Louise M Gouge (13 page)

The rain made it impossible for Melton to feign the slightest bit of dignity. He’d faced this situation often enough in recent weeks. He pretended to search for a coin in his waistcoat pocket, but knew he had none. “My good man, I shall pay you upon arrival at my apartment.” He started to climb into the hackney.

The driver’s long whip barred his way. “Sorry, milord. I don’t go to Seven Dials. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He reined his horse away.

Speechless, Melton stared after the conveyance until he felt the cold rain seeping through his coat clear to his skin. After a violent shudder he began his trek across London. He did not wish to go to that wretched neighborhood, either. But what choice did he have?

Only one. Beebe must marry Rumbold. And the sooner, the better.

Chapter Thirteen

G
reystone arrived home in the rain just in time to see Melton push his way into Mrs. Parton’s town house. As much as he wanted to march next door and find out what the earl was up to, he had his own responsibilities at home. He consigned the matter to God’s protecting hands and Mrs. Parton’s good sense. The dear lady would not be intimidated by Melton’s title.

Once inside his house he had not even removed his cape or shaken the water from his footwear before Mother accosted him in the front hall.

“Those brats.” She crossed her arms and impatiently tapped the toe of one shoe on the marble floor. “You simply must send them away, Greystone. I will not have them tearing about my house like wild dogs.”

While he weighed possible answers, Greystone made a ceremony out of surrendering his coat and half boots to Crawford and donning the dry ones Gilly brought. He would never disrespect his mother with a rebuke or a reminder that the house belonged to him, especially not in front of the servants. But neither would he abandon the two small boys whom he had promised a better future. With practiced patience, he smiled as if she had just announced her intention to adopt the children.

“I would imagine they are filled with boyish energy. You remember how Richard, Edmond and I carried on.” He took her arm and led her toward the drawing room. “Let us call for tea so I can get warm.” With a nod, he ordered Crawford to see to it.

“Oh, my, Greystone, are you chilled?” She felt his forehead. “No, but you are a little flushed. Perhaps you should take to your bed.”

“Nonsense.” He used her favorite word. “I am well. Let us settle once and for all the matter of the little climbing-boys.”

“At last.” She dropped into her favorite chair and waved him to sit in the adjacent one. “I am pleased to hear you have come to your senses. We shall send them straightaway to your school in Shrewsbury, where they will be happy amongst all of those other brats...boys.”

Her self-correction encouraged him. Was she softening? But perhaps that came only from her thinking she would soon be rid of them. His best course was to act as if she had not said anything.

“I will speak to Lucy and explain the importance of keeping them in the nursery.”

“Speak directly to Lucy?” Mother opened the gold silk fan hanging from her wrist and fluttered it in front of her face. “Gracious, Greystone, what is this world coming to? You must speak to Crawford and have him relay the order.”

She had schooled Greystone well in the proper chain of command within the household, but he wanted to manage the boys’ care himself. Instead of responding, he continued. “They could use some fresh air, of course, but I am not yet prepared to let them go to the park. Their former master may attempt to snatch them again.” He chuckled. “Although they are already becoming too plump for their former profession. I suppose they will make excellent tradesmen of some sort.”

“Greystone!”

Surprised at his own calm, his own sense of certainty, he leveled a firm yet smiling look at her. “Mother, darling, I will keep the boys. I pray you, let us hear no more about them.”

Her eyes reddened, something he rarely saw, and her fan moved rapidly before her.

“Did you have a pleasant evening with Uncle Grenville last week? We have not had a chance to share our news of that night.”

She looked away briefly. “Pleasant enough.” The chill in her tone said more than her words. It was none of his business. “And you. Did you enjoy your supper with Julia and that
gel?
”

He clenched his jaw to contain his sudden annoyance. But why did her cross reference to Lady Beatrice anger him? The answer was simple. Against his determination not to form an attachment to the young lady, that was exactly what he was doing. But of course he could not say so to Mother. “Pleasant enough. But you must help poor Mrs. Parton find another French chef. Her latest cook has an excessive fondness for salt.”

Now she chuckled, a genuine laugh such as he rarely heard from her. “I shall do that.” She rose from her chair. “And on that subject, will you dine in tonight?”

“I believe so.” He had planned to go to his club, but a drive to White’s on such a rainy evening held no appeal. “Why not invite Mrs. Parton and her companion in for whist?”

She stiffened. “Really, Greystone, is it not enough that I have lost Julia’s company because of her ‘companion’? Must I endure Melton’s sister in my own home?” She strode toward the door, clearly expecting no answer.

