The Pursuit of Pleasure (17 page)

“May I be of assistance?” he asked in his best boatswain’s growl, which meant to make his words mean the total opposite.

The fancy jackanapes in the immaculate wig let his face curve into a sneer. “Not unless you can carry a trunk with one arm.”

“Oh aye.” Tupper swung it up easily to balance on his shoulder. “But I won’t.” He let it drop with a heavy crash to the stones. That got the little bastard’s attention.

“Now then. I am Mister Josiah Tupper, steward of this estate, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll wipe that look off your face and tell me your business right quick before I toss both this equipage and your skinny arse off the cliff.”

The man blinked, straightened, and backed up in rapid succession, but somehow managed to hang on to the remnants of his haughty demeanor. “Cowles, valet to Sir Jeremy Wroxham. My master has the use of this house.”

“Does he now? We’ll soon see about that. ‘Sir’ Jeremy is it?” Tupper knew full well Captain Marlowe’s cousin had no courtesy title. Giving himself airs by giving them to his master. Twit. “Fetch your master down to me.”

“Fetch?” The man might have defied him, but Tupper gave him a nasty, encouraging smile and he disappeared through the kitchen door, which was, Tupper noted, now unlocked. Wroxham had a key. Another thing Tupper would have to see to—changing the locks.

Tupper strolled in and took up his position in the entry hall, feet planted wide and braced, as he’d stood on many a ship’s deck. He placed his good arm behind his back, thrust up his jaw, and waited.

It didn’t take long. In another moment a tall fellow appeared at the top of the stairs, followed by the obsequious valet, who was still filling the man’s ear with a whispered account of their encounter.

The man made his way down the stairs at a casual pace, giving Tupper all the time in the world to take his measure. Dressed to impress he was. Brocade togs, immaculately powdered hair—a town dandy. Tupper instantly dismissed him as a concern. They’d be done here in less than a minute.

“What’s all this?” the fine fellow asked with a practiced drawl.

“You have no business in this house, sir, and I must ask you to please leave.” Tupper’s words were polite, but firmly to the point.

“My dear man,” Wroxham began to drip hauteur, “do you know who I am?”

“That I do. ‘Sir’ Jeremy Wroxham, according to your man, but I think ‘Honorable’ is more to the point.”

“Yes.” The bastard didn’t even have the grace to blush. “Yes, my father, Sir William Wroxham is well known in these parts.”

“That so?”

“Yes.” The fellow’s temper was rising. “And who the devil are you?” Wroxham brought out a quizzing glass to examine Tupper as if he were a specimen of insect. Had to hand it to the man—he had some style. If he’d been his captain on a quarterdeck, Tupper might have admired the man’s sangfroid. But as he was nothing but a posing popinjay, overprivileged, overfed, and underexperienced, Tupper didn’t give a rat’s arse about him.

“I am Captain Marlowe’s Steward, Mr. Josiah Tupper, and this house is closed. If you’d come through the front, like a gentlemen, you’d have seen the knocker is down. As there is no staff available, your carriage is still in the kitchen court where you left it. Good day to you, sir.” Tupper indicated the door.

“My good fellow, there seems to be a misunderstanding. I am Captain Marlowe’s cousin, the nearest thing he has to a brother. And it is understood that I should look after the place for him while he’s gone, as I have for quite some time before.”

“I see. Then I have you and the rotting attics to thank for my employment. My instruction from Captain Marlowe was quite explicit. Quite. The house is closed.”

Wroxham finally did color, but it was tinged with anger rather than embarrassment. “I’ve had a long trip down from London, Tupper, and would like to take my ease. We can sort this out some other time.”

“No, sir. We’ve to sort this out now.”

“How long have you been in Captain Marlowe’s employ?”

“I’ve been in the Captain’s exclusive employ for these past six months.”

“Then why have I never seen you here before today?”

“The Captain took up residence but recently.”

“Did he? Here?” He gestured around at the empty rooms. “No one has lived here, apart from myself, for over twenty years. But I suppose it might suit his rather spartan tastes.”

Which begged the question of how a town dandy like Wroxham, accustomed to every creature comfort, was planning on living. Or why he should want to. Probably dodging creditors. That was the most likely story for the son of a minor, country baronet.

“As you say, sir, it’s not fit to live in. Not for Captain and Mrs. Marlowe, and not for you.”

