The Naked King (9 page)

She hurried after the boys, and he let her go.

“There’s Charles,” George said as Stephen caught up to them. He waved at the footman, who was on the other side of the street.

“Thank you for your escort, Mr. Parker-Roth.” Anne addressed his cravat. “We won’t take any more of your time. Charles can see us safely home.”

“But I’m happy to—”

She met his eyes briefly.
“Please.”
One word only, but the desperation was clear. She dabbed at her face with his crumpled handkerchief.

“My sister is right, sir,” Philip said, somewhat stiffly. “We have taken too much of your time.”

The boy wasn’t going to regret his moment of irresponsibility too much, was he? “Then I’ll leave Lady Anne in your capable hands, Lord Rutledge, and I will see you and Master George tomorrow. Will the afternoon be convenient?”

Philip nodded. “Oh, yes, sir.”

“But you must promise me you won’t give the ladies any more cause to worry.”

“We won’t, sir. You have my word.”

“George?”

“We’ll be little angels.”

Stephen laughed. “Oh, I’m not asking for miracles. Just endeavor to stay out of trouble. Can you manage that?”

George gave him a cocky grin. “Do I have to promise not to worry people or to stay out of trouble? Because they’re not quite the same thing, you know.”

“Just don’t wander out of the square and try not to do any damage, all right? And do leave Lady Dunlee’s cat alone.”

“All right.”

Anne had regained her composure. She offered him her hand. “Thank you again for all your help today, Mr. Parker-Roth. I sincerely appreciate it.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “My name is Stephen, Anne. I am your servant as always—and I will see you this evening at the Earl of Kenderly’s.”

“What? You are mistaken, sir.”

“No, my love, I am not.”

“Come
on
, Anne,” George said. Charles had crossed the street to meet them and was shifting from foot to foot.

“We have no invitations,” Anne said.

“You will.”

“And I have nothing to wear.” She lifted her chin.

He grinned. Good, she’d got back some of her fire. “Ah, ye of little faith. Celeste can work magic—you’ll see.”

He bowed and left, smiling a little at the sound of her sputtering.

“Boys,” Anne said, “will you take Harry out of here? His tail almost sent that purple vase flying off the table.” They were taking tea in the green sitting room, which was much too small for three women, two boys, and a large dog.

“It’s an ugly vase.” Philip grabbed Harry and hugged him. “It would be better broken.”

George flung himself onto the floor, too, wrestling Harry away from Philip and almost knocking over a Chinese pig with his foot. “If we broke all the ugly things in this house, there’d be nothing left.”

“I don’t think Papa would like that, George,” Evie said, saving a shepherdess from Philip’s elbow.

George paused, letting Philip pull Harry out of his grip, and his eyes lit up. “A shilling says he would.”

“Good heavens!” Clorinda put her hand to her breast, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Are they always so . . . active?”

“Yes.” Anne fixed the boys with the look she’d perfected over ten years of managing them. “We are not wagering on that or anything else, George. Now please take Harry away.”

“Shall we take him outside?” Philip asked.

“Take him anywhere as long as it’s not here—
and
as long as you stay in the square or in the back garden. Don’t go wandering off again.”

“We won’t. We gave our word to Mr. Parker-Roth, right, George?”

George shrugged.

“George.”
Anne had perfected a no nonsense tone as well.

“All right. Yes. We won’t wander off.” George looked a trifle sulky. “Mr. Parker-Roth did say he was coming tomorrow, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did, so you have less than twenty-four hours to wait.”

“That’s a long time.”

“George, it’s—”

Fortunately Mr. Hobbes brought in a tray of cakes at that moment.

“Hooray!” the boys shouted in unison. In a burst of noise and action, they left, taking Harry and at least half the cakes with them.

Clorinda sighed and looked sadly at the tray. “I do hope Mr. Parker-Roth produces a young man to take charge of those devil—I mean darlings soon.” She reached for the largest slice of seed cake the boys had left.

“I’m sure he’ll do his best,” Anne said.

Clorinda nodded and then continued with the topic the boys’ commotion had interrupted, speaking around a mouthful of cake.

“I still don’t understand why you are resisting Lady Brentwood’s gracious invitation to her card party tonight, Anne.” She washed the cake down with a sip of tea. “We are very fortunate she happened to be having it this evening. It will be an excellent way for you and Evie to meet a few people before you’re thrown into society.” She took another bite. “And if we’re very lucky, Evie will meet an eligible parti immediately, and I can return to the library. Your papa may have his faults, but he has an excellent library.”

