Linnette, The Lioness

by Lavinia Kent

  Nothing.

  And . . .

  She shook her skirts one more time and strode over to the table where the torn paper still lay. Grabbing it with one hand she once again scrunched it into a tight ball and then tucked it into her sleeve. She would burn it later. Perhaps she’d even find a witch’s spell to recite.

  Elizabeth would pay. Her emotion, her anger might be misplaced—even in this state she recognized that—but it did not matter. Nobody, not even the Countess of Westhampton, would be allowed to play with Linnette’s life in this fashion.

  “Lady Westhampton and Lady Richard Tennant wish an audience, your grace. They are waiting in the hall. Should I show them to the parlor or tell them you are not receiving?”

  James started at the sound of his porter’s voice. He’d been sitting here in his office, in his house, trying to decide what to do—and waiting for her. Where the hell was she? He’d come back to the house ready to—

  He wasn’t quite sure what he was ready to do. Apologize? It would be easiest, but he wasn’t convinced he was at fault.

  He had behaved badly, very badly, but so had she. She’d laughed. His belly tensed at the thought.

  Still, something had to be done, had to be said.

  He’d been tempted to avoid her, but she did live in his house, still helped manage his estates, and there was no way he could stay away. Not that he was sure he could have stayed away from her anyway.

  A soft cough from the door.

  He looked up, glanced back at the porter.

  “Who?” He knew exactly who they were, of course. Or at least, he knew exactly who Lady Westhampton was. He had been introduced to her a few times and she’d made herself known to him on several more occasions over the last weeks. If he hadn’t already been involved with Linnette, he might even have been interested in pursuing her. She had exotic good looks, reminiscent of an Indian princess, and he’d met a few.

  But he was involved with Linnette, to his great satisfaction despite their—their disagreement this morning, and so had no interest in any other woman. As a result, he actually found Lady Westhampton annoying.

  “Lady Westhampton and Lady Richard Tennant,” the porter repeated, managing to keep a straight face while giving the impression that he thought James might be a trifle batty.

  What on earth could they want? “Just send them in. Are you sure they wish to see me and not her grace? I believe she is out at present but will perhaps be returning shortly.” Did he sound too hopeful?

  “They asked for you, your grace.”

  Leaning back in his chair, James stared blankly down at his desk and tried to center his mind on his guests. It was unusual to receive female callers. Ladies always expected the gentlemen to call on them. He understood it was much more respectable that way.

  A moment later there was the patter of slippers and the rustle of silk skirts and the ladies arrived.

  He stood. “Welcome to my home, ladies. And how may I be of service to you?” He gestured for them to be seated, and then returned to his own chair.

  Lady Westhampton immediately shot him a look from under her lashes as if the idea of “being of service” had many connotations. Her lips curved with good humor.

  “We’ve come to ask you a great favor,” the other lady, a quiet, but pretty, brunette, began.

  She must be Lady Richard. She was looking at him as if they were acquainted, so they must have been introduced at some function over the last weeks. She must be one of Linnette’s friends. He didn’t remember her, but given the number of introductions he’d suffered through, and his current state of mind, that was not surprising. “I could never refuse a favor to such gracious ladies.”

  Was that overdoing it? His social skills were rusty after his time in Canada and he’d yet to find the right balance of flattery and fact.

  “Not refuse a favor—that is good to know. And you must call me, Elizabeth. I know it is most improper, but we will hopefully be working quite closely together,” Lady Westhampton added, an edge of innuendo lurking in her tone.

  “And you may call me, Annie.” Lady Richard shot a look at her friend. She was clearly not happy with the suggestion. “We are here on serious business, on charitable business.”

  “Yes?”

  “As you may know, Doveshire has long supported the Orphanage of Lost Angels,” Annie began. “Lady Westhampton, Elizabeth, and I are on the board of directors, along with being patronesses ourselves, and wish to be sure you plan on continuing Doveshire’s support. It would be most dreadful for the poor children if you did not.”

