The Trouble With Virtue: A Comfortable Wife\A Lady by Day (34 page)

She gave a laugh that came out a little too aghast. “I doubt the men of London will be forming a queue to send their daughters off with him to live among the Ottomans. But as for anyone else, there’s certainly no accounting for the vagaries of opinion.”

“So true,” Ophelia said. “Do you remember last year, when half of London was chasing after Curry? Good heavens. I don’t know when I’ve ever seen such a pasty complexion.”

Annabelle made a noise. “I seem to recall you being one of those attempting to
curry
favor—or favor Curry, rather.”

“This is outrageous. Josephine, tell her to stop.”

“It isn’t kind to air a person’s past failings, Annabelle,” Josephine scolded.

“Oh!” Ophelia slapped a card onto the table. “Outrageous.”

“Do you suppose Sir Noah dresses in Moorish clothes when he’s not in London?” Annabelle asked. Her eyes swept down and she plucked a card from her hand. “No doubt he speaks the language, as well.”

No, there was to be no reprieve. As if Sir Noah himself wasn’t vexing enough, he’d attracted the interest of every woman in London practically overnight.

She played a card. Every woman except her, of course.

“If he spends his time among the Moors,” Josephine said reasonably, “no doubt he does speak the language and dress the part. He could hardly get along otherwise.”

“It just makes him so...
fascinating,
” Annabelle insisted. “What do you think it could mean for his performance in bed?”

“I daresay a Moor makes love the same as any other man,” Ophelia scoffed. “Clumsily and without much to recommend.”

“Oh, I do hope not.” Honoria laughed. “How inconceivably disappointing that would be.”

Vivid images of stolen moments from years ago came alive—moments aboard the ship from Gibraltar. Whispered words in that foreign, Moorish tongue. Sweet, lingering kisses that were anything but clumsy.

“If Philomena were here,” Honoria said, “I have no doubt she could tell us. Oh, I do miss her. And I am nearly blind with envy. Imagine, being rescued by Katherine Kinloch and then joining her pirate crew.”

“
Merchant
crew,” Josephine corrected.

“Yes, well, be that as it may,” Annabelle complained, “it doesn’t change the fact that Philomena has
all
the excitement.”

“How she does love to take things to the extreme.” Ophelia sighed.

“But we’ve been blessed with a glimmer of excitement, too—haven’t we, Josephine?” Honoria’s too innocent green eyes turned in Josephine’s direction. “What do
you
think? Would making love with Sir Noah be the same as taking any other man to bed?”

“Not if he’s a eunuch.” The words shot off Josephine’s tongue, and Ophelia nearly spewed her tea.

“La, Josephine— A eunuch!” Honoria’s eyes went wide.

Josephine wished the words back with a vengeance. “It’s common enough in Moorish countries, is it not? But I can’t imagine
that
rumor is true.”

“A eunuch,” Annabelle said thoughtfully, sipping her tea. She set her cup down and slid her pondering gaze to Honoria. “Only imagine what a creative lover he would have to be.”

The fact that Josephine found the idea even
remotely
arousing only infuriated her more. “I doubt a eunuch has the desire to be anyone’s lover,” she said, even as a deep, intimate nerve pulsed to life. “Creative or otherwise.”

“Hmm,” Honoria said doubtfully. “He seems excessively virile for someone whose masculinity has been compromised.”

“There certainly didn’t
seem
to be anything missing,” Ophelia said.

Honoria raised a curious brow. “Is that based on careful observation?”

Josephine selected a card and set it down. “I can only imagine that if I were in that condition, I would make an effort to...
augment
my appearance. To avoid anyone remarking anything amiss, naturally.” She glanced at Ophelia. “Or missing, I should say.”

“Josephine.”
Ophelia set down her cards and fanned herself vigorously, while Honoria and Annabelle laughed.

“La, Josephine.” Honoria laughed. “You’ve given the subject a good deal of thought, haven’t you?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

S
HE
KNEW
BETTER
than to give a man like Sir Noah a good deal of thought.

