Virginia Henley (32 page)

“I expect that business of the duel has blown over by now. In London there is nothing quite so boring as stale gossip. However, I’d appreciate it if you’d manage to keep yourself out of any more scrapes. I have neither the time nor the inclination to keep coming to your rescue.”

Adam hoped that by downplaying the danger of the duel, Tony would take heed. He knew if he lectured him too harshly, it might push him headlong into more recklessly dangerous behaviour. Adam now accepted that the cousins hated each other, but it was ridiculous for Tony to think Bernard was out to murder him.

Tony felt like tearing a strip off him, but kept her tongue between her teeth and seethed silently. If he considered attempted murder and a duel to the death as simply a scrape, she would be wasting her breath to enter into a shouting match with him. The trouble was Adam Savage didn’t take Bernard Lamb’s threat to Anthony seriously. She wished she could feel the same complacency. But she knew it was serious. Deadly serious. And it would never be finished until one of them was dead.

In the salon at Curzon Street, Antonia was able to dispense with male waistcoat, cravat, and jacket while she was with her grandmother. She rolled up her shirtsleeves as she listened to the latest news of the ton.

“Darling, you’ve been gone so long, all your clothes have gone out of style. It’s your birthday next week. Do you fancy something pretty?”

Tony didn’t want to celebrate her seventeenth birthday without Anthony.

“You forget I gave up petticoats for lent,” Tony said dryly.

Roz made no comment, but continued as if she hadn’t
spoken. “Side panniers are now dead as a dodo. In fact nothing at all is to be wired. Every lady in town this winter is wearing a loose Dutch jacket with wide sleeves, edged in fur. They say the latest fashion for spring will be muslin.”

Tony shivered. The English climate, especially at the moment, was not conducive to wearing muslin. “Why can’t women be more practical?” she asked, just exactly as if she were a man. “I’d think woolen shawls and flannel petticoats would be more suitable.”

“Oh, speaking of shawls, cashmere ones from India are the very last word in elegance. Brightly patterned calico is also making a fashion statement along with Indian-red taffety.”

“Really?” Tony said thoughtfully, with an idea for importing goods on the return voyage of the
Red Dragon.

“And hairstyles are enough to drive you to drink. The fashion lasts not five minutes! One day you puff your hair at the sides and find yourself in the true sanctum of the mode. The next day you puff your hair at the sides and you are forever utterly cast out!”

“I hope society’s concentration upon trivia is not really serious. I hope it’s a humorous attempt to shock or amuse.”

“Lady Holland, who absolutely dominates Whig society these days, used to have her hair braided across her forehead in the summer, but now she has a great cluster of curls about her face. Such a multitude of ringlets gives her all the charm of a French poodle with distemper.”

Though her grandmother was being quite witty, Antonia wasn’t amused. She remembered the elegant Lady Holland visiting Half-Moon Street too damned often.

Mr. Burke brought them tea and sandwiches, but within minutes Tony poured all three of them a glass of sherry.

“I have a confession to make. I’m surprised you haven’t heard all about the scandal by now.” Suddenly Antonia had their undivided attention. “Do you recall the day we visited Edenwood? Bernard Lamb was there large as life,
and while I was riding in the woods that day someone was shooting at me. I was positive it was my cousin and I decided then and there to rid myself of him.”

“What the devil did you do?” asked Roz, her hand at her throat.

“I challenged him to a duel. I knew he wouldn’t play fair, so I turned and shot him on the count of nine. Unfortunately I didn’t kill him, I only winged him.”

Roz’s eyes were like saucers and Mr. Burke’s mouth gaped open. “Adam Savage came to stop the whole thing, but he was too late. However, he was in time to see that Bernard Lamb also turned and fired on the count of nine. He thought I might be arrested for what I’d done and so he hustled me out of the country, hoping things would blow over.”

“Oh, darling, you can’t go on with this dangerous deception any longer. You don’t know when that insane creature will strike again. I think we should inform the law; have him arrested.”

“I’m the one they’d arrest. I broke the law by challenging him to a duel, and he’s so damned devious, he’d likely swear he fired in the air and I deliberately shot him and tried to kill him.”

Mr. Burke made a suggestion. “I’m sure that Adam Savage could put the fear of the devil into Bernard Lamb. He has a very powerful physique and looks totally dangerous and intimidating.”

“Adam Savage doesn’t believe me when I tell him Bernard Lamb sabotaged our boat and killed Anthony and that he’s still determined to become the next Lord Lamb. He was outraged over the duel and tells me he hasn’t the time or the inclination to get me out of any more scrapes.”

“From now on I think I’d better accompany you when you go wandering about London,” Mr. Burke said decisively.

“God Almighty, you’ll have me in leading strings,” she protested.

Roz put her head on one side. “Antonia, I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but you’ve changed since you’ve been on this voyage. They do say that travel broadens the mind, but it’s more than that. You’re more assertive, more sure of yourself. It’s as if you’ve suddenly become self-possessed and aware of your own power.”

Antonia’s lips went up at the corners. “I’ll never be the same again, thank God. I learned more about life and about myself in the last month than I learned in seventeen years.”

“Good Heavens, a girl usually doesn’t change that drastically until she marries and becomes a woman,” Roz mused.

Antonia clicked her heels together, gave them both a formal little bow from the waist, and said enigmatically, “Say no more.”

Adam Savage did a very strange thing for a man who had purged a woman from his thoughts. His first act upon returning to London was to pay a visit to Watson and Goldman and ask them to find a young lady by the name of Ann Lambeth. He told them what little he knew of her and advised them to hire a man to trace her. He would pay whatever fees they asked and promised a generous bonus if they were successful in locating the lady.

Tony went about London cautiously. She stopped to gaze in the window of London’s most fashionable shoe shop at the St. James’s end of Pall Mall. She sighed over the green lace slippers with blue heels, then strolled on.
As she passed White’s Club, she saw Colonel Dan Mackinnon and Sherry sitting in the bow window. They both hailed her as if she were their savior. Tony wasn’t a member of White’s, so her two friends came out to join her.

“Has the gossip over the duel blown over?” Tony asked bluntly.

“Silly old thing! As if we’d be hailing you from White’s window if you were still beyond the pale,” Sherry said, shoving a stack of papers beneath his arm. “I’m writing a new play. Perhaps you can help me out with names for my characters; that’s always the tricky part.”

“Let’s go and eat. I hear the Norris Street Coffee House in the Haymarket serves a curry fit for the gods,” Mackinnon suggested.

“Curry becoming popular, is it?” Tony asked, mentally adding it to the list of cargo she’d import.

“By the by, heard that Indian Savage fellow speak in the House yesterday. Usually the members lounge about sucking oranges and cracking nuts during the debates, but there was perfect silence when he spoke.”

Though Tony knew Savage had bought himself a seat in parliament, she was surprised he was making speeches. “What did he speak about?”

“Don’t recall. Actually I was a trifle foxed yesterday. It’s this infernal play that’s driving me to drink. Say, you wouldn’t mind if I called my main character Anthony, would you?” Sherry asked.

“Absolutely not,” Tony assured him.

“Anthony Absolute!” Sherry cried, as if he’d had an inspiration from his muse.

“By Satan,” Mackinnon said, dropping his fork and taking a large draft of ale, “I know curry is either mild or hot, but this stuff is Cauldron of Death!”

“Is Prince George still enamored of Maria Fitz?”

“Oh, God yes. They’re inseparable, joined at the hip,” Sherry mocked.

“Careful or you’ll end up in the pillories.” Mackinnon tittered.

“No bloody room. A chap was put in the stocks for referring to her as the Vice-Queen when rumors of their marriage circulated.”

Tony thought Vice-Queen was rather witty. Sherry shuffled about among his papers and handed a couple to Tony. “Read the latest lampoons.”

The first read:

Tony chuckled, then perused the next pamphlet.

“Oh, that’s absolutely brilliant,” Tony said, laughing. “Are you sure you didn’t write this, Sherry?”

Sherry winked. “No, by God, but I wouldn’t be surprised if our limerick friend didn’t earn a few bob, knocking these off.”

Dan Mackinnon said, “Maria does have big dumplings. I think that’s the attraction.”

“Dumplings?” Sherry protested. “They’re more like hot-air balloons.”

