Читать книгу The Passion of an Angel - Kasey Michaels, Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 13

I stood

Among them, but not of them; in a shroud

Of thoughts which were not their thoughts.

George Noel Gordon,

Lord Byron

IT WAS JUST COMING ON TO dusk when Daventry’s coach entered the city, Miss Prentice snoring rather loudly in the shadows after being pushed into a corner by Rexford, who had squealed in disgust when the slumbering woman’s angular body had listed in his direction, her wide-brimmed purple bonnet slamming into the bridge of his nose.

Prudence, who had been sitting squarely in the center of the facing seat ever since reentering the coach at the last posting inn—stubbornly refusing to move to one side to allow Miss Prentice to sit beside her as she had done since leaving Epsom that morning—scooted to one of the windows and dropped the leather curtain, eager for her first sight of the metropolis.

“Do not look, Miss MacAfee,” Rexford warned unexpectedly, raising a snow white handkerchief to his nose. “And, whatever you do, do not drop the window. We will be past this unfortunate area shortly, and into more civilized territory.”

Rexford’s warning was all Prudence needed. Where she had been interested in seeing London, she was now avid to take in all its sights and sounds and even its smells. “I have lived with a man who bathes in dirt,” she said, reaching for the latches that would lower the glass. “I doubt that I—oh my God!” She slammed the glass back to its closed position, turning to Rexford to exclaim in disgust, “Do they use the streets for latrines?’

“Among other things,” the valet told her, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small bottle of scent. He then pulled out the stopper and handed the perfume to a grateful Prudence, who quickly waved it beneath her nostrils. “As Prentice is a dead loss,” he went on, his rather high-pitched voice holding the tone of an indulgent, wiser adult speaking to a child, “and as Lady Wendover, although a lovely creature, is not known for her mental profundity, I suggest you listen carefully to what I have to say as we near the end of our journey.”

Prudence grinned, for the man had barely opened his mouth all the way from MacAfee Farm, unless it was to bemoan his fate at having been sent into the country in the first place.

“Feeling more the thing now that you’re closer to home, are you, Rexford?” she asked, passing the scent bottle back to him and watching as he dripped some of its contents on his handkerchief then breathed in deeply. “I didn’t think Daventry would keep you if whining and retching were your only fortes. And I must say, I do admire the way you dress his lordship. He is a credit to your art. Please, anything you might say that could be helpful in easing my way into Lady Wendover’s world would be most appreciated by this country bumpkin.”

Rexford inclined his head to her, the ghost of a smile visible behind the handkerchief, and Prudence knew she had made her first conquest. Finally. She had begun to believe she had lost her touch! Not that her brother had said she was all that lovable. It was, according to him, just her wide, golden eyes and “innocent angel” expression that had everyone from dairy maid to Squire tripping all over themselves to help her, to confide in her, to—simply—like her.

“We don’t have much time,” Rexford pointed out, “and I won’t be seeing you on a regular basis, I imagine, but I believe you would be best served by keeping your mouth firmly shut when you are unsure of yourself, restrain the impulse to scratch at any covered areas of your body, imitate Lady Wendover’s manners at table and in the drawing room, and lastly, find some way to get yourself shed of—as I have noticed you have so aptly dubbed her—the lizard.”

“Rexford! How naughty of you!” Prudence exclaimed, liking the valet more with each passing moment. “I am ashamed to admit to not paying attention to you these last days. I now know that it is entirely my loss.”

“Yes, it is,” Rexford said matter-of-factly, slipping his handkerchief back into his pocket. The coach accelerated slightly as it ran over smoother cobbles, hinting that they were leaving both the congestion and rough streets of the poorer district behind them. “But I have been observing you, Miss MacAfee, and I believe you have some promise. Now, listen closely. With your coloring—those strangely pleasing dark golden tones—you are not to wear white. Never. Not at all.”

Prudence was confused as well as fascinated. “But white is the color of debutantes, isn’t it, Rexford? You wouldn’t be trying to coax me into making a cake of myself, would you? That wouldn’t be nice, you know.”

His eloquent shrug was barely perceptible inside the rapidly darkening coach. “There are shades of white, Miss MacAfee. Try for materials with a slight sheen to them for evening, muslins for daytime. You may wear ivory—if it has a golden cast. Ecru. Any shade that has either a golden or beige cast to it—even a hint of peach, which would, now that I think on it, be a particularly outstanding choice.”