“Well, well. Captain and Mrs. Marlowe? I had no idea he had married. Hushed-up affair was it? Taken her off to some rented room in Portsmouth, I suppose.”

“Mrs. Marlowe has taken residence at the manor house of her parents in Dartmouth while the house is under repair.” Tupper’s voice had hardened. There was no need for this boil of a man to speak ill of the Captain’s marriage.

“Manor house is it? Someone of rank? Just whom did he marry?”

Not that it was anyone’s business, but he didn’t think the Captain’s marriage was to remain a secret. Even from this pretty little jackass.

“Miss Elizabeth Paxton, as was.”

“Ho ho,” Wroxham crowed. “Taken on the little cat, has he? I should have liked to see that. He’s bound to be covered in scratches. Yes, this makes the trouble of the drive worth it. I know exactly what to do now.”

C
HAPTER 10

I
t was her mother’s finest hour. Lady Paxton held her place on the chaise like a queen on her throne, receiving her due after having made a resounding triumph. She had done the undoable: married off an unmarriageable daughter.

Lizzie let her have her triumph. Bride calls were turning out to be more fun than she had anticipated. Who knew being a married woman put a gel in an entirely different sphere of conversation than she had hitherto been allowed to enjoy? It was like becoming a member of a secret society. The Club of Heretofore Secret Knowledge for Brides. What a lark.

And, truth be told, she liked being social. She couldn’t stand subscribing to all the social conventions, but she’d hate to do completely without company. And being out in society was so much more fun now she wasn’t on the marriage mart.

And besides, it kept her far too busy to moon about, missing Jamie like a sentimental idiot. She had made good use of her fortnight in Dartmouth at the drapers’ and the cabinetmakers’ workrooms. She had found a famous deal on some lovely lemony silk fabric that would look gorgeous in the sunny music room. Glass House would be the envy of the town in no time at all. It was marvelous, being an independent woman.

And at the moment, she was the toast of the neighborhood. Her mother’s “at home” was exceptionally well attended. The Reverend Mr. and Mrs. Marlowe had come, along with several people with whom Lizzie was not yet acquainted. But forming new acquaintances was the very purpose of an “at home.”

“Elizabeth,” her mother said, “may I present to you your new aunt-in-law, Lady Mary Wroxham? My daughter, Mrs. Marlowe.”

Lizzie was introduced to a tiny woman with a soft, almost fade-away manner.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Wroxham.” Lizzie could not ever remember having met the tiny, birdlike woman before, but then again, in the past few years she had gone about in Dartmouth society as little as possible. Or as little as her mother would let her get away with. And she definitely would have steered clear of anyone with the name Wroxham.

She was just scanning the room over the lady’s head for her unfortunate excuse for a son, when Lady Wroxham’s soft, cultured voice recalled her manners.

“It is a very great pleasure to meet you as well, for I have heard so much about you.”

Good Lord, if it had been her son who had done the telling, then none of it could have been good. But the Lady gave her a sweet, benign smile and reached out to pat her hand encouragingly.

“Well, I must say my dear, you snatched up the prize of the family, as well as of the county. My nephew is entirely lucky to have you.”

Lizzie was surprised into her warmest smile.

“You are too kind, my lady.”

“Now, none of that, amongst family. You’ll call me Aunt Mary now, won’t you?”

“I would be honored.” What a lovely surprise that this cultured, soft-spoken creature should be Jeremy Wroxham’s mother. What a contrast they made; she so kind and well-spoken and he such an insufferable ass.

But there was her friend, Celia, at the door, looking lovely, dressed in an elegant, fashionable pink ensemble that made the most of her dark hair and porcelain skin. “Celia, you look marvelous!”

Celia’s response was restrained. “Mrs. Marlowe.” She curtseyed prettily, indeed she did everything prettily, how could she not? But her greeting lacked her usual warmth and affection.

“Dear Celia.” Lizzie kissed her cheek and immediately drew her to the side so they might be private. “Are you very angry at me?”

Celia widened her blue eyes reproachfully.

“You ought to have written, Elizabeth, at the very least. You ought to have told me of your marriage, so I didn’t have to hear it on the High Street from that awful Anne Winterbourne.”

“Oh no, not her! Oh, Celia, that is awful. I am sorry. Can you forgive me? I ought to have made you a bridesmaid, but there simply wasn’t time. Captain Marlowe was in an awful rush.”

“How sad,” Celia breathed, “not to have a proper wedding.”

