Nightingale (36 page)

“And you consider yourself an authority on men who avoid responsibility?”

She straightened in her chair, clamped her fists about the knitting needles and fought the familiar rise of temper. “I do have knowledge of that particular shortcoming. My own father was similarly disposed. He married above himself and happily fathered the three of us, yet my mother carried the full responsibility for supporting our household.

“My mother’s father was an earl who earned his rank and acquired his wealth on battlefields. Mother had brothers to inherit from him. After my grandfather died and his estates were divided, nothing came to his only daughter except the occasional charity handed down by her brothers, neither of whom was inclined to be generous.

“My father was a handsome man, and charming — like Lattimore, I’m afraid — not inclined to physical labor. Indulging his intelligence, Father read. He was a virtual storehouse of information. Unlike most peddlers, a learned man can demand only small wages for providing knowledge carried about in his head.”

She paused to find Devlin gazing as her as if absorbed in her rhetoric. When he didn’t attempt to talk, she continued.

“His learning, attractive appearance, and charm drew the interest of other men’s wives who, though they enjoyed the benefits of wealth, were often bored by their rich but unlearned and sometimes negligent husbands. Father became an acceptable solution.

“While he basked in the reflected light of his knowledge and the attentions of wealthy wives and daughters, Mother tutored and gave piano and voice lessons to children of the gentry.”

Realizing her hands were perspiring on the wool, Jessica set her knitting aside, stood, and rubbed her hands together as she walked to the window. A fine mist had taken over the evening.

“Eventually, Mother did mending for the families of her students. That evolved to doing their washing and ironing.” She turned a hard look on Devlin. “This was a woman who spoke three languages and could conjugate any Latin verb in a blink.”

Devlin’s mouth puckered. “How did your father react to his learned wife becoming a laundress?”

“He read more devoutly and pretended not to notice or take responsibility for the deterioration.”

“Of course, he taught you and your brother and sister to read and write and do your sums.”

She softened. “Yes, and he provided us a genuine love of literature.” The frown returned. “Right up until the day he left.”

“Left? I thought he was deceased.”

“He is now, but that came after he abandoned us. I was devastated. Brandon and Elizabeth scarcely seemed to notice his defection.”

“What about your mother?”

“At first she pretended indifference. There was, after all, one less mouth to feed from her meager earnings. Her lack of concern lasted until we learned he would not be returning.

“Word reached us that he had run away with one of Mother’s piano students, a rather plain, dull-witted girl of nineteen, the only daughter of a wealthy merchant, someone who could afford Father’s continuing pursuit of wisdom.

“Mother did not speak of him from that day on, neither ill nor good. She worked harder, taking on more students and laundry and drudged along one day after another. Three years after he left, we received word that Father had died, alone, in a pauper’s flat in Paris.

“Mother took to her bed. By then, my sister was married to a curate in the church.” Jessica looked at Devlin, but could not read his expression. “My brother tries to emulate our father. He pretends to be intelligent, but his conversation reflects his own, often baseless, opinions rather than those of wiser men. Brandon is handsome and spends every shilling he earns on clothing. He entertains women who are willing to support a man who makes a good appearance. I learned an important lesson. A woman must not marry a man she loves. She must marry a man who loves her, preferably to distraction.”

Devlin’s frown deepened. “You think Lattimore is like your father and brother?”

She turned from the window feeling the weight of unresolved anger and frustration. “I don’t know, but I have no desire to research the subject. Lattimore is handsome enough, but he lacks depth. I will not shackle myself to a man who may have those all-too-familiar flaws.”

“Would it help if I guaranteed to support you during your life together?” Devlin asked the question gently.

“No.” The word carried more venom than she intended. “I can support myself, thank you.”

“And John Lout?”

She gave him a bittersweet smile. “John is … manageable.”

“What does that mean?”

“While John may have little ambition, he has energy and character. He knows I’ll not bear any man’s children only to have them abandoned. He vows that if I produce, he will support our offspring.”

Devlin cleared his throat with a cough. “By highway robbery?”

“I did not specify how he provide, only that he do so.”

“So you are not interested in a titled man, either?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I did not say that.”

