Ridiculous (32 page)

Given that Millicent’s humor was unpredictable, Mildred was still not certain what she would say.

Neither was Millicent.

She had been so busy that afternoon that she had put aside any thought of the excuse she would use hoping to be struck by inspiration.

Fortunately, Mildred had her own plans.

“Mr. North, nipfarthing though he is, has granted us permission to host some form of entertainment, provided we do not beggar him in the process,” she said.

Mr. Simpson raised both eyebrows. “I hardly think I am the best person to ask for advice in such matters.”

“You are the only person we know, Mr. Simpson, that we can ask,” continued Mildred. “After all, you selected this house, which is far too small and lacking a ballroom for traditional
tonnish
entertainment. We were hoping you would be able to suggest an assembly hall or some such we could hire.”

Millicent groaned, all in the interest of staying in character, she told herself. To her surprise Mr. Simpson did not turn to her in male sympathy, but continued to concentrate on Mildred. Millicent found her own eyebrows rising. Could it be that Mr. Simpson returned her sister’s interest?

“We have been offered such kindness by the hostesses of the
ton
and it would be impolite to consume without offering reciprocation,” continued Mildred.

“Impolite, but inexpensive,” muttered Millicent and was ignored.

“A rental hall is not that unprecedented,” said Mr. Simpson, “since not all houses have the necessary facilities. Some hostesses take over the pleasure gardens for the evening, but I would not recommend that since it is generally regarded as a low class sort of entertainment with many opportunities for scandalous behavior.”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Mildred’s gasp was suitably shocked.

“Might I suggest an afternoon tea party? A picnic at one of the public gardens. An area can be reserved…” Mr. Simpson glanced toward Millicent. “At a reasonable rent.”

“And extra servants and food and tea,” muttered Millicent. “And new dresses and hats.”

“And an open carriage in which to arrive,” added Mildred.

“And parasols for when it rains,” shot back Millicent.

“I would recommend pavilions for the tea area itself, with both inside and outdoor seating, should the weather be unfavorable.” Mr. Simpson directed a smile to Mildred. “I would be honored to assist you with arranging the rentals.”

“Thank you, Mr. Simpson, but I simply could not take up so much of your time,” Mildred blushed and lowered her eyes. “If you would just direct me to the most reliable providers.”

“Oh, no. No trouble at all. It would be my pleasure.”

Millicent threw up her hands at that point. Mr. Simpson, it appeared, was as taken with her sister as her sister was with him. And the upshot was Millicent was going to have to pay for a party, and eventually, a wedding.

Fortunately, Mr. Simpson already knew how small a portion Mildred would have for a dowry. Since he was employed by the duke it was likely that for a wedding gift, Shoffer would grant him a small house for Mildred to occupy to begin her wedded life. Millicent could count on Simpson having well paid employment lifelong and a reasonable exposure to country society for Mildred to enjoy.

While Mr. Simpson and Mildred moved across the room to the escritoire to begin making lists for the party, Millicent began totting up in her mind the expenses of Mildred’s future life. Perhaps the amount in the Exchange could be added to annually? A gift for each child?

Mr. Simpson did not leave until quite late. Millicent escorted him to the door.

“I understand from His Grace, he intends to go to White’s after escorting Lady Beth to Almack’s tonight.” Mr. Simpson paused in the process of pulling on his gloves. “He did say something about applying to the patronesses for vouchers for your sisters.”

“I wish I had known,” said Millicent, “I would have begged he would not. An evening at home is not to be sneezed at. I find myself looking forward to Wednesdays.”

“Well, if you wish to find him, that is where he shall be. You are well enough known now, Mr. North, that if you were to go to White’s some other fellow might escort you in.”

“I have no intention of hanging about outside White’s like some ill-mannered dog banned from the house for chewing rugs with my nose pressed to the window waiting to be let back in. Tomorrow is soon enough to talk with Shoffer.”

Mr. Simpson gave her an odd look, but shook her hand without comment and departed. Millicent watched Mildred float up the stairs, her eyes glowing with the twin joys of becoming a society hostess and the promise of future meetings with Mr. Simpson to plan the details of her party. Sighing, Millicent retreated to her study.

