Never Wager Against Love (Kellington Book Three) (16 page)

“How do you know I wasn’t going to say ‘that was uneventful’?”
she somehow found the strength to ask.

“Because, love, I witnessed the event.  Now, it’s probably
time to get some rest, especially now that Alfie and his friend have retired
for the night.  At least I hope they have and it’s not just the interval.”

Vanessa sat up halfway.  It was as far as his arms would
allow her to go.  “But what about you?  You haven’t had any…release.” 

Arthur pulled her back to him and kissed her forehead. 
“Tonight was eventful for me, as well, just not in the way you think.  I
reveled in the taste of you, the smell of you and how very responsive you are. 
But, my dear, I have reached the limits of my control.  If you were to help me
with ‘my release,’ I’m afraid we wouldn’t just be dealing with a trip to the
continent, but one to the end of the world.  Remind me to use a better analogy
the next time we discuss our lovemaking.  Now, close your eyes like a good girl
and don’t move from this position.  It’s the only way either of us will sleep
through the night on what is surely England’s smallest bed.”

She didn’t want to obey him, but fell asleep almost
immediately.

Despite his throbbing erection, Arthur found peace with her
in his arms.  He fell asleep shortly thereafter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nottingham, while not quite as big as Norwich, was still the
largest town in its shire, its population swollen by mill workers and those who’d
been dispossessed from the land.  As Dumbarton’s carriage rolled through the
streets, Vanessa watched as orange sellers competed with each other for sales and
children in little more than rags clung to their mothers.

“They’re so terribly thin,” said Vanessa. 

Arthur grimly nodded.  “Unfortunately, as more and more
families are forced off the land, they come to the cities, only to find little
work and even less hope.  In Nottingham, things are worse than average.”

“But why?” asked Vanessa as she turned to him.  “Surely a
town such as this would offer more opportunities than a small village.”

“Much of the blame can be laid at the feet of the man we’ve
come to see, the Duke of Newcastle.  He’s the major landholder in this area and
has been supporting his lifestyle on the backs of his laborers.  Each year, he
raises the rents to a level that drives his tenants to the breaking point. 
When they’re no longer able to pay, he evicts them then lures others onto the
land with promises of eventual ownership – if they can pay his rents.  Few manage
to do so.” 

“I take it you disagree with his methods?”

“I abhor them.  Our parents raised us to respect the
families who worked our lands.  We were from different classes, but that had
nothing to do with the real worth of a person.”

“Your parents sound rather radical in their beliefs,
especially for a duke and duchess.”

“My parents were the very best of people.  They treated
others fairly because it was the right thing to do.  And it turns out there are
also financial rewards, although they tended to give away more money to various
charities than they spent.  If you treat a man with respect, he’s likely to
give you his very best work.  I’m not sure if you noticed,” he said as he
smiled wryly, “but men have a certain amount of pride.”

Vanessa returned the smile.  “I have, from time to time,
been made aware of it.”

“When you treat a man as a man and not a worker beneath your
notice, he tends to live up to the faith you’ve placed in him.  And, most
importantly, it’s the decent thing to do.  I may not have paid a great deal of
attention to the many church services I attended as a child, but I do recall
the importance of treating others as you’d wish to be treated yourself.  My
point is that the Duke of Newcastle isn’t well liked here with reason.  Lynwood
certainly doesn’t care for his policies in the House of Lords.  Newcastle is
half a dozen years older than Liam, but they couldn’t be further apart in their
positions.  Whereas Lynwood is quite liberal in his policies...”

“Lady Elizabeth doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Yes, well, my sister has some peculiar ideas.”

“I think her ideas are quite forward-thinking and I admire
her work.”

Arthur shuddered theatrically.  “You may want to keep that
thought to yourself when we meet Newcastle.  Speaking of which, we’ll need to
get you a few new gowns.”

“There is nothing wrong with my gown.  It is perfectly
serviceable clothing for an agent of the Crown.”

“While your gown is, indeed, quite ‘serviceable’ for your
position, Newcastle isn’t used to treating females – of any class – as anything
other than objects to be used for his needs.   He won’t see you as an agent of
the Home Office.  He’ll only see you as female.  You’ll want to look your very
best when you meet him and that means a new gown.  Preferably one that doesn’t
feature more buttons than there are grains of sand on the beach.  Doesn’t your
neck grow overly warm with your gown buttoned to your ears?”

