The Fifth Kiss (4 page)

“I don't know how to … I wonder …” She looked up at him with sudden purposefulness. “Jamie
can't
be right, can he?”

“Probably not. But, my dear, what are you talking about? Has Jamie done something foolish?”

“No, this has nothing to do with him. But he
did
say …” She shook her head in troubled doubtfulness.

“Well?
What
did he say? If that clunch has upset you with one of his tiresome pecadillos, I'll—”

“I told you this has nothing to do with Jamie. It's only that he told me … he said that … that all gentlemen have had, at some time or other, something to do with … er … ladies of the muslin company. Is that
true
, Charles?”

Charles couldn't believe he'd heard her properly. “What?” he asked, blinking at her stupidly. “Did you say …
muslin
company?”

“Yes. That's a proper expression, isn't it? For … er … opera dancers and doxies and that sort?”

Charles frowned and bit down hard on the stem of his pipe. “Why on
earth
,” he demanded, “did he tell you a thing like that? What sort of subject is
that
to discuss with a delicately nurtured female?”

Olivia raised her brows in offended dignity. “Delicately nurtured indeed! Really, Charles, what nonsense! I was under the impression that we could talk about any subject in the world! Did you not always tell me that I might pursue any topic about which I had some curiosity? You never said anything about its suitability for females.”

“Perhaps I didn't,” Charles muttered, “but I … that is, I meant only
scholarly
subjects, of course. Any fool would know that such a …! Good lord, Livie, I didn't think you'd show an interest in a sordid subject of
that
sort.”

“And I didn't think, Charles,” Olivia retorted in irritation, “that you would turn out to be a
prig
. Of
course
I'm interested in that subject.
Anybody
would be. Aren't you?”

Charles glared at her, puffing furiously at his pipe. “Never mind about me! This is not a subject fit for a lady, no matter
what
I may have said before! And Jamie was completely buffle-headed to have discussed such a matter with you.”

“He
didn't
discuss it with me.
I
discussed it with
him.
”

“Don't quibble.”

“It's not a quibble.
I'm
the one who broached the subject.”

“You? But … why?” His brows came together in a worried frown. “Has Jamie gotten himself into some sort of fix with a … a …?”

“No. Not Jamie.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Charles sighed, leaning back in relief. “You mean you had merely a …
theoretical
discussion, is that it?”

“No, it wasn't,” his sister declared bluntly. “But I
would
like to understand the theory before I tell you the substance.
Do
all gentlemen have fancy pieces in their care?”

Charles, nonplussed, puffed at his pipe in some confusion. He didn't know how or what to answer. This was not the sort of subject he felt comfortable discussing with his young sister. However, he had formed the habit of responding to her questions with candor and forthrightness, a habit which had worked out well in the past. Perhaps it would be best, he decided, to try to maintain that tradition. “I suppose not
all
,” he answered with a shrug.

“Well, then, how many
do
?
Almost
all? Half? Two in ten?”

“Really, Livie, this is most indelicate! Besides, how can I know? I don't suppose anyone's ever studied the subject … or published data—”

“Can't you guess?” she persisted.

“No, I can't. It's not a subject on which I feel qualified even to theorize,” he answered shortly. “Now, will you stop these silly questions and tell me the ‘substance' of all this?”

“Oh, very well. But I'm beginning to realize that there are a great many very interesting matters about which I am sadly ignorant.” She got up from the chair and went to the fireplace, pausing to stare into the flames before continuing. “I saw Strickland on the street last night … with a lightskirt. He was kissing her.”

“Oh, I
see.
” He gave his sister a penetrating glance. “You were, of course, quite horrified. And rightly so.”

She lifted her gaze from the fire to his face. “Aren't
you
horrified? He is, as Shakespeare said, ‘falser than vows made in wine.'” She studied her brother's eyes for a long moment. “No, you're
not
horrified! And neither was Jamie. Does that mean, Charles, that you men
condone
such behavior? Or that you
yourself
…?” She paused, unable to find the courage to pursue the thought.