She had no idea how other land owners managed during the season. Despite her efforts during the summer months to see to the properties and the conviction that once the harvest was in she could rest until next year, letters continued to arrive from her various tenants. Roofs, it seemed, waited until winter to leak, stock chose the worst weather to become ill, mines to flood. With her night hours caught up with taking her sisters about to
tonnish
events, the days spent visiting shops, Millicent found she had little time to manage those things that made the others possible. And, all the time in the back of her mind was the worry that one day her stewardship would be judged insufficient, the money would run out, and her deception would all be for naught.

After all, she was a young lady under this masculine clothing. With every letter that brought another potential farming disaster to her attention came the fear that she was missing something important. Something Mr. North, as the true heir to all this knew and she, as his mere secretary, had never learned.

Millicent settled at her desk reading and rereading her correspondence. She did not hear the clock ticking and chiming the hours of the night, nor the knock at the door that had one of her footmen shuffling to answer.

Shoffer’s voice, however, was enough to penetrate her concentration.

“I saw the lights still on downstairs. Are the family still awake?”

“Mr. North is in his study,” came the sleepy reply. “The ladies are abed.”

“If you would inquire…”

By that point Millicent was out of her chair, through the door, and facing Shoffer.

“Your Gracefulness, I did not think to see you tonight. Did Almack’s close its doors forever? Is White’s out of brandy? Come in. Come in and be comfortable. Is there anything you need?”

She could not wait to welcome him into her study. These were the times she enjoyed the most. Not those times when they walked and talked at balls, or explored London, but the quiet times seated near a fireplace. Shoffer’s face and body at rest, slumped in one chair while Millicent watched and admired and lusted from the other. These times when she alone held his attention. She did not need to be silly or strive to entertain him. Despite her disguise, these were the times when she was most herself and he was most desirable. Sometimes he would discard coat and cravat and she would be blessed with a rare opportunity to admire his form. She would watch his well-shaped lips form words and bathe her soul in the warmth of his voice and no one was the wiser.

Never for any money would she permit him to know her thoughts on such occasions. The heat filling her nether regions, melting her in that mysterious way, making her feel empty and hungry, was her own private pleasure and agony.

 “We could not be so lucky,” said Shoffer wearily. “Almack’s survives still. No, I provided Beth with escort there and took her home and now I was thinking to spend the evening at one of my clubs. I thought you might wish to come along. It is past time you gave up your solitary ways and joined one or two. Boodle’s, perhaps. I am certain the gentlemen there would enjoy your conversation and company. I would be pleased to put your name forward. You need to make more friends than just myself, North.”

“Hardly that,” Millicent looked closely into his dear face. It hardly seemed possible that she could love him more when she saw him less, but that was the truth. He did look tired, even sad. “You do not look your usual self, Shoffer. Was Almack’s legendary lemonade worse than usual? Did you dance with every young lady and wear out your shoes?”

Shoffer sighed and glanced toward the footman currently leaning against the wall outside with eyes half closed.

“No, this cannot be avoided. I wish a private word with you, North.”

Millicent could feel the blood draining from her face. Whatever had happened to make Shoffer stern?

“Go to bed, James,” she said to the footman. “I shall find the brandy for His Grace.”

“I do not need brandy, thank you.”

The footman shambled off, too tired to remember to bow. Once the study door was shut Shoffer refused a chair and every other courtesy Millicent offered, choosing instead to stand, hands clasped behind his back, staring into the fireplace. Millicent hovered behind him.

Shoffer struggled to unclench his jaw. The words he needed to say sealed his mouth. Gossip at the clubs had intensified over the last few days. The betting books contained all manner of subtly phrased bets. Now it was not only that North would be revealed as a person of degenerate morals, but the location and who else would be caught as his partner in crime was being discussed. No one dared to name Shoffer as yet, although the look in some of the
ton
elders' eyes hinted that speculation was rife.

