Lady Dearing's Masquerade (12 page)

“Not as much as you, my dear nephew,” she retorted.

Relief flooded Jeremy. But the young man—presumably the present Lord Dearing—reddened, and one of his eyelids began to twitch.

“And all to benefit a pack of bastards!”

Jeremy coughed.

“Ah, there you are,” said Lady Dearing, turning to look at him, her expression veiled. Then she turned to the other man. “Adolphus, this is Sir Jeremy. One of the Governors of the Foundling Hospital.”

Dearing goggled at him.

“Sir Jeremy, this is my nephew Adolphus, Lord Dearing.”

Jeremy gave a slight bow. Dearing jerkily reciprocated. A diamond pin in his cravat caught Jeremy’s eye. Good God, not another one of
them
. And judging by his pallor, just as lily-livered as Pettleworth.

“I am sorry to say, Sir Jeremy, that my agitation led me to speak improperly of your fine institution,” Dearing quavered.

“No offense taken,” he said coldly.

Dearing seemed to shrink into himself.

“But I must say,” Jeremy continued smoothly, “as one of the Governors of the Hospital, I am more than grateful for Lady Dearing’s generous donations.”

Dearing’s eyes darted between them. “My aunt is generous to a fault sometimes. I’m afraid her warm heart leads her to overindulge the foundlings she has here.”

“Has there been any trouble?” asked Jeremy.

“No, but—well, you must be conscious of the risks of allowing a lady with my aunt’s lenient nature to manage children who are known to be difficult cases!”

“I am here on behalf of the Foundling Hospital to determine whether the children are being properly managed. Thus far I have seen nothing to give concern.”

“But you must know one of these children set a fire at the Hospital. What’s to prevent a reoccurrence? I am the heir to Rosemead. You must admit I’ve a right to know.”

“I shall discuss your concerns with Lady Dearing and the other Governors. I believe your business here is finished now.”

He set a hand on Dearing’s shoulder and put a subtle pressure on it. Dearing’s eyelid twitched wildly but he allowed Jeremy to steer him out of the room, toward the entrance hall and all the way to his carriage.

When Jeremy returned, he found Thurlow standing in the hall. The butler’s eyes twinkled with gratitude.

Jeremy smiled to see that Thurlow’s earlier wariness had given way to approval.

“He is gone, my lady,” said Thurlow to her ladyship as she peered out from the drawing room.

“Thank you for your assistance, Sir Jeremy.” Her voice was calm, but her hands were clasped tightly in front of her.

“I was glad to be of service.”

Her lip trembled, then she stilled it. “Shall we sit down now? I should like to hear how you fared with Philippa.”

He followed her back into the drawing room, wondering why his solicitude unsettled her so much. His own feelings were in a jumble. Suspicion and jealousy now gave way to guilt over having misjudged her and a fierce protectiveness.

Jealousy. Guilt. Protectiveness.

Burning curiosity as to why a widow would so readily part with her husband’s wedding gift.

Dangerous feelings.

Her fragrance wafted back toward him, igniting baser passions. He tried to focus on something, and his eyes betrayed him by seeking out the small buttons on the back of her bodice. He longed to see if his big fingers could manage the tiny openings, how her skin would feel under his touch, whether she might enjoy it . . .

God help him, he was mad.

* * *

Livvy quailed inwardly as she saw Sir Jeremy’s uncompromising expression.

“I am sorry you had to be subjected to such an unpleasant encounter,” she said as she sat down. “My nephew’s views on the foundlings are most backward and hypocritical.”

His expression softened. “Do not apologize. I’m accustomed to encountering such views. Since you have incurred his wrath on behalf of the foundlings, I must ask if there is anything I may do to help.”

He was so touchingly protective . . . it reminded her of the masquerade. She stiffened. The gruff concern in his voice, the determined set of those broad shoulders all coaxed her to trust him. But she could manage without assistance; she had for years. It would be foolish to lean on Sir Jeremy, even for moral support.

“Thank you, but no. Adolphus can do little more than bluster at me. It is of no consequence. Please tell me how you fared with Philippa.”

His eyes narrowed, first with suspicion, then with amusement. “I should have realized you were preparing a surprise for me. I can see why the schoolmistress at the Hospital found Philippa a daunting pupil.”

“She
is
very precocious,” she said, reassured by the humor in his rich voice. “Miss Burton and I fear that soon she will outstrip our own abilities.”

“Which are not inconsiderable, from what Philippa tells me.”

“My abilities are commonplace in comparison.”

He gazed thoughtfully out the window. “I realize you have gone beyond the usual course of instruction for girls at the Foundling Hospital, but Philippa is an unusual case. Have you given thought to her future?”

“Of course. I promised Lord Bromhurst the children would each be prepared for useful employment. I myself have only a small personal fortune to bequeath to them, since as you know my nephew stands to inherit Rosemead.” She paused. “I think Philippa might prove to be an excellent teacher. Although she is so precocious herself, she does enjoy helping the other children with their studies.”

Livvy clasped her hands in her lap, wondering at the slight crease in Sir Jeremy’s forehead as he pondered her words. She’d given what she believed was the most acceptable answer to the Governors of the Foundling Hospital. She didn’t dare confide her secret hopes for Philippa: that the girl might somehow, despite her birth and her sex, find a way to exert her considerable talents in mathematics, or natural philosophy, or perhaps medicine.

Finally he nodded. “I certainly cannot imagine her enjoying the life of a chambermaid, or in a dressmaker’s establishment. Well, I suppose time will reveal how she could best use her abilities. In the meantime, perhaps I would be able to arrange for her to attend some lectures in London on scientific matters. With your permission of course.”

“Thank you. You have been more than kind.”

She gave him a glowing smile. Then his expression altered, and she quickly lowered her gaze. He’d been so stern, so rigidly correct in all their dealings, but now she could not mistake the hunger in his eyes.

Heavens,
that
was why he looked so severe at times.

She leapt from her seat. “Shall we return to the schoolroom? I think you will find Philippa excels in more than one area of study.”

She hastened out of the room, not daring to look back. He was such a
good
man. Too aware of his role as the prime mover in the branch hospital project to court scandal; too gentlemanly to insult her by exploiting his position as an inspector. And perhaps whatever gleamed in his eyes was just a fleeting attraction.

Her own feelings might be a tumult of fear and guilt, loneliness and desire. But while his passions were firmly in check, she could keep from betraying herself.

* * *

Jeremy rode slowly up the drive, determined not to arrive too early this week, his third visit to Rosemead. Samson tossed his head, perhaps sensing his rider’s unrest. Jeremy patted the horse absently, trying and failing to banish the image that had lingered with him long after he’d risen that morning: of Lady Dearing, lying back on a snowy pillow, golden curls spilled around her, her face lit by sunlight, her eyes dreamy, not wary as they usually were when she spoke to him. In his dream, she wore a simple white nightrail. He’d eagerly loosened the tie and pulled it down off her shoulders. And then his imagination had failed to conjure up the sight of her, and he’d woken up.

Samson broke into a trot. “Sorry, friend, I didn’t mean that,” Jeremy murmured, reining his horse in.

To steady his mind, he thought of Ben, with whom he would spend the next few days. The boy had already begun to soften to him, venturing to speak a few words now and again and even persevering past some rather painful stutters when he saw that Jeremy could be patient. Today would go further to establish the boy’s trust in him, he was sure of it. Lady Dearing’s plan was working. Even Mary watched him with covert curiosity and cringed less when he spoke to her.

It was all going so well; he could not risk ruining everything by allowing Lady Dearing to guess his fantasies. She was so skittish around him, as if afraid he would judge her by gossip rather than the evidence of his own experience.

Only two more visits, and he would likely not see her again.

Samson snorted and cantered up the drive to the stables; this time Jeremy saw no use in pulling up. He had just handed Samson over to a groom when he heard the sound of galloping hoofbeats. Looking up, he froze.

A fine chestnut mare thundered into the yard, bearing an extremely handsome gentleman with a Grecian profile and golden hair curling from under his hat.

Jeremy stood rooted to the ground, disbelief and jealousy raging through his body.

It couldn’t be. He couldn’t believe it.

But it had to be.

The man leaping down from the chestnut answered perfectly to Bromhurst’s description of the Marquess of Arlingdale.

Chapter 9

Jeremy stood burning as Arlingdale dismounted from his mare. Up close, the damned Adonis was even more handsome, sporting fresh, youthful features. Jeremy had thought the notorious marquess was older. Did the rogue enjoy eternal youth as well as the favors of numerous lovers?

