Margaret Moore (9 page)

But judging by more than her appearance, he knew that she was not like any other woman he had ever met. She was not willing to accept what her uncle and society demanded of her. Proud and sure of what she wanted—as he himself had been even in the gutter—she would rather defy them all and risk everything for her liberty.

He knew the extreme price such freedom could exact, and that the ultimate end could be disaster, despair and death. That was why he still believed he was right to advise her to return home and find another way out of her predicament, a way that would surely lessen that price.

He would have to be grateful for the service he could render her, even if she never knew of it. He would help her, as he had not been able to help Janet in her hour of hopelessness and need.

With that in mind, he should have been more subtle in the theater. Lord Cheddersby had followed his gaze and asked who the beauty was.

Perhaps he should have lied and said he didn’t know. But, he had reasoned, London was not so large a place that Lord Cheddersby and Sir Philip would never meet. Better to be honest.

So he had admitted he knew Sir Philip, and that the young lady was his intended bride. Then Lord Cheddersby had pleaded with him to introduce him to them.

Given that Lord Cheddersby was somewhat notorious for falling in love with amazing rapidity, Rob would have preferred not to; however, he could hardly refuse the request of a lord.

So they had ascended to the box.

For one glorious instant, as his gaze met Vivienne Burroughs’, it had been as that first night, just before she had kissed him. For one exquisite moment, time had slowed. Welcome and joy shone in her eyes and it was as if there could, someday, be something between them.

Then harsh reality—if that term could ever be applied to Lord Cheddersby—had intruded and his brief delusion ended.

“So, that was her, eh?” Jack said with a grin. “Sir Philip’s intended?”

“Yes, that’s Vivienne Burroughs.”

“And the other one? Who was he? Looks like a right fool.”

“Lord Cheddersby, and I grant you, he looks an easy mark, but I wouldn’t get too many ideas about that. He’s a friend of the king, and a kindhearted fellow.”

“Oh, now you’re making friends with the sparks, eh? Gonna leave your old pal by the side o’ the road, are ya?”

“You know better than that, Jack.”

“Aye, I know what I know. That Burroughs wench—she’s a beauty, and no mistake, eh, Rob?”

“She’s pretty enough. That wasn’t what I want to discuss with you.”

“My God, Rob, are your eyes goin’ with all the reading? Pretty enough? I’d say she was more than that by a long ways.”

“All right,” Rob agreed reluctantly. “She’s very beautiful.”

Jack got that suspicious look in his eyes again. “Wasted on that coxcomb, is she?”

“I never implied any such thing. Now, what have you found out about Sir Philip?”

“Lots more money than you or I will ever see,” Jack answered, “but not nearly as much as he pretends. In debt, but not as bad as some. His estate’s mortgaged not too bad. All in all, I wouldn’t feel I was risking too much to spend a night at the tables with ‘im. He’s got a ways to go to be bankrupt, and he’s braggin’ about town about the woman he’s going to marry, who’s got a rich old uncle with no other relations. There ain’t a merchant in the city won’t give him credit if he asks.” Jack looked puzzled. “I thought you’d be pleased to hear that.”

“I am,” Rob said, telling himself it wasn’t a lie.

“He’s also a right arrogant bastard, I hear.”

“I agree he’s not a pleasant man, but business is business.”

“Any plans for this evening, Rob, old son? Nell’ll be some time yet with the play. We could go to the Bull and Crown and have a drink. And more, if you’ve a mind.”

“I don’t think Nell would be pleased to find out you’ve been with another woman, Jack.”

“Oh, Nell won’t care. She’s Charlie Hart’s mistress, after all.”

“The actor on stage with her tonight?”

“The same. She’s probably letting Lacey, the dancing master, have a go or two as well. She’s an ambitious girl, our Nell. I tell you, Rob, when she talks about getting the king’s notice, she’s not jesting. You ain’t the only one got ambition.”

“I know that, Jack. I know that very well,” Rob replied softly, thinking of Janet and the end of her dreams of wealth and comfort.

If Jack realized where his friend’s thoughts were tending, he didn’t show it. “So for the time being, Nell’s a nice bit of fun. She thinks I’m handsome, so we have a bout now and then, but there’s nothing more between us, so no harm done.”

Rob couldn’t condemn Jack for his lack of sentimentality. Indeed, right now, he envied him. If only he could have such cavalier feelings for Vivienne Burroughs.

