Carola Dunn (5 page)

“It was our pleasure,” said Peter a trifle pompously.

“It was a long way,” Michael contradicted.

Ashe was struck by a stroke of genius. “I’ll tell you what, suppose I drive you home in the curricle? Then you can hold the horses, Peter, and earn sixpence while I go in to speak to your sister.”

Peter shook his head. “She won’t let me work for money. Besides, she’ll be at rehearsal.”

“All afternoon?” Ashe found himself ridiculously disappointed. What did it matter if he never saw the chit again? She had rejected his advances in no uncertain manner.

“All afternoon. I say, sir, do you think you might be able to persuade her to let me try to make some money? If it’s not beneath her dignity, I don’t see why she should think it’s beneath mine, when I don’t. Perhaps if you told her....”

“I cannot imagine Miss Findlay would pay the least heed to anything I might tell her.”

“But you’re her friend, aren’t you?”

“Ah, hm.” Ashe found himself unexpectedly at a loss for words. Friendship was not precisely the relationship he had had in mind for Lissa Findlay. But the boy was looking at him anxiously. “Yes,” he said, “I hope she considers me her friend. However, the point is moot as she is out this afternoon.”

“You could take us home anyway, sir,” Michael pointed out hopefully.

“I could indeed.” Perhaps on the way to Lambeth he would find an opportunity to satisfy his growing curiosity about the Findlays. “I will. Have you had enough to eat?”

Michael felt his stomach and heaved a regretful sigh. “Yes, thank you, my lord. I haven’t got room for a single ‘nother bite.”

“Nor have I, thank you, sir,” Peter agreed, then hissed across the table, “Michael, wipe your face.”

Michael hastily removed his temporary moustache with a napkin. At that moment, the door opened and Colin appeared.

“Uncle Robert, Halsey said....” He stopped dead. “Who are those boys?”

“Master Findlay and Master Michael Findlay,” Ashe said calmly, while he thought, “Oh the deuce, what is Daphne going to say?” “Peter, Michael,” he continued as the brothers slipped down from their chairs and bowed, staring, “this is my nephew, Lord Orton.”

“How do you do,” the Findlays chorussed. Michael added with interest, “Are you really a lord, even though you’re just a boy?”

“Yes, I’m a viscount, because my father’s dead. What are you doing here?”

“They are just leaving,” Ashe said hastily.

“Where are you going?”

“Home, my lord,” Peter told him.

Colin frowned. “Boys don’t call boys ‘my lord,’ do they, Uncle?”

“It depends upon the circumstances.”

“Well, I don’t want you to call me ‘my lord.’“

“What shall I call you, then?” Peter asked.

“Just Colin, and I’ll call you Peter and Michael. Where is your home? Is it far away?”

“A long way,” said Michael. “Miles and miles. Lord Ashe is going to drive us in his curricle.”

Ashe was the recipient of an accusing scowl. “You never take me in the curricle.”

“Why don’t you come too?” Michael invited.

“A curricle is built for two,” Ashe pointed out.

“But I want to go!”

“That’s all right,” said Peter kindly. “We’re just boys and we’re all quite thin. We’ll squeeze in somehow.”

Ashe hadn’t the heart to refuse. He would just have to convince Daphne that the Findlay brothers were perfectly respectable, decent, clean, and altogether harmless--and impress upon Colin that he must never describe their home to his mama.

On the way, for the first time Ashe could remember, Colin laughed. Surely news of that would appease Daphne, especially as he was unlikely ever to meet his new acquaintances again.

Which would be a pity, Ashe ruminated, the seed of an outrageous idea taking root in his mind.

* * * *

Lissa stared at her brothers in dismay. “He brought you all the way home?”

“In his curricle,” Peter confirmed. “It’s a bang-up rig, Lissa, you should see it.”

“And his horses go like the wind,” said Michael. “He sprang ‘em to show us.”

“He what?”

“Sprang ‘em. Them. It means let them go as fast as they want.”

“It sounds dangerous,” Lissa said dubiously, hanging her bonnet on its nail.

“Just for a short way,” Peter reassured her, “after we crossed the bridge, when there wasn’t much traffic.”

“I think I’ll be an ostler after all, or maybe a gentleman’s groom. Lord Ashe’s groom sat up behind us on a little seat. It looked like fun.”

