Читать книгу Lord Portman's Troublesome Wife - Mary Nichols - Страница 7

‘Mr O’Keefe, never heard of him.’

The man standing in the tap room of the Nag’s Head, his portly middle wrapped in a greasy apron which covered his equally greasy breeches, looked at Rosamund with a mixture of contempt and admiration. Contempt because she was so obviously a lady in spite of her shabby clothes and he had no time for those who considered themselves a cut above the likes of him, and admiration for the fact that she dared to venture inside his premises at all. And unaccompanied at that. But if she thought he would risk life and limb to tell her where Mick O’Keefe could be found, then she was way out.

‘Then what about the Barnstaple Mining Company?’ Rosamund persisted. ‘I believe it sometimes does business here.’

He laughed raucously. ‘Mining, lady? Where’s the mine about here? Under the cobbles, is it? I could do with one o’ them. Mayhap I could mine myself a little gold and I wouldn’t have to stand here answering tomfool questions.’

‘Gold,’ she said, her breath catching in her throat. ‘Why did you say gold?’

‘Well, ain’t that what everyone wants?’ he countered, thinking quickly. ‘A pot o’ gold to make me rich enough to get outa here?’

‘Oh, so the Barnstaple Mining Company is not a gold-mining company.’

He shrugged. ‘How should I know? I never heard of it. Get you gone, lady, before some of my customers start getting inquisitive. Rough lot some of em.’

She looked about her. The low-ceilinged, dingy room had been empty apart from the tavern keeper when she entered, but now one or two others had come in and were eyeing her with open curiosity. Realising she was getting nowhere, she beat a hasty retreat. Mr O’Keefe and his business, which she was convinced was bogus, had disappeared. It had been foolish to hope that she would be able to track him down and sell those worthless shares back to him, but she had had to try, not only for her father’s sake, but for her own. A few guineas might have helped her out of the dilemma she was in. As it was, there was nothing for her to do now but go back to Holles Street and finish selling the furniture and clearing the house.

All that was left was the kitchen equipment, her bed and clothes chest in her bedchamber and in the drawing room a sofa and the little escritoire she had inherited from her mother. All these would go too, as soon as she knew where she herself was going: companion to Aunt Jessica’s friend or unpaid nursery nurse at her brother’s? Was that the only choice she had? Could she find work for herself? What could she do? Housekeeping came immediately to mind, but surely there was something else? She considered writing a book on household management, but that had been done before and in any case she could not do it in time to solve her problems, which were pressing and immediate.

Aunt Jessica was waiting for her when she returned, sitting on the sofa in her black-and-white-striped gown. ‘Where have you been, Rosamund?’ she demanded. ‘And in that shabby garb. You look like a street seller.’

As that was the look Rosamund had hoped to achieve when she set out for Covent Garden, she did not comment. ‘I had business to see to,’ she said, throwing her hat on the stool by the escritoire. ‘The furniture has to be sold, you know.’

‘Yes, I do know and I am glad to see you are getting on with it.’

‘I have no choice, have I?’

‘No. I have spoken to Lady Bonhaven. She is willing to give you a trial and I have arranged for you and me to go and see her tomorrow.’

‘Aunt, you are beforehand. I have not said that I wish to be the lady’s companion.’

‘Wish!’ exclaimed the good lady. ‘Wishes do not come into it, do they? We could wish for the moon, but that does not mean we should have it. Beggars cannot be choosers.’

The barb hurt, but she would not let her aunt see that it did. ‘What happened to her ladyship’s previous companion?’

‘I believe she proved untrustworthy. I do not know the details. No doubt we shall learn them when we visit.’

There being nothing to stay for, the lady left, in the sure knowledge that her niece would comply. Rosamund flung herself on the sofa and forced herself to consider the prospect. She would have to go and see the lady because her aunt had arranged it, but that did not mean she would agree. She sighed heavily as Janet came into the room to tell her nuncheon was ready on the kitchen table. She rose and followed the maid, giving a wry smile to think of what her father would say to her taking her meals in the kitchen with the only two remaining servants. She had certainly come down in the world since her mother’s death. Once they had had a house full of servants, a carriage and horses, riding horses, grooms and stable boys. And friends, a great many friends. They were always visiting and being visited.