“No, it does
not
mean any such thing!” he answered promptly, giving her a wry grin. “That's how I know that not
all
gentlemen so indulge themselves.”

Olivia gave a small sigh of relief. “I'm glad, Charles. I
knew
you were too fine a person to … But then, isn't it shocking that Strickland has taken one?”

“Perhaps it is,” Charles said thoughtfully, “but I wouldn't judge him too harshly if I were you, Livie. I live a rather monkish life, you know. But Strickland is right in the thick of society, facing all sorts of stimulation and temptation, while his wife is miles away in the country tending her babies. It's not very surprising, under the circumstances, that he should seek—”

“Not surprising for a man of his ilk, I suppose,” Olivia cut in coldly, “but quite unforgivable all the same. Why, I would sooner find an excuse for
you
—or even
Jamie
—to take yourselves a
chère amie
than for Strickland!
He
has a
wife
!”

“No one is asking you to find excuses for him, my dear. It is, after all, none of your affair.”

“Isn't it? What about Clara?” she demanded.

“What about her?”

“Shouldn't she be told?”

“
Told
?” Charles echoed in horror. “Whatever for?”

Olivia made an impatient little gesture with her hand. “I don't know. But I cannot abide the thought of her innocent adoration of that
rake
! He's making a complete fool of her!”

Charles fondled the bowl of his pipe as he studied his sister with concern. “I can quite understand how you feel, Livie, but you're fair and far off on this subject. No matter how attached you may feel toward your sister, her
marriage
is not your concern. It is a private matter between man and wife. You are too young and inexperienced to comprehend the complexities of such relationships—”

“Humbug!” his sister said cuttingly. “This is the first time, Charles, that I've ever heard you resort to an
ad hominem
argument of that sort! Too young to comprehend, am I? If you ask me, the truth of the matter is that you're too
cowardly
to wish to deal with this problem. These sordid personal matters
embarrass
you!”

“
Now
who's indulging in
ad hominem
arguments?” he promptly retorted. “Let us try to discuss this rationally, if you please. You are arguing that Clara should be told so that Strickland cannot make a fool of her, is that right?”

“Yes, I suppose you may phrase it so.”

“Well, before
whom
is he making a fool of her?”

Olivia shrugged. “Before anyone who knows that he's involved with a doxy.”

“And who knows it?”

“How can I say? Half of London, perhaps.”

Charles shook his head scornfully. “Balderdash! We would certainly have heard some gossip if that were the case. I am convinced that Strickland is clever enough to manage his affairs with discretion.”

Olivia glared at him. “But
we
know it!”

“Yes, but Strickland can scarcely make Clara a fool in
our
eyes, can he?”

“No, I suppose not,” Olivia admitted, returning to her chair and slumping into it.

“Then your argument is overset,” Charles concluded triumphantly.

“Not quite,” Olivia persisted, sitting up and leaning forward in urgent concern, “
I
managed to discover the truth, didn't I? I, who don't go about in society a great deal. Then is it not logical to assume that some others may also have discovered it—and much more readily than I?”

“Yes, perhaps,” her brother granted, “but until the matter is a subject of gossip, there is very little harm being done to Clara. Does the possibility that one or two people may know the truth justify your going to your sister with a tale that is certain to give her pain?”

Olivia put her elbow on the arm of her chair and rested her chin in her hand. “No, of course not. You're quite right. I'm undoubtedly being excessively foolish about this.”

Charles smiled at her fondly. “Not foolish, exactly. You're merely permitting your distaste for Strickland's behavior to affect your judgment.”

