Читать книгу A Reckless Promise - Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

IT HAD BEEN a decidedly odd journey to London, with Darby leading the way in his curricle, followed by his traveling coach containing Mrs. Boxer, his new ward and—Good God, how had he forgotten?—Norton, dressed in his best clothes and visibly eager to visit with his chums at the Crown and Cock.

He would have enjoyed being privileged to overhear any conversation transpiring within the coach during the hour-long drive.

It certainly had been interesting when Mrs. Boxer and his ward—Marley, he really should think of her by name—had stepped out of the house to see Norton holding open the door to the coach and the latter had immediately inquired as to the valet’s odd hair coloring.

“Sadie, why is that man’s hair red if his beard is black? Remember when we found that baby woodpecker that had fallen out of a tree and the top of his head looked as if he was wearing a red cap, but the rest of him was black and white, and you said that was because he was a baby woodpecker and—”

“Marley, shhh.”

“But his hair is red and his beard is black.”

“I heard you the first time. ‘Shhh’ means to stop talking. And I would imagine it’s because he prefers it that way.”

“You mean he did it on purpose? Like the vicar’s wife when she painted her hair orange, and wouldn’t take off her bonnet for six whole months? Why would he do that?”

“I’m certain that’s no business of ours, just as I told you it was no concern of yours just before you asked Mrs. Thompson that same question before vespers.”

“But he looks silly. Shouldn’t we tell him?”

“I believe you already have. Lower your voice.”

“I think I like the red better than the black.”

“An opinion you will keep to yourself.”

“I don’t understand why people can’t ask questions. If someone doesn’t want questions, someone shouldn’t paint his hair. That’s what I think. Sadie, what do you think?”

“I wouldn’t dare tell you,” Mrs. Boxer had said, taking her niece’s hand as they made their way down the marble steps to the drive, and the waiting Norton.

Who had smiled quite genuinely at Marley and tipped his hat before offering to lift her up and into the coach, already having launched into an explanation about his black mustache and beard.

Mrs. Boxer had turned her head to encounter Darby standing there, still doing his utmost not to laugh, and she’d shot him a smile clearly meant to imply that children were such a treat, weren’t they?

At that moment he had very nearly changed his mind about choosing his curricle over his coach. But he had too much to think about as they made their way to Mayfair, and clearly Mrs. Boxer would prove a distraction.

And now they were here, having dropped Norton at the Crown and Cock as promised, probably not more than three hours after his hastily scribbled appeal to the Duchess of Cranbrook had arrived in Grosvenor Square.

Vivien, darling lady, my ward has arrived at last, and trouble travels with her in the form of her aunt, who appears too nervous by half and, I believe, is not being entirely truthful with me for reasons I’ve yet to discern. In any event, they cannot stay with me in my bachelor residence, nor can I leave them at the cottage since I refuse to remain there while everyone else is kicking up their heels in Mayfair. In my desperation, I am bringing them to you yet today, falling on your mercy and that of my friends.

To compensate for any inconvenience, I feel certain you’ll all find much to amuse you in my dilemma, one most probably made more pronounced by the fact that the aunt is also quite beautiful, something I’m doing my utmost to disregard, at least for now.

As he tossed the reins to one of the duke’s grooms and hopped down to the flagway, he pretended not to notice the draperies twitching in three of the long windows facing the street. He could count on Gabe’s duchess aunt to be peeking from behind one of them, Rigby’s Clarice from the second, and could only hope Coop’s mother didn’t make up the remainder of the trio. But since he couldn’t think of a worse combination—as far as his sanity was concerned—he made a silent wager with himself that he was correct.

He waved a footman away and opened the door of the coach himself, smiling into the interior to ask if the ladies had enjoyed their coach ride.

His answer came from Marley, who launched herself at him, so that he was forced to catch hold of her or else she’d fall to the flagway. “Here now, is that any way for a lady to exit a coach?”

“I suppose there are others,” the child answered matter-of-factly, her arms wrapped around his neck, definitely putting paid to his carefully tied neck cloth, her legs scissored around his waist. Oddly, rather than being annoyed, he somewhat enjoyed her enthusiasm. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Uncle Nailbourne. That was quite the most pleasant coach ride I have ever had. Norton pointed out all the sights, and even promised to take me to the park to see the swans. I never saw a swan, did you? Their necks are exceedingly long, Norton says, and then he explained about his hair. Would you like to know why he paints his beard black?”

Darby was still attempting to regain his breath—apparently a slight but well-aimed child had the power to partially knock the wind out of him. And she’d actually addressed him as Uncle Nailbourne. Oh, wouldn’t his friends delight in how far, and how quickly, the mighty had fallen. “Well, I suppose I—”

“Think carefully before you answer, my lord,” Sadie Grace Boxer warned as she made shooing motions with her hands so that he would move away from the coach and the footman could put down the steps for her. “How badly do you want to know about your valet’s personal grooming choices?”

