Royal Revels (7 page)

“I think you should reconsider,” Belami said calmly. Deirdre was a little surprised at his lack of sympathy for the woman. “Eleven hundred pounds will get you to Ireland with some shred of privacy and decency. You’ll meet some gentleman—a beautiful woman like you.’’

Her lip curled in distaste. ‘‘I’ve given my trust to a gentleman for the last time. I want my money. He promised to take care of me. If he refuses to keep his promise, then I must take care of myself. You give that message to the prince,” she said with a long look at Belami.

Then she arose with an imperious toss of her head. ‘‘Nice to have met you, Miss Gower. I shan’t ask you to return. A lady’s reputation is too precious to trifle with, as I have learned to my sorrow, but I look forward to seeing Lord Belami again. On business,” she added, playfully lifting her brow behind Deirdre’s back.

Belami gazed at her for a long moment, trying to interpret that glance. There was something of the coquette in it. There was also a challenge. His sporting blood warmed to it, but when he replied, his voice was cool.

“It will take a day or two to work out a counteroffer,” was all he said. Had Deirdre not been present, he might have said more, but she was waiting for him, and they left.

Réal had been walking the horses. He arrived as they came into the street. “I’ve walked our bloods around the block,” he told Belami.

“Fine, we’ll be going straight home,” his master told him, helping Deirdre into the carriage before him.

“They’re not getting enough exercise,” Réal cautioned severely.

“That’s your job. See that they do get their exercise,” Belami told him, and closed the door.

“What did you make of that?” he asked Deirdre, when they were settled in with the blanket around them.

“Oh, Dick, I feel such a fool, and so cynical! You were right about her. She’s just a pathetic girl in trouble. I went there prepared to despise Lady Gilham thoroughly and ended up feeling sorry for her,” she said. She placed her ungloved hand on top of the blanket, silently inviting Dick to hold it.

He ignored it. “You don’t mean you were taken in by that Cheltenham tragedy!” he exclaimed, and laughed.

“Do you think her story is untrue?” she asked, astonished at his behavior.

“Five percent of it may be true, but the whole is highly embroidered. She obviously did have something to do with Prinney, or she wouldn’t have those letters, and he wouldn’t be willing to fork over a thousand pounds. He’s well past the red-hot sort of affair she’s painting. It’s suspected the extent of his dalliance with Hertford is laying his head on her bosom, and from the tone of those letters, it sounded the same lukewarm sort of thing with Gilham—if that’s even her name. You don’t import your chef and footmen and dally for hours over dinner either. I think he just wanted a pretty woman to sympathize with him.”

“She is remarkably pretty,” Deirdre admitted.

“Didn’t I say she reminded me of you in appearance?” he asked with one of his smiles that always sent her heart capering. “But only in appearance. As for the rest of it—the overprotected and naive little wife, the daughter in London—I take leave to doubt every word of it.”

“But you said yesterday…”

His finger went to her lips and tapped them into silence.

“I thought over what you and your aunt said and viewed her in a clearer light today.”

“She sounded very honorable, outside of having had that affair with Prinney, I mean. She won’t turn Mrs. Morton off, and you know what a trial an ill-natured chaperone can be. There I feel akin to her. She dealt very properly with Sir John’s sister, too. Imagine Prinney telling Mrs. Lehman he had an affair with Lady Gilham. I knew he was ramshackle, but I never thought he would be so mean,” she said in vexation.

“He’s not mean, and he’s not a tool either. That’s exactly what confirmed my feeling we were being led down the primrose path. Lady Gilham has no notion of how gentlemen of the higher social class conduct their affairs. A gentleman would never boast of such a conquest. They save their boasting for acknowledged courtesans, not vulnerable widows of unsullied reputation. Such an admission would be more damaging to himself than to her,” he pointed cut.

“Maybe he was drunk,” Deirdre suggested.

“Very likely he was, but even so, he’d never blurt out such a thing, and certainly not at a public party. Prinney knows he’s unpopular and walks on eggs when he’s out in society.”

“What are you going to do about it?” she asked.

‘‘I’ll pack Réal off to London to sniff around. He’ll enjoy a nice brisk voyage in the cold and snow. Upper Grosvenor Square she mentioned as Mrs. Lehman’s residence. He’ll speak to Mrs. Lehman and see if there is any five-year-old girl there as well.”

