Lady Pamela

by Amy Lake

  He recalled with longing the previous weeks, when the duke's fine lady would spend part of each afternoon at the piano, and play so beautifully that tears came to Josiah's eyes. Took a bit of doing, that, to make an old salt cry.

  The valet cringed at the sound of an especially unfortunate chord, and heard the duke's muttered, “Blast!"

  An appreciation for music did not, it seemed, give one the ability to play.

  * * * *

  "Any news of Lord Chambers?” asked the duke. He released the pianoforte from its torment and turned his attention to Josiah. Benjamin wasn't sure what he expected to learn of the earl's finances, nor how it might help in his present quandary. But—Know thine enemy, he thought, hoping that something the valet had discovered might suggest a course of action.

  "Stupid man's in hock up to his eyebrows,” said Josiah.

  "Ah. Beyond what he owes to the banks?"

  "Yup. Taken money from the street. An’ the street wants it back."

  Benjamin nodded. The moneylenders of London were ubiquitous, and much visited by members of the ton. Debts of honour were discharged before one paid the grocer, and if Lord Chambers had been dipping deep at the gaming table, the street was the usual recourse for the cash.

  "So the man's a gambler,” said the duke, his opinion of Lord Chambers sinking to a new low. Lady Millicent's future mortgaged, Benjamin's own happiness and the happiness of Lady Pamela at risk, all because one man could not exercise the smallest piece of self control.

  "Seems like."

  "My apologies for the intrusion, your grace.” The voice was female, and unexpected. Benjamin and Josiah looked up to see Lady Detweiler standing at the library door, removing her shawl. “I let myself in, by the way. You've no butler as yet, Lord Torrance. Did you know?"

  "Lady Detweiler ... of course, do sit down,” said Benjamin, standing to offer her a chair. What was Amanda doing at Marchers, near to midnight?

  "Oh, don't bother,” said Amanda, waving him away. She had discovered the selection of decanters nestled discretely into one of the music room's several niches and crossed immediately to that side of the room. “Hullo, Josiah,” she added, pouring herself a glass of the duke's best port.

  "Milady,” said the valet.

  Lady Detweiler settled herself in the chair closest to the fire, and kicked off her shoes. Josiah's eyes widened, and Benjamin saw him edging toward the door. The duke remembered, with amusement, a few of the run-ins between Amanda and the valet. Josiah was afraid of her.

  "I take it that you have some questions about the Earl of Banbridge's financial woes."

  How much had she heard of his conversation with the valet?

  "Mmm,” began Benjamin.

  "Are you attempting discretion?” asked Lady Detweiler. “'Tis a wasted effort. The earl had lost nearly the whole of his fortune before Millicent was born, and everyone knows it."

  "Good heavens."

  "Mr. Cleghorn,” said Lady Detweiler, nodding at Josiah. The valet had nearly acquired the door; he turned back, reddening. “I take it you have some news of Lord Chambers's recent activities amongst the wolves?"

  "Gave him ‘til the new year,” said Josiah, not quite meeting her eye.

  "And then?"

  "Don’ care he's an earl. Break his leg, mebbe."

  "How awful,” said Amanda, looking undismayed. “It would seem healthier for Lord Chambers to quit London. Why doesn't he live in country, do you suppose?"

  "The estate is let,” said Benjamin.

  "Ah. Of course,” said Lady Detweiler. She tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair. “As it happens...” She trailed off, frowning. “I seem to recall hearing of another of the earl's properties, a small lodge in Northumberland. Near Wooler."

  "Rented as well?” questioned the duke.

  "I much doubt it. ‘Tis quite home-spun, as I hear. And not a game of loo for miles."

  "I don't see what good rusticating in Northumberland will do Lady Millicent,” said Benjamin.

  "That,” said Amanda, “is what I've come to tell you. The girl will not be accompanying her parents. I've decided to take her on a grand tour."

  "A grand tour? Of what?"

  "Of the continent, of course. Lady Pamela and I had discussed traveling this winter, but I've reason to believe that she will soon have other plans."

  Josiah appeared confused, but Lady Detweiler's meaning was plain to Lord Torrance. He reddened.

