Читать книгу Love Thine Enemy - Louise Gouge M. - Страница 14

“Dear Moberly, I congratulate you on a delightful supper.” Lady Augusta gazed into Frederick’s eyes with a doelike expression, her own dark orbs encircled by dreadful black lines and her face covered with white lead ceruse. A despicable fashion, if ever he saw one, especially when the lady seemed not to have suffered the ravages of smallpox that required such a covering.

He shifted from one foot to the other and glanced beyond her toward the open door. Brigham could come down the hallway, see them poised close to one another, and misunderstand. Worse still, Miss Folger might do the same. Where was his watchdog Corwin when he needed him? Frederick stepped back from Lady Augusta to sit on the edge of his desk, glad to distance himself from her heavy rose perfume.

“Thank you, my lady.” He crossed his arms. “I hope you did not find the wild boar too gamy.”

“Not at all, silly boy.” She tapped his arm with her closed fan and gave him a coquettish smile. “It was delicious.”

“Excellent.” He tugged at his cravat. “Well, then, was there something in particular you wished to say…to ask…to offer complaint about?” He grinned.

The brightness in Lady Augusta’s eyes dimmed, and the coquette vanished. “I want…no, I require a favor from you.” Her voice wavered, and she swayed lightly.

“My lady, you have but to name it.” He uncrossed his arms, ready to catch her if she fainted.

She clutched her fan. “You must know my husband is the bravest man in His Majesty’s service, so you must not think ill of him or tell him of my request.”

Frederick leaned against the desk. “Madam, you may depend on me.”

“Thank you.” She exhaled a soft sob. “Will you write to Lord Bennington on my behalf? Ask your father to use his influence with His Majesty to keep Major Brigham in East Florida, say that you cannot do without him, that only he can manage the Indians, that—”

“Shh.” Frederick lifted a finger to his lips. “My lady, your voice grows louder. Surely you do not wish Major Brigham to hear this unusual request.” Nor did Frederick wish to hear it.

She sent a furtive glance toward the open door. “No, no. He must not know.” She pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed the corners of her eyes, smudging the black kohl. “I would never ask such a thing except for the rebellion in Boston. I cannot bear it if Brigham is sent there to fight.”

Even as understanding welled up in Frederick’s chest, another thought intruded. His brother Thomas, who served in His Majesty’s navy, would be deeply shamed before the admiralty if his wife were to beg this favor.

“Oh, Moberly.” She lifted her hands in supplication. “Say you will write the letter.” She straightened, seeming to gain a measure of self-control. “In turn, I will write a letter to my father asking him to look with favor upon you.”

“Me? I did not know Lord Chittenden knew of my existence, much less that I am out of favor with him.”

“Oh, he doesn’t, and you aren’t. But I have four sisters, each of whom has her own small inheritance.” Her voice lilted slightly. “I know how difficult it is for a younger son to find a bride among his peers.”