Undesirable Liaison (11 page)

Indeed, if
truth were told, she could not bend her mind to other matters. The
hunt for the owner of the ruby had taken up her attention to the
exclusion of all else. Now it was over, the return to normality
seemed horridly commonplace. The sum total of her ambition had
been, less than a week ago, to secure a good position from where
she might continue to support Belinda. Today, nothing could have
exceeded her revulsion to the scheme.

It did not take
Florence long to set this newfound feeling to Lord Langriville’s
account. How dared he say she was unsuited to her chosen path? She
knew her own failings. It was unnecessary to point them out to her,
she thanked him. But if he supposed her incapable of assuming the
correct mien, he was mightily mistaken. What, did he think she
would rant and rave at the lady who secured her services? Besides,
she was not a female who commonly reacted in an argumentative
fashion. Only what else was to be expected when a person’s
integrity was called in question? And in a manner as rude as it was
provoking. Never in her life had she been subjected to a like
attack, and it was small wonder she had fought back.

The remembrance
crept into her mind of the slap she had dealt his lordship, and a
tinge of remorse threatened to ruin the feeling of righteousness.
Indeed, when she recalled how freely she had spoken to him—a
viscount no less—she could scarcely hold to her catalogue of
justification. If he had behaved in a more gentleman-like fashion,
she would not have done it. But her uncomfortable conscience came
back at her with the reflection that her behaviour had been far
from lady-like.

And Lord
Langriville had apologised for his part in the fiasco. That he had
subsequently managed to infuriate her all over again was neither
here nor there. It did not excuse her conduct. She had behaved very
badly indeed, and had it been Bel who had done so, Flo would have
inflicted a punishment of extraordinary severity upon the poor
child. She ought to offer Lord Langriville an apology—if he indeed
meant to communicate with her again.

Flo’s stride
faltered. Communicate? Did that imply a visit? No, probably not. If
he meant to imply a visit, he would have said the word. He might
write, she pondered, trying to overcome a stupid sort of hope
arising in her breast. As if she wanted him to write to her. He
would not, naturally. But ought she to write an apology to him? Or
would it be presumptuous? Considering the way he had been ready to
suppose her to have an ulterior motive, it was certain he would
suspect her again, should she be stupid enough to be the one to
make contact. No, it would not do. She must suffer her conscience,
and trust to time to remove its sting.

If her
ruminations did little to lift the clouds about her mind, they at
least occupied her attention sufficiently for her to feel no
particular disappointment when the clerk at the registry was able
to provide her with no hope of a suitable position in the immediate
future. Flo thanked him, and took care to purchase a daily journal
on her way back to Poland Street, determining that it must contain
at least one possible post for which she might apply.

Large spots of
cold rain had begun to fall by the time she reached her lodging,
and in her hurry to get within doors, she paid no particular heed
to a hackney carriage standing in the street until Mrs Halvergate,
upon opening the door, exhibited a peculiar degree of
excitement.

A large woman,
with a deep bosom, several chins and improbable red locks largely
covered over by an enormous mobcap, Mrs Halvergate was half out of
breath and sporting a look of pop-eyed amazement. She ushered
Florence inside, pouring news in a hushed and secretive manner as
she helped her to be rid of the damp cloak.

‘My dear, you
will scarcely believe—! Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I was
upstairs with the child. I had to stay, you know, for it wouldn’t
be seemly, would it? I felt I had to let him in. Hardly as if he
was to be taken for a
follower
, and I know you’d never have
such in your apartments. With your little sister in there, too.’
Here a fat gurgle escaped her. ‘Not that she’s truly little, for I
declare, she’s as high as me if not near as wide. But it’s all one,
for she’s—’

‘Mrs
Halvergate,’ interrupted Flo, as patiently as she could for the
half formed leap of hope riding in her bosom, ‘what in the world
are you talking about? Who is it? Who did you let in?’

‘Why, the
gentleman, my dear. Not that I knew who he was when I opened the
door, but one couldn’t take him for anything other than
respectable. But when I took him up and he gave his name, young
Belinda there leaps up and shouts as it’s the very same lord as you
went off to see and left her with me for.’

