Lady in Green (14 page)

“For the best? You didn’t hear about the incident in the park. I’ll never be able to put off these blacks again. Poor Seraphina. No more rides for her, either.”

Henny put the bottle of wine back on its shelf and substituted a cup of coffee in front of Annalise. “That’s just the wine talking, missy. We’ll come about. You’ll see.”

“Oh, no, Henny. You weren’t there. Those men…”

“Ain’t goin’ to bother you again,” Rob told her, pulling on his pipe. “We had the story from Clarence. Pay it no never mind, chickie. You have a protector now.”

“A protector? Who in the world…?”

Rob slapped his knee and grinned. “Lord Gardiner, that’s who! Our very own rake is after protectin’ some unknown lady’s virtue. Yourn!”

Annalise just shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. How could Lord Gardiner protect me—and why?”

“Seems you left the park in a hurry. Missed the gov’nor tryin’ to come help you. By the time he got close, you’d already saved yourself and got away. He stayed to give them clodpates a regular beargarden jaw about honor and stuff. And he vowed to watch over you from now on.”

“Me?”

“That Lady in Green they’re all talkin’ about. Claimed you’d be safe as houses and dared any of them to say him nay. He nearly ate them alive if they blinked, says Clarence. All the milksops backed right down, he’s got such a reputation for a handy set of fives. So nary a one of them—and none of the other gents at the clubs—will dare touch a hair on your head.”

Annalise didn’t credit a word of Rob’s story. “Have you seen it, Rob? It’s finally growing back. My hair, that is. Except it’s silver, not blond anymore.”

“Pay attention, chickie. This here’s the answer to your problems.”

She sat up straighter. “What, I should become his lordship’s convenient? That would certainly save me the effort of scuttling his romantic interludes. And think how…convenient for him: a housekeeper by day, a bed partner at night. I could have been married to Barny. That’s all he wanted, besides the money.”

“There wasn’t no mention of any arrangement like that. In fact, the gov’nor swore he means to be your escort only, nothin’ more.”

“And King Arthur is asleep in a cave somewhere! Robbie, chivalry is long gone, and Lord Gardiner wouldn’t recognize it if Sir Lancelot bit him on the nose.”

“I’d bet his word is good. But don’t be so hasty either way. Think on this: After today your step-pa’s bound to hear about the dasher in the park, the one with the good seat and no connections. But he won’t think twice if he hears she’s in Earl en Garde’s keeping. No way that piece of easy virtue could have anything to do with a female who left her fiancé in a huff over his particulars. You’d be safe as the Bank of England.”

“But safe from Lord Gardiner?”

“I ain’t suggestin’ you accept a slip on the shoulder, chickie. He gave his word as a gentleman. I trust him.”

Suddenly Annalise felt better; things weren’t so bleak. For some ungodly reason, contrary to all the evidence and everything she believed, she trusted Lord Gardiner, too. Then she laughed out loud. Sir Vernon must be right: She was ready for Bedlam after all.

*

The topic of the conversation, meanwhile, was sitting in his book room with a sketchpad on his knees and a dreamy smile on his face. He was trying to capture the graceful, soaring flight of the woman and her mare as they leapt the curricle. Of course he had no face to put on the female’s form, but he recalled enough of her trim waist and rounded bosom to fire his imagination. Hell, if he had no face to depict, he might as well leave off the
clothes, drawing just the female at one with her mount.

Zeus, he needed a woman!

Chapter Fifteen

The beau monde went on the strut in Hyde Park at four in the afternoon. So did the
demimonde
. The
ton
came to see and be seen; likewise the muslin trade. The ladies of fashion came to make plans to meet their gallants at the evening’s parties. The Fashionable Impure came to make sure their dance cards were also filled, so to speak.

Both groups of females gathered in little knots along the paths or sat in carriages under the trees. One group had more color to their faces and gowns, fancier coaches, and no dowagers, dragons, or dogs-berries among them. They also had more of the young gentlemen surrounding them.

