Elizabeth Mansfield (15 page)

"How interesting," Miss Naismith said. 'To straighten his accounts. Quite an unusual position for a female, is it not?"

"I don't see why it should be," Jane said, feeling defensive and not knowing why. "One needs only to know how to add."

Parks threw Jane a quelling look. But he needn't have worried, for Miss Naismith gave Jane one more appraising glance and, apparently deciding she'd seen enough, abruptly turned away. "Very well, Parks, lead on," she said, throwing one side of her pelisse over her arm and sweeping to the door.

But the door opened before she reached it. The Viscount strolled in, came face to face with his paramour and stopped short. "Dolly!"

"Luke, you gamecock!" she cried, beaming and extending her arms to him. "You've been neglecting me so long, I had to come to you." The tone in which these words were spoken, Jane noted, was very different from what it had been earlier. To his lordship Miss Naismith positively cooed.

Despite his embarrassment, Luke submitted to her embrace. Over his paramour's shoulder he threw a quick shamefaced glance at Jane. "I hope you haven't been waiting long," he muttered awkwardly in Dolly's ear.

"No, no, my dear, only a few moments," she said as he took her arm and urged her from the room. "And I spent them very pleasantly, being entertained by your dowdy little accounts manager."

Parks and Joseph followed the pair out, but Jane stood frozen to the spot. Dowdy, indeed! Her fingers trembled, and her blood bubbled furiously in her veins. But her turmoil was not caused by the insult but by the sudden comprehension of the situation that had been a mystery to her only a moment before. So
this
was the "guest" his lordship was expecting the night she and Lady Martha arrived! He'd had an assignation with that... that vulgar light-skirt! She knew
now
what those unidentified expenditures in the account book were for!

To think she'd been taken in by him—a mistake she would not make again. What difference did it make that he'd been kind to her, that he'd given her a book, offered her his carriage, let her ride his mare? He was as repellent as she'd first thought—a wastrel, a gambler, and a lecher! She was ashamed she'd ever thought otherwise.

The clock struck four. She lowered herself into her chair and let her tears fall. She was disillusioned, disheartened, devastated. And, what was more, she wasn't even going to have her promised
tea!

EIGHTEEN

Two men, dressed stylishly in tight, tailed coats, buckled breeches, and high beaver hats, walked slowly away from the Fives Court and proceeded along St. Martin's Street. They were the only two figures emerging from the arena; the shouts, cheers, and catcalls emanating from behind them indicated that the boxing bouts were still continuing inside.

The flickering light from the streetlamps elongated the shadows they cast on the pavement. The taller man was swinging a cane, but not with the insouciance that would indicate high spirits. Any stranger viewing the pair would have seen at once that they were out of sorts. There was no bounce or energy in their stride.

After walking a few moments in silence, the shorter of the pair sighed loudly. "Perhaps we shouldn't've left early," Taffy Fitzgerald said. "There are still a couple of good bouts scheduled."

"I'd had enough," his companion, Luke Hammond, said glumly. "But you didn't have to leave with me, you know."

Taffy didn't bother to respond. When they went anywhere together, he always left when Luke did. A friend was a friend. It didn't need saying.

They continued on in silence until Taffy spoke up again. "You must admit it was a damned good bout. It's too bad Cribb lost—I'm as disappointed as you. But I don't see why you're quite so down in the mouth about it."

"Why don't you see? Didn't you lose on Cribb, too?"

"Yes, a couple of ponies." Losing fifty pounds on what was touted as a "sure thing" was not something to elevate one's spirits, that was true. "Can't say it don't ruffle me," he admitted, "when the odds had Cribb at five to one. Who'd have thought Belcher'd give him such a beating? Belcher's a bruiser but not nearly up to Tom Cribb's left hook."

"Well, if you're ruffled, why shouldn't I be?" Luke muttered. "I lost ten times what you did."

"A monkey, eh? I don't deny five hundred's a far from trivial loss, but it ain't the first time."

"No, but this time it feels worse, somehow. Do you know what I want to do now, Taffy? I want to find a tavern and get soused. Completely, totally, knee-walking woggled."

