Regency Sting (8 page)

“I … suppose so,” he replied hesitantly, “if it is what you would wish. But I don't see how such a plan can be contrived …”

“Neither do I. That's what I want to think about,” Anne said. With a wave of her hand to Cherry, who stood gaping after her, Anne took her leave.

“Shropshire? What is she talking about?” Cherry asked, as she took a seat at the tea tray and began to pour.

Arthur, bemused and discontent with the outcome of his tête-à-tête, felt the need to unburden his heart to an understanding friend, but his masculine reticence made him hesitate. However, when two comforting cups of tea had been drunk, and when Cherry had taken a place beside him on the sofa and fixed her wide eyes on him with their expression of compassionate concern, he found himself confiding the whole of his conversation with his beloved into her eager ear. She nodded and smiled encouragingly every time he sighed; she was most heartening when she heard his plans and most flatteringly impressed by his hitherto-unexpressed ambitions to enter the clergy. When he at last took his leave, his step was jaunty and his head high. It had been, he decided, a most satisfactory morning.

Six

The short walk back home did not give Anne much time to think, but it was long enough for her to realize that she was completely unsuited to be a vicar's wife and to live in dowdy obscurity in a cottage in Shropshire. Her reaction, she knew, was ignoble and mean-spirited. Cherry would be appalled. Her friend would no doubt have glowed with joy at the prospect of love in a cottage. Anne could almost hear her: “Just think, dearest, how
lovely
it would be! You could plant roses round the door, and bake your own bread! Just imagine it—when Arthur came in after making his rounds of the parishioners who were ill, he'd find you in the kitchen up to your beautiful elbows in fragrant dough … and he'd try to embrace you, and you'd spill flour on his shoulder and across his cheek … and you'd both laugh …”

Ugh! The entire picture made Anne shudder. How could she bear it in Shropshire, so far from the balls, the opera, the shops, the libraries, the gossip, the excitement, the gaiety of London? How could she exist in a place where she would be forced to wear last year's gowns, chat with the farmers' wives and find herself patronized by the local gentry? The prospect was utterly repellent.

On the other hand, could she bear to
refuse
Arthur? To live without him—perhaps to see him wed to another?
That
was the dreadful alternative.

She arrived home before she could even begin to find a solution to the problem. She came in quietly, hoping to make her way to her room unnoticed, to give herself an opportunity to think without being disturbed. But in the foyer, she came upon a scene which drove everything else from her mind.

Coyne and Lady Harriet were confronting a creature Anne took at first to be an enormous gypsy. But of course, she immediately recognized her strange American cousin-by-marriage. He was dressed in the most peculiar coat she'd ever seen. It was made of an unrecognizable animal skin and sewn with the fur on the inside. It had no collar or lapels, but it was edged all around—even on the bottom—with the fur. In his hand, the American carried a round-brimmed, round-crowned black hat. He looked very much like a backwoods trapper she'd once seen in a sketch in a book of American explorations. “Good God!” she exclaimed. “You're not going
out
in that coat, are you?”

Lady Harriet turned to her with an expression of intense relief in her eyes. “I'm so glad you've returned, love,” she said with less than her usual placidity. “We've been trying to make Jason understand that he should not step out into the world just yet.”

Anne giggled. “Yes, I can quite see why.”

Jason frowned at her in mock reproof. “I'm happy to be able to provide you with a fittin' subject for ridicule, ma'am. But I wish you'd stop your laughin' long enough to help me convince your mama that no harm will come if I take a bit of a stroll. I've set my heart on purchasin' a suit of armor, and I'd like to look at the shops—”

“No harm?” Anne cut in bluntly. “You'll have the whole of London laughing by nightfall if even
one
person sees you in that rig.”

“Let 'em. Ain't no skin off
my
nose.”

Anne, trying to make sense of his unfamiliar aphorism, blinked up at him, only to become aware of a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Are you laughing at
me
, sir?” she demanded, putting her chin up haughtily. “If I've been slow in responding to your witticism, it is only because your American language is so barbaric.”

