Byron's Child (9 page)

Left on Hay Hill, a short block then right on Berkeley Street, and Berkeley Square lay ahead. Jodie had noted their route carefully.

The traffic in the square had increased considerably since they passed through in the barouche an hour ago. Gunter’s was a-bustle, with waiters running to carry orders to carriages parked under the leafless trees of the central garden. The original fast food drive-in, Jodie thought with a grin.

A young man in a tight-waisted coat with hugely padded shoulders returned her grin. Doffing his glossy beaver, he bowed as far as his dangerously high shirt points allowed.

“Buy you an ice, miss?” he enquired.

Jodie was tempted. What harm could she come to in this busy place in broad daylight? Then she realized that all the women in sight were studiously avoiding looking at her, while several men, on the contrary, were looking only too hard—the sort of look that moved from face to feet and back again, pausing en route.

“Or perhaps a drop of something stronger?” her accoster suggested insinuatingly.

Hot-faced, she brushed past him and hurried on, narrowly avoiding a dashing tilbury that swept out of Bruton Street. Perhaps this had not been such a great idea after all. Come to think of it, young ladies in Regency romances were forever being told not to walk alone in London.

The wretch had taken her for a lightskirt. No, she needed stronger language than that: the son-of-a-bitch had taken her for a whore.

She was slightly out of breath when she turned the corner from Davies Street into Grosvenor Street. There was a high perch phaeton outside the Faringdales’ house, the horses’ heads held by a small boy in livery, and a tall gentleman was just turning away from the door. As he strode down the steps, she recognized Lord Thorncrest.

“My lord,” she called, hurrying. “Thorncrest, wait!”

He swung around, frowning, but his face cleared when he saw her. “Ah, the little American. Good day, Miss Judith.”

“Good day. I’m sorry, I daresay I ought not to have shouted to you like that.”

He was amused. “To be sure, I am not accustomed to being accosted by females in the street—at least not in this neighbourhood. However, I shan’t complain since otherwise I might have missed you, which would have been a devastating blow.” He glanced beyond her. “You seem to have mislaid your companion, ma’am.”

“I am alone.” Jodie was annoyed to feel herself flushing again.

“Indeed.” The black eyebrows rose. “American customs are very different from our own.”

“Perhaps our streets are safer for unaccompanied females,” she retorted.

“In that case I must infer that America boasts few females as captivating as Miss Judith Faringdale.”

“From which I infer that England boasts many.”

The earl laughed. “That was ill considered,” he acknowledged. “True, beauties we have aplenty, yet to find such wit and spirit united with charm and loveliness is rare indeed.”

“Then doubtless you will be glad of the opportunity to study the phenomenon further. Will you take me to see the sights of London, Thorncrest?”

“I never drive females.”

Jodie sighed. “What a pity. I shall have to summon a hackney.” She stepped back, looked around, and was raising her arm to wave to a passing hackney-driver when Lord Thorncrest caught her hand.

“Very well, you abominable girl. In view of the fact that we shall soon be related by marriage, I surrender. Where do you want to go?” He helped her climb up into the high carriage. His tiger jumped on behind and they started off.

“I want to see everything Londoners do for amusement.”

“Everything, Miss Judith?” he drawled, his dark eyes challenging her.

Jodie refused to be cowed. “Everything,” she said firmly, hoping she was not letting herself in for more than she bargained for. Emily had said his lordship was a confirmed rake….

~ ~ ~

“Where is Miss Faringdale?” asked Lord Font, returning to the dining room with his slide rule.

Giles and Cassandra looked at him, then at each other. “I think she said she was going home,” Giles admitted sheepishly. “I wasn’t really listening.”

“Did she take a hackney? Did Culpepper go with her?”

“Culpepper?”

“Aunt Tavie’s abigail,” Cassandra explained. “I don’t know, Harry. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“It’s not far. Jodie’s no wilting violet.”

“‘Tis scarcely proper, however, for a young lady to walk alone.”

“If she chooses to, there’s not much I can do about it,” said Giles.

“Are you not her brother?”

“As a matter of fact, no. We only met the day all this started.”

Lord Font looked shocked. “It is not my place to find fault,” he said stiffly.