He should be used to her determination to be unhappy, yet a weight settled upon his chest. Perhaps it would be better to forego an evening of whist. He had dealt her a blow about the sweeps. The least he could do was not force her to endure the company of a lady of whom she clearly did not approve.

A lady to whom Greystone’s heart insisted upon attaching itself.

* * *

“So your brother would sell you to this Rumbold person to pay off his debts.” Mrs. Parton did not appear angry, only disappointed when Beatrice confessed to seeing Melly. And perhaps a bit indignant over Melly’s behavior.

“Sell me?” Beatrice nearly choked on a bite of salty chicken. “But are not financial considerations a part of every marriage arrangement?”

Mrs. Parton set down her fork and shoved away her still-full plate. “My dear, Melton did not tell you everything about this man. Frank Rumbold is a desperately ambitious man. Marriage to you would tie him forever to your old aristocratic family and elevate him into Society. But he has made his fortune off of foolish young peers like Melton and other aristocrats addicted to gambling. He leads them as lambs to the slaughter.” She stared off in silence. “I have failed to protect you, and now I know of no remedy for the situation.”

Beatrice also shoved away her plate, but not for want of hunger. Mrs. Parton’s cook used a heavy hand with salt and grease. “I—I could refuse to receive him.”

“Hmm.” Mrs. Parton gave her a sympathetic smile. “You promised that before, and you see how it worked out.” She heaved out a deep sigh. “Furthermore if you refuse after saying you would receive him, Mr. Rumbold may find a way to...oh, there is no other way to say it. He may take revenge, either against Melton or you. I have seen him do it.”

Beatrice stared at her in astonishment. “Revenge? But why? How?”

“As I said, my dear, he has great wealth, however ill-gotten it is. With a bribe here and a bribe there, he can accomplish whatever evil thing he wishes.”

The few bites Beatrice had managed to eat threatened to return on her. “How could Melly become entangled with someone so evil? Perhaps I was wrong to forgive him, for it only made him think he could use me.”

“He is merely following Rumbold’s example. Men like that have a way of ingratiating themselves to young gentlemen. Melton has always had a bent toward gambling, so it was easy for Rumbold to ensnare him with flattery and friendship.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Gambling is an evil addiction. More than one young gentleman, and even some ladies, have been ruined by it.”

Beatrice studied her hands and forced herself not to wring them together. “If only Melly had found a worthy mentor when he was elevated to the peerage, someone who would guide his feet on a wiser path.”

“Humph.” Mrs. Parton snatched back her plate and cut into her chicken as if she would butcher it all over again. “Blakemore tried to befriend him, but Melton would have none of it. Got rather insulting, in fact. Not like Lord Greystone, who was drawn only to the most upright Christian gentlemen. Oh, he had a year or two of foolishness, but not to his ruin. When his brother Richard and Lord Blakemore confronted him, he quickly mended his ways.”

At the mention of the viscount’s name, Beatrice’s heart lurched. While she could not say she loved him, she did admire him exceedingly. Here at last was a trustworthy gentleman. But how could she hope for anything more than his friendship? She could never expect someone of his character to court her, lest he be drawn into an association with Melly, and thus Mr. Rumbold. And if she was forced into a marriage to Rumbold, no doubt she would lose every friend she had, including Mrs. Parton, Lord Greystone and Mr. and Mrs. Grenville.

She blew out a cross breath. “I shall refuse to receive Mr. Rumbold. I cannot, will not, be forced into marriage to such a person.”

“I am so pleased to hear you say that.” Mrs. Parton’s round face beamed her delight. “Do permit me to advise you, my dear, that it will be best to postpone the meeting rather than cancel it. That way he cannot take too much offense. Then we will devise other ways to avoid him.” Her expression turned maternal. “My dear girl, you said you have forgiven Melton. That is a good thing for your sake. Our forgiveness should be endless. But that does not mean we can give others license to destroy us. For your dear brother’s sake, you must also require that he be responsible, even if that means avoiding him at all cost.”

“Yes, I can see what you mean.” Beatrice’s stomach settled at last, and she retrieved her own plate and speared a bite of potato with her fork. “Oh, Mrs. Parton, I thank the Lord you are my friend.” Joy bubbled up inside her. “And you may be certain that I will indeed let you advise me. In fact I shall never again do anything without your counsel.”