“Rather the shade of aged linen?” Prudence offered, remembering her sheets at MacAfee Farm.

“Exactly. You may also, in your day dresses, spencers, riding habits, cloaks, and the like, gravitate to carefully chosen shades of faded green, lightest yellow—and more of a soft gold, actually—dusky rose, and even the most delicate lilac. No pinks, Miss MacAfee, as I believe you have already discovered. No clear colors, no whites, and nothing that could be considered in the least bit bright. Select nothing that is not muted, subdued, almost colorless—and always be sure the color has a hint of drabness to it, of beige. This is most important, for your complexion must be made to be a part of your ensemble. I want you to appear all of a piece, a vision of honey and cream. My, I am becoming almost poetic. It has been a long journey, hasn’t it?”

Prudence bit her lip, trying not to giggle even as she longed to reach across the space that separated them and give the valet a hug. “Rexford, you amaze me. Truly.”

“Yes, well, I do have my master to consider, now don’t I? It wouldn’t do, wouldn’t do at all, for his ward to be an embarrassment to him—to us. I have hopes that Lady Wendover will have some sense when it comes to the dressing of you, but as she has this most lamentable tendency to bow to the wishes of the person closest to her, and as I have already been a reluctant witness to Miss Prentice’s notion of fashion, I felt it my duty to step in. Besides, impossible as this might seem, I believe you just might be beautiful in an odd, as yet unfashionable way. If you behave yourself, smooth your rougher edges without losing any of your fire and wit—well, with care, we could create a sensation, a true Original. Now, as to the cut of your gowns—”

Prudence did kiss him then for, if truth be told, she had been worried that she was totally friendless as she embarked upon her new life. Daventry barely tolerated her when he wasn’t sneaking looks at her, Rexford had been silent and staring, and Miss Prentice—well, it wasn’t as if the lizard counted one way or another, really.

But Prudence liked people, truly enjoyed them, thrilled in making them happy, and longed to make new friends. Before Shadwell’s descent into the most outrageous of his rituals, when he had been regarded by their near neighbors as merely eccentric, Prudence and her grandmother had been welcome everywhere.

It was only after her grandmother’s death, as Shadwell had begun dirt baths and purgatives, and serving goat’s milk puddings to visitors, that her friends had distanced themselves from her on orders from their elders.

Or, she had sometimes wondered, had it been more than that? For the near shunning of her had also coincided with the summer her body had blossomed rather alarmingly beneath her shirts and breeches, the same summer that Squire Barrington’s oldest son, James, had brought her a fistful of wild flowers, and asked to touch her. No longer in the girlish gowns, she may have been seen as a threat—and who in their right mind would want to see their son married to the wild granddaughter of that madman, Shadwell MacAfee?

But none of that mattered now, as she leaned forward and kissed Rexford’s cheek, delighting in his horrified, yet pleased expression.

“Miss MacAfee!” the valet exclaimed as Prudence sat back against the velvet squabs once more, grinning as she rubbed the sleeve of her horrible pink gown across her tear-filled eyes. “That is not done!”

“I will attempt to restrain myself in future, my new friend,” she promised, “if you will help me find some way of having you by my side as, together, we assemble the wardrobe that will captivate the ton.”

“And my lord Daventry?” Rexford questioned her, his knowing tone hinting that he had seen her looking at the marquess as he rode out of the inn yard each morning.

“I couldn’t care less what that high-nosed stickler thinks of me!” she countered, bristling even as her smile froze on her lips.

Rexford wagged a finger at her. “If we are to rub along together with any ease, Miss MacAfee, I suggest you be honest with me. You are interested in his lordship, and he is intrigued by you. Not wishing to expend my energies in assaulting my eyes with visions of trees, or grass-chewing animals with a propensity for doing entirely private things very much in the public eye, I have concentrated my attention on both of you these past days. He will fight the inevitable, and you will doubtless exasperate him mightily until you come to a compromise, but I can see my future when I look at the two of you. And I will not allow my employer’s marchioness to become an embarrassment to me. I do have my reputation to consider, after all.”

