Starling

by Virginia Taylor

  “Very clever.” Mary nodded encouragingly. “But I intend to buy fabric for gowns for myself and you know that. I should also buy a wedding present for Starling and Alasdair. I expect you’d rather stay at home.”

  Paul gave her a look of wariness, overlying his calm amusement. “Nothing will drag me off on an expedition to buy fabrics. Nothing. Unless Lavender decides to stay home, too. Then I’ll have to leave the house for some reason or another.”

  “Lavender wouldn’t miss a chance to show off her extensive wardrobe. Oh, dear. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Ellen entered the room.

  “Fresh tea, please, for Mrs. Seymour,” Paul said.

  Ellen glanced at Starling, who nodded. “Don’t take up breakfast for Mr. Seymour. Leave him to set his own pace today.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ellen took the used plates from Paul and Mary, balancing the second neatly along her arm. Her missing fingers made carrying two separate plates difficult. “When will you be wantin’ me to do your hair?”

  Starling glanced at the maid in surprise. “I’m going shopping with Mrs. Elliot. My hair won’t be seen under my hat.”

  After a disappointed glance at Starling, Ellen left the room.

  Mary gurgled with laughter. “She needn’t worry. Lavender will keep her occupied.”

  Starling lowered her gaze. Naturally, the maid would rather style hair than be used in the kitchen. Better, though, that she did Mrs. Frost’s hair. The refurbishment of Starling’s gown last night hadn’t mattered because Mr. Seymour hadn’t been at home to see her. While he was around, she couldn’t consider being primped or prettified.

  At this early stage, she didn’t plan to lose her job.

  Chapter 6

  Alasdair washed and shaved. Dressed in a shirt, gray trousers, and a gray waistcoat, he went to the kitchen to beg for a bite. “A midday repast will be served in the dining room,” Mrs. Trelevan said, her attention on the large lettuce in front of her. “Mr. Elliot will join you.”

  He found Paul in the sitting room.

  “The ladies must be gallivanting,” he said, seating himself in his favorite chair.

  “The ladies are shopping.” Paul’s black cravat held his chin at a lofty angle as he lowered The Gazette. He peered over. “They’ll be here later this afternoon.”

  Alasdair stretched his legs and eased back. His whole body ached from being cramped in the tunnel yesterday. The only exercise he seemed to manage these days was his daily walk upstairs to his office. He glanced at his bruised hands. “I hope they won’t be too late. I need to speak to Lavender.”

  Paul grinned. “She’ll want placating. Starling’s adorable. She kept us, well, Mary and I, entertained in grand style last night.” He winked at Alasdair. “I imagine you know what a clever lass she is. Pity about the wine. I assumed she had a harder head than she did.”

  “Don’t tell me you got her pie-eyed?” Alasdair raised his eyebrows.

  “Merely relaxed.”

  Alarmed, Alasdair sat up. “I hope she behaved herself. If she said anything indiscreet...”

  “Not a bit. She’s a sweet thing. You’re a lucky man. Few new brides would put up with Lavender’s—”

  “If she tangled with Lavender...” Alasdair tried not to sound annoyed.

  “Not at all, though I’d say Lavender was trying to upset her, talking about you and her and your previous...um...”

  “Lavender talked about me?”

  “About old times, about how she might have married you instead of Frost. Tragic thing, that, being widowed and orphaned in the same year. It’s been hard on her and her nose is somewhat out of joint to find her former suitor, whom Mary led her to believe still, ah, thought of her, has now changed his mind. Fired up the old competitive spirit. Do her good. She couldn’t have expected you to pine after her for a lifetime, despite what you told Mary. The woman needs a shake-up.”

  Alasdair held his gaze. “Jealous, you think?”

  “Draw your own conclusions. On the way here, she said that husband of hers didn’t treat her well, gambling, other women, et cetera. She said she’d likely not marry again. Only came to keep Mary company, or so she said.”

