by Janet Woods
A woman smiled and beckoned. ‘All alone dear? I can lift my skirt and offer you ten minutes of my time for sixpence. I was deloused this morning, so I’m clean, and I have a certificate from the boneshaker saying I’m free of disease.’
The certificate had probably cost her a penny. ‘No thank you.’ Nothing would tempt Alex to stray from his purpose. Street trollops were notoriously unclean in their habits, and diseased. The thought of going home to a wife, who was calm, soft and sensible – one he could love and laugh with – was suddenly appealing. A woman like … well, Vivienne Fox was a good example. He liked the way her eyes challenged him when she was vexed, and danced with amusement when she was pleased. He liked the way she walked with a subtle sway of her hips … the smell of her … the soft rise of her breast under her bodice … She would be friend and foe as well as lover.
His breeches tightened and he cursed. His estate would fall down around his ears if the maintenance was left much longer, and he needed some money for seed and livestock. Vivienne Fox had no fortune to bring into his life. He’d be better off marrying her cousin. Adelaide Goodman was a tasty morsel, if a little too obvious. She whined like a sulky child when she couldn’t get her own way, and he doubted if either Edwina Goodman or her daughter would get on with Eugenie. Adelaide would be bored in Dorset. She’d want to entertain all the time and more than likely flirt with his brother and cause trouble. He needed someone Dominic and Eugenie could respect, too.
He quickened his step when a roll of fog suffused the distant buildings, successfully leaving the problem of Adelaide Goodman behind. He didn’t want to lose his way. The vanguard of the approaching fog had long tendrils that reached out and clung to him. It smelled of smoke, decomposing meat, soot and the slime of river mud. He held his handkerchief to his nose, longing for a deep lungful of Dorset sea air.
‘Christ!’ he said, his heart leaping when a pair of cats exploded from under his feet and streaked across the road. There they formed a spitting, clawing ball of yowling black and orange fur. They parted and the orange tabby fled into the invisibility of the mist with the black chasing after it, leaving behind the acidic smell of urine.
Alex’s heart settled back to a steady thump and his thoughts returned to Vivienne. She would fit into his life perfectly … if only she had wealth to spare.
He found the boarding house exactly where he’d left it, and just before it was enveloped by the foul, mustard-yellow fog, and slid his fingers into the small pocket in his waistcoat where he’d placed the door key. As he fished it out his fingers encountered a piece of folded paper. It was a five-pound note. After he’d let himself into his rooms he placed it on the dresser in his bedroom and began to undress, gazing at it now and again as though it were something alien. He hadn’t seen one for a long time. He would deal with it later.
The clock told him it was five a.m.. The fog pressed against the window, keeping the outside at bay. He undressed and, slipping between the sheets, placed his head on the pillow. His yawn nearly unhinged his jaw. He wasn’t used to being awake at this hour and although he was tired he also felt unsettled.
He needed a woman in his bed. Not any woman, but the prim and proper Miss Vivienne Fox. She had a look to her. Under that calm demeanor was a woman whose body would embrace his in lust if she would allow it to. He could see it in her eyes, and had felt it in the trembling response of her mouth when he’d kissed her.
He shouldn’t have taken that liberty, and he wondered if she’d allow herself to be seduced outside of marriage. No … her father was a parson. In his eyes, and in her own, she’d be damned for the rest of her life and he didn’t want that on his conscience. Her confidence in herself was fragile, and she’d suffer if he crushed her trust in him. No, there was nothing for it. He’d have to wed her if he wanted her in his bed.
Shock jolted through him at such a thought. Her father is a clergyman, and a poor one, at that.
Yes, yes … I know, but it seems the sensible course to take, with me craving a particular woman, and to hell with the cost to my estate. Besides, once we’re wed she’ll become my countess. If marrying a commoner was good enough for my father, then it’s good enough for me.
The day after tomorrow seemed a long time to wait before he saw Vivienne again. He would think about his problem in the meantime.
