The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness Page 9

  “I will certainly call again,” Isabella promised. “As for my brother, I believe he is smitten.”

  Patience was taken aback. “Oh! Then perhaps you would be good enough to give him a hint, Lady Isabella. I—I am not interested in marriage at present.”

  “Poor Ivor! He will be very sorry to hear that,” Isabella murmured.

  As smug as any criminal who has gotten away with his crime, she took her leave, glowing with triumph, and went down to meet her brother.

  Lord Milford’s tiger hopped down from the groom’s seat to open the door of the curricle for Lady Isabella, barely getting back in time before the earl let his horses go.

  “Well?” Milford said to his sister. “I suppose you put in a good word for me?”

  Isabella hid a smile. “Did you like her, Brother? I couldn’t tell. You were so quiet.”

  “She’s very pretty, of course, though, perhaps a bit thin,” he said stiffly. “And a baroness in her own right. That is pleasing, too. If she is as rich as Purefoy says, I am willing to overlook her deplorable American accent. Did she speak well of me when you were alone?”

  “Speak well of you?” Isabella mocked. “How could she, with her deplorable American accent?”

  “Never mind that. What did she say about me?”

  “You’re in luck, Brother. She likes men who stare at her like perfect imbeciles and never open their mouths.”

  “That’s all right then,” he said, pleased. “I shall stay at home tomorrow, for tomorrow her ladyship will return our call. That’s the way it’s done. I want the house looking its best for her, too. And we’d better get some of that disgusting pink water in, too.”

  “No!” Isabella said, alarmed. “Tomorrow you must call on Lady Waverly again, Brother, for Mr. Purefoy has promised to call on me. He may have something particular to say! No, Brother, you must go to her in Clarges Street.”

  “It will look very odd if the Earl of Milford calls on the same lady two days together,” he protested. “People will talk.”

  “Indeed, they will, Brother!”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, after a moment. “I see what you mean. We want them to talk. Very well. I shall call on her tomorrow and stare at her without speaking.”

  Isabella sighed. “No, you must talk to her tomorrow.”

  He frowned. “But you said she likes men who stare at her.”

  “You must show her some variety. Oh, for heaven’s sake! Take her for a drive in your curricle,” Isabella said impatiently. “Must I think of everything?”

  “I shall take her for a drive in my curricle,” he announced. “That, certainly, will get the on-dit going!”

  “What an excellent idea, Brother,” Isabella said dryly.

  Patience confronted Prudence the moment her sister returned to the house that afternoon, before Pru had a chance to remove her cloak and bonnet.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded.

  Pru paused at the hall mirror, while Lady Jemima slipped quietly upstairs to eavesdrop.

  “I was at my French lesson, of course,” Pru answered, removing her bonnet and rearranging her crushed curls. “Would you like to hear me conjugate some irregular verbs?”

  “No,” said Patience, her arms folded. “I would like to know what you were doing in Bond Street yesterday!”

  “I was only window shopping! I didn’t buy anything!”

  “I don’t care about that,” her sister said impatiently.

  “No?” Pru said sweetly. “In that case, I bought a fan.”

  “I am very worried about you, Pru,” Patience began again, trying to sound less accusatory. “I know you have been seeing—seeing that man.”

  “What man?” Pru said, laughing. “Who, Max?”

  “No, Mr. Purefoy,” said Patience, surprised into speaking the dreaded name. “Who the devil is Max?”

  “Max is Mr. Purefoy,” Pru told her. “It’s short for Maximum. In Latin, that means the most. And he is, Patience; he is the most.”

  Patience’s eyes glittered. “Yes, that is what I hear,” she said coldly.

  Pru sniffed. “Who is your spy? Lady Jemima?”

  “No. A—a friend. Someone who is as worried about you as I am. Someone who knows what this man is capable of.”

  “Well, your spy is misinformed! I was not with Max in Bond Street yesterday. I saw him, but I couldn’t catch him.”

  Patience caught her breath. “Pru, you must promise me never to see him again. He is dangerous, Pru. Dangerous.”

