Virginia Henley (6 page)

“Summat’s wrong. The coach is swaying about like a drunken lord,” Bradshaw announced, keeping a firm hand on the reins of the sweating horses.

“No bloody wonder. You drive like a maniac!” Roz accused through the window.

Bradshaw touched his tricorn and looked inordinately pleased.

Mr. Burke said, “Drive across the yard while I watch.”

Bradshaw climbed to the driver’s seat and tooled the coach across the inn yard. The back wheel wobbled ominously
and the heavy iron nut rolled from the hub onto the ground.

“Stop! Stop!” shouted Mr. Burke in alarm. “The back wheel is about to fly off!”

A shaken Bradshaw came to examine it. “The lockpin’s gone. Christ, that was a close call!”

Mr. Burke suggested the ladies take refreshment while a new lockpin and nut were secured at the stables. The ladies didn’t bat an eye at their close encounter with death as they alighted and went to sit in the inn’s parlor.

The innkeeper muttered under his breath when Roz ordered a dish of bohea and Antonia asked for cider. Bloody tea would take the place of ale and spirits if it kept growing in popularity, and then where would he be?

When Mr. Burke came in and ordered small beer the frown left the innkeeper’s face. Mr. Burke’s brows were drawn together, however. “Two accidents in two days strike me as suspicious,” he said quietly.

“It’s just coincidence,” Antonia replied.

“There is no such thing as coincidence,” Roz scoffed.

“Do you think someone is deliberately trying to harm us?” Antonia asked jokingly.

“It’s within the realm of possibility that someone is trying to harm Anthony.”

Antonia said with disbelief, “You actually think that cousin you mentioned would come all the way to Stoke and prowl about stealing lockpins and cutting through saddle straps? He probably isn’t aware of our existence.”

Roz and Mr. Burke exchanged significant glances. They did not wish to alarm Antonia over what might be only a suspicion and carried on the journey to London without discussing it further.

That night, however, as Antonia slept in her bed in Curzon Street, a terrifying nightmare gripped her. She dreamed that while they were away in London, someone murdered her twin brother. She was shattered. The deep pain of Anthony’s death was like losing a part of herself,
an arm or a leg. When they rushed back to Lamb Hall they discovered that everything they owned had become the property of the new Lord Lamb.

They were not even permitted to set foot on the land to decently bury Anthony. An evil cousin, who was all the more terrifying because he was faceless, was in firm possession of the title, the Hall, and the property.

She and her grandmother had been dispossessed of everything—furniture, clothes, even keepsakes. They were destitute and about to be sent to the poorhouse. The nightmare was so real and so devastating, Antonia awoke in terror and huddled beneath the covers thinking it had really happened. Her arms were covered with gooseflesh and her feet felt as cold as if she had been trudging barefoot in deep snow. Dawn was creeping up the sky before she could stop shivering.

By the time Antonia arrived at the chambers of Watson and Goldman, the terror of the dream had evaporated, but it had hardened her resolve to find out about her financial position.

She was ushered to a chair by Mr. Watson, who found her appearance quite changed today from the young girl he had seen in the country. In London, of course, everyone was bewigged. He himself now wore the new-fashioned tiewig, but his partner, Mr. Goldman, still preferred the full-bottomed wig that he insisted carried the authority necessary for their profession.

Young Lady Lamb was dressed in the height of fashion, with fitted pelisse and billowing silk skirts, even though
they were in mourning black. And the saucy little hat with its black ostrich feather looked very smart indeed atop the fashionably powdered wig. Only her green eyes, exactly like her brother’s, reminded him that she was a twin.

“Mr. Watson,” she began, “there is absolutely no point in my being coy and beating about the bush. I have come to look into my finances.” She had the most attractive husky voice with the hint of a drawl, and he found himself almost mesmerized. Her beautiful eyes widened in expectancy.

“Your finances?” he repeated blankly.

“When you came to Stoke you discussed only my brother’s affairs. How does my father’s death affect
my
finances, Mr. Watson?”

“My dear Lady Lamb, you have no finances. In the past you were your father’s responsibility, at present you are your brother’s responsibility, and in the future you will be your husband’s responsibility.”

Antonia bristled until green sparks flew from her eyes. “If this mythical husband you speak of does not materialize, may I use my dowry to help support myself?”

“My dear Lady Lamb, you will have no trouble attracting a husband, I assure you.”

How dare he patronize her? “By that I take it
you
are willing to marry me, Mr. Watson?”

“I should be more than willing, my lady, if I did not already possess a wife.”

Antonia almost shouted,
You cannot possess a wife,
but upon reflection she realized that men did just that. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I’m sorry, Mr. Watson. I’m not usually so rude. Was I left anything at all in my father’s will?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid, but of course your dowry is in trust and it won’t be affected.”

“How much is my dowry? And in the event I do not marry, may I use the money to help support myself?” she repeated.

