Joan Smith (6 page)

“In the worst case, I can speak to him, but to do it before she turns Peter off would only send her pelting after him to their cottage love nest
.
”

He pulled out his watch, read it, and rose to take his leave.

“Why are you using three fobs?” she asked. “And that great ugly emerald ring of Papa’s—you do not usually wear it.”

“It is to impress the female. Last night my tie was weighed down with the Luten diamond. I’m driving my curricle today to show her that I have two carriages. I can’t be seen in my crested one, since I’m posing as a Mr. Mandeville.”

“Such a lot of bother as she is causing. It does not seem right for her to be able to put us all to so much trouble.”

“We shall get our own back when
she
is put to the bother of finding herself a new protector,” he consoled her, then he strode from the saloon. His face showed no irritation at the inconvenience to which he was being put. On the contrary, his lips, usually a thin line, were curved into a little smile.

The smile stretched into a full-blown grin when he noticed the twitching of Mrs. Rolfe’s curtains half an hour later as he approached the door of Miss Barten’s residence. There would be another dash to report this visit to Evans, he supposed .

Mrs. Harrington wore no smile of welcome, but a severe countenance when he was shown into the parlor. To his amazement, Miss Barten actually had half a dozen Latin books laid out on a table, along with paper, pen, inkpot, and other signs of her alleged profession. She looked so dauntingly demure in her dark gown and lace fichu that he was struck for one awful minute with the idea that it was all a mistake. No Cyprian he ever knew, and he knew several of them, dressed so plainly.

“Good morning, Mr. Mandeville,” Trudie said, dropping a curtsey. There was some air not far removed from the coquette in the smile she bestowed on him. It was enough to assure him of her calling and to conclude that this innocent facade was a clever and quite effective contrivance. Upon closer inspection, he remarked that her toilette had been spruced up from the preceding evening.

Her titian curls were more becomingly arranged, the cheeks quite possibly touched with rouge. He did not know she also wore her best morning gown and had washed and pressed the lace collar especially in his honor, tucking a silk rosebud into it for added enticement. Trudie saw no harm in making a discreet play for this extremely eligible gentleman who had fallen into her path, provided he proved to be a bachelor, an item to be confirmed that morning.

A few remarks were passed on the glory of the spring day. “I drove my curricle, to enjoy the breezes,” he mentioned, and took note of the interest the words elicited. “I plan to get out to my country estate this weekend. One dislikes to be cooped up in such fine weather. Even a thirty-room mansion is too confining in the spring. I long for the freedom of stretching acres, the brooks babbling. I hope to get in a spot of fishing at my lake,” he added, tossing in every evidence of wealth he could lay tongue to.

Trudie smiled at the obviousness of his stunt but took due note to his possessions all the same. “Very true. My aunt and I as well have been complaining of the same thing, with more cause too. We, you will not have failed to notice, are confined to something less than a thirty-room mansion. We are accustomed to a good deal more space. We have let our country home, Walbeck, for a Season.”

He posed no embarrassing questions as to why this unusual course had been taken, nor did he pursue the location of this hypothetical estate.

“Shall we get down to work now?” she suggested, looking at the table, where two chairs had been placed an inconvenient but very proper three feet apart.

“Yes, certainly,” he agreed. He looked to the chaperone in the corner, who had thus far said nothing but good day, though she had heard with disgust the vulgar enumeration of his worldly goods.

“I have been perusing these books for possible quotations,” Trudie said, and drew forward a neatly written sheet on which rested Latin quotations and their English translations. “I thought Horace’s
Epistles
might yield something,” she mentioned. “He is much quoted by literary gentlemen nowadays. He would have been at home with Sheridan—such a wit! Virgil, I think, is a trifle bucolic for us, though there might be something in his
Georgics.”

Intrigued, Luten took up the sheet and glanced at it. He frowned, wondering how she had accumulated such relevant passages in such a short time. Trudie noticed his expression and misunderstood it. “This one deals with husbandry, but could be used to refer to husbanding money as well,” she pointed out. She added a few other quotations orally, causing him to frown harder than ever. She actually knew Latin!

“You must not be discouraged, Mr. Mandeville,” she encouraged. “You won’t have to memorize all these. Only select the few that are suitable, and we shall go over them a few times for the pronunciation.”

“This is extremely obliging of you,” he said. “I’m afraid I have put you to a great deal of trouble.”

“Not at all. Actually, the work was half done for me. My father studied classics at Oxford—an interest he continued till his death—and had made an extract of his favorite speeches. I only referred to it, but unfortunately he has done it by author rather than subject. It would be an excellent notion for someone to publish a book of quotations by subject matter, to save writers all the bother of ferreting through dozens of books for the proper words.”

“An excellent notion. I would be the first to buy such a book.”

“Now, how shall we set about this? Why don’t you look over the list, and mark those you think useful. Then we’ll practice the pronunciation for your speech.”

“Fine.”

“Would you like some coffee while we work?”

“That would be very nice.”

He hoped to see the aunt fetch the drink, but she just pulled a bell cord and summoned a decent-looking servant. It was a male servant at that, which was more stylish than a female. Luten began to perceive that Miss Barten was going to be more difficult to deal with than he had thought. His aim was to remove her from the apartment, which was achieved by a hasty selection of quotations, the only criterion being that he already had them by heart, to speed up the memorization and learning of pronunciation.”

“You are a very fast learner, Mr. Mandeville!” she congratulated, more than once. “I have never seen anyone learn so quickly.”

“I put my mind to things,” he explained briefly.

Before half an hour, the lesson was completed, and the embarrassing matter of payment arose. “Shall we discuss your fee outside?” he asked. “It’s such a fine day, and you were complaining of being cooped up. I had allowed an hour for this lesson, and we’ve finished early. Would your aunt mind if we took a spin?”

Mrs. Harrington’s stiff face showed that she minded very much, but as Trudie was already darting for her pelisse and bonnet, Luten confirmed who was the boss in the business.

The dashing yellow curricle and team of high-stepping  bays harnessed up to it showed that whatever of Mr. Mandeville’s personal toilette, in the matter of transportation, his taste was excellent.

She ran her eyes over the teams’ points. “Sixteen miles an hour, I expect?”

“Only fifteen in the city,” he answered modestly.

“A pity we haven’t time for a jaunt into the country. Such a laggardly gait, fifteen miles an hour,” she said, but her real interest was to discover his marital status. With more speed than finesse she added, “Does Mrs. Mandeville enjoy such a lively drive, sir?”

“Not at all. Mama uses a landaulet,” he assured her. The knowledge in his eyes at her artless angling for information caused her to blush. “Or did you refer to my wife?” he asked.

“Yes, I meant your wife,” she admitted, her chin jutting forth. Having been caught out, there was no point denying it.

“I don’t have a wife.” The jutting chin of his partner receded in satisfaction. He whipped up the team, and they were off at a good clip, but not so fast as fifteen miles an hour.

‘‘It would be your only having an hour at a time for your social life that accounts for it,” she said.

“My social life occurs in the evening. It happens I am at liberty tonight. Am I fortunate enough to find you also free, Miss Barten? I hoped we might go somewhere for dinner, perhaps a play afterward
....
”

There had been no mention of including her aunt, which caused her to hesitate. A chaperoned evening such as he suggested was very tempting. “I don’t know what my aunt may have in mind,” she parried, to test the waters.

“What Mrs. Harrington has in mind need not concern us. Are
you
free?” he asked bluntly.

She stared at his suggestion and the blunt way he proposed it. “I couldn’t go out alone with a stranger, Mr. Mandeville! It wouldn’t be at all the thing.”

He turned and looked at her with a conning smile. Birds of paradise who set up as innocent females were beneath contempt. “I’m not such a dangerous fellow as all that. I will undertake not to beat, rob, or otherwise molest you.”

Her shoulders sagged in disappointment. Aunt Gertrude was right. Mr. Mandeville was extremely common; he didn’t even know the behavior expected in polite company. But he was handsome and amusing and might yet be hinted into propriety. “It would be considered fast for me to go out without a chaperone, since we are so slightly acquainted” was all she said. She waited with held breath to see if the invitation was broadened to include her aunt.

