The Tenacious Miss Tamerlane (7 page)

The dowager listened with interest and then
observed that perhaps multiple names were not the answer. After
all, look at poor Emmaline-Lucille Pratt. All a double name did for
her was to give her one more word to stumble over. “She stammers,
you know,” the Duchess told them. “Thank heavens I wasn’t cursed
with palming that one off. Getting Emmaline-Lucille hitched-up
would be the coup of the Season.”

The Duke was not at all interested in
Emmaline-Lucille Pratt. To be honest, he wasn’t very much more
interested in Tansy Tamerlane.

All he wanted to do this morning was to
establish Tansy as Emily’s new keeper, bid a fond but not unpleased
farewell to the dowager, and get on about more serious
business.

“First things first, I think, cousin. If you
would give me the direction of this Squire you spoke of I will
write to him concerning your inability to assume your post. He will
undoubtedly be concerned for your welfare.”

Tansy gave a short laugh. “I doubt he’ll be
dragging the local river for my body in his anxiety, your grace.
But I shall write him myself and save you the trouble.”

‘“It is better to learn late than never.’
Publilius Syrus,” Aunt Lucinda pointed out.

“Then there is hope for you yet, Lucinda,”
the Duchess drawled, causing Lucinda’s brow to pucker as she tried
and failed to understand the dowager’s subtlety.

“Enough,” the Duke interrupted. “After
yesterday’s near disaster, I have found it prudent to entrust my
sister’s care to our new cousin in an effort to keep Emily from
single-handedly destroying the Benedict name in the coming months
of the Season.”

His aunt, rather miffed at her displacement,
quoted, “‘When the steede is stolne, shut the stable durre.’
Heywood.”

“Nonsense!” Tansy scoffed as Emily sputtered
angrily, but luckily not completely comprehending the insult, “The
little filly here was not stolen, or even lost. She was merely
temporarily misplaced. Besides, no harm’s been done, and we can
even hope Emily has learned something from the episode.” This last
was said with a stern look in the truant’s direction.

“‘Pardon one offense and you encourage the
commission of many.’ P. Syrus,” the suddenly strict ex-companion
prophesied, causing Ashley to wonder where he had heard those words
before.

All this was just too much for Lady Emily’s
tender sensibilities, and she bolted out of her chair in protest.
“I think you are all perfectly horrid! Why don’t you just lock me
upstairs in my room and leave me to wither and die!” she shrieked,
and ran sobbing from the room, her concerned aunt hard on her
heels.

The remaining occupants were not so easily
impressed. While Tansy smiled and shook her head and Avanoll
uttered an exasperated oath, the dowager summed it all up nicely by
wiping her hands on each other and saying, “Well, that routed them
both quite nicely, don’t you think? Now we can get down to cases
and plan out the chit’s season.”

“I beg your pardon, Grandmama?” Avanoll
queried. “It was my impression your townhouse was in Holland covers
and you were leaving shortly for Avanoll Hall. Surely you don’t
wish to be detained by our problems with Emily, seeing as how she
wears on you so.”

“Don’t throw my words back in my teeth,
Ashley, if you don’t mind. That was before I met this girl here.
Suddenly I feel quite rejuvenated, and I have decided to stay in
Town. There is no need to fill more servant bellies at town prices
if you are in residence here, so I shall stay here rather than my
town house. Have my chamber prepared, Ashley,” she instructed
imperiously, then added, “And take that vacant look off your face.
If you just apply yourself a bit I’m sure you realize which chamber
I require.”

“I do, madam,” his grace agreed, “but since
that is now my chamber I believe the red suite will have to do,
even if it is not exactly to your taste.”

“Hummph! Hardly, grandson, hardly. I cannot
imagine what imp of perverseness induced your mother to rig out an
entire room in red. Such a color is only fit for whores and wild
Russians.”

“Madam!” the Duke protested, only to find he
was being ignored. The dowager had asked Tansy’s assistance in
rising from the sofa and was even now leaving the room on her arm,
chattering nineteen to the dozen about morning gowns and rout
parties and the “jolly times” they would all be having shortly.

