Everything I Ever Wanted (5 page)

BOOK: Everything I Ever Wanted
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It was just the opening the Countess of Redding had been waiting for. She pounced. "Of course he is well. And why wouldn't he be? He has me to assure that he remains so. You could claim the same if you did not choose to live on your own, travel about with friends of a certain reputation, frequent places that no woman wants to acknowledge exist, least of all a mother, and behave in a most ramshackle manner, making a complete cake of yourself in the theatre, and later with an" Here, her voice dropped to a pitched whisper. Southerton supposed it was all in aid of preventing his four-month-old nephew from comprehending this last, most salient point. " with an opera dancer ."

South glanced at Niles. The infant was most definitely attentive. Emma, he noted, did not have the grace to look sheepish. Her features were almost as rapt as her son's. South rounded a nearby chair and served himself tea from the silver service. "Miss India Parr is an actress, Mother. Not an opera dancer."

"She is a" The pitched whisper came again. "A Cyprian ."

The earl intervened, laying a hand over his wife's. '"That is quite enough. You will make yourself overwrought."

"I am overwrought. Your son sees to it, my lord. He has neither your sense nor your compassion to have it be otherwise."

Sighing under his breath, South lowered himself into a chair, politely sipped his tea, and let his mother slowly cease to spin. He loved her dearly, but ofttimes she reminded him of a tightly wound, brightly colored child's top. He had loved that toy, too.

The countess did not linger overlong on the problem of the opera dancer. She went to the heart of the matter, a concern for which she could depend upon the full support of her husband. "It is time you marry, South. There can be no getting around it. I was speaking to Celia only yesterday about this very thing."

South noted his mother conveniently did not mention two things of import. One, that she spoke to Celia every day about this very thing, and two, that Celia was Celia Worth Hampton, the Dowager Countess of Northam. Only a few short breaths earlier, his mother had spoken of North as one of his friends "of a certain reputation." Now that same friend was no doubt about to be lauded for having had the good judgment to enter into a matrimonial state. There would also be no reference to that event as a most ramshackle affair.

South remembered with some fondness that his spinning top had had the same dizzying affect on him.

Lillian Rheems Forrester continued in this vein for several minutes, making the most of her son's good-natured forbearance. When she finally finished, she regarded her firstborn with satisfaction, certain she had mined every nugget and could not have but persuaded him with the logic of her arguments and the soundness of her advice.

Over the rim of his teacup, his eyes hooded to hide their glazed expression, Southerton nodded serenely. "I shall apply myself immediately to the matter of securing a wife."

The countess threw up her hands. "Speak to him, my lord," she said to her husband. "I find myself out of all patience. He only means to humor me."

Redding bit the inside of his lip. "Right you are, m'dear. South, you will cease to humor your mother."

"Yes, sir."

The earl looked askance at his wife. "See, it is done."

Lillian's dark-gray eyes darted between the two male loves of her life, and she surrendered. "Oh, very well. You shall each defend the other. It is always thus even when you pretend it is otherwise." Her gaze alighted briefly on her grandson, and she saw Emma's embrace tighten protectively, albeit with great care. Hah! There was the future of the Forresters.

South almost laughed out loud when he saw his mother's attention shift to the next generation. He might have felt sorry for Niles if he hadn't been so certain of Emma's ability to protect her son. As for Emma, it was her loose tongue that had dealt him this harangue in the first place. He had no misplaced sympathy for her.

"Since no one has any interest in my version of the events of last evening," South said, "I should like to hear how it came to your earsand in so short a time. I am only recently risen from my bed."

Emma volunteered that she heard it first from her own husband at breakfast. He had had it from Lord Hastings during his early morning ride in the park. She could not account for the provenance of the tale, but she heard a similar story from Lady Rowena Douglass, who had come calling that morning. The earl and countess remained silent about their source, as if there was some doubt in South's mind.

"The critics say she is quite a remarkable presence on stage," Emma said. "Is that your opinion as well, South?"

"Yes, that's a fair estimation."

