Why Lords Lose Their Hearts

by Manda Collins

  “You know there is no need to test me, Your Grace,” Perdita said mildly as she sat down in the chair across from her. The room was oppressively warm, but she chose to bear it since the dowager often complained of being cold. “I will come to you when you summon me, if I am able, of course.”

  “And why wouldn’t you be able?” the dowager asked with a frown. “Perhaps because you’ve been cut down in the street by some madman?”

  “I hardly think that is likely, do you?”

  “Who is to say, Perdita? When the widowed Duchess of Ormond is accosted before a crowd of onlookers at Vauxhall, anything might happen!” She pounded her walking stick upon the floor for emphasis. “I don’t suppose you saw fit to inform me of the assault last evening? Before I was forced to read about it in some tattle sheet? Like any common person?”

  “I am here now, Grandmamma,” she said patiently. “What is it you wish to know? I can tell you what happened last night, but I fear the stories in the gossip sheets are mostly correct. Though I believe The Daily Whisper says that I shrieked with terror, and that is an absurd exaggeration. I may have gasped, but that is the extent of it.”

  “What is the world coming to when duchesses are assaulted in public? Though I vow I’ve never approved of Vauxhall. It is simply an excuse for lechers and roués to lure young ladies into the dark walk. The ham is passable, I suppose.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Perdita said, laughing inwardly at the dowager’s commonality with Blakemore over the ham. “I suppose the young man was out of his mind with drink. At least that’s what we surmised. But as you can see I am quite well, and the gossips made more out of it than it was. As they often do.”

  “What about Blakemore?” the dowager asked, her eyes sharp. “It made mention that he was your escort in The Daily Whisper.”

  “He has escorted me as a favor to Ormond,” Perdita said calmly. She did not wish to raise the dowager’s hopes about a match there. “Now, if that is all, I really must—”

  “Not yet, young lady,” the dowager snapped. “I also heard that it was Lord Archer Lisle who came to your rescue when the drunk fellow poured blood all over you.”

  “Lord Archer was there,” Perdita agreed. She dared not say more, else she’d reveal the true nature of her relationship with him. Or past relationship, she reflected, after that morning’s conversation. A pang of sadness swept over her.

  The dowager, however, seemed not to notice. “What was Ormond’s personal secretary doing at Vauxhall?” she demanded.

  “He is at liberty to attend whatever entertainments he pleases,” Perdita said. “He is hardly a slave to be confined to the house at all times.”

  “No, but what was he doing by your side?” the other woman said sharply. “You are worth far more than a mere younger son.”

  “We simply met upon the path and chatted, Your Grace.” Perdita was becoming annoyed with the dowager’s inquisition. Archer had escorted Mrs. Fitzroy at any rate, so it was hardly worth mentioning. “He happened to be there when the drunk man accosted me, and assisted me. That is all.

  “Now, really,” she continued, trying not to show her pique, “I came to assure you that I am unharmed after the incident last evening. I really do have things to do and should be on my way.”

  She rose, and leaned in to kiss the dowager’s paper-thin cheek. “I am sorry if the news frightened you,” she told her. The dowager was crotchety, but she did truly care about Perdita. At least she thought so. There had been no one she loved better than Gervase. Perdita tried to remember this when the old woman became too difficult. It was hardly her fault that her grandson had been a monster.

  “I shouldn’t mind it too much,” the dowager said as Perdita rose from kissing her. “If you married again, I mean.”

  Ahh, so she had been paying attention. “I certainly appreciate having your permission,” Perdita said, “but what brought this on?”

  “Well, you were escorted by Blakemore last evening,” the dowager said diffidently. “His family has been here since before the Conquest. Quite respectable.”

  “There is no talk of a match between us just now,” Perdita said. “But I will keep your approval in mind.”

  “So long as it’s not some younger son without a penny to his name,” the dowager said firmly, which of course made Perdita wish to announce her betrothal to Archer immediately despite the way they’d left things that morning. “The Ormond name demands more.”

