The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness (9 page)

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Authors: Tamara Lejeune

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“Forgive us for staring,” said Isabella, driving her elbow into her brother’s ribs. “I am Lady Isabella Norton. This is my brother, Lord Milford. He seems to have been struck dumb by your beauty,” she added.
“No! Not at all,” Milford protested.
Patience barely suppressed a laugh. “Please, sit down. I’m very happy to meet some of Pru’s friends. May I offer you some refreshment? Some cherry water?”
Isabella sat down on the sofa, dragging her brother with her. “My brother adores cherry water,” she said. “Don’t you, Milford?”
“Oh, yes,” he said quickly. “Cherry water. It’s my favorite.”
Patience smiled. “Cherry water for our guests, Mr. Briggs.”
“Very good, my lady.”
Patience sank into a chair. “I have asked him not to call me that. I confess I find it a little disconcerting. The title, I mean.”
“Why should it be disconcerting?” Isabella asked.
“In America, we do not have titles. We believe that all men are created equal. Even our president is Mr. Madison.”
“How very interesting,” Isabella said politely. “Our estate agent is Mr. Madison. Perhaps they are related?”
Briggs returned with a tray and, grateful for the interruption, Patience began pouring a suspicious pink liquid into glasses.
Lord Milford accepted his glass with trepidation. Isabella sipped hers cautiously.
“It reminds me of our beautiful cherry trees back home,” said Patience.
“Oh, yes? Are there many cherry trees in America?” Isabella inquired, pronouncing it “Americker.”
“America, you must understand, is a great big place,” Patience replied, hiding a smile. “But we have a great many cherry trees in Pennsylvania.”
“Ah! Pennsylvania! What a perfectly charming name for a country estate,” Isabella exclaimed. “You must miss it dreadfully. When do you think you will see it again, Lady Waverly?”
Patience’s eyes widened. “Country estate? Oh, no. Pennsylvania is not a country estate. It’s a commonwealth. Pru and I are from the city of Philadelphia, in Pennsylvania.”
Isabella had never heard of either, but she smiled politely.
“It
was
the capital of the Unites States at one time,” Patience told her. “Washington, of course, is the capital now.”
“Oh,
dear
. I thought
he
was the prime minister,” said Isabella.
“Mr. Washington was our first
president,
” Patience said, beginning to frown, for not only was Isabella ignorant, she was condescending. “The capital city was named in his honor. You’ll be glad to know we’re rebuilding Washington since it was burnt down two years ago by the British army,” she added tartly.
“Oh, I’m sure it was an accident,” said Isabella very quickly.
“How exactly do you know my sister?” asked Patience, abruptly changing the subject, which was not doing her temper any good.
“I’m afraid we don’t, Lady Waverly,” said Isabella. “We came here to see you. That is, my
brother
has something he would like to say to you. Don’t you, Ivor?”
“Oh? Did my uncle die owing you money, sir?”
“Yes. A monkey,” said Milford.
“A monkey!” Patience repeated in astonishment.
“Yes, a monkey,” he replied. “I have presented my IOU to the attorney to no avail.”
“But my brother has come to forgive the debt,” Isabella added quickly.
“Yes, that’s right,” said Milford, after only a slight hesitation, for the baroness quite obviously met two of his requirements in a wife. The only doubt he entertained concerned his most important requirement: fortune. Without corroborating evidence, Purefoy’s word on the subject could not be trusted. After all, Purefoy himself might have been deceived.
“You’re very kind, sir, but I—” Patience began.
“Good,” Isabella interrupted her. “It has been troubling my poor brother a great deal.” She leaned forward, and before Patience could form a reply, went on, “And, I confess, dear Lady Waverly, that there is something troubling
me
a great deal. I must beg to speak to you alone. Ivor, will you be good enough to call for me in, say, twenty minutes?”
Milford frowned. “What am I to do for twenty minutes? It is not long enough for anything! In any case, you can have nothing to say to Lady Waverly that I cannot hear.”
“Would you care for more cherry water, sir?” Patience asked him.
“I would not put you to any trouble, my lady,” Milford said, and hastily took his leave, just as Patience had hoped, for she was very curious to hear what his sister had to say.
Chapter 6
 