  Orphans? He was supporting orphans? Or perhaps it was simpler to say that Doveshire was. James had not quite become accustomed to thinking of himself as a whole dukedom. “If Doveshire has always supported such an undertaking I would imagine that I will continue to do so.” There, that did not commit him before he’d had a chance to look into the institution, but also left everyone contented for the moment.

  “I am pleased to hear it.” Elizabeth gave him a very direct look, a look that told him just how she’d like to be pleased. Leaning forward, she gifted him with a view well below the neckline of her dress. He swallowed and tried to look away without being obvious. Why had the woman decided to target him?

  “And will you continue to host the meetings? We’ve found your house a most convenient location for our board meetings, your grace.” Annie smiled at him with true sweetness.

  “I am sure you should speak to the dowager duchess about that, Annie,” he answered. “I would assume that it was she who made all such arrangements in the past.” Where was Linnette? She should be home by now. Surely the staff would have told him if she’d actually left, gone to the country, wouldn’t they? “I am hoping that she will agree to act as my hostess in the future.”

  There was a moment of silence. The two women looked at each other and he could sense a sudden awkwardness.

  “Yes, her grace hosted all of our meetings in the past,” Annie answered, but did not meet his gaze.

  “Then I am sure that she will be happy to do so in the future.” James could not help but wonder why the women suddenly refused to look at him. Even Elizabeth seemed to have lost her boldness.

  “There may be some difficulty with that.” It was Annie who spoke again. “I do not know if you are aware that the orphanage is supported by both parishes in Doveshire and in Harrington.”

  “And?” He wished that they would just cut to the heart of the matter.

  “The Duchess of Harrington, Kathryn, and Linnette traditionally arranged things between them,” Annie answered after another pause. “We are at a bit of a loss without their leadership. We were hoping that perhaps you could speak to the dowager duchess.”

  “I am still not sure that I understand the problem.” And he wasn’t sure he was the one to speak with Linnette—at least not at this moment.

  Elizabeth finally lifted her head and met his gaze. “I do not know if you are aware of certain—certain drawings that have been circulating in the past weeks.”

  Ahh, it began to make sense. “Yes, I believe that I know what you refer to.”

  “Kathryn and Linnette are simply not speaking. It makes everything quite complicated,” Annie said.

  “And so you wish me to become involved. Would it not be simpler for one of you to speak to Linnette yourselves?” He swung one leg over the other and leaned back.

  Again, he could sense the tension grow. Annie seemed to have taken a great interest in her hands and Elizabeth no longer gave any appearance of seeking a closer acquaintance.

  “I am afraid that the dowager duchess is not fond of either of us at the moment either.” Annie stood and moved to stare up at the portrait over the mantel.

  “She blames me for the debacle, if you must know.” Elizabeth rose from chair and marched toward his desk. “For some reason she believes I am responsible for the cartoon of her and Harrington.”

  “And are you?” James could not help but ask, his anger fro
m this morning beginning to form again. Whoever was behind the cartoons had much to answer for.

  “Certainly not.” Elizabeth sounded genuinely affronted. “I would never stoop to such behavior. I am more than capable of letting society know my views without resorting to such low methods.”

  “That is true,” Annie spoke quietly, but he did not miss her words.

  “Then why would the dowager duchess believe such a thing?” James asked.

  Elizabeth pursed her lips, and for a moment he did not think she would answer. “I suppose because of you,” she said at last.

  “Because of me?” He would never understand women. He glanced over to Annie and was relieved to see that she looked equally confused.

  Turning away from him, Elizabeth lifted her head to stare at the portrait Annie had been examining. He believed it was the one of his great-grandfather, the last duke in his direct line of descent. “I do not believe I will say more. Suffice it to say that I became aware of your—your relationship with the Linnette before this morning’s cartoon appeared.”

