The Primrose Path (16 page)

“The military can be discouraged by the dogs, and you do not have to worry about the government officials coming to gather information from Mademoiselle Lavalier,” he lied. “Trust me, they have more on their minds than seducing ladies’ companions.” There, now she’d have Mrs. Gibb, the dogs, and her own prickly personality to preserve her from indiscretion, he thought.

Angelina believed he was putting her in her place, that no gentleman was going to lower himself to her level. He only cared about her reputation lest anyone think she was
his
paramour. “I am sure I will manage. As I have said before, my reputation is no concern of yours. But if you are so worried over it, my lord, perhaps you should leave now, since we have been closeted here alone for long enough to set the scandal broth simmering. Mrs. Gibb is teaching. Mavis is upstairs sewing, and Mrs. Penn has a hundred better things to do than play propriety. Mademoiselle Lavalier, of course, is still sleeping. I suggest you return after two if you wish to converse with her.”

Corin hadn’t meant she should throw
him
out. After all, she had his oath not to go beyond the line. He thought she might enjoy a drive, since she was relieved of the schoolchildren, but, now that she mentioned it, people would be sure to talk if he was seen squiring a pretty young female around. With a young widow and an ever-young cyprian also in residence, the townsfolk were sure to think he was starting a harem. Lud, Lord Wyte and his daughter would be arriving any day. Corin stood up to leave. “Yes, well, you can tell Mrs. Gibb that she is hired. She may as well fetch her daughter today when she brings the rest of her belongings.”

“Elizabeth will be thrilled.”

“Do make her swear not to mention Mercedes Lavalier’s presence to anyone.”

“To whom? The footman at her place of employment or the matron at the orphanage? Unlike your French friend, who tells everyone she had to flee Paris because of her subversive activities, Elizabeth knows how to keep her own counsel. You won’t be sorry.”

Well, he was, but she was right, he had to leave anyway. “Oh, before I go, there is something else, the dog.”

“What, have you given up on Homer already? Didn’t we have a wager about that?”

“I do not renege on my wagers, Miss Armstead, and I do not give up. Homer can make the trek between the castle and the cottage for the next ten years, for all I care. I’m just afraid that the next time he goes through the nearest window to get out, it might be one on the second story.”

“And I must admit that with Juliette here your chances of keeping Homer there are greatly reduced, which neither of us could have foreseen at the time. I shan’t hold you to our bet, my lord.”

What, did she think him less than honorable? “A bet is a bet, Miss Armstead. Oddsmakers don’t forgive a debt simply because the horse comes up lame. That’s why they call it gambling. Play and pay, that’s the only decent thing.”

What, did he think her so removed from Polite Society that she didn’t understand the gentleman’s code? “Very well, my lord, if it pleases you to toss your money away, I thank you and the dogs thank you, and I should think Homer thanks you for not making him run back and forth all day.”

“I’d like another dog.”

“Ouch!” Angelina pricked her finger again. Sucking on it so the blood wouldn’t get on the little dress she was sewing, she asked him why. “You don’t even appear to like any of the dogs. Why are you so determined to have one of them?”

Because he didn’t give up and he didn’t renege on wagers, even with himself. He’d sworn to reduce the population at Primrose Cottage and, by George, he was going to do it. “I like some of them very well,” he protested, standing farther downwind of the old bulldog by the fireplace. “I liked Molly till she found the kitchens, and Browne’s dog is wondrously well behaved. I even liked Spooky and Bunny. Why do you persist in thinking me an animal hater?”

“Perhaps because Spooky and Bunny are in my yard right now, not yours. Or because you never stopped thinking that the lot of them are useless burdens kept alive by an eccentric old lady.”

“I never said you were old.”

“I meant your aunt!”

“Oh. Well, you are wrong. I no longer think of them as worthless. I have a perfectly good use for one of the dogs. My sister is coming with her brats—ah, her brood. A boy and a girl. Eight and ten, respectively. I thought they’d like a pet of their own.” He thought a dog would keep them occupied and out of his hair. “Doting uncle and all that.”

“Eight and ten are good ages. Children aren’t so clumsy by then, and can be taught a sense of responsibility. They can also go for walks and rambles in the woods. Let me think. You wouldn’t want a very big dog that couldn’t come inside, nor a tiny one that couldn’t play. I know:Pug would be perfect. He adores children. He even lets the village girls put bonnets on him. He doesn’t bark or chew or snap. The children will love him.”

