A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club) (18 page)

It was a hard decision to make. She did not need a new gown. Had she not the day before given away countless gowns? But she was forced this time to admit that accepting Monette’s gift was the most generous act she could make at the moment.

They explored hat shops, glove shops and jewellery shops. Daphne had several pieces of fine jewellery locked away, expensive gifts from her late husband, which she’d not worn since leaving London for the Continent two years ago. She certainly had not needed jewels in the abbey. It surprised her how little she had missed them.

They stopped in a clock shop. On the shelf, among grander pieces, was a clock in a porcelain case that might have been a twin to the one she’d placed in Hugh’s bedchamber in the cottage. Swallowing tears, she purchased it and arranged for it to be sent to her town house.

They bought Dutch biscuits from a street vendor and savoured the sweet and spicy taste. As they finished the last crumbs, they passed a sheet-music shop.

‘I want to look in here.’ Daphne opened the door and entered the shop.

Monette followed her.

The proprietor approached. ‘May I be of assistance, ma’am?’ His look of admiration was familiar.

‘I hope you may assist, sir,’ she responded. ‘I am looking for music for the pianoforte written by a lady.’

‘A lady?’ His brows rose. ‘Do you know the name of the lady or of the piece?’

She smiled. ‘I do not. I suspect she has written the music anonymously.’

He tapped his finger against his lips. ‘I have an idea.’

He let her to a file of music sheets and riffled through them, pulling out one. ‘Perhaps this one?’

She took it from his hand and read that it was a sonatina by Lady Songstress. Her heart beat faster. Lady Songstress had been the name she’d given to Phillipa Westleigh when she’d known her only as the masked
pianiste
at the Masquerade Club.

Daphne’s throat tightened. Had she been a better person, Lady Songstress might have been a friend.

‘Yes,’ she told the proprietor. ‘This is it exactly. Are there other compositions by Lady Songstress?’

He found three others, one quite new. A lullaby.

‘I will buy them all.’ It was at least something she could do for Phillipa. It would honour her music.

‘My lady?’ Monette touched her sleeve. ‘You do not have a pianoforte here. What will you do with this music?’

Daphne had not thought about playing the music, but would that not be the best way to respect Phillipa’s talent?

She turned to the store proprietor. ‘Is there a pianoforte shop you might recommend?’

‘Indeed there is,’ he responded. ‘Near here on Duke Street.’

She made her purchases and she and Monette left.

‘Are you going to buy a pianoforte?’ Monette asked.

Daphne smiled. ‘I believe I will.’ Playing music would be another way to pass the time.

And to remember when she and Hugh played music together.

They found the pianoforte shop and entered. The shop had several instruments on display. The clerk was busy talking to three gentlemen, so Daphne and Monette walked around, looking at simple pianofortes, ornate ones, even a small one that could be carried from place to place. The clerk broke away from his conversation and approached Daphne.

He flushed when he looked upon her face. ‘Are you interested in a pianoforte, my lady?’

‘I am indeed,’ she said.

When she spoke, the three gentlemen turned and Daphne felt the air leave her lungs.

It was the new Lord Westleigh, Xavier—and Hugh.

* * *

Hugh felt both his brother Ned and Xavier stiffen when they saw her. She looked equally as shocked, but more than that, she looked vulnerable. How would Ned and Xavier react? Even in front of the pianoforte clerk and her maid, a cut would wound her.

He stepped towards her and bowed. ‘Good morning, ma’am. Daphne.’ He could not help calling her by name. ‘You are planning to purchase a pianoforte?’

She darted a glance at Xavier and Ned before answering. ‘Yes. I—I do not have one and I am lately interested in playing again.’ She held out a large envelope. ‘I purchased some music.’

‘Did you?’ He extended his hand. ‘May I see?’

She turned paler, hesitating before handing over the packet. He glanced inside. His head snapped up, catching her gaze, when he saw what she had purchased. Phillipa’s music.

‘I—I was interested in this composer. I wanted to give my support,’ she explained.

What was he to make of the fact that she’d purchased his sister’s compositions? He glanced back at Xavier. Had it been because of Xavier?

Ned gazed at her as if she was a pariah. Xavier looked on guard. Both reactions annoyed him. Was there a need to be cruel to her? ‘Xavier, Lady Faville has come to purchase one of your pianofortes. Ned, you remember Lady Faville, do you not?’

Ned inclined his head to her, but did not speak.

Xavier stepped forwards. ‘Did you know this was one of my shops?’ His words might have sounded polite to the clerk and Monette, but Hugh suspected both Ned and Daphne sensed the sharp edge to them.