  That did not make the matter any clearer, but he sensed that Elizabeth would say no more.

  As both women were now standing, James stood himself. “I will admit that Linnette and I are old friends. We spent our childhoods together and are pleased to be reacquainted. Beyond that it is all misunderstanding.”

  “Oh, I was sure that was the case.” Annie moved from the mantel and chose a seat facing a small settee. “I told you that you must be mistaken.” She nodded to Elizabeth. “Linnette would never behave as you suggested. A kiss can mean many things.”

  “Not the kiss I saw.” Elizabeth turned and, pressing her lips tight, glared at her friend.

  “But—” Annie began.

  Elizabeth turned to him. “I saw you on the terrace at Lady Smythe-Burke’s soiree. I would advise that in the future you keep your tongue in your mouth and your hands out of bodices if you wish to convey only friendship.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Should she have come? Linnette stared up at the elegant townhouse of the Marquess of Tattingstong and debated. Was it really only a week ago that she’d stood here with Kathryn and laughed? Even the thought caused anxiety to build in her belly—and that wasn’t even considering the events of this morning, events she was trying desperately not think about.

  Damn those cartoons!

  It was easier to blame the cartoon than to blame anybody—except perhaps Elizabeth. Linnette certainly was not in a mood to examine her own faults.

  Although perhaps that was why she found herself here, perhaps she needed an outside opinion. She stopped and examined the house, delaying her entry.

  Kathryn was right, the marchioness truly did have a way with flowers and color. If only Kathryn were here now. Why had they argued?

  Oh, of course she knew why. But why did such a silly thing have to cause such a ruckus?

  And it had been silly to sleep with Richard all those years ago. Only she’d needed somebody when Charles had died and—and Richard had been there, lost in his own pain at his friend’s death. Kathryn hadn’t even met the man yet, so it seemed wrong of her to blame Linnette.

  She needed to talk to Kathryn. Kathryn would know the right thing to do, the right thing to say to James, the right way to make him understand how she felt.

  Which was why she was here now. If she couldn’t speak to Kathryn she needed to talk to somebody, somebody who would just listen and not pry. Praying that at some point Kathryn would forgive her—not that she thought there was anything to forgive—Linnette walked slowly up to the house, lifted the knocker, and let it clang down.

  Nothing happened.

  She waited.

  Nothing. That was odd. It was a prime hour for calling.

  Finally the porter appeared and, after giving her the strangest look—had even he seen the cartoons?—led her back to the gardens while Linnette’s maid hurried off to the kitchen.

  “Oh, I am so glad you’ve come,” Annabelle, the Marchioness of Tattingstong, exclaimed, rising from a wicker chaise that was set in the shade of a tree.

  “Forgive my asking, but do you always greet your guests in the garden?” Linnette answered, her worries making her far too forthright.

  Annabelle blushed. “That’s right. We met in the garden the last time you were here. Well, I don’t have many visitors. And I wasn’t expecting any today and I do prefer to be out when the weather is nice. I had a few callers the first weeks I was here—curiosity mostly, I believe, but since then almost none.”

  “I can’t imagine why that should be true.” Linnette took the chair that Annabelle directed her to. She would think about sunshine and flowers—and Annabelle’s problems. That should be enough to fill her mind—for now.

  “On our last meeting we agreed to be friends—to use Christian names—and I plan to continue as if that is the case.”

  “Please do,” Linnette answered. Their last meeting had been the occasion of the unfortunate incident with Kathryn and Elizabeth and that evil cartoon. Linnette was more than willing to pretend that whole day had never happened if Annabelle was.

  Almost as if reading her mind, Annabelle said, “I know that we cannot forget what happened the last time you were here. I do fear we will need to talk about it, but it does not need to be now. Tell me why you have come. I would like to pretend that it is for the pleasure of my company, but your face tells me that is not the case.”