Anne almost wished she could call Philip, George, and Harry back into the sitting room. “After today’s excitement, I think a quiet evening at home would be more in order.”

In the normal course of things, Clorinda might be correct; if the hostess was anyone other than Lady Brentwood, Anne would agree to attend. The woman seemed very pleasant, but Anne had no desire to attend an event with Lord Brentwood present. And to expose Evie to him—no, it didn’t bear thinking of.

She repressed a shudder. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with that family. “It is not as if Evie has never been about in polite society, Clorinda. She’s attended any number of events at home.”

Clorinda snorted, sending some cake crumbs tumbling down her bodice. “Bah, the country! Bears no resemblance at all to London society—as different as chalk from cheese. Far too many girls come to Town thinking they can go on as they did in the country and fall flat on their faces—figuratively speaking for the most part—at their first ball.”

Evie leaned forward in her chair. “I’m not tired, Anne,” she said, “and Cousin Clorinda may be right. Perhaps it would be good for me to get my feet wet in this small pond”—she smiled—“or puddle, really. Lady Brentwood was very nice when we met her at the dressmaker’s shop. I think I’d like to go.”

“But what would you wear?” Anne saw a possible winning argument. Evie wasn’t vain, but she appreciated beautiful clothes. “Our dresses haven’t arrived yet.”

“Oh.” Her sister looked crestfallen. Anne steeled her heart. She knew beyond a doubt it was best they both avoid this gathering.

Clorinda helped herself to another slice of cake. “I’m sure you have something you can wear. It
is
only a small party after all. Marion understands you’ve just arrived in Town.”

Anne took advantage of Clorinda’s full mouth. “Lady Brentwood may understand, but what about her guests? London is bristling with gossips.”

Unfortunately, Clorinda was a fast and efficient chewer. “As you learned this morning to your detriment, my girl.”

Anne flushed. She’d momentarily forgotten about Lady Dunlee.

“It will be good for you to face the smaller dose of gossip you’ll encounter this evening, Anne,” Clorinda said, looking almost sympathetic. “You can see which way the wind is blowing and prepare yourself. Better to face a few old cats now so you’re ready for the ballroom full you’ll encounter in a day or two. You don’t wish to be taken unawares—that would be fatal.”

Anne had a vivid mental picture of a roomful of hissing, snarling felines, from barn cats to she-lions, fur on end, tails twitching, massed and waiting to shred her to pieces with their claws.

She must have moaned aloud, because Evie leaned forward and put a comforting hand on her knee. “Don’t worry, Anne. Surely Mr. Parker-Roth will be there to support you.”

He wouldn’t be. He’d be at Lord Kenderly’s. She hadn’t mentioned that invitation to Clorinda since it had not arrived—just as the dresses he’d assured her would come from Madam Celeste’s had not. Mr. Parker-Roth with his false promises was proving no better than Brentwood. She only hoped he came through for the boys. He couldn’t be so cruel as to raise their hopes if he had no intention of fulfilling them, could he?

“Hmph.” Clorinda inspected the sweets tray again. She had finished all the seed cake, so she selected a piece of gingerbread. “I wouldn’t bet on Mr. Parker-Roth’s attendance, though Marion did invite him, of course.”

Anne sat up straighter. “I wasn’t counting on seeing him. I’m sure he must have many other engagements.”

Clorinda raised an eyebrow. “Only one engagement I’m aware of.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Temper, temper,” Clorinda said, wagging her finger. “You have to smile and look bored no matter what anyone says to you.”

“But surely you’re mistaken about Mr. Parker-Roth, Cousin.” Evie sounded shocked. “And you too, Anne. Why wouldn’t he come?”

Clorinda shrugged, popping the gingerbread in her mouth. “He’s the King of Hearts. He’s adept at slipping out of uncomfortable situations.”

“But he’s quite taken with Anne.”

“No, he’s not, Evie.” Anne reached for her teacup, but pulled her hand back when she realized how badly it was shaking.

Everyone—everyone but Evie, that is—must know her betrothal wasn’t going to last. The King of Hearts promising to wed a red-haired, gawky female like herself when he had all of London, if not all of England, at his feet? Not likely.

