Lady Dearing's Masquerade (11 page)

He nodded reassuringly. “He is a charming child. I hope you do not mind my agreeing to take him up on my horse. I assure you Samson is very well-mannered.”

“No, I have no objection. It is kind of you to give Robbie such a treat. And I must also thank you for not making a fuss over the incident with Mr. Wiggly-nose.”

“I am sure my breeches will come clean.”

As he said it, she glanced toward his leg for a moment, then averted her face, blushing a little. Too late, he realized the gaffe he’d made: one never mentioned breeches in a lady’s presence. But it was the first time she’d seemed to notice him as a
man
, not merely a Governor of the Foundling Hospital. But perhaps she was merely disgusted.

Time to move on to safer topics.

“Now perhaps you will tell me some more about Robbie,” he said quickly. “I must admit I’m quite ignorant of children his age. Do they all have such difficulty completing a sentence?”

“Most of them do.” She gave a slight smile. “You must realize speech is a skill they have only practiced for a few years. One learns to be patient.”

“Robbie told me you take him now and then to see Nan Brooks.”

She nodded. “It has helped him to adjust to life here.”

“He told me she has a baby girl with her now, but I saw no sign of jealousy.”

“No. Robbie regards the little girl with tolerance. You see, he is a
big
boy now.” Her smile broadened.

“And now I have a more serious question,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Yes, what is it?” she asked breathlessly.

“What are light-fairies?”

The dimples puckered her cheeks again, a sweet reward. “Ah, light-fairies,” she said. “One morning the locket I was wearing caught a sunbeam and reflected it about the drawing room. Now we make a game of dancing the light around and pretending it is a fairy.”

Finches, hedgehogs, light-fairies.

What a life for a child. What a beautiful life.

But as he gazed at Lady Dearing, her smile faded again. The feeling stole over him that he was wasting his time. All was well here. Perhaps he should just let it be, as Bromhurst and Aunt Louisa counseled. He was not needed; he just made them all nervous.

But he’d promised to spend the rest of this day and tomorrow with Robbie, teaching him his letters, playing with him, earning his trust and that of the other children. He had promises to fulfill, and so many unanswered questions.

And perhaps he could make Lady Dearing smile again.

* * *

“I wish I’d been there to see it!” Bromhurst laughed heartily after Jeremy had related the tale of Mr. Wiggly-nose and his breeches.

Jeremy hoped it would ease his friend’s anxiety; he knew why Bromhurst had taken to inviting him for a stroll on the Hospital grounds after each weekly meeting.

“But seriously, I am pleased to hear your good account of how matters stand at Rosemead. Perhaps you need not continue?”

Jeremy had braced himself for this.

“There’s so much I still don’t know, and the older children are still shy of me. Why do you ask? Has there been talk?”

“No, but you are running a risk by continuing this course. Lady Dearing
is
a fascinating woman, but if it is said you are succumbing to her charm—”

He forced all expression from his face. “I know the risks. So does she, I believe. She’s given me no reason to think she sees me as anything but a Governor of the Foundling Hospital.”

And it was just as well, he told himself fiercely. Her continued restraint, tinged with a hint of anxiety, kept him safe from succumbing to the temptation to become more closely acquainted than necessary.

He needed no reminders of the importance of maintaining a spotless reputation. Or any reminders of the consequences of undisciplined passion.

“Well, I am glad to hear that,” said Bromhurst. “I just wouldn’t wish you to start feeling sorry for the woman, or thinking she’s the victim of false reports.”

“Surely you do not believe all that nonsense Sir Digby spoke about her?”

“Most of it is rubbish,” said Bromhurst bluntly. “But the rumors about her and Arlingdale might not be. I’ve seen her in his presence myself, at the theatre. He has been seen escorting her into the Pulteney as well.”

Jeremy clenched his jaw. “Does that mean they are lovers? But earlier you said—”

“Don’t look so stunned. Since she has dealt successfully with some of our most troublesome cases, I see no use in encouraging idle rumors,” said Bromhurst, raking his fingers through his grizzled hair. “She’s an independent and eccentric woman; Arlingdale’s a charming rake, said to have many mistresses. The ladies are all agog over his golden hair and Grecian profile. Perhaps she leads a double life: mothering her children at Rosemead and meeting Arlingdale in London on occasion. It does not necessarily follow that the children will suffer for it.”

