Miss Pymbroke's Rules (22 page)

“I am not at home.”

The butler turned to leave, and Mr. Wetherall followed him out, but not before saying in a quiet voice that only just reached Lord Carrisworth’s ears, “You mean you are not in your right mind. Mayhap the earl can set you straight. I’ll send him in here directly.”

Fortunately, Mr. Wetherall made it through the door before he could be subjected to a string of oaths that surely would have set his elderly ears aflame.

A moment later, the Earl of Northbridge entered the room. Taking in his friend’s condition, he demanded an explanation. “Perry, what the devil is going on?”

“Just having a drink, Charles,” he answered, returning to his chair. “Care to join me?”

The earl sat down across from him and studied his friend, deciding to tread slowly. “I accept. After all, I have something to celebrate. Gloria and I found out this morning she is increasing. Excellent is smarter than that physician who told us no heir was on the way. Hah! She insisted we consult another doctor, and she was right.”

Perry’s mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. He poured Charles a brandy and passed it to him. “Congratulations,” he drawled. “It will be quite a sight to see you with some drooling brat hanging on to your sleeve.”

Charles ignored the sarcasm. He could not remember ever seeing his friend so sunk in gloom. Several minutes of silence passed before Lord Northbridge spoke in a low voice, “Why don’t you marry Miss Pymbroke, Perry? You shall not be happy until you do, you know.”

The marquess’s hand, in the act of reaching for another drink, stilled, and he stared into the earl’s eyes. The genuine concern he saw there and the long years of their friendship forced him to pause before giving some cock-and-bull tale.

Good God, was it obvious to everyone he had formed a lasting passion for the chit? Perry rested his elbows on the polished wood surface of the desk while he ran his hands through his dark hair.

At last he said, “I fear she would not have me, Charles.” The minute the words left his tongue, Lord Carrisworth knew them to be the absolute truth. He wanted with Verity what Charles had with Gloria. Nothing short of that would do, and that meant marriage.

Lord Northbridge leaned forward in his chair. “Did you ask her?”

“No.”

A puzzled frown appeared between the earl’s brows. “Then how can you know she would refuse you?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Lord Carrisworth outlined the morning’s events ending with, “She values her notions of propriety more than me. Declared our relationship was nothing more than tenant and landlady.”

The earl had given his total concentration to his friend’s story. Now he sat rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Perry, did you tell Miss Pymbroke that you love her?”

Lord Carrisworth had the grace to look ashamed. “I only realized it myself this morning. Dam it, Charles, I am so used to hiding my true feelings I stumbled over the words and instead spouted some blather about holding her in affection,”

“Ah.” Lord Northbridge nodded wisely. “That’s it then, Perry. Females can be deucedly particular about hearing those words.”

Lord Carrisworth considered his friend’s suggestion. “Maybe you have the right of it, Charles.”

The earl stood and leaned over to clap Perry on the shoulder. “Courage, old man ... but, er, enough of the Dutch kind.” He made to take his leave, eager to return to Gloria, but at the door turned for a moment to inquire about a subject that had been perplexing him since his return to Town. “Perry, about the twins ... did you ever. . .”

Lord Carrisworth waved a hand. “Do not be ridiculous, Charles. You cannot imagine a pair of more tiresome children.”

Lord Northbridge let out his booming laugh and closed the door behind him.

After his friend’s departure, Perry sat back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. He experienced a nagging anxiety that the proper Miss Pymbroke would cling resolutely to her convictions. But could Charles be right? Had he only to tell Verity he loved her? At the thought of her smiling on him and holding her arms out in welcome, the marquess felt all the tension drain out of him.

The library door opened, and Mr. Wetherall entered. He folded his arms across his chest expectantly and stared impudently at his employer.

“I require a pot of strong coffee and a hot bath to be brought to my bedchamber immediately,” his lordship commanded.

The valet’s wrinkled face broke into a grin.

* * * *

Outside, Lord Davies sat in a closed carriage a short distance from Lady Iris’s townhouse. He was biting his nails and mentally cursing Roxanna Rollings. He should have been on the road to Ramsgate by now before his creditors caught up with him. Why should he stoop to follow that whore’s bidding?

