Playing to Win (17 page)

"Which one is James?" inquired Mr.
Whitlatch politely.

Mrs. Applegate’s dimples appeared. "The
eldest—which you know as well as I do! Sssh, sssh, Jeremy," she
crooned, picking up the child she had deposited on the ottoman.
"It’s only your Uncle Trevor, darling."

"So this is Jeremy!" remarked Mr.
Whitlatch, in a tone of mild surprise. "He is much improved since I
saw him last. A fine set of lungs," he added, as Jeremy apparently
took exception to his uncle’s backhanded compliment.

"All newborns are hideous," agreed the
fond mother, patting and soothing Jeremy with great efficiency.
"He’s grown lovely though, hasn’t he? Sssh, darling, yes! Such a
pretty baby, yes! He’s a bit shy of strangers now, you know, but—"
shooting her brother a look of reproach—"I daresay he’ll be well
past that stage by the time you see him again." Mrs. Applegate
seated herself on the ottoman with a martyred air.

Mr. Whitlatch laughed. "Give over,
Gussie! Is it my fault a sailor has to go to sea?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You are
not
a sailor, Trevor! I have never understood why you need
spend so much time at sea. I don’t mean in the early days, when we
all know Uncle Zachary was teaching you your trade, or whatever it
is—but nowadays, when you have simply
pots
of money, why can
you not pay someone else to do that? Uncle Zachary did."

Mr. Whitlatch, amused, sat on the
ottoman beside his sister. "Are you calling me baconbrained, or
merely clutchfisted? I’ve a gift for business, Gussie. I enjoy
it."

"Yes, but you don’t enjoy being at sea!
I’ve heard you complain about that part of it for ever."

"No, very true," agreed Mr. Whitlatch,
pinching his nephew’s bootied toes. The baby gurgled happily at
this treatment. "In fact, Gussie, I’ve a mind to stay in England
now—at least for the present. As you say, I have the ability to pay
someone else to captain my ships. I’ve been doing so, to some
extent, all along. Even I cannot captain more than one ship at a
time."

Augusta laughed. "Had there been a way,
I feel sure you would have found it! You always believed yourself
the only person capable of doing anything correctly."

Trevor grinned at her. "You’re behind
the times, Gussie! Inheriting Uncle Zachary’s concerns and finding
myself the head of a dozen ventures, all with scores of employees,
soon cured me of that particular illusion."

Gussie shook her dark curls in mock
sympathy. "How shattering that must have been for you!" she
remarked. "But now that you have joined the ranks of lesser
mortals, do you propose to live among us? Are you really staying in
England now? I am glad."

Jeremy expressed his sentiments by
removing his left bootie and dropping it upon the floor. Mr.
Whitlatch deftly retrieved the soft object and began working it
back onto the baby’s fat foot.

"For the time being," he told her. He
shot her a speculative glance. "Tell me, Gussie, have you ever been
presented?"

His sister’s dark eyes grew round with
astonishment. "What, at Court?"

"Certainly," he replied, his attention
seemingly fixed upon Jeremy’s wayward bootie. "Your husband is a
Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians, is he not? You certainly
may be presented."

Augusta laughed. "I may, if I ever find
the time! Four boys are a handful, you know. Never tell me you are
acquiring social ambitions, Trevor! Must I make a push to introduce
you to the Polite World?"

He grinned at her. "If you please," he
said meekly.

"Gracious!" His sister looked a trifle
harassed. "Well, it’s something I always meant to do, of
course—presentation, and all that—but you know, Robert and I were
married in the autumn, and by the time the Season started I was
increasing, and then James was born, and the following year I was
increasing again—"

"Yes, you may spare me the details!"
interrupted Trevor. "I see that you have never found the time to
advance yourself socially."

