“No offense meant, Cholly. Just, oh, blast, that little French warbler turned out to be a littler French Cit. Selling herself instead of starving, with that bastard Bottwick’s help. I just can’t stomach it.”
Cholly loosened his neckcloth. “I see what you mean about m’sisters. I might wish them to the devil, but still and all, mean to take care of them.”
“Still and all, they are all somebody’s sister! Or daughter, or something! I never thought about it much either till this blasted Mignon turned into a watering pot in my bed.”
“So what are you going to do with her?”
Gard took a sip of his drink. “Damned if I know. Imagine if I took her home to the countess. She’d skin me alive. And if I adopt the chit, pay for her singing lessons and stuff, no one will believe I’m not keeping her anyway. She’ll never find that husband she wants. For sure I can’t throw her back to that shark Bottwick, either.” He had another drink.
“What can she do?” Cholly wanted to know.
“You mean besides stir up hornets’ nests? She sings a little, and that blasted convent must have taught her something. Needlework, pianoforte, I’d guess.” He laughed. “If you’re thinking of recommending her for a governess, I’d add that she speaks French like a native.”
“Not a governess, exactly,” Cholly deliberated, puffing on his cigar. “You know, m’sisters could use a little polish. Trying to fire all five off at once was a mistake. Told my mother, but they’re all of an age, or near enough as makes no difference.”
“I danced with one of them at Almack’s, didn’t I? Sorry, I can’t remember which. She had your color hair, though.”
“Carroty. They all do. And no one can tell them apart, and not just the twins. They’re pretty enough, and all have respectable dowries, but they’ve got no style. Just country girls, after all.”
“Young misses aren’t supposed to cut a dash, Cholly.”
“Yes, but m’sisters get lost there with the Incomparables and the heiresses,” he noted dismally. “They need something to set them apart.”
“Something like a French doxie? Your wits have gone begging!”
“You said she’s innocent, and I never did see a Frenchwoman without a good sense of fashion. Told m’mother the chits needed dressing up, but she’s more interested in her roses and dogs.”
“You really
think
you could hire Mignon on as some kind of fashion adviser?”
“Got to do something if I’m not going to have all five of them around the rest of my life! She’d be more like a companion or something. You know, go about with the girls, show them how to go on, music lessons, a little French. M’mother won’t care that the chit’s been on the stage; she ain’t so straitlaced. She’s only concerned with bloodlines for her hounds.”
“But what about the expense?” He knew his friend wasn’t plump in the pocket, but Gard couldn’t give insult by offering to pay Mignon’s salary, although he’d gladly pay it, twice over.
“Well, m’brother—he’s the head of the family now, don’t you know—holds the purse strings for the girls’ come-outs. Guess he’d be as happy as I am to do anything to get them off his hands. I could tell
him
it’s an investment.”
“And I’ll convince Mignon she’ll be happy as a grig.” Gard leaned back in his chair, his muscles finally relaxing. “What would I do without you, Cholly?”
Cholly was still thinking. “Can’t take her around to parties and the like, but maybe we can find her a clerk or something to marry.”
“And I’ll throw in a portion for the chit!” the earl declared happily, raising his glass to Cholly’s in a toast to their plan. “I’ll send her round in the morning, then, after my ride.”
“Still seeing that veiled charmer in the park? Have you found out who she is yet? Everyone’s waiting for the word so they can settle the wagers.”
Lord Gardiner smiled, a slow, sensuous grin. “No, not yet.”
Cholly smiled back in relief. “That’s more like it. You had me worried there, old boy.” The earl cocked an eyebrow in inquiry. “You know, how your name is coming up a lot in conversation.”
“But, Cholly, my name is always coming up a lot in the gossip. What’s the worry?”
“Worry is, seems your name’s the only thing coming up.”
Chapter Eighteen
Was she wearing the same green habit so he would recognize her, or because it was the only one she owned?
How long before his honorable intents gave way to his lustful nature and he made her an improper offer?
So many questions, so few answers. They rode silently again, enjoying the ride, but very aware of the other’s presence. As they neared the park exit Lord Gardiner spoke up: “We have never been formally introduced, ma’am, and I should not want you thinking I am some unmannered brute. I am Ross Gardiner, at your service. My friends call me Gard.” He looked to see if she was acknowledging his offer of friendship. Blast, what was with women these days? They were all making themselves unreadable in their spectacles and veils.
Here it comes,
Annal
ise thought, disappointed but not surprised. Here is where he starts casting his net. She ignored him, pretending to adjust her skirts.
Ross laughed. “Very well. I may be Gard later. Today I am merely the honor guard, sworn to shield you from insults and advances. I am, indeed, honored that you accepted my offer to lend you protection. I hope that someday you will honor me with your name.”
The silver-tongued devil! “I—”
The earl held up a gloved hand. He could tell by her hesitation that whatever name she gave would be a lie. He was jumping his fences. “No, I am not asking. I gave my word to respect your privacy. I find I do not like addressing my riding partner as miss or ma’am, however. May I call you Miss Green?”
Annalise kept her voice low, husky. “That will be fine, my lord.”
“And your horse?”
Her horse? Why should he want to call her horse anything, except as a way of tracing her identity? Regrettably, Seraphina was too uncommon, and the mare was not likely to respond to an alias. “Beauty,” she whispered a pet name for the horse softly, and Seraphina blessedly flicked her ears.
“Perfect.” The earl nodded approvingly. “Although I might have thought you’d call her Socks, or Bootsy.”
“My lord?”
“Her white stockings. If I might be so bold as to offer a word of advice, strictly in my role as protector, do have a word with your grooms, Miss Green. I know they are loyal, courageous chaps; I saw them fight in your defense. But I think they have taken too many blows to the head. Yesterday Beauty had one white stocking on her rear legs, her right rear leg to be exact. Today her left leg is white. It’s a wonder she hasn’t four stockings, or two.”
Annalise laughed. What else could she do? “I am afraid I have no aptitude for hugger-mugger either. Thank you, my lord. I shall be more careful in the future.”
Her chiming laughter was a delight, lighthearted yet refined. Youthful. Not childish, he amended to himself, thinking of Mignon, just young. But a young lady of breeding, riding out with two ruffians as guards? He was no closer to solving the mystery than he was yesterday. More important than that, he realized, was his real desire to win her trust—and to keep her from harm if the reason for her secrecy was actually perilous. “Miss Green, I know that we are hardly acquainted, but I believe the deceptions and disguises you are forced to practice are against your nature.”
If he only knew, Annalise thought, laughing again, this time to herself, in despair.
“If—nay, when—you come to trust me, please believe that I will do everything in my power to assist you.”
To assist her into his bed, Annalise still believed. The man had endearing moments of nobility, though, for a cad.
“I have recently come to a better understanding of women’s plight,” he continued, and she believed him. Now, if he just stopped using her home as a house of convenience, if he found a lady from his own class, married, and stayed constant for thirty or forty years, she just might change her opinion of him.
*
While he was out, Lord Gardiner decided to ride over to Drury Lane. Bottwick was not well pleased to receive an irate nobleman, nor the information that Mimi would not be coming back, except to fetch her belongings.
“You can’t do that, no matter who you think you are! I got my rights to the wench!”
“Oh, yes? Rights such as slavery? I believe there are laws about that, as well as regarding child prostitution,” the earl quietly informed him, eyeing the smaller man through lowered brows. “I should not like to hear of another underage chit being pushed along that path.” Gard flicked his riding crop against his highly polished Hessians, giving Bottwick time to digest the unspoken words. “Have I made myself clear?”
As clear as any member of Parliament, a patron of the theater, and a pupil of Gentleman Jackson’s needed to be, especially when he held a whip in his hand. Bottwick mumbled his assent, not loudly enough for Lord Gardiner’s satisfaction. The earl punctuated his disapproval with a quick right jab that got him the desired promise.
On Gard’s way out of the theater, one of the actresses not quite accidentally bumped into him. He automatically reached out to steady her, and somehow found his hand on a bit of flesh that would tempt any anatomy student.
