My Lady Notorious (15 page)

The baby woke and had to be fed, which distracted Verity from her
fears. Chastity wished there was something reassuring she could say to
her sister, who was afraid her child’s life was in jeopardy. Nothing
came to mind except that they were doing their best, and had a fighting
chance. Largely thanks to Cyn. Without him, they would doubtless have
been caught hours ago.

Cyn pondered the intense search and knew there was more to this
escapade than appeared on the surface. He studied the sisters,
wondering which was lying, and about what, and why.

After a loud, squishy rumble, it became obvious William needed his
cloth changed. Very obvious. They had previously stopped to allow
Verity to do this in the open air. Now, however, time was pressing and
they did not want the postilions to know they had a baby here, so she
accomplished the messy business in the coach with the windows open. The
smell was surprisingly cheesy, but very strong. Unfortunately, Verity
had only one small bottle of water with which to clean the child.

All in all, Cyn thought, trying hard not to pull a face like an
affronted dowager, babies were not a romantic business. A man would
have to be mad even to consider having a family while following the
drum.

When she’d finished, Verity looked at the soiled rags. “The coach is going to stink of this,” she said apologetically.

“Throw them out the window,” Cyn suggested. “The post-boys will never notice.”

When he saw the tentative way she prepared to do it, he sighed.
“Give it to me.” Why was it, he wondered, that nothing he’d encountered
in war seemed quite as revolting as this squishy, pungent bundle? He
took aim and hurled it over the passing hedge, and into the field
beyond. Then he wished he had the means of washing his hands.

“If we want him to sleep later,” Verity said, “we had best play with him now.”

She sang songs and clapped William’s hands in time to the tune. She
bounced him gently on her knee. She laid him on his back and played
“This Little Piggy” with his toes. William chuckled and gurgled in the
most obliging way. Cyn’s enthusiasm for the continuation of the species
revived. He glanced at his damsel. She watched the play with a totally
feminine, maternal smile. She’d be a good mother.

Something tightened inside him.

He emphatically did not want her to have children with any man except himself. Plague take it. How had he fallen into this mess?

He tried out a few phrases in his mind.
My dear Lady
… what? Charlotte? If her name was Charlotte he’d forbid her ever to use it again.
My
dear Lady Charles, I am deeply, wantonly attracted to the notion of
marrying you and carrying you off to the war. I’m afraid a lot of your
time will be spent away from me in billets in a foreign land
—
I do hope you are quick to learn foreign languages and customs
—
but
I will come to you as often as the fighting allows. Of course you could
stay with the regiment if you don’t mind fleas, and mud, and the
neverending duty of tending wounds and sickness
…

He sighed. Her enthusiasm would be overwhelming.

He could sell out. Rothgar was pushing for it because of those
stupid doctors, but Cyn had no desire to settle to a peaceful life. He
would miss the camaraderie, the purpose, the challenge, the excitement,
and the foreign lands. Lazing around London or growing turnips in the
country would bore him to death, and doubtless lead him into mischief.

After all, boredom had embroiled him in this adventure.

His damsel laughed at the babe, her face reflecting the child’s glowing delight. There was nothing cold or hard in her at all.

Plague take it.

Cyn sought distraction and saw the crumpled paper.

The light was going, and so he made a flame and lit one of the candle-sconces. Then he reached over and picked up the
Gazette
, turning to the news of the war.

The Americans remained quiet and it seemed French power there was
crushed. There appeared to be unrest in the colonies about new taxes
designed to pay for their recent defense. That would soon fade. Most of
the news concerned the scandalous Czarina Catherine of Russia, and the
Prussian advance against Austria. Perhaps he would end up posted to
Hanover or some such place. After the unpredictable wilderness of the
New World, he feared it would be tame.

Having finished the military news, he looked up at the women. “Would you like me to read some items to you?”

“Yes, please,” said Verity.

“No!” exclaimed Charles.