  “I shall keep that in mind, Grandmamma,” Perdita said before she slipped from the room.

  She was retrieving her hat and coat from the butler, when Simmons, the dowager’s longtime maid, appeared as if from thin air. Perdita had never really warmed to the woman, who seemed to take her position as the dowager’s personal servant as some kind of license to lord her power over everyone.

  “Your Grace,” she said firmly—Simmons was always firm. “I hope this visit means that the dowager can count on more visits from you in the future. I realize that when the new duchess ordered my mistress to leave Ormond House, it might have caused some embarrassment on your part, the new duchess being your sister and all, but I would not have thought a little thing like sibling loyalty would keep you from spending time with Her Grace.”

  Perdita blinked. But it would appear that the dowager’s maid was serious. It hadn’t been a desire to stay in Isabella’s good graces that had kept her away from more frequent visits to the dowager’s new home, but disgust at that lady’s attitude toward Isabella. Especially when Isabella had done nothing but follow her godmother’s orders when she traveled to Yorkshire to convince Trevor to come to London and take up his duties as the new Ormond. It was hardly Isabella’s fault that they’d fallen in love. And if anything, Perdita had thought the dowager would be pleased not only to have the duke taking up his duties at last, but also to have him happily married and starting his nursery. The dowager, however, had not been pleased, and in fact it had been her anger over what she considered Isabella’s treachery that led directly to the old woman’s apoplexy. Though it was true that she’d not been the same since Gervase’s death.

  Perdita said none of this, however, as she watched the tightly wound woman before her stare daggers at her. “Simmons,” she said calmly. “What a delight it is to see you again. I hope you’ve been keeping well.”

  But the maid shrugged off the inquiry as if it were a mere sprinkling of rain. Instead she said, “How I am is not the point, Your Grace,” she said, her thin lips pinched together. “It is your grandmother I worry about. She has been put out of her home, and as such she has been separated from her belongings and friends and retainers—in short, everything that she holds dear. And you haven’t even seen fit to visit her in over a fortnight.”

  “I would hardly say that being moved into one of the largest houses in Holland Park,” Perdita began, “along with what furnishings she needed to create a new home for herself, as well as being able to take whichever servants she chose to accompany her, is a hardship, Simmons.” She pursed her own lips. “Indeed, after Grandmamma’s behavior toward the new duchess, who is, yes, my sister, she received much better than she deserved. I realize it was difficult for her to be thwarted like that after years of being in control of things at Ormond House, but that hardly excuses how she treated Isabella, and indeed her grandson Trevor. She sent Isabella to Yorkshire with the express wish that she use her feminine wiles to lure him to London. Those wiles worked, but not in the way that Grandmother wished. A disappointment, true, but hardly deserving of the dressing-down she gave them.”

  Simmons looked as if she would like to argue, then let out a heavy sigh. “You are right to say that my mistress is difficult to deal with, Your Grace.” She rubbed her eyes. “I beg your pardon. It’s just that I’ve seen how strongly the dowager feels about her nephew’s death. Indeed, how much we all feel. It was wrong of me to speak out of turn and I hope you will forgive me rather than worry her needlessly.”

  Seeing that the other
woman was sincere, Perdita relented. “Of course, Simmons.” The maid must have been under a great deal of pressure of late. And it could not be easy to wait upon someone with as many demands as the dowager. “I hope you will let me know if you need additional help in the dowager’s household. I would be more than happy to hire a few more servants for you all.”

  The smile Simmons gave her transformed the older woman’s face and for a moment she seemed quite pretty. “I thank you for that, Your Grace, but we can manage. You are better to me than I deserve and I shan’t forget it.”

  Once the maid had gone, Perdita stood for a moment reflecting that that was one of the oddest conversations she’d ever had with a servant. Then with a shrug, she turned to the butler who’d been watching their exchange with no little curiosity.

