Enticing the Earl (3 page)

“Oh, oh, no, indeed, sir,” the assistant stammered. “You don't want to go nowhere else. Indeed, she will wish you to stay. If you'll just step into the fitting room here, ma'am.”

Boxel was left with a glass of wine, sitting in a gilt chair that looked too fragile for his sturdy frame, and Lauryn was soon measured up, down, sideways, and every other way she could imagine, and shown fabrics of the most delightful hues and textures by Madame duPree herself, as well as not one but two assistants, including the first, formerly supercilious one who now oozed nothing but politeness.

When Madame heard that they were leaving at once for the country, and speed was highly desirable, she was helpfulness itself. “Fortunately, Madame Smith,” she said, waving her measuring tape as if it were a magic wand. “I have several gowns almost done for customers who are, unlike yourself, not in such a 'urry. The dresses are near your size, and in pleasing colors that will suit your complexion. They can be made over for you with very minor inconvenience, and you will 'ave a few costumes ready to take with you, and then the rest will be sent out for you within a few days, as soon as they can be completed.”

“That's very kind,” Lauryn said, a bit taken aback. “But will not your other customers object to—ah—”

“Not at all, they will be delighted to be of service,” Madame duPree predicted with complete lack of guilt.

And one of the assistants added, in a conspiratorial whisper. “Don't worry. They won't know. The earl pays very well, you see!”

Obviously, the earl had done business here before, Lauryn realized, trying not to blush. With which one of his many conquests? Oh, well, best not to dwell on that. Think instead about the wonderful new gowns she could enjoy. And the ladies she was depriving of their gowns—they would get their dresses, just a bit more slowly, she told herself, as she submitted to having a creamy silk dinner gown dropped over her head and the waist adjusted to her own measurements, while a gold-thread trim was loosened to allow for her more ample bosom.

Next came an azure ball gown—there would likely be no balls in the country, but she was too dazzled by the beauty of the dress to object, and another dinner dress, then two day dresses. Last, a handsome navy traveling outfit that—“So fortunate!” the dressmaker proclaimed—could be made ready to go with only an adjustment to the bodice and a slight change made to the waist.

Lauryn found herself almost dizzy with happiness at the thought of putting aside her faded black garments, worn for so many months. “I shall have to visit a hatmaker,” she thought aloud, “and, oh, undergarments, and I suppose shoes…”

“No, indeed,” Madame duPree corrected, frowning. “They will come to you, Madame Smith. When we are done, the artiste from the next street will be here to check your sizes.”

And so he was, leading a line of young assistants almost invisible behind the stacks of hatboxes they carried. And what a joy to choose among so many pretty bonnets! The afternoon passed quickly, and by the time she was sufficiently outfitted—amazed by the number of outfits and accessories that were considered necessary for a few weeks in the country—she found herself quite weary.

But the only time she had dared to object that she might not need so many, Boxel, who had looked in now and then to see how the fittings were coming, had at once frowned her down.

“Would you disgrace the earl by a poor display, madame?”

“Oh, no–no, of course not,” she'd stuttered, flushing.

So she reminded herself now that she could not disgrace the earl, as she did not dare to incur Boxel's censure yet again.

When at last the shopping was complete, and most of the her purchases sent on to the earl's residence, with only a few kept by her, Boxel had fixed her with his stern look. “I suppose you are coming back to the earl's residence?”

“No,” she blurted without even thinking about it. “I will join you in the morning.”

“I see. Then I shall escort you home in the carriage.” He looked somewhat suspicious. “What address shall I give the driver?”

Ah, where indeed? If she went back to the hotel, the squire would demand to know where she was going, and she didn't wish to explain in person, not wanting an argument, and she certainly didn't want the earl's servant to find out she had any possible link to the squire. Lauryn thought rapidly, then named the street.

She was silent on the ride, and when the carriage stopped again, even Boxel looked surprised when he looked out at their destination. “You are staying at a church?”

“At the rectory,” she said, her tone pleasant. “The vicar never gives up on seeking to reclaim souls.” Giving the valet a sweet smile, she stepped down from the carriage, took her bundles of purchases from inside the vehicle, and turned to walk up the pathway to the rectory building.

And hoped God would not strike her dead on the spot!

To her disapproval, the carriage lingered until the door
to the rectory opened, but the housekeeper knew her and admitted her readily, and at last the vehicle pulled away.

“'Ow are you, Mrs. 'Arris,” the placid woman said. “Where is the squire? Is 'e not with you?”

“He's a bit under the weather,” Lauryn said, thanking heaven for the good-natured but rather slow-witted servant. “So I left him at the hotel. Is my sister in?”

“I'm afraid not, ma'am, but the vicar is 'ere. 'E's in the sitting room if you'd like to go through,” the housekeeper said. “I'll make up a nice pot of fresh tea for ye.”

“Thank you,” Lauryn said. She left her packages on the side of the front hall—the phlegmatic housekeeper might not have wondered at Lauryn's unusual whirlwind of shopping but her more sharp-eyed employer might. Then she went on into the sitting room, where she found not just her good-looking brother-in-law, but a small, sweet-faced toddler with a strong resemblance to her mother.

“Juliette, how are you?” Lauryn said, as the little girl exclaimed in delight and immediately barreled into her legs.

“Mind your manners, little ruffian,” her father admonished, his tone good-natured, but he shook his head as he scooped up his daughter.