Money. A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. That was why he had been waiting for some opportunity to present itself that would enable him to carry out Roxanna’s latest plan.

The actress had come to his lodgings earlier in the day. “You poor dear man,” she had cooed. “Everyone has quite turned against you since that unfortunate incident at Brook’s. No doubt with an accusation of cheating at cards hanging over your head, not to mention the duns on your doorstep, you will find a sojourn to the continent beneficial.”

The baron turned a cold eye on the actress. “State your business, madam. As you can see from the condition of these rooms, I am preparing for a journey. Ramsgate is a distance away, and I wish to quit London immediately.”

Roxanna’s lips curled. “You might find having a companion on the long trip advantageous.”

Lord Davies’s brows drew together. “What can you mean?”

Roxanna took a turn about the room before answering him. “Verity Pymbroke continues to be a hindrance to my wishes. I want you to ruin her once and for all. Take her with you as far as—Ramsgate was it? Then, before you board ship, simply desert her. She’ll have been away overnight and be well and truly compromised. You will be long gone before she returns to London—if she manages to safely return—and will suffer no consequence. On the contrary, a very large purse will add to your comfort during your exile.”

Lord Davies appeared to consider this for a moment. “How do I know I will get my money?”

Roxanna shook her finger at the baron. “Tut. Tut. Don’t you trust me? Well, as it turns out I don’t trust you either. That is why my coachman will be driving you. He does not know the contents of the package he carries is money, only that he is to give it to you after your mission is completed.”

Lord Davies’s lips twisted. “Are you so desperate to have Carrisworth back in your bed? Is not the duke’s protection enough for you?”

Roxanna had quickly looked away, and the baron had decided not to question her further. It was enough for him that he would be receiving a large sum of money for the small trouble of taking Miss Pymbroke along with him for part of his journey.

They had settled the details in a brisk, businesslike manner. All except one point. How was he to get the chit into the vehicle? She certainly was not going to come willingly after that scene at Vauxhall where he had kissed her in front of the marquess.

Lord Davies sat brooding over the possibilities, all the while thinking of the pistol that rested comfortingly in the pocket of his lemon yellow coat.

* * * *

Unaware of the danger that lurked outside, Verity welcomed Gloria, Countess of Northbridge, into the drawing room. Lady Iris stayed only long enough to exchange pleasantries with the countess. She sensed that Verity might wish to confide in someone her own age and tactfully withdrew, leaving a sleepy Empress to climb into Verity’s lap. Lady Hyacinth was abovestairs napping after the morning’s ordeal of losing a beau to Louisa.

When Lady Iris left the room, Gloria crossed to sit next to Verity on the blue satin settee. “I am so happy for this opportunity to be private with you, Verity,” the countess said, her voice rich with excitement. “Charles and I called in another physician, and I am increasing after all.”

Verity experienced a moment of sheer envy. What if she were married and found herself in the same interesting condition? Would the babe have Lord Carrisworth’s green eyes or her brown?

Calling herself severely to task for such fanciful thoughts. Verity stroked Empress’s soft silver fur. “I am so very happy for you and Charles, Gloria. Truly the child will be blessed to have you and the earl as parents. I have never seen a couple more in love.”

“Thank you,” the countess responded, her face positively glowing. But, as Gloria was ever sensitive to the feelings of others, she had noticed the slight puffiness around Verity’s eyes.

Charles had come home and told her the events of the morning as related by Perry. Gloria was determined to nudge Verity’s thoughts to a more positive direction where the marquess was concerned without letting her know she was privy to their problems.

Therefore, the two chatted innocuously about the Tremaines’ ball while munching on cakes and drinking tea until Gloria rose to take her leave. “Verity, dearest, I hope you will not think me presumptuous—no,” the countess interrupted herself, “I shan’t care if you do think me so. I must tell you how delighted I was last night to see you and Perry together.”

Standing next to Gloria with Empress cradled in her arms, Verity lowered her gaze to the ring of white fur on the top of Empress’s head. She scratched the cat’s ears bringing a purring sound into the quiet drawing room. “I am afraid being with the marquess in the intimate manner you found us was a mistake, Gloria. There is no future for him and me.”