The next morning Josephine could hardly keep her eyes open at breakfast, even though she’d slept a few minutes longer than she should have. If it weren’t for the girls, she would have taken breakfast in her room. It had been a long night of reading correspondence and drafting responses, making lists of urgent matters to discuss with Elias—if he would consent to discuss any matters at all—and generally doing anything but sleep.

Something needed to change. She could not sustain this for the entire Season. Not and do what she needed to for the girls.

The girls were her first priority. As a maid poured more coffee, Josephine decided it was finally time to seek a replacement for Joseph Bentley. It wouldn’t be easy. It would have to be someone trustworthy, discreet.

Charlotte would be mortified if she ever learned Josephine had been transacting business for Elias, and under a male pseudonym. Josephine should be mortified herself.
Would
be, of course, if the need to help Elias weren’t so urgent. She thought of Charlotte— always a little unwell, always a little afraid, always the one to cling to Mother. All the way home from Gibraltar, Charlotte had worried how they would be received, while Josephine had feared she would never see the Mediterranean again.

Josephine remembered how Charlotte had withdrawn in fear after Josephine’s mistake with Matthew and quickly thrown together marriage. The invitations Josephine had sent to Charlotte’s family after the wedding, and the always kindly worded refusals. Until the girls had come of age, and Josephine had begun to receive worried letters from Charlotte, full of fears about the girls’ futures.

She’d come so close to ruining Charlotte’s life with her carelessness all those years ago. She would not allow her unusual work for Elias to put her nieces at risk.

Nor your feelings for Sir Noah.

“Captain Ryson’s aunt is coming to London,” Lettie was saying. “He says he can’t wait to introduce me. She’s like a mother to him, you know. I think it’s a good sign. Do you not agree, Auntie Josephine?”

“A very good sign,” Josephine said, then she looked at Pauline optimistically. “You seemed to be enjoying Mr. Crumley’s company last night.”

“I daresay it was the other way around,” Pauline said, stirring sugar into her tea.

“I daresay it was,” Lettie said, “since Pauline isn’t interested in Mr. Crumley at all.”

It was hardly news, but the confirmation was disheartening. “I can’t imagine why. Mr. Crumley is very amiable. I suggest you talk with Lady Ramsey about him this afternoon. She is very well acquainted with the family and is no doubt privy to any number if interesting tidbits about him.” The girls would be visiting with Honoria that afternoon while Josephine made a trip to view Mays Abbey and determine its suitability for Elias.

It had been a foolish mistake to mention her plans to Elias, who had in turn mentioned them to Sir Noah, who promptly suggested that he impose his company for the outing. He would arrive within the hour.

“I doubt there
are
any interesting tidbits about Mr. Crumley,” Pauline said.

“There are interesting things to know about everyone, dearest, if one only takes the time to listen.”

Just then, Edgar came in. “Forgive me, your ladyship. The painting has been taken to the attic, but there are three paintings of the countryside in storage and we cannot determine which one you wanted.”

I want you to put the original back.
“The one I’m thinking of has a flock of sheep.”

“There are two that fit that description, your ladyship. One has a cottage in the background.”

“Yes, that one. Thank you.”

It served nothing to be reminded of Gibraltar at all hours—nothing except to fuel her imagination with every kind of impractical, nonsensical daydream. She was not returning to Gibraltar. What did she imagine she would possibly do there if she did? She wouldn’t know a soul. Her title would give her entrée, but to what? A society of military up-and-comers? She would hardly fit into any of the other communities there.

Damn Gibraltar, anyway. She’d tormented herself with those memories long enough.

“You shouldn’t have that one over your fireplace taken down, Auntie Josephine,” Pauline said with dismay. “I love that painting.”

“Of course you do,” Lettie told her. “It has ships in it. And speaking of ships, you may be interested to know, Auntie, that Pauline may be deaf to Mr. Crumley’s merits, but she
does
have her eye on
some
one.”

“I do
not
have my eye on
any
one.”

Lettie made a noise. “You do, and I know who it is.”

