That calmed Cories rattled nerves. Or else the brandy did. Another drop or two and maybe shed be able to sleep, to look forward to tomorrow, to new gowns, a new start. Finally her fate was in her own hands. Daniel Stamfields ham-sized hands were not, metaphorically, around her throat.
Why, she might even manage to find other redeeming qualities in him, if she tried hard enough. He might be a gambler, but he hadnt lost his fortune or mortgaged his ancestral home, the way many other sprigs of society did. He wasnt a dandy, that was for sure, puffed up in his own conceit and padded shoulders. Nor was he a sports-mad Corinthian, spending all his time and money on highbred horses. According to her maid, who heard it from the footman, who played dice with the groom, his mount was a placid plug, good for nothing but to carry Stamfields extra weight.
She supposed he was no worse than any other town buck out for his own selfish pleasure. The difference was Lady Coras son chose seedier environs to do his hell raking. McCanns Club entertained men with lesser titles and fortunes than Whites or Boodles. It also had women dealers, women patrons, women allowed in private rooms upstairs.
Stamfield wasnt a seducer of innocents, not that she ever heard. Corie would have heard, too, because there was nothing servants loved as much as gossip about their betters acting like beasts. Nor was his name linked to any highborn wives or willing widows, the way so many so-called gentlemens were. No, his name was dragged through bordellos, not the boudoirs of the beau monde. Did that make him worse or better than other men? Corie did not know or care. It made no difference, anyway. All men were fools.
Yet Lady Cora thought her son was nearly perfect. A mothers love truly must be blind.
Corie thought of her own mother, resting in peace or not these many years, and how Cories life might have been far different had her mother lived. Or not. Mrs. Abbott did not have the backbone of a Lady Cora. Mama believed it was a womans lot to suffer, ever since the Garden of Eden in her precious Bible. A female was a husbands property, his vassal, his inferior. A wife should not complain, either, for it was a mans right to rule his kingdom. Mama had tried to teach her daughter to be accepting of her place in life, just as Mrs. Squire Abbott accepted dying of neglect and a broken heart.
Corie could not do it, meekly follow her fathers dictates. She could not marry the sick old man her father had chosen for her just so shed be a widow soon, and hed have control of her rich inheritance. She could not accept someone like Mrs. Rivendale as her stepmother, becoming nursemaid to another womans infants. She could not, would not, let Daniel Stamfield steal this chance for a better life.
Resolved, Corie decided to go to bed, to be ready to face the next day and whatever came. She thought she would take her cup upstairs with her, refilled with lukewarm tea and a dash of brandy, in case she could not fall asleep.
So there she was, barefoot and gloveless, with her hair trailing down her back, her gown disordered, and one hand holding a brandy decanter. Which was, of course, when Nemesis knocked.
Chapter Six
D
aniel did not knock. The door was open, and he was coming in only to wish his mother good night. Instead of his mother or his sister, he found Miss Abbott, alone, and looking like the wanton she was. He almost looked around to see if she had a mana footman or a groom, evenhidden in the window seat or behind the sofa. He couldnt take his eyes off her, though. He couldnt think straight. Hell, he could hardly breathe, but he had to say something, or shed know him for the great looby he was.
I see you are making yourself at home, he said, which was possibly the worst he could have uttered, other than Please take off the rest of your clothes so I can die a happy man.
Corie set down the bottle. Her chin came up. Lady Cora said I might.
Damn, that was not what he meant, not entirely. Of course. Guest and all. Her goddaughter. I, uh, meant no offense.
Maybe not this time, Corie told herself, but his continued stare was insult enough, as if he was mentally undressing the rest of her. She cursed at herself for removing the lace filling from her neckline, right where he was gawking, then cursed at him for not being a gentleman. She couldnt do anything about her hair, her shoes, or the missing fichu, but she still wore layers of firmly laced fabric, thank heavens. She did try to hide her bare hands in her skirts. I thought you were out, she said, as if that explained her dishabille in the drawing room.