They’d better, enough to take Pug along when they returned home. Corin hated pugs. He hated them more when this one had to be carried in his buttoned-up waistcoat so it wouldn’t slide off the driver’s bench and out of the curricle. Corin felt like a fool, with that pushed-in phiz and those pop eyes staring out of the top of his vest.

He didn’t feel as much the fool when Angelina stood up to see him out. She’d sewn the doll’s dress to her own skirt.

* * * *

Corin was content with the morning’s work. Elizabeth Gibb seemed a pleasant enough female, who would relieve his guilt about having his aunt’s heiress teaching his dependents. Too bad she wasn’t a doctor, but he was working on that. She’d also relieve some of his guilt at ruining Lena’s reputation by association. He’d make sure everyone knew she was a respectable widow, and Mercedes Lavalier was an eminent
artiste.

His content lasted about as long as the drive to the gatehouse, where he stopped to make sure Fredricks and his men had the list of government functionaries. Everyone else was to be escorted to the castle, not permitted to turn off for the path to Primrose Cottage. Fredricks allowed as how there’d been no strangers, except the dowdy doxy what walked down to the village that morning.

“She’s the new schoolteacher, Sergeant, a respectable widow.”

Fredricks only held a dirty finger alongside his nose. “If you says so, cap’n, but she didn’t have no ring, and yesterday she was a miss, not a missus. Iffen she’s a schoolmarm, next you’ll be telling me the wispy one is a fairy princess and the French whore is a nun.” He winked.

Oh, lud, Corin thought, the man had the mind of a slug and the mouth of a snake. He was most likely spewing his filth at the village tavern besides, if not at the army barracks. The world and its uncle would believe Corin was keeping three loose women at Primrose Cottage. No, they wouldn’t think it was a harem; they’d believe it was a bordello, by Jupiter!

Well, at least he was still satisfied with his plan to bring Pug home to his niece and nephew. One less dog at Primrose Cottage, one less thing for the brats to whine about. If the dog kept them happy for an hour, it was worth the price of the waistcoat Doddsworth was burning. And if Corin’s avuncular attentions proved acceptable to his sister, perhaps she’d be more amenable to helping him stop the gossip.

This time his sense of satisfaction lasted for two hours, until his sister started screaming the house down that he was trying to murder her babies.

Chapter Eighteen

How the deuce was he supposed to know the little brats were so allergic? Then again, he did remember Florrie going all swollen and splotchy when they were children, but they always had dogs and cats. And she was always broken out and blotched. He’d thought it was something she’d outgrow. Obviously not.

She hadn’t outgrown ripping up at him, either. While Florrie ranted and raved, Corin reflected that, as plug-ugly as the pug in his arms was, Florrie’s puling, pouting progeny were homelier. He supposed that did make him the unnatural, unloving uncle Florrie was screeching about.

“Dash it, Florrie, I was only trying to—”

She wouldn’t listen, this tigress defending her cubs from deadly dog hair. He couldn’t strike her or shake her or strangle her, so Corin resorted to his boyhood answer to his sibling’s sermons. He called her Flat-chested Florrie, to which the mother of two reacted in her own ages-old inimitable fashion: “I’m going to tell Mama.”

Lud, not Mama. “Blast it, I’m taking the dog away. I’ll send for the physician if you think—” No, there was no local physician. Corin couldn’t see dragging a doctor five towns away to look at a case of hives. “I’ll buy the brats anything they want. Just don’t write to—”

“And heaven only knows what she’ll say about your scandalous behavior, carrying on with Aunt Sophie’s companion that way!”

Corin was rethinking his tenets about not striking a woman. “I am not carrying on with Miss Armstead, by Jupiter, and she’s no longer our aunt’s companion; she is a lady in her own right.”

“And I suppose all those other females are visiting royalty, you libertine, you profligate, you—”

“You are trying my patience, Florrie. There is nothing improper about my relationship with the women at Primrose Cottage. Any of the women.”

“Well, I won’t ask that French dancer to the castle and you cannot make me. Entertainment, indeed! We know what kind of entertainment she’d provide.”

“What, are you worried Talbot might stray? It’s a wonder he doesn’t if you treat him to your temper tantrums. But you don’t have to worry, the lady would not be interested in your husband.” Mercedes never bothered with weak-chinned widgeons.

“The
lady is
not coming near Talbot. Mama would have seven kinds of spasms if I invited Mercedes Lavalier to the castle.”

“Mama doesn’t have to find out, you peagoose. And what do you know about Mercedes Lavalier anyway?”

