Corey McFadden (42 page)

Chapter Twenty-three

The cold rain battered at the windows, and in spite of the thick draperies, Maude could feel the tendrils of an icy draft at her feet as she sat at her dressing table, poking pins rather inexpertly into her chignon. Raised for so many years on stark frugality, it did not occur to her to ask for a fire just to warm herself. Nor did she feel the lack, for her body was warm with the flush of anticipation. Edward was coming shortly to have dinner with her. And after dinner....

Her hand poised in the air as unbidden thoughts chased through her mind, bringing a flush to her cheeks. I am such a wanton, she thought with a giggle, several curls escaping their pins. Thank heavens he seemed to enjoy it as much as she. It meant they would not have to while away all of their evenings at whist and brandy.

She laughed again and the chignon came tumbling down, landing in a mess near her slippered foot. Maude picked it up hurriedly and surveyed it for damage. It wouldn’t do to have the thing topple into the soup, not when she was on the verge of becoming Lady Radford. She didn’t want him having second thoughts.

With a sigh, she placed it on the dressing table and rang for Anna. Although the girl seemed devoted to her, Maude was not yet comfortable being waited on. She had done for herself for so long, it seemed absurd to have to rely on another human being to do simple things such as dress oneself. Still, this chignon was giving her trouble, and not having the patience of a saint this evening, Maude knew she was utterly defeated by the thing. And she would need help anyway with the dozens of tiny pearl buttons that paraded delicately up the back of the exquisite dark blue satin dress she would wear.

Maude gazed again at the dress, draped elegantly across the chaise longue in the corner, still surprised that such a thing of beauty could be meant for her. Madame Arnaud had outdone herself, thought Maude, as she noted again the richness of the satin. It seemed to catch the candle glow and shimmer with a thousand colors in the light. It was set off to perfection with extraordinarily fine snowy-white French lace sewn into the sleeves and at the obviously low-cut neckline.

Anna’s timid knock came and Maude called for her to enter. The girl gave her a quick bob and almost a glimmer of a smile as she hurried to the dressing table.

“I need help with this infernal thing, Anna,” Maude began, picking up the hairpiece. “It won’t stay in no matter how I pin it.”

Anna took the piece gently. She had been warned by Madame Arnaud that if it came undone it would be the very devil to put it back right. So with hands that were careful, if not expert, Anna began to pin the elaborately twisted and curled knot into Maude’s hair.

Maude watched as the hairdo began to take on the appearance of elegance, still amazed that such magic was possible, given her unruly bob.

At last Anna held her hands away and reached for the silver mirror on the dressing table. She held it up, and Maude turned to catch sight of the back of her head in the glass.

“Remarkable, Anna.” Maude smiled warmly at the timid girl. “I don’t know how you do it. I haven’t the patience.”

Anna managed a brief smile back. She was gradually losing her fear of this beautiful, grand lady who, for no reason Anna could fathom, had taken it into her head to be kind to her.

“Now let’s get me into that gown, shall we?”

Maude stood and Anna scurried to pick up the magnificent garment. Thank heaven she had remembered to wash her hands before answering the bell. She had been grating carrots in the kitchen under the baleful watch of Cook, pressed into kitchen duty so that miss could have a grand dinner with his lordship. It was all so romantic! They had quarreled and made up, and now they were getting married. And if the wedding were a little on the tardy side...well, there was nothing in Anna’s rude upbringing that would lead her to see much impropriety in that.

Maude stood in her shift as Anna shook out a satin petticoat ready for her to step into. It fastened with ties at the waist and fell gracefully to her feet. The bottom was trimmed with several tiers of white lace which would peep fetchingly from beneath the blue satin gown when she walked.

“The trouble with having such finery is that I am afraid to breathe, much less eat or sit in it,” Maude said, laughing, as Anna held the beautiful dress open at the waist for her to step into. The girl then held up the bodice as Maude eased her arms into it, careful not to pull at the delicate fabric. At last Maude was ready to be buttoned.