Emma sighed. "I do so want to see her. I did before, you know, and Welsley had agreed to take me. Now, with you at the center of this bit of business, he says it will have to wait. Just when everyone else will be clamoring to see her. It is too bad of you, South. But there you have it; Welsley says we cannot go, because it would cause a stir and hardly be fair to Miss Parr. He says we shall have to wait until the gossip is well behind us."

South said nothing. He reflected that if the colonel did not remove him from this assignment, the real gossip was only about to begin.

Chapter Two
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Five nights later, Southerton found himself once again at the Drury Lane Theatre. The same place where the great Edmund Kean had made his debut as Shylock four years earlier was enjoying renewed interest and patronage because of one India Parr. Kean himself, never effusive in his praise of a rival, had embraced her talents rather than stand in opposition to the public clamor for more performances from their new favorite. Unlike the revered Sarah Siddons, who first trod the boards in Drury Lane more than a quarter of a century before, India Parr was not foremost a tragic actress. It was widely agreed that while her tragic heroines were most excellently realized, Miss Parr had a particular gift for the nuance of character in the comedies, and the sharp timing and physical humor of farces.

Southerton was but a face in the crowd on this occasion, purposely avoiding East's box tonight. He sat six rows back from the stage, his broad shoulders uncomfortably squeezed between a heavily perfumed matron on his left and a dandy in daffodil on his right. It was a tribute to India Parr's talents that South was able to entirely ignore the discomfort to his hunched shoulders, the musky fragrance, and so much blinding yellow until the performance was ended.

He remembered with some regret his backhanded critique of the play as not being as amusing as the company he had been keeping. South now realized he had a second apology to make to Miss Parr. It was amusing. This evening's crowd had done much more than politely titter at the risque moments and ribald humor. They had laughed deeply and loudly and long, unembarrassed by the French playwright's frankly sexual themes and his assault on the secret mores of a society that was at once free to act and hopelessly repressed from doing so.

Southerton joined the patrons who had come to their feet, adding his standing approbation to the enthusiastic applause. He watched the company step forward, bow in unison, and gesture once again to their leading lady. It was hard to believe the hand-clapping could sustain itself, let alone grow louder, yet both these things occurred as India Parr came front and center and made her deep curtsy. Candlelight glowed warmly on the nape of her neck as she modestly inclined her head toward her audience and accepted their admiration.

She had won them over, and no further gesture was required, yet she did a surprising thing then that effectively secured her place in their hearts. Standing once more, Miss India Parr stepped as close to the footlamps as she dared and applauded her audience.

The house fairly erupted.

When the acting troupe disappeared into the wings, and the echoes of approval gave way to the crowd's exiting hum, Southerton moved into the aisle and no farther. He allowed anyone who desired it to precede him toward the exits. Finally, when there was no one around, he chose a seat on the end and sat, thrusting his long legs into the aisle and folding his arms across his chest. He lounged comfortably for the better part of half the hour before rising and heading in the direction of Miss Parr's dressing room.

The crowd had not thinned appreciably. South considered the damage to the line of his wool frock coat and claw-hammer tails if he were to become part of the crush. He leaned a shoulder against the wall and smoothed one crisp corner of his white stock as he applied himself to the problem. Miss Parr's dresser, so helpful the other evening, seemed to be occupied elsewhere tonight. Perhaps she was staying away at the express orders of Miss Parr herself, or perhaps, as South suspected, she was availing herself of the medicinal properties of a dram or two of gin. He remembered the faint fragrance of alcohol wafting from the woman as she went about her business that evening. Whatever the exuse of her absence, it was just as well that it was so. Southerton had no real hope that the dresser would serve to aid his cause. For that he would require an accomplice possessing a more youthful countenance.

South bided his time and was rewarded when a lad of some twelve years came hurrying down the corridor, carrying a pair of boots in each hand and another pair cradled close to his chest, secured by his crossed arms. South stopped him, laying a hand firmly on the boy's shoulder.

The young prisoner chafed at his restriction. "Oh, no, m'lord. I dare not tarry. I 'ave these boots to polish." He tried to show them off, puffing out his thin chest so all three pairs would be highly visible and the importance of his work would not go unnoticed. "You'll find someone else, won't you, sir? There's plenty here what will do your bidding."