Flo’s heart was
beating so fast, she was afraid of falling into a swoon. But her
immediate reaction was a protest.

‘You let Lord
Langriville go upstairs when Belinda was on her own? Oh, Mrs
Halvergate, how could you?’

The landlady
looked first struck, and then apologetic. ‘The thing is, my dear, I
didn’t know you were out. But there’s no harm done, for as soon as
I saw she was on her own, I remained as I thought you’d wish me
to.’

‘Great heavens,
how long has he been here?’

‘These fifteen
minutes or more. I’d have suggested he go away and come back later,
but—’

Florence waited
for no more. ‘I must go up at once.’

Seizing her
cloak from the landlady’s hands, she set her foot on the stair,
lifted her skirts and ran up, slipping through the open door of the
little parlour too quickly for its occupants.

Bel was dancing
round the room in a state of high glee, while Lord Langriville was
perched upon the table, arms folded and long limbs stretched out in
comfort, an expression on his face of—Lord in heaven, of
indulgence
?

The moment he
saw Flo, his lordship straightened and got to his feet. Belinda
must have taken in the direction of his gaze, for she stopped in
mid-step and turned. Her face lit up. She rushed towards her sister
and seized her free hand.

‘Flossie, it is
all settled and you have nothing more to worry about.’

Hardly able to
think for the frenzied activity of her pulses, Florence shot a look
at Lord Langriville, who was beginning to frown. Her attention was
dragged back to Belinda as that young lady shook her fingers.

‘Pay heed to
me, Flo, do!’

‘Yes, but I
don’t understand,’ she began. ‘What in the world—?’

‘I am trying to
explain it to you,’ Bel broke in. ‘We are saved, Flo—and just
because you would not listen to me, for which I am eternally
grateful.’

‘Bel, what are
you talking about?’

Her sister’s
blue eyes blazed with excitement. ‘You will never guess, so I shall
tell you. Lord Langriville wants us to come and live with him.’

***

This was not
precisely how Jerome would have phrased it, and it was obvious,
from the stunned expression on Miss Florence Petrie’s face, that he
would do well to explain himself—and swiftly.

‘There is no
need to look like that,’ he said, goaded. ‘It is not quite as your
sister makes it sound.’

‘No, but it is
excessively good-natured of you, Lord Langriville,’ came from the
younger girl, who was, as he already had reason to know, a thought
too candid for her own good. ‘Particularly when Flo had been so
improvident as to quarrel with you.’

‘Bel, that will
do.’

He watched Miss
Petrie move into the room and lay aside her cloak, noting in an
absent fashion the sway of her hips under the shabby riding habit.
The blue eyes met his, and he sighed inwardly at the challenge in
them. Was he mad to have thought of this?

‘Good day, Lord
Langriville. We will, if you please, continue this discussion in
private.’

She turned from
him to her sister, whose mobile young face was already drooping
with disappointment. The resulting contretemps gave him time to
regroup. He was not precisely regretting the impulse that had
overtaken him, but he could wish he had given himself a day or two
to think it over. But last night, having left Charlotte Street to
go in search of Frizington, he had found his thoughts straying to
Florence Petrie.

Not the girl
herself, so much as her actions. His interview with Pinxton had
discharged a huge weight that had been with him for years. He had
not fully come to terms with just what had been lifted, it would
need time for it to sink in. But he had begun to suspect the debt
he owed the Petrie girl was far greater than he had foreseen.

In discussion
with his lawyer, however, whom he had located at his favoured
coffee house, the business of the day being long over, there had
been too much to settle on account of Letty’s death for remembrance
of the debt. Indeed, it proved impossible to cover the matter then
and there. His man of business—damnably efficient, as he always
was—had brought to his attention all too many factors to be
considered. And which had proved almost too distressing to be
borne. Was it politic to find and exhume his wife’s body and have
it removed for burial in the family churchyard? The notion had made
his stomach heave.