“I had no idea you were so cynical, Dick,” Deirdre said, unconvinced.

“A newborn babe would smell a lie there. It has all the earmarks of fiction. The facade of respectability, her being a widow with a chaperone but one who conveniently disappears when required. Haste is another feature; you notice she kept insisting on speed. She’s afraid something will blow up in her face, someone will recognize her, or some such thing. Then the claim of naïveté—that’s another pretty good sign. But she was experienced enough to get something in writing and to hold on to it. And, to cap it all, she comes from Cornwall, the farthest corner of the kingdom, so that checking her story is impossible in the short time she’s allowed us. What does confuse me is all that stuff Prinney gave her. Why the devil did he fill up his carriage with china and silver?” he asked, frowning at his fist.

“It might have been more private to visit her house than to be seen in public. I wonder what little goodies she has hidden away in the boudoir,” Deirdre said, becoming convinced by Belami’s arguments. She was relieved that the woman’s beauty hadn’t blinded him to her character. If he were falling in love with Lady Gilham, surely he’d be at least a little blind. “I expect if I hadn’t been along you’d have seen the boudoir by now,” she added, with a cunning smile at him from under her lashes.

“That’s a distinct possibility. I’d have a glass of wine in me, too.”

“And is that why you were so reluctant for my company, so you could go to her boudoir?” Deirdre asked archly.

“There will be more opportunities. You notice you were politely invited to refrain from returning, whereas I was asked.”

“It was all very theatrical, as I consider it. Her pose there in the shaft of sunlight was very melodramatic, too. I wonder how she got a tear to form in only one eye.”

“Maybe she’s only half a witch,” Belami joked. “Witches can’t cry, according to legend.”

“I expect you’ll have to be in touch with McMahon,” she mentioned, her fears all assuaged now that she knew Belami had not fallen under Lady Gilham’s spell.

“I’ll drop him a note. Investigating Mr. Smythe is my real chore. Lady Gilham was only a pretext to let me come down and snoop around. But I will check Gilham out. The real estate offices might be a good start. I’ll find out how long she’s been here and possibly where she comes from. I doubt it was Cornwall.”

“Poor Lady Gilham doesn’t know she has an expert on her trail,” Deirdre said, not without sympathy. Whatever her true story might be, she was not in a pleasant situation.

“My duties will keep me pretty busy, darling. I hope you don’t mind that I asked Pronto to take you and your aunt to the library this afternoon. I want to get busy and solve these cases, so we can arrange our wedding.”

“In that case, how can I object?” she asked, perfectly satisfied. “Besides, I always enjoy Pronto’s company. Did you know he’s half in love with me?” she asked with a pert smile from the corner of her eyes.

“Only half! I thought he had better taste. I made sure he was totally infatuated,” he joked, and finally took up her fingers in his, to make a little love during the remainder of the trip home. Peace was restored between them, for the present moment at least.

Chapter Five

It was a vast relief to Deirdre, and an even vaster one to Pronto Pilgrim, when the duchess decided the weather was too inclement for her to walk from the front door to the carriage, and from the carriage to the lending library.

“Bring me home the latest novel by Madame d’Arbley, and if they haven’t got that, I’ll take anything by Mrs. Radcliffe,” she said. “You know what I like, Deirdre,” she added, waving them from the drawing room. What she really liked was a Gothic tale, the scarier the better.

As Donaldson’s was just around the corner, they had stopped and chosen their books within a few minutes. Pronto was unable to find anything by Ben Franklin for Belami, but decided the very thing to impress Miss Gower was Plutarch’s
Lives of the Noble Romans
, which he took out for himself. He set it ostentatiously on the seat beside him, drawing her attention to it by tapping it with his knuckles.

“What’s that you’ve borrowed, Pronto?” she asked.

“It’s all about the Romans,” he said, feeling this was a safe guess.

“Oh, dear, how very dull,” was her disappointing comment. “I had no idea you read such heavy books.”

He assumed she was weighing his brain, as Belami mentioned he used books for. “It’d weigh four or five pounds,” he decided, hefting it, before letting it plop to the seat, its job done in impressing her.

She nibbled a smile and said, “I don’t have to return home immediately. Since we’re so close to the Royal Pavilion, shall we drive by and have a look at it?”