“It is very nice to see you, Lauryn. Ophelia has gone down to the theater for a few hours to observe a rehearsal, but she will back shortly. Is Squire Harris out gaming again, or could he be thinking of at last returning north? Not that we wish to say good-bye to you, but I know his behavior since you've come to London has greatly troubled you.”

“No, but perhaps now he will have to.” Without mentioning her own wild plan, Lauryn told the vicar quickly about her father-in-law's losses at the gaming table. “If you could visit him with enough to pay for the hotel fees, and urge him to return home, Giles, I would be much obliged. He will not ask you for help himself, I know.”

“And you?” He was entirely too perceptive. “What are you planning, Lauryn? I sense that you have something up your sleeve, as well.”

Her small niece was reaching for her, and Lauryn took the little girl into her arms and threw her up in the air to make her giggle. It made it easier to evade the vicar's kind, but searching gaze. “I have accepted a–a post with a titled family for a few weeks to earn some money on my own.” It was—more or less—the truth.

“Ah, and you think that will shame the squire into settling down? Perhaps it will work. It's time he ceased his tumultuous behavior and accepted his son's death, as deeply painful as I know it was. But Robert would not wish to see his father destroyed, or you.”

She could not look Giles in the face, and if her own complexion reddened, she hoped he would think it was from the exertion of tossing about his small daughter.

“You're very kind,” she murmured.

“We care about you. Don't stay too long, and don't stay at all if you are unhappy with the family, Lauryn,” he told her as she continued her lively play with Juliette, who looked as delicate as a fairy child but was, in fact, as tough as ever her mother had been. “You know you are always welcome with us, or indeed with any one of your sisters.”

That made her eyes dampen, and she blinked.

“I hope the children you care for are not as rambunctious as this harum-scarum,” her father said as he reclaimed tiny Juliette. “Enough, little one. Allow your aunt to go up and wash for dinner. Your mother will be home soon.”

And how would she evade her sister's sharp eyes when she told her tale again? Oh, dear. Lauryn smiled her thanks and retreated while she could. She retrieved her packages from the hall and went up to the guest room upstairs where she could shut the door and bathe her flushed face with cool water. How did deception grow so quickly complicated?

Fortunately, when Ophelia returned from the theater, she was full of tales of the new play she had penned that was almost ready to open, and although ready to commiserate with her older sister over the predicament that the squire had gotten them both into, she was not as inquisitive as she might otherwise have been.

“I do think you need not hire yourself out, however, Lauryn. You cannot be making that much for a few weeks. Stay here with us, instead, if the squire has become irksome, and you wish for a change of scene. Children can be very wearying, let me tell you!”

Young Juliette was upstairs asleep in the nursery by this time, but Juliette's mother shook her head at the veracity of this statement.

Lauryn laughed, but she assured her sister she was determined to carry out her plan. “I have given my word.”

“At least, do be sure to leave us your direction,” the vicar said, his tone firm.

“I will,” Lauryn said, meekly, though she wondered just how she was to do that without giving away the falsehoods she had wrapped her mustard seed of truth within.

She went up to bed early and slept little. When daybreak came, she woke and sat up in bed, looking out to see the flowerbeds beside the rectory, and the handsome spire that rose from the nearby church. She felt a wave of guilt at the course she was about to take.

How could she leave a vicarage and the good people who slept here and go out to assume a life as a courtesan? It was unheard of. And yet, if she did not, the squire would not get his estate back, and what was he to do? He would have to be persuaded just to take a loan to pay off the hotel charges; he would never take the amount needed to redeem his gambling debts, even if Giles could afford that large a loan, which Lauren doubted.

No, she would go, as promised.

And when she unwrapped the brown paper that had hidden the new traveling costume, so handsome in its navy broad-cloth, with gold trim and shining buttons, but still neat and ladylike, she could claim no altruistic motives but the simple pleasure of donning a new outfit. It fit her well after the last-minute alternations, and she looked so much nicer than she had in ages. And the simple but nicely made hat with the navy trim, and the new gloves and stockings—oh, they all made her heart lift.

It was ridiculous how a female heart could sing when one felt well dressed. Yet she felt at once more prepared to face the world, even with the uncertain future that lay ahead of her.

And as for her promise to leave a direction—she sat down at the small table in her room and wrote:

And inside a second sheet of paper, she wrote:

And she sealed one paper with sealing wax, put it inside the other, and then sealed the other again.

She wrote one more short note to be sent to the squire, which she would post later, telling him she had taken a position for a few weeks with a “good family” and her sister Ophelia had the location, then she packed the rest of her belongings rapidly, took her carpetbag and hatbox, and stood listening at the top of the stairs. The house seemed quiet around her. She tiptoed down the stairs and at the bottom, almost jumped out of her new traveling clothes.

Still in her nightgown, Juliette sat on the bottom step playing with a ginger-colored kitten.

“'Lo, Aunt Lauryn,” the child said cheerfully.

“What are you doing up so early?” Lauryn whispered. “You should go back to bed.”

“Dat's what Nurse always says,” her niece agreed. “But I like mornings. So does Snap.”

That epithet seemed to apply to the kitten, who now curled up in Juliette's lap and purred contentedly as she rubbed its ears.

“That's good,” Lauryn said. “Listen, my dear. I have a note for your mother. Can you remember to give it to her, and no one else?”

The little girl nodded and accept the small folded paper. “Are you going? Don't you want tea first? And a bun?”

“No, I must leave.” The vicar had given her enough coin for a hackney, and she had no inhibitions about hailing one. She leaned to kiss her niece on the forehead and then picked up her bags again. “Go back to the nursery, my love, and don't forget the note. Give it to your mother.”