As Tony looked about the coffeehouse, she saw that
every man present wore an elaborate powdered wig. She suddenly remembered she’d brought a vast supply of wigs and Venetian talc for sale in London, but for all she knew they were still in the hold of the
Flying Dragon.
She had no choice but to pay Adam Savage a visit.

“Well, I’m off,” Tony said, pushing her chair back from the table.

“Wouldn’t be our friend if you weren’t,” punned Sherry.

“Will we see you at the fight tomorrow night at Marybone public gardens near the Oxford Road?” Mackinnon asked.

“Perhaps,” Tony replied. “Boxing matches aren’t really up my alley.”

“Oh, this one’s different. Mrs. Stokes, a female fighter, is attracting enormous crowds.”

Sherry shook his head sadly. “What the hell is wrong with females today that makes them want to imitate males?”

“It’s beyond me, Sherry,” Tony replied, but she knew her cheeks were flying red flags.

When Tony ran up the front steps of Half-Moon Street to ring the bell, the door was opened by a very smart butler. “Oh, hello, I’m Tony Lamb. I’ll show myself up.”

“Indeed you will not, young sir. The master is busy with his secretary at the moment. Perhaps another time would be more convenient.”

Tony bristled and was about to push her way past the servant when a daunting thought came to her. Perhaps Savage had a woman with him and the butler was being discreet. She certainly wouldn’t want to find him in flagrante delicto, but it would be her very great pleasure to interrupt him.

“Mr. Savage is my guardian as well as my business partner in a shipping venture. I’m sure if you announce me, he’ll immediately cease whatever he’s doing to attend to me.”

“Very well, sir. Kindly wait in the receiving room.”

In a few minutes the butler returned. “Mr. Savage will see you in his office, Lord Lamb.”

Tony found him with Jeffrey Sloane and it was patently obvious they were up to their elbows in paperwork. “Sorry to interrupt you,” Tony muttered, “but it just occurred to me I bought cargo from the Continent to sell in London.”

Savage waved a negligent hand. “Already resold the champagne at two hundred percent profit. If you want an exact tally, Sloane will provide it.”

“No, no. I’m not worried about profits.”

“Then you should be,” Savage said shortly.

“Well, then I am. I was just trying to be polite,” Tony countered.

“You have a decision to make about the wigs. You can dispose of the entire shipment to a hair wholesaler or you can set up a wig lottery in Rosemary Lane. The masses who can’t afford them are always willing to wager a bob or two, which is one of the reasons they can’t afford them in the first place. Profits are enormous, but it’s a time-consuming business.”

“Well, you’re the expert at this import-export thing. Might as well sell them to the wholesaler.”

“Good decision. We’ll make a businessman of you yet.”

The butler reappeared. “There is a young woman below to see you, Mr. Savage. I tried to discourage her, but she insists it’s a matter of grave import.”

“Christ, what next? Well, show her up. The more the merrier!”

Jeffrey Sloane excused himself, as he had obviously been trained to do when a female came calling.

To Adam and Tony’s surprise the visitor was Dolly from the Olympian Theater. Her mouth was set in a grim little line, although her eyes suddenly widened when she saw Lord Lamb. She hesitated only a moment, then straightened her shoulders and plunged in. “I’m in the family way, an’ Lord Lamb is the father!”

“Why, you lying little bitch!” Tony cried, slapping her in the face.

In a flash Adam Savage backhanded Tony across the mouth, knocking her into a chair and sending it flying across the office. In a biting voice he said, “Never strike a woman again in my presence, you arrogant young swine!”

Tony’s eyes were liquid with tears and she pressed the back of her hand against her swollen mouth.

Dolly’s eyes were glittering with avarice. Savage had immediately jumped to her defense and that must mean he believed her tale.

“Sit down, both of you,” Savage commanded.

Antonia was pierced to the heart that Adam had actually struck her.

“I told you to stay out of scrapes, but I suppose that’s asking too much of a blue-blooded young rakehell such as yourself!” He dismissed Tony with a searing look of contempt and turned his attention to Dolly.

“Has your condition been confirmed by a doctor?”

“Yes, sir,” Dolly said firmly, her chin in the air.

“Well, since you know marriage is out of the question, I presume you came for money.”