  Well, perhaps Annabelle was correct and they could not pretend their last meeting had not happened. Still, Linnette was willing to move the discussion on to her current worries—and maybe she could help Annabelle as well. “Perhaps I will—in a bit, but first perhaps you should explain your lack of visitors. I sense that it is not a situation you care for.”

  Annabelle lifted her face and stared up at the cloudless sky. “I should call for tea—or do you care for chocolate? I often drank coffee with my father, but it seems not at all the thing for ladies here.”

  “Tea would be fine.” It would be wonderful, in fact. Linnette’s hands felt like ice despite the warm weather and the thought of a warm cup to hold between them was heavenly.

  Annabelle summoned the maid and then they were alone again—and silent. Neither of them was eager to start.

  “I don’t know why I don’t have visitors.” Annabelle, finally, began to speak. “I mean, I do understand that I am American and that I do not always know quite what to do. Growing up in Boston I believed that my mother was bringing me up in the same fashion as any English lady, but now that I am here a year I am constantly reminded of just how different I am, how different the life I have led is.”

  “I can understand that,” Linnette answered. “Although you do not seem particularly different to me. —Still, your speech is . . .”

  “A bit odd.” Annabelle finished the sentence.

  “I was going to say clearly not from London, but then I have cousins from the North who talk with a much stronger accent. You speak with great charm.”

  “Thank you for saying so. I will pretend to believe you. In any case, I can accept that I was an unexpected addition to society, but I perhaps do not understand why I am such an unwelcome one.”

  “Well, there are a great many young girls who would have liked to marry a marquess, the heir to a duke, and a great number of mamas who had high hopes. I daresay they may feel you have stolen something that was theirs.” Linnette stopped speaking as the maid appeared with tea. The events of the past week had made her unwilling to have even the most casual of conversations overheard.

  The maid left and Annabelle poured with grace. She had clearly been practicing. Lifting her glance from the pot, she said, “I suppose I can understand that—but it wasn’t like Thomas, like Tattingstong, was here for them to take. I met him in Boston and he’d already been there well over a decade. He certainly had no intention of returning to London for several years, if ever.”

  “And then his older brother died and Thomas became
a marquess, next in line to a dukedom.”

  “Yes.” Annabelle said the one word, her expression clearly conveying she had no wish to elaborate.

  Linnette leaned across the table and patted Annabelle’s hand. “I am sure that it is not that you are unwelcome, merely that you are—shall we say—undiscovered. Once you have had more of a chance to mingle in society, then I am sure you will be accepted.”

  “But how am I to become—discovered if I am rarely invited anywhere and am never called upon?”

  “Surely your husband receives invitations?”

  “I suppose that he does, but Tattingstong has little interest in attending balls. He seems to have no interest in society.”

  Linnette sat back and considered, Tattingstong sounded very like James. “I am sure that I and Kathryn can—.” She caught herself. It was so easy to forget how quickly friendship could change. “I am sure that I can arrange some invitations for you. And if not, I can—or Doveshire can—host a soiree. I do love arranging a good party.”

  “Oh would you?” Annabelle’s delight was clear.

  Linnette swallowed as the thoughts of the morning intruded and her own difficulties coming back to her. “I could, but—.”

  “Oh, forgive me if I was being presumptuous—if you’re having second thoughts, there is no need . . .”

  “You misunderstand me.” How she could she ask James to host a ball after this morning? She wasn’t even sure she ever wished to speak to the man again. “I am only concerned that I may not be able to help, not that I do not wish to. I am afraid that, once I explain why I am here, it will all be too clear.”

  “I do not understand.” Annabelle looked at her with some confusion.

  “I am not doing very well at being clear. It is all such a muddle and I don’t know where to begin.”

  “At the beginning?”

  Linnette sighed, her mind racing but with no direction. Where was the beginning? Did she even know? “It sounds strange, but I think it actually makes more sense if I begin in the middle. You do remember the cartoon from last week, the one that caused such a mess? The one of me and Harrington?”