He looked at the aunt, who was now standing beside him, and then to his new ward, who now had her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she blinked up at him, and came to a decision.

“Another time perhaps, poppet. We’ll go inside now.”

“A prudent answer,” Mrs. Boxer whispered as she preceded him up the marble steps and into the foyer of the mansion, just as if she entered mansions every day of her life. “What a lovely residence you have, my lord,” she remarked as she turned in a full circle, admiring her surroundings.

“I do, yes,” he said, finally able to detach Marley from his person. She immediately began hopping—jumping from one large black tile square to the next, careful not to land on any of the white tiles. “This, however, is not it. Make her stop, if you please.”

“The ladies await in the main drawing room, my lord,” the Cranbrook butler said, eyeing Marley as if she might have been a puppy who’d tracked in mud from the streets and now expected a reward.

Mrs. Boxer snapped her fingers twice and, unbelievably, Marley came to her at once, slipping her hand into her aunt’s. From the faintly surprised look on that aunt’s face, she had been as astonished by her niece’s quick obedience nearly as much as had Darby.

“She’s been cooped up in too many coaches for too many days, my lord. Your ward is only showing a healthy, youthful exuberance. Were you never a child? And what do you mean, to say this isn’t your residence? Where have you brought us?”

“I’d say a den of iniquity, were it not very nearly true. I’ll explain once we’re upstairs.” He snapped his fingers twice as he headed for the wide staircase, sadly without the same obedient result, as Marley ignored him to goggle up at the huge chandelier that hung in the foyer. The butler was already halfway up the stairs, on his way to announce the visitors. “If you and Marley will follow me, please.”

“Marley, follow your uncle Nailbourne.”

Once had been enough, and at least the child only repeated what she was told. But the aunt, as well? Go to Uncle Nailbourne. Curtsy to Uncle Nailbourne. Slow down, darling, so poor Uncle Nailbourne can catch up. No, he wouldn’t allow it. He stopped on the second step and turned back. “Darby. She is to address me as Darby.”

“That’s quite impossible, my lord, and definitely not acceptable. She is a child, and you are her guardian.”

“Darby,” he repeated. “She calls you Sadie, and she can bloody—very well call me Darby. Is that clear?”

Sadie shrugged. “You’re in charge, I suppose.”

“There is no suppose about it, Mrs. Boxer.”

He wasn’t made for this. He wasn’t prepared for it, had no idea what to do with a child or the child’s aunt. Neither fit into his life, his idea of what his life was about...and as soon as he figured out exactly what his life was about, he’d be a happy man. He’d been a boy, and then a soldier, and since he’d returned from the war he’d been pretty much nothing but a man happy to move with the tide of events as they occurred. Not quite a grand example for a man now in charge of a young female ward.

To be fair, he had been giving at least a cursory thought to setting up his nursery, as titled gentlemen were expected to do, as Gabe and Rigby and even Coop were in the process of doing—all but tumbling over one another to do, as a matter of fact. It did seem the next logical step.

But if he was going to one day be Uncle Nailbourne, it would be to his friends’ children, and if he were to take a wife, it certainly wouldn’t be— Lord, he needed a drink.

“Darby, there you are, you scamp. What a deliciously confusing message you sent me. We’re all agog to learn more.”

“Aunt Vivien,” he said as the petite woman and her usual filmy draperies and ruffles exited the drawing room, to meet him in the large first-floor foyer. He quickly motioned for Sadie and Marley to sit themselves down on a nearby ornate bench—hopefully out of earshot of whispers—while he dealt with Her Grace.

Within a moment he was engulfed in butter-yellow silk and tulle, kissing the top of the woman’s bouncy silver curls and inhaling her powdery scent. “You’ve saved my life.”

“I have? Well, isn’t that clever of me. How have I done that?”

“By inviting my ward and her aunt to reside with you until I can bloody well figure out what to do with both of them,” he whispered into her ear. “You know they can’t stay with me.”

She whispered right back at him: “They could, if you were in mind of creating a scandal, but I suppose you aren’t. Is that them, plopped down way over there on that uncomfortable bench the fourth duke dragged home from Lord only knows where, saying the elephant feet were all the mode? Pretty, the pair of them, definitely not the bench, which is horrid. Country mice, though, definitely not up to snuff for the Season. May I have the dressing of them, as well?”

“You, Aunt Vivien?” he asked, once again finding himself having to disengage from a clinging female. The woman, dear lady that she was, dressed like a confection suited to be displayed in a bakery shop window. “Only you?”

The duchess gave his chest a playful slap. “No, silly, all of us. Well, except for Coop’s mother. Minerva has the oddest taste. Perhaps we’ll allow her to choose gloves. Not a whacking great lot of damage one can do with gloves, isn’t that right? Now bring them inside. Have you no manners?”

