Greetings of the Season and Other Stories (31 page)

*

The earl was in Ossing, good heavens, and his mistress was there with him! Miss Musgrove found the situation unpalatable, unprincipled, and untenable. Even if she could not tell from her bedroom in the nursery wing if the earl was winging toward his paramour’s suite every night, Miss Musgrove was mortally offended. In fact, if Miss Musgrove had somewhere else to go, she’d be out of this house of licentious depravity in an instant. The idea of a cat in the house was bad enough, but a courtesan?

6

The earl was in Ossing, by George! Squire Remington was delighted. At last, a decent hand of cards! Boughton accepted the invite—he never had been high in the instep, Squire reflected—and arrived one evening after his daughter was asleep. Squire politely inquired into the little miss’s health and raised his glass to her continued recovery.

“And your fine family?” Brett asked, savoring the cognac and cigars, away from the disapproving Miss Musgrove or the clinging Lady Trant or her old deaf auntie. Conditions at The Boughs were not precisely congenial. “What is it, three boys?”

Squire sighed. “Aye, my good wife Rose blessed me with three healthy sons: Tibold, Corcoran, and Diogenes. She bore ’em and gave ’em jumped-up names, then had the good sense to shuffle off this mortal coil afore she had to raise the limbs of Satan. No matter, I call ’em all Sonny, on account of they never sit still long enough for me to figure which is which.” He sighed again and refilled his glass.

“It sounds as if they need a firm disciplinarian,” Brett suggested from a superior position.
His
daughter would never cause a groat of trouble.

“Aye, but the village schoolmaster won’t have them back, even after the school is rebuilt, the vicar refuses to let them come near him except on Sundays, and young Selden is too tenderhearted. I tried to convince his sister to take them in hand, but it ’pears Miss Gerry knows them too well.”

“You tried to hire the baronet’s sister as governess?” He knew they were fallen on hard times, but never thought things had come to such a pass. He could not envision the proud little beauty in some menial post.

“Governess? Hell, no. Offered to marry her, don’t you know. Governesses can up and quit; wives can’t. Fine gel, Miss Gerry. Everyone hereabouts adores her. She helps run the orphanage and the Ladies’ Aid Society, besides assisting vicar with the parish.”

“A veritable paragon.” Brett was having to revise his opinions of Miss Selden in light of his own daughter’s near veneration of the female. The servants, the tradesmen, the local shopkeepers, all sang her praises. Unfortunately, the lady showed charity to everyone but him.

Squire sighed yet again. “Aye, she is that. Would have suited me to a cow’s thumb, having her around. She turned me down, though, even when I offered to pay some of the brother’s expenses.”

“Why? Was she holding out for a better offer?”

Squire scowled at him. “Miss Gerry? The gel ain’t greedy, if that’s what you’re hinting at. Said she wouldn’t feel right marrying without her heart coming along.”

Brett raised his glass, and his estimation of the lady. “To an honest woman.”

After a few more hands of piquet, which mostly went in the earl’s favor, Brett reintroduced the topic. “You say you are looking for a governess, then?”

“More like a warden, till the lads are ready for boarding school.” Remington put his cards down and
looked at Brett like an eager puppy. “D’you know of any?”

“I just might know a respectable woman in need of a position. Not in the first blush of youth, mind, but she has high standards, and will not tolerate any nonsense in her house.”

“Just the thing! I’d be mightily obliged if you’d give me her direction. Obliged enough to lose another fifty pounds to you.”

Brett waved aside the money. “Would you be obliged enough to beg a favor from Miss Selden? I want one of her kittens, but don’t seem to pass muster.”

“Sorry, Boughton, but she won’t part with them for an abbey.” He rubbed his chin. “Happens though that I do have something she wants, a horse her brother raised up from a foal. Jigtime ought to be racing, but I’m more interested in hunters, don’t you know. I figured to let my oldest have her when he’s ready. Seems Miss Gerry’s been giving lessons and such just to pay the price. It’s a shame really. She’s a game little mare.”