“Don’t be a fussbudget, Harry,” Cassandra admonished him. “Jodie’s a twentieth-century American, not a delicate young lady.”

“It’s not actually dangerous for her to be walking alone, is it?” Giles was beginning to worry.

“Probably not,” the baron conceded, “in broad daylight in this part of town.”

“As long as she doesn’t wander off to do her research. She’s a historian, you know, and this happens to be her period. Perhaps I ought to go after her.”

“If she didn’t go straight home, you won’t know where to look anyway,” Cassandra pointed out impatiently. “Can we get on with figuring out how to approach these calculations?”

Giles took notes while she explained how she had worked out the details of her return to her own time. It was going to be a long job without a calculator, especially as he and Jodie would be going from a different place, with different equipment at the other end.

“Would it not be easier just to go from Font Hall?” asked Harry.

Cassandra laughed. “Dr. Jenkins would have a fit if two total strangers suddenly appeared in his lab. If you don’t arrive during working hours, you will find yourselves locked in, waiting to be found in the morning. No, we’ll try it from Waterstock first. Harry, how soon do you think your instrument maker can get the new and improved slide rule made?”

“That depends on how much we can pay him.”

Harry and Cassandra both looked questioningly at Giles, who suddenly realized that Lord Font was not dressed in the height of fashion but on the contrary looked somewhat shabby.

“The present Lord Faringdale is rather flattered to have a man of science in the family,” he said, “and is inclined to be generous. Since Charlotte—Lady Faringdale—pointed out that in effect I’m drawing on my own inheritance, I haven’t scrupled to take advantage of his willingness to pay our way. Tell your man to give the cursor top priority. Conservation of Reality or no, the sooner I get Jodie away from this place, the better.”

Harry Font glanced at Cassandra and laughed. “I know what you mean,” he agreed.

~ ~ ~

Walking home, Giles watched as carefully for any sign of Jodie as he ever had for an anomaly in a computer graph of the accelerator. He felt guilty for letting her go alone, for not following as soon as he realized the impropriety. Still, he thought with annoyance, she was the historian, she ought to have known better. She must learn that the independent spirit which was admirable at home might prove hazardous here.

He had better deliver a warning as soon as he reached the house. The prospect made him groan. She was not likely to take kindly to the lecture.

“Is anyone in the library?” he asked Frederick as he took off his top coat. “Please tell Miss Judith I should like to see her there at once.”

“The book room we calls it here, sir, it being smaller than the one at Waterstock.” The footman took his coat. “I don’t think as Miss Judith’s come in yet. My lady and Miss Emily’s waiting for her to go shopping. And his lordship said to tell you he’s ready to be off to White’s soon as you wants.”

“Jodie’s not home yet? Hell and damnation. Where is everyone?”

“In the back parlour, sir.”

Giles strode down the hail to the parlour. Charlotte and Emily were busy at their needlework, while Roland thumbed impatiently through a copy of Blackwood’s Magazine.

“Disgraceful!” he muttered. “Oh there you are, Giles. I vow I do not know what the world is coming to when they allow such things to be published.”

“I am glad you are come,” Charlotte welcomed him, laying aside her embroidery with a placid air. “Emily and I are longing to show dear Jodie the shops.”

“Jodie isn’t with me,” said Giles, his voice harsh with worry. “She set out alone before me and I gather she’s not home yet.”

“Oh dear,” said Charlotte faintly. “Wherever can she be?”

Chapter Eight

“Thank you, my lord, I have had a simply splendid time.” Jodie smiled up at Lord Thorncrest, very much aware that he had not released her hand after helping her down from the phaeton.

“It has been my pleasure, Miss Judith. I assure you, I have seen more of London this day than in my entire life.”

“More of the unexceptionable side of London perhaps. I hope it was not too shockingly dull for a Nonpareil like yourself.”

“On the contrary, ma’am. If everyone could see the British Museum in such enlivening company, there would be no getting near the place.”

“Well, you were unexpectedly knowledgeable company.”

“I am not entirely given over to sporting pursuits. I fear you think me a sad rattle, but I have been known to open a book upon occasion.”

“I expect you read Lord Byron’s poetry. You are a friend of his, I collect. I wish you will introduce me to him.”

He looked at her oddly. “Perhaps.”