She stood and gaped at her reflection in the mirror over the dressing table as Anna’s fingers flew over the tiny buttons. The dress was artfully designed to set off Maude’s slender waist before belling out at the hip to drape over stiffened linen stitched into the skirt. And, indeed, the bodice was daringly low-cut, the lace inset notwithstanding. With a blush, Maude tugged at the material, loathe to rip it but embarrassed by the swell of her bosom which rose over the neckline. Even if there would be no one but Edward to see it tonight, eventually she would have to appear in public, and this would never do. She made a mental note to speak to Madame Arnaud about adding to the lace inset while she fiddled in vain with what was already there to make it seem to cover more.

Far below her, Maude heard the chime of the front door. “Oh, we must hurry, Anna,” she cried, as a shiver of excitement swept over her. “He must be here early.”

Quickly, Anna finished with the last of the buttons and moved to the cabinet to get the box of kid slippers, dyed blue to match the gown. Maude sat on the bench at the dressing table and took off her bedroom slippers. Anna knelt and slipped the new pair over her stockinged foot. Just as Maude stood to pat her dress into place, there was a tap at the door.

“Come in,” Maude called, pleasure and anticipation evident in her voice. He was so eager to see her he could not wait until she came down to him. She turned around as the door opened and stood waiting to hear him say she looked beautiful. With a shock, she realized she was staring into Graves’s sour face.

With a sharp intake of breath, she managed to stammer, “What is it, Graves?”

He took the time to take in her appearance, his lips thinning in disapproval as he noted the harlot’s plunging neckline. “There is a man to see you below, come from his lordship.”

Hiding her disappointment, Maude said, “I shall be down in a moment. Have him wait, please.”

With only the slightest inclination of the head. Graves acknowledged her and turned to leave the room.

Maude turned back to the mirror and smoothed her dress, willing herself not to think that for some reason Edward was canceling their evening together, but unable to think of any other reason for a messenger when he was due here shortly.

Well, perhaps he was just delayed. With a quick, anxious smile at Anna, Maude gave a last pat to her hair and left the room.

Maude descended the wide staircase slowly, taking care to hold her skirts up so as not to trip. It was a far cry from her days at Romney Manor when she tore up and down and in and out, wearing Amelia’s too-short hand-me-downs, with no care as to how she appeared.

She reached the bottom of the stairs without incident and faced a man she did not know, slightly disreputable, who stood with his cap in one hand and a note in the other. Wordlessly, he handed her the note which she tore open. Scanning the paper, she read:
My love, my carriage was hit by another a few blocks from you and I have a slight injury, nothing serious, just incommodious. Can you come? I am at the home of a Mr. Jeremy Bales who has been kind enough to take me in and is penning this note for me. This is his carriage driver who will bring you to me.
That was all, not even a signature.

“Wait here while I get my cloak,” she said to the man, her heart hammering. She desperately hoped Edward was not more injured than he let on if he could not even write the note himself. She turned and found herself facing Graves. “My cloak, please. Graves. His lordship has suffered a slight injury in a carriage accident a few blocks from here and I am going there now.”

Graves nodded and left to fetch her cloak, returning a moment later to place it around her. Murmuring an absent thanks, Maude turned to go, then turned back to Graves. “Tell Cook I’m sorry dinner must be delayed again,” she said. “I don’t know how long we’ll be. I’ll send word.” She turned hurriedly to leave.

* * * *

Graves closed the door behind the strumpet. With a smile to himself, he crossed to the hall table, seeing the note where she had dropped it. He picked it up, read it, then with a nod of approval, took it into the drawing room where he pitched it into the fire. He watched the paper curl into ashes with a sense of deep satisfaction. The whore of Babylon was gone, on her way to those who would see justice done. And if she had a cold, dull life ahead of her, it was all the better for her sinful soul.

