Lady Morgan's Revenge: Letitia's Naughty Regency Novella Page 4

  “Letitia, how could you?” asked Isobel. “I don’t know why we even looked at that house.”

  “It is just the right size for the children and me and it has gracious, airy rooms,” said Letitia. “Most important, it is inexpensive. It will suit me very well.”

  “But it is in Kensington, which is absolutely out of the question,” objected Isobel. “No person of fashion lives in Kensington.”

  “Then it will suit me admirably,” rejoined Letitia. “I have absolutely no desire to cut a dash.”

  “Letitia, you cannot mean it,” said Isobel. “Kensington is peopled entirely by tradesmen and cits. Even if you do not wish to move in Society, you will be bored to tears.”

  “But surely you will come to visit me?” said Letitia, feigning surprise.

  Isobel laughed. “Wretch!” she said. “Of course I will, but there are so many delightful places you could live, and it will seem very odd of you.”

  “I like that house, she said. “It is quiet and out of the way, Kensington Gardens are there for the children to play in and it is within my means.

  “If you think it suits you, then take it,” said Lord Exencour. “Do not allow Isobel to ride rough-shod over you.”

  Isobel colored. “How unkind,” she said. “As though I would attempt to coerce Letty into anything. I merely wish for her to be happy, and I cannot think that Kensington will make her so.”

  Exencour smiled at his wife. “You must allow Letty to be the judge of that. When you are proved right and she is desperately bored, you can rescue her.”

  “Indeed, Isobel, all will be well,” agreed Letitia. “When I crave excitement, I can visit you. Kensington is barely outside of Mayfair, not at the end of the world.”

  Isobel laughed. “Letitia, if you wish to immure yourself in Kensington, then you shall. I only want to see you happy again, as you were when I first met you. Immediately after breakfast you shall sign the lease, and we will get you settled.”

  Isobel was as good as her word and summoned Exencour’s secretary, assigning him to procure the lease on the desired house in Kensington. She then ordered the carriage to be brought around.

  “For,” she said, “you will need to make some purchases for your new home. Only think how delightful it will be to furnish a nice little house after that depressing, drafty Morgan Park.”

  Soon after they swept out of the house in a flurry of muslin, Lord Exencour received a morning caller.

  “Lord Eynsford,” announced the butler. His lordship entered, looking properly bored.

  “All alone, Francis?” he asked. “How disappointing. I hoped to encounter your charming wife and thank her for yesterday’s dinner.”

  “You will have to make do with me,” said Lord Exencour. “I am not as beautiful as my wife, but perhaps I may be as amusing?”

  “I think not,” said the marquess. “Lady Exencour is a very witty woman.”

  “Alas, she has gone out. Lady Morgan has leased a house, and Isobel decided that it must be furnished. I doubt I shall see them for many hours.”

  Lord Eynsford paused in the act of taking a pinch of snuff. “Lady Morgan has leased a house?” he repeated.

  “She has,” said Lord Exencour. “In Kensington.”

  “Kensington?” echoed the marquess in an astonished voice.

  Lord Exencour laughed. “You look almost as shocked as Lady Exencour. Believe me, Lady Morgan has had the unfashionable nature of Kensington explained to her at length, but she remains determined. She feels it will suit her exactly.”

  “If she means to avoid the ton Kensington will do nicely,” observed Lord Eynsford. “It seems that not only shall I not see Lady Exencour today, but Lady Morgan will also continue to prove elusive.”

  “Confess, Phillip, your interest is piqued by a woman who has no desire at all to meet the wealthy Marquess of Eynsford,” said Lord Exencour.

  “It is certainly a novelty,” admitted Lord Eynsford. “But I do not go where I am not wanted. I will take it as a lesson that I am not irresistible.”

  “Will you continue your quest for a damsel fresh out of the schoolroom?” asked Lord Exencour.

  “Precisely,” said Lord Eynsford. “Join me at Almack’s and provide your opinion on the most likely candidates.”

  “As I married a woman with five Seasons behind her; my taste obviously does not run in that direction,” said Exencour.

  “A pity. I hoped that you might guide me, for I confess I do not know what to say to an eighteen-year-old.”

