Ridiculous (17 page)

Shoffer considered this, then nodded. “You are right. I have family enough that someone could be found and the traveling and socializing without the pressure of a house party would benefit Beth.”

A yawn took Millicent by surprise. “Forgive me, but I have been traveling and if we are to leave tomorrow, I should pack and rest.”

“Oh, yes, of a certainty. But before you retire, I promised myself there is something we would do on the first day of your visit and I am determined to keep to my plan.”

“Oh?” Millicent tried again to raise her eyebrow. “Some entertainment in my honor?”

“Entertaining for me. Come lad, up. My valet is waiting to give you a haircut.”

Millicent did not have to fake her collapse. A valet to put his hands on her? “No. I beg you. No.”

Shoffer would not hear any of Millicent's stammered protests or excuses. It was not as if she could tell the truth. She was afraid that the experienced valet would be able to tell by some mysterious sense, by the shape of her head or some such, that she was not a man. Indeed, even as they tried to force her into the chair she resisted the removal of her loose fitting coat and refused to untie her cravat. Frustrated and amused, Shoffer threw a heavy sheet toward her with which to cover her clothing.

“All right, then, keep your neck cloth,” cried Shoffer. “Do not complain to me if your neck itches for the next seven days.”

Millicent sank down in the proffered chair, the cloth raised to her chin and tented around her body; she regarded the instruments of hair cutting fearfully. Shoffer's valet, a middle-aged, egg-shaped man called Ikelsby, dropped Millicent's secondhand coat onto a bench and regarded the hacked off, uneven ends of her hair with an expression of disgust.

“When we get to London, Ikelsby,” said Shoffer from his position of comfort on a couch at the other side of the room, “you shall confer with your colleagues and see if we can find some strong soul who can undertake to make over our friend North.”

“I beg you would not,” said Millicent, shrinking away as the shears came closer.

“I believe,” said Ikelsby, making the first cut and struggling to find a diplomatic reply, “that it will be difficult to find a gentleman's gentleman who could give satisfaction.”

“Yes. Exactly.” Millicent's eyes, wheeling in panic, focused on Shoffer. “Besides, who would give up London for Yorkshire?”

There was no way she could keep the secret of her gender from so intimate a servant as a valet. Impossible. That was one of the reasons she made no attempt to dress in a fashionable manner. Her loose coats and trousers were as necessary as the cravats around her chest in maintaining her secret.

“I was thinking some batman who lost his master on the battlefields might do,” continued Shoffer. “A strong sergeant type with a bullhorn voice to keep Mr. North in line.”

“It would have to be someone of that type.” Ikelsby pulled on her hair and cut and tugged this way and that until her scalp ached and tears threatened.

The ordeal ended without anyone feeling much the winner. Ikelsby snipped and combed and arranged locks, but never professed himself to be satisfied. In the end, he sighed and held up a mirror. Millicent regarded the result without enthusiasm.

“It seems,” said Millicent, moving her head first one way, then the other, “that you have done as much as you could with such poor goods. You have at least left me my ears.”

Her only emotion, in viewing herself, was relief to have survived without being revealed. Shoffer regarded the results unhappily.

“We shall never make you a Corinthian, Mr. North. Nor shall you give Brummel any point for concern.”

“Neat and clean is the best we can hope for,” added the valet, sadly. “With no reason for ambition it would be difficult to find a valet for Mr. North. Our role is to turn our masters out as best they can be, but Mr. North…”

His voice trailed away and all the men in the room nodded together. Mr. North would never be a fashionable man. Millicent stared at her reflection, wondering why it was that she was tall and plain as a woman and still unhandsome as a man. It hardly seemed fair.

“Your cousins,” said Shoffer, with some hesitation, “do they much resemble you?”

Millicent considered the question odd and thought before answering.

“The ladies are generally considered to be pleasing in their looks and address,” she ventured, and seeing Shoffer's shoulders relax, Millicent laughed. “Oh, dear. Were you fearing you must give consequence to ladies who are not worthy of your attention? Poor duke. How sad. No, do not worry. All the good looks in the family were granted to the ladies, as is to be preferred. They are both charming and pretty.”

