Margaret Moore (7 page)

Rob glanced at Bertie, who was giving evidence that Lord Cheddersby was not the only befuddled person in the room, then addressed Lord Cheddersby. “Won’t you please come into my office?”

“Yes, of course, gladly,” the nobleman answered. He preceded Robert, who followed him and closed the door, all the while wondering what had brought the good friend of Sir Richard Blythe to him. Surely if a man of Lord Cheddersby’s wealth and position needed a solicitor, he would use the finest in Chancery Lane.

Once alone, Lord Cheddersby stood awkwardly, still nervously twisting the wide brim of his hat in his hands.

“Won’t you sit, my lord?”

“Oh, yes … well, no, I think I’d rather stand,” Lord Cheddersby stammered. “But you sit, by all means.”

“How may I be of service to you?” Robert asked as he eased himself into his chair, a wary eye on the anxious man before him.

Lord Cheddersby looked around guiltily before replying in a loud whisper, “There’s a woman.”

Rob raised an inquisitive brow.

“She … um … she claims I promised to marry her … which is an outright, damnable lie!” He seemed to realize he had raised his voice, for he flushed and continued more quietly, “And if I don’t pay up, she says she’ll take me to court on an action of
assumpsit.
But there was no breach of promise. I never promised her anything! I barely know her! I met her at the theater and I may have … that is, I’m not the most attractive fellow in London and she was very … very … willing.”

He sat heavily in the chair across from Rob’s desk and regarded him beseechingly. “I’faith, sir, she was downright persistent! And … and I must say that such … attention … is quite rare for me … and so … that is, it never entered into my head, I assure you …”

“You made love to her.”

The unfortunate nobleman nodded mournfully.

“How much, my lord?”

“Three times altogether, I think.”

“I meant, how much money will it take to prevent her lawsuit?”

“A thousand pounds, she says.”

Although his expression didn’t change, Rob felt as if he’d been kicked in the chest by a mule. “That is a considerable sum,” he agreed. “What if you refuse to marry or to pay?”

Lord Cheddersby’s face turned nearly as scarlet as his clothes. “She’s made … threats.”

“What sort of threats?”

“That if I don’t pay, she’ll spread terrible rumors about me.” He looked about, then leaned forward and whispered, “She’s going to say I have the … the French disease.”

Richard refrained from curling his lip. It was an old ploy to threaten a rumor of a venereal disease, and that particular malady was especially heinous. “So you wish me to represent you?”

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”

If he wouldn’t mind.

This fellow could pay for the services of a hundred solicitors; Rob was in no place to refuse a commission, or he would have sent Sir Philip away at once.

“I read that marriage settlement of my friend Richard’s and it was marvelous!” Lord Cheddersby continued eagerly. “Well, not marvelous for Richard, of course, not at first. He’s quite happy now, though, and you never saw a man so enamored of his child … well, except maybe my other friend, Lord Farrington, and—”

Richard sought to steer the conversation back on course. “I shall be happy to represent you.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Lord Cheddersby sighed, relief lighting his average features. “I confess I would ask my friends to help, but they live in the country now. They abandoned me here in London, and I can tell you, Mr. Harding, it is a
wicked
place!”

“Yes, it is,” Richard replied, wondering if this man had any idea how really wicked some of London’s population could be.

“Besides, I know I can trust you to be discreet,” he added. “I’m already considered something of a fool, and this would confirm it.”

Rob made a rare smile. “Your secret is safe with me, my lord. I have met this sort of woman before and know how best to deal with her.”

“Oh, thank God,” Lord Cheddersby sighed. “I will be forever in your debt.”

Rob doubted that as he reached for a piece of parchment and a pen, which he dipped in the ink bottle. Although he believed Lord Cheddersby meant what he said at the time he said it, he was unlikely to see the nobleman again unless he got himself into another similar predicament. “If you would give me the particulars of the woman?”

“She’s rather pretty, but not so pretty when you see her without her powder and patches and wig, let me tell you. Odd’s bodikins, she’s nearly bald. I know because her wig fell off when she was … when she was …” He colored. “She was being especially energetic.”

