Everything I Ever Wanted (14 page)

Margrave lifted his eyes heavenward. "Finally," he said. "She evinces some measure of surprise." He regarded India again. "I began to despair that I could move you from that forced expression of serenity. That it should require something so mundane as a hint of another woman, it is not well done of you, India. Jealousy is quite beneath you. Lady Northam is in no way your equal, and if she is an example of what Southerton finds to his liking, the sooner he is displaced in your affections, the better." His smile teased her. "I believe I have arrived in time to save you from yourself."

India said evenly, "She is the Countess of Northam and the daughter of the Earl of Rosemont, and I am in no way her equal, though I suspect it was your intent to remind me. Your concern that I aspire to something beyond my station is entirely misplaced, my lord. I have found the position to which I am best suited."

"Better than being a governess, eh?"

"Infinitely."

"God, what a debacle that was. Olmstead trying to poke you at every turn. Except for what relief he could give himself, the man's cock was in a perpetual state of hardness." Margrave saw that he could not use crudity to rouse India to reveal more emotion. He sighed and put the Olmstead business behind him. "I meant precisely what I said about Lady Northam," he told her. "Though I imagine she is a decent enough sort, she has none of your presence. For years she's gone about in society as the companion of Lady Battenburn. Can you imagine playing companion to the baroness when you are the daughter of an earl? It would be like you preferring the role of the nurse to Juliet."

"Not everyone wants to command the center of the stage."

"Bah! That is only because they cannot command it. She has a limp, you know. She is utterly without grace."

Trust Margrave to regard Lady Northam's physical infirmity as a character flaw. If he felt anything at all toward the countess, it was contempt, not sympathy. "You learned a great deal about her," India said.

"She was there with Southerton, as I said. You must allow I was curious. They seemed to find pleasure in each other's company." He leaned back in his chair. "I know South and his friends from Hambrick." Margrave saw by the almost imperceptible inclining of India's head that he had caught her interest. "Not well. They were older than I by three no, four years. They stayed often to themselves. I remember they had some ridiculous name for their quartet." He waited to see if India would offer it up but she remained determinedly silent. "The Compass Club, I think it was. Yes, that was it. Never understood then. Oh, South was easy enough to explain. He had inherited the title Viscount Southerton by the time I knew him, so there was one point on the compass. But the others? Northam had an older brother and was not in expectation of becoming an earl. And Gabriel Whitney? God knows what roundaboutation happened to make him Marquess of Eastlyn. Marchman is still Marchman, though. Moreover, he's a bastard."

A little of India's color faded again. She would not let Margrave dwell on Mr. Marchman's illegitimacy to poke his finger at her. With credible indifference she said, "Perhaps he was called West so he could be included by them."

"Perhaps. They excluded everyone else. I don't know why they would make an exception for Marchman."

"Did you want to be a member of their club, Newland?"

Margrave's head came up sharply and his eyes darkened. "No! I was years younger, I told you. They would have taken no notice of me."

Which was not precisely an answer to the question she'd asked. There was a hint of ruddy color in the high arch of Margrave's cheeks. Why, he had! India realized with some small shock. It was such an astonishing notion that she did not know what to make of it. She had thought of him always as such an insular, solitary figure, so much like herself in that regard that she never suspected he might also share her secret yearning to belong. India cautioned herself against this gentling she felt toward him.

"My God," he said brusquely. "You don't imagine you feel sorry for me, do you?" That she might was untenable to him, more so because he had not planned that she should.

"Not at all," she said. That quickly he had shifted his vulnerability to her. All that was left to her was denial.

"Good." He warmed the coffee in his cup and drew another sip. "Lest some doubt linger, Dini, that I wanted to be part of their little clutch, you should know I was a member of a much more influential group at Hambrick."

"Oh? And what did you call yourselves?"

Margrave smiled. "The Society of Bishops."

From his position in the park across the street, Southerton was free to observe India Parr's residence without fear of being identified himself. He had taken the precaution of graying his dark hair with a sprinkling of powder and wearing worn garments that were suited to a vendor of roasted chestnuts. He staked out his territory between a young girl offering bouquets of fresh flowers, and a puppeteer. His pockets jingled with the proof of a good morning's work. He was benefiting from the puppeteer's skill and the flower girl's comely looks.

Every Wednesday from eight until noon, the small park took on the atmosphere of a fairgrounds. The goods and services that were available changed according to the season; there were entertainments for the children and their nannies and a sampling of oddities for the curious seekers among the gentry. Servants came from the nearby residences to spend their coppers on treats for themselves. The park hummed with the gentle noise of commerce and the occasional squeal of a delighted child.

Southerton watched a footman leave India Parr's home by a side exit and take off on some errand for his mistress.

The servant returned shortly, followed not long afterward by a hackney. The driver pulled directly in front of the house, blocking South's view no matter how he tried to angle his head to improve his perspective. He knew the probable destination was the theatre at Drury Lane. India went nowhere else. South's frustration was that he could not see if she was finally alone.

