Silver Splendor (18 page)

“I know you can take care of yourself,” she said softly. “But we’re friends, and friends are supposed to help each other. The instant I return home, I’ll speak to Nicholas about finding you a position.”

‘“Oo’s Nich’las?”

“The earl, Cicely’s brother.” Confidence hugged Elizabeth’s heart; instinct told her she was right. “He’ll come up with a better job for you, something decent. I know he will.”

“‘E’s the bloke that shook me ‘and.” Hope sparked in his eyes, then died. “Bloody ‘ell… er, beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Libby, but why would some fancypants earl want to ‘elp
me?”

“He found my father a position as a tutor. I’m certain he’ll do just as well for you.”

“I ain’t smart like yer dad.”

“You’ve got a quick mind, rumble fingers, and a willingness to learn.”

When Kipp still looked skeptical, Elizabeth patted his thin shoulder. What else could she say to reassure a boy who fended for himself because no one else cared?

The church bells chimed five times. “We’d best be getting back,” she said, rising from the steps and dusting off her violet dress. “I don’t want my father to worry.”

Elizabeth picked up her sketch pad and tucked it under her arm. Hands plunged into his trouser pockets, Kipp fell into step beside her. She wished she could erase his gloomy expression. What if she failed him? What if Nicholas aimed those disdainful gray eyes at her and refused to involve himself in the rehabilitation of a street urchin?

Then she would enlist Cicely’s aid. Because Nicholas, for all his blustering, seemed unable to resist his sister’s whims. In the meantime, she herself would employ Kipp as a model, at least until he could find a job in fresh air and sunshine.

Fondly she watched him roll an empty tobacco tin, nudging it with a dirty bare toe, deftly avoiding the constant stream of passersby. The smell of damp air and sewage crept from the river on a wisp of curling mist. The proliferation of canvas awnings over the shop windows shaded their eyes from the setting sun. The clatter of coach wheels and ironshod hooves created a din that diminished as they entered the narrow streets beyond the Strand.

Nearing the boardinghouse where she and her father had lived, Elizabeth thought of the royal blue sketchbook. It hadn’t been left in their old lodgings. That is, if she could believe the new occupant, a weary woman with three small and dirty children clinging to her tattered skirts. Sighing in mingled frustration and regret, Elizabeth faced the fact that the drawings of her mother were lost; she would have to reproduce them from memory.

“Cor!” Interest on his filthy face, Kipp quit kicking the tobacco tin and stared down the street. “There’s yer earl’s carriage now, Miss Libby.”

Despite his expressed doubts of Lord Nicholas Ware, Kipp started at a trot toward the elegant black landau parked at the curbside of her former boardinghouse. Elizabeth tightened her fingers around the sketch pad as she hurried after the boy. Nicholas… here? He should still be at tea. Perhaps he’d sent Miss Eversham or a footman after her.

Then the earl emerged from the tenement and strode toward the vehicle. Giving way before his tall, lordly form, the crowd of curious onlookers parted like the Red Sea. Her spirits soared, then sank. He looked stern, angry, forbidding. He paused to speak to Greaves, the coachman. As Nicholas turned toward the door held open by a footman, he saw her.

For an instant his handsome face came alive with emotion… relief? He took a step toward her. His eyes were intense, his hair mussed as if he’d raked his fingers through the chestnut strands. Then all sentiment evaporated from his expression, like a slate wiped clean. Elizabeth trailed Kipp through the small gathering. Had she imagined that flash of concern? Reaching Nicholas, she tilted her head to gaze into his grim gray eyes.

“Hello,” she said, feeling foolishly happy.

“Are you all right?” he snapped, sounding distinctly irritated.

“Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Why the devil did you go out without telling me?”

Stung by his gruff manner, she raised her chin a fraction. “I’m a grown woman. Not, of course, that I feel obliged to account for my free time.”

“Indeed.” Irony weighted his voice. “Get inside, please,” he said, inclining his head to the landau.

“In a moment. I have something to talk to you about first.”

“Get inside now, Miss Hastings.”

His fierce glare made her stomach quake and her willpower rebel. “Only if we take Kipp with us, since what I have to say concerns him.”

Lips drawn into a taut line, the earl aimed an impatient look down at Kipp. “For God’s sake… all right, he can go.”

“Cor!” exclaimed Kipp, his eyes agog as he stared at the fine carriage. “Yer wantin’ me to ride in
there?”

