Читать книгу If His Kiss Is Wicked - Jo Goodman - Страница 8

“Did I not say she is a female of the inconvenient variety?” Restell studied Emmalyn’s awkwardly positioned body as he posed the question. He had had occasion to observe that some women were able to manage a graceful faint. Miss Hathaway was not one of them. Judging by the sound he heard just prior to opening the doors, her impact with the floor had all the resonance of a two-hundred-year-old oak being felled. The arrangement of her limbs suggested she had been overcome quickly, with no opportunity to break her fall. He glanced over at Hobbes who had wisely chosen not to answer what was essentially a rhetorical poser. The man looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Never say this is the first time you’ve been confronted with a lady’s swoon, Hobbes.”

The valet cleared his throat. “Mary Stubbs used to fall on her face when the gin was better than she was used to. Never felt compelled to do more than turn her on her side, so she could sleep it off without choking on her vomit.”

“And you with no reputation for gallantry. There’s a puzzler.” Restell hunkered down beside Emma and laid his hand near the back of her neck. “Miss Hathaway?” When she did not respond, he glanced over his shoulder at Nelson who was hovering in the doorway. “Fetch whatever is at the ready to bring her around. Consult Mrs. Peach if you must. She will know” He broke off because he felt a slight stirring under his palm. “Wait. She is with us, I think.” He carefully turned her over. The veil fell across her face, and he chose not to sweep it aside. “Hobbes, you will slip your hands under her legs. I will lift her shoulders. Then we shall place her on the chaise.”

This transport was accomplished with rather more delicacy than Restell had imagined when he gave the order, but Hobbes was all for preserving Miss Hathaway’s modesty and his own sensibilities. Clearly the sergeant made a social distinction between the gin-soaked Mary Stubbs and their deuced inconvenient guest.

“It occurs to me that you’re a snob,” Restell informed his valet as they eased Emmalyn onto the chaise. “Leaving poor Miss Stubbs to sleep off good gin in the gutter while demonstrating all manner of concern for a young lady you do not even know.”

“I don’t believe I mentioned a gutter, sir, and Mary, well, she would have accused me of trying to have my way with her if I’d done more.”

“And you don’t think this woman will do the same?”

This was a question Hobbes had not considered before. He could not step away from the chaise quickly enough.

“Make yourself easy, Hobbes. No accusation will be made here—even if there were cause for it. I think Miss Hathaway would sooner eat nails for breakfast than admit some terrible wrong had been done to her.” Restell glanced back at the door. Nelson remained at his post awaiting further instruction. “Some tea, Nelson. A bit of whiskey would not be amiss, either.” When the butler was gone, Restell addressed his valet. “You will want to absent yourself for the time being. I will make the introductions when I have determined she is all of a piece and prepared to depart. Have the carriage made ready. I will not permit her to walk and renting a hack is out of the question. You will ride with Whittier, won’t you? Or has her faint given you pause?”

“I’ll ride with him,” Hobbes said. “He wouldn’t know what to do if there’s dustup.”

“My thought also.” Restell did not trust anyone so much as the sergeant to act on what must be done should the occasion arise. “I should like to be confident that she will be returned to her home safely.”

Hobbes bobbed his head once, acknowledging his employer’s confidence was not misplaced, then left the room.

As soon as Restell heard the doors close behind him, he raised Emmalyn’s veil. He was not surprised to find her staring back at him, although her mottled features made it challenging to determine the nature of her expression. It seemed that she was more out of patience than she was chagrined. When she started to rise, he placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“Allow yourself another moment’s respite,” Restell said. He saw her eyes dart to his hand and immediately lifted it. He straightened and took a step toward the foot of the chaise. “You took your fall on your face. I expect you will have another bruise to show for it.”

Emma raised her gloved fingers and gingerly explored the length of her jaw, working it back and forth slowly as she did so. She winced when she happened upon the injury. “Am I bleeding?”

“No. It is merely a carpet burn.”

She turned her head so she might see the Aubusson rug.

“Do not give it a thought,” Restell said. “It appears none the worse for all that you attempted to plow it with your chin.”

“It is good of you to evince so much concern for my person,” she said wryly.

“Yes, well, the carpet is new.”

“That explains it, then.”

“And this is my brother’s home.”

“Of course.”

“My mother had a hand in choosing it.”

“I quite understand.”

“You couldn’t possibly, but it is good of you to evince so much concern for my person.”

Emma was mildly astonished to hear herself laugh. The sound of it was not in the least robust, nor even particularly joyful, but as a first attempt she thought it was well done of her.

Restell watched Emma suck in her breath on a whimper of sound and what might have been an inkling of a smile was transformed into a wince. He inched closer to the chaise. “Are you certain you are recovered?”