He couldn’t believe his simple plan was so effective. Just one glance at Plutarch and here was she, throwing herself at him. Pronto lowered his window and hollered to his groom to “go on up Pavilion Parade past the Chinese place.” They both gazed out at the conglomeration of domes and minarets, pinnacles, the arcade of arches and columns—all bathed in a golden winter sun. The garden looked derelict in its dusting of snow.

“Now that’s what I call a house,” Pronto said, smiling in pleasure.

“It’s certainly a building at least,” she agreed, trying to think of a word to describe such a macedoine of styles, all rolled into one incongruous whole. “It looks as if it might have been drawn by Fuseli.”

“I’ve heard the name Nash mentioned and a somebody Holland,” he said, eager to set her straight.

“Yes, they’re the architects. Are you in a hurry to get away, Pronto?”

“Not at all. What else can I show you? There’s a dandy little cemetery not too far away, just by St. Nicholas’s Church.”

“That’s a little too lugubrious for me.

“Hate ‘em myself,” he said with relief. ‘‘Seems to me we have a deal in common. Just say the word and I’ll steer John Groom.”

“It was a real estate office I had in mind,” she answered.

“Eh? Don’t tell me you’re planning to put Dick’s house up for sale? He won’t like it a bit, my girl. Nothing likelier to put him off than you cutting up such rigs without asking him,” he said sternly.

“Don’t be so ridiculous. Of course I’m not selling his house. I want to inquire about another house, a much cheaper one. How would you like to marry me, Pronto?” she asked as calmly as though asking the time of day.

“Well, upon my word! I haven’t even read the book, Miss Gower. Truth to tell, it ain’t likely I ever will. I only took it out to impress you. Have you and Dick had another tiff?” he asked suspiciously.

“Another tiff? What do you mean?” she asked, startled.

“He told me all about it last night. About you hopping around to Charney’s tune and not paying any attention to him. I could see trouble brewing, but I never thought it would get here so soon.”

“What did he say exactly?’’ she asked swiftly.

“Why, nothing. Nothing at all. I’m sure you could reel him back in all right and tight with a little clever angling,” he advised her.

“I wouldn’t call it a tiff exactly,’’ she said pensively, concluding Belami had voiced his dislike of her aunt.

“Fight might be closer to it. Don’t want to get him riled up all the same. Wouldn’t be quite the thing for me to marry you today. Thank you all the same. I’ll bear it in mind for the future.”

“All I meant,” she told him, slowly shaking her head, “was that I want an excuse to go to a real estate office, and if we pretend to be a married couple, we could let on that we’re looking for a house. Somewhere around the corner of North Street and the Dyke Road.”

“North Street! No, no, it’s the Marine Parade or Promenade Grove we want. North Street is a highway, bustling with traffic from dawn to dark. Steep as may be, too, and loaded with coaching offices.”

‘‘I’m trying to help Dick,” she finally said in plain English. ‘‘He wants to learn when Lady Gilham hired her house. And if we should learn she means to leave it soon as well, that would be interesting. So we’ll say we want a house in that exact neighborhood,” she outlined patiently.

“I’ll let you do the talking,” he decided wisely. It occurred to him, as they drove along looking for real estate signs, that they might just as easily pose as brother and sister. Funny that hadn’t occurred to her. No, what popped into her mind was that she was his wife. Deirdre was hard put to understand the fatuous smile Pronto wore.

They stopped at two offices without any luck. A glance at their toilettes and the agent was trying to peddle a house on Marine Parade. It was at the third office, a seedy one on North Street itself, that they finally struck some luck.

“I don’t have anything right on North Street at the moment, but I just might... When do you need the place?’’ the agent asked, nibbling the end of his pen.

“As soon as possible.” Deirdre answered eagerly. “Preferably by February, but we could wait till March.”

“I just might have a place opening up in February. I have one customer, a Lady Gilham, who’s hired the McLean place by the month. She said when she took it she might have to leave on short notice.”

“What’s that you say, Lady Gilham?’’ Pronto asked, starting up from his reverie.

“Why, yes, do you know her?”

“No, no. We never heard of her,” Pronto said, blushing pink. “How much does her place cost to hire?’’ he asked, feeling a husband ought to ask or he’d be taken for henpecked.