Jodie remembered that the poet was in utter disgrace at present, and somewhat disreputable at the best of times, no fit acquaintance for a respectable young lady. “Will you come in for some refreshment?” she asked hurriedly. “I expect Charlotte and Emily are home by now.”

He drew a gold watch from his fob pocket and opened it. “Pray make my excuses, I am expected elsewhere. I shall call on the morrow and hope to find the ladies at home.”

Escorting her to the door, he knocked, then raised his hat and bowed over her hand. She felt the pressure of his lips through her glove.

Surely the custom of kissing a lady’s hand was obsolete by now, she thought. A gentleman was supposed to make only a token gesture in that direction. However, she was not about to object to the real thing from so handsome a gentleman as Lord Thorncrest. It was not as if Emily cared for him.

As the door opened she smiled at him again. “Good day, my lord, and once more thank you.”

He nodded, touched his hat in salute, and ran down the steps, his elegant clothes unable to conceal the powerful vigor of every motion. Jodie recalled a phrase from some Regency she had read: “he strips to advantage.” She was prepared to wager that the earl stripped to advantage.

Potter’s shocked face brought her back to earth. He couldn’t have read her mind!

“Miss Judith, everyone’s in such a worry.”

“Oh dear.” She was instantly contrite. “I ought to have left a message. It never crossed my mind that they might wonder where I was.”

The butler’s seamed face softened. “Never you mind, miss. All’s well that ends well, though I don’t doubt there’ll be a peal rung over you. The family’s in the back parlour.”

Jodie trod down the hall with considerable trepidation. If Roland treated her like an incompetent child, she was not sure whether she’d be able to hold her tongue. She and Giles were greatly indebted to the viscount and would find it difficult to manage without his support, but there were limits to her patience.

She was not prepared for Charlotte bursting into tears at the sight of her.

Emily ran up and hugged her. “Dearest Jodie, we have been quite anxious about you.” She added in a whisper, “I knew you were all right. Roland is in a fearful pelter, and poor Giles blames himself for letting you go off alone.”

A glance at Roland’s expression confirmed that diagnosis, but Giles’s thundercloud face suggested that to his mind the blame was all Jodie’s.

“Lord Thorncrest was kind enough to drive me about to see the sights,” she said defensively. “I am sorry you were all set at sixes and sevens, but I was perfectly safe.” She suppressed the memory of the “gentleman” who had accosted her in Berkeley Square.

“Lord Thorncrest!” Roland exploded. “Why, the man is a confirmed….”

“That’s enough, dear,” said Charlotte with resolution, her tears wiped away and forgotten. “I believe Cousin Giles wishes to speak to Jodie. Come, Emily.” She took Roland’s arm and practically dragged him from the room, pausing only to kiss Jodie’s cheek on the way. Emily followed, her backward glance commiserating.

“I had a delightful time.” Jodie drew off her gloves with a nervous movement, avoiding Giles’s eye. “Thorncrest took me to see a panorama of the battle of Waterloo, and the British Museum, and several other places. I must make notes while I remember everything.”

“I suppose you know what Roland was about to say.” Giles’s voice was ominously quiet. “The earl is a notorious womanizer, a playboy, a rakehell in this era’s parlance.”

“Then Roland has no business wedding his sister to him!” Jodie flared.

“You know better than that. Sit down, Jodie.” His grip was iron on her arm. She was glad to escape into a chair by the fire. Chilled, she held out her hands to the flames.

Giles remained standing, scowling down at her. “Marriage in this age has nothing to do with a man’s virtue, or lack thereof and everything to do with a woman’s. As a historian, you should know that better than I. It was bad enough that you walked through the streets alone….”

“I told you I was leaving.”

A tinge of colour crept into his cheeks, but he continued grimly, “I am at fault, too, but I am not your keeper and as I said, you are the historian. You must have been aware that it was unwise, to say the least. And then to go out driving unchaperoned with a notorious rake!”

“He was charming. And besides, his tiger was with us.”

“Tiger?” Giles was momentarily diverted by the image this conjured up.

“A small boy in livery who hangs on behind.”

“You see, you know more of this period than I shall ever know, God willing.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Jodie, you must have a care for your reputation.”