A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior (12 page)

“You’re going driving with Colonel James?”

Theresa took a deep breath. “Yes. He asked to use our barouche, though, because Gardner doesn’t have one.”

“Very well. He seems an interesting man, Tess. More so than most of the milksop bucks chasing after you. Is he romantic?”

Romantic
. He certainly kissed like it, but that was another topic she meant to avoid. “I don’t think romance has been much on his mind,” she said instead.

“That’s understandable. But if he’s asked you to go driving, he must have some thought of romance.”

“Perhaps.”

Agnes nodded. “Only one more question from your old grandmama, then. Are you ready for the trouble being seen with him could stir? There are other men more admired than he is, and they won’t like you showing him favor. And there are the rumors, as well, that these Thuggee don’t exist and that he lost his command because he is utterly incompetent. Or worse, a coward.”

The image of him lying in bed while Dr. Prentiss dug into his leg made even the sound of that accusation ridiculous. “He is neither of those things.”

“I’m only telling you what will be said. Being a bit naughty and being associated with someone else’s scandal are two very different things, Tess. And while I’m happy to see you embark on the former, I don’t wish to see you hurt by the latter.” Grandmama Agnes lifted Mr. Brown onto her lap. “Now go away, and if Michael asks, tell him I scolded you into submission.”

Theresa grinned. “Yes, Grandmama.”

For the rest of the day and through the evening, however, it wasn’t Bartholomew James’s questionable character that kept her unsettled and nervous. It was her own. She’d told her family that she didn’t need to be reminded to behave. This was the first time in thirteen years, though, that the proper thing and the thing she wanted to do couldn’t both be found in her booklet.

“Colonel, the buckskin trousers will not fit over your knee. The boots will look sterling with the breeches, anyway.”

Bartholomew ignored his valet for the moment, instead concentrating on shaving. He hated to admit it, but compared with remaining in bed, the wheeled chair in which he currently sat was a bloody godsend. “The buckskins,” he said. “Cut the seam up to the knee.”

“I don’t see the sense in ruining a very fine pair of trousers, but I suppose it isn’t up to me.”

“I suppose it isn’t.”

At least in trousers he would look like a gentleman of modern sensibilities. Because if Theresa wanted to be seen with him, he would do his damnedest not to embarrass her. Once she came to her senses, he could take himself back to the Adventurers’ Club and disappear from Society again.

“What about that horse’s mane on your head?” the valet asked, as he sat down in the chair by the window and began pulling stitches from the seam of the buckskin trousers. “Miss Tess did mention that you needed a trim.” He snapped the scissors open and closed. “I can see to it if you like.”

“Are you certain you worked for Wellesley?” Bartholomew asked, beginning to wonder whether he was more annoyed or amused by his valet.

“I most certainly did.”

“Well, you’re not getting near me with those things. Not today.” The fresh pain of his knee—and the distraction of Theresa—might be keeping his demons at bay for the moment, but they were never far away.

“Very well, Colonel. I’ve braided many a horse’s tail. I could attempt that.”

“You’re sacked, Lackaby.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Keep your sarcasm to yourself, or I’ll see to it.”

The valet cleared his throat. “Yes, Colonel.”

It took twenty minutes, but with some swearing and more pain, the two of them got him into his buckskin trousers and his Hessian boots. Bartholomew glanced at the clock on the mantel. She would arrive at James House in the next ten minutes or so.

Lackaby followed his gaze. “Wait here a moment,
Colonel. I’ll fetch some help to haul you and the chair downstairs.”

As he waited for the troops to assemble, he took a moment to look at himself again in the dressing mirror. A fortnight ago he could not have cared less about his appearance. And yet there he sat, dressed in a well-fitting black jacket and tan waistcoat, freshly shaved with a neat if simply-tied cravat, and his ragged, overlong hair at least combed.

It was a damned muddle, knowing he was ill-suited to courting and still looking for any excuse to be close to Theresa. Was it selfish to ignore his poor qualifications until she noticed them herself and put a stop to…whatever this was? The answer was simple, but before he could contemplate it, Lackaby returned with two footmen and Stephen’s valet.

After yesterday they’d decided it was easier to tilt him nearly flat on his back and carry him downstairs, chair and all. He didn’t like the extreme feeling of vulnerability, but as of two days ago he’d found a reason to at least give his leg a chance to heal. The better he could fit into Society physically, the better for Theresa while her short-sighted interest in him lasted.