Shoffer was forced to bite his tongue and ignore the looks, the snickers, and an unsubtle hint from one old roué that he would be happy to join him in his frolics.

He did not, could not,
would
not believe it true. He knew the rumors were not true of himself and North was an innocent, ignorant of the worse debaucheries of the world and Shoffer had no wish to be the person who ruined the virginity of his mind.

And yet he could not permit North to go wandering about in society unaware of the rumors that chased him. It occurred to him that if North was better known by his fellow gentlemen then the rumors would die. Who meeting North would think him capable of such a thing? Yes, he was a silly rattle. Yes, he found more opportunities to jest than seemed reasonable, but no, he was not degenerate in his person, opinions, or actions. A truly honorable, gentle, man.

Shoffer himself with rank to support and protect him was safe, but North was a mere country gentlemen and his cousins, ordinary misses, were particularly vulnerable to the worst damage gossip could cause.

Something had to be done, and soon, else the family would be cut from all good society.

“Shoffer? Your Grace?” There was a note in North’s voice that tore Shoffer’s conscience. “If I have offended…”

“No. No, North, you have not offended.” Shoffer turned to face his friend. “It is not you. It is the gossips of the
ton
. Purulent minds who see in innocent friendship degenerate intentions.”

Those words set North back on his heels. “I have no understanding of what you are saying.”

“I am certain that you do not and I wish I were not the one tasked with delivering this information, yet I cannot permit you to go on as you, as we, are!”

To Shoffer’s shock he saw a hint of tears forming in North’s eyes that were rapidly blinked away.

“We? What have
we
done? Has some father objected to our dancing with his precious daughter? Have my cousins done anything they ought not?”

“It is not their daughters they fear for, North, but their sons.”

“My cousins have not attempted to trap any gentleman into an unwelcome alliance.”

Shoffer grimaced and shook his head.

“Not your cousins. You.”

“What?” North shook his head. “I have not challenged any young man to a duel or tried to separate one from his sweetheart. What harm could I have done?”

His astonishment, his confusion were so sincere that Shoffer felt his heart lifting. From the first moment he heard the rumors he feared that someone saw something that Shoffer did not. North’s manners were so odd that it was possible … but, no! There were foppish dandies aplenty who wandered about the
ton
without scandal with odder mannerisms than North’s. It was not possible it was true.

And now, North’s protests were so innocent, it could only be that he was, in fact, innocent!

Shoffer let out a weak chuckle and pointed to the chair on the other side of the fireplace and waited until North was seated before he sank into its twin.

“My de … Mr. North, I am sorry to be the one to advise you on a subject that should not have to be raised, but there is a rumor going about that you and I … that we spend so much time together … that we are closer friends than we should be.”

“But why? I may not have rank, but I am a gentleman. The North family tree can be traced back to Henry’s time. And I am not so far beneath you in income, either.”

“None of that matters, North. It has been suggested that our friendship is…” Shoffer sought about for a polite way to phrase it, “of an
illegal
nature.”

“Oh?” said North. “Illegal? How can friendship be … oh. Oh!” His eyes widened and a deep blush overspread his cheeks. “Oh!”

“Yes, indeed. Oh.”

The high color fled North’s face as fast as it filled it leaving him white with shock. North went to clutch Shoffer’s hand but halted, then backed away. Shoffer grieved for the gesture that spoke volumes more for the injury he had inflicted than any amount of blood shed.

“Your Grace,” cried North when he had recovered his voice, “you know this is not true!”

“Of course, North. But that is beyond the point. The accusation has more weight than truth.” The worst of the news out and now his own soul satisfied that it was not true, Shoffer relaxed. “I suspect the story is being put about by Attelweir as revenge for my separating him from any hope of gaining Beth’s dowry. It is just the sort of foul thing that he would do.”

North did not comment, but stared blank faced into the fire.

“I heard the story a few days ago,” continued Shoffer, “which is why I have absented myself from your company, but I did not think I could continue to stay away without giving you some sort of warning. A few foolish souls of the
ton
might begin to cut you and your cousins, and you cannot defend yourself unless you know what sort of gossip is going around.”