Lady Incognita (5 page)

To this Atherton gave no reply, but Louisa was well aware that no look of belief registered in those dark eyes and the jutting of his strong chin indicated a man who was not likely to back down from anything.

Therefore she was just a little surprised to hear him say, “I am sorry to have offended you. That was not my intent. And obviously this is not the place to discuss such matters.”

To this Louisa could only nod in agreement.

His lordship, seeing that they were entering London’s bustling streets, now inquired politely, “I shall need your direction for the driver.”

  “Of course.” Louisa, as she gave him the direction, noted with satisfaction the slight frown of puzzlement that furrowed his lordship’s brow. Arlington Street was not Grosvenor Square, perhaps, but it was a good address, a fashionable one even. Good enough for Lord and Lady Sefton. And Charles Fox, too.

Before long the barouche was pulling up to the door. To Louisa’s critical eyes the outside of the house looked fine. The old red brick was mellowed richly. The windows, including the graceful fanlight over the door set between fluted Doric columns, sparkled in the sun. The front railings and the lantern holders had been newly cleaned.

Yes, it was really a nice house, built, she had heard Papa say, for his family by Robert Adam the architect. It looked as nice as any house in the West End. On the outside.

It was the inside that Louisa feared to have Atherton see. For his bright black eyes would miss no sun-rotted drape or use-frayed chair cover or outmoded sofa. She suppressed a sigh. Regardless of her feelings in the matter, she must ask the man in. Politeness decreed it.

“Would you care to step inside with us for refreshment?” she asked. “I’m afraid Papa’s wine cellar is exhausted, but we might offer you a cool glass of lemonade.”

“That is a capital offer,” said Atherton with a grin at young Harry. “The best offer I have had today.”

  “It is good lemonade, too, sir,” Harry returned. “Cook makes it with plenty of sugar.”

“Just the way I like it,” said his lord-ship, swinging his long legs to the ground and assisting first Betsy and then Louisa to descend.

As the children scampered on ahead, his lordship kept Louisa’s hand confined in his. “I collect you do not wish me to see inside your house,” he said dryly. “But, as I have a desire to do so, I shall impose on your politeness.”

Louisa, looking into those dark eyes so close to her own, could find no words to reply to this rather blunt statement. She did try to withdraw her fingers from his, but he merely tightened his hold on them and made his way up the steps.

Chapter Four

Drimble opened the door for them, the children having already hurried ahead to tell Winky about their wonderful visit. The old butler’s face reflected certain doubts, but Louisa saw, as his eyes registered Atherton’s fine clothes and easy air, those doubts perceptibly faded.

“Please see to some lemonade, Drimble,” said Louisa as the butler accepted his lordship’s curly-brimmed beaver and York tan riding gloves, her own shawl and bonnet.

“Yes, miss,” replied Drimble dutifully.

This done, Louisa led the way to the drawing room. Like so many London houses this one was long and narrow. The drawing room, in the back of the first floor, looked out on a shaded little court where bright flowers grew in gay profusion.

“A pleasant room,” observed his lordship, but Louisa was not at all deceived. She well knew that those sharp black eyes were taking in every detail - from the faded and mended drapes on the windows to the frayed seats of the chairs and the number of tapers in the candlesticks. Thank God, said Louisa to herself, that everything that had to do with Lady Incognita was safely locked away in the writing desk upstairs. Nothing would escape this man’s eagle eyes.

“Yes,” she replied. “I have kept it very much the way it was when Mama was alive. We used to sit here often.”

  His lordship strode to the window and looked out on the masses of flowers. “A pleasant prospect, too, though I fancy Repton had little to with that garden. Not enough orderliness there.”

“Mama,” said Louisa, hoping he would not notice the tear in the drape that she had not yet had time to mend, “Mama liked to see the flowers all growing wild together. She said it reminded her of the country where she grew up.”

Laying the sketchbook on a table, Louisa seated herself on a sofa and suppressed a sigh. The whole room looked incredibly shabby to her. Strange that she had never noticed it so much before.