“I meant her name and her address, my lord.”

“Oh, yes. Delphinia St. Dunstan.”

“Where does she live?”

Lord Cheddersby muttered an address that, Robert thought, should have given the nobleman a clue that she might not be trustworthy.

“I suppose you think I’m a great, blundering fool,” Lord Cheddersby said sorrowfully. “And I fear you would be quite right—especially when it comes to the fairer sex. I am quite hopeless. I always seem to be falling in love with the wrong ones. First it was my friend’s wife—not that they were married then—and then Richard’s wife—they weren’t married then, either—and, well, it just seems every time I see a pretty woman, especially one with lovely eyes, I fall in love and there you are! I am utterly enamored, and this time … when she seemed to like me back … Oh, I just had the most marvelous idea!”

Robert set down his pen and regarded the young aristocrat.

“It has just occurred to me that Richard has a new play at the King’s Theatre this afternoon and I would be delighted if you would come with me.”

“Today?”

“This afternoon.”

Vivienne Burroughs was going to be at the theater today. Her uncle had mentioned it yesterday during their discussion.

Threading the largest plume on his hat through his fingers, Lord Cheddersby sighed. “Oh, well, I just thought … I don’t have anybody to go with these days except Croesus Belmaris, and he talks through the whole performance. Plus, there’s that unfortunate wart on his nose. I find myself staring at it at the most inconvenient times.”

He had no appointments this afternoon, and Lord Cheddersby, a very kind and wealthy nobleman, was asking him.

“I shall be delighted to accompany you to the theater today, my lord.”

After all, the theater was a crowded place. Even if he saw Vivienne Burroughs, it would be from afar.

What harm could there be in that?

R
ob left his chambers earlier than necessary to get to the theater to meet Lord Cheddersby. He could be fairly certain that the woman attempting to extort money from the nobleman would be in at this hour.

He easily found the rooms of the woman who called herself Delphinia St. Dunstan in a building that had obviously started out as a market stall. Some time later, the stall had been enclosed, and some time after that, a second floor added. Still later a third story had appeared, jutting over the other two.

This was not at all unusual in the city, unfortunately. Rob didn’t doubt that one day, some of these cramped and ramshackle structures were either going to collapse in a pile of rubble or burn to the ground and set the neighboring houses on fire, too.

He went up to the second floor and knocked loudly on the woman’s door, inhaling the stale scents that came from cramped, crowded rooms with little ventilation, yet mindful that there had been a time in his life when a room in such a place would have seemed the height of luxury.

A female voice wafted to him like the odors from the stairway. “Who is it?”

“A friend of Lord Cheddersby.”

There was a sound of hasty movement behind the door, which soon swung open to reveal a woman slovenly attired in a day robe, her curling wig slightly askew and her eyes bleary enough to tell him—if her breath had not—that she had been drinking heavily.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” the woman drawled, surveying him slowly and lasciviously. Her pasty brow wrinkled slightly. “So, you are one of dear Foz’s friends?”

“I am Robert Harding, Lord Cheddersby’s solicitor.”

“What?” she cried, shoving the door closed—to no avail, for Rob’s booted foot covered the threshold.

He put his hand on the door and pushed it open. The woman gasped, then grabbed her robe and pulled it tight, as if it were some kind of protective armor. “Get out!”

“I am here to discuss terms.”

The fear left her face and she crossed her arms. “Come in.”

Rob did so, and closed the door behind him. He scanned the room and the one visible beyond. He wondered if Lord Cheddersby had ever actually been here, or if she had insisted they go to his house, and eat his food and drink his wine.

“Terms, eh?” the woman queried.

“Yes.”

“Is he going to pay?” she demanded, shifting her weight to the other leg.

“I thought you wanted him to marry you.”

“He … he’s willing to marry me?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“No.”

Her eyes got a triumphant gleam. “Then he’s going to pay.”

Rob continued to regard her steadily. She blinked and moved slowly toward an open bottle of wine and a pewter goblet sitting on a table covered with a shabby stained cloth. “I don’t expect all that I asked for, naturally. That was just an opening … suggestion.”