A kind but wily look stole over Mrs. Parton’s plump face, deepening the laugh lines around her eyes. “Knowing how easily Melton can change your mind, perhaps I should lock you in your room when I go out.”

Rather than annoy Beatrice, the idea made her feel protected, as when her governess had forbidden her to play near the rapidly flowing High Force Falls on the River Tees that ran by Melton Gardens, lest she fall in and drown. Now Mrs. Parton was her protector, yet she could not help but wish a certain viscount would fill that office.

Chapter Fourteen

“O
h, no, my dear.” Mrs. Parton bustled into Beatrice’s bedchamber. “Not the brown bonnet. You must wear the blue.”

Seated in front of her dressing-table mirror, Beatrice considered the change. “But my gown is green.”

“Green?” Mrs. Parton blinked as if seeing the elegant walking dress for the first time. “Oh, my goodness, no. You must wear the blue.”

Beatrice started to protest that she always wore either blue or pink and would welcome a different color. But only three nights ago she had vowed to accept Mrs. Parton’s guidance, and she would certainly not argue about such a small thing as her choice of clothing.

“As you wish, madam.” She hurried to make the change with help from Poole, Mrs. Parton’s lady’s maid.

“Hmm.” Her employer watched their every move with a critical expression.

“Are you displeased, madam?” Poole’s gray eyebrows dipped into a worried frown.

“No, no, everything is fine.” Mrs. Parton paced back and forth across the carpet. “This is simply taking too long. Bea, we must find a lady’s maid for you.”

Beatrice’s heart skipped. “That would be splendid.” Until this moment she had forgotten Lucy’s request to learn the duties of that position. But no doubt the girl was busy with the little sweeps. Perhaps Sally at the orphanage would do.

Poole set the blue silk bonnet on Beatrice’s head, then fluffed the curls around her face and stepped back for Mrs. Parton to inspect her work.

“There.” Mrs. Parton gripped Beatrice’s chin and studied her appearance from every angle. “Perfect. Blue is your best color. Brightens your eyes.” Her approving smile stirred sweet memories of Mama.

“What will we be doing today?” With all this attention to her appearance, perhaps they were going to meet some august person.

“Why, visiting Lady Greystone, of course.” Mrs. Parton peered in the dressing-table mirror and adjusted the pink peacock feather in her purple paisley turban. “It is her day to be at home.”

All of Beatrice’s eagerness evaporated. “Oh.”

“Now, now, my dear, she is not an ogre.” Mrs. Parton shooed Poole out with a wave of her hand. Once the woman left, she looped an arm around Beatrice’s and led her out of the room. “Do not forget what I told you about her unhappy marriage and having to rear her three sons alone. Be generous in your opinion of Lady Greystone. After all, those boys have turned out quite well, so she cannot be such a tyrant.”

“Yes, madam.” One “boy” in particular came to mind, but Beatrice did not expect to see him. He would be in Parliament this afternoon.

As the two ladies swept out the front door and down the street to the next town house, Beatrice endeavored to settle her emotions. Whatever insult Lady Greystone hurled her way, she was determined not to respond in kind or in a way that would embarrass Mrs. Parton. But to Beatrice’s surprise the viscountess received them graciously...somewhat.

“My dear Julia.” She kissed Mrs. Parton’s cheek. “You have been neglecting me.” She received Beatrice’s curtsey with a regal nod. “Lady Beatrice.”

As they made their way to the drawing room, the two older ladies chatted like the schoolgirls they used to be. Here was a side of the viscountess Beatrice had not seen. Her pleasant manner toward her friend of a lower social standing was enough to erase any personal offense Beatrice might take. In fact, after observing their conversation for several moments, she wished once again for a friend of her own. How grand it would be if the viscountess’s daughter-in-law visited today while Beatrice was here. She had not seen Mrs. Grenville in five days, and despite their brief acquaintance, she longed to spend more time with her.

“Good afternoon, Mother. I see we have guests.” Lord Greystone strode into the room. His dark, windswept curls formed an appealing frame around his handsome face, and his blue eyes sparkled in the late-afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window.

Beatrice’s heart did a dozen somersaults before she could grip her emotions. What an unexpected—she could think of no other word—
delight.

“Mrs. Parton.” The viscount bowed over the lady’s hand and regarded her with a warm look before stepping over to take Beatrice’s hand. “Lady Beatrice.” His now guarded gaze did not quite meet hers.

Disappointment replaced delight. How could he be so cool toward her after their pleasant afternoon in the park, their lovely supper with Mrs. Parton? Containing her giddy emotions was no longer difficult. When he raised his eyes to hers, she was fully able to return a cool but polite nod, much like the one his mother had given her.

