The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness Read online

  “How keenly disappointed her ladyship must have felt!” Isabella said, but, since Lady Waverly’s disappointment could hardly have been greater than that of Isabella herself, she spoke without triumph. “I pity her! To be outstripped by a young sister—albeit a younger sister only minutes her junior—must be a very bitter pill to swallow.”

  “I wonder what he is playing at,” Milford said thoughtfully.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” said Isabella. “He lent the younger sister the diamonds to put an end to the elder sister’s pretensions! Or, perhaps he is trying to make me jealous,” she went on hopefully. “He is testing me. But I shall be dignity personified. I shan’t create any scenes. He may play with these Americans as much as he likes. I shall bide my time.”

  Milford grimaced. “I think it only fair to tell you, my dear, that Mr. Purefoy has made a bet. He has hazarded fifty thousand pounds.”

  His sense of fairness did not require him to reveal his own part in that bet, however. In fact, he was as determined as ever to keep Isabella in ignorance.

  “What of it?” she shrugged. “I would not interfere in any of his pleasures. With a fortune such as his, fifty thousand pounds is but a drop in the ocean.”

  “But Lady Waverly was the subject of his wager,” Milford explained. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Izzy, but Purefoy has vowed to marry her.”

  “What?” Isabella cried, her face pale and drawn.

  “I’m afraid it’s true. Imagine how I feel,” he went on quickly. “I made a wager with Lord Torcaster the same day that I would marry Lady Waverly. He goaded me into it. It’s your fault,” he added petulantly, “for making me go out that night. If you had but given me lamb chops at home, none of this would be happening.”

  “You must have misunderstood,” said Isabella, her voice shaking. “Mr. Purefoy, and—and Lady Waverly! I cannot believe it. Perhaps he wagered to bed her, but not wed her, surely! Why, the only way he could win a bet like that would be to marry her—actually marry her. He would not do that, surely.”

  “I notice you don’t seem very concerned about your brother!”

  “I hope your wager with Lord Torcaster was not a very large one,” she said dutifully.

  “Ten thousand pounds,” he said. “A mere trifle to his lordship!”

  “Quite!” she said furiously. “Because he had the sense to marry Miss Cruikshanks!”

  His face turned red. “I have my pride, you know. Torcaster is shameless. But I do wonder at Max playing up to the younger sister when he has vowed to marry the elder,” he went on quickly, before Isabella could retort. “What can he mean?”

  Isabella’s brow furrowed in thought. “Could it be Lady Waverly has refused him?” she murmured at last. “He sent the diamonds to her, perhaps, but she passed them on to her sister?”

  “Passed them on?” he repeated incredulously. “Passed them on, and then wore topaz herself?”

  “It doesn’t seem very likely, does it?” Isabella agreed. “I might just believe that Lady Waverly prefers you to Mr. Purefoy, but no one could prefer topaz to diamonds!”

  Milford scowled at her.

  “Far more likely that Lady Waverly is playing some deep game.”

  “Perhaps she doesn’t like him, as she pretends,” said Milford.

  “Perhaps,” said Isabella. “We must keep them under close surveillance at the ball tomorrow night.”

  “What ball? You said we were not engaged tomorrow night. I cannot escort you. I made ... er ... plans.”

  “You will see your mistress another time,” Isabella told him. “Tomorrow night, you must bring me to the ball at Sunderland House.”

  “Oh! Did you receive an invitation, after all?” said her brother.

  “A strange oversight, I’m sure, nothing more,” Isabella said.

  Milford was horrified. “Are you suggesting that we gate crash?”

  “Don’t be such a mouse,” she told him contemptuously. “Faint heart never won fair maid. Do you want to win your bet or not?”

  Milford flinched, and Isabella knew that she had won.

  Sunderland Square was already crowded with vehicles by the time Lady Waverly’s carriage arrived. Prudence had decided to arrive at the ball fashionably late, the better to make her entrance, a decision she now bitterly regretted. “Why did you not tell me there would be such a crush?” she berated poor Lady Jemima as the driver inched slowly toward the lights and music spilling from the open doors of the Duke of Sunderland’s mansion. “At this rate, we’re going to miss everything!”