"So do I," Taffy agreed. "The Red Lion ain't far. On Mount Street, just a short way past Tilbury's stables."

They turned a corner and continued walking. From time to time Taffy glanced up at his friend quizzically. Finally he screwed up enough courage to speak his mind. "You know, Luke, falling into the dismals over a bad bet ain't like you. You never seemed to mind losing when you were restricted by an allowance. Yet now, when the money is in your control, you're in a pucker."

"The money's not in my control, you gudgeon. Not fully. Not until the end of the month."

"But you said, didn't you, that you don't have to ask your mama anymore? You can just write a cheque."

"True enough," Luke said. "It's easier now to pay my debts. But I feel foolish, tossing away five hundred. If I go on this way, I won't pass the probation."

"Oh, I see. Then it
was
foolish, I suppose. Why'd you do it, Luke?"

Luke frowned in self-disgust. "I thought, with the odds at five to one, it wouldn't pay to bet less than five hundred. Winning less than a hundred would hardly be satisfying."

Taffy nodded in agreement. "That's what the old Luke would've said. You always were a reckless gambler, but you never blinked at the outcome."

"The 'old' Luke?" He looked down at his friend with a worried frown. "I say, Taffy, do you think I'm changing?"

"Yes, I do," Taffy said, studying Luke's face closely. "You're different, somehow."

"You mean the old Luke wouldn't have fallen into the dismals over the outcome."

"No, he wouldn't. He might have disliked having to ask his mother for additional funds, but a loss like this wouldn't have blue-deviled him."

"You're right. It wouldn't." Disconcerted, Luke struck out at a lamppost with his cane. "Dash it all, what's come over me? Am I getting old?"

"I wouldn't say that...."

"Wouldn't you? Well,
something
is wrong with me. I've even changed about Dolly."

"What do you mean? Changed how?"

Luke shrugged. "Hard to explain. Remember how we always agreed that she was the most beautiful creature of all the
demimondaines?
"

"Yes, of course. And so she is."

"She no longer seems so to me. In my eyes these days she appears—oh, I don't know—too .. . too... gaudy. I've been thinking for a while now of what would be the best way to disentangle myself."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Taffy said. "There's a long list of fellows more'n eager to take your place. With Monk on top of the list. I'd be on it, myself, if I could afford her."

"Would you, Taffy?" Luke studied him in some surprise. "I'd have thought you more the marrying sort."

"I am. But the females I like all seem to have eyes for more—how shall I say?—more Herculean types. I'm always too short for 'em."

Luke snorted. "Nonsense. You're as well-built and preposessing as a girl would wish."

"Then how is it that the young ladies of our acquaintance have eyes only for you?"

"That's not true. It's only that you don't speak up when we're in female company."

Taffy made a face. "Never mind all that. We were speaking of you. Are you truly feeling ensnared by the divine Dolly?"

"Yes, it's all too true. I no longer find her divine." He threw his friend a troubled glance. "But what does that say about me? Am I getting old?"

"Perhaps," Taffy answered thoughtfully, "but I have another theory."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Luke surveyed his friend, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You are full of theories lately. What is it this time?"

"It's your pretty little 'man of business.' She's exerting a bad influence on you."

"Miss Douglas?" Luke gave a snorting laugh. "A bad influence? You must be mad!"

"I don't think so. She's been with you a fortnight, now, is that right?"

"Not quite. About a week and a half, I suppose. Why do you ask?"

"I ask because, in that time, you've sat down to cards not more than twice, you've skipped at least three nights at the club, you didn't buy that spirited gray stallion at Tattersall's the other day although you said yourself you hate driving your curricle with a mismatched pair, you didn't accept Poole's challenge for a coaching race, and now you tell me you want to rid yourself of Dolly, all of which would not have been true a fortnight ago."

Luke, his brows knit, gazed down at him speculatively. "So you
are
saying I've changed."

"Yes. And I'm not the only one saying it." He took a deep breath before going on. It needed courage; Luke might turn on him in fury. But if he was to be a true friend, it was his duty to proceed. "Everyone at the club has noticed what your new business adviser has done to you. They've been laughing about it for days!'

"Laughing, eh?"

Taffy dropped his eyes to the ground. "Afraid so."

