Wicked (3 page)

"Not mine, I hope."

"I'm afraid so."

Beau drew in a small startled breath; women bent on marriage were intrinsically terrorizing. "Now I'm
really
looking forward to setting sail. Not that I have anything but compliments for Miss Gambetta but, good God, I'm not in the market for a wife."

"Your papa said as much last night."

"And he's right. Jesus, maybe in ten years." Beau stood abruptly as if there were immediate need to escape Miss Gambetta's clutches. "I should check on William's packing and on my mail."

"Send us your news with the consular dispatches," his father said, his gaze amused. "Your mother worries."

"Of course, Maman." Leaning down, he kissed Chelsea gently on the cheek.

"You'll be careful now," she urged.

He smiled and nodded, his relationship with his stepmother one of deepest affection. His own mother had died shortly after his birth, and while Sinjin had taken over his fatherly duties when Beau was a baby, he had not had a mother until years later when Sinjin had married.

"And we'll expect you back in a month or so?" the duke said.

"Six weeks at the most. Even if I have to go to Palermo and mingle at court for a time, I should be back by mid-March."

******************

When Beau arrived at his bachelor quarters in St. James a brief time later, he found Albington waiting for him, half drunk and in the company of two young actresses.

"Told them we'd see you off at Dover."

"Really," Beau softly said, handing his hat and gloves to his valet, asking William for his mail in an undertone. Turning back to his company, he took in the smiling countenances of the pretty actresses, perceived that Albington, with his feet resting on a case of rare Cognac, was once again
i
n funds, and debated briefly whether he wanted companions on his drive to Dover. "I'm afraid I'm leaving within the hour," he neutrally said.

"We'r
e
ready right now," the marquis cheerfully replied.
L
izzie's never been fucked in a carriage before." He leered at the girl perched on the arm of his chair.

Reason enough, Beau sardonically considered. "Would you care for some Champagne?" he asked the young lady seated to one side of the couple kissing each other now with passionate disregard for their companions.

She giggled. "I've had some already. A
l
bie ordered up your best stock."

"Then I've some catching up to do." Beau took his mail from the salver William held out to him. "I'm Rochefort," he went on, sifting through the scented billets-doux that arrived daily. His dark eyes lifted from Miss Gambetta's familiar script gracing one lilac-colored note and, pleased to be so imminently quitting London and her unwelcome designs, he said to the young lady with raven curls and a splendid bosom, "Do you like carriage rides?"

******************

Serena locked her door against Neville's unwelcome advances Sunday night and even he wasn't brave enough to force it open, the risk of waking his sisters or parents outweighing carnal urges. He'd slunk away finally, but not before whispering ugly, graphic threats of what he'd do to Serena when he finally had her alone.

She hadn't slept after that, fearful of his return, apprehensive about maintaining her virtue against such determined attacks, more happily contemplating various ways she could dispose of his corpulent, repulsive body. It cheered her in those sleepless hours to devise and scheme, even if all her vengeful plans were only pipe dreams. She briefly wondered whether such vicious thoughts put one beyond redemption. Or did God forgive malevolent intent if it was in self-defense? She even fleetingly asked for divine guidance in her plight but no one answered her plea, nor had they anytime these last four years. So she sensibly stayed awake in the event Neville returned.

Desperately fatigued by morning, she greeted the sound of the girls stirring awake next door with a soft groan. What discourtesies and rudeness would she be subjected to today? Glancing at the calendar she'd made and posted prominently over her bed, she rallied her weary body and mind with the glo
ri
ous goal of July and liberation.

The cook was in a pet because Mrs. Totha
m
had early guests coming in the forenoon so only tea and toast were sent up for the nursery breakfast, the serving girl breathlessly explained after navigating the two flights of stairs. And Serena was fortunate to pluck a single piece of buttered toast from the plate before the Totham girls fell on the frugal breakfast like wolves on the fold. She ate hurriedly, much as a convict would in a communal cell, not sure she could defend her small breakfast from her charges.

Instructions were sent up soon after that Hannah and Caroline were to be dressed in their newest gowns and brought down to meet their mother's guests at precisely half past eleven. But on their way downstairs, Caroline's heel caught in the muslin of her hem, ripping off a foot of ruffled flounce. By the time they'd repaired to the nursery to change her frock, Serena and the girls were ten minutes late arriving in the drawing room.

The butler announced the two young girls because Mrs. Totham liked to put on airs before her friends and before Serena could pass completely through the door, she heard Mrs. Totham say in an icy tone, "Where is your new gown, Caroline?"

"Blythe is so clumsy she made me stumble on the stairs and my shoe tore the flounce."

"It's impossible to find good hired help," Mrs. Totham acerbically said, smiling tightly at the two ladies seated across the tea table from her.

"And they have no manners," a large, thin-faced matron
c
ommiserated. "I had to sack our governess last week when she failed to meet our high standards."

Serena recognized the rector's wife, the daughter of a prosperous merchant who had traded her considerable dowry for the younger son of a baron in need of funds to maintain his rectory. And she supposed the rector's wife's high standards had to do more with deference than manners tor she had neither charity nor courtesy herself.

"Take the price of the gown from her wages," the wife of the Tothams' solicitor curtly said, as if Serena weren't standing directly behind the Totha
m
girl
s
—
a
s if she were invisible.

"At Madame La Clerque's prices, she wouldn't be paid for two years," Mrs. Totham pointed out with both pride and anger.

"It would serve her right," the rector's wife declared. Isn't she the one with the viscount for a father? An ungodly, iniquitous man if I recall. A gambler and utter disgrace to the Christian community."

"You didn't know my father," Serena abruptly declared, her weariness perhaps impulse to her unguarded response.