“How much will you settle for?”

She studiously poured out some wine and took a large gulp. Setting the goblet down, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Half.”

“Unacceptable.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Quarter, then.”

“I think nothing would be appropriate, Mistress St. Dunstan, if that is really your name.”

“Nothing?” she cried, arms akimbo and paying no heed to the comment about her name, or the fact that her gaping robe revealed nearly the whole of her pendulous breasts.

“Nothing. If you had identified yourself as a whore in the beginning, you would have received suitable remuneration, I’m sure. Since you did not mention money before the act of sexual intercourse, it was not clear that you were a whore. My client thought you were simply a generous woman. To attempt to wring money from him now under the conditions you specified is extortion. Unless you cease and desist, I will be delighted to take the case to court.”

She scowled. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Eyes narrowing, she waggled a finger at him. “You might not be a lawyer. For all I know, you could be one of Cheddersby’s actor friends from the theater playing at being his solicitor.”

“You are free to think whatever you will,” Rob replied, “as long as you understand there will be no money forthcoming from Lord Cheddersby, and that if you attempt to spread false rumors about his physical condition, I will have you arrested and charged with slander.

“So we understand each other, Mistress St. Dunstan, do we not? Lord Cheddersby will never hear from you again.”

Suddenly the woman’s eyes widened. “I know who you are! I’ve seen ya before! You’re Heartless Harding!”

“So some people call me.”

“I know all
about
you, too,” she said with a sly smile. “How you was caught picking a pocket and would have hung except the man you tried to rob was a solicitor who liked the way you tried to talk your way out of it. Liked
you
so much he took into his house and educated you and let you be his clerk and so you got to be a solicitor yourself. I know how you paid him back, too, my fine Heartless Harding. Seems I ain’t the only whore in the room today.”

Rob crossed the room and grabbed the woman by her soiled robe. He brought his face within inches of hers, ignoring the stench of her breath. “You don’t know anything about my education, but I’ll tell you this. If you
ever
come near Lord Cheddersby again, you will be sorry.”

“I won’t!” she cried, her eyes wide with fear. “On my life I won’t!”

“Good.” With that, Rob let go of her and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Once outside and around the corner, he slumped against the brick wall of a pawnshop. Sweat dripped down his back and he panted as if he had run a mile in the summer’s heat as he tried to control his rage and his dismay.

How long might it be before Vivienne heard the stories about him, too?

Her hand reluctantly on Philip’s arm, Vivienne joined the throng entering the King’s Theatre. Ahead of them, her uncle led the way through the crowd like a ship through waves, leaving them to follow along in his wake.

There were so many people here, she was rather glad of that, just as she was
not
glad to have Philip so close beside her. He pressed against her, and his wine-soaked breath was hot in her ear. “Forgive me, my dear,” he murmured. “It’s the damnable mob.”

He wasn’t fooling her with that excuse. He was trying to look down her bodice.

When they finally reached their box in the upper gallery, the noise did not diminish. People around them, as well as below in the pit, talked and laughed loudly. From this upper vantage point, the stage seemed a dizzying distance away. Vivienne’s vision was not aided by the smoke from the various candles, which had little escape in the poorly ventilated building.

She pulled away from Philip and moved a little closer to the railing, scanning the crowd below rather than look at him. She spied Lettice Jerningham talking to a woman equally fashionably dressed even as her eyes roved over the assembly.

Lettice was right where she most enjoyed being, whereas Vivienne wished she were back at home reading. She spotted Vivienne and waved gaily Vivienne made a halfhearted smile and a feeble wave.

“Good evening, Sir Philip, Mr. Burroughs.”

She recognized the man’s voice at once and whirled around. Heartless Harding was at the entrance to their box, wearing the same clothes he had worn before, and with an expression just as stern.

For one moment, as their gazes met and held, it was like that night in Bankside, before they had kissed. Once more he was the gallant gentleman who had come to her rescue, not with sword or pistol, but with words and logic.