What a Reckless Rogue Needs (31 page)

“Lucy, show Prudence the steps,” Buckley said. “Lady Blenborough, do not despair. Soon Lady Prudence will be performing the dance steps with elegance and lightness.”

Lucy noted Lady Blenborough roll her eyes and unfurl her fan. “Please get on with the lesson,” she said curtly.

“Lucy,” Buckley said, clapping his hands. “Do not dally.”

She turned her attention to Prudence. “Watch me the first time,” Lucy said. “This is the chassé step. Right foot forward takes the weight; the following foot closes behind.” Lucy regarded the girl. “Now you may try.”

Prudence just stood there and chewed on her thumbnail, until her mother, Lady Blenborough, spoke sharply. “Prudence, attend.”

The sharp command startled Prudence. She tried, but when she closed the back foot, she landed heavily with a thump on the floor.

Lucy knew how important it was for Prudence to learn the steps. One simply could not get on well in society without learning to dance gracefully. Years ago, when her mother was still alive and life was easier, Lucy had danced at many a country assembly. Moving her limbs lightly through the steps made her feel temporarily carefree. Most of all, dancing brought back happy memories of her mother teaching her and other children in the neighborhood how to dance.

“Once more,” Lucy said. “I know you can do it, Prudence. Watch and imitate.”

Twice Prudence landed heavily and looked at her feet with a miserable expression.

“Imagine you are as light as a bird,” Lucy whispered to her. “Chassé close.”

Prudence hopped onto her right foot, wobbled, and fell on her bottom.

Lucy hurried to help the girl rise. The stains on Prudence’s cheeks bespoke humiliation.

“Mr. Buckley, I fear my daughter is hopeless,” Lady Blenborough said in a disgusted tone she didn’t bother to hide.

“Not at all, Lady Blenborough,” Buckley said, his voice oily in his attempts to soothe. “Here, allow me to demonstrate with my assistant. “Lucy,” he said, snapping his fingers.

She knew what was coming and braced herself. He stood behind her and his foul breath on her neck made her want to shiver. When he attempted to move closer, she knew he would try to touch her. She pretended to misunderstand and performed the steps. Chassé close, chassé close, chassé close. Lucy ended with a graceful plié.

“Prudence,” Lady Blenborough said, “try again.”

The girl had wandered over to the sideboard and her mother’s voice startled her again. Guilt was written all over her face as she held her hands behind her back.

Lady Blenborough rose. Her eyes narrowed as she yanked her daughter’s hand forward. Sweetmeats scattered all over the floor.

“If you wish to make a pig of yourself, Prudence, then do so. I wash my hands of you,” Lady Blenborough said.

Lucy winced as tears spilled down Prudence’s face.

“My lady,” Buckley said. “Do not despair. I am sure we will make a dancer of Prudence yet.”

“I’m done with her dance lessons,” Lady Blenborough said. “She is nothing but an embarrassment to me.”

Lucy bit her lip. She wished she could help Prudence. With patience, the girl could learn to execute the steps, but her mother obviously had taken a disgust of her daughter. With a sigh, Lucy could not help thinking of her own sweet mother’s patience with all of her dance students and wished she were still alive.

The dancing lesson ended, and Lucy looked past Buckley’s shoulder when he took her by the upper arm. “I’m docking your pay. See that you do not consort with the servants again,” he hissed. Then he handed over half the coins that were due her. Lucy held in the anger threatening to boil over and bobbed a curtsy. Then she hurried out of the servant’s entrance. It wasn’t the first time he’d found an excuse to reduce her pay, but it still infuriated her.

She must find other employment. Starting today, she would find a better job. There was much she didn’t have, but she was smart and educated. All she needed was one person to give her a chance. Lucy was determined to make a better life for herself and her grandmama. If there was a way, she would find it.

She walked quickly until she came to King Street, where a boy was handing out notices in front of assembly rooms. “Servers needed for Almack’s. Wednesday nights,” the boy called out. “Must be clean and polite.”