"Apologize to Mrs. Stanton," Mrs. Totham snapped, her voice bristling with anger. "This instant."

"It was uncivil of her to revile my father without knowledge of him or his circumstances," Serena stubbornly retorted.

"You ungrateful, impudent creature. After all we've done tor you! Apologize!" Maud Totham's fat cheeks were bright red with rage, her eyes virulent.

Serena stood mutinous, not even sure herself why she'd finally taken a stand, aware in the less emotional portions of her brain that she was committing a kind of suicide in her refusing. Aware as well of the breath-held censure that seemed to smother the room in an ominous silence.

The muted scrape of Mrs. Totham's chair on the plush carpet broke the stillness, and raising her bulk from her seat with remarkable swiftness, she rushed at Serena in a rustle of silk skirts, her face and quivering chins apoplectic scarlet. "How dare you oppose me," she lashed out, her voice tight with rage, and coming within striking distance, she slapped Serena with such fury, she stumbled momentarily before catching her balance.

Struck dumb by the sudden attack, Serena stood motionless, her cheek stinging from the blow.

The girls broke into giggles, Mrs. Totha
m
shrieked at Serena like a madwoman, and the two guests sat back with smug smiles to view the tempestuous scene.

As the crescendo of epithets, threats, and abuse broke over her, an odd, inexplicable sense of finality overcame Seren
a
—
s
imultaneously dreadful and uplifting. Without a word, she turned and walked away from four years of unmitigated misery.

"Don't you turn away from me!" Mrs. Totham screamed. "Come back here this minute! Do you hear?" Her shrill voice echoed in the large drawing room, acrimonious and hostile, reverberating in piercing accents from wall to ceiling to floor. "I'll have you thrown into the streets if you don't come back this instant! I'll have you thrown into gaol!"

Everyone had their breaking point, Papa always used to say about losing at cards, and she'd reached her breaking point today with the Tothams. She didn't care anymore about anything except escap
e
—
l
ike her father when he'd taken his life after the gambling had finally ruined him completely.

She moved up the stairs, her mind remarkably cool and collected, considering she was literally out in the streets. And she began planning a hastily arranged voyage to Italy. It would have been preferable to have all her funds in hand but surely she could find work in Florence
to
supplement the few months' pay she was short. Governesses would be needed there too and since Mama had been Italian, she was fluent in the language. There. All settled. Neither uncertainty nor dilemma prevailed in her current resolve.

Now to pack, she purposefully decided . . . and suddenly she felt borne by a wave of stirring elation. She'd book passage here in London; the sailing schedules were as familiar to her as her name, since she'd pored over them for months. The nearest stage to Dover left from the King's Arms Inn on Knightsbridge Road; if she hurried, she'd be on the afternoon coach.

After locking the door to her room, she quickly tossed her f
e
w possessions into her two satchels. She mustn't tarry; if Mrs. Totha
m
pressed charges against her, she'd be thrown
i
nto prison. Rushing to quit her room, within minutes she was packed, her worldly possessions minimal, only her paints and brushes of any value. She had nothing left of her l
i
fe as Lady Serena Blythe after her father's creditors had stripped everything of value from their house and property, all her assets contained now in two small satchels. But she had her freedom, she noted thankfully, and picking up her valises she walked from the room.

Standing in the hallway for a brief moment, she listened
t
or any untoward sounds from below, fearful someone might be on their way to apprehend her. But the floor was silent and moving quietly through the corridor and then down the servants' stairs, she exited the house through a little-used door to the kitchen garden.

It was a rare, sunny afternoon in February and walking briskly through the mews behind the fine houses on Russell Square, she found herself smiling as she made for the shipping line office to purchase her ticket. Even the weather was cooperating as if in propitious portent of good fortune.

By twilight she was in Dover; a deep purple sky bordered by ominous thunderclouds promised rain. Obtaining directions from the coachman, she hurried to the shipping office near the docks and caught the clerk just as he was locking up. But he assured her her luggage would be stowed away on the
Betty Lee
later that evening and at daybreak tomorrow, she'd be allowed on board.

"Is there an inn nearby?" she inquired, not sure she could afford the added expense, but equally aware she'd need refuge from the coming storm.

"The Pelican over there." He waved in the direction of a small stuccoed building set under a craggy cliff wall. "Tell Fanny I sent you."

Encouraged by his introduction and, moments later, pleased to find Fanny not only the proprietress but warmly welcoming, Serena found the courage to ask if she could sit in the parlor for the night.

"A bit short of the bob are you?" Fanny asked, her smile understanding.

"I hadn't planned on spending a night in an inn." Serena blushed in embarrassment at having to ask for charity.

"Well now, dearie, don't you worry none. There's plenty of room in the parlor what with only four others there. But those London nabobs and their dollies could get a mite noisy." She nodded in the direction of a small group of well-dressed patrons. "You might want to stay clear of them. They've drunk up half a case of my best French Champagne and it seems likely they're only going to get louder."

Gazing into the small parlor facing the sea, Serena took note of the convivial party seated near the windows. Two handsome young nobles, their expressions amused, were sprawled in elegant languor observing two ladies' dramatic recitation.

"They just ordered up supper, too, so I'd say they're going to let them little dollies entertain them a trifle longer."

"I could just sit here in the hall," Serena suggested.

"Heavens no, child. There's not a speck of heat out here. Find yourself a spot in that corner near the fire." Fanny indicated the site with a quick lift of her chin. "If you sit nice and quiet, they won't be apt to take no notice. Rich rogues can be a danger to a young lass like you if'n you're not careful. And when Tad's done running for them fine gentry, I'll have him bring you a cup of soup and a bit of tea."