It was a great pity her father had not been able to deal with the loss of his wife and discouraged callers so that in the end they ceased to come. He had withdrawn into himself, spent most of his time at gambling and drinking clubs and only came home to sleep, treating Rosamund like the housekeeper she soon became. She had worried about him, even nagged him a little, but that only made him angry for daring to criticise him, but she still loved him, remembering the happy, loving father he had once been and making excuses for him. His sudden and violent death had been a great blow to her. But she could not mourn him as she ought because her own situation kept getting in the way.

All three ate their frugal meal in silence. There was nothing to say. Janet and Cook had been given notice and were as worried as she was. She felt guilty about them too, but there was nothing she could do to help them. She could not even help herself.

Afterwards she went back to the household accounts. She was sitting at her desk, trying to make sense of her father’s muddled papers when her brother arrived. He was dressed in his black-and-silver mourning suit, which had obviously been crafted by one of London’s best tailors, and a powdered white wig. He swept off his tricorne hat and advanced into the room.

‘You are just the person to help me sort these out,’ she said, indicating a pile of bills. ‘I must put them in order of priority, in case there is not enough to pay them all.’

‘Gambling debts first and foremost,’ he said at once. ‘They are debts of honour and must be paid. You can leave the tailor’s bills; Father will not need his services again. Likewise the farrier, since I have sold his riding horse.’

‘What have you done with the money from that?’

‘Paid the funeral expenses.’

‘Oh. And the bag of counterfeit guineas? Have you handed it in?’

‘No, I told you that would be risky. I have hidden it.’ He took the papers out of her hand and laid them on the desk. ‘Come on, leave those, I will deal with them later. Let us go for a stroll.’

‘A stroll?’ she queried in surprise.

‘Yes, you have been indoors too long, you are looking pale. A little exercise and fresh air will be good for you.’

‘You have never taken me out walking before. And surely if you want to have a walk you should take Charlotte and the children?’

‘Charlotte has taken them to picnic in Hampstead.’

‘Why did you not go with them?’

‘Because I had business in town and I was concerned for you. Now, put on your hat and let us go to Green Park. That is where you like to walk, is it not?’

Mystified by a sudden interest in her welfare, which was not typical of him, she rose and went up to her room to throw a light shawl over her shoulders and put a hat on her own curls. She did not change her dress, having only one black gown, which would have to do until she could afford to buy another. She hated black; it ill became her, but short of defying protocol she was stuck with it.

They set off across the Oxford Road and down Tyburn Lane towards Green Park, which was not so crowded as Hyde Park and had some pleasant paths and little copses of trees. ‘Have you decided to take up Lady Bonhaven’s offer?’ he asked her, as they walked.

‘Not yet. I am expected to visit her tomorrow with Aunt Jessica, but I wish there were an alternative. Her ladyship is known as a difficult employer. I have discovered from Janet that she has had three companions in as many years. I am unlikely to please her for long.’

‘Far be it from me to shirk my duty to my sister and I would see you settled. If you cannot bear to accept her ladyship’s offer, you may live with Charlotte and me, but I cannot afford more than a little pin money.’

‘I know,’ she said, wondering how much his suit and wig had cost. And the mourning gown Charlotte had been wearing when she last saw her had at least fifteen yards of silk in it and was heavily embroidered with mother-of-pearl. He did not stint on their wardrobes.

‘Would you marry if you could?’ he asked.

‘Now you are being silly.’

They entered the park and were strolling along the path which led to The Mall, when they met two gentlemen walking towards them. One was rugged looking in a dark blue coat and white small clothes, the other, clearly a fop, was in a suit of peach-and-cream satin, a peach brocade waistcoat and cream small clothes. Rosamund would have passed them, but they were evidently known to Max, because he stopped and swept them an elegant bow. ‘Gentlemen, your obedient. May I present my sister, Miss Rosamund Chalmers. Rosie, this is Lord Portman and Sir Ashley Saunders.’ He indicated each in turn.