Patience could not help but notice that, despite her claim, Isabella did not seem troubled in the least. “Yes?” she said simply, when Lord Milford had gone.
Isabella folded her gloved hands neatly in her lap. “It concerns your sister, I’m afraid. Miss Prudence Waverly.”
“You said you did not know my sister,” Patience said sharply.
“We have never met,” said Isabella. “But when I saw her yesterday in Bond Street, I felt it was my duty to come to you, and just give you a hint before her behavior sinks you both.”
“I don’t know Bond Street. But if it is so dreadful to be seen there, why were you in Bond Street?”
“Lady Waverly, my interference is of the friendliest nature!” Isabella protested. “Your sister is very young—you both are—and perhaps things are different in Pennsa-delphimore, but
here
young ladies do not chase young men down the street, no matter how great the temptation.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Patience.
“Not only is it unseemly, it rather defeats the purpose,” Isabella went on. “Such wild behavior can only give the gentleman a disgust for your sister. And you, Lady Waverly! If you do not take the trouble to check your sister, you very well may be tainted by the association!”
“You are mistaken,” Patience said coldly. “My sister would never do such a thing. No need! Men are perfectly happy chasing after
her
.”
“Not this man,” said Isabella. “Mr. Purefoy has only to snap his fingers, and he can have any girl he wants.”
Patience’s eyebrows shot up. “Purefoy!” she gasped, two livid spots of color blotching her cheeks. “
That man!
You speak to me of
that man
? I will not have his name spoken in my house!”
Isabella found this response both amazing and interesting. “I see you are acquainted with the gentleman,” she murmured.
Patience’s eyes flashed. “I certainly am not! And he is no gentleman! He is the devil. He is wicked, vile, degenerate, loathsome, lewd, drunken—!” She stopped, having run out of breath as well as adjectives. The night I came to this house,
he
was here ... cavorting with his disgusting friends. I saw such sights—sights too shocking to relate.”
“He is quite famous for his parties, I believe,” said Isabella.
“Famous! He should be notorious. And it was not a party! We have parties in Philadelphia.
This
was an orgy! If this man is imposing himself on my sister, I will have his guts for garters. Why has nothing been done about him?”
Isabella shrugged helplessly. “He is the Duke of Sunderland’s heir. Everyone—everyone knows he is a villain, but no one will stand up to him. He is too powerful. A man like that can do whatever he pleases with a girl, without consequence. Your sister, Lady Waverly, does not apprehend the danger. Perhaps she thinks he will marry her.”
“You saw my sister with—with him?” Patience said anxiously. “You are certain?”
“Oh, yes,” said Isabella. “Unless, of course, it was Your Ladyship whom I saw in Bond Street,” she added, with a faint smile.
“Was there blood?” said Patience.
“Heavens, no!” said Isabella.
“Then it wasn’t me,” Patience said darkly. Rising to her feet, she went to the fireplace, where Pru’s invitation to St. James’s Palace had pride of place on the mantel.
“You will take steps to protect your sister, I trust?”
“Oh, yes,” Patience said grimly.
“I fear he is very skilled in the art of seduction, my lady, having practiced it from a very early age,” Isabella said sadly. “He began with the servant girls at his uncle’s estate, I believe, throwing them away when he was done with them.”
Patience stared, very white around the mouth.
Encouraged by the effect her revelations were having on the gullible baroness, Isabella went on with her wholly fictitious account of the rake’s progress. “Unchecked by his uncle, he soon progressed to innocent maids in nearby villages. Farmer’s daughters, then tradesmen’s daughters. Finally, he raped the vicar’s child!”
“The man is a fiend! In America, we know what to do with men like that. Not that we have men like that in America,” Patience said hastily.
“No one can touch him here, because of his uncle. Every day he grows bolder in crime. Not very long ago, he forced his way into a lady’s carriage and—and ravished her—right in front of her maid! She, of course, could not say a word to anyone, for fear of retribution.”
Patience stretched out her hands to Isabella. “Was it you, Lady Isabella?”
“I?” cried Isabella, jumping to her feet. “Certainly not! How dare you! I came here to warn you, and you—you insult me!”
“I beg your pardon most humbly,” cried Patience, now completely convinced that Lady Isabella had been one of Mr. Purefoy’s many victims. “I’m most grateful to you for coming to me with this information. I was very ill when I first arrived in England, and, I’m afraid, I was not able to watch over my sister. But, now that I am better, I will keep her safe. I
shall
keep her safe.”
“If I were you, I would send her away from London.”
“I should like to,” Patience said. “But I’m afraid my sister would never consent. She is to be presented at court.”
“Oh? Which drawing room?”
“The first.”
Isabella stared. “The
first
drawing room? How, may I ask, did you manage that?”
“I didn’t,” Patience told her. “It was all Lady Jemima’s doing.”
Isabella knew better. Silly old Jemmie Crump could never have managed it in a hundred years. It must have been Mr. Purefoy. “Do you know that he means to give a ball for her?”
“My God! Is there no end to his wickedness?”
“Apparently not,” said Isabella, who would have killed for a ball at Sunderland House. Gathering up her reticule, she rose gracefully to her feet. “I think I hear my brother returning from his drive. I will meet him downstairs.”
To her surprise, the baroness hugged her. “Thank you for telling me all this,” said Patience. “It can’t have been easy for you. I won’t forget your kindness. I’m sorry if I was a bit prickly at first,” she added awkwardly. “I see now that you only meant well. I hope you will come again. I do want to make you known to my sister.”
“I will certainly call again,” Isabella promised. “As for my brother, I believe he is smitten.”
Patience was taken aback. “Oh! Then perhaps you would be good enough to give him a hint, Lady Isabella. I—I am not interested in marriage at present.”
“Poor Ivor! He will be very sorry to hear that,” Isabella murmured.
As smug as any criminal who has gotten away with his crime, she took her leave, glowing with triumph, and went down to meet her brother.
Lord Milford’s tiger hopped down from the groom’s seat to open the door of the curricle for Lady Isabella, barely getting back in time before the earl let his horses go.
“Well?” Milford said to his sister. “I suppose you put in a good word for me?”
Isabella hid a smile. “Did you like her, Brother? I couldn’t tell. You were so quiet.”
“She’s very pretty, of course, though, perhaps a bit thin,” he said stiffly. “And a baroness in her own right. That is pleasing, too. If she is as rich as Purefoy says, I am willing to overlook her deplorable American accent. Did she speak well of me when you were alone?”
“Speak well of you?” Isabella mocked. “How could she, with her deplorable American accent?”
“Never mind that. What did she say about me?”
“You’re in luck, Brother. She likes men who stare at her like perfect imbeciles and never open their mouths.”
“That’s all right then,” he said, pleased. “I shall stay at home tomorrow, for tomorrow her ladyship will return our call. That’s the way it’s done. I want the house looking its best for her, too. And we’d better get some of that disgusting pink water in, too.”
“No!” Isabella said, alarmed. “Tomorrow you must call on Lady Waverly again, Brother, for Mr. Purefoy has promised to call on me. He may have something particular to say! No, Brother, you must go to
her
in Clarges Street.”
“It will look very odd if the Earl of Milford calls on the same lady two days together,” he protested. “People will talk.”
“Indeed, they will, Brother!”
“Oh, yes,” he said, after a moment. “I see what you mean. We
want
them to talk. Very well. I shall call on her tomorrow and stare at her without speaking.”
Isabella sighed. “No, you must talk to her tomorrow.”
He frowned. “But you said she likes men who stare at her.”
“You must show her some variety. Oh, for heaven’s sake! Take her for a drive in your curricle,” Isabella said impatiently. “Must I think of everything?”
“I shall take her for a drive in my curricle,” he announced. “That, certainly, will get the
on-dit
going!”
“What an excellent idea, Brother,” Isabella said dryly.
 