Jigtime or Miss Selden? Brett wondered. It seemed that the hard-working brother and sister really were that devoted that they would make such sacrifices toward the other’s happiness. Damn, and he’d given her pearls to his particular! He made a mental note to send to London for an even costlier necklace for Charleen. “And you say Miss Selden wants to get the horse back for her brother?”

“Aye, a Christmas present. If you’re serious about finding me a caretaker for the cubs, I’ll trade you the horse for m’gaming vouchers, when your woman takes the job. If you offer the horse, mayhaps Miss Gerry will look on you more kindly.” He shrugged. “Didn’t work for me, but you might have better luck. After all, you only want a cat. I wanted a keeper for my boys.”

*

Miss Selden was not seeing the earl in a better light. Oh, the light was better, thanks to the new chandeliers Mr. Mactavish had installed at Selden House, and the countless oil lamps on every surface. And the earl was looking bang up to the mark, as her brother would say, in his formal evening dress, with his black hair combed back, except for one dark lock that fell on his forehead. That forehead might as well have sprouted horns when she heard his latest offer.

“A kitten for the horse, that Squire owns, but might trade for your daughter’s governess? That’s…that’s diabolical!”

The earl studied his manicured fingers. If Miss Selden thought this negotiation was demon-spawned, he prayed she never heard the rest of the bargain. Charleen had agreed to give up the pearls if he produced an expensive bracelet, a new protector, and a kitten. So he had to get the horse from Squire, so he could trade Miss Selden for a kitten, which he would give to Charleen, in order to get the pearls for Sir Eustace, who was then supposed to get another kitten for Samantha. And everything hinged on musty Miss Musgrove surviving a week of Squire’s sons. Deuce take it, why couldn’t Miss Selden just give him the blasted cat before his wits went begging altogether? And why did she have to look so deuced pretty with her hair done up in a crown-like coil atop her head, held by a ribbon that almost begged a man to tug loose, so he could see the brown locks flow down across her shoulders, across his pillow. Lud, where had that come from? He was supposed to be thinking of exchanging livestock with the woman, not heated kisses!

“It’s a trifling matter,” Brett lied. “I have something you want; you have something I want. A simple transaction among friends.”

They weren’t friends and nothing was simple. Except perhaps her brother, for acting the mooncalf over Miss Ginger. Mactavish was furious, dinner was a disaster, and Gerry had the headache.

The first catastrophe was the cook’s tantrum in the drawing room where the company was taking sherry before dinner. No, that wasn’t even the first crisis. The first calamity was Boughton bringing his mistress to Selden House for supper! Ginger was tongue-tied, Stacey’s eyes never strayed above Lady Trant’s inadequate neckline, and Gerry was outraged. How dare he! Then the old auntie tripped over the kitten, which by rights should not have been in the parlor and for which Mactavish loudly berated his daughter and Gerry both, in front of the company. The shout sent Lady Trant’s aunt careening into the end table, spilling the sherry.

Ginger started to cry, naturally, clutching Bandit to her—compared to Lady Trant’s expanse—girlish bosom. Her eyes, already red, started to overflow. Stacey went to her, out of kindness, and removed the kitten from her grip to make sure it had taken no harm, handing over his own handkerchief. Whether it was his gentle smile, despite her being quite out of looks, or the way he held the kitten without the least regard for his dark coat, Miss Mactavish was smitten. Anyone listening hard enough could have heard Ginger’s heart fall at Stacey’s feet, which were five feet off the ground by this time. He’d received a timid smile from an angel, and he was lost. He never even looked at Lady Trant’s bosom again.

And Ginger never thought to send for a servant to clean up the mess, so Gerry had to, and asked that dinner be set forward, which caused the irate chef to appear, which sent Ginger into strong hysterics, which led Stacey into putting his arms around her, which led Mactavish to turn even redder in the face than his daughter. And which caused the dastardly earl to wink at her!

A downy one such as Lord Boughton had to have known Mactavish’s ambitions to snabble him for a son-in-law, just as he had to notice his mistress eyeing the lavish appointments—added to Selden House by Mactavish—with an appraiser’s eye. He found it amusing! He even smiled at her throughout the longest dinner of Gerry’s life, as if asking her to share the joke. Some joke, when she would lose her prize pupil at the best, and they might lose Mactavish as a tenant at worst. There was no way he would tolerate an alliance between his princess and a pockets-to-let baronet. Gerry would not have been surprised if he’d ordered them from the house, instead of ordering the next course, when Ginger neglected to do so.

