Authors: Blaise Kilgallen
Griff looked down and sucked in a silent gasp. The three officers were from his original cavalry outfit. They must’ve heard of his ouster through the military grapevine. News traveled from mouth to ear via couriers carrying messages from regiment to regiment. Gossip was dispensed rapidly on the Peninsula and was as accurate as the servant grapevine in London. Griff shuddered inwardly, wondering how many dastardly and erroneous tales would be spread now they had spotted him in White’s. Would they make it a point to tell Randolph Titus, who was a member of the club? Griff had hoped to sit down with Rand and borrow the difference between the funds he badgered from the countess and what the banker wanted. Now, he didn’t dare approach Titus for a loan. Not until he cleared the black stain on his name.
“Er…they’re former Peninsula acquaintances, Rand,” he replied, drawing smoke into his lungs from his cheroot. “Don’t know them that well.”
“The one fellow seems to have taken a surly dislike to you. Were you and he on the outs?”
“Only a minor contretemps. It was nothing, but I suppose he couldn’t forget. Sometimes things hang on, eh, no matter what?”
“Well, then,” the viscount said, crushing out the stub of his cigar into a crystal ashtray. “I’d best be going. I’ve business to finish up this afternoon.”
The two men requested their hats and gloves from the doorman and paused on the flag way.
“I’ll find a hansom back to your place, Rand, and pick up my mount from your groom. Thank you for the invite. I’ll keep in touch.”
“Will you attend the Truhart’s ball on Friday?”
“I’m not sure what my plans are yet, Rand. Perhaps.”
The two men shook hands and said their farewells. Rand jumped into his carriage, and the driver inched the team into the slow moving traffic. Griff walked toward the main thoroughfare, looking for a cab. Moments later, passing a side street, he was accosted by the officers who cut him in White’s. All three wore scowling countenances.
* * * *
“Oh, miss, I do love that color on you!” Marnie babbled, her hands fluttering around Dulcie like a mother hen flapping her wings. She straightened the gown’s lacy trim so it lay smooth around the lowered neckline and fluffed the hems of the short puffed sleeves. “Dear me, the new gown makes quite a difference. Just see yourself, milady, in the cheval mirror.”
Dulcie spun around and was surprised at the reflection. Who was that slender, regal-looking lady in the mirror? It didn’t look like her at all. Before now, her gowns hung loosely on her. The new blue gown fit like a glove. It clung to her breasts, making them look womanly, rounder, above the wide band of pale ecru lace forming a bow beneath them. Dulcie swished her body a little in front of the mirror, watching the movement of the lacy ribbon streamers as they floated over her waist and thighs.
“Oh my,” Dulcie murmured out loud. “It is pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yer a very fine looking lady,” Marnie agreed. “Wait until I fuss with your hair a bit more. The countess won’t believe it’s her daughter.”
Dulcie’s forehead pinched into tiny furrows. “I’m not her daughter, Marnie. I’m her
step
daughter, and that is how I wish to remain. The countess and I don’t see eye to eye about a number of things.”
“Forgive me, milady. I didn’t mean to mis-speak.”
“It’s all right, Marnie, I’m sure you’re aware there is no love lost between us. The countess demanded I came to London to seek a husband. I came, but I wish to avoid marriage. Instead, I hope only to see the sights like any country tourist while I am in Town. The countess said I must not go about until I have proper clothes. Now I do. I’ll ask her permission at lunch. If I do some exploring, you must accompany me. Perhaps we’ll go shopping. I will take Simon with us, too, when we go out. I try to avoid misunderstandings between the countess and me. At this juncture, I’m afraid Simon seems to be the biggest bone of contention between us. If she extradites him to the mews, I will leave London.”
“Och, the dog is as well-behaved as an angel. I was a bit frightened at him at first, but now I know better. Yer ladyship is fond of her two fluffy tabbies. One of them hides when Simon roams the halls, but the other one seems to get along with him.” Marnie giggled.
“It’s just as well. But I’m sure he won’t hurt either of them.” Dulcie turned away from the mirror. “Let me see what you can do with my hair, Marnie. It’s almost time for the luncheon gong, and I don’t wish to be late if I’m to speak with the countess.”