  Exencour laughed. “A thought to ponder before you find yourself leg-shackled to one, Phillip. Perhaps you will yet be lucky, and the perfect woman will miraculously appear.”

  Eynsford smiled. “Possibly. Or perhaps I must seek her out; in any case, the problem will not be solved today. Come Francis, accompany me to Tattersall’s. Haversham is rolled-up and selling off his cattle; I’ve had my eye on his chestnuts for months now.”

  Lord Exencour agreed cheerfully, and the two gentlemen were soon on their way, engaging in a merry debate on the qualities of the unfortunate Haversham’s horses.

  Eynsford was embarrassed by his interest in Lady Morgan, a woman he barely knew and who clearly did not wish to encounter him. Yet when Exencour had informed him that she was not home, he had once again felt a strong sense of disappointment.

  It would be best, he felt, if he met her and learned that she was insipid, stupid, or dull, so he could forget the past and banish her from his mind. But how was he to do this? He could hardly pay a morning call on a widow he was unacquainted with, and if moved to Kensington, he was unlikely to ever meet her. It was as though she were intentionally thwarting him. He had to find a way to meet her, if only to rid himself of the image that haunted him.

  Letitia was quickly settled in her house in Kensington. A few pieces of Letitia’s own furniture had been brought from Morgan Park, some small pieces had been purchased, and Isobel pressed other items on her as loans and soon all was ready.

  The result was gratifying. The house, while small by the standards of the haut ton, was well-suited to a widow and her children. There was plenty of space for a nursery and play room, while still allowing Lady Morgan a drawing room and a morning room. There was a small dining room, should she wish to entertain once she came out of mourning, and well-situated bedrooms. The house was gracious and airy, the rooms well proportioned, the furnishings elegant, the street quiet. Letitia felt she finally had a home of her own. She settled into a quiet routine, walking each day with Jamie and Emily in Kensington Gardens, supervising her small staff, visiting the lending library, and entertaining the few friends who came by to visit. As her disposition was naturally retiring, and the years of her marriage had been full of strain; the simple routine of running a small house to her own satisfaction satisfied her and restored her spirits.

  A few weeks after Letitia moved, Isobel returned home late in the afternoon from visiting her to find her husband and Lord Eynsford ensconced in the library. She greeted them casually, for the marquess had become quite a fixture at Strancaster House over the past weeks.

  “Such a delightful visit I had with Letty,” she said, stripping off her gloves. “Her house is charming, and although I hate to see her hiding herself away, she seems very content.”

  “I trust she is finding ways to amuse herself?” asked Lord Exencour.

  “Oh, yes. She is quite taken with managing a house. She walks in Kensington Gardens each day with Jamie and Emily, and the children are thriving. I am convinced Letitia is right and Kensington is very good for them.”

  Lord Eynsford looked up. “She is fortunate to have the Gardens so near. Did you say they walk there each day?”

  “Yes, in the early afternoon. Letitia is quite comfortable, for she is certain she will meet no one she knows, and that seems to fulfill her present wishes, though I wish she would go about more.”

  “Letitia will be more at ease as time passes,” said Lord Exencour. “Do not tease her abo
ut it before she is ready.”

  “Of course not,” said Isobel. “She has had enough of that in her life. I only wish her happy, and realize I was wrong to try to keep her with us.”

  The marquess soon took his leave. He was thoughtful on the drive home, as an idea slowly grew in his mind. Though he felt it foolish to dwell on the memory of a youthful encounter, perhaps it could be banished by reality. It was necessary to meet Lady Morgan, and prove to himself that she held no power over him. If he could not call on her as Lord Eynsford, he could find another way to meet her.

  His lordship’s groom watched as his master drove, and saw with concern the look in his eyes. Chisholm knew that look well, and he reflected that his lordship was up to something, no doubt about it, and it was likely mischief.

  Chapter 8

  The Marquess of Eynsford stood before the looking glass, surveying his reflection. It reflected a very Nonpareil of fashion, dressed with great restraint and elegance. His bottle green coat and buff pantaloons fit as though they had been sewn onto his body, the cravat was impeccably white, its elaborate folds arranged in a wonderful style of his lordship’s own creation. Spotless white topped riding boots had a sheen that reflected the room almost as clearly as the mirror. His golden curls were cunningly tousled, his only decoration a single fob and an emerald ring. He was the very image of a fashionable gentleman: tall, broad-shouldered, aristocratically featured, a haughty expression in his blue eyes.