His meeting with his mysterious benefactor had been most illuminating. Sitting in a cold, dark carriage, assailed by the stench of the waterfront and the filthy streets, he had heard a sorry tale of perfidy and sin. Buried in his lace handkerchief, the young, well-dressed gentleman, Mr. Jonathan, had tearfully explained that this Miss Romney was as foul of heart as she was fair of face, a vicious Jezebel who had seduced his younger brother and so confounded the poor boy that he had run off and married her. In the few weeks she had stayed with him, she had all but beggared him with demands for jewelry and fine clothing, and when she could wring no more from him, she had disappeared, leaving him heartbroken. And although the family was devastated by this treachery, the poor young man loved her still, and as godly people, they wanted to set right this marriage.

Mr. Jonathan had proposed that Mr. Graves aid him and his family in bringing the girl to see reason. The family had generously arranged passage for his brother and the girl to the former American colonies, where they could start fresh with no taint of scandal, and she could be trained to be a dutiful and proper wife.

Mr. Jonathan had been faint with horror when Mr. Graves had informed him that this vicious woman—why Molly Ramsey was not even her real name!—was actually planning a wedding with her present lover, the Earl of Radford. And while Mr. Graves cared nothing for what befell the earl, he would not sit still and watch bigamy done. His part was very simple and involved no more than sending a note regarding the evening plans and the whereabouts of the earl and the strumpet, then standing by silently while a slight deception took place, and the tart was spirited out of the house so that she could be reunited with her true husband.

Surreptitiously, he glanced out of the window next to the door and watched the harlot descend the stairs, on her way, unknowing, to her punishment and her redemption. The old colonies. Divinely inspired! From all accounts, a place of savages and harsh climate, without even the basic amenities, settled by low-life, trouble-making rabble who had long ago shed any pretense of English civility, along with their citizenship. That would settle the whore but good! And as far as his lordship was concerned, it would serve him right to discover that the painted tart was already married, and him planning a wedding.

Mr. Jonathan had promised to inform the earl of the situation privately this evening, so as to avoid any danger that the man might inadvertently spoil the plans. Then later in the evening, when the deed was done, Mr. Graves would go to Mr. Jonathan’s rooms and assume his temporary post as valet, while Mr. Jonathan kindly sought a position for him among his friends in the
ton
.

Oh, indeed, he was doing God’s work and now his part in this quest for righteousness was nearly done. He started for the kitchen to relate the lie to Cook that his lordship had sent for Miss Ramsey to take her to Gretna Green, that they would be married right away. He smiled again at the thought of the delicious dinner he would eat, before he left this house forever.

* * * *

In his sumptuous bedroom, Lord Radford stood still while his valet expertly tied his neckcloth. The earl was feeling exuberant. He had spent the latter part of the afternoon going over Maude’s papers from Booth and Parks. Although the embezzlements were brazen and atrocious, it was apparent that the estate was intact, if depleted. He knew she’d be pleased to hear that the damage was not substantial or permanent. Moreover, he planned to order extensive repair and refurbishing to Romney Manor after the wedding, and if much of the money necessary to do so came from his own estate...well, she wouldn’t have to know that.

He smiled to himself, thinking of the look on her face when he presented her with the contents of the velvet-covered box he had tucked into his deep jacket pocket. Gleaming inside on the blue satin she would see a sapphire-and-diamond necklace, possessed by the Countesses of Radford these many generations. It would be her bride gift, and he would place it on her beautiful white neck this evening. The feel of her soft skin under his fingers came to him again and he marveled that she could have such an effect on him. There had been dozens of women, beautiful women, vying for his affections, duchesses and harlots, and none had managed to inflame his senses as had this impossible brat from next door who had called him a fool more times than he could count.

There was a discreet knock at the door and at Radford’s “come in,” Martin entered, carrying a note.

“Thank you, Martin,” said the earl, turning over the envelope and noting that it was addressed to him in Maude’s hand. He had seen enough today of the letters she had supposedly written to Booth and Parks to recognize it now.

Tearing open the letter, he read,
My love, I have a special surprise for you. Will you indulge me? I’ve asked the hansom driver to wait for you and he will bring you to me. Please come as soon as you can!
It was signed with the initial, M. Smiling to himself, he placed the note in the pocket of his waistcoat.

“Martin, I find I’ll not be needing my carriage after all. You may tell Frederick,” the earl said. “And I’ll not be home this evening, so no one need wait up.”