* * * *
“Buggered any young boys lately?” Lieutenant Boris Landeval sneered from the side street, swaggering toward Griff, followed by his two compatriots. His loud, slightly tipsy voice was tinged with aristocratic arrogance. His fleshy lips curled in distaste. His father was a baron and a member of White’s. “Heard you were drummed out of the army,” he continued. “Bloody hell! They should have stood you up against a wall and put a ball through your perverted skull.”
Answering growls emerged from the rasped throats of the two other soldiers.
Griff was in a quandary. Should he explain the distortions they believed or keep on walking and ignore them? These men had fought beside him in more than one battle. Now they looked at him with disgust, even hatred. Suddenly, he had to stop and explain, beg them to hear him out, listen to his side of the story.
“Gentlemen, let me tell you what really happened.”
For more than an hour, the four men sat together in a busy pub located on a side street leading onto St. James’s Square. In a dim corner, they quaffed mugs of strong ale, discussing the events. Griff, of course, offered to pay the total shot for their unexpected reunion.
“Should’ve never believed those damn lies,” John Breen said, burping and pummeling Griff’s shoulder with a heavy paw. “The bloody foreigners are all alike. Always been suspicious of ‘em, even if they are our allies.” He suppressed a series of hiccups by covering his mouth.
Landeval and the third officer, Smithers, were pretty much in their cups by now, nodding gravely in agreement. “We heard you were dead, Spencer. The regiment scattered after that miserably botched skirmish. We lost track of you afterward. No one had any idea where you ended up or with whom.”
“I landed in a slapdash camp with no rhyme or reason, made up of men who wandered in from other outfits until they were reassigned or located their regiment. I settled into a big tent, looking for a place to rest my bones. Several Spanish officers kept, er, boys, for squires, I s’pose, but used them as slaves. One of them shoved his bloody cock in the lad’s asshole until he found a willing female camp follower to fuck. I guess there weren’t any loose women around the day I caught him doing it. Damme, I never saw anything like it. I had to do something. When three of the Spaniards dragged me up in front of the weary English commandant, he took their word against mine. The three of them swore they saw me doing it. Given a choice, I left the army.”
Landeval raised his mug and poured more ale down his throat. “Damme. I hate the fucking Spaniards. So I’ll spread your version around, Spencer. Mayhap you can plead your case at Whitehall. Be a blasted pity if you were blackballed for helping the poor lad.” He took another gulp. “We’re on leave for week. After that, it’s back to Wellington and the bloody French campaign.”
“Meanwhile,” Peter Smithers said, draining the dregs from his fourth mug of ale, “we’re on the Town, Griff,” he sniggered, half foxed. “What say you join us? We’re billeted at the Grillon. Heard of several fancy hells, lots of gambling, and scores of willing women. We plan to visit later. The wenches, I hear, will do anything to please a good fellow home from the war.” He finished, ending with a drunken leer.
There were times when Griff would have gone anywhere, done anything if it included drinking, gambling, and women, but those times ended when he joined the King’s army.
“Sorry, chaps, I’m dangling out for a wife—a rich one. After four years in King George’s service, I mean to stay alive and enjoy retirement.” He winked across the table at Smithers. “Therefore, gentlemen, I wish you good fortune and luck, especially with the ladies. Take another swipe at Boney for me, eh?”
With a spring in his walk now that he explained his removal from the army and earned their approbation, Griff left the pub and hailed a hansom to pick up his mount at Rand’s townhouse.
Chapter Fourteen
Marnie curled Dulcie’s hair with the hot iron, and pulled a few strands forward on her cheeks. The rest of her hair she piled atop Dulcie’s head in fat, sleek sausage curls. The young lady’s maid nestled a narrow, matching blue ribbon in the topknot, letting the ends fall behind to Dulcie’s nape where they echoed the lacy ribbons fluttering from the raised waistline of her fashionable gown.
“Oh milady, ye do look grand, ye do,” the little maid said, hearing the gong pealing for the mid-day meal. “And are ye pleased with what I did to yer hair?”
“Oh yes, Marnie.” Dulcie pushed her spectacles further up on her nose. There was a smile on her lips and in her eyes when she perused the finished reflection in the standing mirror. “Thank you. But I’d better go belowstairs. I wonder if Mr. Spencer will be joining us for lunch.”
“I’ll press the wrinkles from your other new gown, milady, for you to wear tomorrow. Or will ye be changing into it this evening?”