The countess tilted her head in an inquiring manner. “Verity,” she said gently, “be very sure before you come to such a conclusion. As one who has enjoyed all the wonders of a love match, I beg you to consider your decision carefully. I know Perry has cultivated the reputation of a rake, but I also know him to be an honorable man.”

“I see,” Verity said noncommittally, and Gloria picked up her reticule.

The two walked through the hall, the countess pensive. Finally, she chuckled and whispered, “For example, Verity, did you know that wicked man thoroughly enjoyed having the entire
ton
believe those two French girls were his mistresses.”

Wide-eyed, Verity whispered back. “You mean, they really were not?”

Gloria giggled. “No! In point of fact Perry only put them under his protection out of pity. It seems two elderly roués were after them. Oh, but my dear,” the countess gasped, raising her gloved hand halfway to her lips, “Perry would be mortified if the truth got around. For some reason, he favors keeping people at a distance, and his reputation certainly accomplishes that.”

“Yes,” Verity replied faintly. A warm feeling infused her body at this latest bit of insight into Lord Carrisworth’s character. This morning she had learned the reason why he had felt a need to keep people away was so they could not hurt him.

They had reached the door, and Verity was brought out of her musings when Gloria moaned. The countess pressed a hand to her stomach looking decidedly queasy.

Alarmed, Verity let Empress jump from her arms to the floor. She grasped Gloria’s arm. “Are you ill? Shall I take you abovestairs to rest?”

Gloria’s complexion had paled but she managed to smile ruefully. “No, it shall not be necessary, although I thank you for your kindness, dear. This discomfort most likely comes from my gluttony with your cook’s delicious cakes. My carriage is right outside, and I shall do until I can get home.”

Concern for Gloria’s condition made Verity step outside the townhouse and down the front steps. Despite the countess’s protests, Verity walked her to her carriage and waited while the footman helped her into the coach before folding up the steps and taking his place on the back of the carriage.

Gloria gave a weak smile and wave as the vehicle moved out into the line of traffic.

Watching the departing coach with a worried frown on her face, Verity never saw Lord Davies approach. But she did feel the cold steel of the pistol through her thin muslin gown.

“Walk,” he commanded, indicating the direction by prodding her with the pistol.

Too shocked and frightened to do otherwise, Verity obeyed,

Empress, standing in the open doorway, saw the man with the tassels on his boots push Verity into a waiting carriage.

“Miaow!” she shrieked.

Entering the hall, Lady Hyacinth heard the fear in the too cat’s voice, and her hands flew to her chest. “Merciful heavens. Empress—”

But she got no further as the cat raced out the door and down the front steps.

Lady Hyacinth followed her out the door where she saw the cat running down the sidewalk. “Empress! Come back here! Empress!”

Then with utter horror Lady Hyacinth saw where the cat was going. Verity was being forcibly bundled into a closed coach by Lord Davies—there was no mistaking his red hair.

With a lurch the coach pulled away from the curb and took off at a smart pace. The silver-gray cat raced after it and with an incredible flying leap landed in the empty tiger’s perch, all eighteen claws holding on for dear life.

Chapter Eleven

The Marquess of Carrisworth felt sober and refreshed after his bath. He sat in the morning room sipping coffee and planning how he would approach Verity. Thinking to ask her to go with him for a turn around the Park as the day was fine, he had dressed for driving. He was confident he could persuade her to change her thinking even if he had to use his lips to do so.

Digby entered the room and extended a silver tray holding a missive.

Lord Carrisworth accepted the letter and dismissed the butler. When he opened the parchment, the topaz eardrops slipped from the paper onto his lap.

The marquess picked them up, remembering how they had gleamed in the moonlight the evening before against Verity’s creamy skin. How they had sparkled like her brown eyes. How he had brushed them with his fingertips when his hand had moved around to cradle her head as he lowered his lips to hers.

He turned his attention to the brief message.

My Lord Carrisworth,

Thank you for lending me these, but I must return them. As you know, I cannot keep such a gift as it would not be proper to do so.