Rising from the chair before some other attack be planned, Millicent tossed the sheet onto the floor and retrieved her coat.

“With your permission, I shall retire, if I can but find out in which closet the dowager hid my bags. Or, perhaps, I should begin digging in the garden?”

Shoffer gave the bell pull a tug. “The upstairs maid will direct you. Considering the weather, if you rise early enough we shall go riding before departure. I shall send a note to Beth to ask she join us.”

“Oh, will the fun and frolic never end?” drawled Millicent and bowed herself out of the room.

The upstairs maid was approaching already and Millicent begged to be guided to her bed. As they walked past the dowager's chamber, Millicent could hear that lady's voice raised in a scold. She considered returning to Shoffer to let him know someone was being harangued, but decided she did not want to overstep. Besides, if it were Mrs. Fleming on the receiving end of the sharp edge of the dowager's tongue, then it was no more than that lady deserved. Instead, she took herself off to bed to dream that it was Shoffer who combed her hair and it had miraculously grown, her shirt and trews turned to silk ball gown and her beauty was revealed to the duke. And he, seeing her, saw how little beauty there was to be, turned away.

She awoke to a tear stained pillow and bright sunlight.

* * *

Timothy Shoffer, Duke of Trolenfield and master, somewhat, of most of what he surveyed, regarded the spread on the breakfast board without enthusiasm. He had gone, late the previous night, to try again to speak to his sister, only to be told by that lady's chaperone that Beth was retired for the night. Beth's difficulty with company was a constant source of frustration and fear for the duke and he was grateful that providence had granted they meet the one person in all England who seemed able to break Beth out of her shell.

Beth had been taken from their home after the death of their parents from a purulent fever when Shoffer was in his twenties and Beth a mere child. It had been their grandmother's decision, then. Shoffer, the dowager declared, would be too busy coping with his new responsibilities to bear with the problems of a young girl. So, away went Beth leaving Shoffer to grieve alone.

Looking back Shoffer was certain that he had permitted Beth to be taken away not so much out of the conviction she would do better with a female relative, as much as Shoffer's determination to get the duchess out of the building as soon as possible after the funeral. The guilt of that selfish act ate at him now.

Poor Beth. He had not given a thought to how she would suffer. He thought the dowager and the little girl would be a comfort to each other, but it was obvious that had not occurred.

There was nothing Shoffer would not do now to make amends for that neglect. They were both lucky to have met Mr. North, someone they could both enjoy. Mr. North possessed that unique talent of being able to make himself agreeable to company, both high and low, male and female. If they had not met, Shoffer was certain he would still be living with a silent Beth, helpless to deal with her woes.

Glancing toward the windows, Shoffer took note of the brilliant sunlight. He gestured toward the waiting footman as he took his seat at the head of the table.

“James. Have a message taken to my sister; ask her if she would like to join Mr. North and myself for a riding lesson. Then take yourself down to Mr. North's room and have him chased out of bed.”

“No need,” said his friend, entering the room tugging at the collar of his ill-fitting riding coat. “Here I am and ready, if unwilling, to be bounced about like a sack of potatoes.”

“The sooner you learn proper posture the less bouncing there shall be.”

As Mr. North made his way down the sideboard selecting a little of this and a little of that, Shoffer congratulated himself for not being misled by North's appearance of shabby gentility, nor by his humorous way of talking. In these last few months, the man had proved himself capable of good sense, when required, and celebration in its proper hour. Shoffer looked forward to receiving his letters with an eagerness he felt for no other. Of all the people he had met in his years of attending
ton
events, Shoffer could think of no one whose company he had enjoyed more.

The footman returned at that moment and hesitated at the door.

“What is it, man?” demanded Shoffer.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace. Sally, Lady Elizabeth's maid, says how her bed has not been slept in.”

“Excuse me?” Shoffer put down his knife and half rose from his chair.

“Lady Elizabeth, Your Grace. Sally went in to see if Lady Elizabeth was awake and she found the room empty. She says how Lady Elizabeth did not call her last night to help her get ready for bed, nor give her instructions for this morning and now Sally cannot find her.”

