Maggie MacKeever (17 page)

“Have you no wish to travel?” inquired Sir Morgan. “I should have thought you would enjoy it very well.”

“Having an adventurous spirit?” parried Tess. Did he think she meant to take the diamonds and make a midnight flit to some exotic clime? “The opportunity has not come my way.” Sir Morgan remained silent, and again she glanced at him. “I envy you,” she said. “You sweep so magnificently through life, going where you please and doing as you will. It must be marvelous to be so unfettered.” A thought struck her. “Oh! Clio has told me about Drusilla. Are we to wish you happy then—or am I guilty of impertinence?”

“I suspect it is Mistress Clio who is guilty,” Sir Morgan retorted, looking rather diabolical, “of spinning shocking fibs!”

“Oh?” asked Tess, confused. “She does tell the most dreadful clankers. Why should she tell me you are to be married if it isn’t true?”

Sir Morgan was not inclined to be helpful. “Drusilla knows just how close she can sail to the wind without disaster, but Clio evidently does
not!”
he said with emphasis, then deftly turned the subject. “Who is that young sprig who paid her such marked attention last night?”

“Ceddie!” ejaculated the countess, with loathing. “Not a sprig, but a basket-scrambler, sir! It was because of Ceddie that I—that
we
thought it expedient to remove Clio to London, lest she contract a most imprudent match. Now what must happen but that he follows her? It utterly sinks my spirits!” She glowered. “As if that were in itself not bad enough, he must bring Shamus along!”

“Ah,” said Sir Morgan.
“Your
admirer, I apprehend.”

“Bah!” Lady Tess’s tone was so venomous that her mare danced nervously. “He is the most tedious man!”

She flushed guiltily. “I should not say so, of course. Shamus is possessed of many admirable traits. He is kind, and considerate, and always willing to take one’s problems onto his own shoulders.”

“Even if you don’t wish him to,” concluded Sir Morgan, who was guilty, at least in this instance, of a similar sin. “A dead bore, in fact! Shall I warn him away?”

“Lord, no!” protested Tess, somewhat regretfully. “It would be the most shabby thing.” She sighed. “Nor would it serve; Shamus is most tenacious, as I know only too well. But I should not be speaking like this to you! You will think me a ramshackle creature, ungrateful and incapable of comprehending a man’s good qualities.”

“What I think you,” responded Sir Morgan, with a distinct warmth, “must be reserved for another day.” He smiled at her puzzlement. “I
don’t
think, by the way, that you need fear young Clio will suffer any harm from her provincial Romeo. If anything, she is more likely to inveigle him into some scheme.”

“Do you think so?” asked Tess doubtfully. “I’ll own his manner last evening didn’t appear that of an ardent swain.” Her eyes kindled. “If that little minx has lied to me—she vowed she’d elope with Ceddie if she wasn’t allowed to come to town—I vow I’ll wring her neck!”

Sir Morgan seemed to accept this indication of a violent nature as perfectly justifiable. “I think you may assume she has,” he remarked. “Young Mistress Clio seems to possess a remarkable deviousness of mind.”

Tess did not pause to wonder what had led him to this conclusion; she was stricken with remorse at the freedom she’d allowed her wretched tongue. “You must pay me no mind,” she begged. “I have said the most improper things. The truth is that I am cross as a cat because Clio has pitchforked me into the
ton.”

That Mistress Clio had had help in that endeavor, Sir Morgan did not admit. “You would have much rather stayed in the background,” he suggested smoothly, “as befits your position.”

“Of course I would!” Tess mourned her laggard memory. “Who am
I
to hobnob with polite society?” Sir Morgan looked very much as if he would answer this hypothetical question, and she hastily continued. “It is done now, and I perfectly see that to remain in the background would not have served. The Bellamys are very fine, and very proper I’m sure, but I cannot think they will deal successfully with Clio, particularly since I’m sure she’s up to her tricks.” She frowned. “Why, I wonder? But I have bored you far too long with all this! Tell me, where are we?”

