A Pair of Rogues (3 page)

Christina emerged from her memory to find Louisa gazing at her speculatively. “Perhaps
that
was the incident that angered your mother.”

“Oh, no. We made a pact of secrecy before Nurse carried me off. I never told on him, and I’m certain that Robert never did. Nurse would not have wished to either, or she would have been blamed for letting me play with the boys.”

“I hope you haven’t nourished a disgust for Ned all these years,” Louisa said on a questioning note.

“Of course not.” Christina chuckled. “I should think he would be the one to have a disgust of me.” If he did not, he would be one of the rare ones. She had managed to offend most people with her antics. Gazing at her sister-in-law now, Christina wondered how long it would be before she managed to offend Louisa’s sense of propriety, as well.

“I don’t think Ned recalls the incident.”

Christina knew a moment of disappointment. “No, of course he would not. Why should he remember a little girl he met just once?”

Louisa sighed. “Yes, men are so insensitive. They never cherish romantic moments.”

“Romantic? Louisa, you cannot be serious.”

Even Louisa laughed. “Well, perhaps not. Perhaps you and Ned were never meant to be a couple. I can see that now.”

“A couple?” Christina felt a curious fluttering in her stomach. “What on earth are you saying?”

“Oh, I must not mention it,” Louisa said, rising from her couch. “Just a silly notion of mine. But dear Robert is entirely opposed.”

“Opposed to what?”

Louisa’s smile faded. She breathed a heavy sigh. “You will think me quite silly, considering what you have just related, but knowing you both, I had thought . . . I had just briefly hoped that you and Ned might make a match.”

“How absurd.” Christina felt the feebleness of her smile.

“Isn’t it? At least . . . it is, I suppose?”

“Of course it is. Why should you hope for such a thing?”

Her eyes cast down, Louisa fingered the skirt of her dress. “It’s Ned. I know he’s lonely. He may seem like a rogue, and I do not doubt he gets up to the worst possible mischief, but I do think he would make a wonderful husband for some fortunate girl. And you seem so alike in the way you both took to the baby. And of course, it would be lovely to have him in the family . . . .”

Louisa was rambling, and Christina knew she should stop her, but an image of Ned’s handsome face had come again into her mind. She had never forgotten that face: his big, dark, laughing eyes with their hint of secret delights. They had swum before her vision many times, almost as if he were twirling her still.

She gave her head a mental shake and said, “You are being fanciful.”

“Yes, and so Ned told me.”

“Ned told you . . . .” Christina felt color rushing to her cheeks. “You never had this conversation with Ned!”

“Well, not this precise one, I don’t believe.”

Christina burst into a laugh. “Louisa, you are outrageous. The poor man. You will be quite fortunate if he even shows up at the Abbey tomorrow. I expect he will avoid me like the plague.”

“It is just as well.” Louisa shook her head despairingly. “As I told you, Robert would not hear of it at all. In fact, he would much prefer that Ned not meet you. He does not trust him.”

“Indeed.” Christina could feel her hackles rising. How dare Robert concern himself with whom she should meet!

She was no longer a schoolroom miss. She had been restrained long enough—at her school, sometimes forcibly when her rebellious nature had led her to commit unpardonable acts. Coming to London was supposed to mean freedom, and, she had hoped, a blessed end to her unrelenting restlessness. She’d be confounded if she would allow Robert to dictate her taste in men!

But she had learned one thing, at least, at that dismal seminary. She gave Louisa her most earnest look and said, “I would never want to do anything to disappoint you or Robert.”

To her astonishment, the smile Louisa gave her was full of a cryptic satisfaction.

“That’s quite all right,” Louisa said. “I am certain you will
not
disappoint me.”

Chapter Two

“Dearly beloved, ye have brought this Child here to be baptized . . .”

Yes, we have,
Ned thought bitterly.
And received a rare tongue-lashing for it!