With a last, wrenching jolt they set him upright again at the foot of the stairs. “There you are, Colonel,” Lackaby said. “Simple as boiled potatoes.”

Bartholomew glanced over his shoulder at the valet. “Thank you for the comparison. Fetch my cane, will you?”

Saluting, Lackaby trotted back up the stairs. The remainder of his assistants disappeared back to
their duties. Bartholomew sat alone just short of the foyer. He took a deep breath, unaccustomed excitement running just beneath his skin for the first time in months. If she was wise, Theresa would send her regrets and go off shopping with her friends. And he sincerely hoped that she wouldn’t be wise today.

“Your cane, Colonel,” Lackaby said, descending the stairs again with an ease Bartholomew couldn’t help envying. “Though we’ll need more than a stout stick to get you up into a carriage.”

“A carriage?” Stephen repeated, emerging from his office. “You’re going out?”

Wonderful
. “Yes.”

“I didn’t know Michael had already sent over his barouche.”

“I’m waiting for it now.” There. And that wasn’t even a lie.

“So soon? Does Dr. Prentiss know you’re out of bed again, then?”

“You’re the one who purchased me the chair. You didn’t mean for me just to lie there and look at it, did you?”

“No, but I’d hoped you would demonstrate a touch more patience before you jumped into a carriage.”

“I—”

The front door knocker clanked against its brass plate, and he forgot what he’d been about to say. By God, she’d come.

Graham appeared from the direction of the kitchen and hurried past them to pull open the door. “Good morning, Miss Tess,” the butler said warmly. “You’ll find Lady Gardner in the morning room.”

“Thank you,” her voice came, a smile in her tone, “but I’m here to collect Colonel James.”

While the butler looked baffled, clearly unsettled by her choice of words, Bartholomew motioned at Lackaby to wheel him forward. “Let’s be off, shall…”

He trailed off as she came into view. She wore a blue muslin decorated with small green flowers, the sleeves short and puffy, and the low, swooped neck and waist overlaid with a delicate ivory lace. The colors turned her eyes gray, and filled him with the immediate…need to kiss her.

Her smile deepened. “You’re ready?”

Bartholomew shook himself even as Lackaby rolled him into the doorway. “I try to be prompt.”

She gazed at him for a long moment, and he wondered what in the world she saw to make her want both to spend time with him, and to get to know him better. Whatever it was, she lifted a hand to shift a strand of her sun-colored hair behind one ear. If he’d been on his feet, he wouldn’t have been able to resist touching her.

“What’s all this?” Stephen asked, frowning.

“Colonel James and I are going for a drive,” Theresa returned. “I brought the barouche as you suggested, since it has the lowest step.”

With its bright red trim it was also going to be one of the most noticeable vehicles on the streets. Clearly she wasn’t worried about being seen with him. Considering that Stephen now looked as baffled as the butler had a minute ago, it seemed a good time to leave. Carefully he stood, ignoring the jab of pain as he flexed his knee a little. “Lackaby.”

The valet came around beside him, and Bartholomew slung an arm across his shoulders while Lackaby braced him around the waist. Lifting him half off the floor, the stocky servant hauled him down the shallow trio of steps to the drive. “Lighter than Arthur in his cups, you are,” Lackaby grunted. “But not by much.”

Theresa snorted, but stepped forward to open the carriage’s low door. Bartholomew handed her the cane as he levered himself up the step and into the seat. Her maid sat opposite him looking vaguely horrified, so the servant likely knew what her mistress was up to.

“Tolly?” Stephen descended the steps behind them.

“I’ll have him back by two o’clock. Earlier if he tires.” Theresa handed back the cane and clambered in past him, careful to avoid his outstretched leg, and sat beside him. “I’ve a pillow, if you want it beneath your foot.”

“No need.” Mostly he wanted to be off before Stephen attempted to interfere.

“Tess,” his brother said, with the timing of a clock, “what are the two of you doing? I only asked to borrow the barouche. I didn’t mean you had to give up your day for—”

“We’re going for a drive.” She leaned forward. “Drive on, Andy.”

The driver flipped the reins, and the fine pair of matched bays started off. As they left the drive, Theresa sat back again, laughing. “Oh, goodness,” she said. “That felt very scandalous.”

