A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal (11 page)

But even if St. Maur’s story wasn’t true … She cast a look around the interior. This little space was finer than any she’d ever called her own. Ha! Finer than any she’d ever seen before last night. Cut-glass lamps fixed in brass, panels of polished wood, tapestry rugs rolled up at her feet—a girl could live in this coach.

Marry me
, he’d said.

She reached into her pocket and felt past the handkerchief for the ten-pound note he’d given her to show his promises were good. She’d handled a bill, once or twice, but this one felt different, maybe because it was so clean. Crisp and crackling, like it had just come from the bank.

Did it matter who she was? St. Maur said people would believe it, regardless. And why not? She
did
look just like that girl.

She closed her eyes and took a breath through a throat that felt as dry as bone. If he came back with Hannah, maybe … Maybe she’d decide to give him a bit of trust. Just a
bit
, mind. She’d see where this led, at least.

Minutes passed. The vehicle trembled as others trundled by. Footsteps cracked toward the vehicle; three hard strikes made the door rattle. Now came an angry voice, demanding that the door be opened, the coach be moved; bloody cheek, blocking the entrance! Just as quick, two strident voices tumbled over each
other to demand an apology. Lord Rushden’s carriage; special business; respect your betters.

And in reply, a flustered apology. Humbly begging his lordship’s forgiveness, etcetera.

She sat frozen as the footsteps moved off. So it really
did
work like that. She’d never witnessed such craven groveling, but then, nobody in Bethnal Green got the opportunity for it, did they? Not many lords would see a cause to visit Peacock Alley.

More footsteps approached. A muttered exchange between the erstwhile defenders of his lordship’s right to park himself where he pleased. Her heart fluttering in her throat, she sat up. The door shuddered, then swung open.

Hannah’s tearful face peered up at her. “Oh, Nell!” she cried, and then burst into tears.

“So he wants me to come back and marry him,” Nell concluded. She spoke in low tones, aware of St. Maur waiting outside. His coach was set to take Hannah home, but by the terms of their agreement, she’d stay here in Mayfair with him. He obviously meant to hold her to the fine details, too: he’d not even gone inside his house, but was lingering on the front step. “Can you
believe
this tale?”

Hannah licked her lips. “No.”

“It’s a bit much, ain’t it?” Nell reached out to take her hand. “Poor duck. You look exhausted.”

Hannah nodded, looking down to her lap, to the fist in which she held the crumpled blue handkerchief Nell had lent her when she’d started to weep on the way to Grosvenor Square. St. Maur had noted the new ownership with a lift of his brow and a slight but pointed smile.

Now I know
, that smile had said.

Yes, now he knew. She was a thief as well as a would-be murderess.

She didn’t like to think how tight her throat would feel in a noose. She focused instead on Hannah, whose hand was trembling beneath hers. “You’re all right, now,” she said, giving the girl a proper squeeze. “And Hannah …” Why not dream big? “Think of it. This means I could be rich. Rich beyond all belief!”

A moment of silence passed. Hannah looked up to show a frown. “But you’re not that girl, Nell.”

“Maybe I’m not. But …” She hesitated, then spoke in a rush: “There’s this painting in St. Maur’s library and I swear to you that I’ve seen the place before.” She’d been thinking about it. “I recognized the house in it. And you were the one who said I looked like that girl in the photograph.”

“True, but you say—” Hannah cast a quick glance toward the door, which still stood closed. “You say you’re her father’s bastard,” she whispered. “So maybe you saw the house as a babe.” She wrinkled her nose. “Though I can’t credit that you kept that secret from me! All these years, and you never breathed a word!”

“But Mum never told me of Rushden till she got sick.” Why hadn’t she told? Nell felt her stomach tighten. “And if this bloke is right, she had cause to keep quiet, didn’t she?”

Hannah made a sharp noise and pulled free of her grip. “I can’t credit my ears. You think your mum could do such a thing? Aye, Mrs. Whitby was a small bit daft, but it takes a bedlamite for sure to steal another woman’s babe!”