His lordship took a seat next to her and Louisa felt herself coloring up and wishing for Drimble to hurry up with the lemonade. She did not want to become the recipient of any more of his lordship’s pointed questions about her finances. As she was preparing herself for a fresh deluge of such questions, Atherton spoke. “Betsy seems to have a wide acquaintance with literature.”

Louisa smiled faintly. “I am afraid that it is not quite as wide as I intended it to be when I gave Winky - Miss Winkstead, the governess - the money for the subscription to the Minerva Lending Library.”

  “I should not badger myself about it,” said his lordship. “A rich acquaintance with romances of horror, such as Betsy seems to have, is probably the prerequisite of most young misses these days.”

Louisa shook her head. “These are not the sort of thing I would have her read.”

“Do
you
not read romances?” asked his lordship, quizzing her dryly.

“I have on occasion,” confessed Louisa. “But they may make a young girl believe that the world ... is not the way it is.”

“Surely most young girls will not be that frightened of ghosts and such.”

“It is not so much that,” said Louisa. “It is the heroes.” She stopped suddenly, wishing that she had been more circumspect. It was certainly ill-advised to be discussing such things with this man.

“What is wrong with the heroes?” asked his lordship.

“That is the trouble. They are all tall, dark, handsome, incomparable men.” she paused, not knowing how to go on.

“Like the heroes of Lady Incognita. I presume you have read her romances. She is all the rage with the
ton
now,” said Atherton.

Why was he looking at her so intensely? Louisa wondered. Could he possibly suspect? But no, her secret was safe. No one knew who Lady Incognita was, no one but Mr. Grimstead. And he wouldn’t tell.

  “I ... I have read some of her things,” faltered Louisa. “Though, since I have little contact with the
ton,
I was not aware that she had taken up with them.”

This latter was not precisely true. For Mr. Grimstead on her last visit to him had smiled cheerfully and said, “Lady Incognita’s getting to have quite a following, miss. A lucky day it was when we chose that name. They say the
ton
is all agog trying to figure out who she is.”

“They ... they won’t, will they?” Louisa asked anxiously.

“Indeed not,” replied Mr. Grimstead. “Nobody knows what
I
don’t want known.”

“I said,” repeated his lordship, bringing Louisa back to the present. “You still have not told me why such heroes are detrimental to the minds of young maidens.”

In spite of herself Louisa answered. “Because they begin to wish for such a man.”

“And?” urged Atherton, a strange gleam in his eye.

“And they do not exist,” whispered Louisa, wishing that his lordship were well on his way home.

“I must admit,” said his lordship dryly and in a drawling way that she supposed was the style affected by the beaux, “I must admit that it does seem a trifle unfair to blond men and short men and ugly men. But on the other hand, for us tall, dark ones...”

His words hung in the air and his eyes seemed to hold the suggestion of an invitation.

It was only as the color flooded her cheeks that Louisa caught the merriment in the heavily lidded eyes and realized that he was teasing her.

“Precisely so, milord,” she replied pertly. “It makes the tall, dark ones so insufferably puffed up.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she was horrified at her temerity, but Atherton burst into hearty laughter.

“A hit, a palpable hit,” he cried. “It’s a shame you’ve not come out. You’d take admirably the way you can give a beau a set-down.”

Louisa found this compliment even more flustering than that strange look in his eyes, but fortunately she was spared from replying by the arrival of Betsy and Harry, dragging a timid little old woman between them.

“There he is, Winky,” declared Betsy. “A real live Viscount. Aren’t you, sir?”

To this his lordship gave a pleasant nod.

“Winky wouldn’t believe us,” explained Harry. “She said it’s only in romances that you meet a lord in a deserted abbey.”

  Louisa perceived the quick glance of merriment that his lordship shot her way, but except for her slightly heightened color, she ignored it.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Winky, if I may call you so,” said his lordship.

“Oh, to be sure you may, milord,” replied an awestruck Winky. “I didn’t mean harm, milord, truly I didn’t. And it’s plain as the nose on my face, sir, that you are a lord, sir. It’s just that the children, milord, sometimes they tell me tales. And well, sir ... it is a bit unusual.”

“Of course it is,” said his lordship kindly.

