by Merry Farmer
She leaned closer to Lord Gerald and whispered, “Are you looking forward to the wedding, my lord?”
Lord Gerald sighed and lost the better part of his energy as he rested back in his chair. “I suppose it cannot be avoided.”
Flossie blinked in surprise. “I thought you were looking forward to Lady Elizabeth marrying.”
“Oh, yes, yes, indeed I am,” he said, brightening a bit. “That one has run wild for far too long.”
Flossie kept her mouth gracefully shut. Part of her agreed with Lord Gerald, but a greater part thought of the way well-born ladies were supposed to behave, the expectations that were usually heaped on them, and felt glad that Lady E had escaped that trap. Lady Arabella hadn’t, and look where it had landed her.
“I dread to think what will happen when everyone finds out,” Lord Gerald went on with a sigh.
Flossie’s brow went up. Perhaps Lord Gerald was fully aware of the strangeness of the situation after all. She leaned in close to whisper, “At least we’ll have each other, even if the rest of it is topsy-turvy.”
“We will, my dear.” He patted her hand and smiled adoringly at her. “We should be married as quickly as possible.”
Flossie laughed and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “I would marry you tomorrow, my lord. After all, it’s what this town expects of a social-climbing harridan who sleeps her way to the top,” she added in a whisper, praying that Lady Charlotte—who continued to look irritated and left out—couldn’t hear.
Lord Gerald laughed along with her, but his laughter quickly turned to a mournful sigh. “I fear for you, my dearest,” he said, raising a shaking hand to her cheek. “They will eat you alive, I’m certain of it. You should go away, have the baby somewhere no one knows you. Tell them your husband was killed in battle. War widows with orphaned children always arouse sympathy. I will help you in any way I can.”
“There’s no need for that, my lord,” Flossie attempted to reassure him. “Jason takes such good care of me, and I of him. And while I will admit that our association is not acceptable in the eyes of polite society, it is good enough for us.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Jason. He was in the middle of expounding on some point about what Mrs. Crimpley could do with her highfaluting manners and mores with vigor, but he apparently lost his train of thought in the face of Flossie’s smile. His expression went all soft, and he grinned at her.
“See,” Flossie told Lord Gerald. “Everything will work out just fine.”
“Oh, Emily,” Lord Gerald sighed and patted her face. “How I wish that were so. But they say great men must marry great women, even if their hearts belong to another.”
A lump formed in Flossie’s throat. She swallowed it as best she could and concentrated on petting Lord Gerald’s hand as his eyes fluttered closed and he drifted off to sleep. It hurt to have the very thing she feared most in life spoken aloud. She and Jason could make all the grand plans and bizarre arrangements with Lady E as they liked, but would their inevitably come a time when love wouldn’t be enough? She peeked at Jason as he and Lady E burst into laughter. Would the bonds of a paper marriage of consequence become more important than the simple bonds of love?
Jason
Jason was surprised at how pleasant tea was turning out to be. Lady E was in a cheery mood—which made life a thousand times easier. Lady Charlotte was not, but at least she stayed quiet. And Lord Gerald seemed utterly charmed by Flossie. But of course, he would be. Flossie was charm and goodness personified. So much so that he was grateful for his concealing coat as he watched her chatting with Lord Gerald. And while he wasn’t precisely jealous of the way Flossie smiled at the old man, a part of him wasn’t too proud to admit he liked it when her smiles were all for him.
“And the way she treated Alexandra was positively scandalous,” Lady E went on in their discussion of the way Mrs. Crimpley and her biddies had snubbed Alex and Marshall after Easter services. To be honest, “discussion” was a polite word for it.
“Alex held her own, though,” Jason said. “Did you see the look she gave—” He momentarily forgot what he was saying as Flossie glanced at him, a sudden anxiety in her eyes. Had Lord Gerald said something untoward to her? He sat straighter, ready to battle the old man if he’d upset Flossie in any way.
