Her Ladyship's Man (6 page)

"Not as much as I would like," Drew admitted, rising to his feet to pace the small drawing room. Like the rest of the suite, the room was poorly furnished in ancient furniture that looked as if it had been salvaged from someone's attic. The humble lodgings befitted Sir's public image as a rake down on his luck, and Drew often wondered how Sir could bear such depressing surroundings.

"The earl guards his dispatch box like an old maid guards her virtue," he expanded, crossing the room to stand before the fire smoking sullenly in the sooty fireplace. "Which means those dispatches couldn't have been taken without his knowledge. Also, while I was supervising the unpacking of his belongings, I noted Barrymore has a wardrobe that would make the prince swoon with envy. Unless
the earl pays him a salary that is generous beyond belief, it would seem our young assistant has a private income we haven't uncovered."

"I shouldn't think that possible," Sir said, frowning over the information. "Your investigation was quite thorough, and there was no hint of any money at that time. His wardrobe is extensive, you say?"

"And far above the touch of most assistants," Drew replied, recalling the costly garments that had been placed in the cedar wardrobe. "Coats by Weston, silk pantaloons, and brocade waistcoats in every color imaginable. The fellow is quite the beau. I didn't see any jewelry, but I shouldn't be surprised if he doesn't have a diamond or two tucked away."

"Most interesting, and something well worth further investigation," Sir praised, pouring Drew a cup of coffee from a tarnished but still functional silver pot. "Good work, Captain."

"Thank you, Sir." Drew accepted the chipped china cup, faintly flattered by his commander's words. "Shall I search his rooms once he is settled?"

"Only if you can do so without risk to yourself. Butlers aren't usually found abovestairs, and it might prove awkward for you to be found where you should not be."

"That has already happened," Drew said with a rueful shake of his head, telling Sir how Lady Melanie discovered him in her father's study. "And then to make matters worse, I slipped and used the word hakim in her presence. The next thing I knew she was asking me if I had ever been in Egypt."

"What did you tell her?"

"I spun her some Banbury tale about my cousin
Richard serving as a valet to a captain, and how I had learned the word from him."

"Do you think she believed you?" Sir demanded, some of the tenseness leaving his hard face.

"I think so." Drew shrugged his shoulders uncertainly. "She didn't pursue the matter, at least, and from what I observed of her, had she suspected anything untoward, she would have plagued me to death before letting me go."

"Ah, yes, I recall you mentioning she had a sharp tongue. You also said she was most comely."

"Yes, she is quite lovely," Drew admitted, a vision of Melanie in the lovely gown she had worn at luncheon tugging at his mind. The color had brought out the deep violet of her eyes, and made her skin glow with the richness of cream. He had thought she had looked like an angel or a fairy sprite, and it had taken all of his considerable training as a soldier to keep from staring at her in appreciation.

"Are you attracted to her?" Sir asked in his usual blunt manner.

"Sir!"

"I must know, Merrick." Sir's voice was firm. "Our very lives and the safety of our nation rest upon your carrying out this mission in a successful manner. If there is a chance of your becoming attached to Lady Melanie or of that attachment somehow coloring your judgment, it is important that you tell me now."

Drew's cheeks reddened at Sir's harsh accusation, yet despite his indignation he could understand the need for the question. Espionage was a dangerous, deadly business, with no margin for error. In the field, one agent's life depended upon the judgment of another. Should that judgment become
impaired for any reason whatsoever, then that agent had the right to know. If he was in Sir's place, he would have made the very same demand.

"I find her beautiful and charming, although perhaps a trifle too willful for my tastes," he answered, determined to be as honest with Sir as he could. "If her and her father's loyalty were not in question, then I suppose I might be tempted to pay her court. Although I doubt her father would ever accept me," he added, his voice displaying more bitterness than he realized. "As a younger son without prospects, I doubt I would be made welcome."

"Thank you, Andrew," Sir said, using Drew's Christian name. "I appreciate your honesty. And I apologize for pressing you on the matter, but it was necessary, I promise you. I only pray that for your sake, as well as for Lady Melanie's, you will never have to choose between her and your duty. It can be a difficult choice, lad, and a painful one. Believe me," he added softly, his eyes taking on a somber glow, "I know."