Sir Morgan, who wisely made no mention of his impulse to take Miss Clio in hand and thus prevent her supposed companion from becoming worn out with fuss, fatigue, and temper, obligingly pointed out the various wonders of Mincing Lane, which boasted shops providing tea, coffee, sugar, and spices from the East, and where rich brokers lived above their tasting-rooms. The name of the street had derived from some houses belonging to the “Minchuns,” or Nuns of St. Helen’s, Billingsgate Street. Once Genoese traders or galleymen had dwelt in the narrow lane, and had brought their wares to Galley Wharf in Thames Street. Lady Tess inhaled the fishy air that wafted in from Billingsgate, and professed herself enchanted.

From there it was but an easy step to the Mansion House, residence of the lord mayors of London, a building of Portland stone with a portico of six fluted columns constructed in the Renaissance style; and an animated discussion of the prince regent’s most recent activities, most unremarkable among which was a speech given after an inspection of the annual Royal Academy exhibition and a bronze lamp commissioned by the regent from Mr. Gullaimy of Pall Mall, to be presented to the Academy as a handsome reminder of the princely patronage. This, and Lady Tess’s somewhat irreverent comment that the officers of the prince’s regiment looked like hurdy-gurdy monkeys in their red breeches with gold fringe and yellow boots, occupied them pleasantly all the way back to Berkeley Square.

Sir Morgan did not leave the countess there or offer to help her to dismount, but instead led the way around to the stables as if it were only natural. “It is time I paid my respects to Sapphira,” be said in response to her quizzical glance. “And I have something further I wish to say to you.”

“Ah!” The diamond necklace, thought Tess, pleased beyond measure that he had at last decided to speak of it. “Shall we walk in the garden? You would not wish to be overheard.”

From any number of other women, Sir Morgan would have taken this as an invitation to indulge in some early-morning dalliance, but he was far too knowledgeable in such matters to think Tess had any such pastime in mind. “Certainly,” he replied, and swung her easily to the ground, then took her cane from a goggling stable boy.

Tess, well aware that Sir Morgan’s presence in the stables in companionship with herself had given rise to no small amount of comment, launched upon an enthusiastic discussion of the various varieties of flowers and shrubs to be seen in the gardens. She furthermore assured him that she had it on very good authority that botany was among Drusilla’s ruling interests, and advised him that he might further his suit by discussing such matters. “Doing it a little too brown,” said Sir Morgan, when they were out of earshot. “You need not go to such lengths to protect my reputation.”

Tess, considering the proprietary air with which Drusilla regarded this gentleman, rather thought she did. “I confess,” she admitted, doubtfully surveying a rather neglected-looking bush, “that gardening is not among my ruling interests.” She cast about in her head for a topic of conversation. Now that the moment for enlightenment had come, Tess found herself oddly reluctant to hear the truth of the necklace. It was
not,
she told herself firmly, that she regretted Sir Morgan’s unavoidable waning of interest in her—for, once the secret was out and he was assured of her complicity, he would need no longer go to such lengths to maintain her goodwill—but that she did not wish to be possessed of information that would make her think poorly of him.

“I have,” he said suddenly, taking her hands, “a confession to make. I should have told you before, but I was waiting to see if you remarked on it yourself.”

“Pray, don’t!” interrupted Tess, trying ineffectively to withdraw from his grasp. “There is no need—I do not wish to know! Consider, even here someone could overhear, and think of the consequences!”

“Surely,” objected Sir Morgan, a rather startled expression on his swarthy face, “it would not be so bad.”

“Not bad!” Tess cried. “To be taken off to Bow Street, to maybe stand your trial? You yourself said it could mean as much as life imprisonment!”

“So I did.” Sir Morgan looked very stern. “I think you had better tell me exactly what you mean.”

“You must not think,” Tess assured him, for he obviously thought she was untrustworthy, “that I mean to tell on you, or to keep the gems for myself! I do not know how you came by them, or why, or even why you entrusted them to me, but I am sure you had a
very
good reason.”

“I see,” said Sir Morgan thoughtfully. Again Tess experienced that odd little twinge of memory, as if she’d seen that particular expression on those dark features at some long-previous time. It was impossible, of course; had they met before, Sir Morgan would surely have remarked on it.