They swept off their hats and bowed to her. ‘Madam, your obedient.’

She curtsied. ‘Gentlemen.’

‘May I offer condolences on your bereavement?’ Ash said.

‘Thank you.’

‘We are out for a stroll,’ Max said. ‘Shall we walk together?’

The two turned and Ash contrived to skip around so that she was walking between him and Harry.

Harry had made up his mind not to indulge Ash, but his friend had turned up on his doorstep and persuaded him that no harm could come from a short perambulation and a surreptitious peep at the lady. ‘You must be a little curious as to why her brother feels it necessary to sell her off like a horse,’ he had said.

‘Perhaps she looks like one.’

‘Well, shall we go and see?’

Harry took the opportunity while she chatted to Ash to study the young lady and came to the conclusion her brother had done her an injustice. Her unmade-up face was very pale and she was no beauty in the accepted sense, but she was far from plain; she had good bone structure, high cheeks and a determined chin. Her hair was a light brown and twisted up into a knot beneath her hat, but a few stray curls sat upon her forehead and two ringlets fell over her ears. He could not, walking beside her as he was, see her eyes and mouth, and for some reason he could not explain, he wished he could.

‘I believe you looked after your father before he died,’ he said.

She turned towards him to answer and he was faced with grey eyes beneath winged brows, which clearly told of sorrow and worry, but behind that was a hint of humour and determination. He wondered how he had managed to read so much in a pair of eyes, but he knew he was right. And there was a slight upward tilt to her mouth. How much would it take to make her laugh? he wondered.

‘Yes, my mother died over seven years ago.’

‘My condolences.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You have never married?’

‘No.’ Her answer was clipped.

‘And now you are alone?’

‘I have Max.’

‘Yes, indeed. I understand he has a wife and family.’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you make your home with them?’

He saw the slight shudder of her shoulders, which told him more than words that she did not view the prospect with any pleasure. ‘It is one possibility. I have yet to decide.’

‘There are others?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Then I wish you well.’

‘Thank you.’

‘My sister is considering a post as a lady’s companion,’ Max put in, making Rosamund give him a furious look. He appeared oblivious to it and went on, ‘But I am not sure it would suit her.’

‘I am sure it would not,’ Harry murmured.

‘It is not too late for her to marry,’ Max continued. ‘But being in mourning, she cannot go to balls and routs and places where she might meet eligible gentlemen, so we are at an impasse.’

‘Max!’ Rosamund rounded on him. ‘I am sure his lordship and Sir Ashley are not interested in my problems.’

‘On the contrary,’ Ash said. ‘I, for one, am interested. It seems to me that it is a very unjust world that condemns women to a life of dependence and when that dependence is withdrawn, to find themselves in sorry straits. I marvel at their fortitude and resilience to make what they can of their circumstances. Miss Chalmers, you have my sympathy. Do you not say so, Harry?’

Harry was as furious with Ash as Rosamund was with Max, but he could only answer politely. ‘Indeed, yes.’

Rosamund opened her mouth to make a sharp retort and shut it again. She began to walk very fast, head up and shoulders back and hoped that would be enough to show them how displeased she was. She was convinced that her brother had brought her out on purpose to meet these two: the rugged naval type with the easy manner and the exquisite popinjay who seemed to be able to keep up with her in spite of his high heels.

Sir Ashley was a pleasant gentleman, but he seemed to be in collusion with her brother, but what of Lord Portman? His vanity was palpable. It was plain he spent a great deal of money with his tailor, his wigmaker and his shoemaker and he seemed to be well known for, even in Green Park, he bowed frequently to others out for a stroll. He could hardly enjoy being seen in company with her, and yet he had not fallen behind as Ash and Max had done.

‘Have you done quizzing me, my lord?’ she asked.

‘Lud! I have not meant to quiz you, ma’am. I have simply been making polite conversation. If you do not care for it, I shall remain silent.’

‘No, for you may answer my questions now.’

‘With pleasure, ma’am.’

‘How long have you known my brother?’

