A Crime of Manners (3 page)

“What brings you to the country, Baddick?” he asked, idly toying with his brandy glass. “Surely all the women in Town haven’t closed their legs to you?”

Viscount Baddick amused himself with Mr. Snively’s company because they were both stuck at the inn. In Town, while he would never give Snively the cut direct, he sought his company infrequently since the viscount rarely gambled on cards. Women were the viscount’s vice.

“Indeed not,” Lord Baddick replied with a half grin. “I simply felt the need for some country air and have been at my estate.”

“Rusticating? Now, which lady could have sent you out of Town?” Mr. Snively wondered aloud. “The demireps or even those bored widows you favor wouldn’t kick up any dust over a broken promise or an abrupt leave-taking.”

Lord Baddick ignored the question and heaved a bored sigh. “I have developed the most awful ennui, Snively. Challenge is what I crave.” He leaned forward confidingly, a gleam coming into his hazel eyes. “I find a fresh conquest more exhilarating.”

A frown appeared between Mr. Snively’s brows. “You can’t mean a young virgin.” At the viscount’s answering smile, Mr. Snively warned, “You’d best have a care. Else an avenging father or brother will come after you with a set of dueling pistols.”

Lord Baddick tossed off his brandy. “I am accounted an excellent shot,” he lied. Quite the coward, he took the greatest of pains to be certain no woman he bedded had anyone to call him to account.

“Do you remember a quiet little thing named Lady Honoria Farrow?” the viscount asked in the manner of one about to impart some titillating information.

“Vaguely.” Mr. Snively paused, then said, “Yes, in Town with her widowed mama for her second Season.” Mr. Snively’s eyes widened as the truth struck him. “Never say you ...”

Lord Baddick’s eyes shone with an unholy light. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You would be amazed, Andrew, at how very simple it was. I was careful with my pursuit under the watchful eyes of the tabbies of the ton. I managed to inveigle an invitation to her home in the country for the holidays. A few promises—girls are so stupid, you know—and she gave me a delectable present on Christmas Eve.” Lord Baddick concluded this lurid tale with an evil grin.

Mr. Snively laughed appreciatively, but even one with morals as low as his inwardly shuddered for the ruined girl.

Lord Baddick failed to mention how wide he had been forced to open his purse to quiet the crying girl and her outraged mama. Being extremely rich, this was no hardship. But it had been a near thing. He did not like the look in Lady Farrow’s eye as he took his leave, hence his prudent stay in the country. He was only now returning to London.

As he glanced up, Lord Baddick’s attention was caught by a young girl in apparent distress, exchanging words with the landlord. “See you in Town, Snively,” he said dismissively before rising and walking across the room to investigate how he might turn the situation to his advantage.

Henrietta stood before the counter glaring at the landlord in outrage. “You are going to turn us out into this weather and you say there is no other hostelry nearby?” she demanded, anger bringing color to her cheeks.

The landlord appeared unmoved, but before he could reply, a gentleman placed a number of gold coins in front of him, saying, “A room for the lady.”

Suddenly the landlord was all-obliging. “No, miss, I would never do such a thing. I have just the room for ye and yer maid. I’ll have the missus make it ready.”

“Do go to the kitchens, Megan, and get yourself something hot to drink and eat. I will see you upstairs,” Henrietta instructed in a low voice. She waited until Megan bobbed a curtsy and hurried away, before turning to her rescuer.

This fashionably dressed gentleman was surely the owner of the coach with the crest she had seen outside. He was tall and golden-haired, and his hazel eyes studied her with a frank and open look. He wore a bottle-green coat with gold buttons over doeskin breeches and glossy black Hessian boots.

Before she could say a word, he held up a hand in a forestalling gesture. “I beg your indulgence for a moment, my lady. I am aware that we have yet to be introduced and I have been, one might say, presumptuous. Observing your plight from the warmth of the coffee room, I could not, in good conscience, have allowed you and your maid to be put out in such horrid weather. You would not have my reputation as a gentleman called into question over so paltry a matter as an exchange of names. I am Baddick, by the way.” A disarming smile ended this gallant speech.

Henrietta did not know where to look. He had called her “my lady,” mistaking her station in life.

