Margaret Moore (10 page)

“When we marry, I will remember what you called me,” Philip muttered.

She whirled around to face him, her legs shaking with rage. “Do you think I will ever marry you now? You are the stupidest of fools if you think so! I would rather marry Lord Cheddersby!”

“Really?” he gasped behind her.

She spun around to look at the dumbfounded nobleman. What the devil had she just said?

Philip grabbed her arm roughly. “I don’t know what game is afoot with you and your uncle—”

“Unhand me, you snake!”

As Vivienne twisted out of Philip’s grasp, Lord Cheddersby drew his sword with a surprisingly accomplished and fluid motion, making the startled Uncle Elias jump back so fast, he nearly tumbled over the railing into the pit below. “I am a bit of a bumbler, Martlebury, but I’ve had the very best teachers, and trust me, they can work miracles with even the most incompetent of swordsmen, so I suggest you apologize immediately.”

Philip stared at him incredulously. “I haven’t drawn my sword.”

“Please do.”

“This is ridiculous! We cannot duel in the theater.”

“If you say you’re sorry, that will be the end of it,” Lord Cheddersby offered hopefully. “I hate to fight, although I will if I have to, you see.”

His face scarlet with mortification, Philip’s mouth worked a moment before he spoke. “I’m sorry for my hasty words,” he mumbled after a moment.

“And insulting a lady,” Lord Cheddersby prodded.

“And insulting a lady.”

“Excellent!” Lord Cheddersby cried, quickly sheathing his sword. “I’m satisfied. Are you, Mistress Burroughs?”

She was so relieved that there was to be no fighting and no duel, she could only nod.

“Now I had better find Mr. Harding. Good evening, Mistress Burroughs, Mr. Burroughs,” Lord Cheddersby said genially as he bowed. He glanced at Philip. “You will forgive me if I pay you no compliments, sir,” he said as he left the box.

“Come along, Vivienne!” Uncle Elias barked, taking her arm.

Glad to get away from both Sir Philip and the curious crowd, Vivienne eagerly followed her uncle. As they made their way forward, she glanced back over her shoulder to see Philip standing where they had left him, an angry scowl upon his face.

“H
ow can you be so pleased?” Vivienne demanded as she sat across from her uncle in their coach on the way home. Her voice quavered both from suppressed emotion and the fact that they were going over some particularly bumpy cobblestones. “Sir Philip insulted me, and it is only because I begged Lord Cheddersby not to fight that they didn’t duel about it. Philip might have killed him.”

“That would have been most unfortunate, of course.”

“Unfortunate? I thought you liked Lord Cheddersby. I thought you would were already hoping he would be interested in me, for he is much richer than Philip.”

“Naturally, if he had made me an offer for your hand, I would have been greatly upset. However, he has not, and Sir Philip has.”

“Philip is also rude and insolent and disgusting.”

“He’s in love, Vivienne. He was jealous, that’s all.”

“I keep trying to tell you, Uncle, he’s in love with your money. As for being jealous, he is like a spoiled little boy.”

“Sir Philip has gone so far as to involve his solicitor,” her uncle reminded her, as if she needed reminded that Mr. Harding was Sir Philip’s agent. “All Lord Cheddersby has done is sit beside you at a play.”

“He defended my honor.”

“I agree that is a most promising beginning.”

“But I don’t want Lord Cheddersby!” she protested.

She didn’t want a man who didn’t excite her. Who roused nothing but a genial sort of affection, the same kind Lettice had for her dog.

She wanted a man who loved her passionately. Who needed her. Who loved her. Just as she passionately loved, needed and wanted him. She wanted a man who stirred her soul and made her feel cherished and safe.

A man like Mr. Harding, or at the least the Mr. Harding she had met that night in Bankside.

“There is no need to get so agitated, Vivienne,” Uncle Elias chided. “Lord Cheddersby has made no serious offer and might never do so. Besides, there may be some cause not to encourage Cheddersby. You have heard Lord Cheddersby himself speak of his friends—a playwright and Lord Farrington. They are hardly paragons of virtue.

“However, he is also rich and titled, so of course I will not discourage him, and you shouldn’t, either.”

“I am to encourage him in spite of what I feel? To play the hypocrite? That, Uncle, I will never do.”

