Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (46 page)

Beth tentatively raised the question of social issues and found that in his own way, he was not indifferent. One of the reasons there were so many servants in the de Vaux houses, he told her, was to give employment. It was family policy to buy local products as much as possible and they were careful of the needs of their tenants.

Beth's instinct might say that it was not enough when the family continued to live in such rich state and yet she had learned to balance two very different realities. Little purpose would be served by the de Vaux family going off to live in a cottage on dark bread and stew. It was enough for the moment to know that her beloved did not look on hardship with callous indifference.

The clocks were striking midnight when they extinguished the guttering candles and climbed into the big bed to snuggle together. Beth let her hands stroke over the beloved contours of his back, but he captured them.

"Oh no, you don't, you enchantress. I'll go odds you'll be sore enough tomorrow as it is. And I'm only a mortal man, you know."

But Beth was a clever student and would not be restrained.
"Hoc volo, sic iubio, sit pro ratione voluntas,"
she said with a grin as she slid on top of him and wriggled. "I refuse to be reasonable. What I want, I get. And I want to seduce you to incoherent delight."

She saw his eyes darken, but he grabbed her to try and hold her still. "Back to the schoolroom for you, my girl," he said huskily. "That is not a good translation."

Beth nibbled on the nearest tasty object, which happened to be his earlobe. His grip relaxed. "At a time like this, Lucien," she muttered, "you expect a good translation?"

"I've lost faith in the classics entirely," he said unsteadily as she moved to one side and her hand wandered down past his navel. "God, Beth...."

She found the hot, velvety firmness of him. "And what have the classics to do with this?" she asked softly.

"Juvenal," he said like a groan. "
'Nemo repente fuit terpissimus.
No one becomes depraved in a moment.' The man was a fool, or he just didn't know anyone like you." Softly in the dark he added, "Poor man."

Chapter 22

The next day Beth had considerable trouble getting rid of her husband. She knew how he felt. She could hardly bear to be out of his company for a moment and yet it was necessary for her plan. She wasn't at all sure he would approve.

Military matters helped. They breakfasted together sharing a copy of the
Times
and reading the Duke of Wellington's dispatch. As yet there was no news of casualties except for the death of the Duke of Brunswick.

"It was clearly a terrible battle," Beth said at last.

"But a great victory. See what it says, 'A complete overthrow of the enemy.' Wellington's not one for hollow boasts. Napoleon's done for at last."

"But at what cost?" She was thinking of all the soldiers, but chiefly of the ones she knew, Amleigh and Debenham. It was unthinkable that those merry, vibrant young men, no older than Lucien, be dead, and yet it could be so. There had been that report that said Amleigh's regiment had suffered.

She saw the look in Lucien's eyes. She didn't really understand this group of friends he had, Nicholas and the rest, but it was clearly a deep relationship. It would hurt him bitterly if any of them suffered. Hurt them all.

She laid her hand over his. "When will the lists be out?"

"At any time," he said. "They may put out a special edition of the paper."

Beth sighed. "There's so much grief just waiting to be unleashed. I'm thinking what it would be like if you were there."

His hand tightened on hers. "And we're just hoping the people we care for aren't on the list."

There was no ulterior motive when Beth said, "Why don't you go to your club or to the Delaneys'. There may be more to discover."

"You don't mind? Or you could come with me to Nicholas's"

"No, I'd rather stay here for now."

He left her with a kiss. Beth knew he shared her guilt at being so happy, so fulfilled, when the happiness of others was all at an end. It was always so with war, she supposed. Today London would echo with the cheers of victory while many, many people wept.

Eventually she got a grip on herself and put her plan into action. She claimed she was going back to bed and didn't want to be disturbed. As soon as Redcliff had gone away, however, Beth got up again and dressed. She carefully applied the concealing cosmetics to her face though she couldn't persuade herself that they would fool careful scrutiny. Blanche knew the worst anyway. Then Beth chose the old clothes she had brought from Miss Mallory's and her most concealing bonnet. Inconspicuous, she hoped, she crept down the servants' staircase and out of the coal-room door.

She needed to contact Robin, for she still wasn't certain of the way to Blanche's house, and she needed to speak to him without alerting anyone to her "escape" from Belcraven House. She bit her lip and chuckled as she glanced up at the massive mansion. It was ridiculous to be creeping out like this when no one could actually stop her if she chose to walk out of the front door.

She'd probably drive Lucien to contemplate violence again, once he found out what she was up to. That she felt no tremor of fear told her she really did trust him. She knew she had a foolish smile on her face as she slipped down towards the mews.

What excuse could she make for her visit, and how could she speak to Robin alone? For excuse she could say she was visiting Stella. The poor beast had been given little enough exercise since Hartwell—only two trots in the park. Privacy with Robin was more of a problem. Granger or Dooley would appear like a shot when the marchioness visited the mews.

She was rubbing Stella's soft, velvety nose when Granger appeared.

"Good morning, milady. Can I help you?"

"No thank you, Granger. I just wanted to visit Stella. I hope he is being exercised."

"Never fear, ma'am. Robin takes him out. The only horse he's much good for," the man grumbled. "And, begging your pardon, it does the scamp no good to be taken away from his work and given privileges. Getting above himself for sure."