  Pru rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to tell me again how Mr. Purefoy tried to drown you in the ballroom, are you?”

  “I’d be wasting my breath,” Patience said.

  “Yes, you would,” Pru said angrily. “I’m glad you know! I’m tired of keeping secrets. For your information, Mr. Purefoy has been everything kind! While you were sick, he devoted himself to me. He showed me all the sights of London. We were together every day. He was most attentive. We did not mean to fall in love. It just happened!”

  “Good God! I had no idea! How could you be so foolish?”

  “It was delightful,” Pru said defiantly. “I was quite sad when he went away to spend Christmas with his uncle. But he is back now, and everything is just as it was. He is as much in love with me as ever.”

  “This has gone far enough! He is not in love with you, you—you fool.”

  “He is,” Pru insisted. “Yesterday, I met his uncle. I was afraid his grace would not approve of me, but in no time at all I had him eating out of my hand! He is going to give a ball for me.”

  “That will not be possible, I’m afraid,” said Patience. “As your guardian, I will not permit it. You will have nothing more to do with that family, and they will have nothing more to do with us.”

  “Max will have something to say about this!” cried Pru.

  Patience pressed her lips together. “If you ever go near him again, I will dismiss Lady Jemima, and you will not go to St. James’s Palace. I will send you back to Philadelphia under armed guard! You will not see him again.”

  Her face white as a sheet, her eyes glittering with rage, Pru stared at her.

  “Do you think I am bluffing?”

  “No,” Pru said sullenly. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you how much I hate you.”

  “None whatsoever,” Patience said cheerfully. “But, then, I know that this is for your own good. One day you will thank me for it.”

  “Ha!”

  Patience sighed. “Do I have your word?”

  Pru glared at her. “I will not seek him out,” she said, “but if he—I should say, when—he seeks me out, I will not be rude to him.”

  “No,” Patience agreed. “I will. And since the servants are under strict orders never to admit him to this house, and, since you will not leave this house unless I am with you, I think you will be safe.”

  Turning, she started up the stairs to the drawing room. Pru followed her, howling indignantly. “You can’t hold me a prisoner!”

  “Oh, yes, I can,” Patience returned, as Lady Jemima, who had been listening on the landing, hurried away from them. “Unlike America, this is not a free country. I am your guardian. I can and I will lock you up if that is what it takes to keep you safe from harm.”

  “But my lessons!” Pru protested. “You can’t keep me from my lessons! You wouldn’t do that, surely?” she added, beginning to whine.

  Patience assumed a conciliatory tone. “I’ll go with you to your lessons, and I will take you home afterward. I might even hire a gig, and drive you around town myself. Would you like that?”

  Pru wrinkled her nose. “A gig?”

  “Yes, a gig! I drove a gig in Philadelphia, and you never complained.”

  “I didn’t know any better,” said Pru. “Nobody drives a gig in London.”

  “All right, then,” Patience said pleasantly. “What do the fashionable people drive here in London?”

  “Mr. Purefoy drives a curricle. It’s e
ver so fast! And then you have the high-perch phaeton. I suppose that’s very fast, too.” Suddenly she scowled. “You can’t buy me off with a town car, you know!”

  “I’m not trying to buy you off,” Patience lied. “I miss driving my little gig. It would be fun. I could take you for a drive in the park every afternoon.”

  “Five o’clock is the fashionable hour,” Pru told her eagerly.

  “I’ll be sure to avoid it,” said Patience, though she instantly regretted her levity. “Only joking! We can go at the fashionable hour. But we mustn’t count our high-perch phaetons before they are hatched.”

  Pru sighed. “Oh, what’s the point? You’re not really going to do it. You’ll just say it’s too much money like you always do!”

  “Yes, that does sound like me,” Patience admitted. “But, look, if you promise me that you won’t see this man again, I will promise to do something nice for you. Something you want, even if it is expensive.”

  “Really? Then I want a high-perch phaeton,” said Pru. “I won’t give him up for anything less!”

  Patience could barely contain her happiness. It could hardly have been true love, she reflected, if Pru was willing to give him up for something so trivial! “You shall have it,” she promised. “I’ll borrow the money if I have to!”