Daphne looked genuinely surprised. ‘I had no idea of it.’

Monette edged closer to her.

Hugh nodded to the young maid. ‘How are you, Monette?’

‘Very well, sir,’ she replied shyly, her eyes wandering to Xavier. ‘We—we just learned of this place at the music shop.’

Brave girl to defend her mistress in front of an earl and son of an earl. Although she would not know that.

He handed the envelope back to Daphne and their fingers touched. She flushed. ‘I did not know,’ she said just loud enough for Hugh to hear.

He nodded slightly and turned to the clerk. ‘Do you have a recommendation for the lady? Which do you feel would suit her best?’

The man snapped back from gazing upon her. ‘You might try them for sound. All are manufactured to the highest standards, but their sound will differ slightly.’ He pressed the keys of the nearest instruments.

Hugh could hear a difference.

The clerk cleared his throat and continued. ‘Or perhaps the decor of the cabinets will matter more to you.’ He walked over to one that was painted with pink roses, its corners edged in gilt. ‘This would be a fine addition to any room.’

‘I—I prefer one that is less flamboyant.’ She turned to one that was plainly styled. It was quite like the one at the cottage, although obviously of higher quality. ‘This one. You may prepare the bill of sale and have the instrument sent to my residence.’ She gave him the direction to her town house.

The clerk looked to Xavier.

‘Yes, Mr Ball. You may do that for Lady Faville,’ Xavier said.

‘Yes, sir.’ He walked over to the counter and pulled out a book to prepare the bill of sale.

Xavier turned to Daphne. ‘I did not know you were in town.’

She darted a glance at him, but did not sustain it. ‘Yes. We have come to do shopping.’

Monette spoke up again. ‘My lady is showing me all the shops.’

Ned broke in with a sarcastic tone. ‘The shops?’

Daphne turned to him. ‘That is all. I have no other plans. Although we might visit some of the special sights. The Tower. Westminster Abbey. The Egyptian Hall...’ Her voice faded as if she feared she’d said too much.

She glanced at Xavier again.

What was she thinking at seeing Xavier again? Hugh wondered. Had she really not known this was his shop? It seemed too coincidental.

Although how could she have known Xavier would be at the shop? Investors did not spend a great deal of time in their shops. Did Lord George Cavendish patrol the Burlington Arcade like one of his beadles? Indeed not. How would she even have known Xavier owned such shops? From Mr Everard, perhaps, if there was some way that man might have known of it.

It made more sense that she would want to show Monette London. She’d brought the girl from Switzerland and treated her more like a younger sister than a lady’s maid.

The clerk returned with the bill of sale.

‘You will be paid promptly after the instrument is delivered,’ Daphne told him. She turned to Ned and Xavier. ‘Good day, gentlemen.’ She gave Hugh a direct gaze. ‘Hugh.’

He walked with her to the door and opened it for her. ‘Enjoy your music, Daphne. Monette.’

When he closed the door again the clerk excused himself and went to the back of the shop.

Ned turned on Hugh. ‘What was that all about, Hugh? You acted as if Lady Faville was an old friend of yours.’ Ned shot daggers at him. ‘Let me remind you that she nearly ruined us.’

‘I did not know she was in London,’ Xavier said, as if he talking only to himself. ‘God knows I want no more trouble with her. I won’t have Phillipa hurt again.’

‘Trouble.’ Ned laughed drily. ‘That is what she is. You know that, Hugh. Have you lost your senses?’

He had lost his senses with her, but it would be no use trying to explain why to his brother. ‘No more than you, Ned,’ Hugh shot back. ‘There is certainly no reason to discuss this with you.’

Ned glared at him. ‘I think there is every reason to discuss her with me.’

‘I am acquainted with Lady Faville,’ Hugh admitted. ‘But she is hardly the terror you make her out to be.’

‘I suppose you met her in Brussels,’ Ned scoffed. ‘It was said she ran off to the Continent. Were you one of her conquests over there? You stayed a long time. Perhaps not all your time was spent tending to our father’s affairs.’

‘You know nothing of it, Ned.’ Hugh raised his voice, his anger reaching boiling point. ‘If you did not trust me to take care of things in Brussels, maybe you should have gone yourself. Cleaned up the mess yourself.’

‘You cannot speak to me in that fashion!’ Ned countered, his face red.

‘Why? Because you own the title? Remember, I’m your brother. I’ve seen you without your Parliamentary robes. And it has been a long time since you could best me in at fisticuffs.’ He wished Ned would challenge him right now. He’d relish punching him in his aristocratic nose.