Avanoll groaned and sank into a nearby chair.
Not only had he not rid himself of the silly prattlings of his
aunt, but he had been burdened even further by the addition of both
an irascible dowager and an impossibly outre cousin.

Why, oh why hadn’t he had the good sense to
be born an orphan?

A
s Tansy wandered
around her pleasantly-decorated bed chamber, enjoying her first bit
of solitude in nearly a fortnight, her mind traveled back over just
a few of the many exciting happenings since her arrival at Avanoll
House. She traced a vague pattern in the light layer of dust on her
desk as she moved to gaze out over the Square.

Naturally, her first thoughts were of her
newly discovered relatives—the silly, lovable Emily, the even
sillier and just as lovable Aunt Lucinda (Tansy could not bring
herself to call the old lady Ce-Ce), the irascible and
unpredictable Dowager, and, of course, the seldom seen head of the
family, the Duke himself. Tansy was well pleased with them,
eccentricities, quirks, and all, and felt at home to a peg with
these characters who so resembled her dear, departed Papa.

She had to admit, though, that she was glad
the dowager had at last called a halt to the endless stream of
bodies that had been cluttering up the house these past two weeks.
Dressmakers, milliners, silk merchants, linen drapers, corsetiers,
even an Italian-spouting shoemaker, had all appeared within moments
of the dowager’s summons, to poke, measure, pin, and fit until
Tansy thought she would go mad.

The only respites from hours of standing
about like a wax doll while strange hands pushed and prodded at her
were a few excursions to shops on Bond Street, where her befuddled
mind tried to gather ribbons and laces that would match the
multitude of gowns that were threatening to outgrow her over-taxed
clothespress.

After two tedious hours spent being measured
for kid gloves. Tansy finally revolted. If she changed her clothes
from the skin out twice a day for a month she would still not
exhaust her supply of gowns. So she informed the dowager
matter-of-factly, and stoutly refused to accept so much as another
pair of lace-edged pantalettes.

Emily’s wardrobe had not been so much
augmented as adjusted. Under the dowager’s orders, yards of
discarded flounces, long streamers of ornately-worked lace, and
miles of satin ribbon collected in near waist-high mounds on the
sewing room floor. Aunt Lucinda was horrified, naturally, but not
too overset to keep herself from bundling up all this treasure and
cornering one hapless seamstress who soon found herself stitching
these same flounces, laces, and ribbons onto any bare stretch of
fabric to be found on the gowns Mrs. Benedict had graciously
allowed the dowager to order for her (and all added to the
dowager’s bill, needless to mention).

Even the old lady herself had condescended to
supplementing her wardrobe with several sedately-colored gowns, all
fashioned with matching turbans that she announced would make it
clear she least was not so silly as to be hanging out for a husband
at her age. This was said with a mocking glance toward Lucinda, who
blushed, flustered a bit, and then simply smiled shyly.

The Duke allowed this invasion of his
domicile in good grace, probably because he made it a point to be
absent from the premises whenever possible. What he thought of the
not inconsiderable stack of bills that found their way to his desk
he did not say, and only once did he raise his voice in
displeasure.

Shortly after the first of the gowns was
delivered, Tansy happened to come upon his grace on the stairs. He
looked at her, looked away, and then cast his eyes over her again,
his expression showing he was not displeased with what he saw. That
is, until his eyes clapped on the cap Tansy had tied about her
head.

“Take that demmed ugly cap and throw it in
the fire—and any others you might have stuffed away in your room!”
he bellowed. “I refuse to allow you to shout to the world that you
consider yourself on the shelf. Why do you think I allowed my
Grandmama to accumulate that mountain of debt if it were not so I
could at least harbor the hope some kind soul would find it in his
heart to have pity on me and take you off my hands? Did you really
think I would want you hanging around my neck for all eternity?
Chaperon m’sister, yes, but cast out a few lures for yourself while
you’re about it, woman,” he ended decisively, and was climbing up
and away from her before she could formulate any reply.

Tansy had entertained thoughts of defying the
Duke, but could not bring herself to disobey the man who had
literally paid for the clothes on her back. Besides, the
stiffly-starched things itched abominably, and made her feel like a
twenty-six-year-old baby rigged out for an airing in the park.

