Читать книгу Regency Collection 2013 Part 1 - Хелен Диксон, Louise Allen, Хелен Диксон - Страница 36

Lily spent a restless night. Fretting about Adrian and her reputation was fruitless, she decided at about one in the morning. Either she was ruined or she wasn’t and there did not seem to be very much to be done about it, unless Lady Billington had any good ideas. And as Lily was paying Jane Billington a very favourable retainer for her services, it would be in her interests to think of something as soon as possible.

More immediate was what to do about Jack Lovell, even now sleeping in her best guest room. The prudent answer, she supposed, giving up on sleep and plumping the cushions behind her into a more comfortable heap, was to do nothing. He would return to the Green Dragon, to his search for investors, and eventually to his distant mine. Lily gazed into the gloom of her bedroom, dissatisfied.

The practical answer was to find some way of investing in the mine herself. That would reward Mr Lovell for his gallantry, add something new and interesting to her portfolio and be a satisfying gesture of defiance towards Adrian, whether he knew of it or not. There was also the consideration that Mr Lovell, when not being as stubborn as a mule, was undeniably attractive company.

But how to keep contact with an intelligent, independent man who had every intention of shaking the dust of your doorstep from his excellent boots at the earliest opportunity? A smile slowly curled Lily’s lips. Oh, yes, now that’s an idea. All she had to do was to deal with him first thing before he had a chance to bully Percy into fetching his clothes. With a pleasurable shiver Lily slid down under the covers. She did so enjoy organising things to her own satisfaction.

Jack surfaced from sleep and lay very still. The room was restfully dim, with heavy draperies keeping out the morning sunlight, but his head threatened to fall off his shoulders if he moved suddenly and his body ached like the devil. He shut his eyes again with relief.

Someone was moving quietly around the room. Jack cracked open one lid; the young footman—Percy, that was it—was padding around the room, reaching for the curtains. Jack braced himself for the flood of light and rolled over. His head remained attached. Just.

‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Good morning, Percy.’ Jack hauled himself up, tried not to wince and looked around. The sphinxes, palm trees and other Egyptian ornamentation was as lurid in the morning light as he recalled. The Prince Regent would love this room, although even he—surely?—would draw the line at a chaise-longue supported on six rearing gilt crocodiles and apparently upholstered with leopard skin.

‘I will bring your breakfast at once sir.’

‘Just coffee and some hot water—I will get up.’

‘No, sir, begging your pardon, sir. Miss Lily said you are to stay in bed sir.’ Jack narrowed his eyes at the man and the footman backed away. ‘Just until the doctor’s been, sir.’

‘Coffee, hot water, clothes. Now.’

There was a tap on the door and Lily came in. Jack snatched at the edge of the sheets and yanked them up to chin level, recalled that after yesterday’s fiasco it was a futile gesture, and tried not to glare. The satin bedcover was in a leopardskin print to match the chaise. He repressed a shudder.

‘Good morning, Miss France. I am having some trouble communicating with your footman.’

‘Percy will do as I tell him, Mr Lovell.’ She was quite exasperatingly calm. ‘Fetch Mr Lovell’s breakfast, Percy.’

‘Miss France, I cannot stay here.’

‘Of course you cannot.’ She smiled at him and Jack sat up straighter, raising his knees sharply in attempt to disguise the effect she was having on him. Hell’s teeth, woman! Have you no idea what a smile like that could do? He pulled himself together with an effort. No, of course you do not. ‘Just as soon as Dr Ord has been to see you and says you may move, you may have your clothes and your luggage.’

‘Thank you.’ Now he had a doctor’s bill to pay—and by the cut of the good doctor’s togs, that would not be cheap—and another inn room to find. And investors to woo while looking like the sort of man who got into brawls in the street.

‘I have an idea about where you might stay.’ Miss France perched neatly on the chaise, her skirts swirling around the jaws of one rearing reptile, the bright blue silk arguing nastily with the upholstery.

‘Probably the Green Dragon will still have a room available,’ he said indifferently. Her eyes are the same colour as the dragon’s scales on the inn sign, a complicated mix that seems to change with the light.

