Ridiculous (45 page)

The butler went to the door and paused, one hand on the doorknob before returning to stand before Millicent’s chair.

“Yes, Merit?”

“I must say, sir, that I have enjoyed serving your household this season.”

“Thank you, Merit.”

“And, if you would keep me in mind when you return next year, I would appreciate the opportunity to serve again.”

Millicent regarded him with a smile. “Let me see. You have survived the worst of Felicity’s outbursts and tolerated our country manners and demands with skill and calm. The only problem I see, Merit, preventing your continuous employment with my family, is that I have no plans to keep a London house, and our residences in Bath and elsewhere require a housekeeper rather than a butler.”

“In what way is not a butler superior to a housekeeper? I can manage both roles.”

“We do not entertain much.”

“Is that your will, or the lady’s?”

Millicent closed her eyes. Today’s frights and starts left her exhausted to her bones, but that did not mean that she would not be rising soon to dress and prepare to take her family out to yet another night of entertainments. Last winter in Bath, Felicity had taken her daughters to every event for which she could wrangle an invitation. This year Mildred was marrying into the household of a duke. Like as not, Felicity would take advantage of that connection, and Mr. North’s money, to make her mark in country society.

“I will speak to Felicity, Merit. Would you be willing to travel? Supervise a household in Bath for the winter, summer rentals at Bristol? Wherever she should be?”

“I would be honored,” said Merit with a bow and departed to supervise the defense of Maricourt Square.

That, it appeared, settled that. Having Merit to bully around would keep Felicity entertained when Millicent was away.

Life was settling into patterns that would continue into the foreseeable future. Millicent would travel with Shoffer, endless summer weeks. The Boarder women were safe, their dowries and annuities arranged.

Millicent smiled into the fireplace. The only shadow on her life was that dreadful rumor. With luck and a little time, the
ton
would find another distraction.

Her smile faded. As long as Attelweir continued to pursue little Beth the rumor would continue. Attelweir would see to that.

Setting her tea cup aside, she rose and began pacing the room. There must be a way to discourage that lecher. She would have to discuss the matter with Shoffer.

* * *

The bridal plans of the family of Mr. North were much discussed by their temporary staff and, in the manner of all things gossiped, the story traveled outside the walls of Number Six Maricourt Place, across garden fences, down the street, across town, and into the eager ears of the
ton
matrons. And, in the manner of gossip, the story twisted and evolved until they no longer spoke of the marriage of Mildred Boarder and Edgar Simpson, secretary to the Duke of Trolenfield, but of the Duke of Trolenfield and his soon to be closer bond with the family of Mr. North.

* * *

The betrothal party of Boarder and Simpson began well. As a kindness to his long-time secretary, Shoffer collected Lord Edgeware in his own carriage to transport him to Vauxhall. Simpson and Mildred accompanied them so as to have the opportunity to converse with Simpson’s great uncle; by the time they had reached Vauxhall, Mildred had dazzled the Lord with her willingness to sit silently and listen to the older man talk.

Lord Edgeware was quite convinced he had never met such an intelligent woman. Once the whole party reached the rented dining box, Felicity and Beth wrestled for control of the gathering. Beth tried to seat the guests by friendship instead of rank while Felicity wanted to place herself between Shoffer and Lord Edgeware and have all the others, in descending order of rank, radiate down from her position. Millicent retreated to the unpopular corner which placed her back to the dance floor, but gave her the freedom to stare up the length of the table to Shoffer, a view she much preferred. The party was congenial; the conversation was not brilliant, but flowed smoothly. Millicent, under orders not to offend their guest, spoke only when directly addressed and made no jokes. She did not realize there was a problem until she saw an expression of total shock cross Shoffer’s face; he came to his feet, staring at the door of their dining box.

“Grandmother,” he gasped. “Could that be you?”

Millicent swung around in her chair, nearly tipping it over in her haste.

There, her face and body almost concealed by a dark domino, was the Dowager Duchess of Trolenfield. At her shoulder, stood Attelweir, leering at the gathering.