Xavier stepped between the two of them. ‘Enough. You don’t have to scrap like a couple of schoolboys. Lady Faville is my problem, if she is anyone’s.’ He faced Hugh. ‘Are you going to buy a pianoforte?’

Hugh shook his head. ‘Not today. I’ve changed my mind.’

‘Very well,’ Xavier said. ‘I’m leaving. I need to tell Phillipa about Lady Faville being in London.’

‘Do not tell her,’ Ned protested. ‘It will upset her.’

‘Not as much as keeping it a secret from her.’ He called to Mr Ball that he was leaving, gave Ned and Hugh one more annoyed look and left the shop.

Hugh started for the door, as well.

Ned was at his heels. ‘Promise me you will have nothing more to do with Lady Faville.’

‘Promise you?’ Hugh laughed as he walked out of the shop. ‘Why not simply trust me to do the right thing?’

He strode away from his brother and did not look back. At the moment he was too angry at Ned to deal with him a moment longer.

Chapter Seventeen

D
aphne walked so briskly, Monette had difficulty keeping up with her. She stopped and waited. ‘I am sorry, Monette. I simply must return home.’

‘Yes,
madame
,’ Monette said, out of breath. ‘It upset you to see Mr Westleigh. I am sorry for you.’

‘It—it surprised me, is all. I did not expect it.’ She had not expected to ever see him again.

He’d been civil to her, even kind. That made the pain greater. Had he been as rude as his brother, her anger might have blocked out the ache of losing him all over again.

‘Who were the other gentlemen? They were so angry at you, I think,’ Monette asked. ‘One man was very handsome. I have never seen a man so—so handsome.’

Another surprise. Seeing Hugh had so completely overshadowed the sight of Xavier that she’d no emotion to spare for him. It simply had not mattered to her to see Xavier again. She’d never truly known him, merely the superficial fantasy of him she’d created herself.

She’d known Hugh, though. Intimately. She knew his character, his determination, his strength.

She answered Monette, ‘The handsome man is married to Mr Westleigh’s sister and the other man is Mr Westleigh’s brother, Lord Westleigh.’

Monette’s eyes widened. ‘
Lord
Westleigh?’

‘He is an earl.’

‘Mon Dieu,’
Monette murmured.

They retraced their steps on Oxford Street and returned to the town house. When they walked in the door, Daphne said, ‘I will be quite myself again, Monette. I simply need some solitude for a little while.’

Monette nodded.

Daphne forced herself to climb the steps at a normal pace. When she entered her bedchamber, she realised she was still clutching the envelope containing the music sheets. She dropped it on a table, pulled off her gloves and hat and pressed her hands against her temple.

Calm yourself,
she scolded. It is very unlikely she would see Hugh again, even if she went out. It was merely a terrible coincidence this time. She hurried over to her bureau drawer and pulled out his handkerchief, all clean and folded.

She held it in her hands and flopped into a rocking chair. She gazed out the window while she rocked, but she did not see the blue sky or the green trees. She was consumed by the memory of his fingers brushing against hers, by the kind look in his eyes. Of course, he’d appeared puzzled when he’d seen what music she’d purchased. Why had she done such a thing? She could have purchased any music. What was he to think of her selecting Phillipa’s music?

She could barely remember what Xavier had said. There was not even a vestige of her former infatuation.

Hugh’s brother’s anger had been very evident. She’d expected such a reaction from a Westleigh. She deserved it. The surprise had been Hugh’s defence of her. At least it felt like he’d defended her, practically forcing his brother to be civil. Why had he done such a thing?

Her mind whirled in circles for the next hour and always wound up in the same bleak place.

There was a knock on the door and Monette peeked into the room. ‘Mrs Everard has come to call.’

Daphne had completely forgotten about Mrs Everard.

She rose wearily. ‘I must see her.’

‘Wait.’ Monette touched her gown. ‘Do you not wish me to help you change? One of your morning gowns is ready for you.’

Daphne looked down at herself. She supposed her skirts were a bit soiled from the street. ‘Might we simply brush off the dirt? I hate to keep her waiting long.’ Truly she wanted to be done with this interview, regretting she’d ever said anything to put Mrs Everard in this position of having to call upon her social superior.

Monette quickly brushed the hem of her skirt. ‘You must let me dress your hair,’ she said when finished.

Daphne glanced in her mirror. Her hair was coming loose of its pins, strands escaping from the knot atop her head.

She sat at her dressing table and allowed Monette to make her hair presentable, although it might have done just as well to cover it with a cap.

Daphne was certainly not looking forward to this interview, but poor Mrs Everard was in a worse position. Daphne could not greet her with this gloomy mood. The woman would likely think her presence to be the cause.