  Alasdair pressed his palm to the side of his neck, massaging his fingers into the bones of his upper spine. Lavender was the one love in his life. If her first marriage had been so bad, she may have been turned off marriage. “Mary should have told me she’d contacted Lavender. If that wife of yours was wanting to do me a favor, she should have said so.”

  “She wanted to surprise you. And what do you mean, do you a favor?”

  “Perhaps I wouldn’t have married Starling.”

  Paul didn’t respond immediately. “Lavender isn’t to my taste,” he finally said.

  Alasdair creaked to his feet. “I’ll go to the Burdons’ to see how Tammy is.”

  “She’s doing well. Starling was there earlier for an hour. She says Tammy has a broken collarbone and she’s still a little shocked, but there doesn’t appear to be any sign of pneumonia, which was the doctor’s main concern.”

  “I’ll see the child, regardless.”

  “According to Starling, they want to award you some sort of medal.”

  “I won’t go then.” Alasdair clamped his lips.

  “Only joking. The medal was Starling’s idea. She thinks you’re a hero.”

  “Fortunately, I have a tall stack of paperwork to catch up on,” Alasdair said, walking to the doorway. Starling should never have met the Burdons. Who asked her to go outside yesterday? He’d specifically told her to...stay by his side. If she had told them she was his wife, he might have to explain why he’d hired an ex-whore not only to Mary, Paul and Lavender, but also to everyone he knew.

  “Coward,” Paul said with a rustle of his newspaper.

  “And fool,” Alasdair added to himself as he left the room. With Lavender in his house, he felt nothing but guilt about his physical reaction to Starling last night. Before Lavender had arrived, thinking about fucking a woman or even taking one into his bed would be nothing other than a normal, healthy pastime. Now that normal, healthy pastime seemed sinful, though Lavender was no more his than before.

  He strode into the library, knowing that if he had complied with Mary’s plans, he would have had the opportunity to rekindle a relationship with Lavender. However, he’d formerly had her body without being granted the ultimate prize, her hand. He dropped his ledgers on the table. Because his lesson to Mary had rebounded, fate led him in a more promising direction. Since he could fire up Lavender’s jealousy with this charade, he might grab the chance he’d not been given before.

  He rearranged the papers on his desk until he had found the precise order.

  * * * *

  By prearrangement with Starling, the brougham drew up outside the Seymour house. Like a military man, the driver swung down and marched to the front door, using the brass lion’s head for two sharp raps. He returned and let down the steps.

  Mrs. Frost rose to her feet, her face creased with a polite smile. She turned, swiftly picked up her parcels and, with her chin aloft, she waited for the driver’s aid. Within moments and ignoring Mary and Starling, she glided up the path to the veranda, her parcels dangling by the strings. The bootboy came rushing out and almost cannoned into her. She stepped aside and disappeared into the house.

  “She’s very miffed,” Mary said, giving Starling a complicit glance. “She hardly bought a thing. What a shame she couldn’t have two or three new gowns.”

  “I’m sure my husband wouldn’t have minded her using his account.”

  “That may be, but she was dishonest to imply that she was his wife.”

  Starling stood, not wishing to have this conversation. “I think it was assumed because she’s so...eye-catching.”

  “Well, I’m glad I put the matter straight.” Mary grinned while wrinkling her nose. “I thought being confined in a carriage with her for seven days
was the worst experience of my life, but I hadn’t yet been shopping with her.” She reached for her nearest parcel.

  The bootboy arrived at the brougham’s open door, wiping his hands down the side of his trousers. He wore a high starched collar and a dark jacket, which he had apparently just donned, judging by the adjustments he made to his shirtsleeves. He glanced at the front door of the house. “She shoulda waited for me. It’s my job to carry them parcels.”

  “Here, then. Have this.” Mary handed Starling’s biggest parcel to the lad. “Oh, and these. Take them all up to Mrs. Seymour’s room.” She gave half her own purchases to Starling and stepped out of the carriage.

  Starling followed with Mary’s parcels and the brougham trundled off to the coach house.

