The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness Page 15

  “I’m sorry, Pru, but I can’t allow you to accept favors from the Duke of Sunderland.”

  “Why? Because you don’t approve of Max?”

  “You shouldn’t call him by his Christian name,” said Patience, coloring. “And, no, I certainly do not approve of him. If you only knew the things he’s done!”

  “Yes, I know! He tried to drown you in the ballroom,” Pru sniffed. “What of it? I’m tempted to try it myself! I daresay he is not as perfect as Lord Banville,” she added coldly. “How cozy the pair of you seemed! And how manly of him to follow his mother around.”

  “We are indebted to Lord Banville,” said Patience. “He has forgiven a debt of two and a half thousand pounds!”

  “Is that why you kept him all to yourself?” Pru said sourly. “One could hardly get a word in edgewise! Thick as thieves, you were.”

  “Why should you care if you did not like him?” Patience asked reasonably.

  “I don’t care,” Pru declared unconvincingly. Tossing her head, she flounced from the room.

  On Monday evening, when Lord Milford called, he could not help but notice the viscount’s card on the mantelpiece.

  “It is rather late for a visit, is it not?” Patience greeted him. “My sister and Lady Jemima are already dressing for dinner.”

  “I called three times today, but you were not at home,” he answered, sounding rather peeved. “Did Lady Jemima not tell you?”

  “I accompanied my sister to her lessons today,” Patience explained. “I was not aware, sir, that you expected me to sit at home all day waiting for you to call.”

  He looked shocked. “I see Banville has been here,” he muttered resentfully. “I suppose he offered to forgive your uncle’s debt?”

  “If he has, how does it concern you, sir?”

  He frowned. “Obviously, the man is a scoundrel. He means to place you under an obligation to him, my lady! He had the insufferable presumption to copy my idea!”

  “Indeed, sir?” Patience said politely. “Was it your idea to place me under an obligation to you?”

  “No, of course not,” he said angrily. “You wound me deeply! I am nothing like Lord Banville, I hope! You have nothing but Banville in your head! Admit it! You are thinking of him now!”

  “No, indeed,” said Patience. “As a matter of fact, I was wondering if you happened to go to the sale at Tattersall’s today.”

  “Why? Was I supposed to go?” he said defensively. “You gave me no commission.”

  “I was merely curious to know who bought Mr. Broome’s curricle horses,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Purefoy, of course. No one would dare outbid him.”

  Patience sighed. “Too bad. I did like driving them.”

  “I wish I had known you wanted them,” he said fervently.

  Patience hid a smile. “Would you have dared to bid against the great Mr. Purefoy?”

  He drew himself up. “I’m not afraid of Purefoy,” he declared. “I am one of the few people in London who would dare oppose him. For your sake, I would do it, too.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” said Patience, not sure he was to be believed.

  Milford felt he had found favor with the lady. Considerably pleased with himself, he would have settled into a chair, but Patience forestalled him. “Forgive me for keeping you so late, sir,” she said firmly. “I won’t keep you any longer. Do please give my regards to your sister.”

  Outmaneuvered by the lady, there was nothing Milford could do but leave.

  Returning home, he found his sister in raptures because Purefoy had been to see her. Milford thought it rather disloyal of her to be in raptures when her brother was feeling glum.

  “Did he propose?” he asked rudely.

  “No,” Isabella admitted, “but he was extremely attentive and he did ask me to go for a drive with him tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Now why should he do that?” Milford wondered aloud. “I suppose he means to make Lady Waverly jealous.”

  Isabella glared at him. “Is it so strange that Mr. Purefoy should desire my company?” she demanded. “Why don’t you invite Lady Waverly for a drive in the park tomorrow? Then we shall see who is jealous!”

  On Tuesday morning, Patience visited Mrs. Drabble in Wimpole Street. When she returned to Clarges Street that afternoon, a leathery faced groom was walking a curricle drawn by two splendid grays up and down the street. Patience recognized them at once. Hurrying past the servant who opened the door to admit her, she ran up to the drawing room without stopping to take off her bonnet, her cloak, or her gloves. Her eyes darted around the room.