His logical side butted into his thoughts again, reinforcing what he already knew. Excuse me, My Lord, may I just point out that London is full of women you’ve yet to meet?
True … therefore I must be certain I capture the heart of the right one. That’s where Vivienne comes in, as my advisor, for of course it would not be sensible for me to actually wed an impoverished commoner.
That settled he snuggled his head into the pillow, not believing a word he’d just thought.
Her breath drifted to him, low and purring, and her body stretched against his, naked and sinuous as a cat. He imagined her tongue, warm, moist and erotic, as she delicately licked the lobe of his ear and whispered into it, ‘Sweet dreams, Alex.’
He imagined his own tongue gliding against her flesh … He groaned. That wasn’t a good idea – not when he was just going to sleep.
A knock at the door woke Alex. He rolled out of bed and dragged on a robe he’d found hanging on a hook behind the bedroom door. His morning erection rode high and proud. He secured the robe tightly around his waist, for he was naked underneath, then picked up a towel and held it modestly in front of him. The clock told him it was noon.
‘Who is it?’ he said foggily against the door panel.
‘Mrs Crawford. I’ve brought you some refreshment.’
He would be at a disadvantage if he opened the door when he was practically naked. ‘I’m dressed only in a robe. Give me a moment or two.’ He scrambled into his trousers and a shirt and opened the door to the welcome sight of his landlady carrying a tray with breakfast and a pot of tea.
Following her in was a lad, one not yet grown into his muscles, but on the verge and still with the bloom of youth on his face. He placed a jug of hot water next to the basin.
‘This is Ned, my son. He can shave you if you like, or run errands. He’s clever like his father was, and can even read and write.’
He searched the youth’s face and saw a passing resemblance to her. The lad’s face was flushed, uncomfortable at being in the presence of a peer of the realm, no doubt, and that coupled with his mother’s obvious pride in him.
‘I’m used to shaving myself, but thank you, Ned.’
She set the food on the table. ‘I thought you’d be ready for something to eat by now. Is there anything else you require, My Lord?’
‘There’s something I’d like to know. I found some money in the waistcoat pocket of that suit you gave me.’
‘Did you now? How very fortunate.’
‘Mrs Crawford, you don’t strike me as the type of woman who would have overlooked that amount of money. Did you place it there?’
‘Do I look like a woman who would ignore the presence of a five-pound note? It’s your suit therefore it stands to reason that it’s your money. Would there be anything else, My Lord?’
‘Since the rooms are usually kept by John Howard, perhaps I should ask him where it came from.’
‘As you wish, My Lord, though seeing that he’s not here that might prove to be a little difficult.’
He sighed, he wasn’t going to get much information out of Mrs Crawford. The woman was as closed as an oyster. God only knew, he needed the money. ‘Do you know where I can get the note changed into coin?’
‘If you’ll trust me with it I’ll see to it on your behalf, since the previous owner of the suit is long gone.’
If a previous owner existed in the first place, since the garments hadn’t shown any sign of wear. Alex nodded. He was as sure of that as he was also sure she’d been trusted with placing the money where it had been found – in the waistcoat pocket. He had nothing to lose. Mrs Crawford would only need to go downstairs to her str
ongbox to fulfill his request.
‘There’s a message for you on the tray and some invitations, My Lord. Fresh blood in town is always popular.’ Her head slanted to one side and her eyes slid up to engage his. ‘Will you be accepting visitors today? You’re welcome to make use of my drawing room if you like. Between four and six would be convenient and I’d be happy to provide refreshments. Most of my gentlemen conduct their business there, and on Saturday there’s a social evening with a card game or two. Low stakes, of course. You might like to attend that if you’re free. Lady Luck has provided you with a stake … perhaps she’ll be present to help you increase it.’
So she ran a card game to supplement her earnings, and from her last few words he suspected it might not be an honest one. Mrs Crawford was nothing if not enterprising. No doubt she would harvest any information she might glean and pass it on to John Howard. He was a man who collected and stored snippets of information in case they proved to be useful at a later date.
