Regency Sting (9 page)

“Yes. Why do you find that so surprisin'?”

“I … I don't know. I didn't think … Are you
bamming
me, my lord?”

“If that's your English way of askin' if I'm pullin' your leg, I tell you bluntly, girl, that we'll get nowhere in this conversation if you insist on disbelievin' me.”

“But … couldn't you have found a wife in America?” Anne asked.

“I didn't
want
a wife when I was in America,” he answered promptly, smiling at her with that teasing glint back in his eyes.

For no reason that she could determine, Anne felt a flush creep up into her cheeks. “Then why
now
?” she nevertheless persisted in asking.

“Let's just say that if I'm to be a proper lord, I ought to have a proper lady.”

“I see. And
that's
why you feel the need for … er … town-bronze?”

“A bit of polish? Of course. Would a lady—like you, for example—take any notice of me the way I am?”

“Oh, she'd
notice
you, certainly,” Anne responded with a teasing smile, “but I agree that she might not wish to
wed
you—at least not as you looked in that dreadful coat you were going to wear today.”

“Exactly. That's why I need some polishin'.”

“Very well. That's just what I wanted to determine. Now, if I were to give you that polish … and even help you to win a suitable young lady … would you be willing to make a … a kind of … exchange?”

He gave her a level look. “In America we call it horse-tradin'.”

“Yes, that's it exactly! Horse-trading. Are you willing?”

“Depends on what it is you want from
me
, doesn't it? What's
my
part of this arrangement to be?”

“Well, it's a little … difficult … to explain …”

“Is it? Don't tell me that I'm intimidatin'
you
, now. You've nothin' to fear from me, girl. Out with it.”

“Very well. You see, there's a certain young man—”

“I thought there might be,” he muttered drily.

She cast a quick glance at his face, lowered her eyes and went on. “—and we wish to marry. But our families oppose the match—”

“Lady Harriet doesn't like him?”

“Let us say she thinks we wouldn't suit.”

“I see. The fellow's a bounder, is that it?”

“Not at all! The gentleman in question is honorable and respectable. His lineage is impeccable and his character is … well, practically
flawless
.”

“Flawless, eh? Is
that
why you don't suit?” Jason quipped irrepressibly.

She merely glared at him. “I don't think we need go into further detail. I merely wish to have your support in pushing through my marriage plans.”

“
My
support? What sort of support can
I
give?”

“Well, sir, you
are
the head of the family. Your approval would certainly weigh with Mama. And as for Arthur's family—”

“Arthur, eh? Does
his
family object to the nuptials as well?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so. You see—”

“They don't find your character flawless enough for their son?” he quipped roguishly.

She put up her chin proudly. “That's not it at all. It's simply that Lady Claybridge wishes him to make a more advantageous match.”

“Ah!” Jason said, his eyes watching her speculatively. “And how could
my
support be of influence on—what was the name?”

“Lady Claybridge. Well, you see, if she thought that you, the great Lord Mainwaring, favored the match, she might believe that I had expectations of a settlement …”

Jason looked at her shrewdly. “Then my support is not merely to be verbal, but
financial
, is that it?”

Anne had the grace to blush. With a lowered head, she said in some embarrassment, “As head of the family, you know, it is quite in order for you to make a settlement on an unmarried female in your care.”

“Do you mean to say,” Jason demanded, “that such things are often done? That Englishmen need to be
bribed
into marriage?”

“
Bribed
?” Anne's head came up abruptly. “How
dare
you, sir! It is not
at all
a question of bribes. It is merely our custom. Do you mean to imply that American girls go into marriage without bringing a penny with them?”

“I don't believe dowries are
customary
in America, but I guess that the practice exists—”

“You ‘suppose' the practice exists,” she corrected.

“What?” Jason asked, not following the sudden irrelevancy.

“In England, we say ‘suppose,' not ‘guess'.”

“You needn't start instructin' me just yet, ma'am. I haven't yet agreed to make the trade.”

“Oh,” murmured Anne, chastened.

“I was known as a pretty good horse-trader, back home. I've got to figure out if I'm gettin' the worst of this bargain. How much is your ‘settlement' likely to cost me?”

Anne felt her cheeks begin to burn. “I … couldn't say. That would be up to you to decide.”

“Hmmm. One couldn't be tight-fisted in such matters, could one? The groom might have debts to settle, a family to be made secure … things like that. What would you say would be proper in this case?”

Only a boor, Anne decided, would have subjected her to this vulgar questioning. “I don't know,” she answered coldly, the color in her cheeks high. “A young lady is not usually privy to the sordid details of the arrangements.”

He looked at her mockingly. “Bein' sordid, am I, ma'am? Offendin' your ladylike sensibilities?”

She raised her chin and met his eye for a moment, but then her eyes wavered and fell. He was right to mock her. It was
she
who had been vulgar, trying to extort money from a veritable stranger! “I wish you would stop calling me ‘ma'am' in that irritating way,” she muttered irrelevantly. Then she looked up and faced him. “I didn't mean to imply that you are being sordid, sir. I am sorry.”

But Jason did not let the digression distract him. “Horse-tradin' ain't a ladylike business, Miss Hartley. You're askin' me to fork over what will undoubtedly be a large sum of money in return for a few English lessons and meetin's with my tailors. Do you think I'd be makin' much of a bargain?”

Humiliated, Anne looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “No, I suppose not. I should never have made such a suggestion. It was quite vulgar of me.” She rose to leave. “I ask your forgiveness, and I will be quite happy to assist you in any way I can—”

“Shucks, girl, no need to surrender. I've decided to
agree
to the trade. I'd be makin' a fine bargain. For my agreement to supply you with a marriage settlement (which will cause me no difficulty, for they tell me that my fortune is impressively large), you agree to turn me into a fine gentleman (which you tell me is a near-impossible job—)”

“I begin to think,” Anne said wondering, “that I exaggerated.”

Ignoring the interruption, Jason went on. “—and that you'll find a suitable girl for me to marry. I think we have a bargain, ma'am.”

“Do you really mean it, Mr. Hughes?”

“Here's my hand on it.” He held it out to her with a smile. “But the girl you find for me must be suitable, mind.”

“Of course,” Anne assured him, putting her hand in his. “What sort of girl did you have in mind?”

Instead of shaking her hand, Jason held it for a moment. “Someone like you, I think,” he said, looking into her eyes with his light-eyed, level stare.

She felt suddenly breathless. “L-Like
me
?”

The mischievous glint reappeared. “Except not as short-tempered—”

Anne's eyebrows shot up. “Short-tempered? I?” And she pulled her hand from his.

“And a little less stubborn—”

“Less stubborn,” she said in cold agreement, getting to her feet and glaring down at him.

“And a bit sweeter-natured—”

“Go on.”

“Taller, of course—”

“Of course.”

“And …” Jason let his eyes roam over the girl who stood before him glowering. “… a bit fuller in the chest, I think,” he concluded outrageously.

“Very well, Mr. Hughes,” she said in her most businesslike tone, “I'll do my best to find someone such as you describe. There must be a girl
somewhere
who fits your description, who is also foolish enough to agree to accept whatever I can make of you.” She put out her hand again. “Done?”

He shook it warmly. “Done!” he smiled.

She turned and went to the door. But before she could leave, his voice stopped her. “Oh, Miss Hartley, wait. There's one thing more,” he said casually.

She turned back. “Yes, sir?”

“Since we are to be associated in this … enterprise, I hope you will discontinue the habit you seem to have acquired of calling me ‘sir' or ‘Mr. Hughes'.”

She smiled at him maliciously. “I'm afraid, sir, that I cannot oblige. I do not call people by their Christian names unless they are bound to me in an intimate, affectionate relationship,” she responded with pompous affectation.

“Oh, I don't want you to call me
Jason
,” he told her, rising and crossing to the door.

“Then, what—?” she asked, caught by surprise.

“Call me ‘my lord.'” he answered grandly. “I find your way of saying it very much to my liking.” And, grinning wickedly at her open-mouthed astonishment, he strolled out of the room.

Seven

The first step in the transformation of the American ‘primitive' into an English peer-of-the-realm was to be, Anne decided, a haircut. This decision was unanimously applauded by everyone consulted—Lady Harriet, Peter, Coyne and even the second footman (who was known to have ambitions to enter the barbering trade and was thus asked by the butler for his opinion). Coyne was directed to send for the most talented
coiffeur
in London, and thus it was that, on the following morning, a Mr. Tobias Fenderwinzel, followed by his assistant laden down with equipment, presented himself at the door of the house on Curzon Street.

Mr. Fenderwinzel could not be called a barber. His skill with the scissors was beyond mere barbering. He was the most sought-after
coiffeur
in London, and he priced his services accordingly. Although he stood only five feet tall and was very slight of build, he carried himself pridefully and clothed himself with marked though modest elegance. He entered with all the dignity of a surgeon (perhaps never having admitted to himself that barbers had been prohibited by law some years before from practicing surgery). He handed his high-crowned beaver to the butler with the insouciance of a visiting earl. But when Coyne tried to reach for the black bag the barber carried (a bag exactly like the kind which surgeons use to carry their instruments), Mr. Fenderwinzel wouldn't let it out of his hands.

The barber was shown into the morning room where he removed his coat, donned an enormous, gleaming-white apron and, with the help of his assistant, proceeded to rearrange the furniture. They cleared the center of the room, placed a cloth on the floor to protect the carpet, and then set a chair upon it. The assistant unpacked a worktable, which he placed to the left of, and a little behind, his ‘barber chair.' Then the assistant spread a damask cloth on the table. Mr. Fenderwinzel, waving his assistant aside, opened his instrument bag and removed an amazing number of combs, scisssors, clippers, brushes, mirrors and powders. All these he laid out neatly on the table in a carefully prearranged and precise order.

When all was in readiness, Mr. Fenderwinzel nodded to Coyne, who had been waiting in the doorway. The butler took himself to the drawing room where the entire family had gathered to discuss the stylish direction which the barbering operation should take. Lady Harriet suggested a cut in which the back would be tapered, the sides straight and the front locks brushed forward,
à la Brute
. Peter, who had earlier muttered that he didn't see what all the fuss was about, nevertheless made an appearance to suggest that a very short, brushed-back mode,
à la militaire
, was the most appropriate style for a man of Jason's size and character. Anne insisted that the only suitable cut was the medium-length, curled-all-over-the-head style,
à la Grecque
. Jason took no part in the discussion but merely sat quietly, and uncomplainingly permitted them to stare at him, circle around him and discuss him to their hearts' content. If any of the family took notice of the scarcely restrained look of amusement in his eyes, they made no comment on it.

When Coyne announced that the barber was ready, they all rose and followed the butler to the morning room. The butler, noting with surprise that the entire group showed an inclination to remain and watch the proceedings, hurriedly placed chairs for them in a semicircle facing the ‘barber chair.' As soon as they had been seated, he ceremoniously led Jason to the chair of honor.

Mr. Fenderwinzel had been standing at the window, his back to the company, flexing his fingers in preparation for the operation to come. The assistant eyed the family with obvious dismay, coughing worriedly in an attempt to attract his employer's attention, but the barber would not be disturbed. When his fingers were adequately exercised, Mr. Fenderwinzel raised his hands like an orchestral conductor about to begin the concert and turned from the window. His mouth dropped open at the sight of the family sitting in rapt attention before him, with Coyne standing behind them, and the second footman surreptitiously peeping in at the doorway. Mr. Fenderwinzel paled. “Wh-What is 'appening 'ere?” he demanded of the butler furiously. “Did you sell
tickets
?”