  “If you’ll pardon me, Your Grace,” Jennings said, “Simmons has not been quite right these last few weeks. I think the mistress’s illness has worried her. Though that does not excuse the way she went on with you just now. She can be quite forthright, our Simmons. I hope you won’t refine upon it too much. After all, your grandmother doesn’t always agree with her.”

  Thanking the man, Perdita hurried away from the house and toward her waiting carriage. It would seem that even her grandmother’s maid held her responsible in some way for the dowager’s reduced circumstances. It was too bad that the dowager herself was unable to reflect upon herself and her own misdeeds, which was what was needed if she were to ever acknowledge her own culpability in the situation between herself and Trevor and Isabella. It was too bad, but hardly something that Perdita could control.

  She’d done what she set out to do, which was to answer the older woman’s summons without revealing too much about what had happened at Vauxhall the night before. If only her pursuer could be so easily appeased.

  * * *

  “Are all your plans in motion, then?” Lord Coniston asked Archer as he slid into the seat across from his friend in a quiet corner of Brook’s Club.

  Archer ran a hand over his face, and leaned back in his chair. “It would appear so,” he told his friend, signaling to a waiter that he would have a brandy, which is what Coniston also drank. “I appreciate your agreeing to go along with me on this.”

  “When one’s wife insists upon one’s participation in a matter, one does it,” Con said with a shrug. “The fact that Ormond and his lady have also agreed to it gave added incentive, of course. I suspect Isabella will keep us from being prosecuted should the lady cry foul.”

  “One hopes,” Archer said, taking his drink from the waiter. “If I didn’t think this was the only way to ensure her safety, I wouldn’t be doing it. Whoever it is that wishes to harm Perdita has proven himself to be more violent when it comes to her, and has been more aggressive much earlier in his campaign. I do not mean for her to be here when he chooses to put her life in jeopardy. God knows what he’s planning that could top what he tried with the other two.”

  At the mention of the attempts on Isabella’s and Georgina’s lives, Con’s jaw tightened. It had been only a few short weeks since a woman Georgie had considered a friend had attempted to throw her from the tower of Bath Abbey. And as both men knew, it hadn’t been one woman alone who had set the plan in motion. There was a single person responsible for the attacks, and Archer did not intend to give the fellow a chance to bring Perdita to the brink of death.

  “I cannot blame you,” Con said, his normally genial gaze serious. “But I cannot help but wonder under what guise you mean to offer your protection. After all, you are unrelated to the lady. And there is the small matter of your employment, unless, that is, Ormond has allowed you to take care of his sister-in-law under the duties of your current position as his private secretary?”

  “Hardly,” Archer said with a frown. “Though he has agreed with the plan to spirit her away from London. Isabella is quite worried about her sister’s safety and I think Trevor will do whatever it takes to ease her mind.”

  “Then how will you manage it?” Con asked, his gaze still serious. “I know what he said in the carriage the other evening about writing his own correspondence but that is surely a temporary solution.”

  “I’ve resigned my position,” Archer admitted, taking another drink of his brandy.

  “What?” The earl’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “What will your father say?”

  “Likely that I’ve lost my mind.” Archer shrugged. “But I’ve been thinking I should make my own way for some time now. And there’s no longer a reason for me to remain in Ormond’s employ really. I sent him my letter of resignation.”

  “And Perdita?” Con asked. “What does she think of all this?”

  “I haven’t told her,” Archer said baldly. “It’s not relevant. Besides, it’s not as if she’s asked how I can just leave London, especially given that she has no idea that I am leaving London by kidnapping her.”

  “You’re a stronger man than I am,” Con said with a low whistle. “If I were kidnapping a woman as strong-willed as Perdita, whom I just happened to be in love with, I’d be scared out of my senses.”

  At a glare from Archer, he paused. “Well, you know what I mean,” he finished, flushing. “It’s not as if you’re completely indifferent to her. Or she to you, for that matter.”