I needed to write a few letters myself.
Hed unknotted his neckcloth, too, so it was draped around his broad shoulders. His hair was mussed as if hed drawn his fingers through it in concentration, leading Corie to wonder if the dolt could spell. His coat was unbuttoned, and his waistcoat was missing altogether. He wore his scuffed boots, with an attempt at polish on them now, instead of the old-fashioned buckle shoes hed worn to dinner. Somehow he looked better in this disarray than tightly trussed in what she understood to be his fathers clothes.
No, he looked like hed just left a ladys bedchamber. Corie was mortified by such wayward thoughts, and hoped the dim candlelight could hide her blushes. Embarrassed, she couldnt think of anything to say that wouldnt reinforce his belief she was a shameless hussy, battening on his mothers generosity.
An awkward silence fell. He kept staring at her hair and the place where her modesty wrap had been and her bare toes, the unmannered boor. No matter that she kept looking at his broad shoulders and bare neck. What, did he think she was a doxy to be inspected before purchase? She refused to walk back to where her slippers waited beside her chair, to sit and lace their ribbons in front of him like a doxy in truth.
She recalled the decanter. Would you like a glass?
Daniel swallowed the lump in his throat. Damn, hed warned his mother he couldnt make conversation with proper women, and here was the proof. They all looked at him like hed clambered out from under a rock, the way Miss Corisande Abbott was grimacing at him now. No. That is, yes. Just the thing. Um, theres a chill in here. Deuced good taste in liquor, my uncle.
Lady Cora had hinted the brandy and other bottles in the vast wine cellar might be contraband. Coming from the coast, Corie knew all about smuggling. I dont suppose any of it has seen an excise label.
Daniel shrugged.
No wonder he seemed as tongue-tied as she did, Corie thought. Shed practically labeled his uncle, an adviser to the throne and the high courts, as a criminal. Anything he said could incriminate the earl. She was an idiot.
She found a glass, but couldnt decide how high to fill it. The last thing she wanted was to make Mr. Stamfield inebriated, or make him linger over his drink. She poured a tiny amount and brought it to him, then nervously picked up the fichu and twisted it in her hands.
Instead of drinking it all at once as she expected, he took a slow sip. Then he put the glass down.
Was he going to attack her? He was a beast who already considered her a fallen woman. And he was breathing heavily. Corie looked around for a possible weapon.
Daniel looked around for a possible escape.
They both said they ought to be going, at the same time, but neither made a move toward the door.
Another silence filled the room.
Corie did not want to leave before him, not when shed have to collect her hairpins and shoes and the gloves shed tossed across the room. Heavens, she could not leave her apparel strewn around the parlor for the maids to find in the morning, or Mr. Dobbson now. Speculation would fly like a swarm of wasps.
Daniel did not want to leave before her, to wonder all night if she was seducing old Dobbson in the dark. I, uh, wanted to apologize again for my earlier words. You are welcome here if
If? There was ice in the word.
Daniel did not know how to politely phrase his condition, so he picked up the white lace gloves he spotted on the floor. Instead of bringing them to her, he stared at the wispy things as if they had answers, or eloquence. They were simply spotless and tiny. He couldnt imagine a sillier accessory, for theyd never keep her hands warm or dry. Theyd only get in the way of any delicate work, as far as he could see, so their only purpose was to fulfill another of societys stupid conventions. Like how a mans and womans skin should never touch, like how he shouldnt be alone in the room with an unmarried female of expectations. He almost choked on the ramifications if a stranger saw them like this, their clothing disordered, their hair loose. Lord, she had wondrous hair, with golden sparks among the browns, thick and wavy, far past her shoulders. If only . . .
Corie twisted the fichu some more. The poor thing would be unwearable in another minute. If you are worried about the money, I will be able to repay you eventually, or if I marry, my husband shall, from my dowry. Or I can economize and not allow Lady Cora to purchase half the gowns she feels I need.
No, its not the money. Im not a squeeze penny like your father. He almost bit his lip. Now he was belittling the girls sire. For all he knew, she was devoted to the squire. He was her own father, after all.
Then if what? If I dont stay long, if I do not insist on your company at every turn? Believe me, Mr. Stamfield, I would far rather take my maid or a footman on errands or walks.
If . . . if you behave yourself, he blurted. And if you dont bring disgrace to my mother and sister.
Disgrace? Behave? Me?
Well, your past, you know. Your reputation.
The fichu ripped in half, Corie was torturing it so. Too bad it wasnt the dastards heart she had between her hands. What did he think, that she would tie her garters in public or arrange secret trysts with her lovers in dark, empty rooms?
This was a dark, empty room, with no chaperone in sight. Bother! Corie had taken enough insult from this uncouth creature in his oversized body and underused brain. Forgetting he was her host and Lady Coras darling, forgetting she was a lady, whether he believed it or not, she tossed the balled-up remnants of the fichu in his face. You speak of my reputation, sirrah, when it is your own that will bring us down? It is not I who has been living in the London stews, associating with cutpurses and crossing sweeps. I do not get into brawls. Then she listened to her own words and clasped her hands behind her back lest she strike him.
Now he raised his glass and drained the contents. I do not run off with penniless soldiers.
No, you run off with prostitutes.
You see? Talk like that isnt befitting a true lady. My sister should never hear such words.
Then she should not hear the tittle-tattle about her brother, for that is what is said. You never seemed to care about that, that your family would hear reports of your profligate ways.
My ways are no worse than any other gentlemans. Not very, anyway.
Well, I say you are no gentleman to be calling me names, when I have nearly been living the life of a cloistered nun. But here you are, wearing your fathers shoes, drinking your uncles wine, letting your mother run your estate.
You forgot I am living in my cousins rooms, he added drily.
Rooms located over a disreputable gaming club.
I object to that. Theres nothing disreputable about McCanns. They run honest tables and dont water the wine.
Corie overrode his protest by stamping her bare foot. Susanna says that before your cousins pulled you out of your drunken stupor, you lived in low dives. You were nothing but a miserable, hotheaded drunk. For all I know, you still are, except in better surroundings. She pointedly put the stopper back in the decanter. Youre afraid doors will be shut to us because of me? Without your mother, you could not get through half the entry halls in Mayfair without a battering ram.
I was never a miserable drunk, he interrupted. I was quite content, in fact. From what he could remember, anyway. Hed done his best to forget the war and Rexs wounds. There was no fishwife carping at me.
Corie was too incensed to care that her voice was raised, as was her ire. Her nerves were too frazzled with worry. Her plans were too crucial to leave to this buffoon. Maybe someone should have shouted at you. Maybe your mother should have come and dragged you home and knocked some sense into that thick skull of yours. You are a blot on your name, a useless stain.
He scowled at her. Not entirely useless. I was a soldier, recall.
Do not tell me how you served your country. Susanna is full of tales of your heroism. Rot! You resigned from the army years ago after conduct unbecoming of an officer or gentleman. You managed to help Rexford rescue Amanda, and help Mr. Harry Harmon solve his secret intrigues, but now you are back to doing nothing for anyone. Susanna told me your uncle asked you to serve as magistrate, or stand for a place in the Commons, but no, you chose to stay a feckless barbarian, with no occupation, no concern for anyone but yourself.
If she were a man, shed be on the floor by now. If she were the kind of woman Daniel was used to, shed still be on the floor after he kissed her to shut her up. That was what he hated about real ladies. A fellow couldnt thrash them or tumble them. Hell, it wasnt even polite to shout at one of the delicate blossoms. He yelled anyway. I care for my family, dash it. Thats why I dont want you here. And you dont know anything about my career in the army.