  “I get to choose it!” said Pru.

  “Certainly,” Patience agreed readily. “I’ll begin making inquiries tomorrow.”

  “Max buys his horses at Tattersall’s,” said Pru.

  “Very well. We’ll go tomorrow, if you like.”

  Pru scoffed at her sister’s ignorance. “Sales are on Mondays.”

  “Then we’ll go on Monday,” said Patience. “That will give me time to arrange for a letter of credit from the bank. Would you like to go to the bank with me tomorrow?”

  “Lord, no,” Pru said crossly. “May I go to my room now, Baroness? Or would you like me to scrub the floor on my hands and knees before I go?”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you may go to your room.”

  “Without my supper, I suppose.” Pru was on her way out of the room, when Patience suddenly called to her. “Yes, milady?”

  Patience grimaced, but did not allow herself to be provoked. “I was just wondering,” she said, “if you knew where I might find a monkey?”

  Pru lifted her brows. “A monkey?” she repeated doubtfully.

  “I know it sounds funny, but one of our uncle’s creditors came to see me today—an earl, as a matter of fact. He has an IOU for a monkey. He offered to forgive the debt,” she went on, frowning, “but I—I think I’d better pay it. I’m afraid his lordship took a bit of a shine to me, and I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding there. When you were out shopping, did you ever happen to see any monkeys for sale?”

  Pru hid a smile. She knew, as her sister evidently did not, that “monkey” was merely slang for five hundred pounds. Wouldn’t Patience look a perfect fool if she sent a gentleman a live monkey? And no one, in Pru’s view, deserved it more than her officious, interfering, tyrannical sister.

  “I would like to settle the debt as soon as possible,” said Patience.

  “Well, there’s a monkey shop in New Oxford Street,” said Pru, “but I never went in.”

  Patience went to the desk to consult her guidebook, murmuring, “New ... Oxford ... Street ...”

  Pru burst out laughing.

  “There’s no such thing as a monkey shop,” Patience said, closing the guide to London.

  “I’m sorry,” said Pru, not sorry at all. “Just tell Briggs you want a monkey, and he’ll send out for one.”

  “Mr. Briggs, you mean,” Patience corrected her.

  “No, just Briggs,” Pru insisted. “He doesn’t like it when you call him ‘Mister.’ It’s customary to refer to one’s butler by his surname only. He thinks you’re making fun of him when you call him Mr. Briggs.”

  “Oh!” Patience said, horrified.

  “You have a lot to learn, don’t you?” Pru said. “May I go to my room now, milady?”

  Patience sighed. “Yes.”

  “Shall I ring the bell for Briggs on my way out, milady?”

  “Thank you.”

  Briggs glided into the room a few minutes later. “Yes, my lady?”

  “I have a rather strange request, Mr. Briggs,” Patience told him. “I need a monkey. Do you think you can get one? I would like to send it to Lord Milford, in Grosvenor Square,” she went on, reading the address from his lordship’s card and grossly mispronouncing “Grosvenor.”

  “Pardon me, my lady?” he said, with brows slightly lifted.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Patience said quickly. “What I meant to say was, I would like a monkey, Briggs, if you please.”

  “Very good, my lady,” answered Briggs. “How should Cook prepare it?”

  “No!” Patience said quickly. “It’s not to be cooked, Mr... . er ... Briggs. I want a live monkey.”

  “Very good, my lady. What sort of monkey?”

  Though she had not expected the question, Patience had an easy answer. “The cheapest you can find.”

  “Very good, my lady. Will there be anything else?”

  “No,” said Patience. “Thank you, Mr.—” Once again, she caught herself saying the dreaded word. “Thank you, Briggs.”

  The butler certainly did not smile, but there was a serenity in his eyes as he said, “Very good, my lady.”

  The monkey was delivered to Lord Milford the following morning in Grosvenor Square, while the earl and his sister were still at breakfast. Milford regarded the tiny capuchin in astonishment as his butler carried it in.

  “Compliments of Lady Waverly!” he repeated in disbelief.