“It was,” he pointed out. “No good can possibly come of it.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Yes. I think we should clarify something.” Bartholomew held her gaze. “I’m not much of a gentleman any longer, but if you’re foolish enough to agree to spend time with me, Theresa, I will attempt to follow the rules.” From far away he could almost hear the sounds of battle and massacre, mocking him. “But before I step into the middle of your Season,” he continued, pushing back against the memories, “I think we should begin with a friendship.”

She sat still for a long moment, then nodded. “This is a bit different for both of us, isn’t it?”

Relieved, he grinned. “I can safely say that I’ve never spent a day like this before.” Bartholomew shifted a little so he could face her more fully. “Where are we off to?”

“I thought a grand tour around Hyde Park, to begin with.”

“Good. I’ll purchase you a lemon ice.”

“But I invited you. And you can’t get out of the carriage.”

“I can wave a shilling in the air and bellow as well as anyone,” he retorted. “You may have said the word courting first, but I’ll be doing it, thank you very much.”

Soft color touched her cheeks. “Very well,” she said slowly, smiling. “Perhaps you might purchase me a lemon ice.”

Bartholomew nodded. “That would be my pleasure.”

W
hether Tolly could read minds or merely had a good sense of timing, Theresa was grateful to him. He’d stated that he would do the courting, which made her feel both thrilled and considerably more easy. She didn’t need her guidebook to know that ladies did not court gentlemen.

In other ways, however, this infatuation was troubling. She’d never dreamed of being naked in Alexander’s arms the way she did Tolly’s. In her visions his nether regions had been a blur, which was both understandable and annoying, but she was thinking about them—and him—with almost alarming regularity, and she wasn’t accustomed to such…carnal, highly improper thoughts.

Propriety dictated that a man and woman be married before she ever saw beneath his clothes, but for heaven’s sake, she’d already seen his leg. And his blood. In a sense, she couldn’t actually fault herself for imagining the rest.

She glanced at the small clock on one of the sitting room’s side tables—not even noon yet. Amelia had suggested they have tea at James House this afternoon, and so she’d begged off shopping with Harriet this morning. Any other time her day would be filled to brimming, but becoming acquainted with Bartholomew James required all of her concentration. Much more so than chatting about the weather with dull, handsome Lionel.

Her cousin undoubtedly knew something unusual was afoot, and so did her grandmother. Michael seemed to think she was merely teasing him, thank goodness, but that still left Tolly’s brother and sister. And Tolly. His mood seemed to have improved, but she had the feeling that was partly because his leg was also beginning to mend. If it became infected or if he fell and injured it again, the angry, abrupt man she’d first met might prove to only be a taste of his temperament. She couldn’t very well court him if he refused to see her.

Her own footing wasn’t precisely certain either, considering that she’d promised to be good and proper evermore. Her parents were likely scowling and shaking their heads at her even now just for having rebellious thoughts. But this felt like a chance at…at something, and she simply wasn’t ready to give it up. Not yet.

She heard the front door knocker and then Ramsey
speaking, but she didn’t look up from her sketching. She’d begun with the idea of rendering one of Grandmama Agnes’s cats in charcoal, but then she’d become fixated on drawing cat’s eyes, and now the eyes gazing back at her seemed rather familiar, even without their whiskey-colored decoration.

“Miss Tess,” Ramsey said from the doorway of the upstairs solarium, “Lord Montrose is—”

“I’m here,” Alexander finished, walking past the butler into the room. “Apologies for not waiting to be announced.”

Damnation
. Hurriedly Theresa set down the charcoal and came forward to meet the marquis, wiping her hands on a cloth as she approached. “Alexander! I didn’t expect you this morning.”

“Since you were occupied on Tuesday, and I had a previous engagement yesterday and the day before, I thought I might offer my company today,” Alexander returned, taking her black-streaked hand and bowing over it. “If you’re free, of course.”

“Don’t you have Parliament this morning?” she asked, motioning for Ramsey to fetch Sally for her. While she would rather not have a chaperone in Tolly’s company, here with Alexander the Great she wanted everything to be proper.

“I begged off. Some drivel about canal expansion. I’d be asleep in my chair anyway if I’d attended.”

“I have a luncheon engagement, but I suppose I’m free until then,” she returned, pushing aside her impatience at having her morning interrupted. What the devil was wrong with her? If she knew one thing, it was how to be pleasantly social.

“Good.” Taking off his gloves, he set them across the back of a chair and sat. “What are you working on?”

“That?” She glanced back at the easel. “Nothing. Just practicing.”

“If you need a subject, I would be happy to sit for you.”

Theresa sent him an assessing look. “I’m not quite proficient enough for people,” she said, smiling. “Vases and fruit are my specialty of the moment.”

“How long have we known one another, Tess?” he asked abruptly, as Sally hurried into the room, nodded at her, and took a seat beside the door.

“Nearly four years, I think,” she answered, her muscles tensing just a little. If he was going to hand her another proposal, he’d picked a poor time for it.

“Do you trust my judgment?”

“I suppose it would depend on the subject.” She frowned. “Is something amiss, Alexander?”

“I followed you the other day.”

A chill went down her spine. “You followed me? Where?”

“On your so-called family outing. When you took your barouche and went driving with Colonel James for three hours.”

Theresa snapped to her feet. “I believe we’ve already discussed my dislike of you wanting to know my entire calendar each day.”

The marquis stayed seated, his pose relaxed despite the alert in his light blue eyes. “I was suspicious. And rightly so.”

“I’m not betrothed to you, Alexander, so I suppose I may visit with whomever I please.”

“But you lied about it. Why is that?”

Yes, why was that, Tess
? Had it been to spare Tolly from Alexander’s ire? Or to spare her from any stickiness such as that she seemed to be mired in at that very moment? “I’m not certain why,” she responded after a moment. “But my friendship with Tolly James remains my own affair.”

“As long as it’s only a friendship. If he’s after you, then I have to disagree.”

What would Lord Montrose say, she wondered, if she informed him that Tolly had announced his interest in her at approximately the same moment she’d confessed to her fascination with him?

“I had breakfast this morning,” Montrose said conversationally.

“As did I,” she returned a bit dubiously, debating now how to have him leave without making him more out of sorts about Tolly. “Peaches and toast.”

“I dined out at the Society,” he continued, “with Lord Hadderly. The head of the London offices of the East India Company.”

“I’m acquainted with him. Grandmama doesn’t like his dogs.” Casual as his voice was, something set her on edge. More on edge. Any mention of India seemed to have more significance to her now. And Hadderly had declined to dine at James House.

“Yes. Evidently there have been some gathering rumors about a murderous cult in India, called the Thuggee, who prey on innocent travelers and merchants.”

That did it. Theresa sat directly opposite the marquis, her hands clenched stiffly in her lap. “If you intend on doing something…underhanded to
damage Colonel James’s reputation, you will stop it at once. I won’t have it.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You won’t, will you?”

“No. I won’t.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Light blue eyes gazed into hers for a moment. “The reason I mention this, Tess, is because the Company has been working diligently to stop the rumors and discredit anyone carrying them. It’s bad for business.” Abruptly he stood, so that she had to lift her chin to look at him. “I tell you this because of our friendship. I know how highly you regard propriety. No one carrying tales about mythical bandits is going to be terribly popular after tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“The East India Company publishes their views on the outlandish rumors and calls everyone who has claimed to have encountered the Thuggee cowards, traitors, and liars.”

“What?” All the blood drained from her face. “But what does the Horse Guards say about this? Surely they won’t stand for it. They’ve lost men to these brigands.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t heard how or if the Horse Guards means to respond. But I do know how much money the Company drops into their coffers.” Montrose inclined his head. “And now I imagine you’ll want to be elsewhere—unless you would care to go driving with me after all.”

Theresa shot to her feet. “Um, no. I need to—”

“I thought so,” he interrupted. “I’m not your enemy, Tess. And I didn’t give you this information for anyone’s sake but yours.”

She hardly noted what he was saying. Her ties to
Tolly might be tenuous by Society’s standards, but all she could think was that he needed to know—at once—that both the East India Company and the War Office were about to call him a liar, and the entire ordeal he’d faced, a coward’s tale.

“Go on, Tess,” Montrose said, heading for the door. “I’ll see you tonight at the Fallon soiree. I hope he appreciates that you’re willing to go speak to him in person.” He shook his head. “I never much liked Tolly James, but now I almost feel sorry for him. Once the report comes out, he’ll go from wounded hero to overmatched and failed officer.”

With a nod he excused himself from the sitting room. For a long moment Theresa stood there in the middle of the floor. Alexander Rable had impeccable manners. He’d politely informed her that the fellow who’d caught her eye was about to be very unpopular. He’d done it without asking her to make a choice, or even requesting an apology from her for making such a silly error in judgment. To keep her own reputation and standing safe, all she had to do was…nothing.

