Louisa, unable to tell from his tone if his lordship was really speaking the truth, turned to him quickly. The dark eyes were sparkling at her mischievously, but his voice was still grave as he insisted, “It’s the truth, I swear. In a way Poodle is very fortunate.”
“How so?” inquired Louisa.
“His eccentricity was so easily come by. After all, he was born with that hair. In this age, when eccentricity makes a man, he came, so to speak, ready made.”
Louisa smiled slightly. “Why does a man wish to be eccentric?”
“Perhaps,” observed his lordship, one corner of his mouth twisting in amusement, “it is because so many women no longer believe in heroes.”
Startled, Louisa felt the red flood her cheeks. “I ... I have been considering our last discussion,” she said slowly.
“I knew that you would come to your senses and see that I was right.”
“I did not say that!” Too late Louisa realized that he was teasing her again. “Oh, please, continue with your comments on the people,” she begged.
“I shall, providing the dust doesn’t get too thick. Sometimes these young whipsters get to bowling around like idiots. As though any real out-and-outer would behave in such birdwitted fashion.” His lordship took a deep breath. “Pardon me,” he said with a rueful smile. “This kind of rude behavior infuriates me. There! The man with the handsome face and commanding figure. See? Driving in the chocolate coach with the four white horses and two neat grooms in brown liveries behind.”
“I see him,” said Louisa softly. “He who just nodded to you.”
“Yes,”‘ replied Atherton. “That’s Ball Hughes. ‘Golden’ Ball, they call him. Because of his great income. Forty thousand pounds a year. A likeable sort, too, in spite of that. But he hasn’t made much headway with the ton.”
“Why not?” asked Louisa curiously. “Surely a man with so much on his side...”
“He is a little too much the dandy,” explained Atherton. “Many dandies lisp or drawl, but he also screws up his mouth. Perhaps this explains why, in spite of his good looks and wealth, he has had little success in the muslin line. Several young ladies of the ton have seen fit to deny his suit.”
Louisa raised a dark eyebrow. “He did not fit their idea of a hero,” she replied and then was astonished at herself. Why did she not leave the idea of heroes alone?
Atherton laughed, a warm deep laugh. “You are improving rapidly,” cried he. “Soon you will be able to trade bon mots with the best of them.”
Louisa smiled. The idea of herself as a witty lady of the ton was an amusing one.
“Over there,” continued his lordship, “having a tête-à-tête with several fair ladybirds, is Lord Worcester, one of the best loved men in London. You will see him at Almack’s. He is as much at home there as he is in the saddle. Now he made an impression on the ton. When he returned from serving with the Seventh Hussars on the Peninsula, he had the gold lace stripped from his light blue uniform trousers and startled society by appearing in them. He could do it because he has a good figure and noble bearing.”
Louisa thought that the young man’s figure and bearing were no better, in fact, not as good as those of the man beside her, but she was obviously not going to say so.
“I suppose,” continued Atherton, “that Aunt Julia would argue that Worcester’s bump of color is quite large because he blends his colors so well that he looks distinctive without becoming ridiculous.”
“I take it that that is the thin line that a beau must be careful not to cross,” observed Louisa. “The line between distinctive eccentricity and ridiculous eccentricity.”
“Very good,” said his lordship with a smile. “You will soon be able to bandy words with Alvanley or perhaps even discuss snuff with Petersham.”
Louisa choked suddenly on a giggle. “Snuff?”
Atherton nodded gravely. “Petersham is an expert on snuff. Mixes his own from canisters of many different kinds. They say he has a snuff box for every day of the year.”
“Really?”
“Really,” replied his lordship. “That’s him over there. With the beaky nose.”
Louisa turned to look, but the dust had risen a great deal and it was difficult to see much.
“And you, your lordship,” said she, her eyes dancing with mischief, “what is the eccentricity that distinguishes you?”