‘I have had the honour of his acquaintance since yesterday afternoon, though I believe Sir Ashley has known him longer.’

‘And in that time you have become familiar with my affairs. I wonder at Max being so forward.’

‘It came about when Ash offered his condolences on the demise of Sir Joshua and Sir Maximilian explained how you had been left.’

‘Which he had no business to do.’

‘No doubt he feels responsible for you, since your father has not provided for you.’

‘I suppose he told you that too?’

‘Why, yes. I assume, being concerned, he was in a mood for confidences.’

‘And who suggested we should meet this afternoon?’

He wondered whether to deny anyone had, but realised she was too astute to believe it. ‘Why, I do not exactly recall. It might have been your brother, but it might have been Sir Ashley…’

‘Not you?’

‘No, certainly not me.’

‘Out of uninterest?’

‘Now, how am I to answer that? To say yes would not be chivalrous, would it? And to say no would imply a certain curiosity and that, too, would not be chivalrous. I beg you excuse me from answering.’

He was gratified to see her lips twitch into a smile. ‘You are excused.’

‘Your brother said you would like to marry.’

‘That was his idea, not mine.’

‘Why not? Do you prefer to be single?’

‘My lord, that is a foolish question and I will not answer it. And I thought we had decided you would cease your questions and answer mine.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘Are you married?’

‘No.’

‘There, you see! You prefer to be single. Why is it different for men? They can boast of being bachelors, but women must be ashamed of being spinsters.’

He gave an elaborate sigh. ‘It is an unfair world, Miss Chalmers; however, I am not a bachelor, but a widower.’

She turned towards him and realised the rather languid look had changed and his eyes had darkened at some remembered pain. ‘Oh, then I beg your pardon.’

‘Granted. I have been in that sorry state for six years now.’

‘Six years? Surely you could marry again if you chose?’

‘An’ I could, if I could find someone to suit me.’ His brow had cleared again and he was once more ready to treat the world lightly.

‘Are you so particular?’

‘I fear I must be.’ Again that sigh, but it was accompanied by a smile.

She did break into a laugh then, understanding what her brother and Sir Ashley were concocting and he, hearing that laugh, knew she had realised what was afoot. ‘My lord,’ she said, a twinkle in those grey eyes, ‘shall we play a little game with them?’

He stopped to give her an exaggerated bow, took her hand and lifted the back of it to his lips. ‘It will be my pleasure.’ He offered her his arm and she took it, still smiling. Not that there was anything to smile at; she was no nearer a solution to her dilemma and really Max was an idiot.

They continued in this way, heads close together, pretending to be absorbed in each other’s conversation, though it was nothing but polite trivialities, until they had circumnavigated the park and were approaching their entry point, when she stopped to wait for Max and Ash to catch up with them.

The little party left the park and here they parted, the men bowing and Rosamund dropping a curtsy. She could not wait to tell Max exactly what she thought of his antics and turned on him as soon as the other two were out of earshot. ‘Maximilian Chalmers, I am thoroughly displeased with you. Do you know Lord Portman guessed what you and his friend were up to and he was highly entertained by it? I, on the other hand, was mortified.’

‘I see you took his arm when it was offered and went on your way, heads together in a most intimate fashion.’

‘What could I do, but treat it as a jest? I assume it was a jest.’

‘Not entirely. His lordship is looking for a wife.’

‘So he might be, but he told me he was very particular. He is a macaroni, so vain that I wonder he does not carry a mirror about with him, and you were trying to throw him at me. He can surely find himself a pretty young wife who will overlook his strange mannerisms.’

‘I believe that when you come to know him, you will appreciate his qualities.’

‘Come to know him! Max, how am I to come to know him? You are surely not intending to continue with this farce?’

‘It is no farce. The man needs a wife and you need a husband, if you are not to go to Lady Bonhaven. It cannot hurt to meet him again.’

‘You mean you have made the arrangements?’

‘Not exactly, but I have hinted we shall be at the fireworks in Ranelagh Gardens on Saturday evening.’

‘I have no intention of going. And I doubt Lord Portman will go either. He has no use for me and I have none for him. Do you think I am so desperate?’