“I am shocked to hear you say it. But perhaps you are right,” he conceded, knowing he was on slippery ground.

It was painfully easy to imagine Lady Dearing sighing in the arms of a lover. The possibility that she was one of Arlingdale’s many mistresses should have killed any attraction he felt toward her.

Yet it did not. What was the matter with him?

“Moreover,” Bromhurst continued, “she’s shown no wish to be brought back to respectability. If she did, she might have asked Viscount Debenham and his wife to help her. Have you thought about that?”

“No, I have not.” It was only a small lie.

“And she’s never shown signs of wishing to remarry. She might have done so, with her looks and that comfortable estate of hers. Undoubtedly some men would overlook the fact that she never gave Dearing an heir.”

“I suppose.”

“On the other hand, her barrenness as well as her looks make her the ideal mistress,” continued Bromhurst.

Jeremy’s jaw tightened.

“And it helps to explain why so many men have pursued her.”

He looked away, so Bromhurst could not read the frustration in his expression. He didn’t even know with whom he was annoyed: his friend for saying such things, Arlingdale and the others who sought Lady Dearing as a mistress, or the lady herself for behaving like such an enigma.

Or perhaps with himself, for allowing himself to be intrigued by a woman who, intentionally or not, threatened all his goals. The branch hospital. The fulfillment of Cecilia’s last wish. Mary.

And yet he was intrigued.

“Whatever the case,” Bromhurst lectured on, “gossip will always surround Lady Dearing. You know what is at stake. You cannot afford to behave rashly.”

“Do I ever?” Jeremy muttered.

After a long look at Jeremy, Bromhurst shook his head.

Grimly, Jeremy congratulated himself on his acting. For the first time in years he wanted, very badly, to behave rashly.

Chapter 8

Rippling notes from the pianoforte greeted Jeremy as he entered the drawing room at Rosemead. Lady Dearing gazed at her music, unconscious of him, her eyes glowing, her body swaying as she played in a manner as unconscious as it was innocently seductive.

Quietly, he inched into the room.

A soft cry erupted, and the music faltered.

Then he saw Mary seated on the sofa, staring down at a spot of blood on her thumb, her other hand still clasping some needlework.

“My dear, have you pricked yourself?” Lady Dearing’s gaze swung from Mary to him.

“Let me help.” He hurried to Mary and handed her his handkerchief as Lady Dearing joined him near the sofa.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I would not have interrupted, but Thurlow advised me to come in.”

“I told him to bring you here as soon as you arrived, so there is no one at fault,” Lady Dearing reassured him.

But Mary clutched the handkerchief to her finger, her face pale. It seemed the time he’d spent here last week had not done much good.
Yet
, he reminded himself.

“Mary, you may go up to the schoolroom now,” said Lady Dearing. “Send Philippa down to the library, please.”

The girl scurried from the room, leaving him to feel like a wretched interloper.

What
was
he doing here?

“Shall we go to the library?” asked Lady Dearing.

He nodded. “I must apologize again for having interrupted. I’ve rarely heard music so beautiful. What was it?”

“A sonata by Mozart,” she replied, looking a bit surprised by his interest.

“You play marvelously.” The words tumbled out.

Her face froze into a tight smile; not quite the reaction he wished for. “Thank you. I have had many years in which to practice. More than I wish to admit.”

A decade of childless marriage.

“Does Mary enjoy listening to you play?” he asked, following her out of the room.

Her shoulders relaxed. “Yes,” she said, more easily. “I have offered to teach her but one cannot force such things. It is my hope that if I allow her to listen, in time she will wish to play herself.”

He nodded. “Yes, I am beginning to see that one cannot rush matters with children. I see Mary still fears me.”

“She will become more accustomed, I assure you. Perhaps, even if you do decide she can remain at Rosemead, I could bring her to the Foundling Hospital so you can meet with her for a few hours now and then.”

Her softened voice felt like a caress, but it was only friendly sympathy, he reminded himself. He cleared his throat. “I should like that.”