  Lady Jemima patted her pink hair. “I tried to tell you,” she murmured. “But you would not listen. Of course, everyone who is anyone will be here tonight.”

  “But Max promised me the first two dances,” Pru pouted. “You don’t suppose he would start the dancing without me?”

  She need not have worried. Before Lady Jemima could make any reply, the carriage door opened and Max himself stood there with a gloved hand outstretched to Pru. “It is not far, Miss Prudence, if you would care to walk,” he said, helping her down the steps. “Or, if you prefer, I can offer you one of our chairs.”

  Pru laughed at the chairmen lining the sidewalk. “Lady Jemima may go by sedan chair, if she wants,” she said. “I shall walk.”

  Max raised his brows as the footman closed the door after Lady Jemima had alighted from the carriage. “And ... Lady Waverly? Is your sister not with you this evening?” he asked.

  Pru slipped her arm through Max’s. “Patience? Didn’t I tell you? She could not come tonight. She had already accepted an invitation to a little reception at the American embassy. She asked me to make her excuses for her.”

  “Excuses?” Max said, a little sharply.

  “Oh, she was excessively sorry not to be able to attend,” said Pru, “but she could not disappoint Mrs. Adams, you know.”

  “I see,” he said, tight-lipped.

  “I am sorry if she has offended you,” Pru said meekly. “If it were up to me, she would be here, but I can’t make her do anything. She’s as stubborn as an ox!”

  A smile touched his lips. “True.”

  “We can do very well without her,” said Pru, as they drew close to the marble steps. “You have not forgotten that you promised me the first two dances?”

  His mouth tightened again. “I have not forgotten,” he said. “We have all been waiting for you to arrive to open the ball.”

  Patience was among the first of the guests to arrive at Number Nine, Grosvenor Square, and no one thought the worse of her for having arrived in a yellow hackney carriage, except, perhaps, the jarvey himself.

  Louisa Adams, the pretty, English-born wife of the ambassador, received her very warmly.

  “I see you have run the gauntlet at St. James’s Palace, Lady Waverly,” Mr. Adams said with a twinkle in his eye, “and lived to tell the tale! We read of it in the newspaper.”

  “Oh, sir!” Patience said, blushing. “It is not really a gauntlet, surely.”

  “It is of a kind,” the ambassador replied. “Instead of striking their blows with sticks as the Iroquois do, they strike with hostile, contemptuous stares! When my father served as ambassador, my mother often complained of it. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose, as our French friends say. But, I forget, you are one of them, a baroness. A Peeress of the Realm. If you were a man, you would have a seat in the House of Lords.”

  “I am not one of them,” Patience said quickly. “I hope you will call me Miss Waverly while I am here. No matter what I say, the English will call me ‘my lady.’ Even the servants refuse to be broken of the habit!”

  Mrs. Adams smiled. “I had hoped to see both Miss Waverlys tonight.”

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” Patience apologized. “My sister sends her regrets. But she had a previous engagement that could not be broken.”

  “Too bad,” Mrs. Adams said graciously. “Young ladies are always much too scarce at my functions! I can never find enough partners for th
e gentlemen. But let me find a young man to look after you,” she added, beckoning to someone with her fan.

  Patience opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again as a tall, very good-looking young man detached himself from the small knot of gentlemen standing guard over the punch.

  “Miss Waverly,” he said warmly. “We meet again! I confess I had hoped to see you here.”

  “You know each other already,” Mrs. Adams said, pleased. “If you will excuse me, I must go and rescue my poor husband from Mrs. Rush!”

  She hurried off, leaving Patience with the young man. Fair-haired and blue-eyed, he was clean cut and very handsome, with classically sculpted features.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” Patience murmured in dismay. “I don’t believe we are acquainted. I’m sure I would have remembered meeting a fellow American.”