Seated at the foot of the table as hostess, Ginger had eyes—and words—for Stacey only. Heaven knew what they found to talk about, as Gerry hadn’t wrung more than a few sentences out of the girl all week, unless they spoke of cats. Perhaps that’s what Stacey had found to amuse the heiress, tales of the family pets. Either way, the girl ignored her other, intended dinner partner, the earl. Gerry was too far away to kick her under the table, so could only pray Mactavish did not notice his daughter’s rag manners.

She needn’t have worried. At the other end of the mahogany table, Lady Trant was serving up a generous display of bare flesh for the merchant’s delectation, and Mactavish was seasoning his conversation with talk of investments, when he wasn’t pouring the butter boat over the das
hing
widow. Across from Gerry, the aunt dipped her hand in the soup instead of the finger bowl. Gerry prayed for dessert.

When the ladies finally withdrew, after the butler had to remind Miss Mactavish to lead the women from the room, Lady Trant made much of the kitten, who hadn’t ought to be in the Green Salon, either, sharpening its claws on the Aubusson carpet, and asked Gerry for one of her own.

“For it’s sure to make a splash in London, don’t you know. I’d like to be the first to have one of the newest breeds.”

Gerry wasn’t sure about the kind of home the kitten would have, or what would happen when Lady Trant grew tired of the latest fancy.

“And don’t think the little darling would be left alone. Auntie is home most of the time. She would love a kitty on her lap. Wouldn’t you, Aunt Forbish?”

“Eh?”

“Cats, I said. You love cats, don’t you?” Charleen shouted.

“Eh?”

Lady Trant then offered to do Gerry a favor in exchange: “I’ll convince our host that his chit is never going to do better than a baronet, not even with all his blunt greasing her way, and that he’ll never find a lad who’ll treat the gal better. Just seeing the pair of them makes me want to weep.”

Gerry, too. “You’ll never convince Mr. Mactavish. He has his heart set on a viscountcy at least.” Charleen pulled up a dangling curl, and pulled down the lace at her bodice. “You just watch, my dear. At the least I can distract him for a bit. Otherwise he’s
liable to toss you and your delightful brother out before the tea tray is brought in.”

When the men returned, Stacey went straight to the heiress, the nodcock, leading her and the kitten to the pianoforte. Giving Gerry a grin, Charleen draped herself over Mactavish’s arm and begged him to show her the collection of carvings he’d brought back from India, in the other direction. The aunt was snoring. And Gerry was alone with the earl.

Rather than permit him to bring up the issue of the cats again, she waved toward Lady Trant’s departing trills of laughter. “Your, ah, friend seems to have abandoned you.” Then she felt her cheeks flush with her impertinence.

“Greener fields, don’t you know.” The earl brushed her embarrassment aside, as if he made a practice of speaking about his ladybirds to ladies of quality. Or as if Gerry were a mature, intelligent female who understood the ways of the world. She understood nothing, except that
h
i
s
broad shoulders were close to hers on the sofa, and his well-muscled thigh was almost touching her leg. Good grief, she could not be attracted to such a here-and-thereian! Although her opinion of
him
was changing with each report Stacey brought home from The Boughs about the number of worthy charities that his lordship supported, and how he was having Stacey make lists of needed improvements to his tenants’ holdings. And how his daughter thought he’d hung the moon.

“I did not invite Lady Trant to The Boughs,” he was saying. “I encouraged her to leave, in fact.” He wasn’t sure why he felt he had to explain away his onetime inamorata, present-time houseguest, but he’d given over wondering why he’d wish to look better in this woman’s eyes. Big, beautiful brown eyes they were, eyes a man could get lost in. He caught himself leaning closer, bending lower, breathing in the scent of her. Roses and something else, perhaps evergreen, from all the garlands around the room. He put another inch of distance between them, for safety’s sake. “I just gave my blessings for Mactavish to hunt on my coverts anyway.”