“Good afternoon, Lord Greystone.” She would say no more. Truly she would not. “Has Parliament adjourned for the day?” Why, oh, why did her mouth betray her?

“Not at all.” He settled into a chair adjacent to his mother and accepted a cup of tea. Beatrice made note of the single lump of sugar and dash of cream the lady put in for him, although she would never need that information. “The ramblings of the opposition went on a bit too long for my taste, so I decided to come home.” He shook his head in disgust. “If they could just see reason—”

“No politics, Greystone.” The viscountess stirred her own tea and spoke as one would to a child.

A frown darted across his face, but his smile was all acquiescence. “Of course. Forgive me.”

“Oh, Frances,” Mrs. Parton said, “do let me ask him about today’s debate.” Without waiting for a reply, she addressed the viscount. “You must tell us about the pension for the wounded soldiers. Has it been utterly defeated?”

“I fear so, dear lady. The hearts of many peers are like granite.”

“More’s the pity.” Mrs. Parton’s eyes reddened. “Well, we shall simply have to do what we can ourselves.” She sniffed and dabbed her nose with a handkerchief. “Now, what about our little chimney sweeps?”

The viscount’s expression brightened, while his mother’s clouded. Beatrice had difficulty not laughing at the contrast. Then she sobered, remembering Mrs. Parton’s appeal for a more generous opinion of Lady Greystone. Beatrice knew she must forgive the lady for her lack of warmth toward her, due of course to Melly’s reputation. Yet one would think that after rearing three sons, she would have an abundance of patience and understanding toward little boys, whatever their station in life.

“They were fit and fine before I left this morning.” He chuckled. “Although Lucy already looked a bit harried.”

Mrs. Parton laughed. “But perhaps the girl is not strong enough to tend them.”

“Humph.” Lady Greystone scowled at her friend. “All the more reason to send them to Shrewsbury.”

“Mother.” The viscount spoke softly, but there was a hint of command in his tone.

The lady turned her scowl on him. “Humph.”

Beatrice watched with interest. In the short time she had known these two people, she had observed a constant power struggle. Perhaps the viscount was slowly shifting into the place of true leadership in his own home. Beatrice could feel only admiration for his diplomatic dealings with his difficult mother. With such tact the gentleman would make an excellent husband one day. Though she could not imagine why she should think of him in those terms. That matter had been settled once and for all, for he clearly found no pleasure in her company. Yet after her disappointment over Melly, she felt encouraged to know at least one trustworthy gentleman.

“Now, Greystone, about Lucy.” Mrs. Parton took a biscuit from the tea tray and waved it over her teacup, as if trying to decide whether or not to dunk it. “When the boys are napping or perhaps under the care of a footman, do you suppose the girl could come over and work with my Mrs. Poole? With the right training I believe she would make an excellent lady’s maid.”

A thread of excitement wound through Beatrice and lifted her spirits. Mrs. Parton’s kindnesses never ceased.

“Now, Julia, do you not think that is a question for me?” Lady Greystone’s eyes blazed, and her smile seemed forced.

“Oh.” Mrs. Parton looked from one to the other. “Why, I have no idea. Whom should I ask?”

Beatrice ducked her head and involved herself with her nearly empty teacup. So she was not the only one to observe the struggle between mother and son.

“I shall speak to Crawford,” the viscount said as if he had not heard the question. Or perhaps, had heard it and was simply showing Mrs. Parton the answer instead of telling her. “Lucy is, after all, his granddaughter. As such, perhaps she is more suited to be an upper servant rather than a housemaid.”

Lady Greystone’s countenance seemed carved of the same granite that formed the hearts of the uncharitable peers. “As you wish.”

Silence settled over the large, elegant drawing room. Beatrice tried without success to think of an appropriate subject to introduce. But, after all, it was not her place. Mrs. Parton consumed her biscuit as if it were a feast. Lady Greystone stared toward the windows as if inspecting them for smudges. Lord Greystone gave his mother a gentle, sympathetic smile, but the lady did not look his way. Nonetheless Beatrice was pleased to see his kindness. Should she have a son someday, she would wish him to be as good as Lord Greystone. But again, she should not think of the viscount and having a family of her own in the same moment.

To her surprise he turned his kind smile her way, and her traitorous heart skipped a beat. “Lady Beatrice, what will our Mrs. Parton have you doing next?” From the quick lift of one eyebrow, she could see he was teasing.