“I know that she was notorious for her affairs in France and she came straight to you, her former lover, her
cher
Knolly. Everyone knows that. She told half the innkeepers along the way where she was headed, you dunderhead. I’d be surprised if Mama hasn’t heard already.”

Oh, hell. “Whether she has or has not is immaterial.  This is still my house and my house party. I say Mademoiselle Lavalier will come to dance at least once, and will join the company for dinner before and tea after. She will be treated as an honored guest in my home. Is that understood?”

“I understand that you are trying to ruin us all. First you try to sicken the children, now you want to destroy my social standing in the ton. Next you’ll be demanding I invite your new ladybird Lena, or that strumpet you’ve hired as schoolteacher. What happened to your good sense, Knolly?”

“If I had any good sense, I’d have drowned you years ago. For the last time, Lena is neither a maidservant nor my mistress. Mrs. Gibb is a proper governess and an excellent teacher.”

Florrie snorted, not a very ladylike sound at all. “And what about those other females your insolent gatekeeper brought up to the castle? I suppose you’re going to say they are ladies, too? Ladies of the night, or my name isn’t Florencia Camille Annabelle Knowlton Talbot.”

“What other ladies? I didn’t invite any strangers.”

Florrie sniffed again. “They said they were Miss Arm-stead’s sisters. I sent them to the roundabout, you can be assured. Sisters, hah! Lena never had a sister all the years she was with Aunt Sophie. As plain as she is, she wouldn’t have a sister like those women, either. I don’t know what kind of rig you are running now, but I won’t—”

“Lud, what if one of them was Angelina’s sister?” She’d never forgive him.

“Those light-skirts? Humph! She’d be better off without.”

Corin thought amen to that if they were like his own fishwife of a sibling. He had to go talk to that flat, Fredricks, about sending soiled doves up to the castle. He had to go talk to Lena, return the dog, find her sister, find a physician, buy the brats presents. Lud.

* * * *

In the end Corin bought a toy for Mrs. Gibb’s daughter, not his niece and nephew. He thought that child needed a gift more than those two, and the white stuffed dog with black button eyes reminded him of that half-blind dust mop Lena carried around. He was not hoping to find favor with Lena by selecting something to her taste for the little girl. That’s what he told himself, anyway. It was just that the porcelain dolls looked too fragile for a real child to play with, and their glass eyes reminded him of Lord Wyte’s stuffed trophies.

Which in turn reminded Corin that his chances of pleasing his prospective father-in-law were as dim as his current reputation. Thunderation, even Mrs. Culpepper at the emporium tittered when he purchased the dog. Old Rupert at the livery where he left his horse kept winking at him, and not only because his lordship asked the ostler to watch Pug for an hour. The viscount’s own butler was giving him the cold shoulder for disgracing the family name, and his valet Doddsworth—well, Corin was going to miss how the fellow tied a cravat.

There would be no redeeming his good name, either, not while Mercedes Lavalier was in the neighborhood and unattached. Corin reviewed his guest list for possibilities, feeling only slightly like a procurer. Mercedes would find her own gallant. She always did. At least Corin would be exonerated of trifling with Miss Armstead, which in fact he had done, but not recently. Everyone would know her for a lady as soon as he could get her up to the castle and introduced properly.

As for Elizabeth Gibb, Corin didn’t think he’d have to worry about her, not the way Averill Browne had gone on about her goodness since they’d come back from London, nor the way he was sitting on the floor now, playing with the child when he wasn’t staring at the mother. Let the architect marry the schoolmistress, the viscount prayed. He’d set them up with a house in the village, host the wedding breakfast, anything to make matters more respectable.   The viscount hoped Lena wouldn’t be too disappointed at losing her
parti
to the governess. The frippery fellow wasn’t good enough for her, anyway. No, she didn’t look downcast in the least, Corin noted, watching her as she watched the scene with a fond smile playing about her soft lips. And his sister thought Miss Armstead was plain? Gads, Florrie hadn’t seen Lena recently. Why, the chit became more lovely day by day, and not just because he’d been without a woman for too long. Mercedes Lavalier was the most beautiful woman of his experience, and available, but he wasn’t one whit attracted to her. Perhaps one whit, he amended, for he was a male, after all, and Mercedes was a goddess of femininity. Lena was a real woman. Deuce take it, that was the problem. She was laughing now, as she left Mercedes’s side and came toward where he stood by the window in her parlor.