“Oh, la,” she squealed, “sure and I should watch where I’m going.”
Gard looked into brown eyes with soot-darkened lashes, under hair a yellow color never seen in nature. The amplitude of her endowments, however, were more often found in dairy barns. He grinned. “Sure and you didn’t see a wee fellow like me.” She winked, laid a hand on his arm, and drew him aside. “I couldn’t help overhearing your argle-bargle with that spalpeen Bottwick, me lord. ’Tis a shame, it is, about the young ’uns, and I admire a fine gent like yourself for not taking advantage. Bessie O’Neill, I be, and I didn’t come down in the last snowfall.”
Or the one before that, he’d wager. Bessie was definitely not a child, definitely not a lady, and definitely not unwilling. And he was needing something to get his mind off the woman in the park before he became totally obsessed with her and her intrigues. Besides, Bessie’s bountiful curves would be spectacular on canvas. He’d hardly done more than a sketch, Gard calculated, since the night of the infamous drawing party in the ballroom. By all that was holy, he hadn’t had a woman since then either!
“Are you free tonight after the performance?”
“Free? No, not even for a bonny laddy like you, but I’ll be waiting for you after the show.”
*
Next he went to discuss Mignon’s future with the girl. Leaving his stallion with Tuthill in the stable, Gard walked through the back door of the town house. Mrs. Tuthill was busy at the stove, and Annie sat at the kitchen table having her breakfast, her back to him.
“Good morning,” he called, noticing the way Annie snatched up her spectacles from the table and shoved them on her face before jumping up to curtsy. “No, don’t let me interrupt your breakfast. I just wanted to tell Mignon I think there’s a solution to her dilemma.”
Annie remained on her feet, looking regretfully at her plate. “She’s still asleep, poor child. Should I go wake her?”
“No, I can explain to you, and you can tell her when she gets up. Do eat your food while it is hot.” He looked so enviously at Annie’s piled plate that she was forced to offer him something to eat before she could enjoy her own meal.
“Thank you,” he said when Mrs. Tuthill brought him a cup of coffee and two slices of dry toast. He looked over at the housekeeper’s plate, where reposed fluffy eggs, warm muffins, a rasher of ham, a helping of kidneys, then back at his spartan fare. So he was still in Mrs. Tuthill’s black books, was he? At least she was feeding Annie properly; the woman no longer looked as if the first wind would blow her over. He watched her butter her muffin with the delicacy of a duchess and wondered again about this peculiar woman. He shrugged. Give him a female like Bessie any day.
“You were going to tell us about Mignon, my lord,” Annalise interrupted his musings. “Have you found a place for her then?”
“I
think
I have the ideal solution.” And he proceeded to relate his conversation with Cholly, about the five plain sisters and negligent mother, the absentee heir who paid the bills. “So she’ll have a home and companions and an income. Perhaps she’ll find she has a flair for being a ladies’ maid or companion. Cholly thinks we ought to be able to find a husband for her. He’s the best of good fellows, so you needn’t worry on that score, or that there might be anything harum-scarum about his household. I’ll keep an eye on the infant myself, of course.”
“An excellent solution, my lord,” Annie congratulated him, and Mrs. Tuthill placed a large steak in front of him. Now this was more like!
“Yes, and I’ve already been backstage. No one will bother Mignon when she goes to pick up her things. Make sure Tuthill goes inside with her anyway, just to make sure. I would take her myself, but it wouldn’t do for her to arrive on Cholly’s doorstep in my curricle. Not even Mrs. Fansoll is that open-minded.”
Next Ross had the unprecedented honor of basking in the glory of Annie Lee’s approval. He was clever and kind and wise. Gads, that it should come to this, that he cared what an ugly old housekeeper thought of him! “Oh, yes, I’ve already informed Tuthill about the company this evening. He’ll fetch the lady. I may be delayed. I know you’ll make her welcome; you were very kind about Sophy and again with Mignon. We do not always agree, Annie, and I still believe you are an odd kind of employee, but I do appreciate your efforts.”