‘I have had a better idea. Why pay good money out from your budget, which I am sure will be put to better use entertaining your investors, when you can stay here?’

‘We have just agreed that I must move.’

‘To the bottom of the garden.’ She beamed at him, obviously delighted with whatever hare-brained scheme she was hatching. ‘The previous owner was an amateur artist and he had the long attic over the carriage house in the mews converted into a studio. You can stay there.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ Those green cat’s eyes slitted as she watched him and her full lower lip pouted. Miss France was not used to having her will thwarted, obviously. What would it be like to bite that swelling fullness? Just a very gentle nip …

‘It would not be proper, and, as I believe we have agreed before, I will not accept charity.’

‘You will not be in the house, so where is the impropriety? And if you insist, I will charge you bed and board, exactly what you would have paid at the Green Dragon. Mrs Oakman will cook your meals.’ He shook his head and she glared at him with an exasperated irritation that matched his own. ‘You are a very stubborn man, Jack Lovell.’

‘And you, Miss France, are a very managing woman.’

Endearingly, she shrugged. ‘Yes, of course. I am used to getting my own way. It does help to be very rich.’ She cocked her head on one side. ‘Please? I dislike not being able to say thank you to people who have helped me.’

Of course he should say no. It was preposterous and probably improper, bottom of the garden or not. Lily opened her eyes wide and smiled at him. ‘I have had the room cleaned and made ready for you. The footmen have worked so hard this morning …’

Preposterous, improper and impossible. Jack fought down the headache that was intent on kicking its way through his temple and took a breath. ‘Yes.’ What have I just said? ‘Yes, thank you.’

Lily whisked out of the door before he had a chance to change his mind. Her voice drifted back through the opening. ‘Now remember, Percy. No clothes for Mr Lovell until the doctor says so.’ There was a pause and the sound of the footman whispering. ‘And I do not care what excuse he comes up with, not even if the house is on fire.’

Damned managing, bossy, infuriating, vulgar, brass-faced …

‘Your breakfast, sir.’ Percy placed a heavy tray squarely and painfully in Jack’s lap. ‘Did you say something, sir?’

‘I was merely grinding my teeth.’ Castration by breakfast tray. That at least was one path to continence. ‘Thank you. Please will you fetch me the portfolio that is with my luggage? I give you my word it does not contain so much as one neckcloth.’

The faintest tremor of a smile passed over the young footman’s face. ‘Very good, sir.’

By the time Dr Ord was ushered in, Jack had demolished a substantial breakfast of eggs, ham and Braughing sausage and was scribbling annotations in the margins of a report to the Royal Society on a new type of valve for steam pumps. His headache had subsided from penetrating to merely pounding and he had regained his temper.

‘Good day, Mr Lovell.’ Doctor Ord placed his case on the table and advanced on Jack, giving him ample opportunity to notice his fashionable suit of clothes and the handsome signet on his left hand. A very large doctor’s bill indeed. ‘And how are you feeling this morning?’

‘Stiff in the back. I have an evil headache and a sore jaw, but other than that I am perfectly fine and I would be deeply obliged to you, sir, if you would prevail upon Miss France to have my clothes returned to me so I can get out of bed.’

‘Tsk, tsk. Well, I am sure you know best, but I suggest you submit to an examination; Miss France will no doubt be most disappointed if I do not stay for a reasonable length of time.’

‘I will be paying your bill,’ Jack pointed out with some difficulty as the doctor manipulated his jaw.

‘Of course. But Miss France will still expect the most thorough treatment for her guest. No bleeding anywhere? No? Excellent. Vision blurred? How many fingers am I holding up? Good, good. Bend forward so I can see your back. Tsk, tsk. Shall we remove the bandages? I applied them more to prevent Miss France glimpsing the extent of the bruising than for any other reason; it looks most alarming, but no doubt you are used to that.’

‘You have noticed some scars? I imagine you will have cautioned Miss France about me as a result?’ Jack said it amiably and the doctor responded in kind.

‘I did. I have known Miss France for many years and have a concern for her welfare.’

‘I own a coal mine. I have been involved in a few accidents, and in the collapse of a gallery that caused most of the more dramatic marks on my back.’