Atherton chuckled. “That is difficult to say. I do not find snuff all that exciting. I follow Beau Brummell’s dictums as to dress -if a man stands out, he is not well-dressed. My patrimony, though quite sufficient, does not rival Golden Ball’s. And my hair, though dark, cannot compete with Poodle’s. I seem to have no eccentricity. Perhaps I shall have to study to acquire one.”
“Or perhaps,” said Louisa. “That may be your eccentricity, that in an age of eccentrics, you are not.”
“Capital,” said his lordship. “But I fear it won’t serve. For I have just remember-ed. I do have an eccentricity.”
“Oh?” said Louisa. “What can it be?”
“I have an intense desire to discover the identity of Lady Incognita.”
For a long moment Louisa felt herself suspended in time, unable to think or move. Then she rallied to ask, “What on earth for?”
“It is a matter of honor with me,” replied his lordship.
“Honor?” repeated Louisa. “I do not understand.”
“You remember that I mentioned White’s betting book to you.”
“Yes.”
Atherton’s eyes regarded her keenly. “My honor is at stake because I have accepted a wager.”
“A wager?”
“Yes. As I recall it goes something like this: ‘Lord Alvanley bets Lord Atherton fifty guineas that the latter will not have discovered the true identity of Lady Incognita this day six months.’“
Louisa felt the blood leave her face. This was the reason for all his questions and discussions of romance. Hyde Park, its throngs of fashionables quizzing each other, faded from her sight. Instead her imagination conjured up horrid pictures of the complete failure of her plans for Betsy’s future. She saw her sister gradually turning into an old maid spinster, like Aunt Julia. A shudder ran over her.
“Miss Penhope. Louisa.” She was conscious that Atherton was regarding her with concern. “Are you ill?”
Louisa drew a deep breath. “No, no. It must be the dust. And the heat of the sun, I think. I am not that used to it.” She hoped that the Viscount would not realize how his words had unnerved her. “I shall be all right. Really.”
The lines of worry on his forehead relaxed slightly. “Perhaps I should take you home. You are still looking pale.”
“Really,” insisted Louisa. “I do not want to cut short our drive. It is good for Aunt Caroline to get out.”
She looked at the two women across from them, as deep in conversation and as oblivious of their surroundings as if they were still in the drawing room.
“Well, if you should feel faint again,” said his lordship, “be sure to tell me and we will leave directly.”
“Yes, thank you.” Louisa hid her trembling hands in her lap. “You are most kind.”
Atherton’s eyes began to twinkle. “That is the proper behavior for a hero. Is it not?”
Louisa tried to recapture the pertness with which she might once have replied, but she could not. The knowledge of that terrible bet lay heavy on her heart. This then was the reason for the Viscount’s interest in her.
But how did he think she could help him win the wager? Surely he could not suspect her. There was no danger in going to the familiar building on Leaden-hall Street. Anyone seeing her enter would only suppose that she had gone to borrow the latest novel from the well-stocked shelves of the lending library. And no one who knew her ever saw her leaving Mr. Grimstead’s inner office. There was no way she could be connected to Lady Incognita, she told herself. No way at all.
She tried to summon a smile. “Your solicitude is very courteous,” she s
aid, trying to put some sparkle in her voice and aware that she failed.
Atherton shrugged. “I am disappointed,” he said. “Your wit is not sharp today as I thought. But come, tell me. What do you think of my wager?”
Louisa shook her head. “I have never understood what causes a man to game. The excitement of risking in that way would only make me ill.”
“There have been ladies who much enjoyed the gaming table. For instance, in the last century there were several who opened their own faro bank and did quite well, the ladies Archer and Buckinghamshire.”
“That may be,” replied Louisa with distaste. “But such disregard of one’s responsibilities as characterizes most gaming men is repugnant to me. There are so often innocent others who suffer when a man loses his substance.”
She was immediately aware that Atherton could take her last words as a condemnation of her father, but it was too late to recall them.
“Quite true,” agreed Atherton. “But my wager is a different matter.” Those dark eyes watched her closely. “I have no dependants and the sum in question is only a trifle.”