“The most dreadful news came to me only an hour since,” said Lady Philomena, pushing the door open and climbing into the box. “You are here for an engagement party?”

“Certainly,” said Shoffer, “although, I cannot think of a reason for you to concern yourself.”

“It is true, then,” gasped Lady Philomena. “You are so lost to decency, to honor and rank, as to bind yourself to this … rabble.”

Millicent glanced back toward Shoffer, realizing only then that Mildred was seated at his right hand.

“I did not believe the gossip when I heard it,” continued Lady Philomena “I never thought you would choose someone with no lineage to recommend her. Come away at once. Repudiate this unworthy alliance.”

“Ma’am, I have no objections to my secretary marrying a young woman of good family.”

The dowager paused, confused.

“Your Grace,” continued Shoffer, “we are gathered today to celebrate the betrothal of Mr. Simpson to Miss Mildred Boarder.”

The dowager deflated, pressing a hand to her throat.

“Oh, thank the Lord. Attelweir came to me with the tale that was spreading about London that you were about to marry much below your rank.” The dowager squeezed her way past the diners and seized her grandson’s arm. “I feared you lost to all reason. Come away now before you are seen and this family attempts to take advantage of the rumors to force your hand.”

Shoffer scowled at Attelweir and shook himself free of his grandmother’s hand.

“Your opinion would have no weight, even if it were true. Since you are not here to celebrate with us, please feel free to depart.”

“I must insist you accompany me, and, Elizabeth, come away at once.”

“I am staying here with my friends.”

Millicent was pleased to note that Beth’s voice did not shake.

“We are comfortably settled here,” continued Beth, “and have no plans to depart until our entertainment is done.”

Lady Philomena clenched her hand, coming up as if to slap, but Shoffer stepped between the dowager and Beth and the moment passed.

“I can see North’s influence over you has grown,” moaned Lady Philomena. “I have heard what is said of him. How can it be that you continue to receive him? Do you not know how you are regarded? The effect upon Elizabeth’s standing? How can it be that a man of wit and rank can be so taken in? If you continue this association, I can foresee that no family of sensibility will have either of you.”

“Good,” was Beth’s only reply.

“You have no voice in whom and when I wed, Your Grace,” said Shoffer.

“It is your responsibility to marry. I have told you over and over. If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times, you must marry. And you should marry soon to bury these dreadful rumors.”

“Well, there is your problem,” said Millicent from her place at the poorly lit end of the table. “You have not said it enough. One hundred times! Surely you are aware that you must repeat that particular command exactly one thousand times, and when you have done so, our friend Shoffer will leap up and cry ‘of course, I must wed,’ and marry the first woman he sees thereafter.”

The guests laughed.

The dowager glared down the table. “Your mockery is not appreciated. It is required that Shoffer should make an advantageous, appropriate match that supports the dignity of his station and remove from our family name the stain you have brought upon it.”

“How very dull you make it sound.” Millicent lifted her still full wine glass and studied its depths.

“Dull or lively makes no difference. I was speaking of marriage, not a Cheltenham farce. Shoffer has delayed taking up this responsibility for spite. If he bore any respect for his rank, he would have wed at my direction years ago.”

“And yet, I did not.” Shoffer rose and stared the elderly woman down. “But to comfort you, dear grandmother, I shall tell you. I have met the woman I would marry given the chance. But, let me be clear, if I cannot marry her, I shall not marry at all.”

The dowager went pale as ash at his look and tone. Shoffer moved closer to tower over the tiny woman.

“I love – a word with which you are not familiar, dear grandmother – nevertheless, it is true. I love Helene Winthrop and if she would consent to be my wife, I would be the happiest of men.”

Millicent dropped her glass, which shattered on her plate, and all heads turned toward her.

“Who, pray,” shrieked the dowager, bringing all faces back to her end of the table, “is Helene Winthrop?”

Millicent’s mouth worked, but she could not think of a single word to say.

Into this silence Shoffer said with deadly calm. “Helene Winthrop currently does me the honor of being my mistress. Should circumstances ever change, I hope to have the greater honor of having her as my wife.”