  Isabella giggled. “You did say her uncle owed you a monkey!”

  The monkey bit the butler, thereby securing his release. Quick as lightning, it scampered down the length of the table, stole a peach from the silver epergne, and jumped onto Isabella’s shoulder. Isabella stopped laughing and caught her breath as the monkey’s tail curled softly around her neck.

  “I think he likes me,” she whispered, after a moment.

  “You’re very welcome to him, I’m sure,” said her brother.

  “Most unsanitary! What does Lady Waverly mean? I’m sure I have a sense of humor, but this is gross impertinence! She must know I meant five hundred pounds! Why should her uncle owe me a monkey-monkey?”

  “Don’t you see, Ivor?” said Isabella. “Lady Waverly is flirting with you!”

  “Flirting with me!” he exclaimed, eyeing the capuchin doubtfully. “D-do you think so?”

  The clever little creature flung the peach pit at the earl.

  “Of course,” said Isabella, brushing the monkey’s tail away from her face. “What else can it be? She is teasing you, Ivor.”

  “Teasing me! Well! That’s all right then, I suppose,” said her brother.

  “It means she likes you.”

  “Yes, thank you, Izzy! I know what it means when a female teases me!” he snapped. “I ain’t stupid, you know.”

  “You will have something to talk about when you call on her,” said Isabella. “Besides my headache, I mean. Don’t forget to make my excuses to her.”

  “I won’t forget,” he said angrily. “Why do you always think I will forget? I was endowed by my Creator with an excellent memory.”

  After breakfast, Isabella arranged herself in the drawing room where she intended to wait, until the end of time, if necessary, for Mr. Purefoy to call. The monkey sat with her, and she could not have imagined a more prettily behaved creature. Before leaving for Clarges Street, Lord Milford stuck his head in the door.

  “Come here,” she commanded, frowning. “Your neck cloth wants adjusting.”

  As Lord Milford approached, the monkey suddenly jumped onto Isabella’s shoulder and hissed at him, baring its teeth. The earl, naturally, drew back.

  Isabella laughed. “How sweet!”

  Milford scowled. “Sweet! H
e nearly took off my finger.”

  “I don’t think he likes you.”

  “The feeling is entirely mutual!”

  “You frightened him,” Isabella said indulgently. “He was protecting me.”

  Milford grunted. “I won’t have to worry about Purefoy taking liberties!”

  Later, that night, as she cried herself to sleep, Isabella wished she had taken this little incident more seriously, as the omen it was.

  Mr. Purefoy had called very soon after the earl’s departure. “What’s this?” he’d said, smiling, as he came into the room and saw Isabella’s animal companion. The little capuchin sat on her shoulder, playing with her pearl earring. “A rival?”

  Isabella had laughed. “A gift to my brother from Lady Waverly,” she said. “But I think he likes me best. Don’t you, monkey?”

  Max raised his brows. His gray eyes flashed with curiosity. “A gift from Lady Waverly, you say? I didn’t know your brother was acquainted with the baroness.”

  “We called on her yesterday. Ivor was quite taken with her, and I think she likes him, too.”

  Max frowned. “What?”

  “I said Ivor was quite taken with her—”

  “I heard you,” he said curtly. “But why would you call on Lady Waverly?” he demanded.

  “After what I saw of her sister in Bond Street,” Isabella answered, “I was concerned. As I suspected, the baroness knew nothing of her sister’s behavior. She was very grateful.”

  “I’m sure you meant well,” he said stiffly, “but you should not have interfered.”

  “I could not help it,” she said, looking down at her hands. “Perhaps I care too much.”

  His mouth twitched. “And so Ivor was quite taken with her ladyship? Is he that badly dipped?”

  Isabella blinked at him. “You imply that my brother is a fortune hunter?”

  “What else could he see in Lady Waverly?”

  “But the baroness is very beautiful,” Isabella protested.

  Max gave a short laugh. “Beautiful!”

  “She is, perhaps, a little thin,” Isabella admitted. “Her sister has the better figure.”

  “Upon seeing the baroness for the first time, I mistook her for the Medusa!” said Max.