Edith Layton (19 page)

“Indeed,” Daffyd said coldly.

“You don’t think so?” the earl asked in surprise.

“I’m not blind, of course I think so.”

“It’s not just my opinion. Nor did I assume a thing. Your brother the viscount wrote to me and told me about her.”

Daffyd frowned. “Leland thinks everything in skirts is attractive.”

“But she is, remarkably so for a girl who doesn’t try to entice.”

“The point is,” Daffyd said through gritted teeth, “that I don’t just help pretty chits.”

“I know. Remember Annie Potts and Selma Fisher?”

Daffyd smiled, diverted. “Did you ever see an uglier bit of goods than Selma? Male or female? Gads, I still haven’t.”

“No, and I hope I never do,” the earl said with a smile. “Still you saved her from further abuse from that guard at Newgate. Some men can’t help hurting the defenseless. She’d done nothing to deserve his disdain except for being as nature made her. You knew it and it infuriated you. You had only your anger to defend her. Your threats discouraged him. He was afraid of meeting you or me, Amyas or Christian if we were ever out of chains. Especially you, I think. A reputation is as good as a gold coin, you always said, and you were right.”

He leaned forward and eyed his guest seriously. “But there’s more to your Miss Shaw than looks, obviously. Your brother was much impressed, both with her and with how good you were with her. That last bit bothered him, because he said he’d every intention of stepping in to be her hero if you wouldn’t.”

“He wouldn’t have been any kind of hero,” Daffyd said with a dark scowl. “Lee’s idea of salvation would be to pay her top price for her company until he got bored with her, then retire her at a nice pension.”

“And yours is to bring her here so we can find her a nice position to work at until she gets too old, and then can be retired for a nice pension?”

Daffyd tapped his boot on the floor and looked at
the Turkish carpet as though he were itching to start pacing it again.

“Have you feelings for her?” the earl asked softly. “It would be a very good thing, Daffy, if you did. She seems decent, intelligent, and we know she has courage. She’s wellborn and educated, but not filled with airs and graces. It would be a very good thing, indeed.”

“You know how I feel about marriage,” Daffyd said curtly. “Nothing’s changed that. But yes, I like the chit, for all the reasons you said. She’s a delight. But she isn’t for me.”

Daffyd rose, but he didn’t pace. He stared down at the earl, his fists knotted at his sides. “Damnation, Geoff, you know me from the old days. I ain’t changed that much. I can’t,” he said, forgetting his manners and grammar in his agitation. “I know Christian and Amyas found lasses to love, but the love was already in them. They needed marriage to feel whole again. It ain’t in me. Nor is it in you, neither. I don’t see no female ruling this roost. And I don’t think I will, at least, not soon. And no one tells you to marry. So I don’t know why you’re trying to stuff me into the parson’s mousetrap just because I helped a female, and an eligible one, at that.”

“I don’t want to marry because I had a wonderful marriage, and I don’t want to ruin my good memories of it,” the earl said gently. “It’s that simple. How shall I explain it? I have it. You know, when summer’s at its peak and you go walking down a country
lane and see a bush of ripe brambleberries? You pop one in your mouth. It’s warmed from the sun and juicy, and I vow it tastes like all sweet summer in a mouthful. Then, back in London, you get some from a market, or your servant does,” he added with a little smile. “They’re fresh, they swear. I suppose they are, fresh from a hothouse, or the long journey from Spain or other foreign parts. You pop it in your mouth—and you wonder why anyone in their right mind would eat berries. The sourness makes you forget the joy of the real thing.”

“A woman ain’t a berry, Earl,” Daffyd said.

“A good memory is important,” the earl said, “especially when it’s all you’ve got left of a woman. And in case you’ve forgotten, marriage is forever. I don’t need a wife now, because I had the best when I had one and I don’t want to sully the memory with inferior goods. But you!”

“I never wanted a wife, remember?”

The earl waved a hand in dismissal. “That nonsense you were always on about wanting to be an uncle? It was funny, but we always knew you were joking. You can be a father and an uncle too. Double the blessing.”

Daffy sat down abruptly. His expression was set hard, his eyes deeply troubled. He clasped his hands together hard, and bent his dark head over them. “Look, my lord,” he said in a tight voice, “I meant every word of it. I like kids. I like females. But I never saw a good marriage, and happens I don’t believe in them. At least, not for me. I never saw ought
but cruelty and meanness, unfaithfulness and desertion come out of one, and that wasn’t only in my own life. I don’t want any part of that. I don’t like putting my life and my happiness in someone else’s hands. I don’t trust anyone enough, not even myself.