“Vivienne, this is the way the world works,” Uncle Elias explained wearily. “We have one solid offer that is not yet binding. We may have another potential suitor, who may or may not prove acceptable. There is still time to cast our net.”

“Cast our net? It is not enough that I have one suitor I do not want, and perhaps another?”

“The more bidders, the higher the price.”

“How could I forget that maxim?” she mused sarcastically.

“You would do well not to,” Uncle Elias retorted. “Especially if the quality of the bidders continues to improve.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Uncle.”

He gave her his most patronizing look. “Think, Vivienne. If there was one man in the kingdom worth having, who would it be?”

She knew that the answer which immediately came to her mind would not be the one he was thinking of, so she didn’t reply.

“Come, come, girl! Surely you are not that stupid. We met him tonight.”

“Not the king?” Vivienne said with a gasp. “Surely you cannot be aiming that high!”

“Why not?”

“Because he has a wife.”

“He is the king of England.”

Vivienne straightened her shoulders and raised her chin defiantly. “If Charles were to ask me to be his mistress, I would refuse.”

“Vivienne, cool your blood. He has seen you but once, and nothing more may ever happen. If it doesn’t, we will take the best offer, and so far, that belongs to Sir Philip—but that doesn’t mean we cannot hope for better. Now I will hear no more complaints. Gad, you would think I was trying to palm you off on some pauper in the streets.”

“If I loved the pauper, you could do so with my blessing, Uncle,” she replied.

“Do not tempt me, niece,” he muttered as he raised the window covering to look out onto the dark streets, indicating that this discussion was obviously finished, as far as he was concerned. “Do not tempt me.”

The next day, Vivienne hurried through the crowded streets near the Inns of Court, surreptitiously looking over her shoulder nearly every time she took a step. Fortunately, her ancient maid, Owens, had either not yet missed her, or she hadgotten far enough away that the woman’s hue and cry were not likely to cause her any troubles.

If
Owens even raised a hue and cry. This was not the first time Vivienne had slipped away from the slow-moving servant, and if her luck held, Owens would assume she had gone home, then simply return there herself. If her luck were really with her and Mr. Harding was not too busy, she might even be back before Owens.

Despite the risk of yet another berating lecture from her uncle, she had to do something to protect the bumbling Lord Cheddersby from Philip’s animosity. Unfortunately, the only thing she could think of was to send Lord Cheddersby a warning through Mr. Harding.

Nevertheless, despite her fears for Lord Cheddersby’s safety, she had nearly turned back a hundred times after slipping away from Owens at the milliner’s. Given Mr. Harding’s changeable attitude, from chivalrous savior to coldhearted mercenary, coming here might prove to be a fool’s errand.

She hesitated, unsure which building in this cramped and crowded little street housed Mr. Harding’s office. She would never have gotten this far without asking a multitude of livery boys and laborers and peddlers if they knew the solicitor Mr. Robert Harding. Fortunately, he seemed very well-known to the local folk, who all spoke of him with respect and even something akin to awe.

She spotted a small brass plaque beside a plain door across the street. She hurried across and saw that she had found what she sought.

Taking a deep breath, she cautiously opened the door and went inside. The anteroom of the simple whitewashed offices overflowed with people, several of them elderly, all of them simply dressed in rough, serviceable clothing.

A youth sat on a high stool behind a higher desk and she supposed he was Mr. Harding’s clerk. She addressed her query to him as she closed the door behind her, while every single inhabitant in the room turned to stare at her. “This is Mr. Robert Harding’s office, is it not?”

“Aye, it is,” the youth said as he hopped down from his perch. “I’m Dillsworth, his clerk.”

“Is he in?”

“Aye. He’s with another client at the moment. If you’d care to take a seat, I’ll tell him you’re waiting. Who should I say it is?”

“I am Vivienne Burroughs, but please, don’t interrupt him if he’s busy. I can wait.”
A little,
she added inwardly.

An old man who smelled of tallow made room for Vivienne at the end of the bench beside him. His scarred fingers and hands, as well as the odor about him, told her he was probably a candle maker.

“Thank you,” she said as she pulled her cloak tighter, so that she took up less space.