As they approached the library he braced himself for his encounter with Philippa. To endear himself to Robbie had been so easy, but to earn the confidence of an older child might prove more challenging.

“I thought perhaps you could assist Philippa with her mathematical studies,” said Lady Dearing, as they entered the library. “How is your mathematics?”

“Sufficient to teach a girl of ten years, I would assume,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Excellent.”

He thought he detected the hint of a twinkle in her eyes.

A moment later, Philippa had arrived. Lady Dearing gave the girl’s shoulder a pat before leaving them alone together. As he watched Philippa pick up a yellowed periodical from a pile of almanacs and lexicons on a side table, he noted that she was dressed with extreme neatness, her dark, curly hair confined by a dark green ribbon; her manner was subdued, cautious. How had the schoolmistress at the Hospital described her? Pert, inattentive, above her station.

The girl seemed none of those at present.

“Philippa, please be at your ease,” he said. “I shall not continue to blame you for having led the children to run away. What’s done is done, and I should sincerely like to become better acquainted with you.”

She curtsied stiffly, and her hands trembled as she opened up the periodical.

“Lady Dearing has assigned me this problem for today,” she said in a tight, expressionless voice.

“Read it aloud, please.”

“‘Walking through Cheapside, London, on the first day of May, 1709, the sun shining brightly, I was desirous to know the height of Bow steeple. I accordingly measured its shadow just as the clock was striking twelve, and found its length to be 253 and one eighth feet; it is required from thence to find the steeple’s height.’”

Jeremy stared at the girl. “This is the sort of problem Lady Dearing arranges for you?”

It made one wonder about the lady’s own abilities.

“Yes, sir,” Philippa replied.

Her voice was meek, but held a suggestion of smugness. Was this another test?  Well, he was not going to fight shy, any more than he had with the hedgehog.

“Then let us begin.”

Half an hour later, he verified Philippa’s calculations against the answer provided to him by Lady Dearing, written in a graceful, flourishing hand on a slip of paper that was slightly yellowed, though not as ancient as the periodical.

“Excellent,” he said, enjoying Philippa’s shy smile in response to his praise. “Does Lady Dearing enjoy such puzzles as well?”

“She said her grandmother had an interest in mathematics and natural philosophy and used to work such problems with her.”

“Quite admirable. I am glad she has found interesting methods to enhance your studies. You have a keen mind. Perhaps you would enjoy attending some lectures in London someday?”

“Yes, I—I would,” said the girl, looking startled.

“I shall see if I can arrange something,” he said. “If Lady Dearing permits, of course.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Philippa soulfully as she departed.

He’d gone only a few steps toward the drawing room when he heard voices emanating through the suspiciously closed door: an angry, masculine rant followed by Lady Dearing’s softer accents.

Thurlow appeared from the direction of the hall, the lines in his face deeper than usual.

“Lady Dearing is . . . engaged at the moment, sir,” said the butler apologetically. “Perhaps you may return to the library to await her?”

“Is something amiss? Could I be of any help?” he asked sharply.

The elderly butler gave Jeremy an appraising look.

“Thank you, sir, but I believe her ladyship is equal to dealing with this particular visitor.”

Something was definitely wrong. Jeremy crossed the hall to the door of the drawing room and pulled it open. There he saw his hostess standing with her back to him, facing a young gentleman of dandyish appearance. Neither of them noticed him.

“You have gone too far!” shouted the dandy. “How dare you dispose of those jewels in such a manner! Ungrateful creature!”

Jewels? The puppy’s gift to her, perhaps? Jeremy watched from the doorway, biting back questions that would betray his presence.

“I did dispose of them, and there is nothing you can do about it,” she said, her posture tense but her voice devoid of passion. “I suggest you leave now.”

The young fop paced about the room. “I will not be put off so! Sophronia and I know our rights!”

“I consulted my solicitor on the matter and he assured me I was free to dispose of the diamonds as I chose. So I did.”

Jeremy frowned. Who the devil was Sophronia?

“But my uncle surely intended them to be an heirloom, to be passed down to each new Dearing bride!” moaned the young man. “How could you sell them—his wedding present to you? Have you no respect for his memory?”