“No, I don’t believe in changing five or six times a day like some. To me, it is nonsensical and quite ridiculous to keep running to one’s room to don different gowns. I never did so when at home. Besides, ’tis only the countess and Mr. Spencer, both of whom are often out of my company.”
“Yes, milady.”
Dulcie paused and spoke to her dog. Simon rose and gazed up at her. “Stay, Simon. I will take you for a stroll after I eat lunch. Perhaps the countess will allow us to walk about the square since I am now, in her eyes at least, wearing proper attire.” He lay back down and pressed his muzzle between his front paws.
Dulcie went down for lunch wearing the new blue gown. Marnie picked up the second new gown and followed Dulcie out of the room.
The countess was already seated at the dining table when Dulcie walked into the room. “I apologize for my tardiness, Mother.” Dulcie glanced around and saw Griff hadn’t come down to lunch. “Are we to eat alone?”
A footman stepped forward to pull out a chair for Dulcie, but the countess held up an imperious hand. Dulcie hesitated before seating herself and stood next to it, waiting.
“Yes, yes. My…er…nephew had business this morning and is elsewhere.” Agina threw a gimlet eye over her stepdaughter. “I see Madame Cloett kept her promise. Turn around and let me look at you.”
“Much better,” Agina said, and gestured to Dulcie to sit down. “Now my nephew should take notice,” she commented. “Why, you look almost pretty.” The countess raised her full glass of wine. “Now then, drink your wine, Dulcie.”
“No, thank you, Mother.”
“Oh? But I insist, my dear. Can’t you see I’m toasting your new look? Drink up.”
“Yes. Of course.” Dulcie gulped down a substantial swallow of the wine, then put down the glass. “May I walk around the square with Simon after luncheon? I scarcely have been outside since I arrived here, and I am properly dressed now.” Dulcie clamped her lips shut and waited, saying nothing more. She knew that the gown and her new hairdo made a vast improvement on her appearance.
Agina eyed her stepdaughter. “You may, but take a footman with you.”
“Thank you. But Marnie can accompany me if that is all the same to you,” Dulcie said, agreeing with a smile. She and Simon had sneaked out earlier. Now, they would be able to take a stroll with permission. From now on, she would make sure they both had exercise on a daily basis.
Dulcie’s thoughts turned to the earlier meeting with her stepmother’s nephew in the square. Knowing she looked amazingly well in her new finery, she dearly hoped Griff would notice the change. Perhaps one of these days, he may be attracted enough to kiss her in reality instead of the dream she had last night.
You don’t remember me kissing you?
he had asked. Of course, she remembered nothing of the sort. But she had felt odd sensations centered in her feminine core when she woke up this morning. The dream had evoked vague and discordant stirrings well out of character for her, but…
No,
she thought, and banished the idea from her mind.
Surely, I was dreaming
* * * *
Simon saw Griff trotting a horse into Portman Square and barked his greeting. Griff approached them on horseback and tipped his top hat. He paused to make polite conversation before continuing toward the Eberley House stables. “Ah, I see the… er… my aunt gave you free rein to walk about the square, Dulcie. I’m glad to see it.”
“Yes. I am no longer considered an eyesore, no longer wearing my rough country garb.”
“Is that what she told you?” He frowned. “The woman has a mean streak. But, don’t mind her. You are in fine looks.”
“Thank you… er… Mr. Spencer.” It wouldn’t do to use his Christian name in front of Marnie who stood behind her. “We three are taking the air, stretching our legs as you can see.”
I am sure yours are long and lovely,
Griff mused, his gaze lingering on a more intensive appraisal of Dulcie’s new look.
I knew there was more interesting components beneath those dowdy clothes.
Bloody hell, I am going to enjoy my work for the countess.
Even as a youth, he trained his eyes and brain on the inviting contours of a female form, and Lady Dulcina’s lovely curves hadn’t fooled him one bit.
Your legs are the perfect length to wrap around me when I push inside you. I will get a gander at them and more, I believe, very soon.
“I walked in the country every day if the weather stayed promising. A day like today is perfect, is it not?”
“Perfect,” Griff replied, echoing her sentiments but agreeing with a different meaning altogether.
“Your Aunt Agina asked about you at lunch, Mr. Spencer. We missed your company at the table.”
“I met some of my former army friends and was delayed. I’m sure she will forgive me. I don’t believe she wants me to trod on her hemline every moment of the day.” He smiled. “Will you be coming in?”