  “Terrifying,” he murmured.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord?” said his valet, who hovered nearby.

  “I said, terrifying,” answered his lordship, gazing into the mirror thoughtfully.

  The valet’s face fell. “I think your lordship looks very fine,” he ventured. “That coat has an excellent cut.”

  “No doubt,” said the marquess. “I am sure it is very fine indeed, Boothby. But do you not find me a trifle overpowering?”

  “Overpowering, sir?” asked the valet.

  “Or frightening?” murmured his lordship.

  “I am sure I do not know what your lordship means. You look precisely as you should.”

  “Perhaps that is the problem,” observed the marquess.

  Boothby gave up the struggle to understand and stepped forward with a brush, energetically sweeping some nonexistent lint from the coat. The marquess waved him away.

  “Have done, Boothby,” he said. “I am impeccably dressed. And yet--tell me, Boothby, if you were a young lady who did not care for gentlemen of fashion, would you find me overwhelming?”

  Boothby appeared to be confused. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

  “I’m sure you heard me, Boothby.”

  “I think any woman who is displeased by you is a fool, my lord,” said the valet stoutly. “You have a fine figure and wear your clothes very well.”

  “Thank you, Boothby. You comfort me.” The marquis turned to his valet. “If I wished to resemble a solicitor, or perhaps a banker, to which tailor would I go?” he asked.

  “My lord!” Boothby turned quite pale. “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “I thought I made myself quite clear,” said his lordship plaintively. “I would like to find a tailor to make me some suits such as those a solicitor might wear. I can hardly ask Weston to do that, can I?”

  “No, sir,” said Boothby, quite sure of at least that much.

  “Then where,” said Eynsford slowly, “might I find someone who could?”

  “But my lord, why would you want a suit like a solicitor’s?” asked Boothby.

  “A whim,” said the Marquess airily. “I grow tired of being a nonpareil. Perhaps I will set a new fashion.”

  Boothby swallowed. “But sir, our reputation! Yours and mine both!”

  Eynsford smiled. “Do not worry, Boothby, you will not suffer. Now tell me where I may find a tailor.”

  “Well, my brother-in-law is a tailor, my lord. Not a Bond Street man to be sure, but he is competent and has quite a following. He could make you something suitable,” said Boothby mournfully.

  “Very good. Have him come here to discuss it with me, will you? As soon as possible,” said the marquess.

  “Very good, sir,” said the valet woodenly. “Is there anything else?”

  The marquess was once more studying himself in the mirror. “Hmmmm?” he said. “Oh, no, I will be going out now, Boothby.”

  A week later the Marquess of Eynsford wheeled his elegant curricle through the streets of London. He was dressed in the simplest of black coats, a plain waistcoat, and a cravat tied without pretension to fashion. His groom had received quite a shock when Eynsford walked out of the house. From his perch behind the marquess, Chisholm’s countenance betrayed no emotion at all, but he privately wondered if Eynsford had run quite mad.

  His lordship, in turn, was considering the consequences were he to be seen by an acquaintance. He fully appreciated that the appearance of a soberly clad man of business tooling a sporting curricle with prime cattle was odd enough to attract attention, and he knew that his clothing would not long disguise a figure as well-known as his own. If he were seen he would doubtless think of a plausible story; his known eccentricity might even obviate the need for explanation.

  “Where are we going, my lord?” asked Chisholm.

  “Kensington Gardens,” said the marquess cheerfully.

  “Kensington, my lord?” asked Chisholm. Only dowdies lived in Kensington, and he could not imagine why they would be going there.

  “Certainly,” said Eynsford. “I have an ambition to stroll about there. I grow weary of Hyde Park.”

  “Weary, sir?”

  “Exactly.” The marquess swung the curricle neatly about a farm wagon blocking their path. The burly driver gave them a surprised look; businessmen were seldom such neat whips, and the horseflesh between the shafts of the curricle was far beyond the touch of anyone but a nabob.

