The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (41 page)

"This Eugenia, this bastard my uncle has chosen for my bride," Kevin then asked, almost negligently changing the subject as he carefully seated himself on a corner of the desk. "You say she was raised in this house as a servant. I cannot hold out very high hopes of her education or deportment in any event, but I am curious. Given the rather bizarre, shall we say, behavior of the servants I have encountered thus far—can I hope the chit is at least housebroken?"

At this, Mutter was at last moved to some small sense of shame, for he had been the only person in any position at all to help the girl over the years, having access to The Hall. Unlike the rest of the local populace, he borne witness to Eugenia's hardships, and yet had stood aside and done nothing to convince the late Earl he was unjustly punishing the child for his own sins.

He nervously cleared his throat and tried to explain the feelings of the community to the gentleman just now gazing down at him with raised eyebrows and a skeptical look in his eyes.

"You must understand, my lord, how shocked the gentle ladies of the community were when they learned the Earl had passed his, er, his
woman
off on them as his wife. They had welcomed her into their homes when she was a new bride, you see, she being quite alone since her parents embarked for Italy and a healthier climate just after the supposed wedding. You can imagine the ladies' distress when the Earl announced that the quiet ceremony he had explained away as being in keeping with his mourning for his first son and namesake—who, as you must remember, had died suddenly at the age of six and twenty—had in reality been a sham he meant to rectify with a secret real ceremony once he was assured Eugenia's mother could provide him with a new male heir. Once the truth was out? Well, no one would have anything to do with the woman or her daughter. Or the Earl either, for he had done a terrible, terrible thing."

"Much evil has been done for the sake of a title or the rights to an estate," Kevin was pushed to remark, although he did not elaborate on his knowledge in this area.

"Yes, my lord," Mutter gratefully agreed, then went on: "It is all quite unfortunate. Eugenia lost her mother when she was just ten years old, and she has since seemed to have forgotten all the many things her mother strove so hard to teach her. Manners, unaccented speech, reading, sums, and the like. She has grown a bit wild over the years, my lord, but she is not, I am happy to tell you, entirely uneducated."

"You paint a very unappealing picture, sir," Kevin told the lawyer as he rose to pace the worn carpet. "The child has obviously been badly misused, and I can only pity her. But I find it hard to reconcile myself to wedding the unfortunate creature just to give her the name her mother, I assume, thought to be the child's birthright."

"Marriage to you will give her respectability, it's true," Mutter agreed. "But I must tell you, my lord, it may also be true that Eugenia has been without finer influence too long. She runs the hills like a wild thing, and there are rumors she's a sight too friendly with some of the men in the village."

"How utterly charming." Kevin's mouth twisted in a one-sided smile. "My great-uncle was a genius in the art of sweet revenge, wasn't he, Mutter? He must be, even at this very moment, spinning gleefully in his coffin like a child's toy top. His despised grand-nevvy forced into marriage with a half-wild, illegitimate kitchen wench with a penchant for consorting with the lower orders? Oh, yes, Mutter. Creep out to the mausoleum if you wish—and listen for Sylvester's amused cackle."

"Don't despair, my lord," Mutter begged. "She is a bit wild, I agree. But I did not call her a whore. Not precisely."

"Oh, really, Mutter? Then to what end, I must ask myself, does she seek out the men of the village? An overpowering need to find some friendly competition for a game of darts? I doubt it. Common sense can find but one answer. Not only must I take an unknown person to wife, but I must be denied at least the solace of a virgin bride as well as the security of knowing whether my future heir carries my blood in his veins or that of the village rat-catcher. Oh, Great-Uncle Sylvester," he ended, shaking his head and forced into laughter at the absurdity of the situation, "you have outdone yourself. Your Will is a master stroke." So saying he poured himself another drink and tossed it off neatly before raising his glass on high. "You sly old dog, I salute you!"

#

The girl hovering outside in the dark, drafty corridor had heard enough. More than enough. Her slight chest was heaving under the strain of her heavy breathing (indeed, smoke seemed to be coming from her nostrils), and her hands were balled into tight fists at her sides. She had never been so angry in her entire life.

There had to be some way to get back at that top-lofty London dandy who dared make a joke out of her. Who did he think he was to look down on her—he who was no better than he should be—just because he'd had the dumb luck to be born on the right side of the blanket? How dare he stand there and say that he, the mighty Earl, pitied her? And in front of that idiot Mutter, no less, who would have it all over the estate by supper that same day.

Gilly's eyes narrowed menacingly. And how dare he assume that she was like Millie, the serving maid at the Cock and Crown—a fallen woman who'd lie with a peg-legged blind man for a copper penny piece?

Besides, what did he mean about making her his wife? Mutter must be running a rig on him to make the nincompoop believe such a farradiddle. And as to saying it was old Sylvester's idea—why, the man wouldn't give her the time of day (him with a whole houseful of clocks), yet alone arrange for her to be set up as the next Countess. There was something havey-cavey afoot here, that was for sure, and Gilly wasn't about to fall for any bill of goods about a quiet wedding in the estate chapel, just to be saddled with a bastard a year later and shunted off back to the servants' quarters.

I'll not stay here and be stared at and pointed out as the Earl's kept woman until it kills me like it did Mama, she told herself. I'll just tiptoe back down the corridor to my room, gather up my belongings, and walk away from here, never to look back.

But she couldn't, and her suddenly slumped shoulders acknowledged that fact. She had nowhere to go, for one thing, and for another, she couldn't desert her people—the other servants and the laborers and the farmers. They needed her. She had to stay. Besides, what about Harry and the rest of them? It'll be that sad to run off now, when it had taken so long to get them to accept her in the first place. She'd only been with them for six months, but already Harry said he didn't know what he'd do without her.

No. She couldn't run.

So all right. She'd stay. That didn't mean she had to roll herself over and play dead because the high and mighty Lord Lockport was in residence. No one could force her into a marriage, real or pretended, and Heaven help the man who tried!

"Half-wild, illegitimate kitchen wench with a penchant for the lower orders, is it? Is that what he's expecting?" she ground out under her breath. "Gilly, my girl, let's show him you know at least the first rule of polite behavior for ladies—never disappoint a gentleman!"

She unbuttoned her shabby gown midway to her waist and pulled it off her shoulders. The gown had once sported brown and yellow stripes, but it was now faded all over to a dingy mud color. It was also patched, threadbare, too small by half, missing several buttons on the skirt, and a large section of the hem was ripped loose. In short, it would take a lot more than this particular gown to impress the Earl. Still, Millie always wore her gowns pushed off her shoulders, and who was Gilly to question the unwritten rules of whoredom?

Gilly then bent over and rubbed her hands in her hair like she was washing it, before shaking back the wild, tangled, twig-bedecked mane with a toss of her head. Positioning her hands low on her hips, like she had seen Millie do dozens of times, she then propelled herself into the library by means of a sway-backed, shoulder-rolling, hip-grinding walk so full of movement it would make a seasoned sailor run for the rail.

"
Oho!
" she cried out in a strident voice that was a fairly accurate imitation of Millie's—high, shrill, and more than a little nasal. "Wot's all the ruckus I be hearin' goin' on in 'ere, I'd like ta know."

Needless to mention, all conversation stopped at the first sound of Gilly's voice, and two male heads swung about sharply, to observe this rude intruder.

Gilly never wavered in her progress down the long room, slithering and undulating her way even when a stitch in her side threatened to take her breath away.
I never truly appreciated Millie's talents
, she thought to herself.
Perfecting this walk—especially while carrying a tray loaded with mugs of ale—is a true accomplishment.

When Gilly had at last covered the length of the room and rolled to a halt in front of the two men, she had to fight hard to keep down a triumphant smile. They both were standing stock-still, seeming for all the world as if they had been pole-axed. Mutter was so red of face she feared he might explode like a Guy Fawkes fireworks display, and the Earl, for all his fine London clothes and fancily styled golden hair, looked as if he was about to lose his breakfast all over the library carpet.

Gilly chose to ignore Mutter, as he was almost too easy a target to make the game enjoyable, and zeroed in on Kevin Rawlings. Keeping her hands on her hips, she leaned forward and then raised her head to stare up into his face. "Wot's the trouble, ducks? Yer lookin' mighty queer if I do say so m'self. Well," she prompted, lifting one none too clean, calloused hand to chuck him playfully under his chin, "come on now, me beauty. Tell Mama all about it. Wot's the matter, ducks? Cat got yer tongue?"

She stuck out the tip of her own small, pink tongue and wiped it around her lips as she had seen Millie do time and again, then fought a frown. Perhaps she hadn't done it right? Instead of showing all the signs of a thirsty man offered a cool drink, the Earl gave no reaction at all, not even a blink. Unless, Gilly decided, she counted the slight tic that began to work in his right cheek.

Turning to the visibly shaken lawyer, who was just then running a finger around his suddenly too-tight collar, she winked and teased, "And don't ya go gettin' any ideas now, ya randy old goat. I don't walk out with just any Tom, Dick, or Harry—lessen I've a mind to, ya know."

She held out her hands as if to ward the older man off, although he hadn't moved. "
Ah-ah
, no ya don't, ya naughty man. Not today." Jerking her thumb toward Rawlings, she whispered loudly, "It's the pretty boy I'm fancyin' this day, Mutter-gutter." Turning her head in the direction of her pointing thumb, Gilly trilled happily, "Coo, Mutter-gutter, but he's a swell set-up cove, ain't he?" before taking a leisurely walk all around Kevin, eying him up and down as she went.

Returning to her starting point, she chucked Kevin under the chin again (the dullard—he was still standing as motionless as a statue), and informed him sadly, "Nope. Changed me mind, I did. Sorry ta be disappointin' ya like that, but yer a bit too scrawny for my likin', I be thinkin'. I likes me men with more meat on their bones, I does. Gives me somethin' ta hold onta, iffen you know what I mean," she ended, employing her elbow to playfully jab him in the ribs.

Without a backward glance, she then wriggled and bounced (more wriggling than bouncing, as there was precious little of her to bounce) back across the room. Only once she'd reached the doorway did she pause for a moment, to wink and blow them both a kiss before racing from the room and collapsing for a moment against the wall of the corridor, waiting for her heart to stop pounding as if it would jump out her throat. She hadn't known being a fallen woman was such hard work. But it had been such fun! Wasn't she fortunate to have witnessed Millie in action so many times? She may not have known what the girl had been talking about when she'd mimicked her words, but the men in the library had certainly seemed to understand.

Gathering her skirts about her knees, and feeling more than a little pleased with herself, Gilly ran off down the corridor to the small salon at the back of the Hall, to sit and dwell on her small victory.

#

Mutter took out a large white handkerchief to mop his fevered brow and sweat-beaded upper lip while Kevin, waiting for the lawyer to collect himself, lit a small cheroot from a candle flame and sat down to enjoy the first few tasty puffs.

"I gather that performance was in aid of something?" Kevin drawled at last. "That infant who was just in here pretending to be a hardened whore couldn't be my blushing bride could she?"

"That was Eugenia, my lord," Mutter admitted on a sigh. "But I'm at a loss to explain her behavior. She's nothing like that, I swear it. She looked and sounded for all the world like, er—never mind who, my lord."

Kevin gripped his cane near to the middle and used the beaten gold top knob to tap himself lightly and repeatedly on the side of his head, not about to let the lawyer know how much Eugenia's performance had cheered him. "I think we can deduce that the child was listening at the door. Children often do things like that you know, Mutter. She undoubtedly heard us talking about her. I expected to see a slovenly doxy, so she, being like any good little girl, eager to please, merely obliged me." He yawned behind his smooth, manicured hand. "Biddable, ain't she? Do you think she could be taught to heel—or perhaps to fetch my slippers in her jaws? No? Ah, well, one can't have everything. It's enough that she is not stupid as well as ignorant."

Mutter was clearly puzzled. "Aren't they one and the same, my lord?" Really, this Earl made taking care of the old Earl seem like a holiday at the seaside.

Kevin shook his head. "An ignorant person is unaware, Mutter, unawakened to life and learning. That person can possibly be taught. A stupid person can be exposed to the best deans at Eton and all the top intellects in Society, and never learn anything new. Our young Eugenia shows a quick native intelligence. A dullard wouldn't have had the wit to try us on with that little performance. I'm not reconciled to my fate, Mutter. Please don't think that for a moment, as only a fool would be looking forward to this particular
convenient
marriage. But I will allow myself to be slightly heartened."