Lord Perfect (6 page)

"You must make sure you are very serious," she
said. She made herself look seriously at the matter, too, recalling
certain harsh facts of life that erased the gleaming heaps of coins
from the picture. "As your uncle is no doubt aware by now, I
should have to make special arrangements for you. In any case, it is
not at all wise to continue this discussion here."

She allowed herself to meet Lord Rathbourne's gaze. Did
she see relief in those dark eyes?

It was only the briefest flicker, but it was emotion of
some kind, and what else could it be?

She should have realized: If Rathbourne had learnt her
name, then he must know everything else about her. She doubted there
was a single member of the British aristocracy who did not know who
Bathsheba Wingate was.

In that case,
he
was not serious about hiring her. He'd come only to indulge the boy…
and perhaps himself.

Perhaps he had another sort of association in mind, and
the boy offered a convenient excuse.

No one expected a man, even a perfect one, to live a
celibate life. The world would still consider him the embodiment of
the noble ideal if he kept a mistress, as long as he was discreet
about it.

"What kind of special arrangements?" Lisle
said.

"We are keeping the lady from her other students,"
Rathbourne said. "You and I shall discuss the subject further at
another time, Lisle."

"Please do," she said, lifting her chin. "If
you choose to pursue the matter, you may write to me in care of Mr.
Popham the print seller. Good day." She hurried away, face hot
and eyes itching with the angry tears she refused to shed.

Chapter 3

AS BATHSHEBA SUSPECTED, OLIVIA DID HAVE AN Idea and she
did see Lord Lisle as a mark.

The Idea had been gradually taking shape in her mind
since they'd come to London, nearly a year ago.

London wasn't as much fun as Dublin. Here, her mother
made too many rules. Here, one must be bored witless every day in the
classroom of a pinch-faced, droning schoolmistress.

In Dublin, when Papa was alive, life was jollier. Mama
wasn't so strict. She laughed more. She invented interesting games
and told wonderful stories.

All that changed when Papa died.

Though he'd told them not to grieve—he'd never had
so much fun in all his life as he'd had with his wife and daughter,
he said—it was impossible not to miss him. Olivia had cried
more than he would have liked. Mama had, too.

But three years had gone by, and Mama still wasn't
herself.

Olivia had no trouble understanding why: They were too
poor, and poor people were usually unhappy. They were hungry or sick
or living in the meanest lodgings or in workhouses or debtors'
prisons. Other poor people cheated, robbed, and assaulted them. The
bad ones got themselves imprisoned or transported or hanged, and the
good ones suffered as much as if they'd been bad.

Not only was it disagreeable to be poor, it wasn't at
all respectable.

For aristocrats, it was a completely different story.
They had no worries. They did whatever they pleased, and no one
arrested them or even objected when they behaved badly. They lived in
enormous houses, with hundreds of servants looking after them.
Aristocrats never worked. If one of them painted a picture, he didn't
have to sell it to make money. He didn't have to give drawing lessons
to shopkeepers' whining, spoiled brats, as Olivia's mother did.

Yet Mama was an aristocrat, too. Her
great-greatgrandfather was an earl, and
his
great-grandson lived near Bristol at a place called Throgmorton, an
enormous house with hundreds of servants. Mama's mother was Sir
Somebody's daughter. Her grandmother was Lord Somebody Else's second
cousin. Practically all of Mama's relatives had blue blood in their
veins.

The trouble was, there were two kinds of DeLuceys, the
good ones and the bad ones, and Mama had had the tragic misfortune of
being born into the bad side of the family.

Her side were the Dreadful DeLuceys… shunned by
the other lords and ladies and sirs because… well, they were
quite wicked, actually.

Mama wasn't at all wicked, and this was the great
tragedy and cause of all her cruel sufferings and grievous poverty.

All of this made her a Damsel in Distress, exactly like
the ones in the stories that Lord Lisle claimed were myths.

But he didn't understand anything.

They weren't myths, and if he'd known Mama's story, he
would not have said such stupid, aggravating things, the great
thickhead.

There were knights, too, and they didn't have to wear
shining armor, at least not these days, and they didn't have to be
men.

