Eleven
The offices of Messrs. Wiley and Clark were satisfactorily bustling. Mr. Wiley was engaged in calculating several very pleasing profit margins, whilst his partner, the younger and slightly more debonair Mr. Clark, entertained some rich and potentially viable clients in the inner chamber.
His heart was not in it, though, for Tuesday was his half day and he was planning, when the interview ended, to make an impromptu trip out of London.
At almost precisely the moment he contemplated this proposition, Lord Robert Carmichael, the eighth Earl Edgemere and a man very much in Ethan's thoughts, paced the Aubusson rug of his town lodging and glanced lingeringly at the two pieces of correspondence that had obligingly come to hand that day. Forgotten on his desk lay a small velvet pouch. To the collector, it contained two pieces of interest. A necklace of finest blue white diamonds and a ring. Strangely, it was the ring that was the greater of the two prizes. It was set with a flawless ruby the size of a wren's egg. Unfortunately, being a family heirloom, it was not for sale. It was the betrothal ring of the seventh Countess Carmichael and the six countesses before her.
Robert ignored these articles and contemplated the marble bust of Minerva, goddess of learning. Both letters had been a revelation to him. One had satisfied curiosity, and the other had opened his eyes to the bleakness of that which could have been his future. How he could ever have been beguiled by Caroline's fulsome flattery and equally fulsome figure? It was pointless thinking on past pleasures. They were well and truly over, especially since he was in receipt of this latest outrage. He looked at the letter again, though by now he knew it off pat. Breach of promise. Breach of promise! He was outraged.
The woman really stooped to the depths. For all he knew, he had never even
proposed
that night. He was forced to believe her word, for there had not been a sober thought in his head at the time. Now he suspected she may have been dealing in false coin, but there was no way of proving it. If she took her allegations to the world, she would probably find enough sympathizers in the haut ton to get away with it. There were many who envied the young Lord Carmichael his rank, his position and yes, his palpably athletic good looks.
A court of law would throw it out, out of handâthere had been no exchange of rings, no formal declarations, no banns posted. But he had been seen languishing after her on several occasions. At all the fashionable squeezes he had begged for a second waltz, sat several of the dances out when she was unavailable, called a gentleman to account when he had had the temerity to solicit her hand three timesâquite beyond what was permissible, of course. Good lord, what a halfling he had been!
There would have been no question of his intentions had she been virtuous. Had she been virtuous, however, he would never have been in this coil. It was she who had taken a late night hack to his apartments and offered herself to him quite brazenly. It was only laterâvery much laterâthat he had realized he was not the first to benefit from such favours. Yet, in the eyes of society, Lady Caroline Dashford was all that was amiable, charming and proper.
No less than two patronesses of Almacks had offered her vouchers and introduced her to personages as high as the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Cumberland and even the rather bluff Lord Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington. It would be her word against his, and despite the people who would undoubtedly support him, his name would forever be besmirched. He would be labeled as a “jilt” behind fans. Quite intolerable. Particularly now that he was, quite seriously, considering the matrimonial state.
He would be a cad, though, if he offered for Miss Derringer under such a cloud. People would naturally regard her with suspicion and active distrust, attributing the earl's supposed change of heart to
her,
rather than to the brazen lies Caroline was ready to disseminate. And if he gave her the wretched diamonds he had purchased from Christopher's that morning? She would use them against him for certain. As
proof
of breach, or, realizing that he was susceptible to the
threat
of breach, as the first in a long list of such expensive demands. Her requirements would quite probably be endless.
The second letter caused his brow to clear and a little smile to play about his mouth. The inquiries at Whitehall, though tedious, had borne fruit. His curiosity about his intriguing governess was both piqued and satisfied. She was, as he had always recognized, a true lady of quality. It was fortunate that she had been educated at Miss Mannering's Seminary for young ladies; however, her father and her brother, for all their noble birth, could hardly have been accounted in that category.
The Honourable Sir Marlborough Derringer had, by all accounts, frittered away a countryseat, a remarkably well endowed stable, a respectable fortune and several rather lavish country homes into the bargain. This he had done not by any particular genius or wit, but by his remarkable skill at losing every wager he was inclined to take, his inclination for trumperies and opera dancers and his singular lack of interest in the management of his estate. He had died, as he lived, at the losing end of an argument.
He had challenged Sir Archibald Dalrymple to a duel over the cut of his Carrick coat, averring that the garment was obviously not in Weston's style. It had, he announced, far too many capes for either comfort or fashion. Sir Archibald might have permitted the issue of comfort to pass. But fashion? He was a notable arbiter and would not stomach the insult. Two days later, Sir Marlborough was dead. It was an unfortunate circumstance, for Sir Archibald, a notoriously erratic shot, had been aiming merely for the foot.
Anne's situation was in no way improved by this development, for whilst her brother was not as palpably foolish as her father, he was decidedly more calculating. He had recalled her from London mid-season and introduced her to Sir Archibald, who was inclined, after the incident, to harbour some slight remorse. As soon as he laid eyes on the untried beauty, however, the lecherous rake had intimated he would do her the favour of marriage. He had hinted, even, that some of the family's more pressing debts of honour would be scotched.
Anne had been horrified and steadfast in her refusal. Her brother had washed his hands of her and passed her on to her cousin, Lady Somerford. There, at least, she would not be a burden on his rapidly diminishing finances. According to his sources, Anne had had at least one further concrete offer of marriage and several other rather more dubious offers. She had accepted none, however, and settled, as many of her class did, to a life of untrammelled but genteel drudgery. The rest was history, but for the information now in Lord Carmichael's possession. He looked it over curiously.
What could have possessed his love to throw away her small competence on such a harebrained venture? Not gambling, exactly, but speculating on 'change was nonetheless notoriously risky. Somehow, though he knew she had strength of character, a steely resolve, a quirkish sense of humour and an almost fatalistic sense of truth, he did not think Anne was irresponsibly impulsive.
Not
unless there was some other reason driving her actions. He looked again at his papers.
Ah! His brow cleared. The wretched ship was called
Polaris.
That would have accounted for it. He smiled tenderly. Their first child would have to be called Ariel or Umbriel after the moons of Uranus. She would never be satisfied, else.
But now... should he tell her? Of
course
he should. But if he did, she would cry off from her engagement as governess. There could be no reason for her to continue working if her miserable forty pounds a year was no longer at stake. She was almost an heiress. The thought was too dreadful to contemplate.
If he were free, he would tell her, then simultaneously offer her the protection of his name. But that would not do either. Not now, when there was a breach of promise suit hanging over his golden head.
What, then? What? What? What? Again, the poor Aubusson carpet was in danger of being paced to threads. My lord was so lost in thought he did not hear the hall clock chiming the hour or even the low murmur of voices in the front receiving room. Oscar, the town butler, always attended to such matters anyway.
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Lessons were fitful, Kitty tearful and Tom more than a trifle gloomy at the prospect of being cooped up all day. In truth, Anne herself was more inclined to gaze wistfully out the window than concentrate on the dreary conjugations she had been determined to get over with that week.
Mrs. Tibbet didn't help. Anne's plans to aid her with the chores were scoffed at summarily, although there was a grateful twinkle to be detected behind her spritely grey eyes. She assured Anne, however, that household matters were in fine fettle. This Miss Derringer had no difficulty believing, for the crescent positively sparkled and in every corner there were huge baskets and epergnes. These were filled with ferns, poppies and a brilliant array of English country roses. The air was scented and sweet, mingled only with the clean smell of soaps, carbolic, starch and crisp, well-aired linen.
How the bevy of maids attended to all these matters, Anne could not imagine, for, like a truly well run household, they were almost never seen, though their presence lingered refreshingly in the neatness of the anterooms and in the dust-free marbles and in the Sevres china that was scattered artfully on shelves and occasional tables. The billiard rooms had been opened and aired; the cellars, by all accounts, were being well utilized, some of my lord's finest burgundy, hock and claret being sampled well into the early hours.
Now, at last, Anne could see the last of the riders set off on their trail across country to Lord Anchorford's estate. Just why he could not accommodate the party remained a mystery to Miss Derringer, who privately thought the absent earl much put upon by his guests. Still, he was obviously generous to a fault, and Anne, already beset by a very soft spot for the errant earl, could not find it in her heart to berate him for such a truly honourable shortcoming.
Perhaps, now that Carmichael Crescent was free again, she could venture into the gardens with the children. They could fish by the stream and supplement the evening's menu with a nice basketful of trout. Not that it needed supplementing, of course, but the activity itself would most likely be beneficial. She drew away from the window and shut the festoon blinds with a flourish.
“Tres bien, mes infants!
Close your books. That is enough dreary work for one day. All the hard work vanishes, I promise you, when you travel to Paris. Perhaps you shall, some day, now that the war is over.”
Her words were quite lost to her charges, who slammed the offending books closed and clamoured to alternately cat call and hug her. An unexpected lump rose to her throat. She loved them, these little scamps. The thought was a revelation to her, for up until now, she had thought mostlyâand on similar terms, though she would have been loath to admit itâof their debonair half brother.
She patted Kitty's bouncy, irrepressible copper-coloured curls and laughed. Tom stepped back and grinned saucily. “Shall we fish?”
“You shall fish. I, however, shall be very ladylike and take up my pastels. How long do you think you rascal-lions need to get ready?”
“We are ready now!”
“Gracious, Tom! Not even I would be so foolhardy as to recommend you take up fishing in your present attire! Go change, I beg you, and be brief! Kitty, do not forget a parasol and some of that excellent
unction de maintenon
I made up for you yesterday.
That
should keep the freckles from your face!”
“Miss Derringer, it shall be an
age
before we are ready!”
“Nonsense, not if you run, slide down the front banister and cross quickly over to the south side. You should be in your chambers in an instant!”
Tom giggled. Kitty chuckled merrily, the sudden smile miraculously removing faint shadows from her face.
“You really know nothing about governessing, do you?”
“Not a jot!” Miss Derringer was strangely cheerful for such an appalling admission. “Perhaps you shall instruct me as we go. You, after all, have had the benefit of several governesses.”
“All of them singularly trying!”
Anne's eyes twinkled. “I wonder? Was it not you, my sweet ones, who were so singularly trying?”
“Only because they had no notion how to go on! You, on the other hand ...”
“... have every notion! And my notion is that if we do not hurry, the day will be over before we set out. I must beg a lunch basket from Mrs. Tibbet, grab a bonnet and then we shall make haste. Shall we meet over by the stream? Tom, can you fetch my easel? Thank you.” Miss Derringer, energized by this sudden change of curriculum, winked at her charges and set off primly down the marble corridors. She had no premonition whatsoever of what was next to occur.
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Lady Caroline Dashford surveyed the pretty blue chamber with an eagle eye. It was hung with azure cretonnes offset by cheery, daffodil-coloured muslin blinds. Her nightstand was of cherry oak, but the bedstead was of the very height of fashionâiron emblazoned with balls and rails. Lady Caroline, however, thought she might prefer brass.