Her response was to arch one eyebrow at him and raise herself on her elbows. “You will do me a great kindness by not encouraging me to laugh.”

“Your lip is bleeding again.”

Emma touched the small split in her lip with the tip of her tongue. She pushed herself upright, took out the handkerchief he had given her earlier, and pressed it to her mouth. After a moment she held it away long enough to tell him, “I blame you for it.”

Restell inclined his head. “As you wish.”

Emma regarded him suspiciously. His gracious capitulation was unexpected, and he seemed to be lending his words more gravity than circumstances warranted. There was also the merest suggestion of a smile playing about the edges of his mouth. She realized that he was agreeable to her blaming him but accepted no responsibility for the same. “So you make no admission of guilt.”

“Hardly. I cannot be held accountable for what you find diverting. What if your sense of humor is tickled by the absurd, or worse, by farce? I cannot promise that I will never be caught in some improbable scheme, and if you knew my family better, you would not suppose for even a moment that I could resist it. If you fancy the ironic or the vaguely twisted, you might be less aggrieved in my company, but if you are amused by such observations as I make about circumstances of the moment, then there is no help for it but that you make a full recovery and come to embrace laughter as you would your dearest friend.”

Emma removed the handkerchief from her mouth, but she was quite without words. She blinked widely instead.

“I know,” Restell said sympathetically. “I have no argument for it myself.” He indulged his urge to grin, offering it with an insouciant shrug of his shoulders. “Perhaps one will occur to me later.” Nelson’s light rapping at the door caused Restell to turn his attention in that direction. The careless air he’d affected vanished as he observed Emma’s response to the sound. Out of the corner of his eye he was witness to her immediate wariness. She did not draw herself up like a hedgehog this time, but it seemed to him that she was fighting the urge to do so. Had it been his knocking at the door that provoked her faint?

Restell chose not to call attention to her reaction as she was struggling to do the same. He called for Nelson to enter. The pot of hot tea was exchanged for the cold one, and Restell dismissed the butler and poured a cup for his guest. “Will you take a dram of whiskey with it? It is mildly efficacious in calming the nerves.”

“You know this for a fact?”

“Dr. Bettany assures me it is so.”

Emma wondered if she could believe him. It seemed to her that Mr. Gardner was not above prevarication if it served his ends. As he obviously did not want an overwrought female on his hands—and truly, what gentleman did?—it was in his best interests to lie without compunction. She nodded and watched him add the whiskey to her cup. His notion of what constituted a dram was more liberal than her own, but she offered no comment. It was better to keep a sense of proportion about the whole, she thought, than focus too narrowly on the particular.

She accepted the tea, holding out both hands to balance the cup and saucer. She was gratified to see her fingers did not tremble. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. Will you have a biscuit?”

Emma shook her head. The thought of eating just now had the power to make her stomach turn over. “The tea is sufficient. More than that, really.” She sipped from the cup and found the taste was not unpleasant. The tea settled warmly in her stomach.

Restell turned to his desk, hitching one hip on the edge, and observed the light pink color that flushed his guest’s cheeks as she drank. The more subtle effect on her nerves would take longer to note, but Restell was confident that alcohol would serve her better than the laudanum had done.

Aware that his steady regard was not at all useful just now, Restell’s glance fell on the bank draft lying on the blotter. He gave it a cursory look before turning it over.

“Is it not enough?” Emma asked when he made no comment.

“I have no idea. For what service did you mean to reimburse me? It is rather a lot for a cup of tea, even accounting for the whiskey.”

“It is compensation for your time.”

“I put no price on my time.”

“That is very generous of you, but I think you are due—”

Restell held up one hand, palm out, effectively quelling her objection. “You misunderstand, Miss Hathaway, or perhaps it is that I was not clear. My time is priceless. You haven’t sufficient funds to effect payment. No one does.”

Emma’s brow furrowed slightly as she considered what this meant. “Can you really think so much of yourself? Your time cannot be so precious as to be invaluable.”

Restell simply shrugged.

“But what if I desire to engage your services?”

“I am not a hack driver, Miss Hathaway, waiting at the curb for someone to hire my cab.” He waved aside her objection. “In any event, I do not deal in currency. I deal in favors.”

“Favors?” The shadows beneath Emma’s eyes deepened as she speared her host with a narrow glance. “What do you mean?”

Restell folded his arms across his chest. “Let us suppose there is a physician with a penchant for placing wagers on cockfights. Let us further suppose that he’s had a run of bad luck so that his wagering far exceeds his ability to pay. He is profoundly motivated to change his habits, in part because the man he owes quite a bit of the ready to has threatened to break his hands, one finger at a time. To prove this is no idle threat, the man encourages the physician to make the acquaintance of a young gentleman who had a similar debt to pay.”