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said, reddening with embarrassment. “We have met before, but I am not surprised you do not remember. You were quite ill on the journey. It is Miss Patience Waverly, isn’t it?” he added, looking at her curiously. “When you were ill, I had no difficulty telling you apart ...”

  “You saw me when I was ill?” she said, no less embarrassed.

  “I had the honor of attending you,” he quickly explained. “I too sailed from America aboard the Seagull.”

  Patience shook her head. “But the ship’s doctor was a venerable old fellow called Reynolds! I am sure of it.”

  “I’m afraid a number of passengers fell ill on the journey. I was happy to help with those patients suffering only minor complaints.”

  “Minor!” she protested. “It did not feel at all minor to me, sir!”

  “I’m sure it didn’t.”

  Patience grimaced. “I fear you have seen me at my worst, sir.”

  “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Miss Waverly,” he said. “I am a physician. I have seen much, much worse.”

  “That is hardly a comfort, sir!”

  He laughed. “Did your sister never happen to mention me?”

  “Perhaps she did,” Patience replied. “What is your name?”

  “Forgive me! I am Roger Molyneux.”

  Patience frowned. “I’m quite sure she never mentioned that name.”

  “I see,” he said gravely. “Is Miss Prudence here tonight? I would like to pay my respects.”

  “A prior engagement,” said Patience. “Perhaps she did mention you,” she added kindly. “Perhaps I do not remember it. I was quite done up when I arrived in England. I don’t remember all that much. What brings you to England, sir?”

  “I am here to complete my surgical training, Miss Waverly,” he replied. “Oh, I beg your pardon! Do you prefer to be given your title? You are a baroness, I believe.”

  “Please, call me Patience,” she said. “I hate my title. I have come here tonight to escape from it!”

  “Roger,” he said, and they shook hands. “I was very sorry to leave you at Plymouth, Miss—er—Patience. But I was obliged to find lodgings in London. I am dresser to Dr. Chandler these days. For the next eighteen months, I belong to him. I was very fortunate to be allowed to come here tonight. My life has been nothing but lectures since I came here.”

  “Oh, I quite understand.”

  “I’d be eternally grateful if you would dance with me.”

  Patience laughed. “Of course! That is just what I came to do!”

  He led her onto the floor as the musicians played a lively jig.

  “I am surprised my sister never mentioned you,” Patience said frankly, as they were dancing. “You are exactly the sort of young man we most like to talk about, you see.”

  “You’re very kind,” he replied. “I believe your sister hardly noticed me. She thought of nothing but you, and your restoration to good health. It was all I could do to get her to leave the cabin for a little fresh air now and then. She never left your side unless I made her. Despite all my assurances, she was terrified that you were going to die.”

  “I had that fear myself, sir,” Patience said, laughing.

  “Miss Prudence is in good health, I trust?”

  “Oh, yes,” Patience assured him. “On Monday, she met the queen. Tonight, she is attending a ball at the Duke of Sunderland’s house. And, yes, it is just as grand as it sounds. The ball is being held in her honor.”

  “Well, well!” he murmured. “She is happy, then, to be moving in such elevated circles! She would not care to waste her time here with us common folk. She told me she meant to marry a lord,” he added, chuckling. “I don’t suppose she has nabbed one yet?”

  “I’m sure Pru was only joking with you,” Patience told him. “She has not met anyone she likes well enough to marry.”

  “And you, Miss Patience?”

  “Pshaw!” said Patience. “I don’t care three straws for titles—not even my own, sir. I only accepted it because it was part and parcel with my inheritance.”

  “I meant, have you met anyone you like well enough to marry?”

  “No, Mr. Molyneux,” Patience answered. “But I have met someone I like well enough to dance with.”

  His blue eyes twinkled. “Will you dance another dance with a humble medical student, ma’am?”

  “Yes,” she said, giving him her hand.

  A little after midnight, Isabella looked out of the drawing room window of her brother’s house. They had attempted to crash the ball, without success. The duke had a sentry posted at the gates of Sunderland Square, checking each and every invitation. The earl had been obliged to take his sister home.