Her first thought was to say, “
Not
a ride in her phaeton.” But she would not hurt her benefactress’s feelings. “I am certain it will be a grand adventure, which I await with bated breath.”

Both he and Mrs. Parton laughed.

“Of that, I have no doubt, madam.”

* * *

Greystone found Lady Beatrice’s wit and honesty to be nothing short of delightful. From the moment he had seen her across the card room at his birthday ball, he had admired her expressiveness, her inability to hide her feelings. Today her brilliant eyes reflected the color of her elegant blue walking dress and bonnet, enhancing her beauty and threatening to steal his breath away. Mild alarm had shot across her lovely face when he had asked his question. Was she remembering her wild ride in the phaeton? If so, she had refrained from criticizing Mrs. Parton. Such kindness deserved a reward, and he knew just what to give her.

“Well, then, Mother, Mrs. Parton, if you ladies have no other plans in mind, may I suggest that we all go to the theatre this evening?” He heard Mother gasp softly beside him, but he would not be deterred. “I understand Elliston is performing Hamlet, and the Prince Regent is coming.”

“That was the report last time,” Mrs. Parton huffed, “but he did not appear.”

“Ah, but this time he cannot change his mind. The Russian czar and his sister, the Grand Duchess, will accompany him, and he must not disappoint them.” Greystone patted Mother’s hand to command her attention. “Will you go with us, madam? I should be pleased beyond words to have your company.” If she agreed, he would send an invitation straightaway to Uncle Grenville to join their party. He longed to foster their friendship, for Mother seemed a different, happier person in his uncle’s presence.

“You know I do not care for the theatre.” Her hard look did not soften. “But by all means, go. I would not deprive you of Elliston’s Hamlet.”

At her harsh tone, Greystone winced, but did not respond. Nothing he did these days pleased her. What did the poor dear want from him? From anyone?

After several moments of silence, Mrs. Parton coughed softly. “Do you have a box?”

He forced away the dark clouds trying to spoil his mood. “Indeed I do. Blakemore has offered his, and we should try to fill it.”

“What a grand idea.” Mrs. Parton clapped her hands. “You must invite dear Edmond and Anna.”

From the joyful look on Lady Beatrice’s beautiful countenance, he could see that scheme brought her great delight. And in that moment, pleasing her—if only for one evening—became his singular goal.

* * *

Beatrice tried to school her face into an indifferent expression, but she could not manage it. She could think of nothing more enjoyable than another evening at the theatre, especially in Lord Greystone’s company. Had she been wrong about his opinion of her? Before she could comment, however, the viscount’s butler announced more guests.

“Lady Grandly, Miss Waddington and Miss Amelia Waddington.”

“Oh, my.” Mrs. Parton set down her teacup. “We have overstayed our time. Frances, we must leave so the baroness and her daughters will have you all to themselves. Come along, Bea. We must prepare for our evening.”

“Yes, madam.” Beatrice had noticed the mild alarm on Lord Greystone’s face when the newcomers were announced.

While Mrs. Parton rose and brushed a kiss across Lady Greystone’s cheek, receiving no response, the viscount stood, as well.

“Mrs. Parton, would you like to see how our little sweeps are faring?” The sudden tightness in his voice added to Beatrice’s guess that he did not wish to entertain the new guests.

“Oh, that would be grand.” Mrs. Parton waved to Beatrice to follow.

They encountered the newcomers at the drawing-room door. Lord Greystone made introductions, and greetings and pleasantries were exchanged all around. The younger ladies stared at him with open admiration and seemed particularly disappointed when he bowed away, explaining he had a matter to discuss with Mrs. Parton. Beatrice understood their dismay. Both girls were reasonably attractive and no doubt seeking husbands. Lord Greystone would make a fine catch for any lady. Somehow that thought caused a stirring of jealousy, which Beatrice quickly dismissed. After all, she had no claim on the gentleman.

In the fourth-floor nursery the little sweeps were squirming in their chairs while Lucy worked on a sampler by the window. When the adults entered, the boys raced to Lord Greystone like eager puppies, coming just short of jumping on him.

“’ello, gov’ner,” Kit chirped.

“’ello, gov’ner,” Ben echoed.

Both boys were remarkably clean, and in fact bore little resemblance to the children Beatrice had met just over two weeks ago. Those daily baths would soon remove the last bits of gray around their necks and fingernails. They had also begun to plump up a bit, which added to their healthy appearance.