Interesting, thought Cyn. Again, she jibbed at a newssheet. What on
earth could she have done to attract the interest of the press? He
began to read aloud. He read a piece about the turmoil in Russia, and
another about improvements in iron-casting, but all the time he scanned
the pages for anything related to his damsel.

He found it.

He skipped over the crucial item to read about a fire in Dover, and
the trial of a sensational murderer who had apparently poisoned half
his family before being caught. But he read slowly and managed to glean
the other story at the same time.

It concerned Verity’s disappearance, not Charles, and did not conflict with the story they had told. What then was the problem?

According to the paper, there was widespread concern as to the fate
of the widow and child of Sir W****m V****m. It was feared that Lady
V****y V****m had lost her wits because of the death of her husband and
her recent confinement, which had by great good fortune produced an
heir for the deceased nobleman. Both her father and her husband’s
family were offering a handsome reward for information which would
return the afflicted lady to their loving care.

The rest of the item was genealogical.

Lady V****y had been, before her marriage, Lady V***** W***, daughter of the Earl of W****e, and sister to Lady C*****y W***…

Cyn stopped reading. Finally his memory had been triggered, and he could fill in all the missing letters.

His damsel’s name was Chastity Ware.

The Notorious Chastity Ware.

He quickly began to read again—picking an item at random and landing
on a dry essay about Weiman’s translation of Shakespeare into German.
He doubted he was making sense of it, for the greater part of his mind
struggled to absorb his discovery. The piece ended, and he offered the
paper to the sisters. They both declined, and so he laid it aside. He
noted relief on his damsel’s face.

On Chastity Ware’s face.

It would take time for him to be at ease with that name instead of
Charles, but despite her reputation, it suited her. What, though,
should he make of her reputation?

He remembered Henry Vernham saying Walgrave had shaved her head
after he had found her in a man’s bed. It all fit, but only after a
fashion. It did not fit with what he knew of her. He could not believe
his damsel to be a shameless hussy who went from bed to bed.

And yet that was what the world believed.

When he’d been ill his brother Bryght had come down from London with
a selection of amusements, including the latest cartoons. There had
been a number which addressed the gossip about Lord Bute and the new
king’s mother. There’d been related ones about greedy Scots sucking
England dry while still flirting with the Stuarts. There had been a
very funny bawdy one about the deposed Tsar of Russia and his wife,
Catherine, whom rumor said he had never bedded, though everyone else
had.

And there had been one about the grand scandal of the summer, Lady Chastity Ware.

He supposed the Earl of Walgrave, the Incorruptible, had enemies who
had been pleased to strike at him through his daughter. He had been
shown—ugly and bloated—staggering back from a bed in which his buxom
daughter lay cheerfully naked under a salivating lover, saying, “
No
,
Father, I won’t wed him, I just want to f**k him
.”

He flicked a look at the pristine features of the young woman
opposite. They bore no resemblance to the blowsy female of the
caricature. Probably the illustrator had never seen her, and cared
nothing about her as an individual. It was just a bit of titillation
for the masses, and a low blow at the powerful earl.

He knew there would have been any number of caricatures on the
subject, posted in the windows for all to see, available for a penny
plain, twopence colored, and passed from hand to grubby hand as a
source of amusement.

Had she ever seen any? He hoped to God not.

Cyn had heard the story in lascivious detail from Bryght. Apparently
she’d been forbidden to attend Walgrave’s rout because of some
misdemeanor—gossip said some earlier bawdiness. Tenderhearted Lady
Trelyn, Society’s darling, had pleaded her case so well that Lord
Walgrave and a group of guests had gone up to his daughter’s room to
liberate her.

There they had found her, as Vernham had said,
in flagrante delicto
.
With so many people as witnesses, there had been no question of hushing
it up, though her father had tried. The scandal could have been passed
off if she had agreed to a hasty marriage, for most there would have
kept the story to themselves, and there would only ever have been
rumors. Lady Chastity, however, had absolutely refused to marry the
man. She had, of course, been immediately ostracized, not so much for
sinning as for not following the rules when caught.

