Margaret Moore (4 page)

So, he was not as wealthy as he would like people to believe. That was unfortunate.

After Bertie closed the door, the man turned back to Rob. “I am Sir Philip Martlebury,” he announced, by his air suggesting that Rob must have heard of him.

He had not. Still, a nobleman was a nobleman, and he might know yet more noblemen in need of a good solicitor. “How may I help you?”

“I am about to become engaged to the niece of a canny old buzzard and want you to negotiate the marriage settlement for me.”

As Sir Philip steepled his fingers and smiled with smug satisfaction, Rob commanded himself to betray nothing.

Not surprise. Not dismay Not envy.

After all, there was nothing—nothing at all—to indicate that this had anything to do with the young woman he had met in Bankside. No doubt there were many young women in London who were in a similar situation.

“You say nothing, Mr. Harding.”

“I am taken aback, Sir Philip,” he replied, trusting that the man before him would apply his own flattering interpretation to that remark.

Judging by Sir Philip’s widening smile, he did. “I gather you don’t get many men of my station coming to you on such errands. Still, I hear you are the best, and if you
are
the best, I certainly shall not be the last. I have several influential friends at court.”

“May I ask, Sir Philip, how you came to hear of me?”

“The whole court was buzzing about how you outsmarted that playwright when he married the rich widow.”

At the recollection of the marriage settlement between Sir Richard Blythe and Elissa Long-bourne, Rob’s lips twitched. He had indeed drafted a very one-sided document which the groom had signed without reading. Despite his amusement, he kept his voice carefully level when he replied. “I understand they are very happily married.”

Sir Philip had one of the most disgustingly evil chuckles it had ever been Robert’s misfortune to hear, and he had heard several evil chuckles. “He’s happy bedding her, no doubt, as I will be when I take my bride.”

It was all Rob could do to keep his lips from curling with scorn. Rob had known men who lived in filth and poverty who would never speak of a woman with such disrespect.

Rob wanted to tell him to get out, but Sir Philip’s next pronouncement made him hold his tongue.

“There will be a fine fee in it for you, of course, for it will likely take several hours of work. Her uncle is the kind to haggle for days over something. Still, if all turns out as I plan, there will be a premium in it for you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you earned over fifty pounds.”

Fifty pounds. That was nearly as much as Rob had made in the whole of the previous year. He needed the money this man was offering, and he would surely benefit from a pleased nobleman’s reference.

As for his personal aversion to the man, he had searched through the stinking muck of the Thames to earn his bread once; surely he could put up with Sir Philip.

It would be even more ridiculous to turn him down on the remote possibility that the man was going to marry a woman Rob had only met once, if memorably. “I accept your offer.”

“Excellent!” The nobleman reached into his jacket and pulled out a white piece of cloth, which he sniffed delicately. The scent of a heavy, flowery perfume made Rob want to cough.

“I shall, of course, require a portion of the fee today,” he said.

Sir Philip frowned. “How much of a portion?”

“Generally, I ask for a sovereign upon commencing.”

Sir Philip snorted most inelegantly. “Gad, man, is that all? I thought you were going to ask for half!”

“Then obviously you will have no trouble providing the sovereign. My clerk will be happy to take it.”

Sir Philip reached into his jacket and pulled out a rather tattered purse. He fished around for a moment, then tossed a gold coin on the desk. “There you are, my man.”

“I said you may give to my clerk,” Rob reiterated, making no move to touch it.

With a sour frown, the nobleman’s hand darted out and he took it back again. He rubbed it between his fingers.

“Perhaps we should celebrate your good fortune with a drink?” he proposed, his gaze surreptitiously scanning the room, no doubt for a bottle or decanter.

The need for a drink might also explain his nervous twisting and turning of the coin.

“I think not.”

Sir Philip reared back in astonishment. “Gad, are you a Puritan?”

“No. However, I keep no wine or spirits in my office, and I have no time to visit a tavern today.” Rob gestured at the document still on his desk.

“Oh, I see,” Sir Philip grudgingly replied. “I have a meeting with my bride’s uncle, Elias Burroughs, tomorrow afternoon. Sup with me at noon and we can discuss the terms to offer. We’ll go to see him afterward.”