Nell flushed. The words too closely echoed her own thoughts. “I’m not saying she was a bedlamite! But if
she did it—” She took a breath. “Well, maybe she had cause. Maybe she worried for me. Maybe I wasn’t safe, somehow, or …” She trailed off. Hannah was looking at her like she was blaspheming on a Sunday.

“Here,” Hannah said tartly, thrusting the handkerchief out. “Take this back. If you’re going off to whore, I want no part of the payment!”

Nell shook her head. A sinking feeling was overtaking her. “He talked of marriage, not a poke.”

Hannah let out a snort. “You didn’t used to be a fool.”

Nell stared at the fine handkerchief, clenched so tightly in Hannah’s freckled, work-worn fingers. “You’re right to worry,” she said quietly. “You’re right about Mum, too. Of course she wouldn’t have done that.”

“No, she wouldn’t.” Hannah’s jaw squared. “But I see how you were taken in,” she offered. “He’s a right handsome beast, and I’m grateful that you made him free me. But what a bounder to try to trick you like that! If he wants you for a moll, he might be honest, at least!”

Here was the catch. “I don’t think he’s lying.” Nell shrugged. “What’s he to gain by trickery? Men like him, they think they can buy any girl they like. And to want to buy me?” She made a face. “I’m no eyesore, but it’s a bit of a stretch to think he’d go to so much trouble for
me
, don’t you think?”

Hannah’s mouth pursed. “You’re pretty, Nellie. Dickie Jackson always—”

“Oh, piffle to Dickie! You twig what I mean. I’m not
you
. Maybe if it were
you
, I’d believe he’d make up lies to have you. But—let’s be frank, Han.”

“I don’t know …”

“Forget the question of Mum,” Nell said hastily. “Just consider this: no matter what’s true, he believes his story. Either way, then, I’ve naught to lose by going back to him.” Besides, St. Maur had too much on her for her to dare refuse his offer. But she wouldn’t worry Hannah with that point.

“Oh, aye, I’d wager he
will
believe this story,” Hannah said, her tone ominous. “Until the day comes when he’s supposed to wed you!
Then
you see what he believes! You’ll be left high and dry without a penny to show for it!”

Nell made an impatient noise. “No, but listen: he
did
promise to set me up, Hannah—a whole wardrobe of new clothes, he said, to introduce me to his kind. Now, imagine what I could do with three or four dresses—not the cheap sort, but silk and satin, the kinds you see in the photographs.”

She paused, cheered by the thought. It was a lowering thing to consider his offer only because he could have her arrested if she refused it. But this plan was
flash
. Even if she’d felt certain of being able to refuse him without consequences, she would have considered this road. “No matter if he changes his mind about marrying me, I’ll still have the dresses. Imagine how much Brennan would pay for just one of them!”

Hannah drummed her fingers against the leather bench. “I don’t know. Aye, they’d fetch a handsome price,” she said softly. “But what if he set the police on you for taking them?”

“But he could do that right now if he wanted.” Of course, right now he thought he had a use for her. Once that changed, he might throw her to the dogs for fun. “It’s a risk,” Nell admitted. “But no greater than the one I’m running already.”

Hannah pressed her hands together at her mouth, a prayerful posture that caused her lips to whiten. Nell went still, recognizing it as the preparation to a verdict.

“You said he wants your money,” Hannah said finally. “He wants to
marry
you. If he’s not having you on, then … then he’ll really want to marry you.” She blinked very rapidly, then crossed herself. “Begging your mum’s forgiveness … you could be a countess, Nell.” Her eyes got wide. “A
countess
.”

Nell opened her mouth but words failed her. A
countess
. Her laugh felt slightly hysterical. “What a mad idea. If you’d only seen the inside of this place …” Or him in it. St. Maur’s indifference to the luxury in which he lived—the impatience with which he’d glanced around his library, as though seeing nothing to hold his interest—
that
was what it meant to belong in his world.

She’d never manage that.

