Miss Pymbroke's Rules (2 page)

The cat paused in her ministrations to gaze at her mistress with an oddly thoughtful look.

“But how do I wrest Carrisworth from his home? ’Tis a puzzle,” Lady Iris muttered before drifting off into a light sleep.

Empress took a last glance at the slumbering lady before she slipped through an open window and escaped into the Mayfair streets.

* * * *

Later that night over in Mount Street, Peregrine Rolf, the seventh Marquess of Carrisworth, was entertaining guests. The occasion was his thirtieth birthday. His town-house overflowed with all manner of persons, whose greatest common interests appeared to be a love of strong drink and the pursuit of pleasure.

Damsels of the Fashionable Impure, fueled by free-flowing champagne, and scores of drunken young bucks evoked an atmosphere that would make a Cyprian’s ball seem like a church meeting.

Although his neighbors were long used to his lordship’s fondness for parties, even they had closed their windows and drawn their curtains against the raucous noise and indecent sights.

“By Jove, I would have wagered a monkey this was to be a quiet celebration, Perry,” Sir Ramsey “Randy” Bertrand goaded his friend. “Perhaps a simple party of three.”

Lord Carrisworth, rather the worse for copious glasses of champagne, lounged in a striped chair. He languidly raised his quizzing glass to study a passing female whose gown had fallen from her shoulders, leaving her charms blatantly displayed.

His lips spread in a devilish grin before he responded to Sir Ramsey. “Have you been visiting the print shops in Bond Street, Randy?”

“No need to. The caricatures of you and the twins are all over town. You cannot be surprised. Even you have to admit putting Monique and Dominique under your protection was bound to set tongues running on wheels.”

Lord Carrisworth raised one dark eyebrow. “Being a gentleman, I admit nothing.”

“A gentleman? That’s rich.” Sir Ramsey let out a shout of laughter.

The marquess joined him in his mirth. But what Perry was really not admitting, not even to Randy, was the exact nature of his relationship with the twins.

Monique and Dominique had taken the theater by storm one month earlier upon their arrival from France. Sixteen-year-old identical twins with golden blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, and luscious figures, their innocence had immediately captured the interest of Lord Armstrong and Lord Davenport, aging lechers with large purses. The two lords had argued loudly at the clubs as to which gentleman would have which of the girls first.

Listening in disgust, Perry had not been able to bear the thought of the young girls being used by the smelly old rogues. In a show of altruism that shocked even himself, he had promptly made them both a very generous offer, which was quickly accepted, and established them in a house in Half Moon Street.

He then sat back to savor the resulting outrage amongst the
ton
. What he had not done was anything more than keep up the pretense that they were his mistresses by escorting the girls to the Park or the Opera.  The reality was that he considered them no more than tiresome children.

Sir Ramsey tossed off another glass of champagne. “Where are the fair charmers this evening?”

Waving a manicured hand in a careless gesture, Carrisworth replied, “I have given my servants the night off, so I shall no doubt call upon the twins later to, er, help me out of this tight-fitting coat.”

More masculine laughter followed this pronouncement.

Neither gentleman noticed when the silver-gray cat hurried past the entryway of the drawing room.

Empress eased her way into the deserted kitchens. No tantalizing smells were in the air. No cook was bustling about, ready to stop her work for a moment to hand the pretty kitty a treat.

The cat made her way over to where the scullery maid usually slept on a straw mat in the corner. The girl’s absence left Empress without anyone to pull a string or an old ribbon across the floor in a much-loved game of chase.

Her whiskers turned down, Empress left the kitchen to stalk off into a deserted anteroom. A single branch of candles, placed on a table by the window, provided a soft glow of light. The cat crossed the room and hopped up onto the table. Placing one dainty foot in front of the other, she padded across the smooth wood surface.

Unfortunately for the marquess, the branch of candles was placed perilously close to the edge of the table near the draperies. A flick of the cat’s tail sent the candles to the floor.

It took mere minutes for the flames to spread.

At the first cries of “Fire!” the Marquess of Carrisworth instantly sobered. His shouted instructions for everyone not to panic went unheeded as people scrambled for the stairs leading to the hall.