Their gazes met and locked. “Then you would entertain an offer from a titled gentleman?”

“Only if he were a man of unquestionable character … and loved me beyond anything.”

“In that case, what of your agreement with John Lout?”

“I would explain the situation in terms he would understand.”

“You would offer him money.”

Her smile approved his statement. “Yes. Bribery is something John understands.”

“I see. How much will it take to make Lout cry off?”

“He and I have spoken openly of that very thing.”

“What is his price?”

“If there is no intervention from people who do not normally deal with the likes of John Lout,” she cast him a warning look, “he would be willing to terminate our relationship for one hundred pounds.”

“One hundred pounds? He will sell his betrothal to you for one hundred pounds?”

She laughed lightly. “I thought it a good price for an overly tall, unemployed scullery maid’s assistant.” Her giggling sounded self-deprecating.

Devlin’s eyes twinkled. He regarded her a moment before his rumbling laugh enhanced hers. He rose and went to stand beside her at the window.

As their laughter diminished, they pivoted to smile into each other’s faces. Devlin opened his arms and Jessica moved into the familiar embrace. He gathered her close and, propping his chin on the top of her head, swayed.

Peeking from the corridor, Patterson allowed a slight, mysterious smile and a sniff, waggling his head as if the scenario were of his own making.

“Yer honor,” John Lout said, welcoming Devlin into Solomon’s Tavern, located between Gull’s Way and Welter. The place smelled of smoke and sweat and strong drink, as it had when Devlin visited there last, less than an hour before he was set upon, beaten and robbed. “It’s pleased we are to have you among us again, gov’ner.”

Lout eyed Devlin jovially at first, but the man’s expression sobered when Bear entered the tavern, along with two other large men who looked as if they, too, were in the duke’s party.

“What can I get ye?” another voice intervened.

“Have you a private room?” Devlin asked, addressing himself to the barkeep. “Mr. Lout and I have business.”

“Yes, Yer Grace. Right this way.” The man’s feet thudded against the pegged wooden floor, which would have made it easy for Devlin to follow if he had still been blind. He had determined before this trip that it might be to his advantage to pretend he remained sightless.

He closed his eyes as he trailed the tavern owner through a doorway, then heard a chair slide and correctly assumed it was for him. He fumbled a little as he sat.

“Begging yer pardon, Yer Grace,” Lout said, sliding a chair out for himself and settling on Devlin’s right, “but we heard ye’d been wounded in a fight and was healed, but the bout had left ye blind as a bat. It’s grand to see ye’r recovered from that little set-to with the ruffians, ’cepting fer the damage to yer eyes, o’ course.”

Other than a slight smile, Devlin disregarded the comment. “Mr. Lout, I am here to present you with a business arrangement I think you will find to your benefit.”

“Well, then, milord, feel free to get on with yer presenting.”

“First, I think my men and I will have some ale. Barkeep!”

The innkeeper scurried through the door. “Yer Grace?”

“Ale for my men and me and freshen Mr. Lout’s drink as well.”

Lout looked around as if surprised to realize he’d left his glass at the bar. “I’ll have a new one, my man,” he said, ignoring the keep’s scowl. “Now, what’s this business you have with me, yer worship?”

Lout’s addressing him by the mixed bag of wrong titles galled Devlin, but he schooled his expression not to reflect his annoyance. “Mr. Lout, I understand that you are betrothed to Jessica Blair of Welter.”

“Yer information is good, yer honor. Of course, the bans is a formality. Miss Blair and me consummated our joining years ago, as I am sure ye’ve cause to know.” He winked at Bear and seemed taken aback when the duke’s man returned a harsh stare with no change of expression.

Momentarily deflated by Lout’s airy besmirching of a lady’s good name, Devlin took a deep breath, another effort to guarantee no negative reaction showed on his face. “I see.” He thought of Jessica, of her spontaneous blush, her nervousness when he had initially placed his hand on her shoulder for guidance or any time he ventured too close to her. She obviously was not accustomed to any man’s proximity, much less the intimacy of a man’s body. Lout was lying and doing so in cavalier fashion, in a public tavern. That behavior might be one of the many things about the man Jessica considered unacceptable.