“Very well,” Rob agreed, rising.

Sir Philip likewise got up. “I live in the Strand, Martlebury House.” He chuckled his nasty chuckle. “I can hardly wait to see Burroughs’s fat face when he finds out I have Heartless Harding in my purse.”

Holding his hands stiff at his side, his fingers slowly curving into fists, Rob made a small bow and watched as the nobleman sauntered out the door as if he owned all of London and a good portion of England besides.

“Bloody jackanapes,” Rob muttered under his breath as he returned to his desk and once again silently vowed to forget a beautiful young woman with lively blue eyes and passion in her kiss who refused to marry to a man she did not love.

“S
o there I was, my dear, absolutely bankrupt and not a farthing to my name and Edmond glaring at me in the worst way,” Lettice Jerningham said as she put another French bonbon in her bow-shaped mouth and giggled. “’But Edmond,’ I said, ‘I thought I was going to win!’ I mean, really, Vivienne, what else did he think I was betting for?”

Vivienne nodded absently as she sat beside Lettice in the Jerninghams’ drawing room and watched Lettice consume a plateful of sugar-covered confections.

Lettice Jerningham was the daughter of one of Uncle Elias’s business associates. She had married a minor courtier, of nearly the same age as Uncle Elias, and been presented at court last year. She rarely mentioned her much older husband, preferring to talk about the court and especially the king.

She also apparently found some compensation in eating bonbons while petting her spaniel, Lord Bobbles, whom she had purchased in imitation of King Charles, who was known to adore his dogs.

Normally, Vivienne avoided Lettice as much as she could. Unfortunately, she had not been able to find out much at all about Philip in the past week, and so had come to Lettice as a last resort. Even more unfortunately, although she had come to visit Lettice for the sole purpose of asking about Sir Philip, the very notion of giving the loquacious Lettice even a hint of Sir Philip’s intentions was so distasteful, she hadn’t yet been able to mention him.

Nevertheless, the mysterious solicitor had been right—she had been going about dissuading her uncle from making the match the wrong way. She had been trying to force him to see things her way, something that was utterly impossible. Instead, she must discover things about Philip her uncle would find objectionable. Ever since she had returned home on the night she’d tried to run away and climbed back into her room, she had thought of little but the solicitor and his advice. He even haunted her dreams.

In those dreams, she was always running down a dark and foggy street. At first she was frightened, sure she was being chased. She would see the handsome solicitor standing in a blaze of light and her fear would disappear. She ran into his arms, feeling cherished and safe.

Then they were magically in her bedchamber. In her bed. Naked. Together.

He would caress her body and kiss her with his marvelous lips, and she would touch him, feel his flesh hot against her hands—

“Would you like some wine, Vivienne? It
is
a trifle warm in here,” Lettice said, yanking Vivienne from her reverie.

“No, thank you,” she replied, commanding herself to remember why she was here, and to forget her dreams.

Vivienne made a small, companionable smile and shifted away from Lettice and Lord Bobbles, who was shedding all over her skirt. Uncle Elias would not be pleased if she returned home with her pale pink gown covered in black hairs. “I thought your husband didn’t approve of gambling.”

“But everybody gambles! The king gambles,” Lettice declared with a shake of her blond head that set her ringlets bouncing, as if that decided the matter.

“The king does many things many people do not approve of.”

In the act of lifting another confection to her lips, Lettice halted and stared at Vivienne. “You sound just like one of those horrid old Puritans!” She giggled again. “And your expression is just like one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting.”

“I have heard they don’t approve of the English court.”

“I should say they don’t,” Lettice agreed with disdain as she popped the confection in her mouth and spoke while delicately chewing. “They refuse to learn even a word of English, they wear nothing but black and their expressions are so sour and their gowns so old-fashioned, they look like effigies. They should all be lying on a tomb somewhere. Indeed, I always have to assure myself they’re actually breathing! And they are so very proper, it’s … well, it’s ludicrous. They say they won’t sleep in any bed a man has
ever
been in.”

“Given what I have heard of the court, they must had had to order several new beds.”

Vivienne immediately wished she hadn’t mentioned beds, because beds made her think of her dreams, and the lawyer’s hands, and his lips, and their passion….