But Lord Gerald had evidently fallen asleep—with a smile on his face, still holding Flossie’s hand. Jason had fallen asleep under exactly the same circumstances many times. Lord Gerald was likely in the midst of the best of dreams. Flossie, on the other hand, seemed downright stricken.
“Is everything all right?” he asked. “Would you like to sit down and have some tea?”
He leapt up from his chair, crossing to Lord Gerald’s lawn chair in two strides and offering Flossie his hand to help her stand. She took it and started to muscle herself up. Jason slipped an impatient arm around her back and lifted her. He would have swept her into his arms and kissed her soundly to bring the smile back to her face if Lady E and Lady C weren’t watching them.
“I’m fine,” Flossie assured him, though he could see her smile was only skin deep. “Tea sounds lovely, though.”
She squeezed his arm before stepping out of his grasp and lowering herself into the chair he’d just occupied. She went so far as to take up his teacup—he’d only taken one sip from it—and drink from it.
Lady Charlotte made a squeamish sound and raised a hand to her mouth.
“Come now, Aunt Charlotte,” Lady E scolded her. “You know which way the wind is blowing. If you insist on staying at Huntingdon Hall, particularly after the wedding, then you must accept the thoroughly modern arrangement we will have here.”
“You call it ‘modern’. I call it a few other, choice things,” Lady Charlotte said under her breath. She sat straighter and said aloud, “My dear Elizabeth, I will be out of your hair just as soon as my dear Anthony and George return from the south.” Her shoulders sagged the moment she made the statement.
Jason exchanged a look with Elizabeth. Maude Crimpley and her friends couldn’t hold a candle to the airs and graces Lady Charlotte put on. At the same time, there was no end to the tales E had told him about how miserable Lady Charlotte was—with and without “her dear Anthony”. A second marriage hadn’t turned out to be at all what the grand old lady had thought it would be.
“Has there been any sign of Lady Arabella?” Jason asked, clasping his hands behind his back.
His simple question had exactly the result he desired.
Lady Charlotte sighed dramatically and said, “They’ve tracked leads all the way to London. Apparently, she was staying in a home for endangered women for some time, but when Anthony and George finally gained permission to search the premises, she was nowhere to be found. There was information connecting her to a seamstress’s shop in Cheapside, but I haven’t heard whether they’ve investigated further as of yet.”
Jason fought to keep a straight, serious face. He reminded himself to give St. Germaine a sizeable bonus. From the moment he’d explained Lady Arabella’s situation to his man of business in London, St. Germaine had concocted a wild goose chase worthy of legend to keep George Fretwell as far from his wife as possible. If only Lady Arabella would step up and do what was necessary to begin legal proceedings to divorce the blackguard. But as Flossie constantly reminded him, it took time for a woman who has suffered abuse to feel strong enough to face her abuser.
“Of course, if Alexandra would come down from her high horse and aid in the search, I’m certain Arabella could be located in no time,” Lady Charlotte said with a surprising amount of anger. “I’m doing everything I can to remind her of the life she forsook.”
Jason’s brow went up. “Alex?”
Lady Charlotte cast a loathing look his way. “I do wish my daughter would prevent people from calling her that. It’s bad enough that she—” Wisely, Lady C pressed her lips shut rather than continuing on to what would inevitably have been an insult to Marshall.
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��Aunt Charlotte, I thought you were terribly impressed with Alex this winter,” E said, unable to hide the mischievous glint in her eyes. “You went on and on about how she saved that poor mad girl this winter.”
Jason flinched. He’d lost the ability to tolerate anyone being called mad.
“Yes, well, that was quite impressive,” Lady Charlotte said, losing much of her stiff demeanor. “I had no idea Alexandra was capable of such heroism.”
“She’s capable of quite a few things,” Flossie said, looking as though she might deliver a speech on the rights of women.
Jason sent her a pleading look and she settled back in her chair, finishing off his tea.
“I’m certain she is,” Lady Charlotte conceded, though her manner was brittle once more and she didn’t look at Flossie as she spoke. “I simply wish she hadn’t—” She cleared her throat. “I must accept her choices, even if I do not agree with them. I am doing my best to elevate her circumstances while respecting her decisions.”
Jason arched an eyebrow, suspicious of what Lady Charlotte could be up to behind the scenes. He wouldn’t put it past the woman to do any manner of things to undermine Marshall and Alex’s life. Though it would be next to impossible to break it in any way. Something had changed in the Pycroft family the night of Hoag’s death. Jason couldn’t imagine how those events could have had such an impact on his friends, except that the Pycroft girls were close to Matty. A change had happened, though. Marshall and Alex had spent the rest of the winter downright besotted with each other. He suspected that the two of them might have spent the cold, winter nights giving him and Flossie a run for their money in the bedroom department, in spite of having three girls in the house and a baby on the way. Perhaps the whole warming of their relationship had something to do with Winnie Everett after all, even though the chit was long gone now.
“I heard that Lady Waltham is inviting several of her important friends to The Dragon’s Head to hear a famous female author speak next month,” Lady E said when the silence had gone on too long. “Is that true, Jason?”
Glad for the change of subject, Jason said, “It is. Mrs. Malory Hyde will be presenting her latest novel to Lady Waltham and her friends, as well as other guests.”
“Oh?” Lady Charlotte brightened. “Has the guest list been settled on?”
“You would have to inquire of Lady Waltham,” Jason said.
“Perhaps I shall,” Lady Charlotte went on. “And if Alexandra could find her way onto the guest list, perhaps some of her social standing could be restored. She might even remember the life she abandoned.”
Jason held his tongue as Lady Charlotte continued to discuss all the ways Alex might find herself brought back into the fold of the high and mighty if she played her cards right. E got involved as well, arguing that Alex should be allowed to do exactly as she wanted. Even Flossie joined in the debate, which gave Jason no choice but to jump in as well.
Before he knew it, an hour had passed and it was time to return to work at the hotel.
“I’d say that was an afternoon well spent,” Flossie said as Jason helped her into the carriage after they said their goodbyes.
“Well spent?” Jason scoffed. “We did nothing but stand around and gossip. Meanwhile, I’m certain we’ll return home and the entire hotel will be a pile of rubble at our feet.”
Flossie sent him a look that said she wasn’t fooled as he climbed into the carriage behind her. She knew full well that he’d enjoyed himself, that he rather liked the lively banter of women when they felt free to speak. It was a damned shame that when more than one male was present, women turned into simpering idiots. Between Flossie and E, he’d come to see that the truth of the so-called weaker sex couldn’t be further from the image that was so commonly portrayed.
“You certainly charmed Lord Gerald,” he said as they rode back into town.
“He’s a sweet old man,” Flossie said. Her brow furrowed. “I had a devil of a time determining whether he is fully in his faculties or whether age has gotten the better of him.”
“How so?”
“He seems to think my name is Emily,” she said, bit her lip, then went on. “I get the impression that Emily is someone he knew in the past.”
“Did he say who?” Jason asked.
“No.”
That seemed to be the end of it. Lord Gerald was ancient, and like every other nobleman, he’d likely lived a colorful life. Privilege did that to people, as Jason knew too well. Privilege was the gateway to the sort of horrors he’d been swallowed by in his early days in London. Idleness truly was the Devil’s plaything.
That thought was still fresh in Jason’s mind as he and Flossie marched through The Dragon’s Head’s front doors only to find twin maelstroms waiting for them.
“Flossie, you must tell that horrible Dora that she has no right to be rude to me,” Betsy demanded.
At nearly the same time, the ever-cheery Colin Armstrong stepped away from the front desk, where he had evidently been speaking to a harried-looking Daniel, and greeted Jason with an exuberant, “There’s the master of the empire now.”
It was all Jason could do not to roll his eyes.
“Well?” Betsy demanded, even as Flossie gripped her back and walked to lean against the front desk for support. “Your staff should know better than to be so rude to their betters.”
