A Proper Companion (4 page)

"As it happens, milord, there are two new housemaids
since our last visit as well as a fetching little kitchen maid,
though she's little more than a child."

"Then I shall trust, as always, to your discretion,
Luckett. This is my grandmother's house, after all."

"Of course, milord," Luckett replied
indignantly.

"Speaking of new additions to the household,
Grandmother has taken on a companion."

"Ah, yes. That would be Miss Townsend, I
presume."

"You've met her already?"

"Oh, no, milord. But I heard talk of her in the
servants' hall. The whole staff seems very taken with her. It was
'Miss Townsend this' and 'Miss Townsend that' from the moment I
arrived."

"Hmm, yes. But it's the oddest thing, Luckett.
Grandmother's never employed a companion before, as far as I can
recall. I wonder if she's ailing? She's pushing up against eighty,
you know. Good lord, I hate to think of her declining. She's always
been such a tower of strength." Robert's brows furrowed with
concern as he absently dragged a soapy sponge across his chest.

"Does she look ill, milord?"

"No, by Jove, she doesn't. In fact, she is as spry
as a spring lamb. The old girl actually boxed my ears,
Luckett!"

"She struck you, milord?" the valet replied, choking
back a chuckle.

"She did. She's fuming about my betrothal," Robert
said as he squeezed the wet sponge over his head. "But this new
companion is a puzzle. I'm sure Grandmother doesn't need a
nursemaid. If she did, she'd never admit it."

"Could Miss Townsend perhaps be a poor relation,
milord?"

"Hmm. I doubt it. Grandmother would have mentioned
it when she introduced us, I think. You know how family-proud she
is. If Miss Townsend had been the stepdaughter of a third cousin
once removed by marriage, Grandmother would have taken great pains
to point it out. Then I would have had to endure a half hour
dissertation on the peculiar coiling and twisting of that
particular branch of the family tree. No, Luckett. I doubt that
Miss Townsend is a poor relation. Besides, she's beautifully fair
with intelligent green eyes. Not the Cameron coloring at all."

"Beautifully fair?" Luckett asked, suddenly frozen
in the act of smoothing the wrinkles out of a blue silk dressing
gown, his brows inching up to his hairline.

"Indeed." Robert laughed as he massaged soap through
his hair. "She is really quite lovely, though she doesn't seem to
want anyone to notice. Dresses like a prim governess, hair pulled
back in a tight Methodist knot. Doesn't wear a cap, though, thank
goodness."

"But you noticed?"

"What? Oh, of course I noticed, you idiot. What do
you take me for?" It had in fact taken Robert only minutes to
observe the finer attributes of Miss Townsend. He had not missed
those large, wonderfully expressive green eyes and that soft, full
mouth. He also suspected that beneath her prim exterior lurked a
witty and spirited nature. Under normal circumstances he would make
it his business to investigate those suspicions. But those days
were over for him. He was now engaged to be married to a beautiful
young woman, ready to settle down to a sober life of responsibility
and duty. He sighed aloud.

"You amaze me, milord. With all due respect."

"Amaze you?" Robert mumbled as Luckett poured a jug
of warm water over his head, rinsing out the soap. "What on earth
do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter where we go, milord. Even within
the dull confines of Bath, they follow you like lemmings to the
sea."

"Who?"

"Beautiful women. You could probably retire to some
monastery in Tibet, and a beautiful woman would find her way to
your cell. It is quite amazing, milord."

"Ha!" Robert laughed as he stepped out of the tub.
Luckett was waiting with a large warm towel, which Robert wrapped
around himself like a toga. "And I suppose we are to ignore your
string of conquests in the servants' halls?"

"I merely observe, milord, and learn."

"
Touché
. Well, back to the subject at hand.
I'm still puzzled about this companion business. Grandmother
doesn't act without a motive. What's her game with Miss Townsend, I
wonder? You say the servants' hall is abuzz with talk of her?
Anything interesting?"

"Well, milord, I did hear whispers regarding her
background."

"Yes. And..."

"She is apparently a woman of gentle birth, a lady
of quality."

"Yes, that was obvious."

"Well," he hesitated, "there is speculation as to
her... er... parentage, milord."