Restell saw Emma’s eyes drop to his hands. Not offended in the least, he held them up, splaying his fingers so she might view them clearly. “I am not that young gentleman.” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “But you are right to suppose that I might have been. My brother made a timely financial investment in my future.”

“So that you would have one.”

“You have it exactly.” Restell lowered his hands to the desk, curling his fingers around the edge. “For purposes of this illustration, our physician has no wealthy relative to see him clear of his debt, so let us imagine that he applies to me for assistance.”

“You pay his debt?”

“Hardly. It’s precisely that sort of interference that encourages more wagering. Ask Ferrin.”

To suppress her laughter, Emma quickly took a sip of tea. She could not say whether it was the whiskey or Restell’s discourse that was calming her nerves, but she knew herself to be more at her ease than at any time since her abduction.

Restell’s grin underscored his lack of contrition. “Let us pretend that what I am able to do for this physician is to reverse his losses so that his debt is nullified. You might wonder how such a thing is possible without cheating, so I will tell you that it’s not. Cheating was very much involved, though no more than was done to the physician. The fights are fixed, you see, and the physician is a mark from the outset, the object being to relieve him of his savings, of his livelihood, of his reputation, and most likely, in the end, of his life.”

“But why?”

“For sport.”

Emma’s cup rattled in the saucer as she shuddered with the cruelty of it. “Can you mean it?” she asked softly.

“I mean it. Can you really doubt there exists such evil among us?”

She found herself oddly reluctant to answer him. Emma leaned forward and placed her cup and saucer on a nearby table. The small movement served to remind her of aches that had not yet healed and new ones that were surfacing. How had she forgotten that she’d been the victim of that sort of evil? “For sport,” she said on a thread of sound. “Yes, I understand.” She shook her head slightly as if to clear it. “What of the favor, then? What do you ask of the physician whose debts you clear and hands you save?”

“I might ask anything of him,” Restell said. “It is all hypothetical, you understand, but I might be moved to request that he attend a man who is gravely ill from a pistol ball lodged in, shall we say, an unmanageable location. Further, this physician would lend his expertise without raising a single question. He would be expected to offer his assistance at the precise moment he was asked, no matter the complication it presented to his own life. If all this is accomplished in a satisfactory manner, the favor is discharged.”

“It is a rather ingenious approach.”

“Hardly. It is barter. An eye for an eye, or at least something akin to that.”

“Do the people you assist know what favor you will require of them?”

“No. They can’t. I don’t know myself.”

“Does that ever give anyone pause?”

“I imagine it does—after their problem is resolved. No one hesitates to agree beforehand.”

“What happens if someone is unable to meet the terms of the favor you ask?”

“I can’t tell you.” Restell could not miss Emma’s look of dismay. He grinned. “I believe you’ve put the wrong construction on my answer, although I find myself unnaturally flattered that you think I could be so ruthless. The reason I can’t tell you what happens is not because I cause harm to their person but because no one has ever failed to meet my terms.”

“Astonishing.”

He shook his head. “Do I strike you as unreasonable, Miss Hathaway?”

“No,” she said cautiously, “but you will allow we have had a very short acquaintance.”

“You are right, of course. You will perhaps appreciate that those people I decide to help are often asked to agree to my terms on the strength of an introduction only—and my promise that I will resolve the situation that distresses them. They agree, I think, not because they know I am indeed a reasonable man, but because the circumstances of their life have become in every way intolerable. As it happens, though, I ask only what can be given. For instance, I would not demand that our hypothetical physician dishonor his oath to do no harm by asking him to mix a poison, nor would I require that he trod the boards at Drury Lane in the service of my amusement or the amusement of my friends. I have no notion whether or not he might agree to either or both of these things, but I am not inclined to place such disagreeable choices before him.”

“Reasonable and honorable.”

“Depressingly tiresome, but there you have it.”

Emma managed a small smile without causing herself further injury. “It is kind of you to explain it to me.”

“Not at all. You should know the whole of it before I accept you as my client.”

A thin vertical crease appeared between her eyebrows. “I thought you understood I have changed my mind. I do not wish you to do anything on my behalf.”

“On your behalf? Aren’t you here on behalf of your cousin?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then whatever I might be able to do would be done for her, is that not right?”

“Yes, but—”

“So it is not on your behalf at all, is it? You would only have to agree to honor what favor I might ask of you. It is a small enough exchange for your cousin’s safety and your own peace of mind.”

“I suppose…” Emma worried the underside of her lip, trying to make sense of his argument. “It seems small enough, but—”

“Would you ignore the recommendation of Dr. Bettany?”