Chapter Four

L
ady Charlotte Abbington arrived two days later, her ancient traveling coach, drawn by an equally aged team of blacks, creating quite a sensation when it creaked to a halt in front of Marchfield House. Drew had been warned by Lady Melanie that her grandmother was "a trifle eccentric," but this euphemistic description did little justice to the tiny woman in a faded satin polonaise who glared up at him from the doorstep.

"Who the deuce are you?" Lady Charlotte demanded, the hood of her threadbare redingote falling back to reveal a misshapen wig of powdered horsehair.

"I am Davies, my lady," Drew answered, doing his best not to gape at the absurd creature. "I am His Grace's butler."

"Pshaw," Lady Abbington retorted, stepping into the vestibule. "You wasn't butler last time I was here."

"Grandmother, that was back in seventeen
eighty-seven," Melanie chided gently, hurrying forward to rescue Davies from her grandmother's in-opportunities. Despite his carefully blank expression, she could tell he was discomfited by the elderly lady's querulous demands. "You really cannot expect the same staff to be on duty after so many years!"

"Why not?
I'm
still here, ain't I?" Lady Charlotte shot back, the violet eyes she had bequeathed her granddaughter snapping with indignation. "It seems to me the least these servants can do is to stay alive. But that's the world for you, no loyalty anywhere." Her attention was next claimed by Miss Evingale, who was cowering by the newel post, regarding Lady Charlotte with wide-eyed apprehension.

"And you are the companion, Miss Evingale, I take it?" she asked, tottering forward to study Miss Evingale through a quizzing glass suspended from a frayed velvet ribbon. "Good," she added at the other woman's wordless nod. "You look just as a companion ought to look: plain as a pikestaff. Are you any good with a needle?"

"Y-yes, Lady Abbington," Miss Evingale stammered, clearly awestruck by the tiny marchioness. "My dear father insisted that I be skilled in all the domestic arts."

"Excellent." Lady Charlotte bared her yellowed teeth in a pleased smile. "I have a gown or two that wants mending; you may see to it."

Melanie opened her mouth to protest this usurpation of her companion, but one glance at Miss Evingale's happy smile stilled her protest. Odd as it sounded, the silly creature looked delighted at having been ordered to perform a task that was usually the providence of a lady's maid. Melanie's
eyes flicked toward Davies, who was standing at attention behind them, his expression carefully wooden. Their eyes met briefly, and a look of shared laughter flashed between them.

"Would you like to see your rooms now, my lady?" she asked, turning to her with a loving smile. "I'm sure you must be feeling quite fatigued after your journey." She slipped an arm around the marchioness's waist and began guiding her toward the staircase.

"Nonsense." Lady Charlotte dug in her heels with surprising strength. "I ain't so decrepit that I can't endure a coach trip of four days without sticking my fork in the wall! I want my tea, and then I want to see this great barn of a place your papa has rented for the season. I'm sure he must be paying far too much for it."

"Very good, Grandmother," Melanie agreed with alacrity, her only concern to get the elderly woman safely closeted away before she further disgraced herself. "Tea sounds just the thing; see to it, won't you, Davies?"

Drew waited until they were out of sight before turning to the footman. "You may wipe that smirk off your face, Edward," he rapped out in the forbidding manner of an upperservant correcting an underservant. "Lady Abbington is a guest here, and she will be treated with all due respect. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mr. Davies!" Edward snapped to attention, the laughter dying from his brown eyes. "But you have to admit the old lady is dashed queer in her upper stories. I'll wager she's an even bigger quiz than the old king himself!"

"With all due respect," Drew repeated, not bothering to answer Edward's rhetorical question.
"Don't forget that for all intents and purposes I am butler here, and that means I can have you dismissed from your post."

The threat made Edward pale with fright. "Yes, Mr. Davies," he said, his expression abruptly serious. "As you say, Mr. Davies."

"Good lad." Drew unbent enough to favor the young footman with a warm smile. "Now kindly inform Mrs. Musgrove she is to prepare a tea tray for our guests. I shall see that the marchioness's bags are taken to her rooms."

