got to raise the ready, don’t I? And I can certainly think of no other way to come by it.”
“But if you’ve got no money, how can you stake yourself?”
“I can go to Jew King in Clarges Street or Hamlet’s in Cranbourne Alley if I have to.”
“Don’t be nonsensical, Ramsay. You are under age and your name is known. They won’t touch you, or if they do, they’ll go straight to Hawk to get their money, saying they only meant to do you a favor. Then you would be in the suds. I haven’t got enough left in my account or I’d lend you the money myself in a twinkling.”
“I wouldn’t let you, Moll.” He sighed. “I got myself into this, so I must get myself out. Luckily, all the money is owed to one fellow, and he knows it’s low water with me just now, so I daresay he won’t raise a dust. Matter of fact, he offered to lend me a bit to stake if I needed it. I didn’t like to do it, but maybe I should let him.”
“No! Who is this generous spirit, anyway?” Mollie demanded.
“A friend of Hardwick’s. Name of Gaspard d’Épier. You may meet him anywhere, Mollie. From a distinguished émigré family. But, I can tell you, he knows what it’s like to be at low tide financially.”
“One may indeed meet Monsieur d’Épier anywhere,” she agreed, favoring him with a long look. “In fact, one may meet him in this very house on Thursday next. Nonetheless, I cannot think him a suitable person to be your friend, Ramsay.”
“Fustian. I collect you refer to the rumors that Gaspard is a spy or some such muck. Lord, Moll, don’t be such a nodcock! As if Hawk would have him here if that were true. Fact is, every time a paper or memo goes missing, every stuffy Englishman looks down his nose at the nearest poor émigré, thinking the fellow must be a spy.”
“Is there something missing?” Mollie’s eyes widened.
“Lord, how should I know? Very likely. Hasn’t thee Times been squawking for weeks about Napoleon’s ‘uncanny foreknowledge’ about Wellington’s movements and how shocked the French were at Vitoria? Stands to reason something went missing sometime, don’t it? But that don’t make Gaspard a spy. Not by a long chalk!”