“No, but—”

“Sensible girl. Then I have your word on the matter.”

“Yes, but—”

“Yes is all that is necessary.”

“Yes.”

“Good. It is settled. We have struck a bargain.”

Had they? Emma knew herself to be breathless with no idea of how she came to be so. It must be how the fox felt after being run to ground. “You bullied me.”

“That is a gross exaggeration and quite unfair of you. Do you wish to reconsider it?”

“My comment?”

“No. Our agreement. Did I recently remark that you were sensible? Perhaps the fall did more damage than is immediately evident to the eye.”

Emma speared Restell Gardner with a significant glance and, lest he be oblivious to it, she added her most frosty accents to sharpen the point. “If there is damage to my thinking it is the whiskey that has provoked it.”

“That seems unlikely given the fact that you managed to arrive here under the considerable influence of laudanum. What is a dram of whiskey compared to soporific effects of that opiate?” He did not permit her time enough to form a reply. Though he was credited to have considerable persuasive powers, Restell knew very well that he hadn’t employed them with Miss Emmalyn Hathaway. He doubted that she would have been moved by his bullying in the past, but recent events made her vulnerable and he had shamelessly used that to his advantage. It wasn’t fair, but it was necessary. “I want to introduce you to Sergeant Hobbes,” he told her. “He will accompany my driver and provide additional escort so that you arrive home safely.”

“That is not necessary. I came on my own.”

“The less we refine upon that, the better.”

Emma wished she might raise a more cogent defense against his high-handedness, but in truth, she was weary to the bone. He would have his way in the end; there was no benefit to her in making him labor for it. “I will be glad of the escort,” she said. She was pleased that her tone communicated exactly the opposite.

“I hope you do not regularly mistake sarcasm for wit,” Restell said.

Emma flushed. With effort, she managed to keep her chin up and made no apology. It was not worthy of her, she reflected, but she did not allow herself to care too deeply. She had not sought out Mr. Gardner to secure his good opinion.

“Hobbes is my valet,” Restell told her, “though you should not make too much of that.”

“Is he the man who assisted placing me on the chaise?”

“Yes.”

“How did he lose his leg?”

Restell had wondered if she’d been alert enough to notice the valet’s uneven gait. The peculiar sound of the peg’s contact with the floor would have also alerted her. It may have even been that sound that brought her around to consciousness. “You will have to hear the particulars from him, but I can tell you that it happened in the final hours at Waterloo.” He waited to see if she would offer some comment as people frequently felt compelled to do. She merely nodded and kept her own counsel, though he did not believe he imagined the wave of compassion that briefly crossed her features.

“Are you entertaining doubts?” he asked. “I assure you that he will provide superior protection.”

“If you say it is so, then it is so, but I must remind you that it is Marisol who requires it.”

“Yet you are the one with the bruises.”

“I have explained that.”

Not to my satisfaction. Restell let the thought turn over in his mind without giving it voice. He pushed away from the desk and rang for Hobbes. The valet appeared so quickly that Restell suspected he had been lingering in the entrance hall.

The former sergeant impressively filled the open doorway until Restell gestured to him to enter. Hobbes uneasily shifted his weight from his good leg to his wooden one while the introductions were made, then he stood at attention waiting for further instruction.

“At ease, man,” Restell said. “Miss Hathaway is no threat to you.”

“I am certain she is not,” Hobbes said stiffly.

Restell shifted his glance back to Emmalyn. She had pulled her veil down the moment he rang for Hobbes. He did not upbraid her for wanting to obscure her face from Hobbes, though his man had certainly seen far worse on the battlefield and probably the equal in and around the pubs he frequented upon his return from the continent. “Hobbes will require your address, Miss Hathaway, and some directions as well.”

“Number Twenty-three Covington. That is not far from Saint Mary’s Church and the park.”

“I know it, sir,” Hobbes said to Restell.

“Good.” Restell addressed Emmalyn again. “Who do you expect to be at home when you arrive?” He checked his pocket watch. “It is already after the noon hour.”

“My cousin is likely to have returned from the modiste’s. Uncle Arthur, though, departed earlier than I did in anticipation of sketching by the Thames near Greenwich. It is the sort of thing that will occupy him until the light is lost.”

“What will your cousin make of your absence?”

“I don’t know. Marisol is wholly unpredictable in that regard.”

“You have some explanation at the ready?”

“She is familiar with my desire to be out of doors. It was my habit to be gone from the house most mornings, so I suspect she will want to believe that my actions are proof that I am ready to embrace my former routine.”

“That is all to the good, then.” He turned to Hobbes. “You will permit Miss Hathaway to exit the carriage at the park, then you will follow her at a safe distance. There is nothing to be gained by calling attention to your escort at this juncture.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Hobbes.