‘But you are, are you not?’

‘No,’ she lied. ‘I would rather be a companion to Lady Bonhaven. And why, in heaven’s name, would Lord Portman even consider me?’ She paused, as a new thought came to her. ‘Unless you have offered an inducement?’

‘What inducement could I offer a man like him? He is rich as Croesus. No, he simply wants a wife who will not outshine him.’

That hit home and hurt badly, but she endeavoured to turn it against the gentleman in question. ‘Oh, I should certainly not do that! I never met such a shining example of a coxcomb.’

‘That is all put on. He fancies himself an actor.’

‘Worse and worse. I beg you to say no more on the matter.’

He fell silent and she fumed the rest of the way back to Holles Street, where he took his leave. She went into the almost empty house and stood looking about her. It had been her home for most of her life, but it was home no longer. And tomorrow she must go with her aunt to be interviewed by the elderly Lady Bonhaven and accept whatever she was offered. ‘Oh, Papa,’ she murmured. ‘Did you know what a pickle you were going to leave me in?’

She climbed the stairs to her room to take off her hat. The chamber was empty of all but the bare necessities. A trunk, standing on the floor at the foot of the bed, was half-filled with clothes Janet had begun to pack. How much would Lady Bonhaven expect her to take with her? And what about her books and her escritoire? Would she be allowed those?

She sat on the side of the bed, from which the hangings had already been removed for cleaning before being sold, and contemplated her future. That led to thoughts of her brother. He had offered her a home, but had made it abundantly clear he did not want her. He was doing his best to marry her off. And to that macaroni! But even as she derided Lord Portman, she realised there was more to him than met the eye. When they were alone and talking seriously, he had suddenly stopped his mincing gait and matched her stride with his and that high effeminate tone of voice dropped to a more masculine level. What sort of a man was he? Why could he not find himself a bride in the conventional way?

Harry was ringing a peal over Ash, but his friend was unrepentant. ‘No harm was done,’ he said, as they made their way slowly along Piccadilly towards the City.

‘A great deal of harm was done. She guessed what her brother was about and passed it off as a jest, but I knew she was mortified. I felt very sorry for her.’

‘So did I. Poor thing, she is like to drown in deep water unless someone throws her a lifeline.’ Ash was an ex-naval man and his conversation was littered with nautical phrases. ‘And you must admit she is not the antidote we had been led to expect. Not a beauty, I grant you, but strong and healthy enough to bear children. She could be the mother of your heir with no trouble.’

‘I wish to God I had never told you about Beth. I don’t know why I did. I never told anyone before.’

‘That was because you have been dwelling on the problem and hoping to find a solution. I have given you one. You could at least think about it.’

‘I would rather not.’

‘Why not?’ Ash persisted. ‘She is not ugly, or stupid, or idiotish. Marry her, install her at Bishop’s Court, make her with child and then get on with your work for the Club and forget her.’

‘How callous you are. I am not at all surprised no woman has ever wanted to marry you.’

‘Oh, I could have married a dozen times over, an’ I so chose. And do not change the subject.’

‘I wish to change it.’

‘Very well. Do you go to Ranelagh on Saturday? I hear the fireworks are to be especially fine in honour of the royal wedding and coronation. We could patrol the crowds and keep an eye out for pickpockets. And what better place to winkle out people passing counterfeit coins?’

This was true and reminded Harry of the counterfeit guinea he had taken home the day before. He ought to be doing something about that, not bothering himself about women and marriage. ‘Very well, I will go.’

Satisfied with the success of his ruse, Ash spotted a couple of chairmen plying for hire and called them over. The two men took their leave of each other and were conveyed on their separate ways.

Once home, in an effort to put Miss Chalmers and her problems out of his mind, Harry went to the safe box he had had installed under the floor of his library and took out two counterfeit guineas, one the wine merchant had given him and the other he had brought home from the card game the day before. He weighed them carefully in his hand, deciding they weighed about the same, which was a fraction less than a genuine guinea. Then he studied them through a strong lens he took from a drawer in his desk, examining the milled edges carefully. He would swear that they had been done by the same hand with the same instrument. He was sure he had two coins by the same coiner, but they had come to him in very different circumstances and there were undoubtedly many more circulating about the capital.