“Anything else you need, Rob?” Jack asked. “Anybody else you want me to find out about, or needs watchin’?”

“No.” Jack caught the coin Rob tossed him. “Good night Jack.”

“Good night Rob,” Jack called after him as he watched Rob went back into the theater.

Alone in the dim shadows, Jack threw the coin into the air and deftly caught it, then threw it again and caught it once more.

“She’s a beauty, all right, old son,” he muttered as he finally pocketed it, “and if you ain’t half gone over her, I’m a monkey, and if she ain’t pantin’ after you, I’m an ox.”

Then Jack Leesom’s face twisted into a scowl full of naked hatred. “You always was a lucky bastard.”

*   *   *

When the play concluded, the audience broke into loud and enthusiastic applause. Although Vivienne had been too preoccupied to follow much of the story, she clapped enthusiastically when Nell Gwynn took her bow, for the pretty young actress had delivered her lines with a merry vitality and humorous hint of innocent innuendo that was quite charming.

Vivienne noticed the king and his party stayed a moment to clap before leaving the royal box. Lettice, who had appeared in the gallery shortly before the play began, saw her and waved again.

Vivienne wondered if Lettice would try to talk to her, and hoped she wouldn’t. She had endured enough today without having to listen to Lettice’s gossipy chatter.

“Good God, that was short,” Philip muttered as he got to his feet, yawning prodigiously.

Vivienne refrained from pointing out that it would seem so if one slept through most of the play. However, she had been glad that he had.

“Was she not a delight? And this is Richard’s best play yet!” Lord Cheddersby declared. He gazed happily at the audience, who were all applauding loudly. “He will be so pleased.”

“Odd’s fish, that must be Cheddersby!” a haughty, yet amused, voice suddenly announced from the door of their box. “I would know that voice and that back anywhere!”

Vivienne turned around and hurriedly curtsied, because the man standing on the threshold of their box was none other than the Merry Monarch himself, King Charles the Second.

“Cheddersby, you dog,” the king said, coming closer, “it has been an age since we have seen you at the tennis courts.”

Her gaze fastened firmly on the floor of the box, Vivienne saw only the buckles of Lord Cheddersby’s shoes. His feet moved, and she knew he had stopped bowing. Should she stop curtsying?

She had no idea what to do, and for once in her life, she wished Lettice were with her.

“Majesty, as you know, I am not good at games,” Lord Cheddersby demurred, “and I have not your vitality. I find it very difficult to wake as early as you, sire.”

The king chuckled, and Vivienne detected a hint of vain pride in the sound. “Of course we do not expect everyone to be as we are,” he remarked. “Who are your friends?”

Vivienne risked raising her eyes to glance at the king, then blushed furiously as she found his brown eyes shrewdly appraising her, the way her uncle examined a bolt of silk. She quickly looked away again, at her uncle’s shoes.

“I believe Your Majesty may know Sir Philip Martlebury,” Lord Cheddersby continued.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Philip interjected, and his impatient feet came into her view. “I was at Whitehall shortly after your restoration, and I—”

“So were a great many people,” the king interrupted. His tone was not harsh, but it was obvious he didn’t wish to hear more from Philip.

Vivienne subdued a grin and risked another look. Behind the king were several men. There was also one very beautiful, arrogant woman wearing much jewelry. Lady Castlemaine?

Another swift, surreptitious glance at her uncle, and Vivienne knew she had guessed right. Slowly straightening, Uncle Elias seemed torn between looking at the king and staring at the beautiful woman.

“This is Mr. Burroughs, a merchant in the city, and his niece, Vivienne,” Lord Cheddersby continued.

“Mr. Burroughs, Mistress Burroughs.” Vivienne saw a hand reach out and take hers, a hand with very fine French lace cuffs extending to its knuckles, and a blue velvet sleeve beyond.

She swallowed hard as the king himself raised her from her curtsy

This close, he was not what one could call handsome. His nose was too large and his lower lip considerably fuller than his upper, a defect his slender mustache was perhaps intended to diminish. However, when he smiled, and with those merry eyes, she could see how a woman could overlook such faults.

“We are quite charmed, Mistress Burroughs, and of course, any friend of Lord Cheddersby’s is a friend to us. You and all your party must come to Whitehall. Say, a week tomorrow? The Portuguese ambassador should be on his way by then. He has the most horrible way of ruining a good evening.”