  “What are you about, sir?” asked Chisholm. He had served the marquess since he was a boy, and thought little of speaking his mind.

  “About, Chisholm? Simply because I choose to visit Kensington today does not mean I am about something,” observed Eynsford.

  “My lord, I’ve known you since you were a lad, and if you were ever up to mischief I knew it then and I know it now. I can tell from the look on your face, much less your dressing up in strange clothes and going to unfashionable places.”

  Eynsford’s lips twitched. “These clothes are very respectable, as indeed are Kensington Gardens,” he said.

  “Aye, but when were you ever respectable?” asked Chisholm. “You can’t fool me, my lord.”

  “Perhaps my behavior is a trifle unusual, Chisholm, but it is in a very good cause. I assure you.”

  They bowled into Kensington Gardens and the marquess drew up his horses. He waited for Chisholm to go to their heads, then leapt from the carriage. He tossed the reins to his groom. “Walk ‘em,” he said. “I have no idea how long I will be.”

  Chisholm stood, shaking his head, as Eynsford strode off into the park. He wondered if the marquess realized that no matter how he dressed he would never look like anything but a highly-bred nobleman. No person of the middle class walked with that assured stride or held his shoulders in quite that confident way, as though he owned the world. Chisholm spat contemplatively and began to walk the horses.

  Eynsford strolled through the grounds, seeking an angelically blonde head. A turn around the park revealed nothing but his second pass achieved its aim; he saw Lady Morgan and her two small children at some distance, Jamie and Emily frolicking with a ball, their mother watching from a bench, a fond smile on her face, and a nursemaid hovering in attendance. Her fair hair was bound back in a severe style and her dress was black, but her eyes held a depth of happiness and calm. Phillip paused, gazing at her in admiration.

  As he stared, Emily failed to catch the ball tossed by her brother, and she came running across the lawn, her ringlets flying out behind her. She stumbled and went spra
wling only a few feet from where Eynsford stood, immediately letting out a wail.

  Phillip, grateful for once that his sister had a large brood of children, ran a few steps and lifted Emily to her feet. Her pretty white dress was grass stained, but she was otherwise unhurt. He found himself gazing into tearful eyes as blue as Letitia's.

  “There, my girl,” he said. “You took no harm.”

  The child's lips quivered as she stared at the strange gentleman and wondered whether to continue crying or not. The marquess fished out his watch and held it towards her, catching the sunlight on its gold surface.

  “See, isn't it pretty?” he asked. The glinting piece of jewelry distracted Emily from her woes, and a smile broke out on her face as she contemplated the watch.

  Letitia ran up, James close behind her, with the nursemaid trailing behind.

  “Emily, are you hurt?” she asked, a nervous edge to her voice.

  “I believe she is quite well, ma'am,” said Eynsford, rising to his feet. “She will certainly recover although her dress may not.”

  Letitia kneeled down in front of Emily, who merely smiled at her and then reached chubby hands towards the watch the gentleman still held in his hand.

  Letitia laughed. “You are right, sir,” she said softly. “You have succeeded in driving her fall from her mind. You must have children of your own.”

  “Unfortunately I do not,” said the marquess. “But I have many nieces and nephews who enliven my existence.”

  “Thank you for helping, sir,” said Letitia. “It was kind of you to stop.”

  “I was pleased to be of assistance, ma'am,” said Eynsford. There was a small pause. “I realize the circumstances are unusual, but perhaps you would allow me to introduce myself,” he continued. “I am Mr. Phillip--Markham, a solicitor in the Inner Temple, visiting a client in Kensington.”

  The nursemaid gave him a look of astonished disbelief, but Letitia smiled and extended her hand. “I am Lady Morgan,” she ventured. “I live here in Kensington.” She reflected that this solicitor was a remarkably handsome man. Lady Morgan had always thought of solicitors as resembling her solicitor Mr. Linkwall or Mr. Askworth, Isobel's lawyer, who were elderly gentlemen. This very tall and excessively beautiful individual did not resemble them in the least. But she thought, there would have to be some young solicitors, for where else did the elderly ones come from?