Lady Fiasco, A Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt) (16 page)

Fiona blinked. Hadn’t she sent word several times that her ladyship had company? Yes, and Lady Haversburg had seen her do it.

“Ah! And here is our naughty Lord Wesmont.” Honore wagged her finger and lisped coyly, moving toward him with mincing steps. She stopped directly beneath his gaze and lifted her hand up to him. “How good of you to call.”

Fiona flushed livid pink as Tyrell bent over her aunt’s hand. Surely, from that position he had a full view of Honore’s bosoms.

Fiona’s cheeks flushed with scorching heat. She spoke with a sharp authoritative tone that she hardly recognized as her own. “It is cool today, Aunt. I’ll fetch your shawl, so that you do not catch a chill.”

“Nonsense.” Honore continued to stand flirtatiously close to Tyrell. “It’s a very warm day. Is it not, my lord?”

“Quite warm.” He answered evenly.

Honore threw back her head and laughed.

Lady Haversburg reached out as if she intended to clamp her hands over her daughter’s ears, but then caught herself just in time. She cleared her throat. “Honore, dearest, I had hoped to stay and solicit your opinions about Maria’s upcoming ball. But, oh heavens! Just look at the time. We’ve been here upwards of an hour, most unseemly of us. How time passes. We have so many calls to make. Must take our leave. I daresay you know how it is.”

“I daresay,” Honore said, waving them away while still smiling seductively at Tyrell.

“Come Maria.” Lady Haversburg yanked her daughter by the arm and whisked her out of the room. Fiona tried to accompany them to the drawing room door, but they were too quick for her. As they bustled down the stairs Fiona overheard Lady Haversburg mumbling and Maria innocently ask, “Did you say something, Mama?”

“Nothing. Nothing, at all. Oh, do come along Maria.”

Fiona folded her arms sternly across her chest. Her aunt was out of control and someone needed to do something.

Honore pointed to a parcel under Wesmont’s arm, and clapped her hands together. “What’s this? Have you brought us a present?”

“Of sorts.” He glanced at Fiona who remained standing by the door.

“Delightful!” Honore pressed a finger against her cheek. “Let me guess. It must be a book.”

“No, Lady Alameda, not a book.”

She arched her eyebrow at him. “How mysterious. Whatever can it be? Surely it's not chocolates wrapped in plain brown paper.”

“Nothing so amiable.”

“No?” she said. “Then, I cannot guess. You mustn’t keep teasing me like this. I am quite overcome with curiosity.” Her hand fluttered seductively to her breast and then rested on his arm. “Come Wesmont, I insist you indulge me.”

Fiona wanted to indulge Honore by throwing a blanket over her ladyship’s nakedness and tossing her down the stairs headfirst. Fortunately, she contained her murderous desires and glared at Tyrell as he led her lascivious aunt to a chair.

“Unfortunately, my gift is not calculated to please. My lady, you may want to be seated first.”

Honore dropped unceremoniously into the chair. The petals on her bodice fluttered, revealing her dark nipples and covering them up again as the fabric settled back into place. “Very well.” She patted her hands against her lap. “Give it to me. I am prepared to be displeased.”

He handed her the package. Honore pulled off the string and folded back the brown paper to reveal a stack of cartoons. She lifted the first one from the pile, muttering under her breath as she struggled to bring it into focus.

“Aha! It is a lampoon drawn by that fellow Cruikshank! What a wit he is.” She sounded delighted.

Tyrell frowned at her. “Yes, I suppose he is. Look closer, my lady. Observe the identity of the characters.”

She squinted into focus a drawing of herself kicking Lord Maverly in the eye for trying to peek under her skirt. There was a hilarious rendition of Marcus catching Fiona, and Prince George flipping through the air like a pinwheel. Honore’s mouth quivered. She sputtered, snorted, and then broke out in loud high-pitched laughter. She guffawed so violently, tears ran down her cheeks. Her laughter escalated until it became a howl echoing through the house.

Mattie bolted into the room. Her apron was covered with bloodstains and flour, and she waved a butcher knife in front of her as if wielding a broad sword. Whipping her gaze around the room, she squinted suspiciously at Honore, who was doubled over in the chair, laughing hysterically, tears running from her eyes, and stamping her slippered feet against the floor.

Mattie charged forward, her red hair flying about her like a madwoman. She stopped in front of Lord Wesmont and shook the knife in his face. “Hie ye rascal! What ha’ ye done to m’ babby?”