"Yes, sir!" Edward gave Drew a tenuous smile, then rushed off to carry out his instructions.

After Edward departed, Drew turned to the other footmen, noting from their rigidly held faces that further warnings were unnecessary. He ordered them to carry the bags upstairs, then left to have a word with the marchioness's coachman. Marchfield House did have a small stable around back, but the earl's carriage and team, along with Marchfield's curricle and team of bays, were already stabled there. Accommodations for Lady Charlotte's rig would have to be made elsewhere.

He also decided to do his best to avoid Lady Abbington. He knew of her visit to Marchfield House, of course, but it had never occurred to him that she would remember the staff. The threat she posed to the carefully orchestrated deception was a small one, but it was a threat he felt he could not ignore. As with Lady Melanie, he would give the marchioness a wide berth, and if that did not work, he would have to see what plans Sir might have. With matters coming to a crisis point, he dared not leave anything to chance, not even a dotty old woman.

While Drew was off seeing to his duties, Melanie
was kept busy trying to keep her grandmother from redesigning the Duchess's Room.

"Well, I don't see why you're setting up such a hue and cry." Lady Charlotte pouted when Melanie told her somewhat sharply that she could not have the room repainted during her stay. "After all, I am a marchioness, and while I am in residence oughtn't the room to be called the Marchioness's Room? Besides, I detest yellow." She gave the walls an angry glare.

"Perhaps so," Melanie agreed with studied patience, "but the fact remains that this
is
the Marchfields' home, and I do not think they would thank us if we were to take to repainting the walls after they were kind enough to let us stay here."

"Pooh, people who let out their houses to perfect strangers are made of sterner stuff than that," Lady Charlotte said, lifting up the lid of a Dresden box and peering inside. "Although it's all dashed queer, if you ask me. I've never known a Marchfield to do anything for anybody unless there was a profit in it for them. Or unless it was in the line of duty. The Marchfields have always had a stern sense of duty." She slipped the small box into the reticule dangling from her voluminous skirts.

"Then I am sure that accounts for it." Melanie calmly rescued the small treasure from her grandmother's purse and returned it to the table. "Papa said the duke offered his home only after he had spoken to Lord Castlereagh."

"I wish we might have met the duke," Miss Evingale volunteered with a loud sigh, her blue eyes glowing with pleasure as she studied the small portrait of the duke and his bride that adorned another table. "I vow he is a most handsome man."

"His grandfather was quite dashing, too," Lady
Charlotte said, a smile of remembrance touching her pursed lips. "Black hair, and eyes as cool and clear as diamonds. Ah, well"—she shook off the memory—"no use mooning over the pair of them; one's dead, and the other's married off. What we must do now is concentrate on finding a husband for you, Melanie. Admittedly, you're rather long in the tooth for a deb, but I'll be hanged if I'll let you whither into an old maid." Her eyes flashed toward Miss Evingale, who simpered with delight at the marchioness's scarcely veiled insult.

"You mustn't concern yourself with me, ma'am," Melanie said, all of her incipient resentment at her uncertain position rising to the fore. "I have no wish for a husband, I assure you."

"Of course you don't." Lady Charlotte gave her a sagacious look. "The wretched creatures are usually more bother than they are worth, but still they have their uses. Now, since you are an earl's daughter and an heiress in your own right, I don't think we should settle for anything less than a viscount. But the first order of business will be a trip to the dressmaker. You surely do not expect to go out in society dressed like
that
."

Melanie glanced down at her round dress of green muslin. It was in the first stare of fashion, or so the modiste she had engaged had told her. And it was a great deal more presentable than the moldering gown adorning her grandmother's back, she thought, struggling to hold on to her temper.

"Your concern is most touching, Grandmother," she began coolly, "but as I have already been to the dressmaker, there is nothing left to be said."

"Is there not?" Lady Charlotte sniffed, eyeing Melanie's gown with obvious disdain. "That rag might do well enough for some chit fresh from the
schoolroom, but it makes you look a perfect cake. You're three and twenty, Melanie, and that is far too old to go about dressing like a gel."

So much for sparing her grandmother's tender feelings, Melanie thought, her jaw clenching with anger.