  “Where is he?” she cried, panting a little from running up the steps.

  Pru looked up from her novel. “Who, Patience?” she asked innocently.

  “You know very well who!” Patience said furiously. “I know he’s here! His horses and his curricle are outside! Where is he hiding?”

  “You mean those splendid grays? They used to belong to Max,” said Pru, closing her book over her finger. “But he lost them in a bet to Mr. Broome. He drives a team of chestnuts now. As for the grays, Mr. Broome sold them at Tattersall’s yesterday.”

  “Yes. To Mr. Purefoy!” said Patience. “No one would outbid him.”

  “Mr. Broome outbid him,” Pru told her.

  “What?” Patience said incredulously. “Who told you that?”

  “Mr. Broome told me so himself.”

  “He bought his own horses?”

  Pru shrugged. “That is what he said. He wanted to tell you all about it himself. He waited for you for over an hour, but he could not wait for you any longer. He’s off to Russia now. I don’t suppose we’ll ever see him again.”

  “He seems to have forgotten his horses!” said Patience.

  “He wants you to have them.”

  Patience was horrified. “What? I cannot accept such a gift!”

  “I know. That’s why I accepted it for you,” said Pru.

  “Pru!” Patience said angrily.

  Pru burst out laughing. “I’m only joking. It’s not a gift. He wants you to look after them while he’s away, that’s all. ‘Anything to keep them out of Max’s hands,’ he said. Why should he say such a thing?”

  “Because Mr. Purefoy would not pay a fair price for them,” said Patience. “And no one dared to outbid him—except, of course, Mr. Broome. Well, I’m glad Mr. Purefoy did not get them! It’s good for him not to get everything he wants! Good for you, Freddie!”

  Pru’s eyes were round. “Does this mean you’re going to keep the curricle?”

  Patience hesitated. “I would never accept such an expensive gift, of course,” she said. “But I suppose it would be all right if I were to look after the team while Mr. Broome is away. The horses will need exercise, and—and he does owe me an apology, after all.”

  Pru could hardly believe her ears. “May we take them out now?”

  Patience glanced out the window. “They do look rather fresh,” she said. “Hawkins has been keeping them warm. It would be cruel to put them away without letting them go a little.”

  “I’ll get my bonnet!” cried Pru.

  In less than five minutes—a record for Pru!—she returned, and the sisters set out for Hyde Park, with Hawkins in the groom’s seat, and Patience holding the reins.

  “I wonder if they remember me,” Pru murmured as Clarges Street passed in a blur.

  “Who?” Patience asked curiously.

  “The horses, of course!” Pru said. “You do know they used to be Max’s, don’t you? He used to drive them on Mondays.”

  Patience rolled her eyes. “Does the man have horses for every day of the week?”

  “He did,” Pru replied. “But then he lost his Monday horses in a bet or a card game, I forget which it was.”

  “Only a fool would risk such splendid horses on a bet or a game of cards,” Patience said.

  “Don’t call Max a fool. We shall quarrel,” said Pru.

  Patience bit her
lip. “I don’t want to quarrel with you, Pru,” she said. “But there is something I must know. Did he kiss you?”

  Pru stared at her. “Who? Mr. Broome? Certainly not.”

  “Not Mr. Broome! Mr. Purefoy! You can tell me if he did. I won’t—I won’t think any less of you, if he did. Only I must know.”

  Pru laughed. “All this anxiety! Patience, you goose! Englishmen are not like Americans! There’s no kissing until after the engagement. And, of course, no respectable girl would allow a man to kiss her unless he were her affianced.”

  Patience could feel her face grow hot. Undoubtedly, Mr. Purefoy did not think she was a respectable girl! “I understand Mr. Purefoy is half Italian,” she said, as they came within sight of the park’s gates.

  “You should not listen to such ugly gossip!” Pru said angrily. “Just because a man is a little tanned doesn’t mean he’s Italian.”

  “He told me so himself,” Patience said mildly.