  The bootboy led the way to the bedroom wing, scarcely able to peer over the top of the load he bore. Even Starling and Mary, only half burdened, staggered up the stairs. Mary stopped at her door, jiggled the handle with one elbow, and stood aside waiting for Starling to enter.

  “Where shall I put your things?” Starling glanced around the room, which wasn’t quite as large as Mr. Seymour’s but was every bit as luxurious with a big bed, satin topped, and two velvet-covered chairs.

  “On the bed. Don’t leave. We haven’t had a moment alone yet.”

  Starling carefully placed Mary’s purchases on her bed and stood with nothing to say. She liked Mary, but Mary had a tendency to question her and Starling didn’t know the answers to most of the questions Mr. Seymour’s sister asked, or at least not the answers he would have wanted from her.

  “I have never thought of myself as unattractive,” Mary said, unwrapping her smallest parcel. “But Lavender...she only had to step out of the carriage to make people stop and stare. When we walked into the shops, all activity ceased so that every single person, male or female, could stare at her. After being with her for days, I can only see the shallow mind that lies beneath the glorious exterior. I forgot how she actually looks.” She stared at the three pairs of gloves she had bought as if she had never seen them before. “People fell over themselves to please her. You and I only existed to carry her parcels. And the worst of it is that she expects that kind of notice.”

  “Beautiful people do,” Starling said prosaically.

  Mary considered, then she nodded. “Unlike her, you’re a darling girl. Too darling. While she was trying to buy everything in town with Alasdair’s name, you were trying not to cost him a penny. You shouldn’t have bought those mean little gloves. Alasdair would want you to have the best quality.”

  “Truly. He doesn’t want me to buy more things.”

  “He knows women always buy more things.”

  “He said he doesn’t want me to look showy or gaudy.”

  “Well, he’s not the brother I know. He has excellent taste, and so do you. I don’t understand why you wear... No matter.” Mary averted her eyes for a moment, then she took a breath. “I saw what you meant by Lavender looking quite lovely in warm colors because when she held that roll of peach fabric under her chin, she looked so breathtaking that even I stared.”

  Starling’s eyes widened with surprise. “You told her it did nothing for her.”

  “I don’t see why she should look even better than she does.” Mary tilted her chin.

  Starling stifled a laugh with a cough.

  Mary plumped down on her dressing table stool, her blue eyes gleaming. “So, I’m glad I bought that pale blue evening gown for you.”

  Starling chewed at her thumbnail. She had never wanted anything so much in her life, but she would never have need of a gown made from a fabric that couldn’t be washed. She moistened her lips. “It was very generous of you but surely not a suitable wedding present. My husband might insist on you returning it.”

  “He wouldn’t return a gift,” Mary said casually. “It would be very ungracious. And you look so beautiful in it that his hard heart will melt in a moment.”

  Starling did her best to look modestly thrilled but the best part about owning the glorious gown for a moment in time was that Lavender didn’t. The gown looked truly awful with the other woman’s coloring. Unknowingly, Mary had done Lavender a favor.

  “I’d best get to my unpacking, too.” She backed to the door, hearing the bootboy hurry down the passage.

  “I can’t wait to see Alasdair’s face when he sees you in that gown.”

  Starling gave a weak smile. She didn’t plan to give him the opportunity. “You’ve been so generous. Thank you for today.”

  When she stepped out of the room, she heard Lavender’s door latch click.

  * * * *

  Alasdair stepped inside Lavender’s room.

  Slowly straightening, she looked up from the parcels she was unwrapping on her bed. “Dare,” she said in a voice of surprise.

  He shut the door, trying to remember his prepared speech but his head emptied as her expression changed to the seductive pout that had broken the class barriers seven years ago. No longer an eighteen-year-old salesman desperate for wealthy customers, he held her expression long enough for her to drop her parcel and slowly approach him.

  “You don’t love her,” she said in a low voice, all glinting eyes. “Tell me you don’t love her.”

  He shook his head, unable to speak. She was scented, glossed, and curved, but he steeled himself not to reach out and take her into his arms.