“Help me get everyone out, Randy! I’ll look for anyone upstairs,” Carrisworth called to his friend and barely waited to see if the man was capable of complying with the request.

He had to push his way through his panicked guests into the hall. On the landing he grabbed a young man and ordered, “Have the Watch notify the Sun Fire Company.”

Hoping furiously his man of business had paid the premiums so the fire company would not let his house burn to the ground, he turned and raced up the stairs. Thick smoke blanketed the hallway and burned his lungs with each breath he drew.  He searched for anyone still in the house.

He found three amorous couples secluded in bedchambers and alerted them to the peril. Shepherding them downstairs, he noted grimly that the drawing room he had vacated minutes before was engulfed in flames.

Out on the street a crowd had gathered. “Harkee, even the Quality has their troubles,” a voice said in the darkness.

With relief he saw the men from the fire company had arrived and were working to control the blaze. Thankfully, everyone had escaped unharmed.

Lord Carrisworth worked alongside the firemen until at last the fire was out. While he had been struggling with the flames, he had not been able to assimilate the damage done. Now, he entered what was left of the hall and looked with a mixture of shock and horror at the charred black walls. The once magnificent mahogany table, whose polished surface had always held a bowl of fresh flowers, was reduced to a pile of ashes at his feet.

“Ain’t safe in here, your worship,” a man’s voice warned. “You’re Lord Carrisworth, ain’t you?”

Staring at what was left of his family townhouse, the marquess nodded. “What of the upstairs?”

The fireman shook his soot-blackened face sadly. “I’m sorry, milord.” He wiped his brow with a dirty handkerchief. “You’ve got yerself a pretty mess, but the house’ll hold up. I’d figger on six months o’ work, though, to put it back to rights. Can’t tell you how many fires I’ve put out that got started by an overturned candle.”

Carrisworth’s gaze swung to the man’s face. “An overturned candle?”

“That’s what it was, milord. An accident, to be sure.” Tugging at his forelock, he prepared to take his leave. “Well, you won’t be needing us any more this night.”

After the man left. Lord Carrisworth went outside to stand on the stone steps. The crowd had dissipated. He spotted one of his footmen walking with a halting step toward him.

“My lord! What ’appened?”

“As you can see, my townhouse has been heavily damaged by fire. When the other servants return, board everything up. Exercise caution, though, I do not want anyone injured. When the house is secure, everyone is to go to Duxbury House. I shall bring you back to Town after the repairs have been made.”

The footman was young and unsure of himself in front of his master. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he asked, “My lord, when you say, er, everyone is to go to the country, do you mean even Mr. Wetherall?”

A long-suffering sigh escaped the marquess’s lips. “Devil take it! No, I am sure I do not. Tell Wetherall I shall engage a room at Grillon’s, and that he may meet me there. I daresay he will deliver me a rare trimming for this night’s work.”

The footman bowed his way back down the steps and hurried around to the rear of the house.

Carrisworth remained where he was. What a birthday celebration, he reflected wryly. For a moment, he closed his eyes and thought of the paintings of his father and mother and of his ancestors, which hung upstairs. What had become of them? Not that he cared a snap of his fingers for the portrait of his mother. But the others ... probably burned beyond repair, he decided with a twinge of self-disgust.

The Watch called out the hour—-three o’clock. The night was clear and crisp. The stars shone down as if their brilliance was just for Mayfair.

Suddenly, a plaintive wail sounded from the direction of the marquess’s feet. “Miaoooow.”

His lordship opened his eyes, looked down, and swore roundly. Then, he recognized the cat. “Good God, Empress, is that you?”

“Miaow!”

“What are you doing wandering around outside at this hour?” He bent down and picked up the animal. Examining the paw Empress had been favoring, Carrisworth muttered, “Lady Iris will have my head if you have hurt yourself during this cursed fire.”

At the marquess’s touch, the cat gazed at him innocently with wide blue eyes and began purring.

Unmindful of the picture he presented, his lordship cradled Empress in his arms and started down the steps. Dispensing with the use of a coach, he walked in an easterly direction, turning left when he reached South Audley Street.

The cat shifted position in his arms, causing a shower of hairs to land on his lordship’s coat. Lord Carrisworth spared a moment imagining Wetherall’s reaction when the valet found cat hairs clinging to what was now his master’s only coat.