Lettice giggled her agreement and brushed a bit of sugar from the lace around the curved neckline of her satin bodice. “That is a very pretty gown.”

Vivienne was glad of the change of subject. “Do you like the color? It is one of my uncle’s new dyes.”

“No lace?”

“You know he does not deal in lace, so I never wear it, Lettice.”

“You should be glad he sells such lovely silk and ribbons, though,” Lettice noted. She examined the silk damask and nodded her approval. “Very pretty. Lady Horrace was wearing something rather similar in court.”

“Have you been to court recently?”

Lettice preened a little as she put the last bonbon into her mouth. “Just last week, for a masque. It was very exciting. And oh, how handsome the king looked! I swear to you, Vivienne, he is the finest-looking man in the kingdom.”

Vivienne had serious doubts about that, unless the king resembled a certain solicitor of her acquaintance.

“To see King Charles dance! And his legs, my dear.” She leaned forward again. “His legs are really quite muscular.”

Vivienne wondered about her solicitor’s legs. In her imagination, they were as muscular as the rest of him.

“There’s no need to blush, my dear. I assure you, we were all properly attired, some more than others, though,” she finished with another giggle. She lifted her dog and rubbed his nose against hers. “Isn’t that so, Lord Bobbles? Didn’t your mama have on a very lovely dress?”

That was it. Embarrassment or no embarrassment, Vivienne couldn’t stand this much longer. “Lettice, what do you know about Sir Philip Martlebury?”

Lord Bobbles fell back to his mistress’s lap with such unexpected swiftness, he yipped.

Lettice moved forward and smiled broadly. “I was wondering if you were ever going to mention that,” she said, stroking Lord Bobbles’s head.

Vivienne didn’t hide her surprise. “You have heard that he wishes to marry me?”

“He talks about you quite often. He thinks you’re very beautiful, you know. He is very eager to make you his wife.”

And get the dowry, no doubt,
Vivienne thought with a sigh.

Lettice eyed Vivienne. “I should think you would be delighted. He’s a good-looking fellow and a nobleman, too.”

“I am suspicious of his attention,” she answered with cautious truth. “After all, what have I to offer him?”

“Oh, you mustn’t underestimate the power of beauty, my dear,” Lettice said with a companionable smile.

Lettice herself was quite pretty in a florid sort of way. Nobody would ever overlook her in a room full of women. “He brags of you, you know. Well, not to me, but to other men, or so I’ve heard. You’re going to be a very lucky woman. To be sure, he’s not the king, but then the king is already married,” she finished with yet another giggle.

The fact that Charles was married probably wouldn’t bother Lettice if the king invited her to his bed.

“Yes, Philip is a good-looking man,” Vivienne agreed.
For an overdressed courtier.
“That is partly what troubles me. Have you heard … do you know … does he have a mistress?”

Lettice smiled with genuine kindness and stroked Vivienne’s hand as she had her dog’s head. “Not recently.”

“Who was she?”

“Oh, I forget. But it was over weeks ago. He has been quite the footloose fellow since.”

Obviously, she wasn’t going to get more out of Lettice on that subject, and it wasn’t one likely to dissuade her uncle anyway. Money was Uncle Elias’s Achilles’ heel. “I know everybody gambles. Does he, too?” Vivienne asked, practically gritting her teeth as Lettice continued stroking her hand.

“Not overmuch. Indeed, I have seen him leave the table while he was still winning, which, I assure you, is something I would never do. Why, just the other night I said to Lady Rowhampton, ‘I shall likely have to pawn my jewels one day,’ and she said—”

“Lettice?”

“Yes?”

“Are you very familiar with solicitors?”

Lettice regarded her as if she had suddenly sprouted an extra nose. “Solicitors? Whatever would I have to do with one of them?”

“They, um, they prepare marriage settlements, do they not?”

“Oh, of course!”

“Have you ever met any?”

Lettice gave her a knowing smile. “Need one, do you?”

“Not yet, but perhaps soon,” she prevaricated.

“Well, my dear, you must try to engage the one they call Heartless Harding. He’s quite the marvel when it comes to property law. His marriage settlements are legendary. Well, one, anyway, for that playwright fellow, and what a rogue he was, if half the stories are true, and I daresay they are.”