“Do you care so much for the opinion of people you don’t even know?” was his reply.

“Of course I do. A lady’s reputation is very important. If folks took the idea she was fast, she would have no hope of making a good match,” she explained, putting the thing in its simplest form so that even a Cit must accept it.

Luten nodded. “I see. You have some good match in your eye, have you?”

“I am speaking in generalities only.”

“Let us be more specific. Do you have a gentleman already, Miss Barten?” he asked, with awful bluntness.

She replied, “No,” with equal candor.

“Why will you not come out with me, then?”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t, Mr. Mandeville, but I would have to insist my aunt accompany us. It is the way things are done in polite society.”

“Your aunt dislikes me. We would have no opportunity to become better acquainted if she came along.”

“I can only say she would dislike you more if she knew what you have in mind,” she said crossly. But soon relented and added, “Let us get to know each other now, since it seems we will not have another opportunity.”

“It suits me. How long have you been teaching Latin?”

“For two weeks—only since we came up to London.” She went on to explain about Norman’s having let his estate for a year in order to buy a racehorse and try his luck on the turf.

Luten listened, giving some encouragement when he felt it was called for and maintaining always the pose of believing her unlikely tale. “You met Nicolson through your brother’s interest in racing, did you?” was his question when she had finished.

“No, through another friend, Lord Clappet,” she told him, not reluctant to drop such a respectable name.

There was no tensing of her companion’s shoulders to betray his interest. He had been waiting for the name to arise. “Clappet is a good friend of yours, is he?” he asked blandly.

“He is the best, really the
only,
friend I have in town.”

“Have you known him long? How did you meet him?”

“Through Norman. We’ve known him a few years.”

“Now I see why you wouldn’t go out with me this evening,” he teased, and looked for signs of guilt.

She was completely unfazed. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. You already knew Clappet is out of town this evening,” she reminded him.

“Will he be back soon?”

She was alerted to attention at the sound of his voice, some keener interest than should have been there. Was it possible Lady Clappet had sent him to spy, to learn what he could about Peter? She knew Peter’s mother for an eccentric, and answered airily, “Good gracious, we are not so close as that. I don’t know his itinerary. Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to discover how much time I have to batter down your defenses,” he answered, smiling lazily at her, but still he didn’t extend the evening’s invitation to include her aunt. He wasn’t that eager to see her. She decided Mr. Mandeville was a lost cause, and fell silent.

“We haven’t settled on your fee for tutoring me,” he said a moment later. “Will five guineas be sufficient?” He chose a ludicrously high fee, to reengage her interest.

“A crown is my usual fee, Mr. Mandeville,” she answered coolly.

“When a gentlemen hires a lady, he usually pays more than that,” he answered. His tone had become strangely insinuating.

“That must depend on what he hires her for, I presume. Tutors are paid at the rate I mentioned. I occasionally tutor youngsters in Latin for the going fee. I see no reason to change it because the student is older and richer.”

“I shouldn’t think you make much of a living at a crown per student, with only a few students a week.”

“I do not make my living at it! I have told you my circumstances,” she said, becoming angry at the tenor of his remarks.

His own patience broke, and his anger rose to meet the occasion. “I have told you a few untruths as well, miss. Let us cut line. You have come to the city to try for a rich patron. You won’t find a richer one than I.”

Trudie stared, unable to assimilate the change in her partner’s manner. “I beg your pardon!” she huffed, her voice rising to a squeal of indignation.

“There’s no need to apologize. I’m not against a woman’s earning her keep if she must.”

Lord Luten was a notable whip. All his expertise was required to control his team when Miss Barten reached out without a word and grabbed the reins from his fingers to pull the horses to a dead halt. She turned a wrathful, fiery eye on him, while two bright red spots gathered on her cheeks.

“Next time you set out to hire a mistress, Mr. Mandeville, may I suggest you try Covent Garden, rather than insult a decent lady. I am surprised such an experienced gentleman as you should require the hint, but then breeding is obviously not your long suit.”