‘Well, you have a hard head, sir. I see no problem with you getting up, provided you take things easy and rest.’ The doctor glanced at the pile of paper on the bed. ‘And do less reading.’

‘I will promise anything if you will tell the young man on guard outside my door to bring me my breeches.’

Getting washed, shaved and dressed was more of an ordeal than Jack would have admitted. Somehow the prospect of taking things easy for a day or so was less onerous than it had seemed when he was trapped in his bed.

At last Percy hefted his portmanteaux and led the way out of the bedchamber. Braced for further Egyptian assaults on his nerves, Jack found himself blinking in what he assumed was supposed to be a passage in an Indian palace. The stuccoed arches and inlaid marble gave way abruptly to gilded Classical columns as the corridor opened out on to the landing. He stopped to study the junction between the two, trying to decide whether such a clash of styles could possibly be deliberate.

Percy put down the bags and came back. ‘Are you all right, sir? Not feeling dizzy?’

Yes was the honest answer, but not because of the state of his head. ‘I was just interested in the different styles of decoration,’ he said mildly.

‘Yes, sir. Miss France got as far as here with this—Indian it is, or Mr Fakenham says, Chinese—and then when they reached the landing she changed her mind and said it all had to be redone like that with columns and things.’ He lowered his voice, ‘And there are all the statues, in the nude, sir! But Mrs Herrick said she wouldn’t have them in the house, however much Miss France said they were art so it didn’t count, them not having so much as a fig leaf on, and they’re all in the stables, wrapped up.’

Savouring the thought of the ranks of modestly draped nymphs and gods filling the stables, Jack followed Percy down the sweep of the double staircase. A middle-aged woman in pelisse and bonnet was just drawing off her gloves at the foot. For a moment Jack failed to recognise her, then she glanced up and he remembered her all too well. Quite what did one say to a respectable matron before whom you had, however inadvertently, revealed all?

‘Good morning, ma’am.’

‘Good morning, Mr Lovell. Dressed at last, I see.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Could that possibly be a satirical glint in her eyes?

‘Percy, wait over there.’ She waited until the young man was out of earshot, then smiled. Jack did not make the mistake of interpreting it as a warm gesture. ‘Mr Lovell. I may faint when confronted by strange young men in a state of undress, but I am not a conventional chaperon. In fact, I am a very poor one by any usual standards; I leave all that to Lady Billington. I am a vulgar woman, Mr Lovell, the daughter of a master weaver and the wife of a mill owner, and I would do my niece no favours in society by being seen with her.’

He opened his mouth to make some demur, but she waved him into silence. ‘I love my niece, who is an intelligent, headstrong girl. At the moment she is also a very hurt and fragile one—and believe me, sir, should another man do anything to upset her further he would find that I can still recall how to use a pair of nap-cutting shears, even if they are a bit rusty.’ The chilly smile did not waver. ‘Good day, Mr Lovell.’

Fighting the instinctive urge to place his hands protectively over his groin, Jack followed Percy out into the back garden and down the path to a gate in the wall. Gradually a grin spread over his face; vulgar Lily and her aunt might be, but they were refreshingly willing to say exactly what they thought. He decided he could grow to like it.

‘What are you doing?’ Lily demanded. The footmen looked guilty, Jack had that expression she was beginning to recognise. Determined, he would no doubt describe it as. Or resolute. Mulish, stubborn and pig-headed were the politest of her words for it. ‘This is a lovely carpet. It is a very masculine carpet. It usually lies in the study and all my trustees consider it most handsome. Why are you having it rolled up? And what is wrong with those lamps?’

‘It is indeed a magnificent carpet,’ Jack agreed. ‘Far too fine for me; I would be forgetting and walking on it in my boots half the time. Or dropping my breakfast. I am not used to such splendour, Miss France.’

Lily pushed the rolled-up carpet open with her foot. Jack hooked a toe under the edge and flipped it back. The footmen sat on their heels and both gazed tactfully out of the window with the air of men who wished they were anywhere else but where they were.

She glared at Jack across their heads. He was standing there with his arms crossed, one foot on the end of the roll, showing every sign of being prepared to wait there all day if need be. Brangling in front of the servants was out of the question. She would have to give way with good grace. She just wished he did not look like a sahib who had shot a tiger and was posing with his foot on its head—it made her want to giggle.

