Barbara Metzger (28 page)

If one unwed mother was a disgrace, two really ought to put Claibourne in the basket, so they drank to their success.

The barkeep couldn’t watch those half crowns being tucked into bodices without wanting a share for himself. “What about m’wife upstairs?” he volunteered. “We got a tyke and a infant at suck. Your swell can’t have all his buns in t’oven at oncet, can he?” Furthermore, the barkeep had a cart; he could see all the “delicate” lasses got to the right place on time. That had to be worth an extra crown or two, but the next round was on the house.

*

A cat can look at a king. But why would one want to, Jacelyn wondered, seeing the larger than usual crowds on the sidewalk in front of Endicott House. Whenever there was to be a huge ball, hordes of the uninvited gathered to watch the nobility. They oohed and ogled, and in general acted as vocal theater critics for the aristocratic play. Jacelyn would never get used to it, nor the way the invited guests had to queue up on the red carpet outside the house, waiting to have some stiff butler intone their names and titles.

Tonight was no different, except there were more women than men and—gracious, nearly every one of them was breeding or had a babe in arms. Aunt Amabel was asking if the lower orders held conventions for that sort of thing, while Lord Parkhurst facetiously wondered aloud if the Regent was expected. All these women were here, he surmised, to hold the infants up and the babe-filled bellies out, for the future king’s blessing―so he wouldn’t beggar the country before they were weaned.

The women weren’t holding those children for Prinny, however, they were just waiting for Claibourne to step out of the coach.

“There he is! There’s the man what ruined me!”

“Here, Claibourne, see what your wicked ways have brought!”

“Hey, yer lordship, how’m I to feed the brat you left me?”

“He done me wrong—twice!”

*

The situation was absurd, of course: every
enceinte
woman from the East End accusing Leigh Claibourne of siring her child. Soon the ladies on line were atwitter, and the men were laughing outright. The crowd on the pavement was delighted, calling uproariously vulgar comments and ribald suggestions. Lord Parkhurst and Mme. Aubonier had to lead Amabel back to the carriage so she could faint without dirtying her gown, leaving Leigh and Jacelyn on center stage, without a script.

After the first moment’s shock, Leigh began to chuckle, and then trade jokes with the bystanders, most of which Jacelyn could not understand, luckily. “Come ladies,” he was saying good-naturedly, while she was wishing someone would shake her and tell her to wake up, it’s only a nightmare. “I have only been home from Belgium for five months. Wellington himself couldn’t have done the job from there.”

“Them British musketeers have good aim, Major.”

“Not that good, friend, so I’m thankful to all you lads at home for standing in for us so nobly.”

They were finally at the door. Before entering the house, Leigh told the women to meet him around back in ten minutes, he’d buy the babies their first pairs of shoes.

“What are you doing, Leigh? You’re going to go talk to those women—and leave me here all alone to face
this
?”

This
was everyone in the room laughing and pointing and holding fans over their mouths. Even Arthur, on the receiving line, had heard about it.

“Great show, Leigh. Here we were all wondering how Priscilla would be received, and you go set them all on their ears. No one will have a spare tongue-wag for her. Thanks.”

“You’ll find this hard to believe, Arthur, but I really wouldn’t have subjected myself and my friends to such a spectacle, not even for Priscilla. Lady Endicott, may I please trouble you for the use of a back room to interview some of the mamas-to-be? I’ve got to find out who has the quirky sense of humour. Would you also look after Miss Trevaine? Her aunt didn’t appreciate the jest much either.”

“Leigh, you can’t!”

“I’m sorry, pet, you have to stay here and look amused.”

Amused? She hadn’t been so amused since she’d caught her hand in the barn door. Now she felt like Farthingale must have with the dog—only worse. Farthingale merely looked less elegant than he wished; Jacelyn looked like a red-faced fool. She didn’t want to become an outraged fishwife, and she didn’t want to marry a man who could even be suspected of such behaviour. She didn’t believe any of it, needless to say, but if not these women, then others. And he’d said he’d never disgrace her. Hah! What did he think tonight’s display was? A schoolroom tea party?

A farce, that’s what Leigh thought, in the small pantry behind Tina Endicott’s kitchen. He was surrounded there by seven, no eight, women who looked like a pod of beached whales. It was a comedy and they were all laughing at the hoax. The real disgrace was the women’s condition. He left them a moment so he could bribe, threaten, and otherwise coerce the horrified cook into serving them cake and ale. He swore to make it right with Lady Endicott’s household account, for the wheels of cheese and fresh apples and oranges he brought back to the pantry.

His lordship was a real fine gent, the ladies decided. Kindhearted, generous, polite even to the likes of them―and so devilishly handsome with his easy pearly smile, they wouldn’t mind if the babes wore his butter stamp after all. Asides, he’d laughed right along with them, not run off like that queer nabs who’d hired them. The women were happy to oblige Claibourne with anything he wanted to know, even if they were disloyal to their employer. He wasn’t there with the other half of their pay; Claibourne was.

Fifteen minutes later, the earl sent his latest conquests home in the barkeep’s wagon, having emptied his pockets and the cook’s larder. He now owed his life’s savings to Endicott’s servants, if his life was worth saving, after Jacelyn got through with it, for here was Lady Tina herself. She had come to thank Claibourne for enlivening Rhodine’s dull little gathering, and to lead him back to the party. Tina’s gratitude was almost as deep as her neckline, but not quite, and she guided him to the ballroom with all the sinuous grace of a tigress stalking her prey. Since he’d been using her house as a home for unwed mothers, common courtesy required him to ask her to dance. Bad luck made the orchestra choose a waltz.

Jacelyn was dancing with the Spanish count, barely listening to his ornate compliments, when Claibourne danced by with their hostess nearly wallpapered to his shirtfront. If Jacelyn’s looks were daggers, both of them would be skewered like ducks on a spit.

Her next dance was promised to Lord Tayson, but Claibourne persuaded the young lordling that Miss Trevaine needed to catch her breath and would be sitting out—with him.

Jacey ignored the earl as he took a seat next to her. She couldn’t ignore the smell of cheap perfume, or the lip rouge on his neckcloth. She glared at him. “I see you were as friendly to your back-room brood mares as you were to Lady Endicott.”

Laughing, he wiped at his cheek where she was staring, and said, “Don’t be shrewish, darling, and don’t worry. If you’re breeding, I’ll marry you.”

*

The wound wasn’t like a clean cut that bled, hurt, then healed. This was more like the pain of a deep splinter, which festered and throbbed.

All those women, all those Lady Tinas. The world was full of them, Jacelyn knew, and the only thing presently keeping Leigh away from them—if he was, indeed, keeping his distance—was herself, her reputation, her money. It wasn’t enough.

If he loved her, she could laugh at the silly prank last night, and she could shrug off Lady Tina’s clinging with simple pride in his attractiveness. If he loved her, she could even disregard all the thinly veiled hints about what an ideal match theirs would be, for both of them.

She knew, had always known, how much he needed her money, and she really didn’t care. She would be glad her fortune could ease his way, if that wasn’t the only reason for this continued parody of a near betrothal. Everyone, even Leigh, she thought, assumed they would make it official soon, at her ball, perhaps, or over Christmas. It wouldn’t happen, not if it killed her, for he didn’t love her. They—her father, Squire, Aunt Amabel, Leigh himself—could no longer argue that her good repute and social well-being depended on Leigh’s name. Just look at Priscilla; it only took a bit of courage and a fresh scandal. As for Jacey’s future happiness…that did depend on Leigh. She didn’t quite see how she would live without him, but she’d have to, rather than slowly being nibbled to death anyway, by all the doubts and uncertainties. Just a few more weeks, and she and Pen could go home, alone.

*

Claibourne was relieved to see that Jacelyn wasn’t angry when he met her at the stable for their ride. He’d been prepared for fireworks, vowing to hold his own temper in check this time, for last night had been an awful experience for the young girl. It hadn’t been any picnic for him, either, so he was pleased there wouldn’t be any brangling now. If Jacelyn seemed quieter than usual, it matched the overcast, dank morning. The dog wasn’t interested in chasing sticks, and even Baron took exception to the bare branches clicking in the raw wind. Claibourne’s mood was all of a piece.

His lordship had a lot on his mind, not least of which was figuring out what in Hades Percy was trying to do with these skipbrained schemes to humiliate his cousin. To find out would mean finding Percy, most likely at Flora’s place in Islington. Claibourne’s presence there was sure to get back to Jacelyn, and cause her still more upset. Unless he was to tell her beforehand. Deuces, just when he was glad there were no storm clouds. He decided to take the cowardly path, mentioning Flora only as he left Jacelyn at Parkhurst House later, so they could keep on with the quiet, reflective ride now.

Percy could wait. Claibourne’s finances couldn’t. Mr. Pettigrew hadn’t had any good news lately, and he couldn’t take any more money out of the estate. Applying to Trevaine was out of the question, as was visiting the cent-per-centers. Leigh had no intention of paying twice for what he used once. There were no calls for Baron’s services, and the cards just weren’t falling right. Leigh was too astute to wager where the chances of winning were so poor, and no one would bet against him in other contests, like culping wafers or three-round sparring matches, where the odds were so heavily in his favour.

It was dashed expensive, this London living, if you added the price of courtship to clothes, lodging, and horses, besides incidentals like last night’s unexpected debts. With all the gratuities he was handing out, he felt like Golden Ball on Boxing Day.

He was thinking of selling the curricle and pair, but he’d only have to rent job horses and rigs to take Jacelyn driving. He could ask Arthur for a loan until the dibs were in tune, but with his own marriage to plan, Arthur mightn’t have as much of the ready, and Claibourne hated to ask his friends, anyway; he’d had more than enough teasing about his coming change of fortune. There might be a position for him at the War Office, but not necessarily in London. Then again, he might take himself and his pistols somewhere away from Town, to Bath or Brighton, perhaps, where his skill wasn’t as well known. He only had to hold out a few weeks more, until the end of the Season, when he could ask Jacelyn to marry him. It would be the shortest engagement in history if he had anything to say. If she said no… It didn’t bear thinking of, and the money had nothing to do with it at all. He could live on very little at the Abbey, and without Jacey’s laughing eyes, that’s all it would be, barely existing.

*

“Will you come in for breakfast?”

“Thank you, pet, no. I have some errands to run. One of them is tracking down my cousin Percy. Ah, he may be at Flora’s house, so I’ll have to stop there this afternoon.”

“Will you take me with you, Leigh?”

“Don’t be a widgeon. Flo isn’t suitable company for you, but she’s a Sunday-school teacher compared to Percy.”

“That’s all right, I forgot I’m promised to Rhodine after luncheon anyway. We’re to select a pattern for her wedding dress.”

Jacelyn half-expected him to question plans for her own bridal gown, and it was almost on the tip of his tongue to do so, but he’d vowed not to pressure her, and he wouldn’t. Instead he asked: “Incidentally, Jacey, are we promised anywhere for the next few days?”

“I don’t think there is anything very grand until the ball at Lady Hockney’s country home next week, except you did promise to take me to the Vauxhall masquerade Saturday. Why?”

“I didn’t forget the promise, dear heart, I already hired the closed carriage. I just might have to be out of town before then.”

She looked at him like he’d crawled out of the kitchen tiles. “Tell me again. You are going to visit your mistress, and be out of town for two days?”

He blinked, then grinned. “Ah. She’s not my mistress, remember? And one trip has nothing to do with the other, you adorable peagoose.” He quickly kissed the tip of her nose, then said he would see her at tea.

*

Trust him, he said. Don’t listen to the gabble-mongers, he said. He’d be there for tea, he said. That was easy for him. He wasn’t at the dressmaker’s where even the fitters giggled about how Claibourne was raising his own army. He wasn’t at the silk warehouse where Lady Tina teased about his lordship’s taste in women: warm and willing. And he wasn’t on time for tea. Of course not, he was visiting his mistress! Fortunately for the Sevres tea service, there were other callers in and out all afternoon.

Leigh’s luck was still gone begging. Percy hadn’t shown at Flora’s, it being earlier than his usual time, but Unger had. Rather than cause Flora any embarrassment, Claibourne had left by the kitchen door. Gads, creeping out of a noted courtesan’s door like some guilty, henpecked husband! Then Arthur had reminded him that no one but crones, consumptives, and caper merchants were in the resort areas at this time of year, so that notion was discarded. He hadn’t wanted to be out of town anyway, not without seeing Percy.

All in all, his lordship was in a foul mood. Seeing Jacelyn entertaining some mushroom in yellow pantaloons did not improve his temper.