"Oh," said Beth, concealing a smile as she saw her excuse. "That is unfortunate. Perhaps I should speak to him about it."

"Well, there's no need—"

Beth gave him a de Vaux look.

In a few moments she was talking to Robin in Stella's stall. The boy eyed the horse nervously all the time.

"Really, Robin," said Beth, "you can't possibly be scared of Stella. He has the sweetest nature."

Robin just looked down sullenly.

"I do think it would be better if you let us find some other position for you," she said gently. "Is there nothing you'd rather do?"

The boy wriggled around and scuffed up some wisps of hay. "Don't mind as long as I serve him," he muttered.

Beth understood at last. Pure hero worship. "I'll think about it, Robin. Now, I want you to take me to Mrs. Hardcastle's. Without telling anyone."

The boy looked up, wide-eyed. "I can't, milady. Old Granger'll have me hide. Honest he will."

"Robin. If I give you a task, it is nothing to do with Granger."

Robin fidgeted some more. "The marquess told me not to," he muttered at last, looking down.

"The marquess! When?"

"This mornin'. Said if you asked, I weren't to."

Well, the cunning rogue, thought Beth, not unhappy to be back in a battle of wits with her husband. She bit her lip as she thought.

"Can you tell me how to get there, Robin?" she asked at last.

He looked up. "You'd never go by yerself, milady!"

"Why not? It didn't seem a very dangerous route."

"Ladies just don't," he said with a masculine assertiveness which made her eyes twinkle.

"This lady does as she pleases," said Beth firmly. "If you don't tell me I'll just try to remember the way and ask for directions if I become lost."

This clearly alarmed the boy even more. After a few more protests he gave in. "They'll be standing in line to leather me after this one," he muttered morosely.

He gave the directions clearly enough, however, and Beth slipped him a crown as she left.

For the first little while she felt an itching between her shoulder blades and expected pursuit. Then she settled and began to enjoy the walk. It was a fresh June day and the streets were a-bustle with people. The excitement of the news of the victorious engagement was fizzing about London like champagne. Every now and then some man would call out, "Three cheers for Wellington!" and everyone would huzzah.

The mood was so good, however, that Beth felt in no danger. As there was little chance of recognition in her dowdy clothes and wearing a concealing bonnet, she was enjoying being one of the people again instead of isolated in the ranks of the high aristocracy. She decided there were changes to be made in her life. She smiled at the thought of the battles to come over it.

Soon she left the busier thoroughfares behind and did experience some nervousness as the streets became quieter. Then she took herself to task. These were hardly notorious warrens, full of beggars and criminals, but quietly genteel residential streets. She had walked through such areas in Cheltenham all her life. Just because she was the Marchioness of Arden she would not be deprived of her freedom.

When she was close to Blanche's house, however, she acted on a cautious impulse and went down the back lane instead of knocking at the front door.

Agnes, the maid, gawked when Beth walked into the kitchen. There was another person there, a wizened older woman who was obviously the cook.

Agnes dropped a bemused curtsy. The cook put her hands on her hips. "And who might you be?"

"Hush, Lily. It's... it be the march'ness. You know."

The cook gaped, too. "Lord love us. What is the world coming to? You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she said to Beth.

"Well, I'm not," said Beth, holding back amusement. "Is Blanche in?"

Agnes rubbed her hands on her apron. "I'll go ask. Please to take a seat...." She looked helplessly at the two plain chairs. "Oh, I don't know," she wailed as she left the room.

"Now see what you've done," said Lily. "And I'd just got her calmed down after all that business yesterday! We all get along a deal better when your sort keeps to yourselves in your fancy houses."

Beth sat in one of the chairs. "Are you an admirer of Mary Wollstonecraft, too?" she asked in a friendly manner.

"Who? Not if she's one of the nobs."

"Well," said Beth thoughtfully, "I suppose in a way she was." She was quite prepared for an enjoyable philosophical discussion when Agnes returned with a surprised Blanche.

"Beth, I have the feeling you shouldn't be here," Beth said.

"More than likely," replied Beth.

"More than likely," echoed the cook. "You watch yourself, Maggie. Her sort's no good for you."

"Hush, Lily," said Blanche in a comfortable way. "I know what I'm about. Agnes, we'll have tea, please."

With that she escorted her guest to the parlor. Beth noticed the bloodstains had been removed from the stairs and there was no sign of the previous day's events except for the absence of the chandelier.

"You have interesting servants," she said as she took a seat.

"They serve me well," said Blanche. "As you may have guessed, I choose unfortunates. I admit it's partly because it would be hard for one such as myself to find good staff who wouldn't be insolent, but it's also because I've known poverty and despair. Agnes I picked from the workhouse. Her whole family was sent there when her father died. I trained her, thinking she'd move on, but she chooses to stay. Lily, now Lily helped me when I was young, when I first ran away from home. She's been more a mother to me than my own mother, but she won't play the lady. Doesn't hold with it. I hope she wasn't rude. She has no reason to love the higher orders."

"I like her. Perhaps in time she'll come to accept me."

"You really plan to make a friendship of this, then?" said Blanche. "Lucien won't like it, you know. Men don't like their lives muddied."