“Afterward, I would like you to visit Madame Chabrier’s shop on Bond Street. You will be glad to hear there’s no need for you to go inside the establishment. I will do that with one or two of my sisters in tow. It is the mews behind the milliner’s that is of interest. I will want all the particulars.”

“Very good.”

Restell approached Emmalyn. “I regret that I cannot accompany you myself, but I have an appointment I must keep.”

“Of course.” In fact, she was relieved. She was glad of the veil because she did not have to concentrate on schooling her features. She had no desire to have Mr. Gardner or his man living in her pockets. “You will not forget that it is Marisol in want of your attention.”

“I could not possibly,” he said. “You understand, don’t you, that a complete accounting of events is in order.”

“An accounting? But I have told you everything.”

“You have told me what you know. At the risk of insulting you, that is hardly everything. It would be shortsighted of me to accept your perspective alone. It is but one aspect of the whole.” He paused. “Do you agree?”

Emma found it difficult to dismiss the notion that he could see through her veil. His gaze was frank, expectant, and above all, piercing. “I am engaging you for your expertise in these matters, Mr. Gardner. It would be foolish of me to instruct you to act in opposition to what you believe must be done.”

Restell was of a mind to tell her it would be foolish of her to instruct him in any matter, but in the interest of arriving at his appointment on time, he kept this to himself. “Very good. I will see you out.”

Emma stood and waited for Restell to step aside before she retrieved her reticule. Clutching it in front of her, she thanked him for his invaluable time without any hint of sarcasm.

Restell stood just inside the entrance to the town house while Hobbes helped Emmalyn into the carriage. He noticed she did not cast a look in his direction once she was aboard. Her determination to act as if nothing extraordinary had taken place amused him, and for that reason alone he would have accepted her case with or without the promise of a favor to be returned.

Still, it was always better to have the favor.

“I trust you found something to divert you while you waited.” Lady Gardner swept into the salon where Restell had been left to cool his heels in anticipation of her arrival.

Restell turned away from the painting he had been studying and regarded his stepmother with equal parts affection and wariness. “You are looking in fine health this afternoon. Solomon informed me you had gone to the park. I imagine you found your stroll agreeable.”

“Let us say that I found it more enlightening than agreeable,” she said, offering her right cheek, then her left, for his kiss. “But we will come to that.”

Restell was all for coming to it now, but apparently Lady Gardner wanted to fit the noose snugly before she released the trapdoor. He had an urge to loosen the folds of his neckcloth.

“Have you been offered refreshment?” she asked.

“Yes.” The condemned’s last meal. “I declined.”

Lady Gardner removed her pelisse and bonnet and held them out to the butler who had followed her into the room. “I will have tea, Solomon, and some of those iced cakes that Mrs. Trussle made this morning. Restell? Are you quite certain you will not join me?”

“Thank you, but I am not hungry.”

“What has that to do with anything? I am attempting to foster civility.” She threw up her hands as though she had quite given up on imparting good manners, then pivoted on her heel and addressed the butler. “Restell will have tea and cakes also, Solomon.”

Restell was careful not to catch the butler’s eye, fearful that one of them would be moved to sniggering, if not outright laughter. Lady Gardner would not appreciate either response if she believed it was at her expense. Restell doubted she could be persuaded to understand that he was the object of the jest.

As soon as Solomon vacated the salon, Lady Gardner gave her full attention once more to Restell. “Is that a new frock coat?” she asked, casting her gimlet eye on the cut of his garment. “It suits you.”

“It is new,” he said. “And thank you. I will extend your compliment to my tailor.”

“It would be better if you would introduce your father to the man. I despair that Sir Geoffrey will never find a cut that flatters his figure.”

“His figure is decidedly more round these days, Mother.”

“Is it? I confess, he seems much the same to me as the day I met him.” She paused, much struck by hearing herself say so. “Is that the nature of love, do you think?”

Restell smiled. “I suspect it is but one facet.”

“Yes, well, it is good of you to venture an opinion when you have little enough experience with it.”

“On the contrary, Mother, I find myself in love with irritating frequency.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head with enough force to dislodge a lock of silver-threaded auburn hair. Sweeping it aside, she went on, “We will not have that argument. You cannot be in love with opera dancers and actresses.”

“Not at the same time, certainly.”

“That is not what I meant and you well know it.”

“Someone should be in love with opera dancers and actresses. I have always found them so deserving.”

“I wish you would not use that reasonable tone when you are being deliberately provoking. You know I find it confusing.”

“I’m very sorry. I shall endeavor not to excite your nerves or your gray matter.”