Anyone who wanted to buy wine could have passed the one to the vintner, but which of the card players had put the guinea in the pot? Benedict was certainly too drunk and too foolish to bother his head about the size of the coins he had in his purse. Max Chalmers was a wily bird, but it was unlikely he would knowingly pass bad coins in White’s for fear of being excluded very publicly from its portals. Even Ash could have picked it up somewhere else and unknowingly put it down as part of his stake. It could have been done by any of the three, more interested in the game than in the weight of their coins. They would not be looking for bad money, which was something the counterfeiters relied on, more often than not successfully. The question was: if all three were innocent, who had passed them in the first place?

He locked them carefully away again and sat contemplating his next move. The trouble was that a pair of grey eyes kept coming between him and his deliberations. They were a redeeming feature in an otherwise unremarkable face. He imagined her as a companion to some demanding old lady and knew, without doubt, she would hate it. He wished he could help her. It was a pity he did not need a housekeeper; Mrs Rivers had kept house at Bishop’s Court for more years than he cared to remember and was entirely satisfactory. And in town, all he needed was his cook and the usual complement of other servants. Besides, Miss Chalmers with her straight back, firm chin and independent mind, not to mention her lineage, was certainly not servant material. If he could not love again, could he bring himself to marry without it? At her age and in her circumstances the lady would not expect it, would she?

He shrugged his thoughts impatiently from him. He must be going mad even to contemplate such a thing. What he needed was a little diversion, something to take his mind off that walk in the park. He sent a footman out for a chair and instructed the chairmen to take him to the Baltic Coffee House in Threadneedle Street. It was the favourite haunt of traders and he might pick up some useful information, perhaps find another bad guinea. He would do the rounds of the coffee and chocolate houses and when they closed for the night, he would move on to the gentlemen’s clubs. That should keep him occupied until the early hours and he could go home to his lonely bed.

Mrs Bullivant arrived at Holles Street at noon the following day, which showed how determined she was; she hardly ever rose from her bed before that hour. Rosamund, who had given up hoping for anything else to save her, put a short jacket over her mourning gown, sat a black bonnet right at the back of her coiffure and tied it on with wide black ribbons. Picking up her reticule, she announced herself ready to go.

Her aunt had brought her carriage and they were conveyed in some comfort to Brook Street, though they could easily have walked or taken chairs. ‘I do not want her to think we are beggars,’ her aunt said. ‘You must comport yourself with some pride, after all.’ Her aunt was nothing if not conscious of her rank in society.

‘She is unlikely to employ me if I am too toplofty,’ Rosamund said, half-wishing the lady would turn her down.

‘There is a middle road. Be polite, a little subservient perhaps, but not too much. Keep your head up and do not mumble.’

‘I am not in the habit of mumbling, Aunt.’

The lady ignored that. ‘It’s that or go to Max. Can you rely on him to treat you with compassion? If ever there was a chip off the old block, it is he, and besides that, he is truly under the cat’s paw.’

‘I know that, Aunt.’

They drew up at the door of Lady Bonhaven’s substantial house and were admitted by a footman. He bade them wait while he ascertained that her ladyship was at home and then led them upstairs to a boudoir that looked out over the busy street. Her ladyship was sitting by the window, so she must have seen the carriage arrive. She was extremely fat and with her padded black skirt and petticoat she left little room for anyone else on the sofa. She wore a black cap tied beneath her chin with a narrow ribbon and her tiny feet rested on a footstool. Beside her, on a small table, stood a half-empty glass of negus, a box of sugar plums, a hartshorn and a little silver bell, all readily to hand.

‘Come in, Jessie,’ she said, lifting her quizzing glass to examine Rosamund from to top to toe. ‘You have brought the girl, I see.’

‘Indeed I have, Clarissa. This is my niece, Rosamund Chalmers.’

Rosamund dipped a curtsy. ‘My lady.’