South did not shift from his relaxed posture against the wall, nor did he loosen his grip on the boy's shoulder. He did permit himself a small smile. "How do you know what my bidding is, lad?"

"Doobin," the lad said. "I'm called Doobin, though it ain't my proper name."

"That would be Donald? Douglas?"

"No, m'lord. No one knows my proper name, so I just be called Doobin."

"I see. Enlightening."

"It's good of you to say so, sir." Doobin took a single step forward and found himself immediately off balance because of the fingers that still clamped his bony shoulder.

South permitted Doobin to get his feet under him again. "You haven't answered my question. How do you know what my bidding is?"

Doobin shrugged. "I don't know. Not for certain. But it's likely the same as the others that waylay me here."

"Oh?"

Heaving a sigh, Doobin went on. "You want me to deliver your card to Miss Parr with a message that you would be pleased for her company at a late supper at Sarver's."

It was somewhat humbling to have the whole of his plan pointed out by the bootblacking boy. South had not considered the number of men who had already attempted this approach, thus paving the way for his failure. "I was thinking of the Cumberland."

"It doesn't matter."

"Does Miss Parr prefer Sarver's?"

"Miss Parr prefers to be left alone."

"Why don't we let her decide? There's a shilling in it for you." He could see the boy was tempted, but South was late in realizing he had baited his hook too lightly. Doobin was savvy enough to know that a single shilling was little in the way of remuneration when weighed against the continued security of his employment. South tried another tack. "You like Miss Parr?"

"I do indeed, m'lord. A fine lady, she is. And very good to me."

"What if I told you she will be disappointed if you do not deliver my message?"

Doobin shrewdly studied South's face for evidence of his sincerity or the lack of it. "I can't risk it," he said finally, reluctantly.

South decided he had one last opportunity to plead his case. "If I'm wrong, I'll take you into my own employment at double your earnings." The boy's eyes practically bulged at the notion of this fortune being laid before him. It was left for Doobin to determine whether Southerton could be trusted to keep his word. "Perhaps if you heard the whole of my message," he said. He removed a card from the gold case he carried and showed it to the boy. "Here is my name." He turned it over. "And here is my message. Can you read?"

"A little, m'lord. Miss Parr, she's teaching me my letters."

"It says, 'You cannot expect I will always save you, Hortense.' "

The boots bobbled in Doobin's arms and he almost lost his grip. He gaped up at Southerton. "That's you?"

South's dark brows creased, uncertain what the boy meant. "That's my message."

"But you're the one. From the other night. The one in the box who spoke the line."

There was really no point in denying it. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

"You should have said so straightaway, m'lord. No good circling the thing, hoping I'd stumble over it." He thrust his sharp chin toward the boots pressed against this chest. "Tuck it just there, m'lord. Under the turned-down top. I'll make certain she sees it."

South did as ordered. "Then you are in expectation that she will welcome my address?"

Doobin chuckled. His soulfully large eyes brightened with laughter. "That's a good one, m'lord." He waited for South's grip to lift. "Is there anything else?"

"Dinner," South said. "The pleasure of her company, and so forth."

"Sarver's or the Cumberland?"

"A detail for you to manage. Surprise me."

The boy's smile split his thin face. "Just see if I don't." As soon as he was free of South's restraint, he was off at a determined pace.

South expected Doobin would partially relieve himself of the burden of boots. He didn't. With the skill of the most adept sneaksman, the lad slipped between elbows and waistcoats, pockets and polished beaver top hats, and disappeared into the squeeze. From South's perspective there was no discernible movement in the crowd that allowed for the addition of another figure, no matter the slightness of the build. It suggested to the viscount that perhaps the boy's early training had been in the Covent Garden or Holborn school for thieves, and that likening him to a sneaksman was not so very off the mark.

In less time than it would have taken South to move from his position in the corridor to the bottleneck at the door, Doobin emerged from the rear of the crowd in almost the same place he had entered. He hurried over, his face revealing nothing. The boy, South thought, was learning as much from Miss Parr about acting as he was about reading. Southerton cocked an eyebrow. "Well?"