“You are all consideration.” Her light blue eyes narrowed slightly as she regarded Restell askance. “You are all consideration, aren’t you? I shouldn’t like to discover that you are having me on.”

“I shouldn’t like you to discover that, either. It cannot possibly bode well for me.”

Lady Gardner rolled her eyes. “You are a rascal, Restell. A dear one, to be sure, but a rascal nevertheless.” She took his hand, drew him over to the upholstered bench set a few feet from the window, and urged him to sit when she did. He obediently sat. “You cannot conceive of whom I happened upon in the park this afternoon.”

Restell remained silent, waiting, hoping that he looked appropriately interested. His neckcloth seemed extraordinarily tight again.

“Will you not at least venture a guess?” Lady Gardner asked.

“You said I could not conceive it.”

“Well, certainly you cannot, especially if you do not make the attempt.”

Restell chose not to educate his stepmother as to the accepted definitions of “cannot” and “conceive.” He offered a guess instead. “Lady Armitage.”

“No. Oh, heaven’s no. Do you take no notice of what goes on around you, Restell? She has been dead these last three months.”

“Then she is unlikely to enjoy a turn in the park.”

Lady Gardner was saved the effort of a rejoinder by Solomon’s arrival. She bade him place the service on the table in front of her and sent him out, then she poured tea for herself and Restell. Handing him his cup, she said, “It was Lady Rivendale. She is just arrived from the country.”

“She is well?”

“Very well. She spent a fortnight with her godson and his wife at Granville Hall and another fortnight with Ferrin and Cybelline at Fairfield.”

Restell realized he would have known of the latter visit if he’d had the opportunity to finish reading his brother’s correspondence this morning. The missive was still lying on his desk beside the bank draft drawn up by Miss Hathaway. It occurred to him of a sudden that he should invest Miss Hathaway’s money in some venture that would return a good profit to her. She might appreciate the means to be independent in her dealings with the world. Certainly it would not cause her distress to be less beholden to her uncle.

Lady Gardner snapped her fingers in front of Restell’s nose. “You are not attending me, dear.”

“I’m sorry. You were saying that Lady Rivendale spent a fortnight at Ferrin’s estate.”

“I have said a great deal more than that.” She sighed. “The gist of it is that her ladyship has reminded me of her great success in bringing about perfectly acceptable matches. Your own sister benefited from Lady Rivendale taking an interest in her future.”

The way Restell remembered it, Lady Rivendale’s interest was confined to making a substantial wager on the likelihood that his sister would accept a proposal from Mr. Porter Wellsley. How that benefited Wynetta was outside Restell’s understanding, but his stepmother remained persuaded it served as a catalyst to bring Wellsley up to snuff. The fact that Wynetta and Wellsley remained indecently happy after four years of marriage merely underscored her conviction. “I seem to recall that Ferrin was of considerable help in bringing the thing about.”

“Does Ferrin say so?”

“No, he accepts no credit.”

“Then you should not be giving him any. He is well out of it, and that is as it should be. The entire affair was havey-cavey; the less said about my son’s part in it, the better.”

Restell suspected Ferrin would agree. It was too much to hope that Lady Rivendale or his stepmother had their sights set on his younger sisters. Hannah was just turned sixteen and considered too immature to be the object of a serious match, even by Lady Gardner’s standards. Portia was only twelve and showing unexpected signs of being bookish. It remained to be seen whether she could resist the tidal wave of entertainments that Lady Gardner would use to tempt her when she became of age. If it came to placing a wager, he would stake his living on his stepmother. One rarely was disappointed by depending upon Lady Gardner to achieve her goals.

For proof, he only had to recall how she had taken the twins in hand after her marriage to Sir Geoffrey. When they came of age, neither Ian nor Imogene had the inclination to resist her even if they’d had any weapons at the ready. They were turned out on the marriage mart virtually unprotected. Imogene accepted a proposal her first season and was married at twenty. Ian did not last much longer.

Ferrin thwarted his mother’s machinations for years, but that was largely because she was taken with his reputation as a rake. As she was of the opinion that one scoundrel in the family was all that could be properly managed, she did not indulge Restell’s attempts to follow his stepbrother’s lead. He had entertained some hope that when Ferrin married he might be allowed to embrace the role of family rogue. Sadly, Lady Gardner was proving resistant to this idea.

For his part, Restell was conscious of showing regrettable signs of respectability. It was quite possible his dear step-mama thought he had grown ripe for the plucking.

He sipped from the cup of tea he had not wanted, swallowed hard, and waited.

“A cake?” Lady Gardner asked, holding up the plate.

Restell shook his head, holding fast to the last bit of his resolve.