For once, the Practical Henrietta and the Fantasy Henrietta were in complete agreement. Lord Baddick was most attractive and had indeed behaved as a gentleman. His easy manner persuaded her there was no harm in him. It was true he had saved her from an unthinkable situation and deserved her gratitude.

She dropped a curtsy. “You are most kind, my lord. I am Miss Henrietta Lanford of Hamilton Cross. I am on my way to London and this dreadful storm halted my progress.”

Lord Baddick bowed. “Your servant, Miss Lanford. What a happy coincidence! I, too, am on my way to Town after taking care of estate business. But please, allow me to escort you into the coffee room. I am persuaded you must be hungry after your ordeal, and I would see you comfortable by the fire.”

She hesitated only a moment before permitting him to lead her to a small table. He had them served with a game pie, vegetables, potatoes, apricot tartlets, and wine.

Henrietta removed her gloves and began to eat. She was famished, having eaten nothing since breakfast. Soon, feeling relaxed from food, wine, and Lord Baddick’s polite conversation, she dropped her guard, and the two continued talking easily on a variety of subjects.

While smoothly keeping up his end of the conversation, the viscount’s mind raced. This gullible dab of a little thing was exactly the sort he craved. Furthermore, he recalled purchasing a racehorse from Squire Lanford some three years past. Although the viscount would never acknowledge it, his own ill management of the horse resulted in the animal’s poor performance at the racetrack. Lord Baddick had returned the horse to the squire, who’d given him a jaw-me-dead over the horse’s condition. The angry squire had gone so far as to declare Lord Baddick was the sort of man who would shoot a fox.

Twirling the brandy in his glass, the viscount decided the seduction of Miss Lanford would have the added bonus of serving as a small measure of revenge against the squire. “Are you to make your come-out this Season, Miss Lanford? If so, I must have your promise to save a dance for me. Otherwise, with your fresh beauty and becoming manners, I fear I shall be quite cut out.”

This piece of flattery was offered in such a good-natured, friendly way, it could not possibly offend. It was a heady experience for Henrietta to command the sole attention of an exquisitely dressed and well-bred man of the world.

“Yes, I am to stay with my aunt, Lady Fuddlesby. And after your service to me today, my lord, you may have your pick of dances.” She giggled at him sleepily as she had drunk more wine than she was accustomed to taking.

Lord Baddick smiled tenderly into her eyes. “I own myself the luckiest of men.”

Better and better, he thought. Really, this was a temptation he could not let pass him by. Lady Fuddlesby was of the bon ton, but a scatterbrain and an Original. She drove in the park with her cat on the seat beside her! His pulses quickened as a picture flashed in his mind of Miss Lanford underneath him in bed.

As the hour was late, Henrietta could not conceal a yawn.

Lord Baddick struck his chest with his hand. “I am the worst of men, Miss Lanford. Here I am keeping you to myself when you must be exhausted and only wishing for your bed. Should traveling be possible tomorrow and I not have the pleasure of seeing you before you leave, may I call on you in Town?”

“I should like it above all things,” Henrietta assured him demurely.

They parted on the best of terms and Henrietta went upstairs to find her room. She opened the door on a comfortable chamber with chintz hangings on the bed and at the window. Megan was nearly asleep in a trundle bed, but rose to help her mistress out of her gown and into her nightdress before stoking the fire and going to sleep.

Henrietta pushed aside the curtains at the frosty window to look out. The storm was over and stars shone on the white landscape. It did not look as if a great deal of snow was on the ground, and it was likely they would get away tomorrow after all.

She thought about meeting Lord Baddick and smiled. Perhaps it had been fate. He was proper,

but less austere than the rather intimidating Duke of Winterton. Lord Baddick seemed to think she would have many suitors in Town. Oh, she could not wait to reach London!

Hugging herself, she turned from the window to go to bed. Snuggling under the bedclothes, she fell into dreams in which the hero was alternately Lord Baddick and the Duke of Winterton.

Downstairs in the taproom, Lord Baddick drank heavily. It was all he could do to keep from climbing the stairs and trying his luck with the chit right then. But experience taught him not to rush his fences. He would enjoy the chase in Town.

Lord Baddick snickered to himself while endless possibilities for the young girl’s seduction floated through his brandy-soaked brain.

At the moment, a serving maid was winking broadly at him as she leaned forward to refill his glass. Lord Baddick’s lips curved into a grin.

* * * *

Late the following afternoon, Lady Fuddlesby, attired in a rose-pink gown with only a few cat hairs on it, sat in the drawing room of her Grosvenor Square town house. Knight prowled about the room restlessly as if sensing his mistress’s mood.

“Where can the girl be?” Lady Fuddlesby asked, her fingers twisting a lace handkerchief. “She should have been here yesterday. I cannot imagine what could have caused a delay.”

The black and white cat wandered over to the tall windows and observed a light snow falling. He turned to look at Lady Fuddlesby, his tail tapping the windowpane.

“Oh! My dear boy. Of course, you have the right of it. Why, it might have been snowing quite dreadfully out in the country. Perhaps Henrietta was obliged to put up overnight at some damp inn.”

Her ladyship’s butler, Chuffley, appeared in the doorway. “His Grace, the Duke of Winterton, has called, my lady. Shall I show him in?”

Fiddlesticks! Lady Fuddlesby pressed her fingers to her temples, thoughts whirling in her head. “Yes... and bring tea, please, Chuffley,” she managed.

“Oh dear, oh dear, Knight. What could bring him here now? He was not to come until after Henrietta arrived and I had her properly gowned,” Lady Fuddlesby went on quite irrationally, forgetting the duke could not possibly be aware of the plans made for him, no less be prepared to fall in with them.

Knight had no answer but jumped to the fireplace mantel where he could observe his mistress and come to her aid if necessary.

The Duke of Winterton entered the room. He carried his hat and stick, indicating he would stay but a few minutes. His burgundy coat sat on his shoulders without a wrinkle. Fawn-colored pantaloons molded to his form, advising Lady Fuddlesby their owner possessed the best of legs. Black Hessian boots shone from a concoction about which other gentlemen’s valets could only speculate.

“Lady Fuddlesby,” he said, and bowed. Cool grey eyes looked at her questioningly.

“Your Grace, how kind of you to call,” Lady Fuddlesby said, and curtsied. “Do sit beside me,” she insisted, seating herself and patting a place next to her on the comfortable-looking brocade sofa. She had caught that icy look. While they frequented the same ton parties and had exchanged pleasantries, they were not precisely on calling terms. What was she going to offer as an excuse for asking him to call?

The duke sat down. Chuffley returned with a serving girl who settled a heavy silver tray on the table. Lady Fuddlesby busied herself with the tea things until the servants had gone.

She passed the duke a cup. “I know you must be wondering why I asked you to come,” she said with charming frankness. “You must understand, after I saw you last week at the Alistairs’ musicale, I felt most dreadful.”

The duke looked at Lady Fuddlesby. A puzzled expression crossed his face.

Then, momentarily distracted, his attention was caught by two green eyes, belonging to a rather fat-about-the-middle cat, staring at him menacingly from the fireplace mantel.

“You see,” Lady Fuddlesby went on improvising, “I knew your dear father when we were both young. And I realized that since his untimely death last year, I have been remiss in offering you my deepest condolences. I could not rest until I received your forgiveness for my shockingly bad manners,” she ended, feeling well pleased with herself at this farrago of lies. Not that Lady Fuddlesby made a practice of dissembling. It was just that on this occasion a stretching of the truth was necessary.

Giles felt amused. He had heard her ladyship was jinglebrained, and it followed she would fall prey to contrition for imagined slights at this late date.

He chastised himself for being on his guard against this innocent lady when he arrived. But deuce take it! Hardly a moment’s peace had been awarded him since he set up residence at his town house in Park Lane two weeks ago. Mamas and their marriageable daughters called on the flimsiest of excuses until he instructed his butler he was not at home to anyone. As ladies jockeyed ruthlessly for position, riding in the park at the fashionable hour resulted in several near carriage collisions. It seemed everywhere he went young misses were thrown at him like oranges at a bad actor at the playhouse. After a week of this, he was driven to the end of his tether by the antics of a Lady Betina Peabody.

This plain young miss had the silly idea she could compromise herself and force him to marry her. Her plans no doubt included arranging her scrawny body across his bed. She’d tried to gain access to his town house by bribing a servant. The duke’s servants were loyal and she failed. Persistent, if foolish, she attempted to get in by climbing up a trellis to a window. When her gown caught, she fell, breaking her arm.