“I like light loving, and variety. Wedlock ain’t for me. And so neither is Miss Margaret Shaw, because she’s proper as a parson, and why shouldn’t she be? I want to find her a good place so I can feel I did right by her. But that’s it, and that’s all.”

The earl sat and thought. “And Miss Shaw?” he eventually asked. “How does she feel?”

Daffyd stirred. He looked away. “She’s young. Maybe younger than she ought to be in some ways, because even though she left her home and was employed in other people’s houses, she’s had no experience with men. She isn’t like the women I grew up with, or some of the highbred ones I met after I came home again. She’s got morals as well as manners. And she doesn’t know what love is. Aye, I know how she feels about me. That’s different. She never met anyone like me before, or if she did,” he added with a humorless smile, “all she ever did was give him a pot to mend. She’ll get over it.”

“Can she? I saw her eyes at dinner, whenever she looked at you.”

Daffyd looked up. “‘
Can she
?’ So meek, my lord?” he asked mockingly. “So mealymouthed? That’s not like you. Out with it. You want to know if I ruined her. The answer is no, I didn’t. She’s impressionable, and there’d never been anyone to impress
her before, that’s all. Well, maybe not all. But I didn’t sleep with her, not really.” He shifted in his seat. “I…entertained her, once. She was so damned enticing, and I’m too human. I was trying to get her to forget her worries.”

“Certainly a fine way to do it,” the earl commented, and hid his expression with his goblet as he took another sip.

“Well, it is. But it didn’t go that far, and there was no more and no further, and it’s done and over. It was a mistake. It didn’t mark her, and it won’t mark her future, believe me.”

The earl studied him. “There’s a lot you know, Daffy. You know more than most people do about their fellow man. There’s not a fellow I’d count on more in a scrape, because you know how to fight by the rules, including some I never heard of. You’re smart; you soak up knowledge like a sponge. You’re funny, loyal to a fault, and compassionate. And you can see through a falsehood as though you could see straight through a person’s skull. Impressive. You were invaluable to Christian and me when we were in prison, and I still count you a friend as well as another son I never had. But there’s a universe of things you don’t know about females and what does mark their hearts.”

Daffyd shrugged. “Aye. Another wonderful reason to never marry, wouldn’t you think?” He leaned forward and eyed his host. “What I want from you, sir, if you agree, is to help me find a place for her—
and not one in my bed or under my roof. That’s firm. Can you do it? Will you?”

“Of course I’ll try.” The earl sighed. Then he slapped a hand on his knee. “Well, then, let’s get on with it,” he said briskly. “When I got your note this morning I sent for Mrs. Courtland. She’s a widow who lives here in London, and was delighted for a change of scenery. She’s already here. She was a friend of my father’s. Her own reputation is solid, and she’s too old to be of romantic interest to either of us, so the gossips can’t even hint at impropriety. We’ll put out the word that Miss Shaw, a connection of the family, is visiting, and seeking a proper post in a genteel household.”

Daffyd’s brows went up.

“Well, you’re like a son to me,” the earl said imperturbably. “And she’s a friend of yours, hence: the connection.”

“Playing fast and loose with words is fine with me. But how are you going to get out the word? An advertisement in the
Times
?”

“I’ll suffer. I’ll accept some invitations. Dine out tonight; go to some clubs tomorrow, the polite world will know in a matter of days. Then prospective employers will descend, count on it. Has she got clothes suitable for the position with her? The gown she was wearing was lovely, but not what is considered suitable for a lady’s companion.”

Daffyd’s dark eyes looked hunted. “Lee secured some for her. There’s a lot I’d do, but I’d not try to get her to accept more.”

“I would. I’m an earl. She has some fear of me because she doesn’t know me yet. Don’t worry. She’ll accept. After all, I can’t get the poor child anything spectacular. She’s looking for a position in a respectable household, not going on the Marriage Mart. More’s the pity.” He saw Daffyd’s expression and added, “Not to worry. If I’m not successful, we’ll let Christian and Amyas and their lovely new wives try. Too bad they’re not in London now. If they can’t help,” the earl said, looking away, “there’s always your mama to consult.”

“I’d rather not,” Daffyd said quickly.

The study was silent except for the spitting fire in the hearth.

“But if we have to,” Daffyd went on wearily, “I will. I don’t want to send Meg back to her gloomy aunts so she can feel guilty for the rest of her life. Damn,” he said, sitting back at last, laying his head on the back of the chair, “Why is it that the good and innocent people feel the most guilt, and the ones that should be wearing hair shirts, hanging by their thumbs and drinking hemlock, almost never feel any?”