  “It does not matter, Con,” the other man said firmly. “She’s made it more than clear that she won’t have me.” She’d made that clear enough that morning at breakfast, he reflected sourly. “Taking her from London against her will now will simply cause her to dislike me more.”

  “That’s easy for you to say now,” the earl retorted, “but if one word of this little journey of yours becomes known, the papers will have the two of you married off before the cat can lick her ear.”

  “Then we’ll simply have to make sure the papers don’t get wind of it,” Archer said with a raised brow. “And if for some reason word does get out, then I am prepared to do the right thing.”

  Con rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Are you sure this is the way you wish to win her, old man?”

  Archer didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “Look,” he said, his gaze direct, “if removing her from town means she’s safe and out of danger, then I am willing to risk a marriage by compromise to make it happen.”

  “And if your plan to get her out of London also removes her from the company of other men who might be interested in her?” Con asked with a sly grin.

  Not even bothering to pretend discomfort, Archer grinned back. “I’m not a saint, Con.”

  “Then you’d better hope that Perdita is,” his friend replied, “because when she finds out you’re kidnapping her she’s going to have your head on a spit.”

  But Archer simply shrugged. “She’s a redhead,” he said calmly. “It comes with the territory.”

  Fourteen

  “I’ve had a note from Georgie,” Isabella said to Perdita the next morning. “She wants us to come over at once. She says she has something to tell us both.”

  Swallowing the toast she’d just bitten into, Perdita looked up at her sister. “You don’t think she’s enceinte, do you?” Even knowing that her friend longed for a child, she could not help but feel a pang of envy. If both her sister and her friend were to give birth around the same time, she’d be left out of their conversations about motherhood. Still, her better angel prodded her into excitement for her friend.

  “I’m not sure what other kind of announcement she could mean,” Isabella said with a smile. “It is a bit soon since the wedding, but not quite so soon as my own announcement.” Perdita’s sister had become pregnant almost as soon as she and Trevor wed. It was one of the reasons Perdita could not understand the dowager’s continued persecution of her sister.

  They called for the carriage shortly thereafter and arrived at the Coniston town house in Berkeley Square some time later. To Perdita’s surprise they were greeted at the door not by the butler, but by the Countess of Coniston herself.

  “I v
ow I could not contain myself,” Georgie said in an excited tone as she ushered her friends inside and led them to her private parlor.

  Once they were seated with the requisite tea tray between them, and had chatted for a few moments about the weather, and how Isabella was feeling, Perdita felt compelled to ask, “Well, what is this news that you’re fair bursting to tell us?” Really, if Georgie were so excited, why hadn’t she told them at once?

  To Perdita’s surprise, Georgie first looked into her friend’s teacup before saying, “I am sorry for waiting so long, dearest, but I had to be sure you drank it all.”

  She was making no sense, Perdita thought foggily. A visual image of a gypsy who’d once read her tea leaves flashed in her mind. But she found herself unable to speak the words that would ask if Georgie had taken up the practice. Instead, she felt her eyelids growing impossibly heavy, and to her mortification, the hand holding her cup fell limp.

  “I’m sorry it had to be this way, darling,” she heard her sister say as she brushed a hand over her hair. “But you were so stubborn, you see. And we really do wish to keep you safe.”

  But before Perdita could puzzle out the meaning of Isabella’s words, she was fast asleep.

  * * *

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, old man,” Trevor said as he stood at the door of the unmarked carriage behind the Coniston town house. The others had come out, too, but left Trevor to make their good-byes. “She’s going to be dashed angry when she wakes up.”

  “But she’ll be safe,” Archer said without hesitation as he handed the bag Isabella had packed for Perdita to the coachman. “And hopefully the laudanum will last long enough for us to get a good ways away from town.”

  Turning to the other man, he held out his hand, which Trevor shook, then pulled him into a hug. “Thank you for setting Isabella’s mind at ease. She’s been terrified for her sister these last days.”