“It is not my place to disclose the amount of your dowry, my lady.”

“Whose place is it, sir?” she demanded.

“Why, your guardian’s place, of course. Your father named Mr. Adam Savage as your legal guardian, and it is his permission you must seek on any and every matter. As must your brother.”

“You mean this stranger on the other side of the world rules what we can and cannot do? That is preposterous! I shall write to my mother immediately and inform her this is intolerable.”

“Your mother cannot alter the law, my dear. Your father’s will would have to be contested to change the situation.”

“I see,” she said with quiet resignation. “This Savage person can interfere in my life any way he wishes. Lord Lamb needs money. Will he really have to go begging hat in hand to this Savage?” Antonia asked with distaste.

“My dear lady, Mr. Adam Savage is in total control of the purse strings, so much so that he could spend the money himself, if he so desired.”

Antonia’s mouth fell open. Well, if that was the case, she’d damn well spend his money and see how he liked it! A diabolical plan regarding Edenwood began to form in her mind.

When Antonia returned to Curzon Street, Frances Jersey was ensconced in the salon with Roz. “Antonia, I’m so sorry you’ve been deprived of your season. It’s such an advantage to begin husband hunting at sixteen.”

“Men! I’d like to shoot the lot of them,” Antonia announced, removing her hat and stabbing it with her hatpin.

“Roz, you’ve prepared her beautifully for society. Men deserve to be treated like dogs.”

“Speaking of which, what’s that puppy, the Prince of Wales, been up to lately?” Roz asked.

“Well, you recall how he escaped from under the tyranny of the King last summer by taking refuge with his uncle, the disreputable Duke of Cumberland?”

“Yes, at that seaside place with the peculiar name, Brighthelmstone,” Roz said, nodding.

“Well, the Prince has taken a house for the summer and the place has become so popular that on weekends London is positively deserted. They have even changed the name to Brighton.”

“Seawater is supposed to have therapeutic qualities, but it didn’t do a thing for George’s swollen glands. I hear he’s taken to wearing high neckcloths to disguise it,” Roz said.

“Yes, and wouldn’t you just know it, high neckcloths have become the latest rage, just as Brighton has. The smart set rushes coastward to be cured like tongues dipped in brine,” quipped Frances.

“We know the real attraction is the disreputable Cum-berlands,” Roz stated flatly.

“Why are they disreputable?” Antonia asked, becoming caught up in their conversation.

“The King’s brother Cumberland has gone from one scandal to another all his life,” explained Roz. “It all came to a head when he had an affair with Lady Grosvenor and Lord Grosvenor discovered the filthy letters he wrote her. Grosvenor brought an action against Cumberland and was awarded thirteen thousand pounds. It was the first time a prince of the blood appeared in divorce court.”

Lady Jersey took up the tale. “Did Henry Frederick learn his lesson? Not a bit of it. He up and wed that young adventuress Anne Horton. She had a wide experience and eyelashes a yard long. She got him banished from Court. … It was because of her the King got the Marriage Act passed. No one in the Royal Family may marry without permission of the King.”

“It’s precisely because the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland are banished from Court that the Prince spends so much time with them. He hates and detests his father
and will do anything to send him off into another fit of madness.”

“Roz dear,” said Frances Jersey, “it’s no wonder he hates his father. The King raised his children in that abominable Teutonic manner. The boy’s tutors were such cruel disciplinarians that the Prince of Wales’s teacher used a dog whip on him. Is it any wonder his neck is permanently swollen and he escaped to his disreputable uncle!”

“The Princesses fare no better. None of them is permitted into society and none of them may marry. Wags refer to St. James’s as the Nunnery,” Roz lamented.

Frances Jersey laughed. “Too bad the girls aren’t allowed a visit to their uncle. They’d soon learn debauchery as George did. Actually,” Lady Jersey confided, “Henry Frederick is charming, witty, and deliciously amoral, no wonder the Prince is completely under his spell.”

“How was the Duchess of Devonshire’s ball?” Roz asked.

“The usual dice, dancing, crowding, sweating, and stinking in abundance! The Earl of Bristol’s false teeth are made of Egyptian pebbles. They look positively squalid. No wonder he carries a fan.”

“Ugh,” Roz shuddered. “Why can’t he wear the new porcelain with the paste from Wedgwood? How is dearest Georgiana? I must call on her before I leave London.”

“You’ll never catch her at home. You’ll find her at that new toy shop in Fleet Street buying loaded dice. Her gambling debts are even higher than her bosom friend’s, the Prince, though her beauty still has every beau in London at her feet. Everyone goes to the toy shop to make assignations.”

“Was our friend Selina, Countess of Huntingdon, at Georgiana’s ball?” Roz asked eagerly.

Antonia knew for a fact that both she and Frances disliked Selina intensely, so expected a deliciously catty reply.