‘Take those lamps and fetch some plain branched candlesticks,’ she said tightly to the men, ‘and bring the old carpet that we took out of the housekeeper’s room for Mr Lovell’s approval.’

Lily waited until she could see them in the garden before she swung back to confront him. She found her arms were crossed, her hands gripping her elbows as though to hold in her irritation. Nobody thwarted what she, Lily France, wanted: not in her own house!

‘It is nothing to do with your boots, is it? You find my taste vulgar and will not live with it, even for a week or so.’ She kicked the roll hard so that it shot from under his foot and opened up to reveal ornate medallions on a dark red ground. ‘You see? Lovely. It is copied from Roman wall paintings.’

‘My taste runs to plainer, older things,’ Jack admitted with a shrug. ‘It all depends what you are used to, and what you can afford. You can afford to indulge your taste to buy the very latest and finest. That is your right. I believe I have the right to worry that I will spill ink on it and tread dirt into it. I had no wish to trouble you personally in the matter.’

‘You are very tactful,’ Lily retorted bitterly. ‘But I know what you are thinking. They all say it, mostly behind my back: I have no old things that I have inherited, so that makes me inferior. I have to buy my silver and my furniture new, which seems to be some sort of crime against good taste. Why should I have to put up with old-fashioned, faded, worn, shabby things just because they are old?’

Before, she had just found this attitude inexplicable, too foolish for it to hurt. Now, believing she saw the same sort of rejection in Jack’s expression, she wanted to cry. And who was he to judge? He might sound like a gentleman, but society would be just as harsh to the mine owner, however careful his schooling, as they were to the merchant’s daughter. More so; she had money, he did not.

‘They must have to buy new things some time,’ she muttered. ‘Every thousand years or so things must wear out or get broken.’

Jack snorted with laughter and dropped to one knee to re-roll the carpet. ‘Much more frequently than that, Lily. Do you think all these titled families came over with the Conqueror? Virtually none of them did. Most of them began their climb up the ladder in Henry’s reign—all those lovely monastic lands to buy their place at court with. Then there was another lot ennobled after the Restoration. I’ll bet they were all scrambling to buy the latest in wall hangings and silver then.’

‘Truly?’ Lily stood and regarded his bent head as Jack tied the cords round the roll.

‘Truly.’ He looked up and grinned and her heart did a foolish little stutter. ‘It is just inverted snobbery. Sometime we will sit down with the Peerage and look up the dates of the titles of the people who annoy you most and have a satisfying sneer.’ He got to his feet with a wince, which reminded her that his back must still be painful. ‘May I have an old carpet? Please? Not because I am a snob, but because I dearly like to behave like a slovenly bachelor when I have the chance.’

‘Very well.’ She turned away. His smile, when he chose to deploy it, was dangerously unsettling and highly seductive. ‘Does your back hurt very much? The doctor did not leave anything for it, but I am sure we have something in the stillroom …’

‘It is stiff, that is all. I am not getting enough exercise to work out the bruising.’

‘I will send Percy for arnica.’

‘He is doing very well with my boots, but I do not think that having my back rubbed with lotions by Percy is going to be a very healing experience. Now if you were to do it, I am sure there would be a great improvement.’

‘If you think it would help,’ Lily began dubiously. What would Aunt Herrick say? Then she saw the teasing glint in his eyes. ‘You are teasing me! You deserve to be black and blue. Now, I am going shopping and you must rest.’

‘You do not mind going out, after yesterday?’

‘Yes, I do mind,’ Lily admitted. ‘But it is that or run away and hide and I will not do that. Tonight is Lady Troughton’s reception. I shall go and wear my newest gown and my second-best parure of diamonds.’

‘Well done.’ The approval in Jack’s smile sent her down the stairs and into the garden with a warm glow. It lasted up to the point when she tied her bonnet ribbons in a large bow under one ear and picked up her parasol. What would happen if she met anyone who had heard about the broken engagement or the near riot outside her house? What if Adrian was already telling the polite world that she was ruined?