She gave the caps to Comfort, Emily’s
abigail, to dispose of as she pleased. From what little she knew of
the maid, she was willing to wager the chit had hawked them on the
corner for a pretty penny, for never before had Tansy encountered
such a wily creature as Comfort.

A rather sad smile passed across Tansy’s face
as she recalled her own manipulation at Comfort’s hands. The
dowager had insisted Tansy, who had fended for herself since she
was eight, must be provided with a personal abigail, and Comfort
was Jill-on-the-spot with a quick solution. Why, wasn’t it only
last week that her own darling cousin Pansy had mentioned she was
thinking of looking for another post, since her employer had been
taking a bit too much notice of his young servant (not to mention
his taking an actual pinch or two when the opportunity presented
itself).

It was the perfect solution! Pansy could be
installed within the space of a day, and Comfort could instruct her
if there were any lapses in her education as to the duties of a
personal abigail.

Tansy soon learned Pansy had need of
Comfort’s guidance, as that organizing young woman had neglected to
say that Pansy’s main duties in her last employment consisted of
scrubbing out kitchen pots and peeling vegetables for the cook.

The dowager was all for sending Pansy off and
looking elsewhere, but once again Tansy’s protective nature
surfaced. She insisted the undersized, constantly whimpering girl
was just what she had in mind. By now Pansy had settled down to her
own version of a routine: scorching fine lawn nightgowns and then
crying, dropping buckets full of soapy bathwater on the carpet and
crying, closing all the dozens of tiny buttons on Tansy’s gowns
with fumbling fingers before discovering she had missed one tiny
button halfway down and crying, etc., and so forth.

Another young woman would have been upset,
and rightly so, but Tansy just sighed, handed Pansy a handkerchief,
and sent her off to the kitchens where Pansy would sit peeling
potatoes for hours in a high degree of good humor.

Comfort was surprised when Miss Tansy’s wrath
did not come raining down upon her head on the matter of Pansy, but
she was outraged when the companion warned her against allying
herself with Miss Emily by abetting her in any more secret
assignations or in the delivering of any more illicit
billets-doux
from young men willing to reward her monetarily
for her cooperation.

Comfort was not so totty-headed as to think
her part in Miss Emily’s little escapades were untraceable, but she
did not enjoy the dressing down a mere paid companion (poor
relation or not) delivered one little bit. She did not believe for
one minute that Miss Emily would come to any harm in the hoax she
played with Mr. Harlow—surely everyone must know that—and besides,
if she and Leo were to ever have enough put by to get hitched,
there was no other way to make extra money than by letting all
those young swells reward her for her help. What harm was there in
a bunch of drippy lovey-dovey poems, anyway?

But Tansy’s musings that morning did not go
so far as to believe she had gained an enemy in Comfort.

That enemy was not alone in her feelings.
Farnley, the Duke’s valet, had made it plain he considered Tansy a
harbinger of bad luck, but his mad dashes to avoid crossing her
path and his ridiculous gestures meant to ward off the “evil eye”
merely amused her.

A slight rumbling in her stomach caused Tansy
to leave off her reminiscences and made her bold enough to descend
to the kitchens to see what bit of food she could possibly coax out
of Cook before luncheon. After all, hadn’t she earned a bit of
special treatment for allowing Cook such generous use of Pansy’s
finest talents?

Tansy had already met Cook on her original
tour of the house, but her good impression of the woman was not
matched by her opinion of the food served at the Duke’s table.
Quite often the beef was stringy, the fowl tough, and the
vegetables—though heavily disguised with flavorful sauces—did not
always taste quite fresh. Yet, since no one else had seen fit to
complain, and heaven knew she was no gourmet, Tansy kept her
thoughts to herself.

Once seated at the huge, well-scrubbed table
in the center of the kitchen and munching greedily on a raspberry
tart, however, Tansy’s eyes could not help but notice the seeming
scarcity of foodstuffs usually to be found in abundance in such an
affluent household.

“Hasn’t anyone been to the market today?” she
asked Pansy, who was concentrating on digging an eye out of a
potato while causing as little waste as possible.