“Me? Daventry’s marchioness? You haven’t been chewing on any of the local plants, have you, Rexford? A rather darkish green one out near Shadwell’s dirt bath, perhaps, a tall grass with little white flowers? I saw one of the goats doing that last spring, and he acted silly for days,” she replied teasingly, doing her best to cover her sudden embarrassment. Rexford was deep, deeper than he gave any indication of being as he strutted around like a hen in stubble, fussing over his accommodations, or all but weeping as he complained about the food he was served, or loudly lamenting over the occasional drift of horsy scent that wafted his way as he stood balanced on a flat stone in a muddy stable yard, waiting for the coach that was, in all too lengthy stages, bearing him back to London and civilization.

“And, Miss MacAfee,” he continued, rolling his eyes at her last statement as the coach slowed to a stop, “you must promise to never, never drag the marquess or his most loyal servant to any location within fifteen miles of Shadwell MacAfee or his farm. Do we have a deal, Miss MacAfee?”

“About the gowns, yes, we do,” Prudence told him quickly, straining to peek out the coach window, but not able to see much more than the brightly lit flambeaux on either side of a wide white door. “But you’re wrong about the marquess, my friend and kind co-conspirator. He barely tolerates me, and I find him dull and disappointingly unintelligent. And he’s old. I’ll find my own husband, if you don’t mind—for that is supposedly why I am here—and he won’t be anyone who thinks he owes me anything.”

With that, and hoping she hadn’t said too much, Prudence smiled to the coachman who had opened the door and pulled down the stairs, holding her ugly pink skirts out of her way as she descended to the flagway. She then took a deep breath as Daventry, who had chosen to ride his horse into London just ahead of the coach, appeared beside her to stiffly offer her his arm, and she took her first steps into her new, devious life.

NUMBER NINETY-SIX Park Lane, home of the widowed Lady Wendover, was set back from the street in a way not considered especially fashionable, although Prudence couldn’t know this as she stood, delighted, looking up at the beautiful four-story structure.

As the coach pulled away, she turned and could see the outline of a high brick wall on the opposite side of the street, a wall, Daventry told her, that enclosed Hyde Park and should, in his opinion, be replaced by iron railings or some such improvement that would afford those in Park Lane a view of the park.

“Freddie would sell tomorrow,” he told her as she did her best to keep her mouth from dropping to half-mast at the sight of all this grandeur, “except that I have assured her that soon hers will be one of the most sought after addresses in London. Somerset has already bought here, and Breadalbane is just a short distance away. Having one’s town home set back from the curb is a modern notion I much admire, and I am willing to believe those houses now having their entrances facing Norfolk Street will soon be constructing new entrances facing Park Lane.”

“So you’re thinking of your sister’s happiness,” Prudence asked at last, wishing to begin the necessary distancing of herself from her guardian now that she was safely in London, “and the thought of any monies to be gained when this land becomes more valuable is of little concern? Why do I doubt that, my lord?”

“You doubt it because you are a rude, underbred, malicious, ungrateful little beast, I should imagine,” Banning returned quite evenly, obviously refusing to be baited by her now that he was so near to being shed of her. “Now, if you’ve spent your budget of nastiness at my expense, perhaps you can dredge up some of those marvelous manners you’ve promised me you possess so that we can go inside and meet my sister. She’s probably waiting to welcome you with open arms, and if you do anything to disabuse her of the notion that she is taking a sweet, simple country miss under her protection I shall most probably boil you in oil.”

Prudence held tightly to his arm and deliberately gifted him with her most amenable smile. “La, sir, how you do go on. I vow, you must be the most droll creature on earth,” she trilled, simpering in a way that her brother Henry had said debutantes on the lookout for rich husbands mastered in their cradles. Of course, as Henry had added that such obviously false effusions inevitably had the power to set his teeth on edge as he looked for a way out of the room, she was pleased to feel the muscles of Lord Daventry’s arm turn to steel beneath her clinging fingers.

The large white door opened before they could ascend to the topmost step and the wide half-circle of porch punctuated by thick Ionic pillars on either side, and Prudence was immediately dazzled by the sight of an enormous crystal chandelier ablaze with more candles than she would think to burn in a month. There was light spilling from everywhere, warmth and welcome permeated the very air as she stepped into the black and white marble tiled foyer, and Prudence knew that if she did not control herself she must might burst into tears.