“You can be my groom, if you want,” Peter offered. “When I grow up, I shall be a gentleman, shan’t I, Lissa?”

“You both will, and I trust you will remember that even boys should behave like gentlemen.”

“Colin didn’t, did he, Peter? He didn’t bow to us when Lord Ashe introduced us, and then he would come, and then he complained about getting squashed.”

“Who is Colin?” Lissa asked, her mind boggling at the vision of the elegant, dashing Lord Ashe squeezed into his curricle with three boys.

“Lord Ashe’s nephew. He wasn’t really so bad,” Peter said tolerantly. “He’s just not used to being with other boys. He did cheer up a bit after that, and he didn’t make us call him Lord Orton, even though he’s a viscount.”

Lissa’s mind boggled again. Lord Ashe had brought his noble nephew to a seedy area of Lambeth to call upon the woman he hoped to make his mistress?

She could only be glad she had been out. “I hope you thanked his lordship,” she said. “It was excessively kind in him to drive you home.”

“We thought he wasn’t going to,” Michael said, “when Peter told him you wouldn’t be at home.”

“He knew?”

“He said he wanted to talk to you, so I told him you had a rehearsal this afternoon. So they didn’t come in, just set us down right at the door.”

Shaking her head, Lissa gave up for the present any attempt to understand Lord Ashe. The best she could do was to remain constantly on guard.

Chapter 4

Ashe had hoped to choose his moment to speak to Daphne. It was a lot to expect. Burr was sworn to silence, not that he would dream of revealing his master’s business to a soul. But Halsey and the footman had undoubtedly already discussed, in the housekeeper’s room and the servants’ hall respectively, his lordship’s friendly reception of two small boys.

Ashe had impressed upon Colin that he must not describe the Findlays’ home surroundings. “People cannot help being poor,” he said sternly, “and to spread tales about their shabbiness is thoroughly ungentlemanly. Positively vulgar, in fact.”

He considered adding a prohibition on mentioning the curricle ride at all, in the hope that Daphne would not hear about it from the servants. To do so would be to lead his nephew into the murky waters of deceit, he decided. And she was bound to find out one way or another, sooner or later.

Sooner, and by way of her dresser, he discovered when she entered the drawing room that evening looking reproachful.

The setting sun, slanting between pale blue damask curtains, sheened across the crimson satin of her ball dress and struck sparks from the rubies about her white neck.

“You look like an empress,” Ashe said sincerely.

“Thank you.” Daphne accepted his admiration as her due, preened a little, but was not to be diverted. Sinking gracefully onto a blue-brocaded chair, she addressed him with a plaintive air. “Rob, what is this Marlin tells me about your introducing Colin to a pair of street urchins? I was never so shocked in my life, I vow!”

“Hardly street urchins,” he protested, finding himself on the defensive, as he had feared. “They are perfectly respectable children, sent to me on an errand.”

“Errand-boys, if you will. Still, such are scarcely fit acquaintance for Viscount Orton!”

“I had no intention of making them acquainted. Colin came in while I was talking to them, and demanded to know who they were.”

“You might have sent him away, I suppose, or them! If you meant to give Colin a ride in your curricle--which I cannot like! It is a monstrous unsafe vehicle for a child--then why did you take up those ragamuffins as well?”

“Peter and Michael Findlay are not ragamuffins,” Ashe said with what patience he could muster. “They had done me a favour, and I had already promised to drive them home. Colin insisted upon joining us.”

“You could have refused him. He always does what you say, as he did with Miss Prescott. La, I don’t know what I shall do if I don’t find another governess soon! Colin will not mind me unless it suits him, but I cannot leave him all day with only a nursemaid. I wish you will spend more time with him, Rob. You are his guardian, after all.”

“I took him for a curricle ride,” Ashe reminded her, “and he very much enjoyed it. In fact, he....”

At that moment the drawing-room door opened and Halsey announced Lord Quentin Teague. Daphne greeted him with delight, instantly forgetting both her anxiety for her son and her dispute with her brother.

Ashe curbed his annoyance. They were all three engaged to dine with mutual friends before going on to a ball. It was not really the best moment to present his sister with a decidedly controversial suggestion.