‘She is taller than I thought. And older. You did not tell me how old she was.’

‘I am six and twenty, my lady,’ Rosamund answered before her aunt could do so.

‘Past the age of being giddy for marriage,’ Jessica put in.

‘That is a point in her favour.’ She waved them into chairs, then addressed Rosamund. ‘What accomplishments do you have, miss?’

‘I have been educated…’

‘Pah! I did not mean that. Your education is of no interest to me so long as you do not flaunt it when I am in conversation with my friends. If I take you on, you will be my shadow, not my mouthpiece. I shall expect you to accompany me when I go out, to make sure I have everything for my comfort, to fetch and carry and keep your tongue between your teeth. Is that understood?’

‘Perfectly, my lady.’ Rosamund understood only too well. The idea of being at the beck and call of this autocratic lady filled her with misgivings.

‘I am a little chilly,’ the lady went on. ‘Fetch my shawl. You will find it in the cupboard in my bedchamber.’ She indicated a door to an adjoining room. ‘The lilac-and-cream one.’

Rosamund went to obey, murmuring to herself that her ladyship obviously did not adhere to the rule that, however high one’s rank, it was courteous to say please when giving an order. She found the shawl easily and returned with it, only to be castigated for bringing the wrong one. ‘I said lilac and cream,’ the lady said. ‘That is mauve and white. Can you not tell the difference?’

Rosamund, who was tempted to argue the colours, instead begged her pardon and went in search of the right one, knowing the old lady had deliberately set a trap for her. When she returned with the correct shawl, she was instructed to put it about her ladyship’s shoulders and that also met with criticism. When at last her ladyship was settled, she said, ‘Well, I am not sure you will suit. You have not been brought up in a way that fills me with confidence.’

‘I was not brought up to be a paid companion, my lady.’

‘My niece means no disrespect,’ Aunt Jessica put in quickly. ‘But she will soon learn what is expected of her.’

‘Let us hope so,’ her ladyship said. ‘I shall give you a month’s trial, Miss Chalmers. Without pay, naturally. You may start at the beginning of next week, that will give you time to sort out your affairs. Now, you must excuse me, I am expecting callers at any moment.’ She picked up the bell from the table and shook it vigorously. When the footman answered the summons, she directed him to escort the ladies to the door.

As they crossed the pavement towards the carriage, they found themselves face to face with Lord Portman, who was on his way to a meeting of the Gentleman’s Club. Today he was in blue and white, elegant as ever. He swept off his sugar-loaf hat and executed a graceful leg. ‘Good morning, Miss Chalmers. A fine day, is it not?’

Rosamund curtsied. ‘Yes, indeed, very fine.’ She turned to her aunt. ‘Aunt, may I present Lord Portman. My lord, my aunt, Mrs Jessica Bullivant.’

He bowed. ‘Ma’am, your obedient.’

She inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘Lord Portman.’

He hurried to open the carriage door for her and handed her in and then turned to do the same courtesy for Rosamund. He closed the door and ordered the coachman to proceed, then watched as the carriage drew away. Then he went on his way, mincing a little and twirling his cane, looking thoughtful.

‘When did you meet that gentleman?’ Jessica demanded, jerking her head backwards towards Harry.

‘Yesterday in the park. Max introduced us and we walked together for a little.’

‘I had no idea Maximilian knew his lordship,’ her aunt said, evidently aware of Lord Portman’s consequence.

‘I think they met at White’s.’

‘I am surprised that Max can afford to game with someone as prodigious rich as he is.’

‘How do you know he is rich?’ Rosamund asked. ‘Just because he evidently spends a fortune on his clothes does not mean he is wealthy. He could be in debt to his tailor.’

‘Oh, undoubtedly he is. What gentleman of his rank is not? But I have heard he inherited forty thousand a year besides Bishop’s Court in Middlesex and a hunting box in Leicestershire. Every unmarried girl for miles around would like to catch his eye.’

‘He told me had been married, but his wife died six years ago and he had found no one since to suit him.’

‘Did he now? That is a very personal disclosure for so new an acquaintance.’