"Well, I was never ambitious in that
way," explained Augusta. "Of course, Robert meets a great many
important people in the course of his work. I daresay it would not
be difficult for me to insinuate myself into a few dinner parties.
But as for pursuing the acquaintance of fashionable
hostesses—trotting all over Town, leaving my card and paying
morning calls—heavens, how exhausting! The boys take so much of my
time—" She bit her lip, patting the baby as if it would be very
hard indeed to let him go. Jeremy’s eyes began to drift
shut.

"The truth is, you enjoy motherhood far
more than is good for you, and more than is good for the children,"
said Trevor firmly. "You must think of cultivating the
ton
as an investment in the boys’ future."

Augusta sighed. "I suppose so," she
agreed reluctantly. "And of course it is my duty to assist you as
well."

"That’s the dandy!" said Trevor
approvingly. "Think of your brother, for a change! I cannot crash
the gates without your help."

"Why do you wish to?" inquired Augusta.
"Are you thinking of acquiring a knighthood, or some such thing?"
Her eyes brightened. "I must say, that would be an excellent thing
for my boys."

"Of course it would, my single-minded
sibling! Keep that thought firmly in mind and the task will become
much easier for you. Not only sons of Dr. Applegate, but nephews of
Sir Trevor Whitlatch! Doors will fly open at their
approach."

Her eyes twinkled. "You haven’t
answered my question," she observed. "It must be matrimony you have
in mind. Do I know her?"

"If you do, I rely upon you to
introduce me."

"Oh." Augusta was disappointed. "You
haven’t met someone, then."

"No. But that’s a situation I trust can
be remedied—with your help, dear sister."

Augusta grew thoughtful. "This becomes
serious! If you wish me to find you a suitable bride—"

"Not suitable," interrupted Trevor. "I
have no desire to make a suitable match. I wish to make a
splendid
match. Above my station, in fact! I need you to
locate an aristocrat who is willing to make a shocking
mésalliance."

His sister waxed indignant. "If that
isn’t just like you!" she exclaimed. "Asking me to hit the mark,
then setting the mark too high! Really, Trevor, this is the outside
of enough! I don’t share your ambitions, and I haven’t your
wealth—"

"Oh, I will bankroll the project! Never
fear."

"But I haven’t the
time!"
she
wailed.

"I can help you there, too," suggested
Trevor.

Augusta, cradling her sleeping child,
gazed at him in astonishment. Her usually formidable brother
suddenly looked self-conscious. He rose and crossed to the window,
his color a trifled heightened.

"What you need, Gussie, is someone to
help in the nursery," he said, facing her with an enthused
expression she instantly recognized as false. "I fancy I know just
the person."

"You do!"

"Yes, I think I do. A young
schoolteacher who recently lost her situation. Through no fault of
her own, mind you!" he added hastily.

She regarded him fixedly, and he
cleared his throat.

"I am speaking of a girl—a woman—who is
well-educated, virtuous, intelligent—a charming young lady, I
assure you! You will like her."

Augusta watched him carefully. "Will
I?" she said cordially. She was well aware that the women most
likely to enter her brother’s orbit were not persons she would be
inclined to take into her home. "Where did you find this
paragon?"

There was a perceptible pause before he
answered. "I only came across her yesterday," he said, rather
lamely. "She was brought to my notice through a set of—of rather
extraordinary circumstances."

"Indeed! What sort of circumstances?"
Her eyes narrowed. "And did these ‘extraordinary circumstances’
have anything to do with her losing her previous
situation?"

"No! Certainly not!" he said
vehemently. Then he hunched one shoulder pettishly. "Or rather—yes,
I suppose. In a way! I believe the school dismissed her because her
birth is not respectable, and because her appearance is alluring.
But neither of those circumstances is any reflection upon her
character! Or her qualifications, for that matter. It’s just
that—"

Trevor distractedly ran a hand through
his hair and, looking much harassed, crossed the room back toward
her. "Hang it all, Gussie, I can’t explain it to you! I know what
you are thinking—I thought the same, when I first met her. But I
was wrong!"