Could Lady Dearing be so thoughtless as to conduct a liaison with Arlingdale at Rosemead, where the children could witness their licentious behavior?

“Good day, sir.” Arlingdale strode forward to meet him. “I believe we’ve not met.”

There was a bite in his voice, as if
Jeremy
had no right to be here.

“I am Sir Jeremy Fairhill,” he returned coldly.

“Oh—ah, yes! The Foundling Hospital!” The other man’s brow cleared. He flashed a despicably winsome smile and offered his hand.

Jeremy shook it, pressing hard enough to show he was unmoved by the friendly gesture.

“I’m Debenham, you know,” the other said easily.

Debenham.
Jeremy released his hand, hoping he hadn’t crushed any bones.

“M’wife and our daughter are already with her.” Debenham grinned. “I know it’s early for a visit, but it’s Annabel’s best time of the day.”

“Yes, the children have told me about little Annabel.”

“They do dote on her.” Debenham sobered. “Sorry I pokered up a trifle when I first saw you. Begging your pardon, but some deuced loose fish sometimes come here thinking to impose on dear Livvy. I’m glad you’re not one of them.”

“Indeed not.”

Livvy.
So that was what her friends called her. Staunch friends, apparently, who wished to protect her from those who would take advantage of her reputation. He frowned, remembering how eager Sir Digby Pettleworth had been to come to visit her in his stead. No doubt he was the sort of loose fish of whom Debenham spoke.

The viscount’s ready smile returned. “Livvy’s told us you are here on an inspection. I hope you’re satisfied with what you’ve seen. A kind soul, isn’t she?”

“Indeed she is.”

“Well, we’d better go in.” Debenham headed toward the entrance. “My wife and daughter came in the carriage, but we forgot to bring Annabel’s rattle. She’s cutting a tooth now and loves to bite on the coral bit, so I was sent home on an urgent mission to fetch it.”

He patted his coat pocket as if to assure himself the rattle had not fallen out along the way, and breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Still there. I should have been in hot water otherwise. You know how it is.” He winked.

“I can imagine,” Jeremy murmured.

It took no imagination to picture the Debenhams’ happiness once Jeremy had entered the library with the other man. A slim lady with short, curling brown hair and a sweet face, presumably the Viscountess Debenham, sat on the sofa beside Lady Dearing, who dandled a plump baby on her knees. The room echoed with giggles; the foundlings were all busily jumping up and down from behind chairs and tables, playing a wild version of peekaboo with the infant.

The viscount crossed the room to give his wife the rattle and a kiss, but Jeremy hovered on the threshold.

“Sir Jeremy!” Robbie cried out. As the boy bounced out from behind a chair to greet him, all heads turned his way.

“Sir Jeremy!” Lady Dearing called out, with a welcoming smile. “Come and join us. As you see we have some visitors this morning.”

Jeremy allowed Robbie to drag him into the room, smiling and responding cordially to all the introductions. A few minutes later, Thurlow and another servant appeared bringing tea, coffee, and plum tarts. The children devoured their treat while the Debenhams engaged Jeremy in conversation about Foundling Hospital matters. Warmed by their friendliness, he did his best to reply suitably to all their questions while trying not to allow his eyes to be drawn to Lady Dearing.

After her initial greeting she’d become absorbed with the baby. Now Annabel grabbed the lace at her breast with a chubby hand, pulling it slightly out of her bodice. Lady Dearing started, looked up and caught Jeremy watching her. Blushing, she gently pried the baby’s little fingers from her tucker and smoothed it back into place.

Firmly, he looked away. If only she did not feel it necessary to hide under those layers of muslin and lace. He felt certain it was on his account; but it would be unpardonably offensive to tell her he yearned to see her in the revealing low gowns worn by every lady of fashion. He could only hope she hadn’t sensed his crass thoughts.

Against his will, his eyes were drawn back.

“And how comes the branch hospital project?” Debenham asked, recalling his attention.

Jeremy struggled to reply. Young Annabel, deprived of the lace, began to toy with one of Lady Dearing’s long, sparkling crystal earrings. Cooing, she removed the earring and dangled it so the baby could bat at it in harmless delight.