She’d make herself friendly and cheerful. She’d been trained to do so no matter how she felt inside. For so many years she’d performed the task so well, she’d forgotten how to feel.

No longer.

Monette tied Daphne’s hair with a ribbon, and her curls fell around her face as if it all had been carefully arranged.

Daphne stood and straightened her spine. ‘Thank you, Monette,’ she remembered to say. ‘I do look a great deal neater.’

She left her room and descended the stairs, placing a smile on her face and stuffing all other emotions deep inside. With her social facade erected, she entered the drawing room, where Mrs Everard stood staring at Daphne’s portrait so prominently displayed.

She really ought to have it replaced by some nice landscape.

‘Mrs Everard?’

The woman turned and quickly composed her unhappy face into an expression of politeness. She curtsied.

Daphne approached her with hand extended. ‘I am Lady Faville.’ She glanced at her portrait. ‘As you have undoubtedly guessed.’ She shook the woman’s hand. ‘I am so sorry to have kept you waiting. Especially when it was so kind of you to come.’

Mrs Everard’s handshake was very tentative. ‘Ma’am’ was all she said.

Daphne took her arm and led her to a set of chairs near the fireplace. ‘Do sit.’ She gave Mrs Everard a chair that did not face her portrait. One Lady Faville was enough for the woman to deal with.

Daphne had always known she was prettier than most women. Her mother certainly had told her so from the time she was in leading strings. It had been the abbess who helped her understand how much a barrier her beauty could be. She’d realised, though, that the biggest barrier had been one she created herself. She’d been the one who’d not looked beyond a person’s physical appearance.

She smiled at her guest. ‘I’ve ordered tea. It should be here any minute.’

Mrs Everard’s gaze did not quite meet Daphne’s. ‘You ought not to have gone to so much trouble for me,’

Mrs Everard was young, perhaps no more than twenty. She was pleasant looking, but plain, although with a little effort she might actually be pretty. Her hair was a nondescript brown, pulled away from her face and covered by her bonnet. Her dress was well cut and well sewn, but it was an unadorned grey, the colour of a dreary day. Her eyes were an identical shade of grey, but Daphne suspected they would brighten with colour if she chose to wear rich greens or blues. Daphne could think of three gowns in her wardrobe that would look lovely on the young woman. Would Mrs Everard accept them? she wondered.

Daphne exclaimed, ‘Gracious! It is no trouble to serve tea. And it will make our visit more cosy, will it not?’

The young woman’s eyes flashed. ‘As you wish.’

Mrs Everard was angry about the visit! Daphne had not seen it at first, thinking her merely uncomfortable, but Mrs Everard resented being here, Daphne would wager.

The tea arrived, carried in by one of the London footmen. Daphne resolved to learn his name.

‘Thank you,’ she said as he placed the tray on the table between the two ladies.

He left the room.

Daphne lifted a tea cup. ‘How do you take it?’

Mrs Everard removed her gloves and placed them in her lap. ‘A little milk will do.’

It stood to reason she would not want sugar. There was no sweetness in her manner at all, but the unguarded expression of her face suggested her acerbity was meant entirely for Daphne. Such a reaction, to dislike her for her looks, was as familiar to Daphne as being liked for them.

She poured the tea and handed the cup to Mrs Everard. The silence between them stretched until Daphne was considering making the weather a topic of conversation.

‘My husband talks of you a great deal,’ her guest finally said.

Ah, jealousy. Daphne lifted her cup to her lips. ‘Does he?’

Mrs Everard nodded. ‘He has talked of nothing else, I believe, since your letter arrived that you were returning to England.’

Daphne knew how dangerous jealousy could be. It had nearly caused her to burn down a building. ‘He takes his duties very seriously.’

‘Too seriously, some might say.’ Mrs Everard lifted her cup, but did not take a sip. ‘I believe he frets more over your finances than he does over our own.’

Daphne laughed a little, trying to make light of it. ‘I cannot see why he should.’

The woman’s eyes flashed again. ‘Can you not?’

Oh, dear. She must tread very carefully. She took another sip and took on a thoughtful expression. ‘Perhaps your husband has more trust in your management of money than he does mine. He spoke in such a complimentary manner of that very thing when he called this morning.’

Mrs Everard’s gaze shot back to Daphne’s. ‘He called on you this morning?’

Oh, dear. ‘Very briefly,’ Daphne quickly assured her. ‘Merely to make certain I would be home to receive your call, so you did not exert yourself for no purpose.’

The young woman’s brows knitted as if she had not considered that possibility. Of course, Daphne feared the visit from Everard had been mostly to indulge his infatuation. How could she convince him that an infatuation was nothing but fantasy?

Daphne went on. ‘I asked your husband for the name of a good cabinet maker and he spoke of you as the expert in that area. I understand from him that you have very nicely decorated your home at the most reasonable cost.’

Mrs Everard swept a gaze over the room. ‘What need have you of furniture, especially furniture of modest cost?’

Maybe if she pretended to take Mrs Everard into her confidence, the young woman would become more at ease. She’d tried such a tactic with Phillipa Westleigh once upon a time, when she’d pretended to herself they’d been friends.

It would be so nice to have a woman friend. Not this woman, though. Mrs Everard hated her without knowing her, hated her by sight alone.

Daphne leaned towards her. ‘I will tell you why I wish to buy furniture, but you must promise to say nothing to your husband.’

Mrs Everard returned a wary look. ‘I am not in the habit of keeping secrets from my husband.’

Spoken like a newly married woman, indeed. Daphne waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, but this is a matter only of importance to me. You see, I recently authorised the repair of my tenants’ cottages and I thought it would be a nice gift to all of them if I would buy them each a piece of furniture.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘What do you think? I thought perhaps a bureau for each family would be best. And some nice wooden chests for the farm and stable workers.’

Mrs Everard spilled some of her tea into the saucer. ‘You are purchasing furniture for your tenants?’

‘And the workers,’ Daphne added. ‘So I need good sturdy furniture, but I want it to be well made and pleasant to look at, too.’ She gave Mrs Everard another thoughtful look. ‘I do think everyone enjoys pretty things no matter what their circumstances.’

‘I see.’ Mrs Everard took her first sip of tea. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’

To atone for never giving such people any thought her whole life, she could say. ‘Call it a whim,’ she said instead.

‘Well.’ Mrs Everard placed her tea cup back on the table and opened the strings of her reticule. She took out a piece of paper and handed it to Daphne. ‘Here is the name of a cabinet maker in Cheapside.’

Daphne read from the paper. ‘Jeffers Cabinetry.’ She smiled. ‘Thank you so much for this! I am so greatly indebted to you.’

Mrs Everard picked up a glove and put it on. ‘If you would forgive me, I must leave. I have taken up too much of your time already.’

Daphne stood. ‘Nonsense. It has been delightful to meet you.’

Mrs Everard rose, putting on her second glove. She started to walk away, but stopped and turned to Daphne. ‘One thing more.’ She looked Daphne directly in the eye. ‘My husband is unnaturally attached to you.’ She glanced from Daphne to her portrait and back. ‘A woman like you must—must exert an undue influence on men. I would ask that you release my husband from your clutches.’ Her eyes flickered with pain. ‘He is all that I have.’

She turned to leave, but Daphne put a hand on her arm. ‘I am fond of your husband, but he is my man of business. Nothing more. I wish you both happiness in your marriage.’

Mrs Everard moved out of Daphne’s grasp. ‘You outshine me. He cannot even see me when you are near.’

Daphne wanted to tell her she would not be around for long. Toller should be in touch any day now. If there was one thing today had taught her, it was that she should not come to town. Here she only made people unhappy.

She walked Mrs Everard to the door. The footman, whose name she did not know, stood in the doorway about to knock.

‘Another caller, my lady,’ he said. ‘Mr Westleigh.’

Hugh?

Her heart flew into her throat.

Mrs Everard’s head cocked in recognition, but she could not know of Hugh. More likely she knew of Phillipa Westleigh. Perhaps even her foolish husband had told that whole story.

No wonder the poor woman feared she would steal her husband.

‘Mr Westleigh may come in,’ Daphne said to the footman. To Mrs Everard she said, ‘Thank you so much for coming and for bringing me such an excellent recommendation. Please do not worry over the rest.’

Mrs Everard avoided looking at her and simply followed the footman back to the hall.

* * *

The woman in grey glanced at Hugh as she passed him in the hall. She did not seem the sort who would call upon Lady Faville.

‘Lady Faville will see you in the drawing room, sir,’ the footman said, gesturing to the doorway to the room where Hugh had been the day before, where he had made love to Daphne.

He nodded politely to the woman in grey and crossed the hall to the drawing room.

Daphne stood waiting for him. ‘Hugh, come in.’

He inclined his head in the direction of the hall. ‘Did I interrupt?’

She shook her head. ‘She was just leaving.’ Her brow knitted. ‘Is—is this about the pianoforte shop? I give you my word I did not know anything of Xavier’s connection to the shop. If I had known, I would have gone to a different place.’