Lady in Green (6 page)

Those same clinging gowns and plunging bodices did arouse a bit more than Lord Gardiner’s ire, however, so he picked up a few of the hankies dropped at his feet by dashing widows and daring wives. He gathered his rosebuds where he may.

A sennight or so later, he hobbled into White’s.

Chapter Six

Deuce take it, man,” his friend Cholly asked, “what happened? Did Lady Stephania light into you again? I thought you were reformed.”

Gard carefully lowered himself into one of the leather chairs and signaled for a waiter. One ankle was strapped, one eye was blackened, and, most unfortunate of all in his lordship’s opinion, he had a fiercesome rash where he sat. He did not bother answering Cholly’s remark about the dowager: less said, soonest mended. Not soon enough for his battered skull.

Cholly was observing him through a quizzing glass. “Can’t believe you turned your curricle over, nonpareil whip like you. Does the Four-Horse Club know?”

“Cut line, Cholly. You look like one of those blasted dandies. Put that silly thing away and I’ll tell you what happened.” Ross leaned his head back against the cushions and sniffed at the aged cognac the servant brought. “Ah,” he sighed, swirling the dark liquor around in the glass while his friend waited impatiently. At last Lord Gardiner took a swallow of his drink, savoring the flavor. “I have indeed been a paragon of virtue,” he finally confirmed. “No opera dancers, no chorus girls, no bits of muslin.”

“What, no females at all?” Cholly nearly choked on his own drink.

The earl looked down his aristocratic nose, which was just slightly out of line. “That’s not what I said. At Mother’s insistence I frequented the haut monde instead of the demimonde.”

“Nearly took a turn seeing you at Lady Bessborough’s.”

“Precisely. So all of my, ah, companions this past week have been
ladies.”
He took another sip. “And see what it’s gained me.”

Cholly nodded his head in sympathy. “They’re the devil when it comes to being crossed. Why, m’sisters—”

“No, the women didn’t wreak such havoc on my body, not directly, at any rate. This”—he indicated the leg propped on a footstool in front of him—“I received when I was forced to climb out a window. The
lady’s
husband came home unexpectedly. The trellis broke, equally unexpectedly, by George. My face, on another night, was rearranged by footpads.”

“Jupiter, I would have thought you were too downy a bird by now to be taken like that.”

“And so I thought, too, but it was four in the morning with not a hackney to be seen, if a person could have seen anything through the fog. I had sent Mother off from Lady Bessborough’s in our carriage, and then accepted a ride home—her home, naturally—from a certain widow who shall, of course, remain nameless.”

“Of course,” Cholly echoed, searching his mind for likely candidates.

“A widow who is received in all the best drawing rooms, incidentally. I must say I was delighted with her charms, until she rudely shoved me awake and out of her bed. The servants mustn’t see me there when they lit the fires in the morning. The
lady’s
reputation would suffer.” He took another sip of the brandy.

“But what of the footpads?”

“I think they’ll be more careful picking their target in the future. Just because a chap is clunch enough to leave a warm bed in the middle of a cold night doesn’t mean he’s an easy mark.” Lord Gardiner ran his fingers through his dark curls, wincing at the lumps and bruises. He couldn’t tell which were from the attempted robbers, which remnants from the dowager’s fire poker. “And that’s not the worst of it,” he confessed.

Cholly refilled his own empty glass. “Deuce take it, there’s more?”

The earl shifted uncomfortably on his chair. He nodded. “There was one more
lady.
A regular dasher, with some old dragon living with her to lend countenance. Bold as brass she asks me to take her for a ride in the country while the dragon visits an ailing cousin. She wants me to pull in at a quaint little inn she knows outside of town.
Quaint
wasn’t the word I’d have used. Rundown, ramshackle maybe, not quaint. And you know how I never stay at even mediocre inns.”

Cholly was starting to smile. “And I know the way your man Ingraham is always following you around with your own bed linen and stuff. Tender skin, ain’t it?”

The earl flicked a speck of dust off his dark sleeve. “But the jade says that way she can be sure no one will recognize her, so I take a room. Blast it, quit laughing, she was a convincing armful!”

“And?”