Shoffer shot out of the room as if attached to a firework. Mr. North dithered for a moment before putting down his plate and running after him.

“Did anyone enter or leave the house last night?” demanded Shoffer as they ran past Forsythe in the main hall.

“No, Your Grace.”

Shoffer hit the stairs at a run with North, uncharacteristically stern in visage, a bare step behind him. They arrived at Beth's room just as the maid Sally emerged, shaken and pale, but not yet in tears.

“When did you see her last?” roared Shoffer.

“Have pity, Shoffer,” said North. “The girl will faint if you cannot be calm.”

“To hell with calm!”

“What is all this noise?” demanded the dowager, emerging from her room in her dressing gown and sleeping cap, three rows of lace outlining her face. “Shoffer, remember who you are.”

“I know very well who I am,” cried Shoffer, lowering his voice in the face of his grandmother's frown. “What I do not know is, where is my sister?”

Some awareness fluttered across the woman's face and she stepped back, one hand on her door. “There is no need for this fuss. She spent the night with me.”

North took a half step forward and rested his hand on Shoffer's sleeve.

“I cannot imagine,” he said in a near whisper, “any circumstances wherein Lady Beth would choose
willingly
to spend a night with the dowager.”

“No more can I,” said Shoffer. “If you would be so kind, please tell Lady Beth I wish to see her.”

“She has not yet arisen.” The dowager tugged on the door, half closing it.

“I care not. I will see her now.”

“Shoffer, this is hardly proper. I am not ready to receive visitors this early in the day.”

North, always courteous, stepped a little away from the quarreling family members and directed a few of the servants away. There was no need for them to view this argument. Then Shoffer saw him stop and stare toward the dowager's chamber.

“Did you hear that? That thumping? What is that?” North demanded, just as Mrs. Fleming's head appeared behind the dowager and vanished.

“Nothing,” said the dowager, flushing.

That was the last straw for Shoffer. He pushed past her and was in the bedchamber before anyone else moved. On the far side of the room was an ancient, inlaid armoire with its door locked. From within came a muffled thumping. In an instant Shoffer was on his knees before the shaking armoire, struggling with the key.

“Oh, my God,” came the whisper from North.

Within seconds Shoffer was dragging open the door and lifting his sister off the floor of the wardrobe. Shoffer crossed the room and deposited his sister into North's arms. His move took the youth by surprise and it was all the smaller man could do to prevent the girl from dropping to the floor. Instead of bearing Beth away North settled her feet on the ground and held her to his side.

“Take her,” ordered Shoffer. “Have care of her while I deal with this.”

Shoffer pushed them both out of the room and shut the door in their faces. Then he turned to face the dowager who retreated until she was holding the posters of the bed for support.

“Now, Your Grace,” he growled, clasping his hands behind his back so that he might resist the temptation to strangle the dowager. “We shall come to terms.”

* * *

Outside in the corridor Millicent found herself and Beth to be the center of many curious eyes. As she was not strong enough to carry Beth, Millicent settled for putting an arm around the girl’s waist and half dragging her along the corridor toward her own room. Maneuvering around a stunned footman Millicent's brain fired to life and she glared around at the gathered servants.

“Lady Elizabeth will need a hot bath. Bring water, a lot of it. And you,” she nodded to Sally. “Which other maid does Beth like?”

“Ah? Lily?”

“Excellent. Have her fetched as well. The two of you will take Lady Beth in hand and put her to bed.”

“No,” whispered Beth, the first sound she had uttered since emerging from the armoire. She tightened her grip around Millicent's arm, cutting off the blood. “Please. No. I cannot sleep.”

“Very well, they shall help you dress and keep you company until your brother arrives.”

They went into Beth's well-appointed suite of rooms. When Millicent paused at the door, Beth dragged her further in.

“Do not leave me. Please. I do not feel safe without you.”

Millicent cast an anxious glance over her shoulder. This was Shoffer's place. His responsibility, not Millicent's. As Mr. North, she could not stay, but as a caring human being, she could not leave.