Louisa kept her tongue firmly between her teeth. What the Viscount called a trifle - fifty guineas - was slightly less than the sum she received for a whole manuscript. But of course, for him it was a trifle.
“I expect you are right,” she agreed dully. “And besides, I certainly have no right to make any judgements on your life or those of others. Never having experienced ennui, I find it difficult to imagine the feeling that that condition may induce in a man.”
“It is not a good feeling,” observed Atherton dryly. “And may often drive a man to foolhardy pursuits. However, I must admit that I find my efforts to track down Lady Incognita to be infinitely more laudable than those of the young bucks and swells who roar about London at night looking for a gig or spree that quite often includes turning over the Charlie’s box while the poor watchman is still captive inside.”
“Most probably it is,” replied Louisa; but she could not refrain from adding, “You are, however, just as bad as those men in one respect.”
“How so?” He raised a quizzical eye-brow.
“You have completely disregarded the feelings of your victim.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. As I remarked earlier, if the lady wished to be discovered, she would have let the news leak long ago.”
Atherton eyed her reflectively. “That is an aspect I had not considered. But for what reason might she wish to be so secretive?”
Louisa felt herself treading on dangerous ground, but she did not know how to avoid it.
“There may be any number of reasons,” she said. “That is not the point. The point is that she obviously does wish it.”
“I see.” He gazed at her pensively. “You are quite concerned over the feelings of some unknown female.”
Louisa felt herself bristle up. “She is, after all, a human being,” she replied with something very like anger in her voice. And then she raised her hand to her head. “I believe that the faintness is coming on again. Perhaps we had best return home.” Much as she hated these stratagems, she must use one. For she was finding this discussion too much to support. And the truth of the matter was that her head had begun to ache.
“Of course,” said his lordship politely and issued orders to the driver.
And so they returned to the house on Arlington Street where Atherton helped her and Aunt Caroline from the carriage and with a cheerful good-bye left Louisa to make her way to her room and fall wearily onto the old oak bed where she gave way to a fit of weeping that would have done credit to her most sensitive love-struck heroine.
Chapter Seven
When Lady Constance returned late the next morning to take Louisa and Aunt Caroline shopping, Louisa was not in the best of moods. First, she had not been consulted about the shopping expedition, only apprised by Aunt Caroline that it had been set by Lady Palmerton, and she did not relish being dragged away from her writing. And second, on leaving the breakfast table, she had been accosted by Aunt Julia. “Louisa, I must speak to you.” “Yes, Aunt.”
“I do not like that Atherton coming here.” Louisa felt the color flood her cheeks at the mere mention of his name, but Aunt Julia, intent on what she had to impart, did not note it. “I dislike this Viscount,” declared Aunt Julia strongly. “The bumps do not lie. His sister is another story. An admirable woman, though perhaps a touch flighty. But the Viscount ...” Aunt Julia shook her head so strongly that her frizzed gray curls bobbed wildly. “He is a dangerous man, Louisa. Very dangerous. That bump of amativeness is far too large. He has had more than his share of women, I don’t doubt. And I dislike seeing him make up to you. The man’s merely passing the time. He has no honorable intentions.”
Finally Louisa found her tongue. “Aunt Julia, please! You are quite mistaken. The Viscount is not ‘making up to me.’ And his sister was a dear friend of my Mama’s.”
“I can’t speak to that,” said Aunt Julia stiffly, “not having known your Mama. But you mark my words. That Atherton is dangerous. I tell you - the bumps don’t lie. Don’t let yourself be taken in by a creature like that.”
Louisa took a deep breath and forced herself to remain calm. “Thank you. Aunt, for your concern. I know it is prompted by love for me. But I cannot just send the man packing. He has been very kind to us.”
“Too kind,” snorted Aunt Julia, her sharp eyes regarding her niece narrowly. “For what reason is he being so kind? That’s what I want to know.”
The knowledge of the wager in White’s betting book hung heavy over Louisa, but she did her best to defend Atherton. “He says that his father was once the recipient of a great kindness from the Colonel.”