Lady Gardner helped herself and bit one corner of the cake delicately. She took no pains to hide her pleasure. “Mrs. Trussle is a treasure, though I suspect her iced cakes are at the root of your father becoming rounder. I shall have to have a word with her about that, I suppose.” She plopped what remained of the cake into her mouth and finished it off with considerable relish.

“Now, where was I?”

Restell sidestepped the trap by remaining silent.

“Oh, yes, Lady Rivendale’s splendid success on the marriage mart. She asked most specifically about you, Restell.”

“Did she? That was very kind of her.”

“I told her you were unattached and had no prospects.”

Restell offered a wry glance. “It is to your credit that you did not puff the thing up.”

Lady Gardner’s lips flattened. “It gave me no pleasure, I can tell you that, but as she is in a position to offer assistance, what would have been the point?”

“Indeed. You did not enter into a contract, did you?”

“Do not be absurd.”

“It is a perfectly reasonable question. I have no idea how these things are accomplished. Does she present you with a list of eligible females? And now that I think on it, what constitutes eligibility? Must they be females of a certain age? Say, between eighteen and death? Can they be widows or are you set on a virgin?”

“You are being outrageous.”

Restell was unapologetic. “Is a substantial dowry a consideration? What of her face and figure? Can she have interests outside playing the pianoforte and embroidering pillows?”

“She will not be an opera dancer, of that I am certain. Really, Restell, you are intent on annoying me.”

“No, that is not my intent, Mother, but it might well be a consequence of asking for the particulars. I do not even know if you and Lady Rivendale are prepared to make the proposal on my behalf or whether I am permitted to fumble through the thing myself. What opinion am I allowed to offer? I freely admit my thoughts have thus far been self-serving. I have not begun to consider the feelings of the female. She will have some thoughts on the matter.”

“She will be pleased to have you, Restell. You cannot doubt it. What do you imagine will not appeal to her? You are possessed of an extraordinarily handsome countenance and a sharp wit. You have had benefit of a fine education, which you did not completely waste in spite of your best efforts to be sent down. You are an accomplished horseman, better than most of your set at cards, a superior partner in the waltz, and have much to recommend you as an excellent son and brother. You are discreet to a fault and your unfortunate predilection for actresses and their ilk aside, you have been known to demonstrate sound judgment. Do you lack so much confidence in yourself? I hadn’t realized.”

Her stout defense of him had the effect of taking the wind from his sails.

Satisfied that she had effectively silenced him for the nonce, Lady Gardner continued to present her position. “Can you not see why it is imperative that someone help us manage the match? You are already besieged by a veritable legion of marriage-minded females.”

“Hardly a legion,” Restell interjected.

“I beg to differ. I am speaking of the daughters who want you and their mothers who want you for them.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Then you might be right.”

“There is no question but that I am right. You are six and twenty, Restell. That is an age where your father might reasonably expect you to marry.”

Restell frowned. “Has he said as much?”

“No. You know he is absorbed in his political designs. He relies on me to manage the family.”

“We all rely on you, Mother, because you are so very good at managing us. It hardly seems fair that you should take on so much responsibility. It must be wearing on your nerves.”

Lady Gardner leaned toward Restell and divulged in confidential tones, “You cannot appreciate the extent of it.”

“And the sacrifice.”

“Yes, there is that.”

“One wonders that you do not neglect yourself.”

“It is a delicate balance, doing for others and taking care of oneself.”

“I should think so,” Restell said. “We take shameless advantage of your noble nature and profit from your good intentions. You would be well within your rights to throw up your hands and have done with the lot of us, unrepentant ingrates that we are. What a diversion it might be for you to step to one side and observe how we manage without your deft, guiding hand. Now, there would be a lesson for us and considerable comedy for you. Imagine the depth of our appreciation for you in such circumstances.”

“You would all be humbled.”

“Clearly that would be the way of it.”

“I confess, it has a certain appeal.”

“It would serve us right.”

Lady Gardner chose another iced cake as she considered the consequences of her inaction. “You are an original thinker, Restell.”

“Your influence, Mother. It is the very nature of your arguments that compels me to think in novel ways.”

She smiled. “That is a pretty compliment.”

Restell was rather pleased himself, though he took pains not to show it. Deciding he had played his cards as skillfully as was possible at this juncture, he judged the better course of action was to change the subject. He set aside his tea and pointed to the painting he’d been studying when his stepmother entered the salon. “Is that your newest artistic acquisition?”

Lady Gardner swiveled on the bench to improve her line of sight. “The Fishing Village? Yes, that’s new. I told you about it, do you not recall? Of course, you do not. It is as you said, I am taken completely for granted.”

Restell rose to his feet, touching his stepmother’s shoulder lightly as he did so. “Do not be so hard on yourself, Mother. You know that I do not recall much of what anyone says to me.”

