Why Lords Lose Their Hearts (17 page)

She should probably have agreed when Archer intimated that he could come to her last night, but she’d been unwilling to face another argument with him despite her suspicion that having him with her would have allowed her to sleep. Then there was the matter of Mrs. Fitzroy. His concern for her after the attack last night had been all she could have wished, but that he would bring that woman to Vauxhall and parade her in front of the ton like that made her more angry than she was willing to admit. Blakemore, she fumed, was entirely different, and she was not willing to entertain the idea that what was good for the goose was good for the gander.

Geese were silly creatures anyway.

She went down to breakfast, expecting to find the table empty, but was surprised and, despite her pique, pleased to see Archer there. He was often long gone by the time she came down.

“Your Grace,” he said, rising as she entered the room. “I hope you were able to sleep better than I was.”

“Little, I’m afraid,” she conceded once she’d asked the footman for a cup of tea and chosen a rasher of bacon and some toast from the sideboard. “For all that that ruffian didn’t actually harm me, he certainly was able to upset my mind.”

“That’s the point,” he said tersely. “He wishes to steal your peace of mind. To make you jump at every little noise or jostle.”

“Well, he’s certainly succeeded,” she said morosely. “I thought I had more fortitude than this. But it would appear that I am just as mortal as anyone else.”

“Do not be too hard on yourself,” Archer said, putting his teacup down. “Even grown men have found themselves unsettled in such situations. I think you handled the events of last evening admirably.”

“I thank you, my lord,” she said. Then, deciding that they needed to clear the air between them, she indicated that the servants should leave the room. Once they were gone, she said, “I regret not allowing you to come to me last night,” she said, not daring to look at him lest he see the emotion that was sure to show in her eyes. “It was stubborn of me, and I think I robbed us both of some much needed solace all for the sake of my pique.”

She looked up and saw that he was smiling. Since there were no witnesses, she supposed, he put his hand over hers where it lay on the table. “I am sorry about Mrs. Fitzroy,” he said wryly. “I admit that I was a bit … well…”—he looked sheepish—“jealous that you’d agreed to accompany Blakemore to Vauxhall. So I sent round a note to Mrs. Fitzroy. But you must know that there is nothing between us.”

Perdita felt a weight lifted from her heart at his words, but she also knew that she had to stop this if they were to remain friends. “Archer, you cannot continue to pretend that we will live happy ever after. I am determined that when I marry again it will be to someone who cannot possibly break my heart. And that will be someone like Blakemore, if not the man himself. I must have your promise that you will not cut up rough every time I am seen in public with another man.”

She saw his frown at her words and knew that he was not convinced.

He pulled his hand away, but though she expected an argument, he only said, “I will agree to let you go to another man only when you have agreed to give us…”—his eyes flashed with emotion—“give me a chance. Until then, I fear we will have to agree to disagree.”

Disappointment flooded her, but she knew that it had been a foolish dream to think that a man as passionate as Archer would take kindly to sharing her with someone else. His loyalty was one of the things she liked most about him. “Then I suppose we will,” she agreed. Then, hating what she had to say but knowing it was the only fair thing for both of them, she continued, “I think that until we reach some sort of agreement, we should not sleep together again.”

She’d expected him to balk, but instead he simply nodded. Though his jaw did clench, so she knew he wasn’t entirely unmoved.

“If that is all,” he said, standing, “I have work to do.”

Alone in the breakfast room, she allowed herself to shed a tear over the dissolution of their liaison.

*   *   *

Any hopes Perdita had of the incident at Vauxhall being ignored by the gossip sheets were dashed when soon after breakfast, while she was writing letters, one of the maids appeared at her door bearing a note from the dowager accompanied by a copy of the most lurid of scandal sheets,
The Daily Whisper
.

The note was short and to the point:

Perdita,

How dare you make a spectacle of yourself? Come to me at once.

She knew the dowager was especially overset because she’d not even bothered to sign her name—something she rarely omitted since she enjoyed using the power of her title if at all possible. It was tempting to ignore the summons. After all, Perdita was not a child, and since her sister had succeeded her as the duchess, she need not answer to the dowager any longer. Well, she amended, to a point.