The tavern owner chose that moment to return with their ale.

Bear grabbed a glass, drained it noisily and set it back on the sideboard before the keep left the room. Noticing, the barman gave him a curious look. Devlin’s old mentor nodded, answering the mute question, indicating he would take another.

The duke began again. “Lout, as you may know, Miss Blair has been in my household for some time now.”

“Yes, yer lordship, we heard about that. A sweet, active little tart to have romping ’tween yer sheets, ain’t she?”

Devlin stared at the man, hoping his eyes continued to look sightless. “I would thank you to watch your tongue where the lady is concerned,” His voice lowered to a threatening growl, “or you risk leaving here without it.”

Confirming the threat was serious, Bear squinted at Lout, whose demeanor and facial expression became apologetic. “I didn’t mean no offense, Yer Grace. My mistake entirely. I just figured having a plum like Jessica about … What I mean to say is, a man couldn’t be blamed fer squeezing ’er like.”

“I assure you, sir, Miss Blair has been treated as a lady in my home, with the utmost respect.”

“So, maybe I ain’t understanding ye clear, yer honor. Perhaps we should get on wi’ the business we’re to conduct.”

Devlin took his indignation in hand, but made a mental note that this was another insult for which he owed Mr. Lout repayment.

“My mother, the dowager duchess, has grown fond of Miss Blair over the last weeks,” Devlin said, pleased that his voice did not betray the raging upheaval of his temper. “The duchess wants to make Miss Blair her protégé.”

Lout looked genuinely puzzled. “What’s that, gov’ner? The word’s not familiar.”

“Her student. My mother wants to train Miss Blair for a profession.”

“A profession, is it?” The sarcasm was back in Lout’s tone. “Just what kind of profession is yer ma thinking might fit a gel from the village betrothed and taken when she was no more than six year old?”

Devlin struggled to let the lie — a vile, odious attack against his angel — pass. He tallied one more mark against Lout. Once this business was over, he promised himself he would beat the man more senseless than he was.

“I assumed, Lout, that you wanted what would provide the best income for Miss Blair’s future.”

Lout’s eyes narrowed as the suggestion took root. “Are we talking money here, yer worship?”

Again Devlin struggled to hold his temper. In spite of his pretense, Lout knew the correct way to address a duke, but refused to do so with any consistency.

“Schooled as a governess or a teacher, Miss Blair would have opportunities not now available to her.” Devlin again felt pleased that his annoyance did not taint his words or his tone.

“I suppose that’d mean she’d have free run of rich men’s houses.”

Devlin didn’t like the implication, but again steeled his facial expression. “Naturally.” He could almost see the wheels of larceny turning in Lout’s brain, obviously believing Jessica’s access to rich men’s houses might be his entree as well.

“Couldn’t she do this protégé thing married to me as well as not?”

He wouldn’t let the man sally off that direction. “Hardly. She would need to be unencumbered. Probably she would live with a wealthy family and be paid handsomely to educate their children.”

“Now, see here, yer honor, that plan would deprive me of my one true love. Can’t you see what you and yer ma is asking me to give up?” Lout looked startled and began stammering. “I didn’t mean no offense by referring to yer seeing, Yer Grace.”

“No offense taken. I assumed you would be pleased at Jessica’s opportunity to improve her situation. I thought the advantages would make you eager to allow her this opportunity by making some small, perhaps temporary, sacrifice as a contribution to her future.”

“How much would yer ma be willing to pay me fer this sacrifice, Yer Grace, for making this, whatcha call this here small, temporary contribution?”

“Do you intend to sell your betrothal to Miss Blair for cash?”

“Think of it as ye’r providing me compensation fer her bit o’ well being, yer honor.”

“How much compensation?”

“How does a hundred pounds strike ya?”

Devlin was prepared to go as high as five hundred, but apparently Jessica knew this adversary and his values well. Perhaps he should follow her advice. Not wanting his relief to be obvious, he gave the request a proper scowl and a moment’s thought before he cleared his throat and said a grudging, “Yes, well now, you see, Lout, one hundred pounds is a considerable sum of money.”