He had known at the outset he would not follow her. Abandoning his place suddenly in the park would bring notice to him, and he did not want that. His hope had been to catch a glimpse of her with the mysterious Lord M. In the two days since the tease in the Times , there had been only speculation on the man's identity. The man himself remained elusive, at least in the presence of India Parr. Lord Macquey-Howell and Baron Montrose were the leaders in this tight horse race. The betting books at White's and other gentlemen's clubs were busy tracking the favorites, most of them setting odds at two to one. Lords Morris, Mapple, and Milbourne were also in the running. Sir Anthony Matthews was dismissed for never having been to the Continent in his lifetime, nor far from his country home near Gloucester. An interesting dark horse was Lord Embley, recently returned from the West Indies, or so the on dit had it.

There was no admission or denial from any of the men named in public or, as far as South knew, in private. This was not terribly surprising, since for some of them the speculation of a connection with Miss Parr had momentarily raised their standing among others of their set Even Macquey-Howell, the only married candidate, was close-lipped. South suspected it had something to do with his wife, who was not likely to thank him for any behavior that held their marriage up to public scrutiny.

Lady Macquey-Howell had her bit of intrigue with the Spanish consul, after all.

South sold several more sacks of roasted chestnuts as a new group of children crowded around the puppeteer. He hawked his wares with no less enthusiasm than the flower girl sold her bunches of violets, all the while counting the number of servants that passed in and out of the side entrance to India's home, and looking for a face that perhaps didn't belong. He recognized footmen and maids by sight now; the cook, the cook's helper, even the seamstresses who came and went from Madame Fournier's dress shop were known to him. Mrs. Garrety sometimes arrived with costumes or what looked to be sketchbooks of the same. The lad Doobin was the most frequent visitor from the outside. South had considered how he might gain the boy's cooperation to further his own ends but had not made any move to do so. He suspected Doobin's first loyalties were to India Parr and that bribery alone would not bring the boy to his side.

As though South's thoughts had the power to conjure an image of the lad, Doobin appeared at street level, swung wide around the lamppost near India's front door, and walked jauntily along the narrow sidewalk, his hands dug deeply into the pockets of his coat. It was the fact that Doobin had set off in a direction opposite the one India had taken that piquecl South's interest. Looking at the few sacks of chestnuts he had remaining, Southerton determined he could finally quit his area without comment. He turned over his inventory to a grateful flower girl and told her to do with it what she would; then he set himself off at a pace befitting the older man he pretended to be.

It was not so much a merry chase as a meandering one. Doobin took a circuitous route to his final destination, sometimes crossing the same street two or three times or ducking suddenly into an alley, almost as if he anticipated someone was interested in his movements. It caused South to look around himself, wondering if the boy was acting less as messenger for India Parr and more as bait. As much as the latter thought niggled at him, he could find no evidence to support it.

It was only when Doobin slowed in front of the town-houses on Carrick Street that South realized where the boy was most likely headed. This time it was Southerton who disappeared into an alley. There were things he had to do to prepare for the arrival of his young guest.

After giving orders that the boy be admitted and served pastries in the kitchen while he cooled his heels, South headed for his bedchamber, followed closely by his valet. Darrow helped him make short work of the ill-fitting tradesman clothes and powdered hair. In far less time than was their usual ritual, the valet had South turned out in buff nankeen breeches and riding boots. The shirt was from Firth's, the only establishment Southerton approved for his linens. The stock was neatly tied above a pale-blue silk waistcoat, and the chitterlings fell in a gentle wave on either side. Darrow assisted South into his double-breasted coat, smoothed the shoulders and back, fixing the tailored line, and pronounced his employer all of one piece.

Southerton was seated casually at a fine cherry-wood desk in his study when Doobin was admitted. After his name was announced in stentorian and important tones as Master Doobin, the boy required more in the way of urging from South's butler to enter the room. This consisted of the long-faced Mr. Parker placing two hands firmly between Doobin's bony shoulder blades and pushing, then quickly closing the pocket doors before escape was possible. The boy stood rooted in the exact spot where he had skidded to a halt, until South looked up from his feigned examination of some papers.

South did not rise. He looked the boy over, careful not to smile when he saw evidence in the powdered-sugar-and-chocolate smears that Doobin had availed himself heartily of the offered pastries. Southerton's tone hovered between mildly curious and complete indifference as he asked, "You have business with me, young sir?"

"Mmm, yes, m'lord."

"What's that? You'll have to speak up." South waved the boy over with a brusque gesture. "Come closer. I have no desire to strain my ears on your behalf."

Doobin quickly shuffled half the distance, then ground to a halt. His eyes were overlarge in his narrow face, and it was a struggle not to gawk at the surroundings in which he'd found himself thrust. "It's me from the theatre," he said by way of renewing his acquaintance. "Doobin. You gave me your card once to pass to Miss Parr. Mayhap it confused you when his nibs called me Master Doobin."

Southerton bit the inside of his cheek, but nothing about his outward countenance was altered. He continued to regard the boy with scant interest.

Doobin braced his slight shoulders as heat colored his cheeks. " 'Twas me that carried a message to yer club from Miss Parr not long ago."