"Give it up, Luckett," Robert said while toweling
his hair before the fire. "What's the story?"

"It is believed that Miss Townsend is possibly the
offspring of some grand personage, milord. A royal duke
perhaps."

"Oh, good heavens!" Robert groaned. "Sprung from the
wrong side of the royal blanket, I suppose?"

"Indeed. I discounted the tale, of course. Just
because Miss Townsend treats the housemaids with kindness, they
suspect she is a queen."

"Well, then, they would truly be shocked to leam how
a real queen behaves, would they not?"

"I would not know, milord," Luckett said with a
sniff.

"Hmm. Well, it seems we have a mystery, Luckett,"
Robert said, stroking his chin. "Perhaps Bath will not be so dull
after all."

A short time later Robert, wrapped in his blue silk
dressing gown, sat at a fall-front secretaire and penned a note to
Augusta and her parents explaining his absence and sending his
regrets that he could not escort Augusta to those dinners and routs
to which they had been expected. This would not please Lady
Windhurst, he knew. He tried to smooth over this obstacle by
mentioning the dowager's intention of holding an engagement ball.
This bit of news should send Lady Windhurst into high alt. The
dowager countess was well known and respected in the
beau
monde
and had many friends of high rank who could be expected
to attend her ball.

After sealing and franking the letter to Augusta,
Robert sat absently trimming the quill as he pondered the
engagement ball. He suspected his grandmother had hidden motives,
and the ball was merely a ruse to get to London and meddle in his
affairs. No, that was not fair. Lady Bradleigh had never actually
interfered in his life. In fact, he was often grateful that his
grandmother was not one of those managing females who made it her
business to find him a wife, despite his increasing age and his
obligation to the succession. He had seen several friends over the
years succumb to the machinations of mothers, aunts, sisters, or
grandmothers who continually threw eligible young misses in their
paths. It was almost like a game with these women, and he was happy
that the two most significant women in his life, his grandmother
and his sister, were content to leave him to his own devices. It
seemed they were satisfied to have his respectable cousin Simon
continue as the heir apparent. Robert was fond of Simon and knew he
would be a worthy successor to the earldom. But as he grew older he
was forced to admit that he would much prefer a son of his own to
inherit the title. Hence his recent betrothal.

Robert had no trouble picturing the beautiful and
coolly elegant Miss Windhurst in the role of his countess. He
dismissed the egregious Lady Windhurst as an insignificant burden,
since he had no intention of allowing her to live in his pocket. He
would remove Augusta to his seat in Derbyshire away from the
persistent prattling of her mother, which he secretly suspected
Augusta would appreciate. He did not fool himself that he was in
love with Augusta. Nor she with him. But he was sure that they
would rub along well enough together, and that she would provide
him with beautiful children. What sort of a mother would she make?
he wondered. Would their children be able to warm her cool and
distant nature? Would he?

Robert forced himself to cease his woolgathering and
dress for dinner. His grandmother had a marvelous French chef who
could always be counted on to provide extraordinary culinary
delights. He was certain that the dowager would insist on bringing
Anatole to Bradleigh House, and he began to ponder the inevitable
battles in the kitchen with his own cook.

Later that evening Robert made his way downstairs to
the drawing room, after having been fussed over by the fastidious
Luckett. He wasn't totally indifferent to his appearance, but he
was not obsessive about it, as was his valet. For Luckett it was a
matter of honor that his master be turned out in distinction.
Fortunately for Robert, Luckett was an advocate of the Brummel
school of simplicity and elegance. He would not have been nearly so
indulgent of a valet who attempted to turn him out in dandified
extravagance. As it was, Robert simply trusted Luckett to see to it
that he was appropriately attired, and paid little more attention
to the matter. He could not even boast of tying his own cravat, as
did many fashionable gentlemen of the
ton
. On this
particular evening, Luckett had selected black pantaloons, a black
superfine jacket, a subtly striped dark gray waistcoat, and snowy
white linen shirt and cravat.

As he entered the drawing room, Robert found Miss
Townsend as its only occupant. The dowager was uncharacteristically
late.