Clorinda nodded. “You are too naïve, Evie, that’s why you need some Town polish. The man got caught stealing a kiss. What else was he going to say?” She treated Anne to a pointed look. “Once the Season’s over, people will forget, as long as Anne doesn’t do anything else to disgrace herself.”

Anne’s stomach sank even more, but Clorinda wasn’t being cruel; she was being candid. It just wasn’t pleasant to hear it.

“But Clorinda, Mr. Parker-Roth is truly quite taken with Anne.” Evie giggled. “You should have seen them at Madam Celeste’s.”

Anne closed her eyes briefly. If she died of embarrassment now, she’d save herself weeks of suffering. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“Appearances can be damning, missy,” Clorinda said sternly. “If you behave circumspectly during the Season, I think you can survive this peculiar betrothal. But act like a hoyden and your reputation will be in tatters. The
ton
have long memories, you know.”

“I know.”

Clorinda’s voice gentled. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Anne. The King of Hearts is a genius at making women feel emotions they should not be feeling. Don’t fall prey to his blandishments, my dear. He is very charming, and he will be paying you marked attention, but you must not forget it means nothing. Keep your wits about you. You want people to forget you, not pity you, when there’s no wedding.”

Anne nodded. She knew Evie was looking at her with big, shocked eyes, but she couldn’t meet her glance—she’d cry if she did. Stupid. Clorinda was just saying what she already knew.

Thankfully, Clorinda turned her attention back to Evie. “Marion said her son, the marquis, might stop by.” She sniffed. “Well, truthfully, she planned the event partly in the hopes he might see some woman he’d consent to marry.”

“Lady Brentwood mentioned that.” Anne clenched her hands in her skirts. It was a wonder she hadn’t hit the woman at Madam Celeste’s though, of course, Lady Brentwood had meant no harm. Anne hadn’t considered it before, but it must be hell to be the mother of such a dirty dish. “I got the impression you encouraged her to think I might be a matrimonial candidate.”

“Well, you are still unwed—and as far as I knew, not spoken for. A twenty-seven-year-old spinster can’t be too choosy.”

“But the Marquis of Brentwood?” Anne’s stomach twisted.

Clorinda had the grace to blush. “I can’t say I care much for the man—truthfully, he’s broken Marion’s heart too many times to count—but he
is
a marquis.” She looked back at Evie. “He’s a peer you can practice on.”

“Clorinda!” Anne couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“I meant practice her social graces on, of course.”

“Lord Brentwood is not the sort of person Evie should know.”

“Of course he’s the sort of person Evie should know, though I grant you he is no longer accepted in the best houses,” Clorinda said, a touch of exasperation in her voice. “He’s a marquis.”

“But he’s not a nice marquis.” Anne knew she sounded like a goose-cap, but she was desperate. She—and Evie—could
not
go to this party.

“Anne, most of the
ton
isn’t particularly nice. Frankly, they are, for the most part, spineless idiots. I didn’t say Evie should encourage the fellow.”

“I don’t see how it can hurt to go, Anne,” Evie said. “I’m not a complete ninnyhammer. I won’t be bowled over by a title. Surely you know that.”

“Yes, but . . .” Damn it, now she was insulting Evie.

She did know her sister wouldn’t be taken in by Brentwood—Evie was much smarter than Anne had been and, in any event, Anne would be there to see Brentwood didn’t lead Evie astray. The truth was Anne couldn’t bear to see Brentwood again so soon and at such a small event where there would be no hope of avoiding him. “It’s just that—”

“My lady.” Hobbes entered the room carrying a white square of vellum on a tray. “A note from Lord Kenderly. His servant awaits your reply.”

Anne sucked in her breath. Could this be the promised invitation? Her heart began to pound.

“The Earl of Kenderly? What can this be about?” Clorinda snatched the note off the tray and opened it. “My word! Lord Kenderly begs the pleasure of our company at a light repast prior to his ball this evening.”

Anne was almost dizzy with some odd emotion—a mix of relief and happiness with a touch of ... something else. It looked as if Mr. Parker-Roth
was
a man of his word—at least in regard to obtaining invitations. Sadly, the dresses weren’t here, but he didn’t have complete control over that. He’d most likely fallen prey to an overambitious estimation of Madam Celeste’s abilities.