“You may rely on me,” Tess promised. “I had wished to tell you so earlier and blame myself that I did not, for then you would have been spared the bother of bribing those highwaymen and that man in the park. Just tell me what you wish me to do with the thing! I will be glad to hand it over to you.”

“I think,” and Sir Morgan looked grave indeed, “that perhaps you should. Where is, er, it now?”

“Hidden in my room.” Tess tried once more to free herself, but he gripped her so tightly that her hands ached. “In fact, it’s where your accomplice put it, in my portmanteau. It must have been a shock to you that I overpowered him, and I am very sorry if I inconvenienced you, but how could I know?”

“How, indeed?” murmured Sir Morgan. “You are a continual surprise, are you not?”

“I am?” Tess’s brows flew up. “Why?”

“You have known me to be so reprehensible, yet seem to find no great danger in my company. Aren’t you afraid that a man like myself will offer you harm?”

“I don’t think,” Tess replied judiciously, “that I should call you reprehensible. A trifle rash, perhaps, but I’m sure you had very good reasons for what you did. And how could you tell me what you wished me to do with the thing if I avoided you?” She smiled. “I am hardly a green girl, Sir Morgan!”

“You are exactly that!” he retorted. “If you think you stand in no danger for possessing something that was obviously stolen, you are in addition all about in your head!”

That this was an odd way in which to express one’s gratitude, Tess did not pause to consider. “I’ll admit the whole thing is a little shady,” she replied cheerfully, “and not a situation that I would have expected to come my way, but it has been vastly exciting! I will be almost sorry to hand the bauble over to you.” He frowned. “I will, of course!” she added quickly. “Don’t look so grim! I only spoke in jest.”

“And you call me rash!” Sir Morgan shook her, with no particular gentleness. “Next you will tell me you have enjoyed yourself so much that you mean to set up as a receiver of stolen goods!”

“What a wretch you are!” Tess’s hands, released when he’d grasped her shoulders so roughly, flew up to catch her bonnet before it tumbled off her head. “Naturally I mean to do no such thing! I daresay I would have turned over the gems to Bow Street immediately, had you not been involved!”

“I?” Sir Morgan ceased to shake her. “Explain!”

“One does not lay information against one’s friends,” Tess replied, surprised that he should have to ask. “I did not wish to get you into trouble, for even though I had just met you, I liked you very well.”

It was natural that this innocent little speech should prompt Sir Morgan to a belated expression of gratitude for her efforts in his behalf; it was equally natural, considering the man’s rakish propensities, that his gratitude should be expressed by way of an extremely fervent embrace. The countess saw nothing remarkable in this, and in fact gave herself up wholeheartedly to the unique sensations resultant upon being clasped firmly in a pair of strong arms and kissed most ruthlessly. She had nothing with which to compare that kiss, it being her first experience with such things, but she thought—rather fuzzily—that she at last understood why some ladies were so addicted to the pastime.

Chapter 14

The dowager duchess was far too well aware of her own consequence to be the least gratified by the stream of noble visitors who presented themselves at Bellamy House on the day after Clio’s coming-out ball, and gazed unawed upon such illustrious and influential callers as Lady Jersey, the Countess of Lieven, Lords Petersham and Alvanley, and even Beau Brummell. Though totally devoid of any of the more praiseworthy virtues, Sapphira did possess a very lively appreciation of the absurd. With her favorite caller of them all seated nearby, and privy to her various acerbic comments, Sapphira allowed herself to be entertained by the raree show that was being enacted in her front drawing-room.

Excepting the duke, the entire family was present, though Evelyn and Nidget were speedily banished when the mongrel took loud exception to Lady Jersey’s bonnet; but Sapphira had no thought to spare for the volatile Silence’s sensibilities. She was far more interested in Tess, who was commanding much more attention than young Clio, a state with which neither of them seemed particularly pleased. Tess looked well enough, Sapphira conceded charitably, in that round robe of lilac cambric, but she couldn’t hold a candle to Clio, exquisite in a morning gown of fine white French lawn. All the same, