“I heard what happened in your chamber yesterday.” Viscount Raventhorpe’s now-familiar voice, coming abruptly, and apparently out of nowhere, startled her out of her boredom.
Turning to face him, she found herself fighting a flurry of mixed emotions but managed to say evenly, “How kind of you to concern yourself, sir.”
He retorted, “Concern myself? I, I thank heaven, need not concern myself. What the devil was your father thinking, to let a chit like you come here all alone?”
FIVE
LETTY DREW HERSELF UP to her full height to glare at the viscount, and gave her words measured force when she said, “My father considers me perfectly capable of managing my affairs, Raventhorpe. It would please me greatly if you could bring yourself to do likewise.”
His reply being more in the nature of a snort than anything else, she could not flatter herself that she had made her point, but she was wise enough not to embellish it. Instead she waited patiently to hear what he would say next.
“My dear girl …”
She ground her teeth together.
“… I am sure you must overrate his opinion of you. He undoubtedly thinks you beautiful, for anyone of sense must see that. I do not doubt that he admires your accomplishments, for they must be legion. However—”
“You would have a ‘however’,” she said sourly.
“Well, any idiot might guess I had a reason for offering you a string of compliments,” he retorted. “No, don’t interrupt me again,” he said when she opened her mouth to do just that. “If you think that your father would admire your visit to Mr. Clifford’s office, you are mistaken. Nor would any right-thinking man want his daughter to face the outrageous sight you faced last evening without the benefit of his protection. If I am wrong and he does think you capable of handling that sort of thing, not to mention worse that may come, he is a fool.”
“How dare you!” Angrily she turned on her heel, only to stop in her tracks and stiffen when his hand gently touched her arm.
“Don’t storm off in high dudgeon,” he murmured, “unless you want to provide your enemies with grist for their mills.”
Knowing he was right, and oddly calmed by both his tone and his touch, she curbed her temper and looked ruefully at him. “I apologize, sir. You seem to have a knack for sending me into alt, and I confess, I do not understand it, for it is not my custom to indulge in distempered freaks. Moreover, I have two brothers who delight in teasing, and they never can infuriate me. You managed to do it with one sentence. You should not have called my father a fool.”
For a moment, he hesitated, saying nothing. Then he smiled.
It was, she decided, a singularly attractive smile. There could be no doubt that Viscount Raventhorpe was a disturbingly attractive gentleman. It was a pity that he was also arrogant and presumptuous. Had he proper manners, she could perhaps come to like him rather well.
Still smiling, he said, “I don’t believe I actually called him a fool, you know. If you will recall my exact words, I said only that he would be a fool if he did not believe that you stand in need of protection. I do him the honor to believe he would agree with me.”
Feeling her temper stir again in that unfamiliar fashion, Letty decided that further acquaintance with his lordship would do untold damage to her disposition if she did not take charge of her emotions. Therefore she suppressed the wish to throttle him and said sweetly instead, “Since you clearly believe my papa to be a sensible man, sir, I shall accept your apology. Oh, dear,” she added quickly before he could deny having made one, “I see Lady Tavistock beckoning. I must go to her at once, so if you will excuse me …” Without looking back, she hurried through the crowd toward the principal lady of the bedchamber.
Lady Tavistock had turned to speak to another woman before Letty reached her, so she stood patiently until the second woman moved away again. Then she made her graceful curtsy.
Lady Tavistock said haughtily, “I want to make your acquaintance, Letitia.”
“That is kind of you, ma’am.”
“Yes, well, I understand that you have no one from your family here at court,” she said. “To tell you how you should go on, that is. So I thought perhaps I should drop a word in your ear, to save you grief in future, you see.”
“Indeed I don’t see, ma’am. Have I erred in some way?”
“You will not want to develop a shabby reputation, Letitia.”
“Certainly not, ma’am. I cannot think how I should do so.”
“A lady’s reputation is everything in court circles. You must bear that in mind at all times. Her Majesty does not easily forgive transgressions.”
“I do not know what transgression I have committed.”
“This is a drawing room, Letitia. You are a maid of honor. Your attention should be on Her Majesty and the presentations, not idling away in flirtation.”
Stifling annoyance for what seemed like the tenth time since her arrival at court, Letty said evenly, “If you refer to Viscount Raventhorpe, ma’am, perhaps you are not aware that we recently became acquainted through a shared inheritance. He was kind enough to ask how I am adjusting to my duties.”
“You share an inheritance with Raventhorpe?” Her ladyship’s tone was doubtful, which in Letty’s opinion could not surprise anyone of sense.
“Perhaps I should not put it quite that way,” she admitted. “In truth, each of us inherited property from the same man. That is how we came to be acquainted.”
“You are related to Raventhorpe’s family, then?” Lady Tavistock’s tone softened noticeably, making Letty almost sorry to have to contradict her.
“Not related, no, ma’am. I inherited a house that his lordship had reason to expect he would inherit. It’s rather a complicated business, I’m afraid, but he has been most considerate. Perhaps you can understand why I hesitated to snub him.”
“I do not desire you to snub him at all,” Lady Tavistock said stiffly. “I thought only to drop a hint in your ear. You may go now, and when your duties are done for the day, Her Majesty will not require your presence again until Saturday morning at eight. You must dress for riding then, since she intends to visit the riding school, as is her frequent custom. I assume that you ride competently. I believe the Duke of Wellington has mentioned that you do.”
“It was kind of him to say so,” Letty said, smiling at the thought of her old friend. Her father had served under the duke at Waterloo, and she had met him several times since then, both while he was prime minister and afterward. Though he, like her father, was a staunch Tory, he was still one of England’s greatest heroes and a particular favorite of hers. She was grateful for what clearly had been an attempt on his part to smooth her path at court, and she would tell him so when next they met. His son, the Marquess of Douro, was to marry the following week. If she had not encountered Wellington before then, she would see him at the wedding.
Lady Tavistock dismissed her with a nod, and Letty returned to her post, keeping her eyes dutifully fixed on the flow of presentations, which already had begun to seem unending. The low buzz of conversation ebbed and swirled around her, and for a time she paid little heed to any of it. Then a particular exchange wafted its way to her ears above the general stream.
The speakers, both female, were somewhere close behind her. She did not recognize their voices. The first said, “They meet nearly every day, I’m told.”
The second, higher-pitched voice, said, “Mercy me, where?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Finding a place to be private is the great difficulty, is it not? But if his lordship gets wind of this, heaven knows what he will do.”
“Well, at least she’s given him his heir. That is all one is bound to do, after all, so he ought not to fuss too much about a simple affaire de coeur, especially since he’s indulged himself in several of them over the years.”
“Wicked girl! How can you say such things?”
“Keep your voice down, do. Everyone will hear you.”
Letty heard no more, for the queen’s chamberlain chose that moment to announce that the first state ball of the Season would honor the state visit of Alexander, hereditary grand duke of Russia. As he spoke, Letty turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of the interesting pair she had overheard, but she could not decide which ones they were. The woman, Catherine, was nearby, but she was talking with the man Letty had seen the previous day in Sir John Conroy’s company. Raventhorpe had mentioned his name, but she did not recall what it was.
Since Catherine was the only female at court who had shown any inclination to be friendly, Letty glanced her way several times after that, hoping to find an opportunity to approach her again. It was not to be, however. One moment Catherine was there, talking with the tall, blond man; the next she had vanished.
Letty remained at her post until the drawing room ended. Then the queen and her company returned to Buckingham Palace, and since Letty had received no invitation to dine that evening, she joined Miss Dibble and Jenifry in her new apartment long enough to collect her mantle and gloves. Then the three of them met their carriage and returned to Jervaulx House.
As they alit from the carriage in the flagstone courtyard of that noble residence, Miss Dibble said, “If Her Majesty does not require your presence at court tomorrow, Letitia, we should go to Bond Street and buy some new white gloves.”
“Order a dozen if you wish, Elvira,” Letty said. “I mean to visit my house tomorrow, and meet my tenants.”
“Are you certain that is wise, my dear? Mr. Clifford, who seems to think just as he ought, was of the opinion that your fa—”
“I remember his opinion clearly, Elvira, and if we are not to fall out, I would prefer that you not repeat it to me. The Upper Brook Street house is mine now, and I have every intention of seeing what it looks like and meeting my tenants. New gloves are an excellent idea, though, and since you know precisely what I require, you can see to their purchase. Jenifry can go with me to view the house.”
Miss Dibble looked for a moment as if she might dispute this plan, but she did not, and Letty gave her credit for good sense. The good woman could scarcely imagine that her charge would meet with danger while paying a formal call upon two elderly ladies in the fashionable environs of Upper Brook Street, Mayfair.
After changing to less ceremonial clothing, Letty and Miss Dibble enjoyed a quiet supper. Then Letty retired to her sitting room to write a letter to her parents, informing them of her safe arrival in London. She described her visit to Mr. Clifford, her meeting with the Duchess of Sutherland, and her impressions of the drawing room in detail but mentioned Raventhorpe only briefly, saying that she had met him and that apparently he had expected to inherit the Mayfair house.
Thoughtfully, she nibbled her pen, then added,
As you know, I have thought it odd from the outset that Mr. Benthall left his house to me. Now it seems stranger than ever. That he enjoyed a distant relationship to Grandmother Jervaulx and an acquaintance with my grandfather seems a trifling reason when he was much more nearly related to Raventhorpe’s mother. Odder still, why leave it to me, rather than to one of my brothers? Can either of you think of any other reason for the bequest?
After dutifully inquiring about her brothers, both of whom were at school in England but would communicate with their parents many times before it would occur to them to write to her or pay her a visit, she sanded and sealed her letter and put it aside for the post. Then she rang for Jenifry and prepared for bed.
Upon rising the next day, she attended first to her morning post. Since friends knew she was in town, she had received several invitations to balls and parties. The London Season was under way, and if she chose, she would not have to spend a single evening at home.
Not knowing yet what her exact duties were, however, she accepted none of them, explaining her reluctance to commit herself, and knowing her friends would understand. The ladies of the bedchamber had specific schedules and knew weeks in advance when they were to serve. But the younger, less experienced maids of honor served whenever others deemed their presence suitable or necessary. Thus, her duties at the queen’s court would be Letty’s first concern throughout the Season.
When she had finished her correspondence and her breakfast, she returned to her dressing room and rang for Jenifry.
“I want the blue-and-grey-striped foulard dress and a white chemisette,” she said when the dresser came. “I’ll wear the grey cloak and my cottage bonnet with it. We’ll leave as soon as I have dressed.”
“We’re paying a morning call on your tenants, then,” Jenifry said.
“In a manner of speaking,” Letty said, grinning. “As you know, in London, ‘morning calls’ generally are paid in the afternoon. Only one’s closest friends and family darken one’s doorstep before noon. However, I don’t want to share this visit with other callers, so I mean for us to arrive by eleven. Then, hopefully, I can have them to myself for a bit. I mean to make friends with them, so that they will not mind telling me when things go amiss. I am going to be a model landlord, Jen.”
“Your papa will approve of that, at any rate.”
“He will. He said he has faith in me, and I mean to show him it is not misplaced. I’ve got until he and Mama arrive at the end of May to get my affairs in perfect order. In my mind, that does not mean turning them over to Mr. Clifford.”
Promptly at eleven, Letty’s carriage drew to a halt before number 18 Upper Brook Street. Before descending, she gazed at the house with serene satisfaction.
Set behind a forecourt marked with black iron railings at the street frontage, and wider than an average terrace house, its three-bay facade of fine ashlar was enlivened by a columned porch and superb ironwork. The wide arched entrance and balustraded window aprons above, Letty found especially pleasing to the eye.
Giving Lucas her hand, she descended, then paused to let him open the iron gate for her and Jenifry. Red geraniums in clay pots provided splashes of color throughout the flagstone forecourt, and someone had scrubbed the three wide stone steps leading to the porch till they were as white as the flanking marble columns.
Lucas stepped past her to wield the bright brass knocker, and a stout, liveried porter opened the door. In formal tones, Lucas said, “The Lady Letitia Deverill to see Mrs. Linford or Miss Frome.”
The porter blinked. Then, visibly collecting himself, he said in even more stiffly pompous tones, “I shall inquire as to whether the mistress is at home, your ladyship, if you will kindly step into the entry hall.”
“Thank you,” Letty said. “Lucas, you may wait for us in the carriage.”
After the promise of the exterior, the entry hall was disappointing. A modest, stone-flagged room, its furnishings comprised only a single straight-backed chair, clearly intended for the porter’s use, and two quite ordinary side tables set opposite each other against cream-colored side walls. Unlit candles in plain brass sconces provided the only wall decoration. They also informed Letty that, most likely, modern gas lighting had not yet made its way into the house.
The porter opened one of a pair of tall white doors in the wall facing the entrance, slipped through, and shut it after him. Two matching single doors faced each other from the side walls.
Letty and Jenifry were alone only a few minutes before the porter returned, opening the double doors wide this time.
Nodding, he said, “If you will be good enough to follow me, your ladyship, Mrs. Linford will receive you in the little drawing room.”
Stepping through the doorway in his wake, Letty had all she could do not to stop and gawk. The cool, restrained entrance hall had not prepared her for the splendor of the stair hall.
Lighted from the top, the highly polished oak staircase swooped upward in an open spiral between large-scale, colorful murals depicting Reubenesque women and heroic men in mythical scenes. When she and Jenifry followed the porter up the winding, wide oak treads, she admired the splendid plasterwork and fine doorcases. As they reached the landing, she heard di
stant notes of a pianoforte and wondered which of the two elderly ladies played with such skill.
The porter opened a door to the right of the landing, and the music grew louder as they passed through an elegantly appointed anteroom, redolent with the scent of roses. Huge bouquets decked nearly every table in the room. The porter opened another set of double doors, and the music washed over them for the few seconds before he announced loudly, “Lady Letitia Deverill, ma’am.”
The music stopped as Letty stepped into the room. In the same instant that she noted four females staring at her, rather than the two she had expected, she saw with shock that the pianist was none other than Viscount Raventhorpe.
“Good morning, your ladyship. Won’t you and your companion take a seat. Jackson, ask Mary to bring in more refreshments.”
Suppressing her shock, Letty looked quickly at the plump, elderly woman who had spoken, and said, “Thank you, ma’am. You must be Mrs. Linford. I hope you will forgive my calling upon you so early in the day.”
“I expect you wanted to see your house, my dear,” said one of the others. She was a lady nearly as elderly as the first, wearing a huge creation on her head, so extravagantly decorated with ribbons, beads, and rosettes that it took every ounce of Letty’s training not to stare at it in astonishment.
Taking a seat on a plumply upholstered, claw-footed chair, she replied with forced calm, “Even more than that, ma’am, did I want to meet my tenants and assure them that I have no intention of disrupting their serenity. Can you be Miss Frome?”
“I am, indeed, though most folks call me Miss Abby. How clever of you to sort us out so quickly. But you cannot know our dear niece Sally, or Liza.”
“Sally is Lady Sellafield,” Mrs. Linford said reprovingly. “As I have told you many times, Abigail, you ought not to introduce her or yourself so informally.”
Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 04] Page 7