  "The girl is delighted at the prospect of a trip abroad, by the way. Millicent is a much cleverer young woman than her father gives her the credit for."

  "Yes,” said Benjamin, “I know.” He paused. “The earl will never allow it."

  "'Tis a problem,” admitted Lady Detweiler. “As soon as he learns she is no longer engaged—"

  The valet started.

  "Oh, good heavens,” said Amanda. “Must I be left to explain everything?” She turned to address Josiah. “His grace and Lady Millicent did not suit. A dear, sweet girl, of course, but we must find something else for her to do."

  "'Bout time,” was Josiah's sole comment.

  "Exactly. Now Lord Chambers might be persuaded to decamp from London if his creditors issue threats,” added Lady Detweiler. She paused. “But only if he believes Millicent is no longer available to be returned to market."

  "Legally, he has the right of it."

  "Bribe him,” suggested Amanda.

  Benjamin considered this. It seemed odd to be deciding the direction of another gentleman's life, but the earl had put the duke in this position himself, had placed his own daughter in Benjamin's hands. Under these circumstances, Lady Millicent's welfare outweighed the wishes of the Earl and Countess of Banbridge.

  "I could offer a partial payment,” the duke said. “Enough to cover the most pressing of his debts, as long as he is willing to quit London and allow Lady Millicent the freedom to choose her own suitors."

  "An admirable plan, I should say."

  "If Lord Chambers and the countess are forced to take economies on their own, perhaps the gentleman will think twice before sitting down to cards."

  Lady Detweiler shrugged. “One can hope."

  "Why should his lordship be givin’ the cawker money?” Josiah protested.

  Why, indeed? Benjamin could not rescue every ill-used young woman in London. He had responsibility for tenants and servants by the score already, not to mention Helène and any other young cousins that might pop up.

  But duty and honour exercised their siren call once more. He could rescue the one.

  "'Tis ... complicated,” he told his valet.

  Lady Detweiler was more forthcoming. “Lady Millicent does not quite believe that an earl can be jailed for debt,” she explained. “When she discovers the ... ah ... difficulties he will face, even if he escapes imprisonment, she will be distressed."

  "Eh,” said Josiah. The valet had seen enough suffering in his life to be skeptical of a milady's distress.

  "Sad young women are a shocking bore,” said Amanda. “We will be traveling together, and I've no desire to see Lady Millicent do nought but add her tears to the Seine."

  Josiah shrugged. Women.

  "I'm still concerned about Castlereaugh,” said Benjamin, musing. “I see no reason that the earl would not contact him as soon as he learns Millicent is no longer engaged."

  "Lawks!” said Amanda, looking smug. “You didn't hear. Lord Nasty-breeches cried off days ago."

  "What!"

  "Apparently, he was accosting a young woman at the Lincolnshires's ball when someone took exception.” Lady Detweiler gave Benjamin a knowing look. “Pulled his cork proper, I hear. The man ran rabbit half the way to King's Lynn."

  The duke grinned.

  "Now,” added Amanda, “I've another bone to pick with you. What's all this about offering Lady Pamela carte blanche?"

  * * * *

  So Millicent's fate was decided without further consultation. Her father and mother were to be exiled from Londo
n for a time, with the duke to pay off the worst of their debts. Perhaps the earl would grow to appreciate the simple, pastoral beauties of Northumberland. Perhaps not, but in the meantime Lady Millicent would be well away from their displeasure, as Lady Detweiler's travel plans extended for most of a year.

  The matter of the duke's supposed offer to make Lady Pamela his mistress was also untangled. Benjamin was horrified at the misunderstanding, and extracted a promise from Lady Detweiler to explain everything to Lady Pam.

  Eventually, both Josiah and Lady Detweiler left him, and Benjamin abandoned the music room for his study. He dashed off a short note to Lady Pamela, mentioning nothing of carte blanche, two words he never wished to hear again. He trusted Amanda to clarify all necessary details and did not worry overmuch of the wording, believing that he would soon be speaking with Pamela face to face.

  My lady, wrote Benjamin,

  The engagement between Lady Millicent and myself is at an end. ‘Twill be communicated to the papers within the day, and I shall call upon you at your convenience—

  Yours—B.T.