Putting off the inevitable, however, had never been something Perdita was very good at. She’d much rather get the meeting over with than to have it dangling over her head all day. Calling for her maid, she had the carriage brought around, donned a pelisse and hat, and set off for the lavish town house the dowager Duchess of Ormond now called home.

Though there were but a few streets between Ormond House and the dowager’s new abode, the traffic was such that it took nearly half an hour for the carriage to pull up before the elderly lady’s town house. Clearly the butler had been instructed to expect her, for no sooner had she been handed down from the carriage by the dowager’s footman, than she was being ushered into the entrance hall, with its gleaming white and black checkerboard-patterned marble floors.

“Her Grace awaits you in the front parlor, Your Grace,” Jennings said as he took her things. Perdita had long become accustomed to being the second dowager Duchess of Ormond. Though it did feel a bit redundant at times. It was a rarity among the ton, simply because it was a rarity for a duke to predecease his grandmother as Perdita’s late husband Gervase had done. And it was the circumstances of that death which had caused so much trouble for her. Including the frightening assault she’d endured the evening before.

Following Jennings upstairs, Perdita reflected that she might be able to better explain why she’d been accosted at Vauxhall if she were at last to tell the dowager about the threats she’d been getting since Gervase died. But when the threats had begun—first with Isabella, and then a few weeks later with Georgina—it had been decided that none of the three ladies would tell the dowager why they were being threatened. The dowager still thought that Isabella’s maid had simply gone mad and threatened her mistress. And she had had no reason to be informed of what had occurred with Georgina in Bath, though there had been some talk of it. She’d never thought Georgina, as the daughter and widow of mere army officers, was worth the notice of a duchess in any event. That both Isabella and Perdita counted her as a friend, and the Earl of Coniston had wed her a few weeks ago, was neither here nor there.

As they reached the doorway to the parlor, Jennings announced Perdita and then discreetly disappeared. Perdita found the older woman seated before the fire, her feet up on a footstool, and her color better than the last time they’d seen one another. An apoplexy had left the dowager in a weakened state some months ago, but she seemed to be recovering. Especially now that she no longer had to share a house with Isabella, whom she saw as a snake in the grass for having tempted Trevor into marriage before his grandmother could parade him before the ton like a prize cow. Or bull, Perdita corrected herself with an inward smile.

“Grandmamma,” she said, leaning down to kiss the dowager’s cheek, “you’re looking well. I trust you’ve been resting as the doctor has advised.”

“Tcha,” the dowager spat, “that ninny would have me an invalid if he had his way.” As Perdita pulled away, the old woman looked up at her through narrowed eyes. “I’m glad to see I can still have you at my side when I wish to,” she said with some degree of satisfaction.

“You know there is no need to test me, Your Grace,” Perdita said mildly as she sat down in the chair across from her. The room was oppressively warm, but she chose to bear it since the dowager often complained of being cold. “I will come to you when you summon me, if I am able, of course.”

“And why wouldn’t you be able?” the dowager asked with a frown. “Perhaps because you’ve been cut down in the street by some madman?”

“I hardly think that is likely, do you?”

“Who is to say, Perdita? When the widowed Duchess of Ormond is accosted before a crowd of onlookers at Vauxhall, anything might happen!” She pounded her walking stick upon the floor for emphasis. “I don’t suppose you saw fit to inform me of the assault last evening? Before I was forced to read about it in some tattle sheet? Like any common person?”

“I am here now, Grandmamma,” she said patiently. “What is it you wish to know? I can tell you what happened last night, but I fear the stories in the gossip sheets are mostly correct. Though I believe
The Daily Whisper
says that I shrieked with terror, and that is an absurd exaggeration. I may have gasped, but that is the extent of it.”

“What is the world coming to when duchesses are assaulted in public? Though I vow I’ve never approved of Vauxhall. It is simply an excuse for lechers and roués to lure young ladies into the dark walk. The ham is passable, I suppose.”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Perdita said, laughing inwardly at the dowager’s commonality with Blakemore over the ham. “I suppose the young man was out of his mind with drink. At least that’s what we surmised. But as you can see I am quite well, and the gossips made more out of it than it was. As they often do.”