“So you’ll do it? You’ll take them off my—that is, you’ll ask them to join you here until the end of the Season? I know I’m asking a lot, especially with the duke’s birthday fast approaching, but—”

“Must I cross my heart and swear, you scamp? It’s going to be the greatest fun, and give Basil something else to think about beyond discovering himself to be either horizontal or vertical come his birthday morn. Although what you’ll do with them afterward is a subject for delicious conjecture. We’ve already discussed it among us, you know. Clarice says—”

“Another time, Aunt Vivien,” Darby interrupted, well able to image what Rigby’s beloved said. He’d already been put to the blush, as it were, enough for one day, and he still had to face the rest of the ladies.

“Come say hello to your aunt Vivien, my dears,” the duchess trilled, and he watched as Marley leaped to her feet and ran straight up to the duchess, dropping a curtsy that nearly ended with her stepping on the duchess’s full skirts. Mrs. Boxer approached more cautiously, eyeing Darby, clearly in hope of some explanation for a very curious five minutes.

“Your Grace, may I present to you Mrs. Sadie Grace Boxer and my ward, Miss Marley Hamilton. Mrs. Boxer, Her Grace, Vivien Sinclair, Duchess of Cranbrook.”

Sadie’s mouth fell open—to her credit, only slightly, and she quickly recovered. “Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a perfectly respectable curtsy. “It is indeed an honor.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Everyone seems to say that, although I’m no different than I was before all this curtsying and bowing business became a part of our lives. Please, call me Aunt Vivien. Everyone does. And I shall call you Sadie and Marley. I had a cousin Sadie, years ago, but I’ve lost track of her since she ran off with her husband’s man of business. And far from penniless, as they took all of poor Robert’s funds with them.”

Darby cleared his throat. “We’re still standing here, Aunt Vivien. Perhaps we should introduce the ladies to the rest of the company?”

“Oh, fiddle, of course.” The duchess turned to reenter the drawing room, having taken Marley’s hand in her own, but Sadie stood her ground, refusing to budge when Darby offered her his arm.

“The duchess is your aunt?”

“A courtesy title only. My friend Gabe is the duke’s nephew and heir. She and the duke feel much more comfortable with informality. I’ll explain later.”

“Yes, you will. My imagination was running wild. For a moment I thought you’d brought us to a well-to-do brothel, and the duchess was the madam, or procuress, or whatever such people are called.”

Darby’s bark of laughter caused her to flinch slightly.

“It’s her gown,” she went on quickly. “I’ve never quite seen so many ruffles.”

“She wants the dressing of you,” Darby said, offering her his arm once more. “Apparently she and the other ladies have decided you and Marley are to move about in Society while you’re here.”

“You aren’t going to allow that, are you?”

He was actually becoming used to the idea, odd as that seemed to him. The sight of Sadie Grace Boxer in fine silk and pearls might prove interesting. In fact, the more he thought about how displeased that same Sadie Grace appeared to be, the more he approved the ladies’ plans.

“The dressing of you, no. I’m afraid the ladies are quite set on the rest of it. You could have remained at the cottage, not that I’d be so crass as to point that out to you.”

“No, you’d never be that, would you? And where will you be, my lord, once you’ve successfully dumped your responsibility in that sweet old lady’s lap?” she asked, taking his arm and forcing a smile to her face as they at last entered the enormous drawing room.

He had one thing to say for the woman. She could hold her own in a give-and-take of words. Of course, he wasn’t sure that could be listed as a compliment, not when she was also so clearly concealing something from him.

“Hiding in a cupboard under the stairs most quickly springs to mind, Mrs. Boxer, but I do believe that won’t be allowed. Shall we be on with it? I’ll introduce you to the ladies and be off about my business for a few days, giving you and my ward time to...settle in. You’ll be safe here. In every way.”

“Her name is Marley, and we’re both in mourning. It would be highly improper for us, me most especially, to go into Society.”

“I’m convinced John would understand, under the circumstances. Well, Mrs. Boxer? I don’t hear any argument coming from your direction, which is refreshing.”

“That’s only because you’re correct. John specifically asked that Marley not be subjected to a year of mourning.”

“And?”

“And I agreed,” she muttered before Clarice Goodfellow, never one to wait patiently for anything, came at them, all but cooing in pleasure over the smiling Marley she carried along with her, the child’s legs wrapped around her hip.

Darby quickly counted noses. Besides the duchess and Clarice, Minerva Townsend was present, along with Gabe’s Thea and Coop’s Dany. More than needed for a witches’ coven.

Five against one. Seven, if he counted Sadie and Marley.

Darby introduced, bowed, kissed hands and excused himself within five minutes, lamenting that he could no longer keep his cattle standing.

Marley, he was certain, was the only one who didn’t know he was lying through his teeth.