  Pru was no longer listening. They had entered the park by means of a road thronged with elegant vehicles. “How smart we look!” Pru said happily, as they passed through the gates and joined the throng of vehicles on Carriage Drive. “Everyone is looking at us! I do believe we are the only two ladies in a curricle. And, Pay, you are the only lady driver—oh, except for Lady Caroline Lamb! She has her high-perch phaeton. There! Do you see her? She has daringly short hair. She is in love with Lord Byron, you know. ’Tis rumored that she sent him a lock of her hair—and ’twas not from her head!”

  “Prudence!”

  “What?” Pru said innocently. “I didn’t do it!”

  Patience was forced to slow down the grays, matching their pace to that of the other vehicles. “It’s too crowded here,” she complained. “There are some lovely, quiet paths down by the Serpentine, if we could just find a way out of this traffic.”

  “No,” Pru protested. “No one will see us on a quiet path. I think you miss the whole point of going for a drive in the park.”

  With a frown, Patience negotiated around two ladies who had stopped their barouches in the middle of the road so that they could chat. There seemed to be two circuits; one traveling clockwise, the other counterclockwise, both deplorably slow. Stops were frequent as friends and acquaintances met. Patience longed to get away.

  Before long, Pru began to stir with dissatisfaction, too. Everyone was staring, she noticed, but no one was looking at her. No, they were all looking at Patience; Patience who sat high in the driver’s seat, wearing a veil of very fine netting over her face to keep out the dust. It gave her an air of mystery. As a woman driver, she stood out. Gentlemen tipped their hats to her. Dowagers put up their eyeglasses. Young ladies whispered enviously as she went by.

  Bits and pieces of conversation drifted to Pru’s ears.

  “... American ... very rich ...”

  “Green eyes, my dear ... not a speck of hazel in them ...”

  “Invited to the first drawing room ... declined ... queen furious ...”

  “Prinny wants to meet her, of course ...”

  “Oh, of course!”

  “Oh, look! There he is!”

  Pru’s head swivelled around so quickly she made herself dizzy. But the Prince Regent was nowhere in sight. She did see Lord Milford, however, driving his curricle, a pretty, golden-haired woman beside him.

  “There is Lord Milford,” she said, nudging Patience in the ribs. “That, I suppose, is his sister. You did not tell me she was so pretty,” she added testily.

  “I don’t know who she is,” Patience replied. “Lady Isabella has auburn hair.”

  “You are betrayed!” Pru said dramatically. “This is Lord Milford’s revenge on you for carrying on with Lord Banville!”

  “Pray, don’t be absurd,” Patience murmured.

  “Lord Milford!” Pru called out, waving to the earl before her sister could stop her. “Yoo-hoo! Over here!”

  At the sound of her voice, the earl gave a start. His face turned bright red. To Patience’s astonishment, he pretended not to see them, and drove off in a hurry.

  “Just as I suspected,” Pru said smugly. “That was his mistress.”

  “Surely not!” Patience exclaimed.

  “Isn’t it obvious? Why else would he run away like that?”

  Patience’s face was scarlet with embarrassment. “His mistress? No, I don’t believe it.”

  “They all keep mistresses here,” said Pru. “In European society, everyone turns a blind eye. It’s all very civilized. But then, Europeans are much more sophisticated than we are.”

  Patience grimaced. “Sophisticated! Is that what you call it? I call it sin.”

  “Don’t be so naive, Patience! Men have needs—even Lord Milford, apparently. You’re not jealous, are you? You’re far prettier than she is. Younger, too.”

  “Jealous! Pray, don’t be absurd. I pity the woman with all my heart.”

  Pru giggled. “So do I! I don’t think he is attractive at all.”

  “I would pity her even if he were attractive,” Patience declared.

  “Really? Why?”

  “Imagine how she must have felt when he drove off like that,” said Patience. “She must have felt he was ashamed of her.”

  “I’m sure she knows her place,” Pru said carelessly. “You think too much, Pay. She’s probably an actress or something.”

  Patience pressed her lips together. “Perhaps we need not go to the theater after all.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Pru said impatiently. “If you insist on associating only with people of the very purest character, you will end up a lonely old woman, and you will never have any fun!”

  Patience shook her head. “I suppose Mr. Purefoy keeps a mistress,” she said.

  Pru scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said sharply. “Of course he doesn’t. He thinks only of me.”

  “Now who’s being naive?”

  Pru shifted in the seat. “If he does have a mistress, I’m sure he will give her up when he marries,” she said defiantly. “Anyway, I would never allow it!”

  “How provincial of you,” Patience said lightly.

  “Oh, shut up!” Pru snapped.

  Patience could see that Pru was thinking about what she said, however. Good! Now, if only Mr. Purefoy would drive by with his mistress ... That, surely, would put an end to Pru’s infatuation with the man.

  “Our father did not keep a mistress,” she said quietly.

  Pru made no reply, forestalled, perhaps, by Sir Charles Stanhope, who overtook them at that moment in his gig. “Lady Waverly!” he cried, drawing alongside her. “What are you doing with Mr. Broome’s horses?”

  “I don’t see what business that is of yours, sir,” Patience said, annoyed.

  “It ain’t modest!” he said. “And it ain’t safe! A little thing like you. A female! You’ll do yourself an injury. I’m strong as an ox, and I can hardly keep my cattle under good control!”

  “So I see,” Patience said coolly.

  “I insist that you pull over. Let your tiger drive. You there!” He actually called out to Hawkins.

  “Damn your interference!” said Patience, now angry. “You have no right to insist on anything! Go away!”

  “I have every right,” Sir Charles retorted. “You know I have! I warn you, madam, when I am your husband, I won’t tolerate such rank insubordination!”

  “This conversation is at an end,” she said, speeding the grays with a slap of the reins.

  Pru was laughing as the curricle easily outstripped Sir Charles’s gig. “Why didn’t you tell me you had such a handsome young suitor!”

  “Don’t even joke about it!”

  “He’s following us now,” said Pru, glancing over her shoulder.

  “I’ll get rid of him.”

  Spying a barouche in conference with a landau up ahead, Patience headed straight for it, skirting it neatly at the last moment. Sir Charles, intent on his quarry, did not see the obstacle until it was too late. He pa
nicked, dragging at the reins. Unfortunately, the gig, a heavier, more cumbersome vehicle than the two-wheeled curricle, did not quite clear the side of the barouche.

  “What do you think you’re doing, sir?” the barouche’s passenger, a grandam in a towering green turban, demanded.

  “Oh, well done!” Pru congratulated her. “Max could not have done it better.”

  Patience blushed with pride, but said, with sarcastic inflection, “High praise indeed.”

  Pausing just long enough to make sure there were no bones sticking out, she continued on her way, weaving deftly through the traffic. She was in sight of the park gates when she suddenly saw Mr. Purefoy driving his curricle. He was traveling in the clockwise circuit; she was in the counterclockwise circuit.

  He was not alone. A lady sat beside him in the curricle, wrapped in a beautiful silver fox fur. The lady was looking up at Mr. Purefoy adoringly, laughing and chattering madly. He seemed equally pleased with her. His white teeth flashed in his dark face as he smiled.

  His mistress, she decided, a sour taste in her mouth. A few minutes before, she had wished for this, but now, suddenly, she felt nauseated.

  Clicking her tongue at the grays, she started to move them to the far side of her lane, pulling alongside the vehicle ahead.

  “Do you think he keeps a mistress?” Pru asked suddenly. “Sir Charles, I mean?”

  “I neither know nor care!”

  Pru began to laugh. “If I were his wife, I would insist upon it!”

  Patience managed a weak laugh. She had lost sight of Mr. Purefoy and his companion.

  Tucking back into traffic behind an open carriage, Patience was dismayed when the open carriage suddenly came to a dead stop, right in front of her, forcing her to do the same. The grays did not like it and whinnied their disapproval. Patience’s hands tightened on the reins.

  “My dear Max!” said the lady in the open carriage, her voice ringing clear as a bell.

  Max seemed not to hear her, but drove past her vehicle, intent on meeting Patience.

  “Well, I never!” the lady in the open carriage said angrily.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Waverly!” said Max, touching the brim of his hat.

  “Max!” cried Pru, then fell silent as she saw his female companion.