“Nonsense, girl,” he came back, grinning. “There wasn't a word in that sentence you don't know.”

Challenged, Anne went over the sentence again. “‘Ain't no skin off my nose.' Oh, I see! It's similar to ‘Sticks and stone may break my bones, but words—'”

“Exactly,” he said approvingly, “but shorter and more to the point.”

Anne smiled back. “I admit it's a colorful expression.”

“That may be,” Lady Harriet said, “but it's not very much help in the matter we're discussing. It may be no skin from
your
nose if you become the laughingstock of London, but it shall certainly bruise
mine
. I won't have the Mainwaring name made ridiculous.”

Jason turned back to her and said politely, “I know how you feel, Lady Harriet, but no one knows me here. No passerby will be able to make the connection between this peculiar foreigner and the Mainwarings.”

“They'll make the connection later, however, when you've been introduced to society. Such a sight as you make now will not easily be forgotten.”

“Do I look as bad as that?” Jason asked ruefully.

Lady Harriet softened immediately. “Oh, dear. I didn't mean to offend … that is, of course
you
don't look bad. I find you quite handsome, truly I do. It's only that
coat—
”

Anne nodded in agreement, circling Jason and studying his appearance with amused, half-admiring revulsion. “I've never
seen
such a dreadful garment. Why on earth do you want to wear it?”

“Because it's warm!” he declared impatiently. “I own nothing else that is suitable for this obnoxious climate. This Virginia boy is accustomed to much milder weather.”

“But I'm sorry to have to tell you, ‘Virginia boy,' that nothing like it has ever been seen on the streets of London. If you don't want to make a cake of yourself, you'll remain indoors until a greatcoat can be made for you.”

“But that may take
days
!”

“Weeks, more likely.”

“
Weeks
?” He looked at Anne in dismay. “You can't ask me to remain cooped up in the house for weeks!”

“It
does
seem a bit cruel,” Lady Harriet admitted.

“Of course, he may go outdoors on milder days,” Anne suggested, “if he wears one of his less exceptional coats. And he may take some hope in the realization that the time necessary for making his greatcoat can be considerably shortened if he speaks to the tailors in the proper way.”

Lady Harriet looked at Anne hopefully. “Oh, Anne, dearest, would you help him to do that?”

Anne caught herself up short. “Now, Mama, I
told
you I wanted nothing to do with—”

“Anne!” her stepmother cut her off in embarrassment. “You needn't be so tactless, with Jason standing right here.”

“Oh, that's all right, ma'am,” Jason assured her. “Your daughter has already informed me to my face that makin' me over into a proper gentleman is too hopeless a task for her to undertake.”

“Never mind, dear boy,” Lady Harriet said soothingly, “we shall manage very well without Anne's help. As far as
I
can see, you are quite a proper gentleman already and only want the proper clothing.”

Anne merely snorted in a scornful—and very unladylike—manner.

Jason, ignoring her, grinned at his aunt. “Thank you, ma'am, for those comfortin' words. If I had to rely on the good opinion of your daughter, my self-esteem would suffer a real beatin'.”

“What gammon!” sneered Anne. “I'm beginning to suspect that your self-esteem is as oversized as
you
are, and I'm convinced it can stand up quite well under any blows from
me
.”

“Anne, stop this at once! You are upsetting me, and you know my heart won't stand it. If you won't help him, you can at least leave the boy in peace,” Harriet ordered. “Come, Jason, give that coat to the butler and let's confer in the library about ways and means to set you up properly in your new role.”

Jason, with a sigh, surrendered to female pressure. He took off the offending garment and handed it to Coyne. The butler made sure also to remove the ugly, round hat from Jason's hand, after which he quickly made a retreat down the hallway, determined to hide the clothes forever from the light of day.

Lady Harriet, meanwhile, with an encouraging smile, started up the stairs, with Jason meekly following. With his foot on the bottom step, he remembered that he had not taken his leave of Anne. He turned around and found her staring at him with a look of earnest speculation. “Is something the matter?” he inquired.

“I was only thinking …” she said slowly, “that perhaps I
might
take it upon myself to instruct you—”

Lady Harriet, halfway up the stairs, swung around eagerly. “What? Oh, Anne dear, would you
really
?”

“Under certain circumstances,” Anne said cautiously.

Jason looked from one lady to the other, his eyes glinting with rueful amusement. “I don't want you ladies to fight over me, now,” he muttered drily.

Harriet either missed or ignored his sally. “What circumstances?” she demanded of her daughter.

“That is to be a matter between his lordship and me, Mama, if you don't mind.”

Lady Harriet gave Anne a piercing glance. “No, I don't mind at all,” she said.

“Does anyone care if
I
mind?” his lordship asked no one in particular.

“No,” said Anne shortly. “And since Mama has given her permission, I'd like you to come with me to the morning room where we can discuss the matter.”

Jason looked up at Lady Harriet. “Do you wish me to go with her, ma'am?”

“Yes, I
do
, Jason. She can be of enormous help to you,” Harriet urged.

Jason nodded and obediently turned back to follow Anne into the morning room. “All right, girl, what's this all about?” he asked as soon as they were alone.

Anne closed the door carefully. “Won't you sit down, my lord?” She motioned to the round table set before the bow window.

“No, I don't think I will. Here I am in my shirtsleeves, and there you are all rigged out in that blue coverin' and that bedazzlin' bonnet—why, ma'am, it makes you much too intimidatin'. Maybe I'd better stand.”

Anne met his bantering look with a suspicious one of her own. “I'm quite sure, sir, that it would take more than a mere bonnet to intimidate you. Nevertheless, I shall remove it, and my pelisse as well, and then we may
both
be comfortable.”

“Stripped to our shirtsleeves, like a couple of boxers, eh?” grinned the Viscount.

“Please, my lord, let us be serious,” Anne requested, seating herself at the table and gesturing to the chair opposite. “I have a proposal to make to you.”

Jason seated himself. “Well, go ahead, girl. Shoot!”

“First, my lord, may I ask you a few questions which are rather … er … personal?”

“Sure. Fire away.”

Anne smiled and shook her head. “What a wild country you come from, Mr. Hughes. All this ‘shooting' and ‘firing away' convinces me that Americans are more apt to converse with guns than with words.”

“Not at all, ma'am,” Jason answered promptly. “The expressions are merely metaphorical, I assure you. Please proceed with your questions. You've aroused my curiosity.”

“Very well, then. First, I'd like to know if it is
you
who wants to make a mark in London society, or it is
Mama
who is urging you to do so.”

“Oh, it's me, I assure you. Lady Harriet is very willing to assist me, but I would like nothing better, I promise you, than to be turned into one of those—what is it Peter calls them?—out-and-outers.”

Anne looked at him suspiciously. “Then why do I feel that you're mocking me? That you really have no desire
at all
to make yourself over?”

“Is that a question you wish me to answer, or is it merely rhetorical? Because I can't possibly answer it, you know. How can
I
explain why
you
don't trust my word?”

“Then you
truly
want my instruction in how to get on in London?”

“Yes, truly.”

“Do you mind telling me
why
? You don't seem the sort of man who would enjoy dressing to the nines, paying morning calls on insipid girls, riding decorously through the park at five in the afternoon, dancing at Almack's, doing the pretty for the dowagers, gambling at White's—”

“Good Lord, girl, if it's your object to talk me out of it, you're on the verge of succeedin.' Is
that
the life of a London gentleman?”

“It is, more or less, an accurate summary, I think. Why do you want to do it?”

“Are you askin' my
motive
, ma'am? What makes you think I have one?”

“I don't believe you're the sort of man who would do things without a reason.”

He regarded her askance. “Do you want the truth?”

“Yes, I do. And nothing but …”

“Well, then, the truth of the matter is that I wish to find myself a wife.”

“A
wife
?” she asked, startled.