Lady Gardner snorted. “I am not fooled. You have a mind like a steel trap, Restell.”

This was not the direction Restell wanted the conversation to take, so he did not attempt to argue the point. “So this is the Vega.”

“That’s right. Do you like it? It seemed as though you were admiring it earlier.”

“I was, yes. It is a departure from his other work, I think. There is a sense of movement here, of activity. I do not seem to remember that Vega has ever rendered a scene with so much industry. The fishermen. Their wives. Children at play. Here is one woman who looks as if she means to abandon the fish she is cleaning and gut her husband. The humor is unexpected. The whole of it puts me in mind of Brueghel.”

“That was my sense also. I wanted it very badly and your father appeased me.”

“Vega still does portraits, does he not?”

“Yes. He has not abandoned his bread and butter. I understand Lady Greenaway has commissioned him to do a family portrait for her. Lord Greenaway is not enthusiastic about the engagement—I have that from your father—and how she will manage to make her five young children sit for it is beyond my comprehension, but she is set on the matter. Sir Arthur is commanding an indecent sum for his work, though I suspect that he will wish he had negotiated a much larger sum when he has met the children.”

Restell chuckled. “When have you had occasion to meet Lady Greenaway’s children?”

“The terrors interrupted the musicale I attended in her home last month.”

“Bad form.”

“They are undisciplined, but that is neither here nor there.”

“On the contrary. Lady Greenaway might be grateful for such insight and advice as you can offer her. We have never interrupted one of your literary salons or evening entertainments.”

“True, but you make no mention of the time the twins dangled you by your heels from the balcony.”

“We didn’t disturb anyone. You would not have known if Ferrin had not tattled.”

She sighed. “That was really too bad of him. I did despair of that boy ever finding a sense of humor. Cybelline has been excellent for him.”

Restell recognized dangerous waters. They were perilously close to discussing the benefits of marriage again. He nearly reeled at the prospect. “If you were to act as a mentor to Lady Greenaway, you could very well be invited to observe Sir Arthur as he creates the portrait. You should indulge your interest in painting, Mother. Think how such an intimate perspective might enhance your own happy talent.”

“My, Restell, but you are clever today.”

He shrugged modestly. “You inspire me.”

“Your father says the same, but he is generally speaking of some political machination. It is difficult to know whether to be flattered.” She finished her drink. “I think I will invite Lady Greenaway to tea soon. Obviously she is in need of some guidance regarding the continued employment of the children’s nanny.”

Restell winced. “Do not say you mean to tell her to release the poor woman from her household.”

“It is sound advice and I intend to give it. I have no expectation that Lady Greenaway should take the children in hand herself. It is not done. Why, they are not even interesting at so young an age. The truth is that Lady Greenaway and her offspring are best served by a reliable, sober nanny. When the children are judged mannerly enough to be presented in public they may be sent to school. The boys will go to Eton or Harrow. The girls will have a governess to instruct them.”

“It seems rather cold-blooded.”

“Does it? I confess, it felt as if my heart was breaking to send Ferrin away, but that is the sacrifice a mother makes in the best interest of her child. You and Ian were already at school when I married your father, but watching you return there after holidays hurt my heart as well. It is only marginally easier with the girls, but they spend so much time with their governess, there are times when one wonders if they are even at home.”

“I hadn’t realized.”

“Of course you did not. Do you imagine I could afford to show weakness? I would have been surrendering your futures. A mother does not do that.” She paused and added softly, “A stepmother does not do that, not if she wishes to honor the woman who came before her.”

Restell closed the distance to her side and bent to kiss her forehead. “You have done my mother proud, dearest. Never doubt that.”

Lady Gardner’s smile was a trifle watery as she patted Restell’s cheek. “What plans have you for this evening? Will you join us for supper?”

“I should like that. Will you mind if I take my leave and then return? I promised Hannah and Portia that I would accompany them to Madame Chabrier’s. They are in want of new bonnets, it seems.”

“You spoil them, Restell.”

“It is the privilege of being an older brother.”

“Very well. They certainly enjoy time spent with you. You will not permit them to behave badly, will you? They have a tendency to gawk and dawdle. It is not the least attractive.”

“No gawking. No dawdling. I understand. It does not even sound attractive.”

She waved him off. “Go on. Supper is at seven. You will want to be on time. There will be smoked trout.”

“Excellent.”

Lady Gardner nodded and called after him. “And I remain hopeful that before the sweet is served you will offer a full account of this fresh intrigue that has engaged your interest.”

Restell stopped in the doorway and slowly turned on his heel. He raised one eyebrow in a respectful salute to her perspicacity. “You are unnatural.”

She smiled beatifically. “I’m a mother.”