"I am to arrange for a hackney at the stage door. Miss Parr says you may await her in the cab."

"I have my own carriage."

"That is neither here nor there, my lord."

"I see," South said dryly. "Very well. I'll send my driver along directly. And what of supper?"

"In Miss Parr's home."

Now South's other brow lifted. He was surprised. "Very well done, young sir."

The tips of Doobin's ears reddened with this praise. He offered the truth reluctantly. "It wasn't my idea."

South chuckled and dropped several shillings into one of the open boots. "I didn't think it was." He gave Doobin an encouraging prompt on the back with the flat of his hand. "Don't count your money now. See about that hack."

"Yes, m'lord. Right away."

The cab was waiting for India in the usual place when she emerged from the theatre more than an hour later. When the driver leaped from his perch and opened the door for her, it occurred to her for the first time that perhaps Southerton had grown impatient with the wait and left. With the driver's assistance, she climbed the steps and discovered that her concern was for naught. Southerton was indeed inside the cab, ensconced in relative comfort in one corner if one ignored the odd angle of his neckand snoring softly.

India found herself surrendering to the humor of the moment. She glanced at the driver. "Has he been asleep long?" she whispered.

"Can't say, but I recollect a rumble soon after he climbed in."

She nodded, amused. "A gentle ride, then, if you will."

"Your home, Miss Parr?"

"Yes." She hesitated, eyeing the driver. It occurred to her to inquire if she could rely on his discretion, but she dismissed it. No matter what answer he gave, she knew the truth: she could not. To believe otherwise was to permit herself a sense of security that was without foundation. Anyone could be tempted. She thought of this view as practical and realistic rather than cynical. Temptation was human nature from the beginning of time, documented first in Genesis and every day since then. "Mind the noise," she reminded him softly.

He nodded. "I'll see to it."

India seated herself in the bench seat corner opposite South. The door closed and the hansom rocked slightly as the driver climbed back aboard. The start was smooth. India laid her reticule beside her and drew a woolen shawl around her shoulders. The evening was cool and damp but not uncomfortable. She tied the fringed ends in a loose knot below her breasts and leaned her shoulder against the side of the cab. Her eyes swiveled, not toward the street, which was still noisy with the activities of vendors and the revelries of the gamers, but to the viscount, who continued to sleep through it all deeply.

The cab's exterior lanterns illuminated Lord Southerton's face as the driver took the first turn. India renewed her first impression of features that were both finely drawn, as though with a careful hand, but stamped with strength, as though by a bold one. The effect was to render his perfectly proportioned face with certain intriguing opposites: a nose that was aristocratic in its line, aggressive in its thrust; a firm yet sensually yielding mouth; lashes that were almost silkily feminine, and dark brows that were most decidedly not.

Sleep, she noted, when the lantern swung its pale arc of light into the cab again, did not seem to render the viscount particularly unprotected. India could not dismiss the conflicting appearance of complete relaxation and readiness as she studied him. He was virtually boneless in the way his long frame had accommodated itself to the hard angles of the cab walls and bench seat, yet the spare lines of his body suggested tone and vigor. She supposed that depending on the circumstances, this was a man who awoke with a languid stretch or an unerring pounce. It did not surprise her when the image of a great striped, stalking tiger flickered at the periphery of her mind's eye.

A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she turned away. She wondered if he knew that he was not a merely handsome man but a very nearly beautiful one. It was likely, she decided. Men who were graced with much less often thought a great deal more, provoked to find themselves so by doting mamas and fawning matrons with daughters on the marriage mart. India considered saying as much to him, not necessarily as a compliment but as simply something that must be said to remove it from further consideration. She amused herself thinking what tone and phrasing she might adopt to intimate such an outrageous thing. Practical: You are a beautiful man, my lord, but that is neither here nor there . Bold: It cannot have escaped your notice, my lord, that you are a beautiful man; however, it is of no consequence to me . Amused: And how have you passed your days, my lord, since you last posed for the great Michael-angelo ?

BOOK: Everything I Ever Wanted
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