The previous prayers had been designed to make men such as Ned squirm in their pews, dwelling as they did upon the sins and omissions of everyone present. The archbishop, called out in all his glory to induct the infant marquess into the Church, intoned the words with no emotion, seemingly unaware of the chastening reproofs echoing off the walls. But those on the receiving end, the parents and godparents huddled against the draughts and the cold seeping up from ancient stones, could scarcely be immune to feelings of guilt here in Westminster Abbey, where Gothic ceilings, as proof of centuries of faith, arched above them.

Except for little Miss Debutante, Ned thought. He stared across the baptismal font at Robert’s sister and scowled.

He had vaguely remembered her as a taking child, with long, silky hair and big, wondrous eyes full of trust. Her hair now was only slightly less fair than before, but it had been schooled into sleek obedience, if not into outright curls. Her eyes were demure and downcast as an elegant female’s should be. Though her figure was undoubtedly tempting under her fur-trimmed pelisse, nothing she wore had been designed to attract a gentleman’s attention. In short, she was the perfect debutante, fresh out of school and ripe for the Marriage Mart.

The Lady Christina Lindsay should have come as no surprise. Robert had said she would be as boring as all the other girls her age. Still, Ned had nourished a glimmer of hope that her trusting eyes would still hold a touch of their childish wonder. Instead, they seemed to look on the world with the same elegant disdain displayed by all the Lindsays.

With her willowy figure and skin like an English rose, she should have no trouble snaring some poor duke or earl, even without her considerable fortune. She’d make the perfect centerpiece for his home, the treasured ornament of his hearth, as long as he didn’t mind being bored to death.

Ned thought of Louisa’s suggestion that he and Christina should suit and almost snorted aloud. Nothing about this chit could tempt him. And the notion that Robert would allow him within fifty feet of such a model of deportment was twice as ludicrous.

She was far too virtuous for him and he too ruined to touch her. As he flinched under the archbishop’s prayers, the contrast between them made him increasingly irritable. She was standing in the transept with perfect composure, looking for all the world as if butter would not melt in her mouth.

At least, the hair on the back of his neck had recognized its mistake. It lay as unruffled against his skin as a dead mackerel on the beach.

“Dost thou, therefore, in the name of this Child, renounce the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the world, with all covetous desire . . . “

Ned winced.

“. . . and the sinful desires of the flesh, so that thou wilt not follow nor be led by them?”

Ned panicked.
Renounce them myself or for Little Ned?
He wished he had thought to ask for a clarification. He was quite willing to renounce them on Robert Edward’s behalf, but did he have to give them up himself?

Suddenly conscious that both Louisa and Robert had turned to stare worriedly at him, he quickly found his place in the prayer book.

“I renounce them all; and by God’s help . . . .”

Little Miss Debutante took up the words when he did. She must have started to say them earlier and had to wait to repeat them with him. Ned counted himself fortunate that Robert wasn’t close enough to kick him. He certainly looked as if he wanted to . . . .

* * * *

Startled into awareness by the unnatural pause in the words, Christina realized that everyone was waiting for her to speak. She hastened to locate the proper response and began reading it with Ned.

She had been dozing with her eyes fully open. Having been forced to attend daily prayer for so many years, she had become quite adept at appearing attentive when her mind was otherwise employed. The archbishop’s low, monotonous voice had been just the thing to induce mesmerism in one so deeply ingrained in these habits.

She cast a glance Ned’s way and thought he looked a bit paler than he had at first sight this morning. The disappointment she had felt on seeing him still festered in her breast.

Gone was the fun-loving boy she so clearly remembered. In his place, she had found a jaded rake. He was handsome, of course—if anything, more rakishly handsome than before. His years in town had given him a polish that only a complete Corinthian could acquire. His morning coat of blue superfine, his snug buff trousers, and his striped waistcoat fit his lithesome figure like a glove. His ebony hair, cropped fashionably short, had not one single lock out of place.

Seeing him outside the Abbey with his air of arrogant ennui, Christina had felt an urgent need to tuck her unruly wisps of hair beneath her hat, but then her temper had been aroused. When presented to her, Ned had made her his deepest bow, a sure sign of irony. He had looked her over with a lecherous gleam he probably used to frighten away young damsels on the catch. As if she had designs on him!

Certainly, he seemed to have no memory of the day he had held her on his lap.