Lord Wesmont lifted both hands, surrendering to the Scottish demon. “Nothing, madam, I assure you. Lady Alameda, please call off your she-bear.”

“Yes. Yes. Oh, Mattie do come away from Lord Wesmont.”

Honore sputtered and giggled as she waved away her protector. Wiping at the tears running down her cheeks she said, “Only just look at this.” Laughing again, she handed a cartoon to her bristling nanny/cook.

Mattie glared suspiciously at each occupant of the room before she accepted the paper. Then she bent her head and studied the cartoon. “Och! What’s this then? This ‘ere is disgusting, that’s what this is. Ye cannot stand for it, me girl. Ye must have whoever drew this filth horsewhipped.”

Honore’s lips pinched into a thin line and she snatched the cartoon out of Mattie’s hands. “Nonsense! It’s merely a bit of fun.”

Lord Alameda strolled into the drawing room wearing little more than a dressing gown and breeches. Lord Wesmont stiffened as the rogue stopped next to Fiona, took her by the elbows, and kissed her cheek proprietarily. “Good morning, cousin dearest.” He glanced casually around the room. “What’s all the commotion?”

Fiona answered him curtly. “Good
afternoon
, Marcus. I haven’t a clue what the commotion is about. Lord Wesmont appears to be entertaining my half-naked aunt with a bawdy lampoon. And
she
—well, observe the lady for yourself.” Fiona waved her hand in disgust at her wayward guardian.

Honore grinned up at Tyrell. “My dear, Lord Wesmont, not only did you fail to displease me, you have entertained me famously. A most diverting etching. Marcus, you simply must see it. You are in it. There’s Fiona, and that’s me.” She pointed at the drawing.

With the barest acknowledgement of Lord Wesmont’s presence, Marcus went to Honore’s side and took the print. He pulled a quizzing glass from his pocket and surveyed the caricature.

He chuckled and dropped his eyeglass. “Delightful. Might I have one?”

“No.” Tyrell pulled it out of Marcus’s hands.

Honore chuckled again. “Oh, but it is vastly amusing, Lord Wesmont. Wherever did you find it?”

“Displayed in the window at Laurie and Whittle’s on Fleet Street,” he answered sharply. “I doubt the rest of the
ton
will take it in as favorable a light as you do. It makes Miss Hawthorn into a figure of ridicule, and casts dispersion on both of your virtues. As a precaution, I purchased all of the remaining cartoons. Mr. Whittle promised to break the plate. We may hope that a scandal is averted, but at least, a dozen of the caricatures were purchased prior to my arrival at his shop.”

“You bought the rest of them? To protect our virtue? How very stuffy you are. The
ton
won’t care. On the contrary, half of ‘em were there when it happened.” Honore pointed over her shoulder at Fiona. “There stands the reigning attraction of the
beau
monde
. This lampoon would only have increased their interest.”

“I don’t follow your reasoning.”

“No, you don’t do you. How very tiresome. I leave it to her to explain.”

“As you wish. I have come to take Miss Hawthorn driving in the Park, with your permission of course.”

Honore stood up and brushed out her skirt. The movement set the diaphanous petals to fluttering again. Exposing her nipples once more.

Mattie, who had been standing nearby, with arms folded across her chest like a disapproving general, gasped. She put her hands on her hips, her nostrils flared, and her eyes blazed like an enraged mother bull.

Honore sidled up to Tyrell, dragged her finger under his chin and cocked her head. “How do I know I can trust you with Fiona? I’ve heard some
very
alarming reports about you.”

“I assure you, my lady—”

“No.” She waved away his explanation and closed her eyes. “Don’t bother.” She rubbed her temple and flashed her eyes open again. “Just go! Go on, Wesmont. Take Fiona to the Park. I’m certain it will be a very proper, very dull drive.” She shooed him away.

Tyrell brusquely inclined his head, strode across the room to Fiona, and offered her his arm.

She wasn’t sure she should go anywhere with him. After he’d ogled her traitorous aunt like any common rake, how could he expect her to accompany him on a drive?

Fiona was composing a proper set down for Lord Wesmont, when Mattie ordered Honore to cover herself up. She removed her apron and thrust it at Honore. “Here, use this.”

Honore lifted her chin in defiance. “Take that smelly thing away. I’ll wear anything I like.”

Mattie started huffing and puffing like a bull about to charge. It looked as if they might come to blows any minute.

Fiona suddenly decided she could lecture Lord Wesmont later. For the nonce, it would be prudent to accept Tyrell’s offer and flee the drawing room. Without speaking, she placed her hand on his arm and gestured toward the door.

Before they could escape, Honore called to Tyrell in a shrill voice, “Lord Wesmont! I’m giving an informal little
soirée
Thursday evening. Do come. I believe it will be an education for you.” Her laughter rang high and false in the charged air of the room.

Tyrell and Fiona hurried to leave. Mattie exploded behind them, “By all the saints, me girl, why’re ye wearing a tart’s dress? It barely covers ye.” There was a loud ripping sound. “Oh, begging yer pardon m’lady! I guess it won’t even do that no more.” Mattie’s voice rang out triumphantly.

Fiona and Tyrell retreated down the stairs, with Marcus’s sardonic laugh chasing them, and Honore screaming, “Get out of here Marcus! Out!”

“Aye, you heard her ladyship,” echoed Mattie. “Now, pet, put m’ apron around ye. We’ll take ye up an’ put something decent on ye. What hae’ ye done to yer hair? It looks like a great yellow peach—”

“You can’t treat me like this, Mattie! Give me that knife! I’ve a good mind to run you through, you interfering old busybody! I’m a grown woman. I’ll wear what I like!”

Honore shouted so loudly that Fiona shuddered involuntarily. She and Tyrell quickened their pace, but didn’t go fast enough to miss hearing Mattie’s booming response. “Not while I live under the same roof, ye won’t!”

“You would do well to remember precisely whose roof—”

By the time they reached the foyer Fiona and Tyrell were almost at a dead run. The butler opened the door for them for them and calmly handed Tyrell his hat as they rushed out. Tyrell boosted Fiona onto the seat of his curricle, grabbed the reins from his tiger and whipped his horses away from the curb. 

A moment passed before he had his horses and his self-composure restored to order. He glanced over at Fiona. She looked sideways at him and they broke out laughing.

Tyrell shook his head as if to clear his mind. “I feel as if I have just narrowly escaped from bedlam.”

She smiled apologetically. “Yes, I fear, my aunt is not very predictable.”

“You’ve vastly understated the matter. The woman is a lunatic.”

Fiona nodded, “Yet, at other times, she is understanding and almost motherly.”

“Motherly?” Tyrell sputtered. “I can hardly believe that.”

“It’s true. Sometimes, she is quite affectionate. Did you know she completely redecorated a bedroom in anticipation of my arrival? It’s true. And what’s more, she even guessed correctly what my favorite colors might be.”

“
Astonishing
.”

Fiona heard the sarcasm in his voice. “You don’t believe me. I can’t blame you. She can be rational and loving one minute, and then turn quite dangerous and irrational the next. I fear you’ve not witnessed the more noble side of her character. Today was certainly not a good example.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. Still, her radical shifts in conduct cannot be safe. Didn’t I just hear her threatening to run her cook through with a butcher knife? Your aunt is hardly a fit chaperone for a young lady. I cannot be pleased about you staying in her household.”

Fiona crossed her arms and exhaled loudly. “It seems, my lord, that you are never pleased with me. In fact, I show remarkable skill in disappointing you.”

“You misunderstand—”

“No, I don’t think I do.”

The steady clip-clop of his horses on the cobbled street punctuating her exasperated little huffs. “You are in no position to be concerned about my welfare. After all, I cannot be in any greater danger with my aunt than I was with you at the lake.”

Tyrell’s jaw tightened. “I’ve already apologized for that, Fiona. Believe me, I thoroughly regret my behavior that afternoon.”

Fiona grabbed the curricle seat and squeezed the leather until she could compose herself. She faced Tyrell, and words flew out of her mouth. “Exactly
which
behavior do you regret, my lord? Pretending to drown and frightening me out of my mind? Do you regret kissing me? Or is it the humiliation you heaped on me afterwards?” Immediately, she lamented her outburst. She peeked over her shoulder at the young tiger standing behind them.

Tyrell looked over at her. “You needn’t worry about my tiger. He’s deaf as a doornail. Aren’t you, Kip?”

“Right you are, guv, been deaf since the day I was born.” The young lad riding on the back of the curricle winked at her. Fiona smiled uneasily.

Tyrell shifted the reins to his left hand, and with his right reached over and covered Fiona’s fingers. “Fiona, I’m sorry, I said those things to you. Truthfully, the entire episode baffles me. I cannot comprehend why I acted like such a scoundrel. I have no excuse for my actions, and I only hope that someday you will forgive me.”