The door to the inner office opened and a woman of middle years exited, wiping tears from her cheeks. She paused on the threshold and looked back into the inner room.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Harding,” she said in a heavy Yorkshire accent. “I thought that money gone forever.”

Mr. Harding came to the door and gently steered her out. “It was my pleasure. It is no more than you deserve, and they should have paid your back wages years ago.”

Vivienne’s heart beat faster, for she recognized that tone of voice. The knight in shining armor
did
exist.

But not only for her.

That was good, she told herself. She had not come here on her behalf, after all.

Mr. Harding glanced at the waiting people. “Dillsworth, who’s—”

He fell silent and his eyes widened when he saw Vivienne.

She half rose. Then, embarrassed and blushing, she sat back down.

“I will see Mistress Burroughs next,” he announced, all hint of warmth gone from his voice. He turned on his heel and went back into his office.

But she had heard benevolence in his voice again, and she would take heart, she vowed, as she hastily rose and hurried after him into the most spartan office she had ever seen or imagined. “I don’t mean to take you away from your clients, but—”

“How may I help you?” he demanded, turning to stare at her without a sign of welcome, as if she were a complete stranger to him.

“I have come about Lord Cheddersby.”

“Did you come here alone? I cannot believe your uncle would allow it.”

“He didn’t. I escaped from my maid.”

“You seem to have a propensity for sneaking about London.”

She would not be dissuaded by his cold and indifferent tone. “I know Sir Philip is your client, but I believe Lord Cheddersby is your friend. You must tell Lord Cheddersby to stay away from me, or I fear Philip might hurt him out of jealousy.”

“So, you are here as His Lordship’s advocate?”

“Without his knowledge, yes. I am afraid for him.”

“Charming sentiment. However, I believe His Lordship well able to look after himself. Therefore, I give you good day.”

She would not give up, not when she remembered the look on Philip’s face when they left him at the theater. “You were not in our box at the end of the performance, so I daresay you are not fully aware of how serious the situation is. Lord Cheddersby challenged Philip to a duel after Philip insulted me. Fortunately, Lord Cheddersby was very quick to forgive Philip for the insult.

“Unfortunately, Philip is a jealous, greedy man. He might hurt Lord Cheddersby—maybe even kill him—if he thinks Lord Cheddersby is a rival for my hand. As you are his friend, you must make him understand that.”

“I am not Lord Cheddersby’s friend, and I must say I think he would be more likely to listen to you.”

“I’m sure he would listen—”

“Mistress Burroughs, I do not wish to be involved in your lovers’ quarrels.”

Righteous indignation rose in Vivienne, especially when she considered how he had behaved toward her in Bankside, and toward the woman she had just seen. “I daresay you might feel otherwise if Lord Cheddersby were standing on the banks of the Thames in the dark of the night. Then you might find it in your heart to help him, or is it only women who inspire such chivalry in you?”

“You cannot know what motivates me,” Mr. Harding muttered, turning away.

“I had hoped kindness and concern for a friend would motivate you, or even simple human decency. All I ask is that you speak to him. At the very least, I should think you would be upset at the prospect of losing a client.”

He flushed, and she pressed on. “If I can risk my uncle’s wrath by sneaking away from my maid to see a solicitor who is doing his very best to help a man I detest make me his bride, can you not say a few words of warning to Lord Cheddersby?”

Mr. Harding winced.

Sweet heaven, he winced. She was finally making him see her point of view.

When he looked back at her, however, that wince might have been no more than a trick of her mind. “I doubt Sir Philip will go to such an extreme.”

“I hope for all our sakes you are right, because
I
would hate to have any injury to Lord Cheddersby on my conscience.”

Mr. Harding didn’t answer, nor did his expression change. “Please, Mistress Burroughs, leave me.”

He sounded different, almost as if he were pleading with her to leave him—because he knew she was right to be worried about Lord Cheddersby, or was there more?

“Not until you tell me you will help.”

“Mistress Burroughs, I have an anteroom full of clients who, while they may not be well-to-do, are deserving of my attention and aid, so I must ask you to leave.”

She gazed at him just as intently as he had looked at her. “Your voice betrays you, Mr. Harding, and your eyes. I think you do care about Lord Cheddersby.”