Dolly bit her lip. It would have been really something to be wed to a lord and called Lady Lamb, but she’d known all along she couldn’t intimidate a man like Indian Savage. He’d hit the nail right on the head. She’d come for money.

“I shan’t pay you a goddamn penny!” Tony asserted. “Why the hell didn’t you come to me? I’ll tell you why … because the whole thing is a barefaced lie. You came running to my guardian because you’re after money and you know he controls the purse strings.”

“I came to Mr. Savage because I believed he’d do what was right!”

“And just how much do you think would be right, Dolly?” Savage asked quietly.

She took a deep breath. “Five thousand.”

Savage laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. He scribbled a
note payable on his bank and handed it to her. “Two thousand sounds about right to me, Dolly; give or take a thousand.”

She tucked it into her reticule and dried her eyes. She’d only hoped for a thousand and would have settled for half. As she stood to leave, Adam Savage fixed her with his glacial, ice-blue eyes.

“It is understood this is the last we shall hear of the matter.”

She sketched him a curtsy and hurried out.

“So that’s how you handle females you get up the stick,” Tony said with a sneer.

“No it is not, you young lout. If that had been an innocent young girl you’d gotten into trouble, I would have made you pay and pay dearly. But Dolly is another kettle of fish. She’s far too wise to get pregnant in the first place unless she intended to set a matrimonial trap. When girls like that do happen to get caught, they know how to get shut of it in half an hour. Now, for Christ’s sake Tony, can you keep your nose clean or do you need a wet nurse?”

“If you’ve finished knocking me down, I’ll take my leave.” Her mouth was so sore, it hurt her to speak.

“Don’t expect me to apologize for hitting you. You had it coming.”

“Someday you
will
apologize for hitting me. I guarantee it,” she said quietly.

Tony managed to slip into the house without being noticed. She bathed her face and called Savage every shocking name she could curl her tongue about. She’d have a damn great bruise and when Roz saw it, she’d insist on Mr. Burke accompanying her everywhere. Perhaps she should go home to Lamb Hall. It was within riding distance of Edenwood, the house she’d fallen hopelessly in love with. She’d love to see it now spring was coming. Tony couldn’t really understand how Adam Savage could stay away from it. It was his dream home and yet he’d
hardly spent five minutes there. What he needed was a wife. Someone who would cherish Edenwood and fill it with children. She reprimanded herself sternly. She must be out of her mind longing to marry a man who had just struck her in the face.

Another lady in another part of London also fancied becoming a wife. Her aspirations seemed just as hopeless. Maria Fitzherbert was taking late supper with the Prince of Wales in his private suite at Carlton House. She had no doubts that George was totally besotted with her. He had made her the toast of London. Every hostess knew her success or failure depended upon whether her guest list was headed by the new favorite. They were thankful for small mercies. At least Mrs. Fitzherbert was a respectable widow, a very different class of woman from the Prince’s usual choice of gold-digging actress.

Maria was walking a fine line. She had taken supper in George’s private suite once before, at which time she had learned just exactly what England’s Prince expected of her. She had only escaped by protesting outraged virtue and by allowing kisses and cuddles to take the place of capitulation and congress.

Since then, however, they had been alone umpteen times in the enclosed royal carriage, where she had learned that a young man in his prime was after larger game than the two plump partridges she used to pacify him. It had come as a bit of a surprise to Maria just how frisky a man in his twenties could be when she measured him against her two elderly husbands. Not altogether an unpleasant surprise, however.

Now, once more her virtue was in jeopardy. She was not naive enough to think she would escape altogether unscathed, but everything had its price and she was determined to make her Prince pay and pay dearly.

“Ah, Puss, it does me good to see how much you enjoy precisely the same food I love.”

“Your Highness’s chef has no equal,” Maria said with a nervous little laugh.

“I beg you not to ‘Highness’ me. Please let’s be Prinny and Pussy, my love?”

“Of course, Prinny. You know I would do anything in my power to make you happy.” The minute it was off her tongue, she knew she shouldn’t have said it. He had taken her off balance tonight by wearing a brocade dressing gown, which made her downright nervous. As a consequence she had consumed one dish after another as a stalling tactic, but delicious as it was, if she took one more mouthful of trifle she would burst the seams of her Parma-violet satin.