 
Patience confronted Prudence the moment her sister returned to the house that afternoon, before Pru had a chance to remove her cloak and bonnet.
“Where have you been?” she demanded.
Pru paused at the hall mirror, while Lady Jemima slipped quietly upstairs to eavesdrop.
“I was at my French lesson, of course,” Pru answered, removing her bonnet and rearranging her crushed curls. “Would you like to hear me conjugate some irregular verbs?”
“No,” said Patience, her arms folded. “I would like to know what you were doing in Bond Street yesterday!”
“I was only window shopping! I didn’t buy anything!”
“I don’t care about that,” her sister said impatiently.
“No?” Pru said sweetly. “In that case, I bought a fan.”
“I am very worried about you, Pru,” Patience began again, trying to sound less accusatory. “I know you have been seeing—seeing
that man
.”
“What man?” Pru said, laughing. “Who, Max?”
“No, Mr. Purefoy,” said Patience, surprised into speaking the dreaded name. “Who the devil is Max?”
“Max is Mr. Purefoy,” Pru told her. “It’s short for Maximum. In Latin, that means
the most.
And he is, Patience; he is the most.”
Patience’s eyes glittered. “Yes, that is what I hear,” she said coldly.
Pru sniffed. “Who is your spy? Lady Jemima?”
“No. A—a friend. Someone who is as worried about you as I am. Someone who knows what this man is capable of.”
“Well, your spy is misinformed! I was not with Max in Bond Street yesterday. I saw him, but I couldn’t catch him.”
Patience caught her breath. “Pru, you must promise me never to see him again. He is dangerous, Pru. Dangerous.”
Pru rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to tell me again how Mr. Purefoy tried to drown you in the ballroom, are you?”
“I’d be wasting my breath,” Patience said.
“Yes, you would,” Pru said angrily. “I’m glad you know! I’m tired of keeping secrets. For your information, Mr. Purefoy has been everything kind! While you were sick, he devoted himself to me. He showed me all the sights of London. We were together every day. He was most attentive. We did not mean to fall in love. It just happened!”
“Good God! I had no idea! How could you be so foolish?”
“It was delightful,” Pru said defiantly. “I was quite sad when he went away to spend Christmas with his uncle. But he is back now, and everything is just as it was. He is as much in love with me as ever.”
“This has gone far enough! He is not in love with you, you—you fool.”
“He is,” Pru insisted. “Yesterday, I met his uncle. I was afraid his grace would not approve of me, but in no time at all I had him eating out of my hand! He is going to give a ball for me.”
“That will not be possible, I’m afraid,” said Patience. “As your guardian, I will not permit it. You will have nothing more to do with that family, and they will have nothing more to do with us.”
“Max will have something to say about this!” cried Pru.
Patience pressed her lips together. “If you ever go near him again, I will dismiss Lady Jemima, and you will not go to St. James’s Palace. I will send you back to Philadelphia under armed guard! You will not see him again.”
Her face white as a sheet, her eyes glittering with rage, Pru stared at her.
“Do you think I am bluffing?”
“No,” Pru said sullenly. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you how much I hate you.”
“None whatsoever,” Patience said cheerfully. “But, then, I know that this is for your own good. One day you will thank me for it.”

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