"Good evening. Miss Townsend," he said. "Ah, I see
Barnes has provided us with sherry. May I pour you a glass?"

"Thank you, my lord. I would enjoy a glass of
sherry," Emily replied. She watched as the earl moved with languid
catlike grace toward the ormolu-mounted console table. Catlike was
an appropriate description, she thought, as the earl looked every
inch the sleek panther in his stark black evening clothes. Even his
dark hair was sleek, as it was now combed straight back from the
forehead. As it was thick and slightly long, Emily suspected that
by an evening's end it would inevitably fall over his brow in the
deep wave of earlier this afternoon.

Emily shuddered as she suddenly realized that all
the tales she'd ever heard about the Earl of Bradleigh must indeed
be true. It was a good thing that she was no green girl susceptible
to the charms of a notorious rake.

She was mesmerized by his long elegant fingers,
which seemed to caress the sherry decanter.

Robert felt Miss Townsend's eyes on him as he poured
the sherry. His every action was the slow and deliberately
seductive movement of one used to the appreciative gazes of women.
He handed the glass to Miss Townsend, allowing his fingers to brush
hers for an instant, then poured one for himself. He leaned against
the fireplace mantel and watched her as she took a dainty sip. She
was wearing a plain dark gray silk dress with a prim, high neck
trimmed in vandyked lace. Only slightly more attractive than the
dark kerseymere round gown of the afternoon, it was no less severe.
He nevertheless was convinced of a spirited nature beneath the prim
exterior, certain he had glimpsed a flash of wicked amusement in
her eyes after his grandmother had boxed his ears earlier that
afternoon. That, along with her surreptitious scrutiny of his
person as well as the rumors reported by Luckett, so intrigued him
that he was determined to draw her out After all, he must find
some
diversion while in Bath.

"How long have you been Grandmother's companion,
Miss Townsend?" he asked, breaching what he realized had become an
awkward silence. "I do not recall meeting you when I last visited
Bath a little over a year ago."

"No, my lord," Emily replied, instinctively
retreating into her normal scrupulous composure, somewhat
embarrassed that she had allowed it to slip in front of the earl.
She hoped he had not noticed her staring at him while he poured the
sherry, or felt the slight tremor of her fingers at the touch of
his own. She really must compose herself. It was ridiculous to
allow the earl to have such an effect on her simply because he was
so attractive. She had certainly been in the presence of attractive
men before. It must be the idea of his slightly dangerous
reputation that caused her to feel so ill at ease. Well, she was
not a schoolgirl, and he was probably not dangerous at all. He was
only trying to make polite conversation. Her good breeding and
manners rose to the surface.

"I was not yet employed by Lady Bradleigh at that
time," she continued. "She graciously offered me a position after
the death of my last employer, Lady Fitzhugh. That would have been
almost twelve months ago."

"I remember Lady Fitzhugh," he said, frowning
slighdy. "She had been a friend of Grandmother's since they were
girls, I believe. I am sorry to hear of her death."

A few more silent moments passed while neither
spoke. Finally the earl moved away from the mantel and approached
Emily. "Do you like it here in Bath?" he asked.

"Very much so, my lord," she replied. "I have been
used to the quiet life of the country, and so Bath seems a grand
city to me. And, of course, Lady Bradleigh has been more than kind
to me. Why, she hardly treats me as an employee at all. She has a
wide circle of friends here in Bath, and she is always considerate
enough to include me in all their various gatherings. Thanks to
Lady Bradleigh I have met many interesting and amusing people."
Emily bit back a smile as she recalled some of the more eccentric
visitors to the Laura Place town house.

"I imagine you have indeed!" Robert said, flashing a
crooked grin. "Captain Driscoll, for example?"

"Oh, yes. And his parrot Danny Boy. They have
frequently entertained us with rather colorful seafaring ditties,"
Emily said, unable any longer to suppress a smile.

The earl threw back his head and laughed, the abrupt
movement slightly loosening his hair from its severe style.
"Colorful! Miss Townsend, you have a gift for understatement. As I
recall, Driscoll and Danny Boy can be downright obscene! I
sincerely hope my grandmother's cronies have not completely
assaulted your sense of decency."