Lord and Lady Trelyn—known for their irreproachable character—had
supported her the longest, and refused to confirm the story, but in the
end they too had done so, expressing great commiseration for the
anguished father.

Another fragment of recollection. The lover had been her
brother-in-law, Henry Vernham! His damsel had thrown away all caution
for a man like
that
? The only explanation was the kind of
fevered, unreasoning lust that rode some women, but he’d seen no sign
of that in Chastity Ware.

Cyn glanced at her again. He wouldn’t have thought her wanton. He
certainly wouldn’t have thought her stupid. If she’d played that game
and been caught, the only sensible thing was to marry the man. Such a
female would not find marriage too rigid a confinement.

And yet he could not think her such a female. His head throbbed with contradictions and suspicions.

Another memory. Rothgar had been displeased with the caricature, and
it had disappeared, probably into the nearest fire. Rothgar and
Chastity Ware would have met before the debacle. Perhaps Rothgar
realized how little the cartoon related to the reality.

Had Rothgar too been in her bed? Cyn almost groaned aloud. He didn’t
want these thoughts, but they invaded his brain like maggots.

He could not deny that she’d been involved in something scandalous.
In addition to the witness of the Trelyns, Cyn had the evidence of his
own eyes and ears that the enraged earl had shaved off his erring
daughter’s hair and confined her to her old nurse’s cottage with only
the clothes of a penitent whore to wear.

‘Struth, and she’d found a bold way to get around the restrictions!
Her brother’s clothes, and the appearance of a male. Damned clever, but
damningly bold.

He had to admit to some sympathy for the beleaguered father of
Chastity Ware. But only if she was the hussy she was made out to be.

Chastity watched Cyn toss the
Gazette
aside and almost wept
with relief. It had been like waiting for an ax to fall waiting for him
to read that item. She had steeled herself for the sneer, for the
disgust, and it would have been even more unbearable from this officer
than from Mrs. Inchcliff.

How strange clothing was. Though it made no sense, she felt that
Mrs. Inchcliff might have understood, might have given her the benefit
of the doubt, whereas she knew Captain Lord Cynric Malloren would
condemn her on the spot.

And, quite simply, her heart would break.

Cyn suddenly leaned forward and rapped on the roof of the carriage. Hoskins pulled up.

“I’m going to sit on the box for a while now that I’m male again,”
he said to the sisters. “I’ll spell Hoskins and explain some of our
plan. Anyone seeing us go by will be bound to notice my scarlet coat,
which should throw off the hunt.” He pulled on his boots, leaped down,
and slammed the door.

“Goodness,” said Verity, as the coach moved off again. “Isn’t it
strange? He’s become quite a different person since he put on his
regimentals.”

Chastity too had detected something brusque in his manner. “I’m sure he’s a very good officer,” she defended.

Already she felt his absence like a gaping void. She had better get
used to it. He would soon be out of her life forever. She picked up the
paper. “I’m going to hide this before he comes back. I was in agonies,
Verity. Look!”

Verity read the piece and bit her lip. “Oh, lud. All England must be
on the lookout by now, so I mustn’t be seen by anyone who knows me. And
of course, they
had
to bring your name into it.” She touched Chastity’s hand. “I did think it would all blow over.”

“It will never blow over.” Chastity sighed. “One thing is sure—after
all this I will never again accept gossip without question.”

Verity shifted the baby in her arms. “It isn’t just gossip, dearest,
you must accept that. You were seen in bed with Henry, and by a number
of people who are beyond reproach. How unfortunate that the Trelyns be
there. Their word is unquestionable.”

“But I didn’t invite Vernham to my bed. I was fast asleep!”

“In the eyes of the world that hardly matters.”

Chastity stared at her sister. “Are you saying I
should
have married Vernham?”

Verity sighed. “I really don’t know, dearest. I suspect I would
have, but then I’ve always been weaker than you. It’s just that I’m
beginning to realize how bad your situation is.” She cast a glance at
her sister. “Partly because of Lord Cyn.”