  It was far too late, tonight, to send the letter to Hillsleigh, but the next morning, at first light, ‘twould be done.

  The duke's heart raced at this prospect. He was convinced he would never sleep; he paced his study and rearranged two shelves of books. He drank another glass of brandy. He thought of returning to his efforts on the piano, but was afraid to once more set the dogs to howling. He turned to his bedchambers, eventually, with the intention of reading something of a steadying nature, and fell immediately and dreamlessly to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Benjamin and Lady Detweiler agreed that whatever was to be done should be done quickly, before Lord Chambers had second thoughts. So the next morning, as the duke's footman was making his way to Hillsleigh, bearing the letter for Lady Pamela, Amanda sent her own note to Lady Millicent. The missive was worded obscurely, on the chance that the earl might be reading his daughter's mail, but its meaning was clear to Milly. She and Amanda had discussed this possibility, after all.

  The girl was hard-pressed to contain her excitement, but forced herself to sit down, to finish breakfast, and to compose a brief message for the earl and countess.

  She was going to spend some time with a friend, said Lady Millicent. Months, most likely. She would call upon them when she returned.

  Millicent was not without feeling for her mother and father, but she was young, and her family life had never been one to encourage sentiment. Any lingering concern she felt for the earl, and the prospect of his imprisonment for debt, had been erased by Lady Detweiler, who assured Milly that Lord Torrance would take care of everything. Milly believed her.

  She would not see her parents for some time, but she often went weeks now without a kind word from either one, or any expression of interest in their daughter's activities. Millicent wrote a much longer letter to Lady Annabelle, whom she truly would miss, and walked straight out the earl's front door.

  A fine carriage waited for her at the curb, as Amanda had promised.

  Lord Chambers discovered Milly's note some hours later, and the household fell into uproar, but further explanation arrived posthaste in the form of a visit from the Duke of Grentham. Benjamin announced that his engagement with Lady Millicent was broken off by mutual consent, and that the earl's daughter would soon be touring the continent as companion to Amanda, Lady Detweiler.

  Preposterous! cried the earl. ‘Twas absolutely forbidden!

  Furthermore, said the duke, and as a token of his regard for Lady Millicent and his regret that they would not suit, he was prepared to make certain settlements upon her family.

  Lord Chambers fell quiet.

  Not as generous as his previous offer, of course—

  The earl scowled.

  -but enough for Lord Chambers to retrieve his vowels, and re-pay the most pressing of his street debts. Further economies might be made, suggested the duke, in the form of a remove to Northumberland, where-he had heard-one might live cheaply, and where a small lodge was available to the earl.

  Millicent's father was furious, and torn between the bird in hand represented by Benjamin's offer and the unknown difficulties of retrieving his daughter from the clutches of Lady Detweiler.

  Lord Chambers knew of Amanda, of course. Although ostensibly of lower rank than the earl, she was a member of the Clairveaux-Detweiler clan, the descendant of French kings and the Sire de Coucy both. Rank was more than title and, as the ton counted such things, Lady Detweiler was the equal of dukes. No-one would think twice at an earl's daughter becoming companion to a female of such high birth, and the thought of trying to force his way into Amanda's household brought beads of sweat to Lord Chambers's forehead.

  The earl hemmed and hawed and attempted a few feeble threats, but the duke was immovable. So Millicent's father was fair stuck, and forced to make the best of it. He knew far better than his daughter the approaching price of his indebtedness. Prison or not, the possibilities were all highly undesirable, and the countess would suffer more than he. Lord Chambers reluctantly accepted the duke's suggestions.

  "The money is to be paid today, of course,” said the earl.

  Benjamin rolled his eyes.

  * * * *

  Lady Pamela had taken a short respite from her packing when Amanda and Lady Millicent came to call. Pam, although smiling in welcome, was not pleased with the interruption. The girl had done her no offense, yet she could not enjoy conversation with Millicent, who must have nothing but wedding plans on her mind. And now, for Lady Detweiler to have dragged her to Hillsleigh at nearly the crack of dawn-! What was Amanda about?