All the same, Alex didn’t feel the need to rob others of their hard-earned shillings. ‘That’s kind of you, Mrs Crawford, but I think not. I’ve received several invitations so will be out for most of the day.’
During the afternoon he visited his father’s club and introduced himself. Early evening found him at St James, where he tested the Lady Luck theory by gambling with a sovereign. He won a tidy sum rolling the dice in a Hazard game, lost a little, and then gained it back with more besides. Halfway through the evening he discovered his pockets to be considerably heavier than when he’d started out. He cashed in his winnings while they were still modest and unlikely to raise the ire of the serious gamblers.
The venue was already noisy. People argued with each other or shouted out greetings. Some were already inebriated, and reckless, and he was tempted to stay longer. He understood now why gambling was such an addiction for his father, especially since he and his brother had grown up under the dark side of it. His respect for his stepmother increased two-fold. Despite his father’s faults she had been a constant and affectionate presence in their lives, and had shielded them from the worst of his excesses or the urge to follow in his footsteps.
Although he was tempted to stay and consolidate on his winning streak, that thought alone stopped him gambling any more of what he’d gained so far. He’d won enough to pay for what he considered to be his immediate debts, the suit of clothes and the cash in the pocket, and with a surplus left over to see him through the month – if he was careful.
He withdrew from the gambling room and headed for the Covent Garden Theatre.
The flower seller smiled at him and held out a posy. ‘Violets for your lady love, sir.’
‘Unfortunately, I have no lady love as yet.’ He bought them anyway and pinned them to his lapel, for they masked the smell of the streets and reminded him of Eugenie’s garden, a sunny spot full of every kind of fragrant flowering plant.
He bought a ticket and took a seat in the stalls to watch a variety of acts, which were followed by a satire. The audience was loud, booing every time the villain appeared and blowing kisses at a buxom, bandy-legged milkmaid, obviously male, and with a grotesque leer on his face. The milkmaid didn’t look a day younger than fifty and sang in a deep baritone while the villain warbled in a high-pitched soprano. Alex could hardly stop laughing.
The theatre was soon filled with smoke. This wasn’t finding himself a wife, he thought. He caught a glimpse of Mrs Goodman and Adelaide, who were seated in a box either side of an older man with bushy grey eyebrows. He wondered if the man might be Viscount Statham, whom they’d mentioned on occasion. Obviously Mrs Goodman liked to display her trophies.
He couldn’t see Vivienne. Was she ill? During the interval he made his way to the box and tapped at the door.
Mrs Goodman looked surprised to see him. ‘Lord LéSayres. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. Are you acquainted with Lord Statham?’
The man was verging on middle age, of wiry build and well-muscled. Alex glanced at the empty chair. ‘Is Miss Fox not with you tonight?’
Her aunt answered. ‘Vivienne is indisposed. She developed a slight headache, just after the viscount had called and surprised us with tickets for the theatre. Most women endure such minor nuisances without complaint.’
‘Perhaps if she stays home quietly for the evening her affliction will abate.’
‘Nonsense, one does not give in to such peccadilloes.’ Edwina sounded personally insulted as well as aggrieved.
Adelaide offered him a flirtatious smile. ‘We have a spare chair … will you stay and keep us company, My Lord? The acts tonight are so boring.’
‘I thought they were quite amusing. Much as I’d like to I’m afraid I have an appointment. I must say you look charming tonight, Miss Goodman. You as well, Mrs Goodman.’
The ladies smiled at each other and the older woman said coyly, ‘Is it anyone we know … an assignation with a lady perhaps?’
He must make the lie sound convincing. ‘Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid. It’s with a friend of my father, who is only in town for the night. May I send one of the ushers up with some refreshment for you on my way out?’
‘I’ve already ordered for the ladies,’ Statham said, bristling fiercely as he thrust out his hand.
Alex found his hand pumped up and down while the man uttered a few deep and unintelligible gargling noises from his throat. He sounded like a whale wallowing on the bottom of a pot of pea soup.
Alex didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening fending off the advances of Adelaide and her mother; neither did he want to clash antlers with the Scottish gentleman escorting them. He bade them goodnight and left the theatre.
His footsteps carried him to Portland Place. A light was burning in a window and he gazed at it, wondering if Vivienne occupied the room. He picked up a small pebble and threw it at the glass. Nothing … He picked up a second one, a little larger. It pinged against the glass.
A shadow came between him and the light and the curtain was held aside. The window opened a chink and Vivienne whispered, ‘Who is it?’
‘Alex.’
The window was slid up. ‘What are you doing here? My aunt and my cousin are not at home.’
‘I’ve just come from the theatre. Your aunt told me you were ill, and I came to see how you were.’
‘It was a headache, and it’s gone now.’
He remembered the violets in his lapel and unpinned them. ‘I’ve brought you a posy of violets.’
Her voice lowered. ‘That’s sweet of you, My Lord. Leave them on the doorstep and I’ll ask one of the servants to bring them to me.’
‘You won’t come down yourself, then?’
‘I think not.’
‘Before you go, promise me you will not accept Lord Statham if he proposes.’
She laughed. ‘I will make no such promise. Goodnight, Alex, I will see you tomorrow.’ The window was pulled down, the curtain adjusted.
He waited in the shadows for a few moments then the door opened. A maid stooped to pick up the posy and briefly held it to her nose before closing the door again.
For ten minutes he watched the shadows on Vivienne’s curtains move around, and then the light was extinguished.
Nine
Although her aunt and cousin had disturbed her sleep in the night with banging doors, heavy footsteps on the stair and their loud voices, Vivienne had managed to get back to sleep without too much trouble.
She woke to the thought that Lord Statham intended to call on her at eleven, and her heart sank. Of course she wouldn’t accept the viscount, though she felt sorry for him, living alone in his great big castle.
The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the posy of delicate violets in a vase on her dressing table.
A smile spread across her face as the fragrance reached her in elusive drifts. She lay back on her pillow for a few moments, listening to the clank and rumble of carts going past and people shouting greetings at one another. Fi
nally she rose, washed, and dressed in a summery cream day dress with panels of pink and yellow honeysuckle in a twisting vine. There was a small straw bonnet decorated with matching flowers and ribbons to wear with it, and she would take her parasol to protect her from the sun.
Maria fashioned some curls.
She breakfasted alone, her aunt and cousin not yet awake, and returned to her bedroom.
Plucking the two best violets from the vase, she inhaled the scent as she pressed the flowers between blotting paper then carefully laid them between the pages of a copy of Samuel Johnson’s dictionary she’d taken earlier from the library.
She pulled her London journal from the drawer.
Yesterday evening Alex called to enquire if my headache still pained me, and presented me with a small posy of violets. He didn’t ring the bell, but stood under my window and threw small stones at the glass to attract my attention. I thought it to be an odd, but romantic gesture, though I declined to spend a short time in his company. I always feel reckless when I’m alone with him, as if I could dance the waltz through the streets of London in his arms and cause a huge scandal. I’m so looking forward to his company at the picnic this afternoon.
Her aunt and cousin still hadn’t completed their toilette when Lord Statham arrived, nearly an hour early. The maid was told to put him in the drawing room.
‘How tedious of him,’ her aunt said. ‘I do hope he’s not going to make a nuisance of himself by turning up at odd times. Make sure you’re polite to him, Vivienne. Keep in mind that he has a fortune at his disposal.’
It strengthened her resolve to know she had her own fortune.
He stood when she entered, and she noted he was shorter than her. He looked to be in his middle years. She mentally wrote on his page, even though it was unfair of her to judge a man by his appearance: not tall enough and too old.
He gave a little bow. ‘Miss Fox.’
‘I understand you wish to speak to me in private, My Lord.’ She seated herself and waved him back to his chair.