“You are not their better, Betsy,” Flossie sighed. “You are an uninvited guest who does nothing to earn her keep.”
“I never,” Betsy protested.
“Sisters, eh?” Armstrong murmured to Jason, watching the conflict with a smile. “Not that I have any sisters, mind you,” he went on. “We orphans aren’t fortunate enough to have that experience. But I’ve seen enough sisterly interactions in my day to know how it is.” He followed his comment with a chuckle.
Jason’s answering smile was tight. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Armstrong?”
“You can start by calling me Colin, for one,” Armstrong said. “We’re old friends now, you and I.” He proved his point by jabbing Jason’s arm with a sporting punch.
Jason winced, laughed warily, and rubbed his arm. “Friends,” he said, neither confirming nor denying Armstrong’s assumption.
“I came to discuss tile with you,” Armstrong went on.
At the same time, Betsy raised her voice in her confrontation with Flossie to say, “Work in the kitchen? Are you mad? I refuse to scrub pots while you lounge about in the lap of luxury.”
Jason sent her a frustrated, sideways look. Betsy didn’t see it, but Flossie did. She rolled her eyes, then went back to staring blankly at Betsy as she raged on.
“Did you import the tile for your guest toilets from Belgium or Germany?” Armstrong asked, as though an argument wasn’t going on five steps away. “Because I rather fancy the Belgian tiles I’ve seen samples of, but if you used the German ones—”
“You should do whatever you see fit,” Jason told Armstrong, and not for the first time. He was increasingly suspicious that, once Armstrong’s Ambleside hotel was finished, it would be an exact replica of The Dragon’s Head. The man had gone so far as to hint he intended to name his establishment The Griffin’s Head, though Jason thought a much better name would be The Donkey’s Ass.
“Of course,” Armstrong brushed off Jason’s comment. “But I do bow to you in all these things. You are the arbiter of style when it comes to English hotels.”
“Not entirely,” Jason said through clenched teeth.
Meanwhile, Betsy had crossed her arms and was in the middle of saying, “Why should I work in a menial position at all? Why are you grand enough to run an entire hotel while I’m barely fit to fold sheets?”
“Do you believe you have the skills to manage staff, coordinate orders, handle guest complaints, and organize special events? All that the same time?” Flossie asked her.
“Why not?” Betsy said. “It can’t be harder than raising children, managing mother and father, and dealing with Edward’
s illness and death.”
“While diddling the butcher on the side?” Flossie added in a surprisingly snide voice.
“How dare you?” Betsy gasped.
She opened her mouth—no doubt to tear into Flossie—but Armstrong surprised them all by interjecting, “Good heavens, what an unbelievably fortunate coincidence.”
Betsy snapped her mouth shut and turned to him, her brow shooting up. Flossie glanced at the man in surprise as well.
“Mr. Armstrong,” Jason began. “Colin, perhaps we should take our discussion elsewhere.”
“No, no. Not in the face of such an extraordinary opportunity,” Armstrong said, looking as though he’d been handed a sack of gold. “Miss Stowe,” he said, referring to Betsy. “It appears you are in need of employment, and I am in need of a chief housekeeper for my new hotel.”
Jason would have groaned aloud if it wouldn’t have drawn attention to him. Flossie looked as though she might be sick.
“Your hotel ain’t built yet,” Betsy said, planting one fist on her hip.
“But it is well underway,” Armstrong said, still looking as though he’d discovered the moon. “Ground was broken last month, and construction is coming along splendidly. And as my friend and mentor has taught me—” he sent an admiring look Jason’s way, “—it is never too early to begin hiring staff.”
Betsy’s surprise morphed to consideration. She crossed her arms. “Chief housekeeper, eh?”
“Yes indeed,” Armstrong beamed. “My good friend Jason has his Miss Stowe and I shall have mine as well.”
Jason did roll his eyes then. At the same time, he prayed to high heaven that Armstrong wouldn’t get into bed with Betsy the way he’d done with Flossie. The last thing the world needed was a hybrid of Armstrong and bitch.