“Distaste?” Olivia raised her eyebrows and slowly rose from the chair. “
Distaste
? That's much too mild a word, my dear Charles. Much too mild a word. What I feel for Miles Strickland is complete and utter disgust. No … more! An overwhelming
loathing
! Yes, a loathing … a revulsion so … so sickening that I shall probably not recover until I've had an opportunity to tell him
exactly
what I think of him!” Matching action to her words, she strode to the door, kicking aside whatever books and papers were stacked in her path.

“Livie!” Charles exclaimed, shocked. “You're behaving quite immoderately.”

“Yes,” she said, pausing at the door and looking back at him disdainfully. “I suppose I am.”

“I'm sure I needn't caution you, my dear, against doing anything so foolish as speaking to Strickland about this,” he admonished.

“No, you needn't. I wanted your advice about
Clara
. But as far as
Lord Strickland
is concerned, I'll follow my
own
counsels, thank you. So you may keep your cautions to yourself.”

“Livie, you can't mean that you—?” He lifted himself from his chair, but the door slammed behind her just as he'd raised himself halfway between sitting and standing. He dropped back down into his chair again with a grunt. “No, she wouldn't … she
couldn't
do such a thing as that,” he assured himself aloud, and he puffed at his pipe with deep, reassuring breaths. After all, he knew his sister. She was not the sort of girl to indulge in outrageous, headstrong, ill-conceived bouts of mischief. And that was just what a confrontation with Lord Strickland would be.

But he assured himself that Olivia was above such misconduct; she was too self-controlled, too sensible. Therefore, there was no need to follow her. He need do nothing but turn his attention to his work and put the entire matter of his sister's explosion of temper from his mind. It was nothing but a tempest in a teapot—that was all. If he knew his sister at all, she would have regained her equilibrium by dinnertime.

But Charles did not know his sister as well as he thought.

chapter four

Miles Strickland, the Earl of Langley, was attempting to shave. One would suppose that, having shaved himself since his youth (and that was a greater number of years ago than he would wish to count, his lordship having turned thirty-five just a month earlier), he would find no great difficulty in accomplishing so mundane a task. But with his valet hovering uselessly at his right elbow (overly eager to supply shaving soap or to swab his lordship's face with a towel at a moment's notice) and his friend, Arthur Tisswold, leaning over his left shoulder (busily arguing politics with Strickland's reflection in the shaving mirror) Strickland was finding it almost impossible to complete the chore. When he'd nicked his chin for the second time, he turned to Tisswold in annoyance. “How many times must I
reassure
you, Arthur?. We are in no danger of losing the government to Grenville, to Grey or to any other Whig. So you may take yourself off with an untroubled mind and leave me to complete my shaving before I do my chin a serious injury.”

“Don't see how you can be so certain,” Sir Arthur insisted stubbornly, not budging an inch from his position—neither his political stance nor his stand just behind Strickland's left shoulder. “Now that Parliament has given final confirmation of the Regency, Prinny's bound to feel free to let in some of his old friends.”

Strickland had been hearing the same argument repeated for over a year. In January of 1811, Parliament had passed the Regency Bill, and since then the political “sages” had repeatedly predicted that Prinny would appoint some of his old Whig cronies to the cabinet, with Grenville, Grey, or his favorite, Sheridan, as Prime Minister. But here it was, more than a year later, and with Parliament's confirmation of the bill in the Prince's pocket for more than a month, and
still
the Tory, Spencer Perceval, remained as Prime Minister with his cabinet intact. The Whigs were growing angrier and more disappointed with each passing day as the Prince seemed to grow further and further away from his old Whig associates. Nevertheless, many of Strickland's Tory circle still trembled at the fearful anticipation of a change of government. Couldn't they see how the Prince had withdrawn from his Whiggish friends? Why, at this very moment, Prinny was probably closeted in his sitting room at Carleton House reading scriptures with Lord and Lady Hertford, the Toriest of them all. Of what were Tisswold and the rest of them so afraid?

But Arthur continued to voice his concern. “He's
bound
to feel more secure now that his appointment has been confirmed. A coalition cabinet is the very best we can hope for.”