“Majesty!” her uncle exclaimed. “We shall be honored! Delighted!”

“Good. Excellent.” The king glanced over his shoulder. “We fear Lady Castlemaine will be out of sorts all night if we linger here another moment. Since that is not at all what we desire,” he said, winking at Vivienne, “we had best take our leave. Farewell, Foz, and make sure your friends come to Whitehall. It shall be on your head if they do not!” he finished jovially.

“Oh, good God, I must sit down!” Uncle Elias declared after the king and his friends departed. He hurriedly did just that, on the back bench of the box. He fanned himself with his mouchoir, which made the whole box smell of sandalwood. “The king! Lady Castlemaine! An invitation to Whitehall!”

“Calm yourself, Uncle, or I fear you may fall ill,” Vivienne said with sincere sympathy. Even though he did not listen to her wishes regarding marriage, he was her nearest relative, and she did not want him to have apoplexy.

“It isn’t as exciting as all that,” Sir Philip observed scornfully. “It means we get to watch him eat.”

Uncle Elias frowned and his mouchoir stilled. “That may not mean much to you, Sir Philip, but since
I
have never been invited to Whitehall before, it does to me.” His eyes narrowed. “I also note that you may not be on quite the terms with the king you have implied.”

Vivienne subdued a pleased smile. Sir Philip might be capable of hanging himself; she may not need do more.

“I wonder where Mr. Harding has got to,” Lord Cheddersby said. “I had better go and find him. Very rude of me to invite him along and then forget him, wasn’t it? But that Nell—she’s quite something!”

“You stupid popinjay,” Philip muttered under his breath.

“I would beware what you say about a good friend of the king,” Vivienne chided quietly. “He might hear you. And so might my uncle.”

“I don’t care,” Philip snarled.

“Odd’s bodikins, Martlebury,” Lord Cheddersby said with a frown, obviously overhearing. “That’s no way to address a lady.”

“Perhaps I should remind you that I intend to marry this lady,” Philip retorted.

“Perhaps I should remind you that it has not yet happened,” Vivienne snapped.

“No, it has not,” her uncle seconded.

Philip ignored her, and Uncle Elias, too, to address Lord Cheddersby. “Given the people you usually mingle with, I think it’s vastly impertinent of you to chastise me.”

Quite unexpectedly, Lord Cheddersby drew himself up with a pride Vivienne had not suspected the genial man possessed. “What do you mean by that, sir? To whom do you refer? What ‘people’? I assume you do not include this lady in your description.”

Philip flushed. “Of course I don’t. I mean the other rogues and reprobates you consort with. I’faith, I think this lady should be embarrassed to be seen with you.”

“If I am embarrassed to be seen with anyone, it is most assuredly
not
Lord Cheddersby,” Vivienne replied.

Philip’s face turned purple with rage. “And just what does that mean, you impertinent wench?”

“That is inexcusable!” Lord Cheddersby cried indignantly. He yanked off one of his fine kid gloves and struck Philip in the face. “You will give me satisfaction, sir,” he continued, his voice trembling, “for addressing this lady in such a manner.”

Vivienne stared in horror as, instead of retracting his words, Philip smiled an evil, triumphant smile. “I will be happy to do so.”

He was probably already picturing Lord Cheddersby dead at his feet.

As she was. Surely the kindhearted, bumbling young man could be no match for him, or any man, in a duel.

“I’m sure you need not fight over this,” she pleaded to Lord Cheddersby.

“He has insulted a lady and must be taught a lesson.”

“Oh, yes, by all means, try to teach me,” Philip jeered.

“My lord, Sir Philip—” Uncle Elias said helplessly.

Vivienne regarded Lord Cheddersby beseechingly. “My lord, it is not worth the risk. I am not worth the risk.”

To her shock and chagrin, his adamant, yet half-fearful, expression didn’t change. “I think you are, and as I am a gentleman, I am bound to uphold your honor.”

Regardless of Philip, she took Lord Cheddersby’s hand and grasped it in her own. “My lord,” she said with quiet fervor, “I would be very unhappy if you were to suffer doing so, especially when I do not … My lord, I don’t think I ever will …”

“Mistress Burroughs, he must be taught a lesson.”

“But not by you!”

He smiled wistfully. “Do you think I am that incompetent?”

“Please, Lord Cheddersby, please, I beg of you. Do not waste your efforts trying to teach this fool anything.”