Lord Gardiner tooled his curricle along the roadway, studying the various delectables like boxes of bonbons set out in a sweet-shop window. He doffed his hat and bowed to his mother’s friends and their
milk-and-water
misses. He nodded
and
smiled at a few widows with waving hands and a few wives with wandering eyes. The curricle picked up speed.

There was no way the earl was going to dally with a lady. Not till his confidence was back, at any rate. He looked, though, with a connoisseur’s eye at this one’s swanlike neck, that one’s narrow waist.

If truth be told, Lord Gardiner was searching for the lady from the morning. He didn’t think she’d show herself here, not after her efforts at concealing her identity, but she might be playing some deep game after all. She might even be someone of his acquaintance, or soon-to-be acquaintance, if he had any say. There were females with erect postures and stylish ensembles, but none he could identify as the elegant horsewoman who rode through his mind. Gard followed a lady wearing a feathered bonnet over short-cropped curls that turned out to be brassy blond. He halted the curricle when he saw a flash of emerald green behind a hedge: the foppish Viscount Reutersham was relieving himself.

Finally the earl’s eyes lighted on a maiden sitting on a bench, twirling her parasol. She was nothing like that other female, being shorter and rounder and brunette. She was also entirely alone. Something about her appealed to Lord Gardiner, reminding him of another quest in the park that afternoon. Perhaps it was her ready smile mingled with the touch of wistfulness he saw about her eyes. Perhaps it was just that the sunlight playing on the folds of her lime-and-jonquil-striped muslin reminded him of spring, and sap rising. She’d look pleasing on canvas. She’d look pleasing on a bearskin rug.

The earl got down, handing the ribbons to his tiger.
“
Bonjour
,
mademoiselle
,
may I join you on your bench?”

It was not long before the earl had his
belle de nuit
and the female had hopes of her month’s rent being paid, although nothing as vulgar as money was mentioned. Addresses were exchanged, times were arranged, and both parties were eminently satisfied. Except the lady did not want to be confused with Haymarket ware.

“I don’t want you thinking I do this regular like. It’s just that my usual beau is below hatches right now. I ain’t looking for a new protector, either, my lord. He’ll come about soon enough, I’m sure.”

The earl grinned wickedly. “Let us hope not too soon, eh,
chérie
? At least not till tomorrow morning.”

*

If oysters were the food of love, kindly Mrs. Tuthill was offering Lord Gardiner sustenance enough to pleasure a harem. Or she knew about his equipment failure. And Annie knew, who was bringing course after course to Lord Gardiner and his companion. Raw oysters, oyster bisque, smoked oysters, roast duck in oyster dressing. And Tuthill knew, having mentioned with a wink that he’d made a special trip to the fish market that morning. They all knew. Gard’s hand shook.

In addition to the oysters, very little wine was served, not enough to enfeeble a fly. Gard wondered if he should check for ground-up rhinoceros horn. Rob’s fellow feeling he could understand, but why did Annie Lee suddenly feel sorry for him, sorry enough to provide encouragement, when she was the one who deplored his wenching? Did she take pride in her household, like his valet refusing to send
him
out in anything less than prime twig, claiming it was a reflection on the man’s skills? Gads! It was bad enough the polite world discussed his performance; Annie Lee keeping score was enough to dull any man’s desire. He almost choked on his last forkful of prawns stuffed with oysters.

Gard couldn’t imagine what dessert might be. If there were oyster tarts, he’d dismiss them all. Still, his dinner partner seemed to be taking it all in good part, licking her lips, licking her fingers, licking his fingers. He might be mortified, but he was still interested, thank heavens.

“Do you wish dessert, Sophy, or shall we wait for later?”

Sophy? No, it couldn’t be, Annalise considered, a bubble of hysterical laughter welling up inside her. London was just too big a place for that. This girl looked younger than her own twenty-one years—though Annalise had never considered the proper age for a man’s mistress—and she was not the great beauty Annalise assumed Sophy would be. Still, her name was Sophy and she was a lightskirt.

So Annalise spilled some of the oyster sauce on Sophy’s sleeve. “Oh, I am so sorry, miss! The plate just seemed to slip. Please, if you’ll just come with me, I can sponge that off in a trice before it stains. Oh, do forgive me, miss. Right this way.” Then she added for Lord Gardiner’s sake, “Mrs. Tuthill is preparing a special dessert right now, one that won’t keep. She just needs ten minutes more. I’ll be sure to have Miss, ah, Sophy restored by then.”

They were gone before Gard could offer to see about Sophy’s dress himself, and to hell with dessert.

*

While she worked, Annalise was profuse in her apologies. “I could not be more sorry, ma’am. Such a lovely gown, too. I once saw one like it on a woman in Drury Lane and said to myself, what a handsome frock, especially with the lady’s brunette coloring. Why, now that I think of it, it could have been you. Did you ever wear this gown to the theater? Not that I mean to pry, mind.”

While Annalise worked, Sophy was surveying the amenities in the lady’s dressing room of the master suite. “Some women can afford a new gown each time they go out,” she answered with a hint of petulance, examining the silver comb-and-brush set laid out for visitors’ use. She was not immune to the housekeeper’s flattery, though. Poor old dear likely never got any thrills but for seeing her betters at the theater and such. “I may have worn it to the Opera House a time or two.”

“No, I never go there. Can’t understand the words they’re singing.”

“La, no one listens to the music. They just go to be seen.”

“For my money, I like to see a show
and
the nobs. Still, the lady I recall at the theater was with a right handsome gentleman. Of course, I was just in the pit and they were in the boxes, but he seemed fair-haired and solidly built. Lovely couple, I thought at the time. Wouldn’t that be a coincidence if it was you, and here I am wiping your sleeve.”

“Oh, that must have been me and the Barnacle. Barny Coombes, don’t you know. I call him that ’cause he’s a clinger. When he was flush, that was fine. We used to go to all the fanciest places.”

“And now?”

“Oh, now he’s badly dipped. Rusticating until he can find an heiress or something. Aren’t you done yet? I don’t want his lordship getting restless, not with him swimming in lard.”

“Just finished.” Annalise held up the gown for inspection. “As good as new.”

“Nothing is as good as new, ducks. I’ll tell you what, if his lordship keeps me around a bit, I mean to get a whole new wardrobe. You can have this rag, since you seem to like it so much.”

Annalise could hardly bear to touch it, but she helped Barny’s mistress into the gold sarcenet. So Lord Gardiner could help her out of it. Miss Avery seethed behind her dark glasses. “Too generous, ma’am,” she murmured.

* * *

Sophy clapped her hands and cooed when the housekeeper carried in the dessert, a peach flambé, blue flames licking at the edges. Lord Gardiner had the idea of feeding Sophy himself, sharing his dish, his spoon, and bitefuls of the brandy-soaked fruit, then sharing her tasty kisses. A dessert leading into the real dessert, as it were.

Annie had other ideas, quickly shoveling two servings into dishes and slamming them down at their places at opposite sides of the table.

A manservant would have known better, Lord Gardiner thought. Tarnation, a woman with any blood in her veins would have known better. She stood now at the sideboard with arms folded across her non-chest, waiting to see if they needed anything else. Like a carrion crow at the banquet, Lord Gardiner reflected sourly. “That will be all, Annie,” he told her.

“Poor thing,” Sophy said, wiping a gob of cream off her chin as Annie curtsied and backed out of the room.

Poor thing? What about him, who had to put up with the Friday-faced, cross-grained creature? Ross did
not
want to
think
about her tonight. Especially not tonight. “Can I offer you more of the sweet, my sweet?”

Sophy did not need his fingers drumming impatiently on the tabletop to hurry her along. Evidently his lordship’s hunger had not been satisfied by the meal. “No, thank you, my lord, I’ve had enough. My compliments to your chef. Shall I, ah, leave you to your port?”

“Not on your life,” he growled.

“Then perhaps you’d be kind enough to give me a tour of the house,” she said with a wink. “I just love seeing how various rooms and things are decorated.”