“What sort of kindness?” asked Aunt Julia suspiciously.
“It had to do with something at the gaming table.”
Aunt Julia sighed. “The colonel was a gamester and a mighty poor one too. I suppose it is possible. But I still warn you, Louisa, beware of that man. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The bumps don’t lie.”
With this, Aunt Julia had marched off to ready herself for an excursion to the British Museum with several of her phrenological friends and Louisa had taken herself upstairs to hunt out a gown suitable for shopping at what Lady Constance referred to as the “best shops.”
Now, seated in Lady Palmerton’s fashionable carriage Louisa was still upset. Though she had little faith in phrenology, Aunt Julia’s remarks had been too near the truth for comfort. Was Atherton merely amusing himself with her? That he was a man experienced with women she had not needed to be told. Or was he genuinely interested in paying off the “debt of honor”? There was simply no way to tell.
As the carriage made its way to Bond Street, Louisa was oblivious of the sights and sounds around her. Her heart and mind were back at her writing desk, where Reginald, his body interspersed between his beloved Bernice and that glowering imp of Satan, the fiendish Columbo, waited, under a darkened sky, to see what the villain would do.
Reginald faced the evil one bravely. Overhead the dark clouds engulfed the pale moon, leaving only the torch that flared in Columbo’s hand, to reveal the evil gloating of that minion of the Devil. “I have you now,” he chortled. And from overhead, as though the very elements were in league with the powers of evil, came a great crash of thunder and a terrifying bolt of lightning split the darkness of the sky.
Bernice, her hands clutching at the coat that covered Reginald’s broad back, willed her heart to slow its labored beating. There was really nothing to fear. Reginald would protect her. And if Columbo should prevail and her beloved fall in the throes of death, then she would take the first opportunity to follow him.
“Lou-is-a!”
Louisa, brought suddenly back to the present, realized that the carriage had stopped and Lady Palmerton and Aunt Caroline were already upon the pavement, waiting for her to descend. She hurried to join them. The sooner the shopping was over, the sooner could
she return to Love in the Ruins and Reginald.
Fortunately, Aunt Caroline was so cowed by Lady Palmerton’s superior powers that she did not demur at that lady’s choice of cream colored satin with an over-robe of matching lace-trimmed satin. “It will go splendidly with your hair,” exclaimed Lady Constance.
And Louisa could not help but agree. The material was quite lovely. And the design of the gown sufficiently simple so that it could be altered without excessive effort. The cost gave Louisa some qualms but these she eased by reminding herself that this one gown would serve many occasions.
“What jewels do you plan to wear?” asked Lady Constance.
Louisa paused. “I had not considered.”
“Your Mama’s garnets might look well,” ventured Aunt Caroline with a timid look at Lady Palmerton. “They are rather dainty and quite lovely.”
“Indeed, a capital idea, my dear Caroline,” beamed Lady Constance. And Aunt Caroline, her judgment vindicated, preened herself happily.
The rest of the expedition was devoted to the purchase of appropriate slippers, gloves, etc. Louisa, however, adamantly refused to order a dozen pair of kid gloves for evening wear. “I shall do quite well with two pair,” she insisted and would not be budged. Lady Constance, who had, after all, had her say in the matter of the gown, conceded gracefully.
Once more at home, with the packages exclaimed over by Betsy and Aunt Caroline, Louisa faced another unpleasant chore. Because of the mixed feelings raised in her breast by Atherton’s presence and his words concerning the value of belief in heroes, she had put off the serious discussion she had been planning to have with Winky. But there was no use in postponing the inevitable. Even if a slight belief in heroes were warranted - and in her present distressed condition she found that doubtful - Winky must be taken to task. For, as far as Louisa could determine from her sister during the unpacking of the boxes, Betsy’s entire reading matter consisted of romances, of which those of Lady Incognita were her absolute favorites. And this, because they contained such dark and wonderful heroes.
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