“Hard to drink hemlock while hanging by your thumbs,” the earl said thoughtfully. “But I know what you mean. Perhaps because evildoers don’t care. And most good people try so hard to be good that it pains them doubly hard when they fail.”

“I never try to do good,” Daffyd said to the ceiling.

The earl smiled. “I said ‘most people.’ You, Daffy, are an Original. You just try to do what you think is
right, and it turns out good. All right. We begin, tomorrow. I’ll invite people who can help your waif. Then it won’t be long before the matter is resolved.”

The earl sat back and looked content. But Daffyd just tossed the last of the brandy in his goblet down his throat, rose, and began pacing again.

T
he earl was wrong. Meg’s prospective employers began to call at the earl’s townhouse within three days of her arrival there. She’d been having a wonderful time until then.

The earl had been too busy with social engagements to pass much time with her, but when he did he was charming and erudite, and best of all, he gave Meg free access to his enormous library. She only used it when it was time to go up to bed, so she could read herself to sleep, because she spent the rest of her days and evenings with Daffyd. Mrs. Courtland was an amiable old lady, but she was a very old lady indeed, and spent most of her time napping, leaving Meg alone, except for Daffyd.

In the first two days, Daffyd had taken her for
walks in the park, always accompanied by a maid or a footman. He also took her to the sights of London she hadn’t visited before. She’d already seen the Palace, theaters, the Tower and the crown jewels the last few times she’d been in London. But she’d never seen Old Bailey and Newgate, and one of the infamous prison ships they called a Hulk, anchored off a grim shore of the Thames. That was when they had their disagreement.

Daffyd stopped the light open carriage he was driving. “No,” he said. “Anyplace else. Not there. I couldn’t wait to leave, and I won’t take you there.”

“But I can’t go by myself. I’d never find it. And you’ve talked about it, so I’m curious. If hundreds of people live there, I can certainly be driven though the place.”

“Thousands of people live there because they have no choice. You do.”

“Exactly!” she said triumphantly. “So take me there. I can scarcely climb into a hack and ask the driver to take me to the slums.”

“You could, and you would,” he muttered. “And you’d end up in trouble.”

“Yes,” she said smugly. “So please, Daffyd. I want to see where you came from.”

“You did. You even stayed overnight in the same caravan,” he added in a lower voice, so the footman standing on the back step of the phaeton couldn’t hear.

“I mean, after that. Of course,” she said, as thought struck by a sudden thought, “if it’s too
painful for you…Oh, Daffyd, I’m so sorry. I never meant to distress you! Of course you wouldn’t ever want to lay eyes on the foul place again. It would make you so unhappy, I do understand. And you’ve very right to be afraid, too. If it’s that vile, then even young Harry, the earl’s footman, mightn’t be able to keep us safe. And he’s a strong lad.”

But by then, Daffyd was snarling something under his breath and turning the carriage. He said nothing as they drove on through parts of town she’d never seen. But eventually he took a quick glance at her. She looked smug.

His lips curled up in a reluctant grin. “Gulled by a pigeon,” he murmured. “You took me in, wench. Well done.”

She laughed, and he drove on.

They entered a district where the houses were closer together. The streets were more crowded with foot traffic and carts, wagons, and pushcarts. They came to a district where the day turned to dusk because the old houses that leaned over the street almost touched and blocked out the sun. It was a pity they couldn’t block the stench, Daffyd thought.

He slowed the carriage.

“Here,” he said. “I won’t take you to a flash ken, because I’m not mad. But this is where I came when I left my grandmother. I ran until I found this place, and I stayed here, because this is where a homeless boy isn’t looked at askance. He isn’t even looked at, because there are so many like him. Here is where hunger is natural, and thievery is a valid way of life,
and the only crime is being caught. I lived in the streets until I found other boys to band with. Here I met Amyas, and called him brother, and we set out as a team so our profits would be higher.”

He stopped the curricle at the mouth of the alley where he’d lived in a broken cellar with other boys. He sat and watched her appalled expression as she saw the street where he’d lived. It was just as filthy and stinking as it had been then. Even Harry the footman, lowborn as he was, looked appalled. Daffyd did too, for another reason.

He realized they were not only observing, they were being observed. He scowled. He should have known. Good living had dulled his instincts. They’d attracted a crowd, of course, only half of which he could see. He knew there were more he could not.