* * * *

He ran her to earth the next afternoon, entertaining callers in the drawing room. Despite her status as a beautiful widow, and her refusal to wear a widow’s cap, Daphne had numerous friends among the younger matrons in Town for the Season. The rest of her visitors were admirers. These ranged from a mooncalf in a neckerchief with aspirations to be taken for a second Byron, to a greying roué of the Prince Regent’s set, reputed to be looking out for a rich third wife.

Surveying them, Ashe decided it was small wonder if his sister preferred Lord Quentin, also present, to the rest. Foppish and rakish as he was, at least he took neither penchant to extremes.

Ashe set himself to be pleasant to the ladies present, thankful that none were old enough to be on the catch for husbands for their daughters. Gradually the company thinned, until only Lord Quentin remained.

He showed no sign of leaving.

At last Ashe said, “If you don’t mind, Teague, I’d like a private word with my sister.”

“Of course, my dear fellow, of course. Don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

“But you were going to come with me to the milliner, Lord Quentin,” Daphne reminded him. “You know how much I value your advice. We can talk later, Rob.”

“Will you be in tonight?”

“Well, no. I am going with the Burdetts to Lady Cholmondesley’s rout. Is the matter so urgent?”

“You think so.”

“I? You are prodigious mysterious! I cannot imagine what you have in mind. I am all agog, I vow!”

“Suppose I wait for you at Hatchard’s Bookshop, Lady Orton,” Teague said diplomatically. “The milliner you mentioned is just around the corner, I believe?”

“Oh yes, that will do very well. I shall not keep you long, I am sure,” she added, giving her cicisbeo her hand and her brother a minatory look.

Ashe eyed with disfavour the lingering kiss Lord Quentin deposited on Daphne’s hand. The moment the door closed behind Teague, he said, “Why on earth do you keep that fellow hanging about you? I don’t trust his intentions. He’s a known rake.”

“No worse than you, Rob. Everyone knows you have given the Skylark her congé, and you cannot make me believe you have not already found a replacement.”

“Teague told you?” Ashe demanded angrily.

“Certainly not,” Daphne said, outraged. “He would not dream of discussing such improper relationships with me. He wants to marry me.”

“My apologies, my dear. Have you considered accepting his offer? Would you wish to have Lord Quentin for a husband?”

“Oh yes, I am convinced we should suit very well. We enjoy just the same sort of things, you see. He cannot abide the country, except for occasional house parties, naturally, and he never bores me with talk of books or politics or horses.  Only he does not wish to be a papa to poor Colin, and of course I cannot abandon my darling son, or let him be sent away to a horrid school.”

“Ah yes, Colin.” Ashe had to agree that the boy was too sickly to thrive on the harsh regimen of Eton or Harrow. He forebore to mention that he would never permit his ward to be brought up by a Bond Street beau like Teague.

“By the time he is grown, I shall be an old woman!” Daphne wailed.

“Hardly that. You will be in your prime. Without childbearing, females tend to keep their youth,” Ashe observed with callous indelicacy, “and after all, Lord Quentin is a third son with no need to breed an heir. Anyway, there is nothing I can do about that. I can, however, relieve you of your immediate difficulty.”

“Whatever do you mean, Rob?”

“I have found you a governess.”

“A governess! How do you know she will suit? It is quite impossible to find someone both kind and firm, like Miss Prescott. Goodness knows, I have tried. Who is she?”

Ashe’s nonchalance was entirely assumed. He was on tenterhooks. “Her name is Findlay, Miss Findlay.”

“I don’t care about her name,” Daphne cried. “Whose governess is she? Has she good references? How did you come to hear of her?”

“As a matter of fact, I have met her. I...er...She isn’t a governess at present.”

“Then what is she?” Daphne queried impatiently.

He would have concealed the truth if he could, but the facts were bound to emerge in the end. “An actress.”

“An actress? My dear brother, are you feeling quite well? Your wits have gone a-begging, I vow. An actress!”

“She has not been long on the stage. I believe she would be perfect for Colin.”

“But how is it you are acquainted with her? Rob, she is not your...?”

“Good gad, Daphne, no! You cannot really suppose I should introduce my chère-amie to my own sister, install her under my own roof! I invited Miss Findlay to dine with me after a performance.” Ashe held up his hand to stop the question obviously hovering on the tip of her tongue. His face burning, he admitted, “Your assumption as to my intentions is perfectly correct.”

“She accepted?”

“She accepted supper. She refused the offer of my protection.”

“You did not offer enough. Why else should she dine with you?”