Pauline’s cheeks were red and her gaze was fixed on her plate—all the hallmarks of a girl with a tendresse for a man. “Lettie,” Josephine admonished gently, “it isn’t kind to force secrets if Pauline isn’t ready.” But if not Mr. Crumley, then who? Josephine bit back the urge to prod her for information.

“I do hope Captain Ryson will be there this evening,” Lettie said. “Oh, Auntie Josephine, he is absolutely the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.” She glanced at Pauline. “Infinitely more handsome than a certain
other
someone.”

“Lettie, hush!” Pauline stabbed a piece of egg that promptly slipped back to the plate.

“Pauline, you could catch the attention of any number of men if you wanted to,” Lettie pushed on. “But I daresay you’ll turn a blind eye to them all in favor of a
certain newcomer,
and you know as well as I that Mother won’t be pleased.”

Josephine looked at Pauline. “Newcomer.”

“You speak beyond your knowledge, Lettie,” Pauline said, but her cheeks pinkened.

“I am only trying to help. Auntie’s acquaintance with him ought to put you at an advantage, don’t you think?”

And suddenly Josephine knew exactly who this
certain newcomer
was: Sir Noah.

Good God—Josephine looked at Pauline and knew the worst was true. Pauline fancied herself in love with Sir Noah.

* * *

“R
EMARKABLE
,”
THE
CERTAIN
newcomer said sarcastically a few hours later as they emerged from the carriage at Mays Abbey, despite Josephine’s insistence that she hadn’t required his company in the first place.

They stood in the drive before a rectangular graystone house with neat rows of small windows marching across three levels. Misshapen hulks of unattended shrubbery blocked some of the windows on the ground level. She could see some buildings toward the back—a stables and an outbuilding. The closest stand of trees was some distance away, leaving the house itself jutting from the ground like an ancient stone rising from a meadow.

“An open mind is a testament to an enlightened soul, Sir Noah.”

He laughed. “If enlightened souls live in places like this, a lowly estate will do for me.”

A light drizzle began to fall, and they hurried for the door. “I’m told a man in the village has been hired to take care of the place until it’s sold,” Josephine told Sir Noah as they went inside. There were fully furnished rooms to the right and left of the entrance hall. Some pieces of furniture were draped with sheets. Some weren’t. A light dust covered everything.

“The furnishings will come with the house,” she added, watching him lift the edge of a sheet to peer at the table beneath.

“Debtors?”

“So I’m told.”

Josephine looked into a salon, a dining room, a library only half stocked with books. Next she climbed the stairs, acutely aware of him a few steps behind, even more aware that except for the coachmen outside, they were alone. A step creaked beneath her feet, then his.

Sir Noah. No matter how hard she tried, her senses filled with him.

Apparently she and Pauline had more in common than their looks—and
that
was a disaster in the making. Of course Mr. Crumley appeared uninteresting to Pauline. Every man would when compared with Sir Noah. And if Sir Noah was the kind of man who caught Pauline’s interest, it would be impossible for Josephine to fulfill her promise to Charlotte.

Had there been some hint that Pauline was developing an interest in him? Josephine should at least have noticed something.

Upstairs, she peered into one bedchamber after the next.

“Plenty of accommodations for the ladies,” Sir Noah remarked. “Or guests, rather. I do believe I meant to say guests.” A little smile played at the corner of his lips.

It was only too easy to imagine what Charlotte would think if she knew this man had caught her daughter’s interest. Josephine saw her sister’s ever-worried face in her mind. Imagined Charlotte’s delicate hands wringing the way they always did, as if worry was her natural state.

But she’d promised Charlotte no ill would come of the girls’ visit, that Charlotte’s instincts were right to let Josephine introduce them into society. And that was exactly the way it would be.

“Elias will not be keeping any ladies here,” she said firmly, though she wasn’t entirely sure how she would stop him if he decided to try.

They finally entered what was clearly the master bedroom. A great bed sat in one corner, an armoire stood against the wall, and a collection of other furnishings dotted the rest of the room: bedside table, writing desk, several chairs, sooty fireplace screen decorated with a needlework foxhound scene.