Olivia was the knight who would rescue her mother.

That was the Idea.

She was not yet certain exactly how to carry it out. She
could see, though, that money was crucial.

This was why, at the Egyptian Hall, once her temper had
cooled and she could think clearly, she decided to cultivate Lord
Lisle.

He was the first aristocrat who'd come close enough to
talk to since Papa died. Knowing it might be a very long time before
she got that close to another one, Olivia had made the most of the
opportunity.

As you'd expect, Mama didn't approve.

She came home very cross on Wednesday evening.

"I met up with Lord Rathbourne and Lord Lisle at
Popham's today," she told Olivia as she took off her shabby
cloak.

"Lord Rathbourne?" Olivia repeated. She
pretended to be trying to remember who this was.

"You know perfectly well who he is," said her
mother. "You assaulted his nephew. Then you tried to recruit the
boy as a drawing student."

"Oh,
him
,"
said Olivia. "I told you I felt sorry for that boy. Obviously he
was in desperate need of lessons."

"And we, obviously, are in desperate need of
money," said her mother. "But you are barking up the wrong
tree."

Olivia quickly began to lay out the tea things. Her
mother watched, her face so stern. But she didn't look well. She had
deep shadows under her eyes and her skin was too pale. Poor Mama!

"You are right, Mama," she said soothingly.
"Everyone knows aristocrats never pay their tradesmen. I should
have realized they'd treat teachers the same."

"That is not the point," her mother said. "You
are grown up enough to understand our position. You know we are
lepers and outcasts from the Great World."

"Lord Rathbourne didn't look
disgusted when you spoke to him," Olivia said. He had looked at
her as Papa used to do. And Mama had
blushed
.

"He was
acting"
her mother said. "He is a perfect gentleman, and a perfect
gentleman is always polite. He would no more agree to my teaching his
precious nephew how to draw than he would consent to your best friend
the pawnbroker teaching him sums."

Well, this was disappointing.

But it would take more than one setback to daunt Olivia.

Already she had an Idea.

THE LETTER ARRIVED on Thursday in a furtive manner
calculated to awaken Peregrine's curiosity. The young under-footman
slipped it to him, whispering that his lordship would have his head
if he heard of it, but he didn't know how to say no to the young
lady.

Possessing more than average intelligence, Peregrine had
little trouble deducing the young lady's identity from the servant's
description. The letter's clandestine arrival intrigued him to a
painful degree. However, he knew better than to open it when anyone
else was about. One of the other servants would see. The more who
knew, the more likely the butler would find out. He would tell Lord
Rathbourne.

Peregrine tucked the letter into an inner coat pocket
and bore several hours of silent agonies before he was at last alone
in his room, unwatched, and could open it.

Written in a large, elaborate, and untidy script, the
thing took up a great deal of paper.

My Lord,

It is exceedingly wrong
—
and
Fast, I believe
—
for
a Young Lady to write privately to a Young Gentleman. Nonetheless, I
must bow to a greater Necessity:
To
Tell the Truth.
I know 1 risk
lowering your Opinion of me. Not that I can imagine how you could
think any Less than you do, for you must be aware by now that
Tragic
Circumstances
have made me a
Leper and an Outcast
from the Great World to which you belong.
Until
the Family Curse is lifted
My dear Mama has told me of meeting with you and His Lordship your
Esteemed Uncle yesterday at Popham's Print Shop. She has chided me
for my Audacity and explained why 1 should
not
have tried to enlist you as a

drawing student. Furthermore, she
tells me I shall
Never See You
Again.
I know this is of
no consequence
to you, for I am merely
an Insignificant
Girl,
one you hardly know or would wish to know better. Yet our Meeting
left a most
Forceful Impression
upon me. Since our Elders have de-creed that we are
NEVER
TO MEET AGAIN.
I must take the
Liberty of telling you through these Secretive Means how greatly I
admire
your Honorable and Courageous Ambition to be a GREAT EXPLORER instead
of another
Idle Aristocrat
.
I most
earnestly
wish you well in your Endeavors to learn to Draw
.