But Luke did not get angry. He merely looked baffled. "Do you know, Taffy, I believe you may have hit on something," he said slowly. "I didn't understand, myself, why I dropped out of the bidding for that prime bit of blood at Tatt's. And I wondered, later, why I didn't take Poole up on that challenge." He blinked at his friend in sudden astonishment. "By God, I think you're right! Miss Douglas
is
a bad influence!"

NINETEEN

Jane was packing her portmanteau again. She trembled with unexpressed rage as she tossed her meager possessions helter-skelter into the bag. She could not bear the thought of remaining in this household another day, a household where the master brazenly entertained his paramour right on the premises, where the staff engaged in petty thievery, and where someone who was honest and straightforward was made to feel like a prude. She wanted to go home! Home was where she could forget the emotional turmoil that Luke Hammond had stirred up in her, where she could restore her sense of herself, where she could regain some perspective on the real values of life.

The task of packing did not take long. The last item to pack was her precious Caxton Malory. She was about to slip it into the folds of her good Sunday dress when someone came knocking at her door. She stiffened. Who would want her at this late hour? The knock surely presaged trouble.

She opened the door. The butler stood in the dark corridor, his candle throwing an eerie light on his face. "Mr. Parks!" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Sorry to disturb you so late, Miss Jane," he said, "but you've a visitor downstairs."

"A visitor? Who—?"

"She says she's your sister."

"My
sister?"
Jane's breath caught in her chest. She gaped at the butler for a moment and then drew in a breath. "Oh, good heavens," she cried, darting past him and dashing down the hallway, "something's happened to Mama!"

"I don't think so, Miss Jane," Parks said, hurrying after her with his candle, trying to light her way. "The young lady seemed perfectly cheerful."

But Jane, flying down the stairs, had so far outdistanced him that she did not hear. Only the faint light from the candles in the wall sconces prevented her from falling headlong down the main stairway.

She burst into the small sitting room. The young woman seated on the sofa, still wearing her bonnet and cape, was indeed her siser.
"Adela!
What's
wrong?"
Jane cried from the doorway.

Adela jumped up. "Jane, there you are! At last!" And she rushed across the room and enveloped Jane in a fervent embrace.

"Adela, please," her worried sister pleaded, "why are you here? Tell me at once."

Adela stepped back and, for the first time, took note of Jane's agitation.

"Goodness, Jane, you needn't fall into apoplexy," she said with a grin. "Nothing's amiss. Lady Martha arranged for me to visit London, that's all."

Jane put a hand to her heaving breast. "Mama is well, then?"

"As well as she ever is."

Expelling a deep breath, Jane sank down on the nearest chair. "Thank goodness!" She shut her eyes in relief. As her alarm subsided, however, other questions made their way into her consciousness. She looked up at her sister curiously. "Let me understand all this," she said, motioning Adela to resume her seat. "Are you saying that her ladyship suggested this visit?"

"Yes, isn't it the most thrilling pass?" The girl perched on the arm of the sofa and leaned toward her sister eagerly. "She came to visit us—at your request, she said—and sat with Mama for a whole hour. Then she invited me for luncheon at the castle, and she asked me all about myself. One thing led to another, and I told her that going to London was my dearest wish in all the world. Well, she clapped her hands together at that, and she got the notion to send me here—as company for you, she said—and here I am!"

Instead of returning her sister's happy smile, Jane could only glare at her. "How
could
you, Adela!" she exclaimed. "How could you agree to such a scheme? How could you think only of your own pleasure, and leave Mama all alone?"

Adela drew herself back in immediate offense. "Really, Jane, must you always find fault with me? Mama is
not
alone. Lady Martha sent over one of the maids from the castle. She's housed in my room until we come home. All the while we're here, Mama will have, in addition to Mrs. Appleby and the half-day girl, her own live-in maid. So there!"
 

"Oh."

After that feeble expression of contrition, Jane fell silent. She was ashamed of her unkind accusation, but too many other problems were looming up in her mind to think about an apology. Why on earth, she wondered, had Lady Martha sent the girl? Her ladyship had meant it as a generous gesture, that much was certain. But the timing was all wrong. Dreadfully wrong.