“He’s a looker,” Hannah murmured. She was eyeing Nell queerly. “Do you like him, then? Would you want to be marrying him?”

Nell leaned back. The leather seat felt like a warm, steady hand against her back, holding her up as all the butterflies came back to life in her stomach. “He’s … clever,” she said. “Slippery.” More than that, of course. Sorcerer’s eyes, the devil’s mouth. Smiles that came and went like quicksilver.

He’d kissed her. If she agreed to this plan, he’d want more.

“It wouldn’t come to marriage,” she said.

Hannah tipped her head, looking doubtful. “He doesn’t seem mean, at least.”

“No. I don’t know.” He hadn’t threatened her, but
she supposed a man of his ilk would have subtler ways of bullying. “I suppose I’ll find out.”

Hannah didn’t like that. “If he’s mean, you’d leave the dresses and run!”

Nell gave a pull of her mouth. Easy to say for Hannah, with a family who loved her and would support her through aught. “Not the dresses,” she said wryly.

They met each other’s eyes and laughed.

“A purple one,” Hannah said after a moment, wistfully. “Oh, do try for a purple one—like we saw in Brennan’s that time.”

That dress had been ripping, though far too dear even to touch. “Aye,” Nell said. “And a pair of white gloves, never worn.”

“Never worn,” Hannah breathed.

“And silk stockings. Why not? And a new petticoat—” Nell came to a stop. “I
have
to do this. It’s a chance, isn’t it? I have to take it.”

Hannah looked down at the handkerchief. “Even if you only managed another ten of these …”

“Keep it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!”

Nell gave her a crooked smile. “Yes, you can.” She reached into her jacket and plucked out the ten-pound note from one pocket and the fork and knife from the other. “Keep these for me, too. If I’m not back in two weeks, they’re yours.”

“Good Lord.” Hannah’s hand trembled as she took the loot. “This is—this is a fortune! And these—are they silver?”

“Aye, I think so.”

“How … I can’t take all this, Nell!”

Nell drew a long breath. “If I’m lucky,” she said, “I’ll be coming back with loot worth a hundred times that
amount or more.” The idea boggled her. “A hundred times’ worth,” she whispered. “Plus the dresses.”

She and Hannah stared at each other in amazed silence.
A hundred times, plus the dresses
. After such words were spoken, there wasn’t much left to say.

T
he rooms he gave her were double the size of the flat in Bethnal Green.

Nell stood in the middle of the bedroom, beside a long, armless sofa that pressed lengthwise against the foot of the bed. It was eerie how quiet this place was. There was nothing to hear but the distant tick of the clock in the hall.

She turned a half circle. The mattress was big enough for four people. An embroidered coverlet of pale gray-green silk stretched over it. Pretty color. It almost matched his high-and-mighty lordship’s eyes.

The thought made her stomach tighten. She didn’t want to admire a thing in him, but she owed him a debt for Hannah’s freedom and he knew it. He’d stood below, watching as she’d mounted the stairs in the company of his housekeeper, and his smile had looked something more than pleased: it had looked
smug
.

She didn’t know what he had in mind for her. She couldn’t begin to guess at what transpired in a rich man’s brain. But she knew a handful of handsome lads, and when they got those smiles on their faces, a girl needed to watch out.

She wrapped her arms around herself. Better not to think about him right now. Instead she admired the pillowcases, whiter than clouds, with embroidery to match—a wondrous touch, a beauty meant to be enjoyed only by the head that lay on them. White was everywhere in this place, lace doilies and sheets and
St. Maur’s necktie, which she wouldn’t be surprised to learn glowed in the dark.

Maybe he favored white just to show how well his staff could keep it clean. Heaven knew that by comparison, what the rest of London called white was actually gray.

She took a step toward the window seat. The carpet was so soft under her feet!

She knelt down to touch it. Then pressed her palms against it. It was
springy
. She thought about getting down on all fours and clambering across it, but she was afraid somebody would come in and catch her. The older lady who’d shown her up here, Mrs. Collins, the housekeeper, had said somebody else would be up shortly to wait on her.