Miss Pymbroke's Rules (10 page)

But she quickly dismissed this theory as one she did not wish to put to the test.

She sighed heavily and her face took on a self-righteous expression. “Perhaps
I
am meant to guide you, my lord. Yes, I shall accept your help, and mayhap you will learn more proper behavior in the process. Have you sent those two French girls away yet?”

The marquess sat back on the bench and laughed aloud.

Chapter Five

After Lord Carrisworth returned the ladies to South Audley Street and took his leave, Louisa went directly to her bedchamber.

Verity began climbing the stairs behind her, meaning to have that much-desired talk with her sister, when Lady Iris summoned her to the drawing room.

Lady Hyacinth was already seated on the dark blue settee. She spoke as Verity and Lady Iris settled themselves in nearby chairs. “Was it not a delightful afternoon? If the delicacies we were treated to are any indication, I can only imagine Lady Foxworth keeps a French chef.”

Casting her sister an arch look, Lady Hyacinth continued in a voice full of meaning, “’Tis a pity we do not have a French chef. Perhaps if Iris were not such a pinch penny . . .”

Lady Iris’s gaze ran over her sister’s plump figure. “If you ate some Frenchie’s cooking every day, England would soon sink into the Atlantic under the weight of you!”

“At least I shall never have to resort to wearing false breasts,” Lady Hyacinth retorted, puffing out her ample bosom while staring accusingly at the swells of wrinkled flesh emerging from Lady Iris’s old-fashioned gown.

“Fiend seize it!” Lady Iris screamed. She reached into the bodice of her dress, pulled out two rounded wax pads, and hurled them at her sister’s head.

From long practice, Lady Hyacinth successfully dodged these indelicate articles, smiling victoriously at having once again goaded her sister into one of her displays of temper.

Verity held back a laugh. Since coming to live with the ladies, she had realized that underneath their frequent bickering they held a deep affection for each other. Indeed, how dull their lives would be if they did not have one another with whom to brangle.

These thoughts filled Verity with an urgency to be on her way upstairs to see her own sister. “Lady Iris, was there something you wished to speak to me about?”

“Yes, gel,” Lady Iris replied, turning to look at her. “I have good news. I approached Lady Sefton as she was leaving the Foxworths’, and she kindly consented to send you vouchers to Almack’s.”

Lady Hyacinth gasped in delight. “Only the best gentlemen are allowed there, dear child, and while the refreshments are deplorable, one might dance the evening away with several handsome young gallants.”

Verity’s eyes shone. “Naturally I know of Almack’s. I confess I have often wondered what it might be like to go there. I am certain, since the cream of Society attend, the people are most kind and virtuous.”

“Hmph,” Lady Iris snorted at this gross piece of naiveté. “We’ll go to the ball Wednesday next.”

“Oh, I must tell Louisa. She will be so excited,” Verity exclaimed, rising.

Lady Iris swiftly put a stop to this plan. “Verity! I said you have been extended vouchers. Louisa has not.”

Verity whirled from the doorway, her expression dismayed. “Why?”

Lady Iris and Lady Hyacinth exchanged significant glances.

“The patronesses of Almack’s are notoriously high in the instep,” Lady Hyacinth said gently.

“What can that signify? If they have approved me, they must approve Louisa. We are both the daughters of a viscount.”

“I did not ask Lady Sefton why Louisa may not be admitted,” Lady Iris said, knowing full well that whispers of Louisa’s shameful behavior on the continent had reached the ears of the powerful patronesses. “You must not concern yourself with the matter. Louisa will be able to amuse herself in our absence Wednesday night.”

Verity threw back her head in her martyred way. “How differently we feel, my lady. It most certainly is my concern that my sister has been slighted. I should never consider going to a place she was not welcome.”

Lady Iris leaned forward in her chair. “Come down off your high ropes, gel. It is all well and good for you to show concern for Louisa, but do not think you can make her into something she is not.”

Verity raised her chin. “I love my sister and shall show my loyalty to her by not attending Almack’s.” She quickly left the room.

“Foolish chit. All that loyalty is misplaced and likely to land her in a scrape,” Lady Iris declared. Then she muttered, “Ah, well, Carrisworth never bothers with the place anyway. Too many young misses trying to trap a husband.”