Ragged old men and young ones that looked old, the pitifully maimed, crippled and diseased, and those who pretended to be, starving children and gaunt nursing mothers, all came slowly edging toward the elegant lady and gent and the worried footman in their fine, open carriage. The few street vendors Daffyd had seen when they’d arrived were quickly pushing their way out of the vicinity. Their footman tensed and balled his fists. Much good they would do him, Daffyd thought. He knew what was coming, and cursed himself for stopping. He’d lived too well, and had forgotten too much.

As the beggars began to draw nearer, Daffyd raised his whip and stood.

“I ain’t no gentlemen,” he shouted. “Get back. I
ain’t lost neither, and I ain’t without weapons. I got a wicked blade and a dandy over and under barker too. I know how to use both. I grew up here. I’m just back to take a look.” He turned to Meg. “Enough? I won’t be able to hold them off with threats much longer.”

She nodded. “Enough,” she whispered.

He put a hand in his pocket and threw a shower of coins. As the beggars scrambled for them, they got in the way of the villains who broke from the shadows and ran toward the carriage. But Daffyd’s team was already moving, and he drove away as if the devil was after him.

They returned to lunch at home, and their conversation was subdued. Only once, she looked up at him, and whispered, “Sorry.”

He shrugged one shoulder, as though deflecting a hit. “No, it was a fair request. Only don’t ask again. The last time I was there I had less than they did today. That’s the only way you can be safe there.”

The earl was making the rounds of his clubs, and accepting invitations to parties, as he said he would. So every night Meg dined alone with Daffyd. Alone, with three footmen and two serving maids present at all times. And dear old Mrs. Courtland, of course, who dozed as soon as she finished the last scraps of her dessert.

Not that they’d needed chaperones.

There’d been no lovemaking, or talk of it, or so much as one longing glance or ribald remark from Daffyd. He was proper as a parson, in fact more so
than many clergymen Meg had met. She could scarcely complain because he was acting like a gentleman now. She should have been pleased. He was acting in her own best interests. Now it was obvious to her that she’d been a temptation to him on the road, but no more than that. Maybe it was because she’d been convenient, maybe because he’d been bored; it didn’t matter. He was home again, she was there with him, and he no longer cast out lures. Even though she knew she was lucky he didn’t, because it was a dangerous attraction that could come to nothing but disgrace for her, she missed the old, seductive Daffyd.

She missed his flirting, and the frisson of danger she’d felt when she’d looked into his dark blue eyes and saw his need for her burning there. That was gone. And yet she often thought she felt his gaze upon her. But whenever she turned her head and met his eyes, there was nothing but polite interest in his own. Still, she was with him and that was enough. If he wasn’t watching her, she could certainly gaze at him—and talk to him, and look forward to seeing him each day.

There was no flirtation, but they found they had a lot to talk about: their childhoods, their favorite pastimes, even the people they saw in the streets. They talked and walked together like old friends or friendly siblings; they acted like boon companions. They laughed a lot, too; it was impossible not to laugh when Daffyd wanted to make her merry. Meg thought she’d never been happier, except for the fact
that she knew these few halcyon days would end soon, and that Daffyd might not even remember them. Some of the joy in his company was leached out because she suspected he only stayed with her so she wouldn’t be lonely, and because she was his responsibility.

She woke on her third morning in the earl’s house to find that the maid assigned to her had brought her two boxes of gowns, a gift, she said, from the earl. Meg didn’t even look at them. She just jumped from bed, dressed, and immediately requested an urgent audience with him.

She received word he’d see her at breakfast.

The earl stopped talking to Daffyd when she came storming into the breakfast parlor. They both looked up at her.

“My lord,” she said quickly, before she forgot all her excellent arguments and the order in which she’d rehearsed them, “I cannot accept such an intimate gift. I have clothing, and…”

The earl raised his hand to cut her off. “I’m sorry you don’t care for them, Miss Shaw,” the earl said, “but please understand I couldn’t provide you with garments that were more fashionable.”

Whatever Meg was about to say died on her lips.

Daffyd bit his lip, and waited.

“I understand Daffyd’s half brother provided you some clothes when you stayed with him,” the earl went on. “Of course, you needed them at the time. After all, how could any female pack adequate cloth
ing when she planned to travel light, alone, and at great speed?”

Meg looked down.

“However,” the earl said, “now the point is that you’re going out for a position. You can’t look like a young miss on the Town, or a pampered society female. The viscount has excellent taste, but not for the part you must play now. You must dress as you mean to go on, in more subdued attire.”

Meg hadn’t even opened the boxes, so she didn’t open her mouth either.

The earl nodded approval. Daffyd gazed at him with admiration.

“I’m assured that the garments are perfect for a woman seeking a post as a mentor of young females in a respectable household,” the earl said. “Think of the gowns as your livery, my dear, and you’ll understand.”

Meg faltered. Then she nodded, curtsied, and said, through tight lips. “I see. I will. Thank you.”

“Good,” the earl said. “Now come join us.”

As Meg sat down, he continued. “We can’t linger. We’re having callers this morning. Now, in the usual way of things, a prospective employee calls on prospective employers. We’ll be doing it reverse style.”

Meg looked her question at him.

“They’re calling on you, instead,” Daffyd told her.

Meg blinked.

Daffyd laughed. “It makes perfect sense, Meg, if
you know how things work here in London town if you’re a gentry mort. I mean a lady of Society,” he translated. “See, fashionable females can’t wait to get into this house. They’d trip on the pavement outside so they could come in to get their knees bandaged, if they thought that would work. But they gave up on that ploy months ago. The earl isn’t a recluse, but he don’t socialize much. Any lady in the
ton
would give an eyetooth just to come here so they can talk about it afterward. It’s not that the place is a treasure trove, though it is. The last earl collected as madly as Prinny does. But these females aren’t looking for fine art.”

“They’re not looking for me either,” the earl said.

“Well, some are,” Daffyd said wryly. “You’re a catch, remember? And
all
of them want to see what you’ve got, since few others have. I’m not just talking about you personally now,” he added with a grin.

“Mind your manners around a lady!” the earl said, suppressing a smile. But it’s true,” he told Meg. “At least, in that they want to see the inside of my house. I don’t have guests from the Quality, and so I suppose that makes any invitation from me desirable. In fact, I entertained here just twice: once when my son Christian married, and then when my other boy, Amyas, did. I’m a solitary fellow, at least as concerns the polite world and its endless rounds of dinners, parties, soirees, and balls.”

“Aye,” Daffyd said. “But you’re no recluse; I can drag you out to dinner, and sometimes even to a play.”

“And don’t forget,” the earl told him, “I enjoy riding with old friends,
and
I meet them at my clubs. I like an exciting horse race or a championship mill, and I wager.”

“Only with friends,” Daffyd corrected him. “You don’t go to the clubs for that.”

“Why should I?” the earl asked in surprise. “Money’s too important to lose to strangers.”

“Amen,” Daffyd said.

“But the rest of what London Society offers bores me,” the earl went on. “And so why do have to entertain the Quality?” He looked at Meg and explained, “I spend most of my time in the countryside. Two of my boys are married and live far from here. And this rascal,” he said, smiling at Daffyd, “is as nomadic as a…gypsy.”

He smiled. Daffyd grinned.

“So, since invitations to this house are scarce as hen’s teeth,” Daffyd told Meg, “There should be a lot of applicants for the position of offering you a position.”

“Yes, I expect a nice turnout this week,” the earl agreed. “I’m sure you’ll find a position that will suit you, Miss Shaw. Don’t worry. I made your abilities and needs clear. And not only is Daffyd vigilant, and almost uncanny in the way he can uncover a secret, I wouldn’t let you go to any inferior place with inferior people. I lived among such for a long time, and so you can bet I know what I’m talking about.”

There were, Meg discovered again, advantages to throwing in one’s lot with convicted criminals.

Meg was pleased with the gown she wore; one the earl had sent her. It was long at the sleeves and high at the neck, but stylish because of its tailoring and its deep dark rose color. It needed no ornament, which was perfect, because companions weren’t supposed to call attention to themselves. Still, the color was ornament enough. Meg admired it, but felt like a fresh fish displayed on ice as she sat on a settee and waited for the earl’s guests to come and interview her.

Lady Brower came first, and at the first second of the first hour that it was considered correct to pay a morning call. But no sooner had she gotten her bony body settled in a chair in the grand salon and raised her quizzing glass to study Meg—and the antique porcelain vases on the mantelpiece behind her—than the dowager duchess of Crewe was seen in. The two ladies looked daggers at each other, but were even unhappier when Mrs. Pomfret-Lewes and her talkative daughter arrived. Mrs. Jeffries showed up soon after, as did the honorable Miss Sloan and her mama. Mrs. Franklin and her friend Lady Wickham arrived on the heels of Lady Milton and her subdued daughter. When the last lady to come arrived, it looked and sounded like a party in progress.