  “Thank you for not lying,” she said, placing a pale hand on the lapel of his jacket. “You can’t look at me like that and tell me you love another.”

  “Look at you like what?” He could barely breathe.

  Her mouth lifted and her gaze held his. “Exactly the same way you did on the day we met. You look just as young and just as ardent.”

  “Ardent,” he repeated, his smile twisted. She didn’t look the same. If anything, she looked more beautiful, more perfect, but saying so would be comparable to complimenting the sun for the light.

  “You’ve always been mine. Make love to me, Dare.” She slid her arms around his neck.

  He should have stepped back. Instead, he moved forward and found his hands on her hips. “Make love to you? Surely that would be overextending a host’s duties,” he said in a voice he couldn’t quite control.

  Her laugh sounded contented and her body melted into his. “It’s accepted in the best of houses.” She raised her face and found his lips.

  Lost in a heart-thudding moment, he groaned when her hand slipped between them. With aching reluctance, he stayed her clever fingers.

  “Let me. Your cock is as willing as ever.”

  “My mind is less so.”

  “Then why else did you come to my room?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were comfortable,” he said into her soft hair.

  She gave a breathy laugh. A light tap sounded at the door, which opened the distance of the step he had unwisely yielded.

  He stared into Ellen’s shocked eyes. Although she couldn’t possibly have seen Lavender’s hand, the maid’s thin lips and glare told him that he should be neither in Lavender’s room nor her embrace.

  “Don’t ever again enter a bedroom in this house without being invited,” he said, guilt icing his tone.

  The maid closed the door in a hurry.

  “She didn’t see anything.” Lavender’s mouth sought his.

  He turned his face. “Damn. What if she did?”

  “She’s only a maid. Why would you care?”

  “What if that had been Mary at the door?”

  “Or your wife. What could anyone do? You are the man of this house. Don’t be so...”

  “Lower class?”

  She dropped her arms from his neck. “You pleasured me once in our stables, when anyone could have seen us at any time, remember? Even after I was married... I don’t see why it should be any different just because you’re married.”

  “Why the hell do you think I left Melbourne?”

 
“To make your fortune. You didn’t leave because of Richard. You knew I’d come to you whenever you wanted. I can’t live without you.”

  “You managed well enough for seven years,” he said grimly.

  “You gave me no choice.”

  “Choice!” He backed out and slammed the door of her bedroom behind him. She still didn’t see the difference between coming to him and going with him. When something hard hit the door, he knew his “marriage” hadn’t changed her any more than hers had. She was still content to conduct a hidden liaison with a man she had seen as impossible to marry.

  He strode down the passage to his own room, which he should have done in the first place. He was a married man who Lavender couldn’t inveigle into an affair, a married man who needed to change for dinner. He jerked open the door to his bedroom.

  Starling sat on the edge of his bed, surrounded by brown-paper-wrapped parcels. She lifted a rueful gaze to his face. “I’ll pay for everything, I promise.”

  He didn’t answer. Wrenching at the handle on the cupboard door, he pulled out his evening jacket and tossed that and his black waistcoat onto the bed. He began to undo his cravat.

  “I can take everything back. Almost everything,” she said. “This one was a wedding present from Mary, and so I can’t return it until she leaves.”

  “You’re not married.”

  “Did you want me to tell her that?”

  He turned from the contemplation of his face in the mirror to the brown-haired female whose tilted eyebrows challenged him. The light had begun to fade. Soon he would have to light the lamp. In the dusk, her skin looked pale. Her severely scraped back bun did nothing for the shape of her face. As a child with that thick, rich, curly hair of hers let loose and tumbling around her shoulders, she would have looked quite pretty. Her eyes were huge.

  “Do you think you should?”

  She shrugged. “I agreed to your bargain.”

  “What if I want to end it?”

  “I don’t mind, as long as I get the money you promised me.”

  He sat on the bed. If Starling left, he would be at Lavender’s mercy again. She said he was hers, always had been. More than likely she had only missed having a young, impressionable lover. To lure her into marriage he had to refuse to be her lover.