Augusta was slowly turning pink with
indignation. "Trevor, have you lost your mind? I do not want a
nursemaid whose birth is not respectable, and whose appearance is
alluring!"

"She cannot help her birth! And I don’t
mean to imply that she is seductive; it’s just that she is so
damnably beautiful—"

He broke off, apparently realizing that
this train of argument was failing to advance his cause, and paced
the room agitatedly. "Well, I can’t keep her! She’s a respectable
female. If you won’t give her a situation, I don’t know what’s to
be done with her."

Augusta closed her eyes for a pregnant
moment. "Trevor," she said faintly, "Are you telling me this hussy
is currently living under your protection?"

"Yes, but she’s not a hussy! It’s all a
mistake, I tell you! She seems to like children; tells me she wants
to seek a situation as a nursemaid or a governess. Well, how the
devil am I going to find her a situation? Help me, Gussie! I’ll pay
her salary—"

"Pay her salary!" gasped Augusta. "Oh,
thank you, Trevor—you have relieved my mind considerably! I need
not
pay
this creature—I have only to entrust my children to
her care!"

Trevor dropped into a chair with a
groan. "I will tell you the whole story," he promised. "You will
see for yourself that this girl is perfectly innocent. You may
entrust your children to her with a clear conscience."

Augusta waited expectantly, if a trifle
skeptically. Trevor placed his fingertips together, in the manner
of a solicitor explaining a difficult legal matter, and poured into
her incredulous ears a tale so fantastic that she thought it worthy
only of the Minerva Press. By the end of it, she was tapping her
foot with impatience.

"I see that you believe her, but I
cannot say the same! Has she any references?"

"References?" He looked blankly at
her.

Augusta’s eyes snapped dangerously.
"Yes,
references!
If she hasn’t any, her last employer
turned her off without a character! Really, Trevor! I always
thought you a clever man, but it appears to me that this minx has
completely pulled the wool over your eyes. How can you be so
green?"

Her brother’s aspect became thunderous.
"You haven’t met her, Gussie. I have. You may take my word on it
that the girl is honest."

Augusta sniffed. "If she is, I
sincerely pity her."

He leaned forward hopefully. "Then
you’ll take her on?"

"No, I will not," she said firmly. "Nor
will anyone else! And
that
is why I sincerely pity
her!"

Neither coaxing nor bullying succeeded
in changing Mrs. Applegate’s mind; Augusta shared her brother’s
indifference to the opinions of others. She was also a tigress when
it came to protecting her loved ones. She refused to offer a post
of any kind, let alone a position of influence over her darling
children, to a baseborn beauty whose only recommendation came from
her rake of a brother!

Trevor eventually slammed out of his
sister’s house in high dudgeon, flung himself savagely into his
curricle, and drove north at a rattling pace. Gussie’s inflexible
prejudice, coming on top of Bates’ dire warnings, was infuriating.
Their attitudes, he realized, were exactly what Clarissa had been
talking about last night. She had faced such bigotry all her life.
Seeing it for himself—and in Bates and Gussie, of all people!—was
eye-opening. He felt a keen desire to show them how wrongheaded
they were, but could not immediately think of a way to do so.
Perhaps someday he would force Clarissa’s company on them, by God!
An hour spent in her sweet, modest presence would do more to
dissolve their preconceived ideas than any argument he could
make.

On the other hand, he was more certain
than ever that persuading Clarissa to join the
demimondaine
was the best way to secure her comfort and security. It was the
only profession where her birth would be no hindrance. Quite the
contrary! La Gianetta’s daughter would have a distinct advantage
over other aspirants to the top ranks of the Fashionable
Impures.

A cold mist was creeping up from the
river, and soon Mr. Whitlatch’s driving coat was covered with tiny
droplets. He turned up his collar and wiped the moisture from his
face, swearing under his breath. What a damnable climate! He
thought longingly of a pretty Spanish property he had recently
declined to purchase. An opportunity wasted, b’gad. He could have
spent the winter there, eating oranges, and returned to England
only for the Season.