But, there was nothing for it. Lady Iris’s pet must be returned to her at once. The marquess knew his grandmother’s dear cousin often spent wakeful nights, and he did not want her to discover Empress missing at this hour.

Lady Iris was indeed awake when the marquess arrived on her doorstep. Not wishing to disturb the butler, she answered the door herself. “Carrisworth! Empress! Here’s a pretty kick-up!”

She swung open the heavy door, her gaze taking in the marquess’s disheveled appearance. Soot stains marred his fine burgundy-colored coat, and his cravat appeared grayish. A streak of black ran across his jaw. Even in all his dirt, though, Lady Iris thought him wickedly handsome.

Transferring the cat to Lady Iris’s outstretched arms, Carrisworth bowed low. “Lady Iris, I am afraid injury befell this unfortunate creature at my townhouse. Examine her left front paw, if you please.”

Lady Iris grasped Empress’s paw and gave it a cursory glance. “Seems fine. What the devil happened?”

“It pains me to say it but my townhouse nearly burned down this evening. An overturned candle, I am told. Luckily, no one was hurt. I was entertaining—it was my birthday, you see.”

“An overturned candle,” Lady Iris muttered weakly. She shot a disbelieving look at the cat in her arms.

Empress met her gaze for a guilty moment, then struggled out of her mistress’s arms and scampered away in the direction of the kitchen.

“Surely, nothing so dramatic was necessary,” Lady Iris shouted after her. Then she turned back to the marquess, who gazed at her quizzically.

The older lady pulled a woolen shawl tighter about her shoulders and said briskly, “You must stay the night with Hyacinth and me, Carrisworth. I’ll call a maid to make up a room.”

The marquess stayed her with a hand. “My lady, I would not put you to the trouble. Besides, I have left orders for my man to meet me at Grillon’s.”

“I forbid it,” Lady Iris declared. “I’ll send a footman with a message for your servant to join you here. You are family and will remain where you are. I’ve a perfectly good bed upstairs.”

Lord Carrisworth’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Lady Iris,” he drawled with mock severity. “You shock me.”

“Oh, cut line, you naughty boy,” she reprimanded, pleased with his sense of humor. “Come along up to the drawing room. Bingwood will bring you a glass of port while your room is being prepared.”

The marquess was too weary to make any further protests and allowed Lady Iris to shepherd him upstairs. It wasn’t every day one lost a home and turned thirty in the bargain.

In addition, he’d remembered Grillon’s was terrifyingly respectable. He shuddered at the thought of lodging there.

Yawning, he decided he was better off staying with a couple of kind, old eccentrics. What could possibly happen here?

* * * *

The next morning dawned sunny, but cold. The Marquess of Carrisworth awoke at ten, his unshaven face pressed down on an unfamiliar lacy pillow. The events of the previous evening came rushing back, and he permitted himself a groan.

“Just so, my lord,” Mr. Wetherall agreed in frosty accents. He stood by the door, his sparse, elderly frame rigid with censure.

Please, God, Carrisworth prayed, not a scold before breakfast. He unwound his naked body from the bed. Nightclothes were abhorrent to him.

Adopting a cheerful manner while the valet helped him into a dressing gown, he said, “I trust you were comfortable last night, Wetherall. I shall have a shave and go downstairs to thank our hostesses. Then we shall see about arranging someone to put the townhouse to rights.”

Mr. Wetherall produced the shaving supplies, and after the marquess was seated, meticulously began his task. “May I inquire if we shall be sending for Weston before you venture out, my lord? I have brushed your only coat, ridding it of all the animal hair that somehow found its way onto the surface, but if you would permit me to say so, its condition is not in keeping with your lordship’s customary elegance.”

All this was said while the valet’s left eye twitched convulsively. The marquess knew this signal of disapproval from long experience.

The Marquess of Carrisworth was not a man to tolerate insolence from his servants. In fact, he could be quite demanding. It was, therefore, ironic that the oldest family retainer, the one he could not dream of pensioning off, would be most prone to speaking his mind to his master.

The valet paused in his work, holding the razor at what the marquess thought was a menacing angle. “Also, if I may be so bold as to remind your lordship, all of my clothes were ruined in the fire as well.”