“And those sheets were so filthy, my butt’s the color of a baboon’s behind!”

When Cholly finished wiping his eyes, he told the earl, “What you need is a wife!”

“I need a wife like your picture of Babette needed that third arm. What’s a rash compared to a nose ring?”

Cholly put his handkerchief away. “Mightn’t be so bad, y’know.”

“What? I can’t believe my ears! Never say you’re thinking of becoming a tenant for life?”

“Been thinking, that’s all. ’Sides, who’d have me? I’m just a second son with a houseful of sisters, and m’brother’s already filling his nursery with heirs. Ain’t got a fortune, no title to trade for one, so no nabob’s going to hand me his daughter. Wouldn’t want an heiress anyway; don’t fancy living under the cat’s paw.” He considered his friend’s tall, athletic form and chiseled features that were only made more interesting by the purplish bruises. Then he contemplated his own short, stocky body and carroty hair. “Ain’t got your looks, and never did have your way with the ladies. Still, we’re not getting any younger. All I’ve got to offer is a comfortable income. If I found a comfortable female, I just might take the plunge.”

“Dash it, marriage isn’t a bath you can jump out of if the water’s too cold! It’s for deuced eternity!”

Cholly nodded sagely. No argument there. “If you won’t take a wife, then how about a mistress?”

“What, a fixed arrangement? Hell, if I wanted to be faithful to the same woman day after day, I’d get married.”

Cholly choked. “You mean you intend to be constant when you’re hitched? You?”

“Why not? I’d expect my wife to be.” Gard ignored his friend’s sputtering. “No, mistresses are more trouble than wives, greedier and harder to please. They’re always throwing jealous tantrums and they’re impossible to get rid of. No wife of mine would expect me to live in her pocket, and she’d dashed better be too well-bred to get into distempered freaks. No, thank you, the carefree bachelor life suits me fine.”

Cholly raised his quizzing glass again. “Looks to me instead like the tomcatting is killing you, creeping down alleys and over windowsills. What you need is an establishment of your own.”

The earl resented his friend’s inference that he needed taking care of. “Have you forgotten Gardiner House? It’s a little hard to miss if you happen to be near Grosvenor Square.”

“No, I mean a pied-à-terre, a little place you can come and go, private like. Discreet.”

The earl called for another bottle. “A
bijou.
Interesting. I could fix the place up the way I like, even set up a little drawing studio. I could hire a whole new staff of servants who wouldn’t carry tales.”

Cholly smiled. “And who’d make sure the sheets are clean.”

Gard laughed, too. “Can you imagine me asking poor old Ingraham to carry fresh linens to a house of convenience? He’d have a spasm.”

“Should have pensioned off the chap years ago if he disapproves of you.”

“I can’t. The man valeted my own father. Frankly, it would be a relief not to see his disappointment every day. I’m getting to like your idea more and more. Still, I could make the love nest so cozy, the birds of paradise might want to take up permanent residence. They’re deuced difficult to dislodge, you know.”

“Blister it, you have the butler send ’em to the rightabout if you’re too tender-hearted.”

They both laughed at the picture of the elderly Gardiner butler giving some courtesan her
congé.
Old Foggarty was another long-time employee who refused to leave the earl’s service, he and Ingraham having nowhere else to go. “Lord save me from loyal old family retainers.”

Cholly stared at the tassels on his Hessians. “Seems to me you could keep any of the ladybirds from settling in if you told them right out the arrangement was only temporary, that you were just renting the place. I recall hearing that Elphinstone’s digs out in Bloomsbury are for let.”

“Someone mentioned that he went with the delegation to Vienna. I didn’t realize Lady Rosalind went with him.”

“Should have. Inseparable, don’t you know.”

“And you say their house is out in Bloomsbury…?”

*

The town house could have fit into the entry hall of the earl’s principal seat in Suffolk, but it was well maintained and respectable-looking. The street was quiet, with trees and flowers, and mothers pushing prams. The man who came to take Lord Gardiner’s horses was middle-aged, neatly dressed, and clean-shaven. He seemed knowledgeably appreciative of the earl’s prime-goers.

“Shall I take these beauties back to the mews, gov’nor, or just around the block so’s they don’t cool down?”

“Can you drive?”

The man carefully aimed a stream of tobacco juice between rows of pansies. “Anything with wheels.”

“And can you keep a still tongue in your head?”

“I reckon so,” the one-time Cock Robin said with a grin. “If Rob Tuthill can’t keep his mummers dubbed, then no one can.”

Lord Gardiner watched Tuthill drive the curricle away with consummate skill. He was liking this notion better and better. He’d have to remember to invite Cholly to his first not-so-intimate gathering.

A dimpled little maid opened the door for him, took his beaver and gloves, and showed him to the parlor. “I be Lorna, milord. I come in days. Would you please to wait in the parlor while I fetch the housekeeper to show you about? We put refreshments out for you, milord.” She curtsied prettily, showing the dimples again before she left.

Gard smiled back at the delightful little baggage, not that he ever dallied with servants in his employ, or such young chits, either. A pretty face always being welcome, though, he automatically added the maid to the inventory of the house’s attractions.

The excellent strawberry tarts were another. ’Pon rep, he wouldn’t miss squiring his barques of frailty to noisy public restaurants if the house boasted a fine cook of its own. Strange, he thought as he sipped a fine sherry and had another bite of pastry, the rental agent had not mentioned the residence was fully staffed. The fellow would have dickered for a higher price if he knew how Lord Gardiner loved strawberry tarts. Ross’s blue eyes shone as he looked around the parlor that ran from front to rear of the small home, tastefully furnished yet with enough room for a deal table or two. Even had a pianoforte, although he doubted many of his guests would have the training, or the time, to play. Yes, the house was a bargain.

The rest of the place was just as pleasing. The housekeeper led him to a smaller sitting room across the hall that contained an overstuffed sofa in front of a tiled fireplace. Excellent. Next to that was a dining room that could seat ten, the housekeeper informed him. Two was enough. Beyond the dining parlor was a small apartment consisting of an office for the household accounts and a tiny bedroom, which she hustled him out of so fast, he was sure it belonged to his guide.

Below stairs he was introduced to Rob Tuthill’s wife, who blushed when Lord Gardiner complimented her cooking. “’Tis a joy to cook in such a modern kitchen, my lord.” She rattled a stack of dishes nervously, so the earl bowed and moved on, determined not to agitate such an asset. The chef at Gardiner House threw a Gallic fit if a stranger entered his domain. Ross smiled, trying to turn the woman up sweet so he’d be more welcome in her kitchen next time. He gave cursory inspection to the Tuthills’ chambers behind the kitchen and pantries. What he wanted to see was upstairs.

He was not disappointed. The master suite consisted of two fair-sized dressing rooms connected to a bedroom almost as large as his in Grosvenor Square. There was an enormous canopied bed and rugs so thick he’d have taken his shoes off right then if not for the housekeeper. Ah, yes.

There were two other pleasant bedrooms on this floor, in case Cholly stayed over. On the attic level were some unused servant’s rooms, one of which could make a perfect studio. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Yes, indeed.”

“Then you like it?” the housekeeper asked, nearly wringing her hands. “You’ll take it?”

Lord Gardiner cupped his chin in his hands, deliberating. The house was ideal for his purposes, close enough for convenience yet almost invisible to the eyes of the Polite World, ergo, his mother. The place itself was charming, inviting. He mentally saluted Lady Rosalind’s taste. Only one thing bothered him: the housekeeper, Annie Lee,
Mrs.
Annie Lee, by George, was the ugliest female he had ever seen!

Chapter Seven

The
Mrs.
had to be a courtesy title. Love might be blind, Gard reasoned, but this was asking too much. The woman had jaundiced skin and a chest so flat you could iron a neckcloth on it. She wore a black dress obviously made for someone two sizes larger, and a grayish mobcap with lappets that covered whatever hair she might have, except the three long ones growing out of the mole on her cheek. Dark spectacles most likely hid an awful squint or worse, and, since she never smiled, the earl assumed her teeth were as bad as her eyes. She stood perfectly, rigidly erect, except for the one shoulder that was permanently higher than the other.