Moreover, there
was the physician to be found, a certificate of death to be
located—and all before embarking upon the legal complications
involved. Besides which, Pinxton had to be dealt with. She could
not be brought within any reasonable distance of Bedfont Place, but
provision must be made for the woman. That he would leave to
Frizington. Also the hideous necessity to go through Letty’s
belongings.

Why in heaven’s
name the man tried to insist Jerome should himself be involved was
a mystery. He had nipped that in the bud. What, handle the very
clothes she had worn, through which another man’s hands had touched
her? As if the damnable greatcoat dress had not sickened him
enough. Let Frizington do the necessary, and bring to his attention
any item he thought might reasonably be regarded as family
property. He could not refute the lawyer’s argument that, since the
ruby had been found, there was every chance there might be other
articles of value—letters, documents, who knew?

Unable to
tolerate the discussion further, Jerome had arranged to meet his
man of business this afternoon, and had left him without so much as
mentioning his intention to recompense Florence Petrie.

Quite when or
why the notion had come to him, he did not know. Perhaps because he
had penned a letter to his mother? Besides informing her he meant
to spend a few days in town to settle the business, it behoved him
to confirm the report of his wife’s demise. It distressed him not
to be at hand to comfort and allay the natural agitation that must
visit her upon the occasion. And Aunt Phoebe might not have leisure
to extend her stay more than a day or two.

A restless
night, preoccupied with the matters brought up at his meeting with
Frizington, as well as haunting memories—inevitable in the
circumstances—had rendered him drained. But through an unfathomable
process of thought, the idea had snaked into his consciousness. An
idea admirable in its simplicity, and a solution to several
dilemmas, and which could not fail to be advantageous to Miss
Florence Petrie herself. Jerome had not hesitated to embrace it,
and immediately—a typical fault of character of which he was all
too aware.

Now, however,
faced with the female in person, a sliver of doubt crept in. The
outcome of the argument between the sisters had been, he thought,
inevitable. In due time, Miss Belinda Petrie was ejected from the
room, and the landlady recalled to lead her inexorably downstairs
to be, he gathered, chaperoned in that female’s own apartments.

As Miss Petrie
shut the door, Jerome opened his attack.

‘I fear your
sister gave you a false notion of my offer.’

Florence turned
to confront him, seething with mixed emotions. They found immediate
expression in a burst of invective.

‘I can’t think
what you were about, Lord Langriville, to be taking a girl of
fifteen into your confidence. Have you no sense of what is fitting?
Lord knows what you said to her, but I can tell you this: whatever
arrangements you may have made between you, there is no faintest
possibility of their coming to pass without my full agreement.’

‘Quite so,
there isn’t,’ agreed his lordship, taking the wind out of her
sails. ‘And I cannot subscribe to the matter of
taking her into
my confidence
. I imagine your acquaintance with your sister
must give you an accurate picture of what occurred. Or don’t you
know her propensity for putting words into the mouths of
others?’

Flo did know,
only too well. To be taken instantly at fault, however, could not
but aggravate her already uncertain temper. She entered a
caveat.

‘You should not
have remained here at all when you discovered my absence.’

‘No, and I wish
to God I hadn’t,’ he retorted. ‘But the instant she heard my name,
it was all I could do to edge in a word. I will confess to a
greater tolerance of your volatile temperament than I had
yesterday, Miss Petrie, if it is your daily lot to counter the
antics of young Belinda.’

To Florence’s
annoyance, she found herself so much in sympathy with this view she
could not think how to refute it. She changed tack.

‘Pray how do
you mean to explain this extraordinary notion she has about living
in your house?’

‘Ah, that,
yes.’ Jerome shifted to the table and pulled out a chair. ‘Shall we
sit down?’

As if she
suspected him of meaning to attack her, she took a circuitous route
and fetched up at the other side of the little table. Irritation
flared.

‘For God’s
sake, will you stop behaving as if I have designs upon your virtue?
I am merely, for a wonder, attempting to repay you.’