“My neck is none of your concern,” she said, as she brought
her hand self-consciously to her too-warm neck.  “And are you suggesting I try
to seduce the duke into giving us the cup?”

“Absolutely not!”  The forceful denial was out of Arthur’s
mouth immediately.  The very thought of Newcastle even kissing Vanessa’s hand was
beyond the pale.  He would never allow the two of them to be alone. He didn’t
even want her to accompany him to Newcastle’s home, but he had no choice in the
matter.  He didn’t believe this was the place she’d be shot, but there were
other dangers where Newcastle was concerned.  The man was a bully to his people
and, from what Lynwood had said, to his peers in the House of Lords.  Lynwood
had relished taking the man down a few pegs during the past few years.  At the
time, Arthur, Ned, Hal and Lizzie had all laughed at the tales.  Now he wondered
how much more difficult the mission would be because of his family.

He turned his attention back to the gown.  “Among
Newcastle’s many faults, is the belief that those who are beneath him – a
category which, in his mind, encompasses most of the known world – are subject
to his whims.  All of his whims.  And the further beneath him, the greater his right
to do as he wishes.  If you go in there dressed as a servant, he will not
hesitate to try to have his way with you.”

“I’m an agent of the Crown!”

Arthur took a deep breath and continued.  “And as a duke he doesn’t
believe he is answerable to man’s laws.  The only thing that might protect you
is if you are dressed like…”  Here, Arthur paused, trying to find a delicate
way to describe it.

“Your mistress?” asked Vanessa, who’d been only too quick to
understand where Arthur was going.

“Yes.  If he believes you’re under my protection, he may
leave you be.  Although you are never to be alone with him.  I’m afraid the technique
you used on Sir John might not work on Newcastle.”

“I’ve found it effective on most men.”

“I shall keep that in mind, should I ever venture where I’m
not wanted.  But Newcastle has a home filled with servants paid to do his
bidding, who could work in concert to subdue you.”  And Arthur would surely
kill the bastard if he so much as tried. 

“I don’t like this at all.”

“I would be quite surprised if you did.”  Arthur rapped on
the roof of the carriage.  “I believe that is the inn to which Dumbarton
directed us.  Perhaps the innkeeper will know of a good
modiste
.”

An hour later, after taking one room for the night, Arthur
escorted Vanessa to a dressmaker’s shop.  Having dismissed out of hand her
suggestion to go to a shop selling second-hand clothing, he ushered her into a
somewhat rundown establishment operated by a Mrs. Draper.

Mrs. Draper was short and almost equally round.  She was
assisted by her equally short and round daughter-in-law, but most of the work
seemed to fall to a tall, extremely thin assistant.  As the elder Mrs. Draper
strode into the room to greet her potential customers, she sized them both up
with knowing eyes.  She dismissed Vanessa with one look at her gown, but once
she caught sight of Arthur’s clothes – the quality of which was evident despite
the toll of their travels –  she broke into a wide grin that stopped well
before her eyes, but did extend to her cash box.

She and her daughter-in-law, known as Mrs. Robert Draper,
bowed deeply.  “Good day, my lord,” said the elder Mrs. Draper.  “What can we
do for you today?”

“I need to buy a few gowns for my wife.”

Both of the Mrs. Drapers eyed Vanessa from head to toe and
made it clear from their expressions they didn’t for one moment believe the
“wife” portion of his introduction.  Just as Vanessa was about to deny the
claim, Arthur put his arm around her waist then lowered it unobtrusively to her
backside.

From her indrawn gasp, it was a successful diversionary
tactic.

“My
wife
.” Arthur emphasized the term because he
hadn’t missed Draper and Draper’s insulting looks.  No London merchant would dare
cross a Kellington.  Not just for fear of their social power, but because they
were one of the few families of the
ton
who made it a habit to pay their
bills in full and on time.  If Arthur had walked into a Bond Street
establishment and declared himself married to Merlin, the shopkeeper would
offer to make the horse a superlative set of wedding clothes by day’s end.   But
here in Nottingham, with a limited selection of shops and time in short supply,
he had to tolerate the Drapers.  “My wife’s trunks were lost en route, so she
was forced to make do with a gown she borrowed from a governess.  However, it
is imperative that we have three new gowns, as soon as possible.”