  Sighing, Pam rang for coffee.

  But weddings did not seem the current subject of discussion. Lady Detweiler was saying something about Paris, and Florence, and the fountains of Rome. And before that—

  "What did you say? The duke's engagement is broken?” Pamela stared at Lady Detweiler in frank disbelief.

  "See? She never pays the slightest attention,” complained Amanda to Lady Millicent.

  "I ... I don't understand,” said Lady Pamela. She wondered if she was dreaming.

  "'Twas just announced in the papers."

  "I can't marry him,” said Millicent. “He loves you."

  Lady Detweiler smirked.

  "And Lady Detweiler is taking me on a grand tour!” added Milly. She was gesturing in excitement. “Can you imagine! Lady Detweiler says it will be all the crack, you know, for young ladies, that it only takes one brave soul to point the way—"

  "He loves you?” Pam's thoughts were spinning. She stared at Lady Millicent,

  "Good heavens, no,” laughed Milly. “You. We're going to Paris, first off. Can you imagine? Paris! And Lady Detweiler says there will be no need to send back to my father's house for more clothes, that we can buy all new. In Paris!"

  Lady Pamela was still open-mouthed. Amanda shrugged.

  "I can see,” said Lady Detweiler, “that it will take some time to explain. Anyone else for brandy?"

  * * * *

  The servants of Lady Pam's household continued about their business, unaware of the illuminating conversation now taking place in the morning salon. The usual commotion and lively chatter of Hillsleigh had been hushed of late, as maids, footmen, butler, and housekeeper alike conspired to encircle and protect Lady Pamela.

  The household had learned days ago of the duke's engagement to Lady Millicent, and the servants, well aware of their mistress's partiality for that gentleman, were inclined to dislike Lord Torrance as a result. Maggie had told belowstairs a colourful version of Benjamin's last meeting with Lady Pamela, in Green Park. The story, which the maid might have embellished in one or two details, added fuel to the servants’ indignation.

  "Shouted at milady, he did,” said the maid. “An’ grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise."

  This was the outside of enough for the household and, in sympathy with Lady Pamela, they withdrew into th
emselves; a small, wounded community.

  All would be well, of course, when the servants learned that the duke's engagement was at an end. But the range of Amanda's discourse was a bit ticklish this morning, involving talk of debts and carte blanche. Maggie was still upstairs, organizing her mistress's winter muffs, gloves, and shawls for packing, and the parlour maid who brought coffee was excused forthwith.

  Belowstairs was, on this occasion, left in the dark.

  Maggie's complaints of Lord Torrance were still in the mind of Jenkins, the under-butler, when he went to answer a knock at Hillsleigh's front door. A young footman stood there; dressed, as Jenkins recognized, in the duke's livery.

  The under-butler frowned.

  The footman, Peter, thrust forward an envelope.

  "Letter from his grace, the Duke of Grentham, for yer lady,” he said.

  Did Jenkins detect a trace of hauteur in the young man's demeanor? What nonsense. A duke's footman might believe he out-ranked the under-butler of a marquess's daughter, but Jenkins would be happy to correct this misapprehension.

  The under-butler held out his hand. “I'll take that, if you please,” he told the footman, his chin firmly up, not deigning to meet the man's eyes.

  "His grace wishes me to wait for an answer,” said Peter.

  Jenkins lifted his eyebrows. “I think not,” he replied.

  "His grace says,” the young man insisted, stubbornly.

  "Milady is not yet awake,” said the under-butler.

  This was a blatant falsehood, as Lord Torrance himself would have known. But his footman did not. Peter had been given careful instructions by his master; still, a fancy lady might sleep late, might'nt she? What was he to do?

  "I'm sure milady will do as she wishes,” said Jenkins, his hand firmly on the door. “When she awakes."

  The footman, away from his home turf, was forced into retreat. Jenkins shut the door without further comment and turned to see Maggie standing there, hands on hips.

  "Who was that?” asked the maid.

  The under-butler explained.

  "Milady's with callers,” said Maggie, and held out her hand for the letter.

  * * * *

  Benjamin paced circles around the entrance hall, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor.