Desire and Deception (64 page)

It took some time to complete the entire line. Jason greeted all the servants by name, except for a new gardener who had joined the household in his absence. He spoke to each of them personally, and he never seemed to tire of accepting their good wishes for his marital felicity. Lauren spent the time trying to memorize all the names and faces.

Afterward, as she was being led upstairs by the housekeeper, she learned that the girl named Molly had been appointed her
abigail
until a satisfactory lady's maid could be found.

"She's a good, biddable girl," Mrs. Morrow said of Molly, "though a bit nervous to be serving in such a capacity. But she has a way with arranging hair. And no one is better with the irons. No fear that Molly will scorch your gowns. Of course, milady, if you would prefer someone else. . . ."

"I'm certain Molly will do quite well," Lauren assured her. "It is I who may make the mistakes. In America I wasn't used to having anyone wait on me until quite recently, and I found it took some getting used to. I expect there will be a number of other customs I will need to familiarize myself with, if I'm not to shame my husband."

Mrs. Morrow beamed. "You'll not do that, milady. But Morrow and I would be honored to be of assistance, should you have any need of us."

"Thank you . . . Goodness! Is this room to be mine?" Lauren asked as a door swung open. She tried not to stare, but the bedroom was almost overpowering in its opulence. Most of the furniture was elegant Louis XVI, but the large bed was practically obscured by elaborate, pink velvet hangings. Along one wall, fabulous crystal sconces flanked two enormous gilt mirrors, while on the ceiling, a painted mural depicted a half dozen golden cherubs. The suite of rooms had belonged to the previous Lady
Effing
, Lauren was told.

She was relieved to find the adjoining sitting room much more to her taste. The dressing room on the opposite side of the bedroom was also unexceptional, and the water closet, with its hot water plumbing and marble bath was more modern than anything she had ever imagined.

There was a door on the far side, but Lauren hesitated with her hand on the knob. "May I?" she asked uncertainly.

"Of course, milady.
That is his lordship's dressing room," Mrs. Morrow commented. "The bedchamber is just beyond."

Jason's dressing room was similar
to her own,
Lauren discovered, but his bedroom, fortunately, was quite different—furnished in a tasteful masculine style. Stepping into the room, Lauren looked about her with approval. The enormous four-poster bed appeared far more inviting than the pink confection in her suite.

She was just about to test the mattress when her husband entered, followed by his valet, Gordy. Jason had doffed his coat and was in the process of removing his cravat, and when he noted Lauren's embarrassed flush, a wicked gleam of amusement began to dance in his blue eyes. But he refrained from teasing her, merely saying in a bland voice that it was good to be home again, then asking Mrs. Morrow if she approved his choice of a bride.

"That I do," the housekeeper replied at once. "But if I have your permission to say so, milord, I don't see how you ever found her ladyship among the savages in America."

Jason chuckled. "I expect you will say whatever you wish, Mrs. Morrow, with or without my permission. See what an ally you have, Lauren? I can't imagine how I will ever endure the two of you together. Of course, I've always had a fondness for Mrs. Morrow. She used to give me gingerbread when I was a boy."

"Humph! You mean I used to look the other way when you stole it from under Cook's nose." Shaking her head, the elderly woman turned to Lauren. "His lordship was a real terror, milady, make no mistake."

Lauren smiled as she met Jason's gaze. "I can well imagine."

"Mrs. Morrow," Jason said, while his eyes never left Lauren's, "I expect my wife is fatigued from the long journey. She should rest, don't you think?"

"But of course!" the housekeeper replied. "I'll just send Molly up to wait on you, milady."

Jason forestalled her with a brief wave of his hand. "That won't be necessary. I'll perform whatever services my wife requires. We won't be dressing for dinner this evening. Would you see that a supper table is set up in her ladyship's sitting room? And Gordy, I'll manage for myself. I'll ring if I need you.

Mrs. Morrow took her dismissal with good grace, and if Gordy regretted not being able to perform his duties after his master's long absence, the superior valet was too well trained to show it.

When the servants had gone, Jason drew Lauren into his arms. It was only after he had kissed her quite thoroughly that Lauren took him to task. "Really, Jason, how could you tell Mrs. Morrow such a tale? I'm not at all tired."

He grinned. "Neither am I," he
replied.,
and then bent his head again.

Later, when they were sharing the large bed and Jason was drawing lazy patterns on her stomach, Lauren smiled drowsily. "I fear you will never make a proper lady's maid. You don't seem to care what happens to the gowns you bought me in New Orleans."

He didn't even glance at the garments he had tossed so carelessly on the floor. "I don't. I'm only interested in helping you out of your clothes. At any rate, you'll have to order new ones. Not only will you soon outgrow the gowns you have, but your wardrobe is already a year out of date."

"Jason, that's absurd! It will be some time before my condition is noticeable, what with the high waistlines, and I can make over every one of my gowns before then."

Jason shook his tawny head.
"Oh, no, sweetheart.
That wouldn't be at all fashionable."

"I don't give a fig for fashion. Think of the waste!"

"I know, but I can well afford it. And you have a position in society to uphold now,
m'lady
. You'll find London far worse than New Orleans on that score. You won't be able to appear twice in the same outfit without causing comment." At Lauren's incredulous look, Jason planted a kiss on her nose. "I expect to be closeted with my man of business tomorrow morning, but you can go shopping with my aunt Agatha. She's an old dragon, but I expect you'll like her."

Lauren sighed with resignation, before peering at Jason through her lashes. "You don't mean to insist on my being totally fashionable, do you?"

"Like cropping your hair?
Don't you dare try
it.
I like it just, the way it is."

"No," she said with a provocative smile.
"Like sleeping in separate bedrooms.
I understand it is quite the custom among married couples to sleep apart."

Jason grinned. "You aren't pleased with your apartments, then? You have my permission to change anything you like—redecorate the whole. I didn't suppose you would care for pink. My mother didn't either, for that matter. She intentionally had her room done that way to annoy my father."

"Goodness! Did she dislike him so very much?"

"Actually my parents were very much in love. But my father had a way of ordering everyone about and then expecting instant obedience. Mama would put up with it just so far,
then
dig in her heels. The angels were to remind him that people— including his own family—were mere mortals. I like that touch, don't you?"

"Well, it is a little much with the pink. I like this room far better."

"So did
she
."

Snuggling closer to Jason, Lauren glanced up at him. "Then I may stay here with you?" she asked hopefully.

He laughed. "I'm counting on it."

Lauren did indeed go shopping the next day—with Lady Agatha Trent, a tall, willowy woman who was now a widow with several grown grandchildren. She had been a Stuart before her marriage fifty years earlier, but even though she had changed her name, it was obvious that she now considered herself the matriarch of the Stuart clan.

For the first five minutes of their acquaintance, Lady Agatha treated Lauren with stiff formality. Then she relented somewhat. "You'll do," was her pronouncement. "You may not have the blood, but you have breeding, that's obvious. Your looks are more than passable, your carriage is excellent, and you have countenance. And you seem healthy enough to give my nephew an heir."

Lauren smiled politely. "Thank you, my lady. And since we are discussing my attributes, please allow me to point out my fine teeth, as well."

Lady Agatha's eyes narrowed momentarily, but then she chuckled. "You have a tongue in your head. Good! I can't abide witless females. You'll need to be wide-awake if you mean to stand up to the gossips. I can assure you, all London is talking about you. I'll do my best to tell you how to go on— family is family, you know. But the rest will be up to you. There wasn't anything
havey-cavey
about your marriage, was there?"

Lauren's eyes widened. Even for an aunt whom Jason held in affection, that question was far too personal. Besides, she couldn't reply with the truth. She wasn't even sure that she
was
married, since she had used a false name. And what would Aunt Agatha say if she were to admit she had been drunk during the ceremony? Or for that matter, that Jason had found her in a high-class bordello and mistaken her for a strumpet?

Somehow Lauren managed a civil—and untruthful—reply, which seemed to satisfy the silver-haired woman, and they went on to speak of other things. After a time, Lauren even became accustomed to Lady Agatha's frankness, and when the older woman unbent enough to lose some of her rigidness, Lauren did like her, just as Jason had predicted she would. In fact, she soon came to appreciate Lady Agatha's guidance.

She learned three things of importance during just that first session with Jason's aunt. The first was that Jason's position in society was even more elevated than she had supposed. The second was that the same society was waiting like a hungry lion to pounce should she make the slightest slip. And the third was that the story about her being the Carlin heiress was already out.

How that news had spread, Lauren never learned. When she taxed Jason about it later, he denied being the source but suggested that someone else had seen her portrait hanging in the Carlin offices. It was also possible, Jason said, that some astute merchant had pieced the puzzle together since he had never made a secret of the fact that he owned the Carlin ships. Then again, Lauren realized, it could merely have started as servants' gossip. That information network was one of the best communication systems in the world, she quickly discovered. Molly, for example, had a fount of knowledge that Lauren found extremely helpful.

But however the story had started, since her connection to the Carlin Line was known—or at least assumed—Lauren couldn't hope to avoid the issue altogether. Before she had been in London three days, she
was having
to explain to a number of Jason's prying relatives that she preferred to be called Lauren, rather than Andrea. She was thankful that Jason planned to remove to
Effing
Hall in Kent at the end of the following fortnight.

She wasn't to be allowed an easy escape, though. Most of the beau monde had already left London for their country estates, but Lady Agatha arranged an impromptu gathering of "merely two or three hundred" of those who remained. She was determined to introduce Lauren to society, and even Jason agreed that it was best to "beard the lions" now.

Lauren was extremely nervous about the event. Indeed, as she was dressing for the evening, she thought of the lion at the Exeter Exchange which Jason had taken her to see, and decided that being thrown into the cage with the beast would be preferable to facing the ton. While Molly added the finishing touches to her toilette, Lauren contemplated every alternative short of suicide that would allow her to avoid the evening's ordeal.

She was seated at her dressing table when Jason entered the room. Grateful for the distraction, she examined his reflection in the pier glass. He looked strikingly handsome in his formal blue and buff attire, with a pristine white cravat and diamond stickpin at his throat. His evening clothes seemed only to emphasize his masculinity and accentuate the powerful lines of his tall body, for the coat molded perfectly to his superb shoulders, while the close-fitting satin breeches blatantly hugged his lean hips and muscular thighs.