‘Yes, but I asked him.’

‘Rosamund! How could you be so forward?’

‘It was done in self-defence; he was asking me about my marriage prospects and it annoyed me.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘Nothing that he did not know already,’ Rosamund said gloomily. ‘His lordship was not the only one revealing personal details. Max was particularly forthcoming. He told him about Papa not providing for me and the fact that I was contemplating being a lady’s companion. He even said I would like to marry to avoid that. I was exceedingly cross with him.’

‘Whatever was Max thinking of?’

‘I think he and his lordship’s friend, Sir Ashley Saunders, were trying to throw us together. Lord Portman certainly thought so…’

‘And?’

‘He treated it as a jest.’

‘Yes, I can see he would—why would he consider you when he could have the pick of London’s débutantes?’

This scathing comment did nothing to bolster Rosamund’s self-esteem and she fell silent. But she was not so much humiliated as furious. It was a mood that stayed with her the rest of the day and stopped her thinking about her future with Lady Bonhaven. She went back to her father’s papers, determined to go through them with a fine-tooth comb to see if there was any way the lawyer could have been mistaken and there was some small bequest for her.

‘There is a clever coiner passing guineas in London,’ Harry told the rest of the group. ‘I have picked up two myself.’ He took the two fake guineas from his pocket and laid them on the table. ‘I’d be obliged if you would look out for guineas like these.’

Jonathan pulled out his purse and tipped the contents on to the table. ‘I do not think there are any bad ones here,’ he said, picking his coins up one at a time and returning them to his purse.

The others followed suit and Ash was found to have one in his money. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ he said. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘It would help if you could remember,’ Harry said, taking possession of the coin.

‘I’ve bought nothing that needed change in guineas,’ Ash said.

‘A debt repaid?’ Harry prompted. ‘Or a win at cards? I ask because one of these…’ he indicated the two he had brought with him, then put all three in his pocket ‘…was in the pot when we played at White’s the day before yesterday.’

‘You think I put it in?’

‘Anyone could have done so. You, Stafford or Chalmers. Inadvertently, of course.’

‘Even you,’ Ash said, with a grin.

‘No, for I have handled too many of them to be taken in. Examine all your winnings in future, will you?’

‘Certainly I will.’

‘Have you any idea who the counterfeiters might be?’ James asked.

‘No, but I am looking and listening. If I can find out who they are, then I must also find out where it is being done in order to produce evidence. Possession of a single guinea is not evidence; anyone could have innocently accepted and tried to pass on a fake coin. But I wish you all to be on your guard.’

‘We will all do that,’ James said, and with that the meeting broke up.

‘It was Benedict put most in the pot,’ Ash reminded Harry as they left. ‘And he did leave somewhat hurriedly.’

‘Yes, but that was because he hoped I had forgotten to ask for his voucher. If he had guineas to spare, he would not cry hard up, would he?’

‘Chalmers, by his own admission, has pockets to let.’

‘That is the tale he tells to unload his sister on to an unsuspecting bridegroom,’ Harry said. ‘I do not believe it.’

‘Poor woman.’

‘Yes, I know you feel sorry for her, Ash. I suggest you marry her yourself.’

‘I do not need a bride. On the other hand, you do. For someone who owns a vast estate like Bishop’s Court and no direct heir, it is a necessity.’

‘I am more concerned with tracking down whoever is passing false guineas and hoping he will lead me to the coiners.’

‘Yes, I should like to see them in chains myself. I do not like having my pockets raided…’

‘Raided, Ash?’

‘Well, you have deprived me of a guinea and put it in your own pocket.’

‘You could not have spent it without being an accessory. If the loss of a guinea is so important to you, then I will give you one.’

‘No, no, my dear fellow, wouldn’t dream of it. Tell you what, I’ll take you to the Cocoa Tree and toss you for it.’

Harry raised one quizzical eyebrow at his friend. ‘A bad guinea?’

‘Good heavens, no! A good one.’

‘Very well.’

They repaired to the Cocoa Tree and spent a convivial evening with the dice. Miss Rosamund Chalmers appeared to be forgotten.