"An impressive resume" South said in dry accents. "If I have need of a go-between again I shall certainly inquire after your services." He watched the boy's color deepen even as his chin came up. "Was there something else?"

Doobin's weight shifted, but he held fast. "I have words from Miss Parr," he said.

"Is that so? From Miss Parr?" South leaned back in his chair and crossed his booted feet. "How novel. Words from her very lips?"

'"'Yes, m'lord. As God and Mrs. G. are my witnesses."

Mrs. G.? South wondered. Who would that be? God's wife? Then he remembered Mrs. Garrety and surmised she was Doobin's reference. God and Mrs. Garrety. Now there were a pair to hear India Parr's confessions. "Very well," he said, letting none of his irritation show. Could India not be trusted to communicate using the means they had established? "Let me hear these words."

"I'm to say she is desirous of your company. This evening, if you will. After 'er performance."

"At the theatre?"

Doobin shook his head adamantly. "She'll take a hack as usual and cross paths with you in the park across the way." -

"I see." But he didn't, of course. South was beginning to think that, much against his will, he had been assigned a role in one of India's farces, penned by one Colonel John Blackwood. "She will simply umm, cross paths with me."

"Yes, m'lord. That's what she said. Exactly."

South regarded the boy keenly. "There was no pressure brought to bear?"

Doobin's brow creased. "Don't rightly know what you mean, m'lord."

"No one else around to put these words in Miss Parr's mouth? Mr. Kent, for instance. Lord Macquey-Howell?"

"Mr. Kent? Oh, no. Miss Parr, she was at home when she gave me this message. Getting ready to go out for rehearsal, she was. I come by this morning to tell her it was called early, and it was a rush all around, I can tell you. Mrs. Garrety complaining and clucking about Miss Parr never getting enough sleep. Miss Parr apologizing that there wouldn't be enough time for my lesson. I stood back while everyone was fluttering, hopin' I'd be invited to ride with the hack; only then Miss Parr remembered she had this message for you." Doobin shrugged. "So here I am."

"So you are. You came here straightaway?"

Doobin considered that a moment before answering. "As straightaway as served, m'lord."

South recalled Doobin's meandering route and wondered at the instructions India had given the boy. "Miss Parr must trust you a great deal."

Doobin's chest puffed a little."Indeed she does, m'lord."

"Does she often engage you in this manner?"

"As she needs, I suppose. It's not so easy for one like her to get about without notice. She's particular about her privacy, I think you'd say. Doesn't want me to attach a shadow to myself, if you know what I mean."

"I think I do," South said with a certain wryness. "And did you attach such a shadow when you came here?"

"No. Oh, there was one bloke I thought was matching my steps, but I rid myself of him easily enough."

Southerton only narrowly managed not to choke. Was the boy talking about him? He merely raised an eyebrow to encourage Doobin's elaboration.

"It was simple enough to avoid him, m'lord. Even if it was the old fellow's game, he couldn't keep up."

This time South had to clear his throat. Wouldnt his friends and the colonel like to know he'd been nearly caught out by this cunning, crafty lad? "You do very well by Miss Parr."

"Yes, m'lord. An' she does well by me."

If Doobin's blush was any indicationand South had to believe it wasthe boy was deep in the throes of his first unrequited passion. He hoped India had the good sense to tread carefully around this child's heart. "What of her protector?"

"M'lord?"

Southerton leaned forward, dropping his forearms to his knees and addressing Doobin as a familiar and equal. "Let us be frank. You have heard the rumors, have you not? Miss Parr has accepted the attentions of a certain lord."

Doobin's chin came up. The sudden change in his host's demeanor from lord to confidant, and his need to defend India, conspired to make Doobin forget to hold his tongue. "I know what's being said. All the whispering about 'er that she's taken a lover. It ain't true."

Since Southerton was of a similar inclination, he recognized he was predisposed to believe the boy. "How can you be so certain?"

"Because I ain't seen the like."

"None of them? Macquey-Howell? Embley? Montrose?"

Doobin shook his head fiercely. "I don't know them, m'lord."

"What makes you think you would? You cannot be privy to all of Miss Parr's intimates."

"I know you, don't I?" Doobin said with irrefutable logic.

"Morris? Mapple?"

"I heard their names, same as you, m'lord. Never from Miss Parr, though. I never had words for them, like I had for you and"

"And?" Southerton prompted after a moment. He gauged Doobin's reluctance to say more and saw the boy was considering the consequences. He cautioned himself to be patient.

The reply, when it finally came, was barely audible, and Southerton had to strain to hear it. "Well, there was a Mr. Kendall."

India put down her book at the first soft sound of footfalls in the carpeted hallway. Flames flickered in the hearth as her bedchamber door was quietly opened. Margrave entered without waiting for an invitation to do so.

"He was not there," he announced without preamble. "You warned him."

She shook her head. "You know that is not possible."

"Then the boy did."

"No!" India could not keep the alarm out of her voice. "He could not have. Think, Margrave. What suspicions could Doobin have that it was naught but a ruse? I did precisely as you instructed. If Southerton was not in the park, then it is because he does not trust me. You will do nothing to the boy. It must be clear between us on that count. Do you hear, my lord?"