“Dear God, her gown was embroidered with chenille in
the pattern of a large stone urn crammed with flowers, no urns on the sleeves, but two or three on the tail. More suited to a stucco staircase than a lady’s gown. But, oh, my dear, she has languor down to an art. Lisps Italian now!” Frances laughed.

“Her refined delicacy belies that she has to pour her three-bottle husband into bed every night,” Roz added spitefully.

“Poor lady,” Antonia said softly.

“Darling, I know disapproval when I hear it,” Frances said with her eyes sparkling. “You’ll have to sharpen your tongue before next season. Indulging in scandalous gossip is society’s newest hobby. Well, I’m off.”

“I’ve always known that, darling,” Roz said dryly.

When Lady Jersey left, Antonia said, “What happened to the days when ladies discussed the latest fashions and beauty recipes?”

“Oh, now we can read about all that stuff in the
St. James’s Chronicle.
Leaves us more time to malign our friends. I must buy all the latest periodicals before we leave London.” She glanced shrewdly at Antonia. “I take it your interview at Watson and Goldman proved unprofitable?”

“What I learned made me furious. A woman is entirely under the control of a father, a brother, or a husband with the added hindrance of a guardian in my case. Roz, I am going to be such a thorn in the side of Savage, he’ll relinquish the guardianship!”

“Well, darling, since there’s nothing you can do until he arrives in England, I suggest you put him out of your mind and we’ll go shopping.”

“Nothing I can do?” Antonia smiled, her wicked juices starting to bubble. “Watch me!”

They took a chair to the Exchange, which was filled with specialty shops. Roz spotted a five-foot stick with a hinged jade topknot to carry a message or snuff, and lusted for it.

Antonia said, “You must have it, only think how envious Lady Jersey will be.”

“It’s elegant but extravagant. I cannot afford it.”

“Oh, Roz, we aren’t paying. The bills can be sent along to Watson and Goldman. My guardian can attend to the dreary matter of settling accounts.”

Before they left the Exchange, Antonia had acquired a petticoat with whalebone hoops, a quilted calico wrapper, a seed pearl pomander, and a fan painted with the loves of Jove. She couldn’t resist a brimmed straw hat with cherry ribbons, especially designed for carrying rather than wearing, and a stomacher with matching cherry ribbons in rungs like a ladder. They each bought summer muffs, red high-heeled slippers, and a new dress. Roz chose a sky-blue, especially suited to her tiny figure. It had a long-waisted bodice, with side panniers looped back into a bustle, and a small train.

Antonia who had half a dozen ball-gowns as yet unworn, chose something for daytime. It was a pale green muslin sprigged with tiny violets. For Anthony she bought two pairs of the very modern pantaloons that went to the ankle, with the strap designed to go under the boot. “I must take a couple of these yellow oilskins. They’ll be perfect for keeping us dry when we go sailing. Now all we need are your periodicals and I venture to say we’ve done enough damage for one day.”

As they caught each other’s eye, they couldn’t keep straight faces. “Antonia, I am proud of you.”

They had so many packages, they had to take two chairs back to Curzon Street. As the sedans swung down the Strand, it was thronged with uniformed soldiers, Life Guards in scarlet, Horse Grenadiers with their sky-blue caps emblazoned in gold and silver, and Halberdiers still garbed in long coats and ruffs as they had been in the days of Henry Tudor.

Fashionable ladies with their towering pomaded hairdos rubbed shoulders with foreign adventurers, eye-patched
Aspasias, pickpockets, piemen, and barefoot beggar boys. When they turned into Charing Cross it was like a fashion parade. Beaus thronged the chocolate- and coffeehouses with their red-curtained windows, using their quizzing glasses to ogle the orange girls and the occasional prostitute daring enough to walk the streets in this fashionable part of town.

Fops on every corner tried to outdo each other in outrageous fashions wearing bright yellow coats, waistcoats embroidered with flowers and butterflies, and zebra-striped pantaloons. All wore either lacquer-hilted swords or carried the newfangled sword sticks, that they juggled with snuffboxes, fans, and handkerchiefs.

Antonia thought their costumes more suited to the stage than the street. She experienced a pang of regret that she wouldn’t be able to attend the theater while they were in town. Londoners had an insatiable appetite for social life, and as a result pleasure gardens and new theaters were opening up in every part of the city.

That night Bernard Lamb sat in the second row at the Olympia, avidly watching Angela Brown strut about in her suggestive page-boy costume of tights and full-skirted coat that almost, but not quite, covered the pretty cheeks of her derrière. That was what made Angela so exciting. She had the face of an innocent child, but her scanty costumes and the saucy things she did with her body let you know she was a very naughty child indeed. Her voice was sweet as an angel’s, and before her song was finished Bernard went backstage to wait for her.

“Look wot the cat dragged in,” she said cheekily, brushing past him.

He took her arm and told her about his prospects.

“Pull the other one, luv, it’s got bells on it.” she said, refusing to be gulled.