Up and down the table came cries of shock and disbelief.

Millicent’s heart turned over in her breast and she pressed her hand against that ache. He loved her. Loved her. He wanted to marry her. Despite everything, he loved her. She could not believe it. Still, no matter what he wished or said, marriage was not possible between them. Her thoughts held her paralyzed as the rest of the table roared like a swarm of angry bees.

“I say, Shoffer,” Lord Edgeware chided him. “It is not done to name your bit of fluff like that, especially in mixed company.”

“I am not ashamed of her and neither is she of me.”

“Who is this woman?” demanded the dowager. “Mr. North, I am certain this is yet another disaster that you have visited upon my family. It is bad enough that you encroach upon us and bring dishonor upon our name for the first time in its history…”

“Spare us,” cried Shoffer. “What of the third duke who slaughtered all his captives on the way home from the battlefield rather than be bothered to feed them long enough to ransom them? Or the one who tried to drink the whole family into penury? Or the one who assisted in the dissolution of the Catholic Church by raping as many nuns as could be found? My association with Mr. North – entirely innocent as it is – is barely a smudge in the deep pile of filth that so many of our allegedly noble families have as their heritage.”

The dowager ignored him and went so far as to seize Millicent by her arm. “Who is this Helene Winthrop to you?”

“I…” Millicent stammered for a moment, then spoke weakly, “I am surprised that Shoffer would say her name before this company.”

“I will apologize to the lady later,” murmured Shoffer. “For your information, Lady Philomena, Helene is the widowed cousin of Mr. North.”

“I thought as much,” cried the duchess. “Another of your foul family. You encroach too far. Leave immediately, Mr. North, and take your disgusting family with you. Elizabeth, you are coming with me. I am taking you to my house and you will spend the next week in your room praying that no scandal attaches to you from your association with this degenerate.”

“Your Grace,” interrupted Shoffer, glaring at the dowager. “You are becoming quite overset. I must insist you leave at once.”

Silence reigned as Shoffer took his grandmother by the arm and half dragged her down the few steps and onto the path beside the dining boxes. The cluster of revelers who were loitering there, hanging on every scandalous word parted like the Red Sea as Shoffer half carried his grandmother away.

“Well,” said Attelweir. “That was entertaining.”

“No, it was not,” said Lady Beth. “Mr. North, I am sorry you were spoken to in that manner. Sometime soon, I should like to be introduced to your other cousin.”

“That is unlikely,” said Millicent, so desperate for an excuse she settled for the absolute truth. “In the current circumstances, she is not considered fit company for you.”

“I do not care. I would dearly love to meet the woman who has captured Timothy’s heart.”

“Grant the poor girl’s wish, North,” said Attelweir with a lecherous grin. “Given the other sins, going about meeting with a mistress is such a small scandal for Lady Elizabeth to indulge in. I would not mind meeting the fair Helene myself.”

“Attelweir, your opinion has not been sought! You were not invited to this gathering and should depart.” Beth drew herself to her feet. “Since you arrived in Grandmother’s carriage you should hurry, else you will have to find other transport home, and, if your pockets are as much to let as usual, lacking a shilling for a hackney, you will have to walk.”

Attelweir paled at this frank reference, before witnesses, to his lack of blunt. He did not bother to bow to any of the watchers, but turned on his heel and vanished into the crowd.

Beth drew a deep breath, arranged her features into a pleasant smile, and beamed around the table.

“My dear friends, I hope you will not permit that … display on the part of my relatives to ruin your appetites or spoil your enjoyment of the evening. Please, do continue to eat. I am confident the fireworks will begin soon.”

Millicent obediently picked up her knife and fork, but could not eat since her plate was covered in broken glass and spilled wine. Around the table conversation resumed. Everyone was avoiding, at least in audible tones, discussing the very interesting announcement the duke had made. Millicent rarely heard the weather discussed with so much dedication.

Her own thoughts kept returning to Shoffer’s statement.

He loved his mistress.

Loved Helene.

Loved her.

She closed her eyes.

Shoffer loved her possibly as much as she loved him.

She could die in this moment and be content.