“If you’ve no objection,” Nicholas said, his tone reluctantly indulgent.

“Blimey! I mean, no, yer lordship, sir!”

Kipp glanced around to ascertain that all the onlookers had witnessed such an astounding invitation delivered by a peer of the realm. Then, as if fearing the earl might withdraw the offer, the boy made a dive for the step of the landau.

Nicholas seized Kipp’s grubby sleeve. “Not so fast. Master Gullidge. A gentleman must always allow the lady to precede him.”

“Aye, yer lordship, sir.” Abashed, Kipp moved aside so the footman could assist Elizabeth into the carriage.

Clutching her sketch pad like a shield, she sat down and collected her wits. He was furious at her for leaving his house unescorted, furious that she refused to conform to his rigid standard of feminine behavior.

“Blimey!” Kipp said again, as he plopped onto the seat beside her. Experimentally he bounced up and down on the plump leather cushion. “Ain’t this grand?”

“Sit tight, lad,” Nicholas ordered, as he settled opposite them. “I’ll not tolerate misbehavior.”

Instantly Kipp went still, though as the carriage started the swaying ride, he inched to the window and peered out, his eyes alight.

Elizabeth looked at the earl. Her heart did a somersault when she caught him staring at her; that handsome face looked coldly furious. She took a deep, doubting breath. He couldn’t be in all that unreasonable a mood… after all, he
had
allowed Kipp to come.

“Your lordship?” she said, imbuing the proper note of meekness into her voice. “Might I ask you something?”

He regarded her with icy intolerance. “You would do well to keep silent, Miss Hastings. After obliging me to cut short my visit with the Duke of Rockborough, you’re hardly in the position to demand favors.”

Elizabeth swallowed a retort. “It’s not for me,” she said. “It’s for Kipp.”

“Indeed.” Nicholas glanced at the boy, who sat enthralled by the sights, his nose pressed to the glass.

“Might I venture to guess it has something to do with that bruise on his cheek?”

Though his face was expressionless, Elizabeth felt encouraged. Leaning forward, the sketch pad clutched to her bosom, she said in a low voice, “Yes, because he objected when his mother wanted to send him to a workhouse. It would mean laboring long hours in a dank, airless room with a hundred women and children, picking old clothes apart to salvage whatever fabric is still usable. I cannot let him suffer such a fate.”

Nicholas looked suddenly weary. “Hundreds of thousands of Londoners are forced to live that way, Elizabeth. I can support bills in parliament to improve working conditions, but I cannot advocate closing all the workhouses. At least they provide a means for decent people to earn a lawful living.”

“But you
can
help Kipp get a better position, as you did my father,” she murmured, then added judiciously, “please.”

A muscle in his jaw tensed; otherwise he might have been carved of stone… an exceedingly fine statue, Elizabeth reflected. She yearned to delve into the thoughts behind that perfect countenance.

“I shall see what I can do,” he said.

Relief shimmered through her; she hugged her sketch pad when she longed to leap up and embrace him. “Thank you, Nicholas,” she said, smiling. “I was so hoping you’d say that.”

Those granite gray eyes flicked to her mouth. “That isn’t all I intend to say to you, Miss Hastings. However, I shall withhold any further remarks until we may speak in private.”

His formal tone chilled her; she felt her smile wilting like a camellia stung by a frost. Of course, he meant to chastise her for her unladylike actions. As if she was a wayward child!

Annoyance swam to the surface of her emotions. She welcomed their coming confrontation. She had a few things to say to him, too!

“Cor, Miss Libby, I ain’t never seen so many gents and ladies before.”

Kipp’s awed remark gave Elizabeth an excuse to slide beside him and gaze out the window. For the rest of the rolling ride, she chatted with the boy and steadfastly refused to pay any heed to Nicholas. Yet she felt the earl’s presence, so superior and angry, an arm’s reach away. His tautly controlled emotions rattled her more than an open display of temper.

A curious sense of homecoming warmed her when the landau drew to a halt across from the quiet park in Berkeley Square. As she accepted the footman’s white gloved hand and stepped from the carriage, Kipp scrambled out behind her. He gaped at the grand, gray stone mansion, then shot Elizabeth a suspicious look.

“Is this one of them borin’ art places, like the one you dragged me to by Trafalgar?”

“A museum?” Elizabeth laughed. “No, this is where Lord Nicholas and Lady Cicely live.”