The boyish laughter was completely gone from his eyes. In its place, all that remained was a cynical glint. No warmth. Nothing but a harsh self-regard.

“. . . then also on thy part take heed that this Child learn the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, and all other things . . . .”

Christina saw Ned’s eyes grow round, and she stifled a giggle. For a hardened rake, these would be onerous pledges indeed. She doubted he would make the slightest effort to keep them.

But no matter, she thought, gazing over at Robert Edward. With her for a godmother, he needed no one else, least of all a selfish rogue like the Earl of Windermere.

“I will by God’s help.”

Ned sounded as if he needed some powerful help right now.

* * * *

Ned had begun to perspire. If he had known the herculean burden this office would be, he might never have accepted the honor that had been thrust upon him. He’d had no idea that godfatherhood meant anything. He could not remember who his own godparents were, or, for that matter, if he had them. But now that he knew Little Ned, there could be no turning back. The boy was clearly going to need him. With Miss Prim and Proper for a patroness, he had to have someone looking out for his back.

“Grant that he may have power and strength to have victory, and to triumph, against the devil, the world, and the flesh.”

“Amen,” Ned said loudly. He felt he could drink to that, if a drink were available.

“Lift up your hearts.”

Surprisingly, Ned’s heart did feel a gentle lift. There was nothing like a fresh challenge to get one going, no matter how great the sacrifice. Still, he would have to consult with an authority to see just how far these oaths were meant to apply to his own conduct. . . .

The archbishop had moved to take Robert Edward from Louisa. The boy was all done up in white satin and lace. Ned would never have believed how sweet a boy could look in such a rig-out.

Then, before Ned’s thoughts could drift any farther in that pleasant direction, Lord Robert Edward began to howl.

Ned gave a start, but he stopped himself just in time from reaching for the boy.

The archbishop seemed to feel there was no cause for alarm. He went right on with the service, ignoring the fact that the Most Honourable the Marquess of Drayton’s screams were growing louder. And louder.

Little Ned doesn’t like to be held that way, you dolt!

Ned barely managed to contain his temper. Louisa and Robert were turning pale. Even Miss Perfect had begun to look wan.

Bet they don’t have noises like that at her select ladies’ seminary, Ned thought with a painful wince. Let’s hurry up and get this over.

“Name this Child.”

At last, they had come to the good part.

“Robert Edward Charles.” As he said the boy’s given names, Ned’s chest filled with pride, which was spoiled only slightly by the knowledge that he had to share the honor with Little Miss Perfect.

Oh, well. The chit was certain to marry in short order, and then he would have Little Ned to himself.

“Robert Edward Charles, I baptize thee in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Relieved at what appeared to be the end, Ned heaved a sigh, but his relief was cut short when the archbishop started up again, “We receive this Child . . . . “

The service went on and on, but now it was accompanied by the baby’s shrill cries. Ned felt his nerves begin to shatter. Heat and chill coursed through his veins. He had to stand pinned to the Abbey floor while Little Ned grew so red he bordered on the purple. Ned wondered how Louisa could bear to allow this terrible torture to go on.

Four more prayers. Then five.

One had to hand it to Little Ned, Ned recognized. He certainly was a trooper. Wellington, himself, could not have battled for so long.

“Grant that you be strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man . . . .”

The boy had strength enough already. No diminishment of tears no matter how many prayers he had to endure.

Ned felt exhausted though, as if he had drunk for days on end and wrung out his insides. Then the archbishop said, “Amen” again, and Louisa rushed to take her baby. Robert Edward’s shrieks turned quickly to gasping sobs. A blessed sigh issued from both godparents.

Ned glanced Christina’s way and saw how stricken she appeared. Gone was the English bloom from the rose; she looked almost green.

What right did she have to turn green over Robert Edward? Poor boy. It wasn’t his fault!

“Shall I take him for you?” Ned asked Louisa. “You must be exhausted.” His hands fairly itched to hold the baby.

“No, thank you, Ned.” Louisa appeared to be slowly recovering. The baby’s sobs had turned into hiccups. They could all go home.