Lucy snatched one of the papers. An older gentleman dressed in elegant clothing opened the doors. Lucy ran to him and bobbed a curtsy. “Sir, I understand servers are needed. I’d be obliged if you would consider me.”

“I’m Mr. Woodward, master of ceremonies,” he said. “Come inside.”

She followed him and curtsied again. “I’m a hard worker, sir.”

“You have a refined accent, young lady.”

“I’m educated, sir, but my family has fallen on hard times.” She swallowed. “If it pleases you, Mr. Woodward, I would be much obliged if you would consider me.”

“Come to the back door on Wednesday in a sennight at seven sharp in the evening,” Mr. Woodward said. “You mustn’t be late. The Lady Patronesses are unforgiving.”

“I won’t be late. Thank you, sir.”

Elated at the opportunity, she started to turn away when Mr. Woodward cleared his throat. “Miss, what is your name?”

She turned back to him. “Lucy Longmore, sir.”

He took her hand and set coins in her palm. Then he closed her fingers over them.

“Bless you, sir.”

“Wait a few minutes,” he said. “I wish to help you.”

Lucy put the precious coins in a small purse she hid in her apron. When Mr. Woodward returned, he gave her a letter. “This should help you to procure employment.”

Oh, dear God. It was a letter of character. She could escape Buckley. “You’ve been so kind, sir.”

“Godspeed, dear. We will see you at Almack’s next week.”

Her spirits rose as she walked out and crossed the street, dodging the mud and horse droppings. She realized she was near the place where she’d threatened the handsome stranger with her knife only last night. In retrospect, she thought she’d misjudged him, but she shook off her guilt. A rich man like him hardly needed her sympathy. Her survival and that of her grandmama depended on keeping her wits about her.

She slowed her step as she neared a large building. A well-dressed gentleman handed over his horse’s reins to a groom. Lucy had heard of the Albany, the famous gentleman’s quarters. It occurred to her that she might inquire about employment there. Surely a place designated for bachelors would require the services of maids. Now that she had a letter of character, she had a far better chance of finding decent employment. She told herself not to get her hopes up, but she had nothing to lose, so she rapped the knocker.

Two hours later, Lucy had passed muster with Mrs. Finkle, the head housekeeper. The rules were simple enough. All she had to do was clean until the rooms were spotless, and of course, she mustn’t fraternize with the gentlemen residents. Lucy had no intention of jeopardizing her new position. She was thrilled that her pay would be twice what she made assisting Buckley. For the first time in three years, she dared to hope that she and Grandmama might improve their circumstances.

Mrs. Norcliffe’s drawing room, that same afternoon

“I am exceedingly concerned about attendance at Almack’s,” Mrs. Norcliffe, the newest patroness, said. “The gentlemen are abandoning our fair temple of respectability in droves. Something must be done.”

Lady Jersey sniffed. “One would think that the quadrille would entice the gentlemen.”

Mrs. Norcliffe thought no such thing, but she kept silent. Everybody knew that Lady Jersey had introduced the quadrille to Almack’s. “I will be honest, ladies. I have a personal concern in seeing Almack’s returned to its former popularity with all of the beau monde.”

Lady Cowper, whom everyone knew was having an affair de coeur with Lord Palmerstone, sighed. “I believe we must resort to stronger measures, but Mrs. Norcliffe, you speak of your own concerns. Does this perchance relate to Granfield?”

Mrs. Norcliffe set her dish of tea aside. “My son refuses to leave his shabby rooms at the Albany. I fear he will take after his bachelor uncle, God rest his soul. The dukedom is in jeopardy. I must find my son a bride, for he surely will not consider it.”

Lady Castlereagh sniffed. “I’ve yet to meet a bachelor who did not resist marriage. My advice is to trap him.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “I could not lower myself to such tactics.”
Not yet, at any rate.

Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, known as one of the highest sticklers, drew her quizzing glass to her eye. “You must find a way to entice Granfield. He will want someone young and pretty with at least five thousand for her marriage portion.”

Princess Esterhazy’s eyes twinkled. “Let us not forget that His Grace has already inherited a fortune. You need stronger inducement. I recommend an introduction to a beautiful young woman. If all goes well, he will conceive a grand passion for her.”

Lady Jersey rolled her eyes. “The only thing that entices gentlemen is their clubs. They gamble, they drink, and they take snuff. How many lose and win fortunes every night? It is scandalous.”

Mrs. Norcliffe applied her fan. “I had hoped that he would accept Lady Bellingham’s invitation to dine. She had meant to invite Miss Lingley and her parents, but apparently my son begged off due to other commitments.”

“Well, we all know what that means,” Lady Sefton said.

Mrs. Norcliffe sighed. “Indeed, the clubs.”

“I think they would live in them if possible,” Lady Cowper said.

“Perish the thought,” Countess Lieven said, “but truly we must help Mrs. Norcliffe in her quest. A dukedom is too important to let fall to a distant cousin or worse. No one wants to find an American among one’s relations.”

Mrs. Norcliffe placed her hands primly in her lap. “Dancing is the mode of courtship, is it not? Do we not encourage our fair offspring to find their perfectly suitable partners for life at a ball?”

“Yes, of course,” Lady Sefton said, “but you wish to make a point, do you not?”

“We need to make the experience exciting for the gentlemen,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.

“No spirits,” Mrs. Drummond-Burrell said. “The gentlemen will huddle around the sideboard all evening and overindulge.”

“Mrs. Norcliffe, how do you propose to drum up excitement?” Lady Cowper said.

“It is rather daring,” she said, “but one thing we know about gentlemen is that they cannot resist competing.”

All of the ladies leaned the slightest bit forward.

“I propose a dancing competition, one that would stir up passions not only for the dancers, but for observers as well. Of course, I hope to find my dear son a wife in this manner.”

“How can you be sure it will work?” Lady Castlereagh said.

Mrs. Norcliffe shrugged. “It is easy enough to tip off the scandal sheets. Imagine all of London anticipating the competition each week. News will circulate far and wide. Everyone who is anyone will not want to miss the weekly winners.”

“Winners?” Lady Sefton said in a faint tone.

“Each week the couples will dance and compete to stay in the competition another week,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Some will be eliminated and others will remain until the very last.”

“We are to judge them?” Lady Jersey asked.

“Of course,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Who better than the patronesses to make the decisions?”

“I think we need an incentive for the gentlemen to participate,” Lady Jersey said. “Otherwise, the gentlemen will return to their clubs.”

“An incentive implies commerce.” Lady Cowper fanned her face as if money were akin to devilment.

“In this case, it implies competition, and that is something no gentleman can resist,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Imagine if you will how many will be envious of those who are able to participate or observe at close hand. Almack’s will once again rise as the temple of exclusivity,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.
And I will find my son a proper wife, so help me, God.

“It is rather bold,” Lady Jersey said, “but we are the patronesses. Who will dare criticize if we sanction the competition?”

“Indeed, it could result in the loss of one’s voucher,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.

“What will the prize be?” Lady Jersey asked. “It must be sufficient to draw the gentlemen away from their liquor, cards, and dice.”

“Ladies, what do you say to five hundred pounds as the prize for the most elegant dancing couple? Are we prepared to contribute seventy-two pounds each?” Mrs. Norcliffe said.

“That leaves four pounds unaccounted for,” Lady Sefton said.

“We will buy extra lemonade and buttered sandwiches,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.

Everyone nodded their approval.

“Well, ladies, I believe we are all prepared for the first annual Almack’s dancing competition,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.

Lady Jersey observed Mrs. Norcliffe with a sly expression. “Pray tell, how do you propose to tempt your son into participating?”

Mrs. Norcliffe smiled. “What every mother resorts to when faced with an obstinate son. I will make him feel guilty.”

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