He’d even made the suggestion that she play the heroine and ease her own conscience by giving Tolly the news herself. And then she could go on tonight and dance with her beaux, and tomorrow she could shop and flirt and pretend she’d never befriended the poor, misguided colonel.

She pulled off her smock. “Sally, tell Ramsey to have the coach readied. I’ll be down in a moment.”

Bobbing in a curtsy, the maid hurried out of the room. Theresa went across the hallway to her bedchamber to fetch her gloves and bonnet. As she did
so, she caught sight of her reflection in the dressing mirror.

Yes, she’d promised to be good. Thirteen years ago she’d sworn that she would never give her family a moment’s pause, that everything she said and did would be proper, and correct, and honorable. And in thirteen years she’d never so much as stumbled. But then again, this was the first time she’d found the ground beneath her feet to be uncertain.

Theresa took a steadying breath. She would call on Tolly. Anything beyond that she would decide when the moment came.

Bartholomew glanced toward his valet as someone knocked at the bedchamber door, but Lackaby continued muttering to himself while he pulled out the left leg seam of the black trousers he held.

Well, Lackaby hadn’t precisely been hired for his grasp of etiquette. “Come in,” he called. Going back to the simple knot he was tying into his cravat, Bartholomew leaned forward in his wheeled chair. Whether it was the twice-daily dashes of whiskey over his knee or the fact that he hadn’t put any weight on his leg in nearly a week now, he felt…better. Sounder, inside and out. More alive.

Of course the main ingredient to his recovery was one witty, lovely female with hair the color of sunshine and eyes the changeable color of the sea. Because of Theresa Weller, his heart persisted in its return to life, despite the fact that his mind knew he didn’t deserve the opportunity.

“Good morning,” his brother said, stepping into the room.

“Stephen.”

“I’m going to White’s for luncheon with Masey and a few others, if you’d care to join me.”

Hmm. His disposition
had
improved, if Stephen was now inviting him places. “I’ve a previous engagement with Tess and your wife, but thank you.”

His brother closed the door behind him. “Yes. About that.”

The muscles across Bartholomew’s shoulders tightened, but he finished the cravat. He very much doubted that Stephen could say anything about his pursuit of Theresa that he hadn’t already considered, himself. Even so, he had no intention of encouraging criticism.

Stephen cleared his throat. “Lackaby, give us a moment.”

The valet stood.

“Stay,” Bartholomew countered, moving from the cravat to buttoning the last few fastenings of his waistcoat.

The valet sat again.

“Very well.” The viscount walked across the room to look out the window. Either something extraordinary was taking place in the garden, or his brother was working very hard to choose how he wanted to say something unpleasant. “Tess Weller is a delightful young lady,” he finally said.

That wasn’t so bad. “Yes, she is.”

“You’re not the…sort of fellow I generally see about her.”

“So she told me.”

Stephen faced him. “She said that to you?”

“Several times. She thinks I’m sullen.”

“I—Do you like her?”

Bartholomew shoved backward from the dressing table, muscling the chair around to face his brother. “I just told you that she said I was sullen.”

“Then you don’t like her.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Stephen frowned. “Tolly, you’ve just returned from a nightmare. It makes sense that you would be attracted to someone with such a sunny disposition, but I want to make certain you know that she has other suitors. Men who’ve been in pursuit for far longer than you have. And—”

“I might be crippled, but I’m not blind.”

“You are not crippled,” his brother retorted. “You’re injured. But your wound does make competing with Tess’s beaux even more problematic. I don’t want to see you hurt again. That’s—”

“I appreciate your concern,” Bartholomew cut in again, “but I haven’t required your advice or your opinion since I turned seventeen.” He held his brother’s gaze, touched by the compassion and worry he saw there. Stephen had certainly never done anything to hurt or trouble him. “Do you have an objection to my…interest in Theresa Weller?”

“No! God, no. But—”

“So your objection is that you don’t think I am capable of winning her hand, not that winning her will add her to the family.”

“No. Yes. No.”

“Mmm-hmm. I’ll manage my own affairs then, Stephen. Thank you for your concern.”

The viscount jabbed a finger in his direction. “Just don’t send your surly self against Violet and Amelia and me if the world doesn’t turn your way. We’re family.”

“The world doesn’t turn my way. And whether you believe it or not, my main concern is that I not hurt you.”

“I—”

The door rattled again. With a glance at the seated Lackaby, Stephen returned to the doorway and pulled it open himself. The butler stood there, a silver salver laden with a calling card in his hand.