Kipp tipped his head back, one grubby hand clamped to his crushed bowler hat as his gaze climbed the tall Corinthian columns. “Blimey! It’s a bloomin’ palace!”

Nicholas looked at the poker faced coachman. “Greaves, take Master Gullidge to the mews and get him cleaned up.” To Kipp he said, “There’ll be no fussing over bathing. If you’re to be my new tiger, you must learn to dress and act accordingly.”

“Tiger? Wot’s that?”

“You’re to be my groom. Do exactly as Mr. Greaves says and you’ll have a place here for as long as you like.”

‘“Ere?” Kipp stole another wide eyed peek at the house. “Yer wantin’
me
to work ‘ere?”

“I’ll pay you a fair wage. Unless you’ve some objection to the arrangement?”

The boy whipped off his hat and earnestly clasped it to his scrawny chest. “Oh, no, yer lordship, sir. I’ll do me very best, that I will. You won’t be regrettin’ takin’ Kipp Gullidge in.”

“Very good.” Turning to Elizabeth, his eyes fiercely silver in the waning light, the earl offered his arm. “Come along, Miss Hastings.”

Hesitating only an instant to say farewell to Kipp, she wrapped her fingers around the smoothness of the earl’s elegant coat sleeve. The muscles beneath felt firm and alive; Elizabeth’s stomach curled into a delicious knot. A man who displayed such generosity to a lowly street urchin could not be entirely hardhearted.

Unexpectedly Nicholas leaned closer and plucked the sketch pad from under her arm, handing it to the footman. “See to it this is taken to the conservatory, Dobson.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

Nicholas started up the steps and Elizabeth hastened to keep pace. One hand lifting her skirt hem so she wouldn’t stumble, she felt her heartbeat quicken.

“Where are we going?” she asked, as he marched her swiftly through the foyer and past a curious parlor maid.

“To have our little talk.”

“Ah, yes. I’d like to give you an earful.”

“Really?” he drawled, leading her unerringly through the labyrinth of corridors. “I suggest you close your mouth and listen, Miss Hastings. Silence is a trait much valued in a lady.”

Elizabeth clamped her lips shut, only because the sudden rising steam of anger scalded her throat. A lady! With Lord Nicholas Ware, everything always came back to that.

He turned sharply and hauled her toward the library. The instant they entered the long, book-lined room, she released his arm and her tongue.

“If you’ve brought me here to lecture me on manners,” she said, folding her arms, “you’re wasting your time. I’ve never pretended to have any interest in hobnobbing with your noble cronies, nor in making inane conversation about the weather and the latest fashions.”

Nicholas settled onto the edge of a clawfooted writing desk. Though the pose was casual, she sensed his seething emotions in the way his eyes raked her. “I’m amazed at you, Miss Hastings. Even you should be familiar with simple courtesy. You ought to have told me beforehand you had no intention of accepting my invitation to tea.”

Disregarding a prick of guilt, she elevated her chin. “An invitation or a royal summons?”

“Call it what you like, by God, but I wanted you there. Is that so much to ask, that you tear yourself from your own selfish pursuits long enough to drink a cup of tea?”

“To simper and smile like one of your empty headed society ladies? No, thank you, your lordship.”

He moved his hand in an impatient gesture. “No one is asking you to change what you are, Elizabeth. There’s a vast difference between exercising prudence and acting the fool.”

Annoyed, Elizabeth drew in a breath scented by leather book bindings and a heady trace of the earl. “I don’t understand why you’re carrying on so. Why should it matter to you whether or not I socialize with a duke and his family?”

For an instant she had the impression of violent emotions stewing within Nicholas; then a closed look banished all expression. “I’ve told you before, as long as you live in this household, Miss Hastings, I expect you to know the proper mode of behavior for a lady. It’s for your own good.”

His sudden formal manner frustrated her. Oddly, she preferred the infuriated man over this unfeeling stranger.

“Really, your lordship? Or can’t you bear to associate with a woman who refuses to conform to your rigid standards? A woman capable of independent thought?”

“Independent!” Nicholas uttered a scathing laugh. “I suppose that’s your excuse for going off unchaperoned into one of the roughest areas or the city.”

“I was never in any danger.”

“How can you be so sure of that? After two attempts on your life — and possibly a third, when your lodgings were ransacked?” Nicholas slammed his palm onto the leather topped desk. “My God, and you label society women fools.”