  Across the way, the Americans at Number Nine were making a terrible noise as they always did when they had one of their interminable vulgar assemblies. They seemed incapable of doing anything quietly. They whooped, stomped, and clapped madly as they danced, and when they sang their horrid songs, they sang them at the top of their lungs, setting every dog in the neighborhood to barking. The rest of the street seemed deserted, however. Isabella guessed that all of their neighbors had been invited to the ball at Sunderland House.

  “Someone really ought to do something about it!” she said angrily to her brother, who was dozing in the corner with one hand on the wine decanter. “Ivor! Go over there this instant, and tell them to be quiet! They are like a pack of wild Indians! They should not be here at all! This is Grosvenor Square! This is Mayfair! This is England!”

  Milford was still smarting from the humiliation of having been turned away at the gates of Sunderland Square. He could not even look forward to a comfortable evening with his mistress, for he had broken his appointment with her in order to take his sister to the ball.

  “They have a right to be there,” said Milford, taking their part only because he was vexed with his sister. “It is their embassy. Everything between those four walls is considered the sovereign territory of the United States. There’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

  “Coward!” said Isabella. In the next instant, however, she caught her breath. “Good heavens! What is he doing here? Good God, is he—? I do believe he is going over! He is going over! He is going in!”

  “Who?” Milford asked, vaguely interested.

  “It’s about time somebody did something,” said Isabella. “Now, perhaps, Grosvenor Square will be Grosvenor Square again!”

  Milford was angry now, because his question had not been answered immediately. “Who has gone over?” he demanded.

  “Mr. Purefoy!”

  Milford hurried to the window, but he was too late to see Mr. Purefoy going into the American ambassador’s house. “You’re joking with me,” he said. “Or else you are mistaken. What would Purefoy want with those barbarians?”

  “I don’t know,” said Isabella. “But I am not mistaken. He did go in that house. And we shall wait right here, Brother, until he comes out again!”

  Chapter 13

  The fresh-faced young officer on duty at his ambassador’s residence clearly had never heard of the noble family of Purefoy, and,
as Max had no invitation, he was obliged to wait while the lieutenant dispatched a servant into the house with Mr. Purefoy’s card. After a time, the servant returned to conduct Max into the house. The noise coming from the room beyond was almost deafening, but with effort, Max could hear the musicians struggling to rise above the sounds of raucous gaiety.

  Mrs. Adams did not keep him waiting long. “Sir?”

  Max offered her a bow, and, somewhat to his surprise, she responded with a very graceful curtsy. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as he suddenly heard the sacrosanct strains of “God Save the King.” The Americans, however, had invented their own lyrics:

  My country ’tis of thee

  Sweet land of liberty

  Of thee I sing ...

  As an Englishman, he found it quite unforgivably cheeky. Mrs. Adams hastily signaled to the servant to close the doors. “Are we making too much noise, sir?” she began nervously. “I do apologize. Our young men are in constant need of diversion, and, when given the chance, I’m afraid they can be quite boisterous. They need wives, of course, but, other than that, there’s nothing really wrong with them. But we’ll try to keep it down, sir. We do want to be good neighbors, you know. Would you care to come in for some punch? Mr. Adams makes it himself.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

  The ambassador’s wife blinked at him in surprise. “Oh, you would? How delightful.”

  Max had the impression that her hospitality was usually declined by his countrymen. She accepted his arm, again with an air of surprise, and together they made their way through the doors into the crowded, noisy ballroom.

  He saw Patience instantly. Indeed, he could hardly have missed her, for she was wearing a low-cut gown of crimson velvet. She was dancing, if dancing it could be called, in the middle of the room. Her green eyes were sparkling, her cheeks were flushed, and her heavy black hair was slipping its pins. Her partner was a tall, grinning young man who seemed to think he was handsome. Hands clasped, the pair was spinning in ever-quickening circles while the crowd around them shouted their appreciation of the maneuver. Max had never seen Patience looking so happy as she smiled up into the bright blue eyes of her partner. They weren’t even wearing gloves, which somehow made it worse.