“What about Blakemore?” the dowager asked, her eyes sharp. “It made mention that he was your escort in
The Daily Whisper
.”

“He has escorted me as a favor to Ormond,” Perdita said calmly. She did not wish to raise the dowager’s hopes about a match there. “Now, if that is all, I really must—”

“Not yet, young lady,” the dowager snapped. “I also heard that it was Lord Archer Lisle who came to your rescue when the drunk fellow poured blood all over you.”

“Lord Archer was there,” Perdita agreed. She dared not say more, else she’d reveal the true nature of her relationship with him. Or past relationship, she reflected, after that morning’s conversation. A pang of sadness swept over her.

The dowager, however, seemed not to notice. “What was Ormond’s personal secretary doing at Vauxhall?” she demanded.

“He is at liberty to attend whatever entertainments he pleases,” Perdita said. “He is hardly a slave to be confined to the house at all times.”

“No, but what was he doing by your side?” the other woman said sharply. “You are worth far more than a mere younger son.”

“We simply met upon the path and chatted, Your Grace.” Perdita was becoming annoyed with the dowager’s inquisition. Archer had escorted Mrs. Fitzroy at any rate, so it was hardly worth mentioning. “He happened to be there when the drunk man accosted me, and assisted me. That is all.

“Now, really,” she continued, trying not to show her pique, “I came to assure you that I am unharmed after the incident last evening. I really do have things to do and should be on my way.”

She rose, and leaned in to kiss the dowager’s paper-thin cheek. “I am sorry if the news frightened you,” she told her. The dowager was crotchety, but she did truly care about Perdita. At least she thought so. There had been no one she loved better than Gervase. Perdita tried to remember this when the old woman became too difficult. It was hardly her fault that her grandson had been a monster.

“I shouldn’t mind it too much,” the dowager said as Perdita rose from kissing her. “If you married again, I mean.”

Ahh, so she had been paying attention. “I certainly appreciate having your permission,” Perdita said, “but what brought this on?”

“Well, you were escorted by Blakemore last evening,” the dowager said diffidently. “His family has been here since before the Conquest. Quite respectable.”

“There is no talk of a match between us just now,” Perdita said. “But I will keep your approval in mind.”

“So long as it’s not some younger son without a penny to his name,” the dowager said firmly, which of course made Perdita wish to announce her betrothal to Archer immediately despite the way they’d left things that morning. “The Ormond name demands more.”

“I shall keep that in mind, Grandmamma,” Perdita said before she slipped from the room.

She was retrieving her hat and coat from the butler, when Simmons, the dowager’s longtime maid, appeared as if from thin air. Perdita had never really warmed to the woman, who seemed to take her position as the dowager’s personal servant as some kind of license to lord her power over everyone.

“Your Grace,” she said firmly—Simmons was always firm. “I hope this visit means that the dowager can count on more visits from you in the future. I realize that when the new duchess ordered my mistress to leave Ormond House, it might have caused some embarrassment on your part, the new duchess being your sister and all, but I would not have thought a little thing like sibling loyalty would keep you from spending time with Her Grace.”

Perdita blinked. But it would appear that the dowager’s maid was serious. It hadn’t been a desire to stay in Isabella’s good graces that had kept her away from more frequent visits to the dowager’s new home, but disgust at that lady’s attitude toward Isabella. Especially when Isabella had done nothing but follow her godmother’s orders when she traveled to Yorkshire to convince Trevor to come to London and take up his duties as the new Ormond. It was hardly Isabella’s fault that they’d fallen in love. And if anything, Perdita had thought the dowager would be pleased not only to have the duke taking up his duties at last, but also to have him happily married and starting his nursery. The dowager, however, had not been pleased, and in fact it had been her anger over what she considered Isabella’s treachery that led directly to the old woman’s apoplexy. Though it was true that she’d not been the same since Gervase’s death.