She imagined Elias here, spending too much time in that bed, confining himself to these rooms because there was little else to do.

“It will require some work,” she said, “but I think it could be made very comfortable.” She went to the bed and fingered the horrid brown draperies. They would need to be changed.

“No doubt there will be a good deal of activity taking place in this bed,” Sir Noah said, coming up behind her. “I could be persuaded, as an act of kindness and generosity, to help you test it for comfort. Prove your theory, so to speak.”

His words feathered her skin, making her suddenly much too aware of her own body. Of
his
body, standing right behind her. “If only the art of persuasion were among my skills,” she said and went to look in the dressing room.

His laughter as he followed was a complete contrast to the room’s gloomy sobriety. “I assure you, I could be persuaded with no skill whatsoever.”

The rich tone of his voice made it impossible not to imagine herself in his arms on that bed, doing exactly what he was suggesting.

For a moment she could hardly breathe.

“It isn’t kind to present one with such a powerful temptation, Sir Noah. Shame on you.”

She forced her attention to the details of the room. There were no sheets up here—only an abundance of solid, simple furnishings covered with a layer of dust.

“I can’t believe you honestly think a place like this would do Elias good,” he said.

“It certainly would. It needs a good cleaning, to be sure, but only see how peaceful it is.”

A little gust of rain pattered the windows. She went to them to see the view. Sir Noah joined her, standing much too close.

There were no gardens at the back. Just the stables and a vast meadow. The grove of trees she’d spotted earlier stood off to the right. “Look,” she said. “It has a folly.” The faux ruins sat at the edge of the grove, a few columns lying as if they’d fallen millennia ago next to a small stone archway.

“Folly indeed,” Sir Noah said.

“It adds a bit of interest.”

“You can see very well there’s nothing the least bit interesting about this place. If it’s ruins you think he wants, let him come live at my villa. I unearthed a Roman temple while building the east wing. Columns aplenty—and real ones.”

An image came to life in her mind: olive trees and broken ground like an open grave, with the bones of an ancient world jutting from dry soil.

Suddenly she wanted to hear about his villa almost more than she wanted to breathe.

“Improvements can be made,” she said. “It won’t take long.”

“It will take longer than a voyage to Turkey, and to what end? This place is misery in a stone box. Mays Mausoleum.”

She watched him stare out the window while dirty beads of water slid endlessly down the glass. His face was set, but emotions churned inside—a muscle worked in his jaw, his throat moved when he swallowed, his chest rose and fell with deep breaths.

“Not everyone dislikes England as you do, Sir Noah.”

“Not everyone has something to compare it to.”

“And if they did, you imagine there would be a mass exodus to foreign lands?”

He smiled. “Only to warm and sunny ones.”

She looked out the window at the gray, wet day. “The rain only makes the landscape more green,” she said. “It’s beautiful here.” It was. It really was.

She couldn’t afford to admit that her heart cried out for the same thing his did.

“Forgive me if I prefer a different sort of beauty,” he said.

“And, naturally, you only do that which you prefer.”

“If that were true, I would not be in England now.”

The declaration condemned her, because neither would she.

“Perhaps. Although if you truly cared about Elias, the obvious way to show it would be to stay in London and run the shipyard here. But it’s clear enough that you won’t do that.”

His expression hardened. “No, I won’t.”

“Why not?”

He turned on her suddenly. “Because I don’t want to
be
here. I don’t
belong
here. I want to be where the sun shines hot on my skin and the water is so clear and blue you can see every pebble on the sea floor as if looking through stained glass.
That
is my home,” he said violently. “Not this.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Why are
you
standing in this god-awful house even though you can see as well as I that it’s miserable?” He stared down at her, eyes ablaze with churning emotions. For a moment his nonchalance slipped away and it was as if she could see directly into him—his hopes, his fears, his dreams. It was so easy to imagine what he described, and she wanted it as much as he did. Perhaps more.