Lizzie had to laugh. “Oh no, not sad. There were, how shall I say it… compensations. Come sit by me, and we can talk and be seen sharing confidences. That will put Anne Winter-face to rout.”

She linked arms and strolled away from the others. “You should say you acted surprised because you were keeping my confidences, but that you were there the very moment Captain Marlowe and I fell in love. Right there on the terrace of the Dartmouth Arms assembly room.”

“Did you really fall in love? At the Dartmouth Arms assembly room? Really?”

“Of course not,” she said as carelessly as possible. “But it’s been a great lark.”

“A lark?” Celia’s eyes warmed with the hint of the forbidden. Her mother never allowed her larks. She could only live vicariously through Lizzie’s. “Never say, when he said he had a proposition for you, it was marriage?”

“It was!”

“Oh my, who could have guessed?”

“Certainly not I.”

“Nor I either. That’s just famous!”

“Yes. The workings of the male mind continue to be as unfathomable as they are amusing.” Lizzie took a moment to look her friend over. “You do look well, Celia. How have you been keeping?”

“Not as well as you, I think.” Celia pinked becomingly and gave her a shy smile. “A married woman. And is it true what they say?” she asked on a whisper. “And don’t clam up and tell me the topic is unsuitable for my maidenly ears.”

“Heavens no, what a bore. Come let’s sit and have a good long coze, for I’ve so much to tell you, you simply won’t believe it.”

It was such fun to be with Celia again. They talked of all sorts of topics, and Lizzie even began to be seduced out of her resolve to go back to Glass House.

“Oh, Elizabeth, if you take a house in town, think what fun it would be. I could spend my afternoons with you, and you could chaperone me to the dressmakers, for you’re an old married woman now. It would be so much pleasanter than with Mama.”

It was a delightful idea. She could still be independent in town.

But her attention was called away from Celia and back to the assemblage by her mother. Everyone, it seemed, wanted their turn to congratulate.

“I must say you’ve surprised us all by becoming Mrs. Marlowe!” Sir Edward Foster had always been jolly and teasing. But she imagined he used his long acquaintance with the Paxtons to say out loud what everyone else merely thought. Lizzie supposed many of her mother’s friends must have been privy to her parents’ despair as she grew into a veritable ape-leader.

“And where has your Captain Marlowe been dispatched? Back to Toulon?”

So his exploits were more generally known than she thought. It was rather embarrassing to realize she’d been so unaware of things going on around her in the world. Well, that was going to change, wasn’t it? No doubt she’d be secretly glued to the newspapers and naval lists to keep up with the latest news of the war.

Yes. She would order the newspapers directly. What fun to be a married woman, able to lead her own life as she pleased. Another benefit of the Secret Society of Brides. Wonderful.

She steered her pleasant thoughts back to the conversation. “The Captain sailed for the Antipodes.”

“The Antipodes? Halfway around the world while we’re in the middle of a war with the Revolutionaries across the Channel? Where’s the sense in that?” Foster barked at her, as if she had been the one making irrational decisions for the Admiralty.

Lizzie slid a shrug down her shoulders. “I find there’s little sense to be found in war at all, Sir Edward.”

“Not a very patriotic view for someone so recently wed to a decorated naval officer.”

Lizzie turned to find herself addressed by none other than the Honorable Jeremy Wroxham, Jamie’s obnoxious but handsome cousin. He was, by most standards, more than tolerable to look at, if you liked that overconfident, patronizing type.

Lizzie did not. She had always avoided him and his kind. Too smooth by half in her estimation. But at least half the young ladies in Dartmouth were mad for his poetic good looks, and his handsome face always ensured he was invited to all the best of Dartmouth’s drawing rooms.

But he and Lizzie had never got on. Probably because shehad always preferred the company of his younger, poorer cousin, Jamie. And she had made sure Wroxham had known it.

Lizzie made the barest of curtsies.

Wroxham echoed her civility with a brief, shallow bow. At least she knew where she stood.

“Miss Paxton, or should I say, Mrs. Marlowe.”

“You should.”

Now that she looked, it was easy to see he was related to Jamie. They had the same light colored eyes from their mothers. On Mrs. Marlowe the gray was mousy and on Jamie a bit otherworldly, but with Wroxham the gray eyes were just cold. And he was a shade shorter that Jamie, though it was hard to tell with his elaborately coiffed hair. Such a town dandy. This man definitely had a valet.