“Of course, my lord,” purred Mrs. Draper, not letting her
opinion of a mistress masquerading as a wife get in the way of how much she
could increase her prices commensurate with the term “as soon as possible.”  “Perhaps
you’d like to look through our fashion plates while my girl takes your wife’s
measurements.”  She snapped her fingers at the thin assistant, who took Vanessa
behind a curtained area.  “I am sure we can deliver something suitable within
the week.” 

“A week will simply not be acceptable,” said Arthur.  “We
will need one gown delivered by day’s end.  We shall expect the others
tomorrow.”

“But, but, but…” stammered the elder Mrs. Draper.  “What you
ask is simply impossible.  Even if the gel works all night, which I can assure
you she is only too willing to do, we cannot produce gowns worthy of the Draper
name in so short a time.”

“I don’t think we should work this poor woman that hard,” called
Vanessa from the other side of the curtain, surely to the relief of the
beleaguered assistant.

“Perhaps,” said Arthur to the elder Mrs. Draper, “you might
have gowns that are waiting for other customers, which could be altered to fit
my wife.”

Mrs. Draper looked conflicted.  She clearly didn’t approve
of Vanessa, but was loath to pass up the fortune she knew she could charge if
she produced the gowns in time.  Apparently, Mrs. Robert Draper had no such
conflict. 

“Of course we can alter some of the gowns we have.  But they
will not come cheaply,” she said as she disappeared into the back of the shop.

“I expected they wouldn’t,” drawled Arthur, who approached
the curtained area.   “How are things progressing in there?”

“Quite well,” came Vanessa’s voice from the other side of
the divide.  “But I really don’t find it necessary to buy so many clothes.”

“But I’m a man who loves spoiling my wife, dearest.  You
should know that by now.”

A bit of under-her-breath muttering was the only response he
received.

Mrs. Robert Draper reappeared holding a gown quite suitable
to morning calls, in a shade of green that would compliment Vanessa’s hair
quite well. Arthur imagined her in the gown, as he slid the fabric between his
fingers.  Then he thought about her taking it off.  Suddenly, he was in a hurry
to go back to the inn.

“That is one of my finest gowns,” said Mrs. Draper, “but it
is promised to another customer.  One of my most loyal.”

“I am certain you can unpromise it for the right incentive,
can you not?” asked Arthur as he showed her his Kellington family signet ring,
causing the younger Mrs. Draper’s eyes to fairly bulge from her face.

Her mother-in-law wasn’t swayed so easily.  “I would hate to
disappoint a customer of long-standing,” she said.  “It would take a great deal
of incentive.”

Arthur then named a price that would be expensive by even
London standards.  Both Draper ladies looked close to fainting.  The poor
assistant audibly gasped.  Vanessa turned to him as if he’d gone Bedlamite.

“I will expect the first gown to be ready in four hours
because my wife and I shall be calling on the Duke of Newcastle tomorrow.  My
brother, the Duke of Lynwood, will be most appreciative of your efforts.  I daresay
he might even be persuaded to send you a note of thanks suitable for framing.” 

The younger Mrs. Draper was all aflutter.  The elder, more
suspicious Mrs. Draper took a look at the family crest on Arthur’s signet
ring.  Apparently, she knew her Burke’s peerage because she was quickly
convinced of its authenticity.

Arthur continued.  “Now let us see what other gowns you have
that might be suitable – in these emergency circumstances – for my wife.” 

Vanessa stifled a laugh.  By his clipped tones, Arthur was
making it clear he didn’t believe Mrs. Draper’s gowns would pass muster in
normal circumstances and certainly not in London.  But if the lady was offended
she didn’t show it.  The two Mrs. Drapers brought out gown after gown, hoping
to entice Arthur into additional purchases and evidently not giving a whit
about the inconvenience to their intended owners.  While the gowns might not be
of the quality Arthur was used to with the women he usually associated with –
which didn’t merit thinking about – the dresses would be the finest Vanessa had
ever owned.  There hadn’t been much call for fine gowns in her work with the
Home Office, and she certainly couldn’t afford them as part of her personal
life.  She was reluctant to accept them as a gift from Arthur.  But, oh, how
wonderful it would be to have new clothes.