Winky, her face bearing an expression of amazement, backed herself out of the room, leaving the Viscount, thought Louisa, to the tender mercies of the children. But before they could descend on him, Aunt Caroline appeared in the doorway, in her arms a squirming, bundle.

“Ah,” said she. “There he is.” And without another word she crossed the room and deposited the squirming bundle on his lordship’s impeccably cream kerseymere breeches. “You take your pick now, milord,” she said. “It’s the least we can do after all your kindness.”

  Louisa, choking on a hysterical giggle, realized that Aunt Caroline truly meant her words. She thought that giving Atherton the pick of Ginger’s litter was an honor.

The bundle being thrown open, six active kittens began to crawl about, sticking their claws in his lordship’s breeches, climbing his waistcoat, and generally attacking his person.

“Really Aunt,” began Louisa, but his lordship cut her off.

“They are admirable, madam, an admirable brood,” said he, pulling one back to safety just as it was about to tumble headlong to the floor. “But I believe they are presently a little young to leave their mother. I shall take mine when they have attained enough growth.”

“Indeed, I suspect you are right,” agreed Aunt Caroline happily. “Several more weeks with their mother will give them plenty of time. But then you must choose.”

“I like Apricot best,” said Betsy, lifting to her cheek a kitten which did indeed bear the color of that fruit. “He’s a darling.”

“Yes, Betsy,” said his lordship. “I collect you are right. Apricot is the best of the basket.”

“Oh! Will you choose him then?”

“I should not like to deprive you of your pet,” said his lordship, and something in his voice made Louisa sense a sadness.

  “Oh, no, sir. I should like him to live with you. You must have a grand place. Just think, he’ll be a viscount’s cat.”

“I see,” said his lordship, his eyes twinkling at Louisa.
“
We have here an inveterate social climber.”

“I don’t want to be a social climber,” asserted Betsy, “whatever that is. Because I’m dreadfully afraid of high places and should not like to climb at all.”

At this display of ignorance his lordship burst again into laughter and Louisa could not forbear joining him, to Betsy’s evident bewilderment.

“Betsy, dear,” Louisa explained. “A social climber does not climb
real
heights. She aspires to be higher in society than she is.”

Betsy wrinkled her freckled nose in disdain. “I shall never be like that. I am quite pleased as we are. I only thought that Apricot would be happy with his lordship because
I
like him.” ‘

“I’m sure he shall,” declared that gentleman. “For he is my choice.”

  At this announcement Betsy clapped her hands with glee. Louisa, foreseeing her disappointment when his lordship did not return for the kitten, wished that he had not lied to the child. She herself did not for a minute believe that he meant to return for the little animal. He was only trying to be kind to the children.

“We must not expect ...” she began when Drimble entered with the lemonade, followed by a determined looking Aunt Julia. Aunt Julia stood quietly while Drimble served the lemonade, but when the butler had performed this duty and left, she marched up to the Viscount. The chill look with which Aunt Julia usually greeted males was missing from her austere features, Louisa noted with some trepidation.

Aunt Julia wasted no time in niceties. “I wish to examine your skull,” said she to his lordship.

“Aunt Julia! Please!” Louisa threw her aunt a look heavy with displeasure.

“Really, Louisa, I am only asking his lordship’s help in advancing the cause of

science.”

“But Aunt....”

“Really, Louisa. ...” said his lordship in a voice whose resemblance to Aunt Julia’s was not lost on the ears of Louisa or the children, who burst into giggles. “I have no objections to offering my skull to the advancement of science. Provided, of course, that it need not leave my neck.” This sally brought fresh giggles from the children.

  “Your lordship knows quite well that I do not mean to have his skull disconnected. I want only to feel the bumps and ascertain your true character,” said Aunt Julia primly.

“Ahhh,” said his lordship, with a sly look at Louisa. “That puts a different light on the matter. Do you really expect me to let you lay open my most secret character? What if you should discover that I am a blackguard and a knave? A veritable villain?”

Aunt Julia snorted. “Such qualities cannot be long hid at any rate. Someone will find you out.”

“Words of truth, Miss Pickering. Words of truth. Now where shall I put my skull so that you can assess it to advantage?”

Aunt Julia motioned toward the window. “If you’ll sit over here,” she said. “That will serve admirably.”