Lady Hyacinth leaned forward and whispered, “Iris, you’ve had the same thought as I. The marquess and Verity. Nothing could be more suitable.”

Lady Iris scowled. “I had that thought long before you did, Sister. And I’ll thank you to guard your tongue about it. ’Twould not do for Carrisworth to know our plans are for him to be a tenant-for-life!”

* * * *

The object of the sisters’ matchmaking lounged in White’s. Although Lord Carrisworth had been drinking steadily since his arrival, he was merely feeling merry and was engaged in a lively discussion of a wager newly entered in White’s betting book. Sir Joseph Copley had bet Mr. Blackford fifty guineas that Bonaparte would not be alive on this day three years hence.

“I should not involve myself in such a wager, Perry,” a familiar voice said close to the marquess’s ear. “A wiser gamble might be that Napoleon would not still be emperor in three years.”

His lordship slowly twisted round in his chair and saw his old friend, Charles, the Earl of Northbridge. “Charles, can it be you? I thought you were buried in the country with your new bride.”

Lord Northbridge was a good-natured, attractive man of average height. His brown hair held a hint of gray at the temples, and he had a network of lines around his eyes from smiling, which he did often.

“Jealous, are you, Perry? Wish you had a wife yourself? I arrived in Town less than a week ago, and all I have heard are tales of your wicked ways with the ladies. Really, my friend, twins!”

Grinning, Lord Carrisworth rose to his feet and shook the earl’s outstretched hand. Then, he clapped his old friend on the back, saying, “Damned good to see you, Charles. How is Gloria?”

The two men moved away to a private table where they seated themselves and ordered brandy.

“Hah!” Lord Northbridge responded. “I believe what you really want to know is what has kept me from Town so long. Well, it is like this. Excellent—that is what I have taken to calling Gloria because it is an apt nickname—and I traveled quite a bit after the wedding. Last fall, we arrived at my estate and have spent our time putting things in order. She shares my interest in ancient pottery, the darling girl. But, we were both ready for a little fun in Town, and what better time than the Season?”

“Ancient pottery?” The marquess scoffed. He waved the waiter away, raised his glass, and quickly swallowed some brandy. “I am glad to see you, Charles, but I suppose things will not be the same now that you have been caught in the parson’s mousetrap. No more late nights, no more competing over bits of muslin.”

Lord Northbridge let out a booming laugh. “I never could compete against you with the muslin set, Perry. Except I must say you did not have a chance with Excellent.”

“True,” Lord Carrisworth said casually. “In you she saw a rake she could reform. In me she saw a self-indulgent
débauché
. Will you attend the masquerade tomorrow night in Portman Square?”

The earl’s brows came together. “That is predicted to be a wild affair. It is true, then, you are not ready to settle down. Take it from me, Perry, the married state is much maligned. I have never been happier in my life. Can you say the same?”

The Marquess of Carrisworth rose languidly to his feet. “Your waistline looks content, Charles, and I am pleased you are satisfied with Gloria. But do not look to me to follow your example. I shall never marry.”

Lord Northbridge watched his friend make his way out of the club. He noted the marquess had not answered his question regarding his state of happiness.

But then, the answer was plain to anyone who had known Perry as long as he had. He remembered how Perry had always come home with him for holidays while they were at Oxford. The boy never wanted to go to his own family. Something about his mother.

The earl sipped his brandy. Oh, the mischief they had contrived to get into during those breaks from school! Later, they had been two young bucks on the town getting into all the usual scrapes.

He had grown out of all that. But Perry seemed to have sunk further into the depths of pleasure-seeking. Not that Lord Northbridge believed this nonsensical story about Perry having a set of twins in keeping. There was more to it than that, he’d wager. Perhaps he had arrived on the scene just in time to save his friend from himself.

The earl drained his glass. It was late. Excellent would be waiting for him. A large smile creased his face. Perry’s problems could wait.

* * * *

The next night Verity sat alone over a tea tray. The Ladies Iris and Hyacinth had been engaged for an evening of whist with friends. Verity had declined the sisters’ offer to include her in the party, informing them she did not approve of card playing, feeling it could lead to the more dangerous practice of gambling.

Lady Iris had pooh-poohed this theory, declaring all genteel ladies indulged in harmless card parties. Lady Hyacinth had added her entreaties saying, “There is bound to be a delicious array of cakes, tarts, and pastries as Lady Edwina is monstrously addicted to sweets,” but Verity could not be swayed in her convictions. The frustrated sisters had left the house without her.

Reaching down to pour herself a final cup of tea before retiring to her room to read, Verity’s hand brushed Empress’s fluffy tail. “Well, my girl, it’s only you and me. The ladies are out, and Louisa is in bed with the headache.”

Empress’s tail twitched. She watched Verity drink from the teacup and miaowed pathetically.

Verity chuckled and poured out a small measure of cream for the regal cat as she had seen Lady Iris do on occasion. She placed the dish on the floor and observed the animal’s pink tongue daintily, but thoroughly, lapping the treat.

“There, that tastes better than that dreadful mouse you laid on Louisa’s pillow, does it not, you naughty girl?”

Empress paused for a brief second to cast a rueful glance upon her benefactress.

“Very well, I shall not tease you about it, as I see you realize it is not seemly for a cat of your consequence to play such tricks.”

As if in agreement, Empress miaowed with a mouth full of cream. Finishing up, she began the arduous task of washing. She licked her left paw meticulously, then used it to clean the area around her left eye below her crown of white fur.

Verity sighed heavily. “If only my sister would agree as easily with my notions of what is proper behavior. Last night when I spoke with her, ever so tactfully, about her use of cosmetics she laughed at me. When I went on to insist her conduct with Sir Ramsey and Lord Davies was not at all the thing, she pronounced me a prude and an ... an unnatural sister.”

“I left Louisa my copy of Correct Thoughts For A Lady and can only hope reading it will help her.” Tears formed in Verity’s eyes, but she dashed them away quickly. “I do want to help, you know, Empress,” she whispered.

The cat’s paw froze in midair while she watched the girl.

Composing herself, Verity said, “I am for bed. Come, you may stay with me until Lady Iris returns.”

The animal followed her upstairs, pausing outside Louisa’s bedchamber. She reached a tentative paw up toward the doorknob.

“No, no, Empress, this way,” Verity called.

The cat stood stubbornly where she was. “Miaow!”

On impulse. Verity knocked softly on Louisa’s door. Receiving no response, she entered the room, “Louisa, dear, are you feeling better?”

Verity held her candle high and saw the room was empty. With a little start of fear, she rang the bell. Moments later, Betty appeared in the doorway.

“Where is Mrs. Barrington, Betty?”

Betty looked down at the floor. “I’m not supposed to say.”

“What can you mean?” Verity cried. “Tell me at once where my sister is.”

The maid threw her apron over her head in a paroxysm of weeping. “Oh, miss, she told me I’d lose my place ...”

“Nonsense. Think, Betty, I am your employer, and your position is secure. That is, unless you continue to refuse to answer my question.”

Betty lowered the apron. “Mrs. Barrington left the house without you knowin’ to go to a masked ball with Sir Ramsey,” Betty wailed. “She knew you wouldn’t approve and didn’t want you to try to stop her.”

Verity gasped in alarm. “A masked ball! Good heavens.” Her mind raced. Cecil Sedgewick had, without going into details, once mentioned that such affairs often turned into romps. Surely Louisa did not know what perils awaited her. She, Verity, would have to go after her sister and see her safely home.

“Betty, did Mrs. Barrington say where the ball was being held?”

“Yes, miss. In Portman Square.” Perceiving her mistress’s intention, the maid so far forgot herself to exclaim, “Never say you are goin’ to fetch her!”

“I most certainly am, and you are going with me.” Ignoring the maid’s frightened face, Verity said, “I do not want to attract any undue attention. I shall need a gown and a domino.”

The maid reluctantly went to the armoire that held Louisa’s wardrobe. Verity quickly decided on a laurel pink ballgown, and Betty found a white velvet domino with a matching mask.

“Run downstairs, Betty, and hail a hack, then come help me finish dressing.”

With trembling fingers, Verity stripped off her old gray dress, reflecting that only that morning she had been next door peacefully working in her garden. She had not known whether to be sorry or glad when she had not seen the disturbing marquess.

A wayward thought flashed across her frenzied brain. What would he think if he knew she was rushing off to such a nefarious entertainment? Alas, the wretch would probably give his wholehearted approval.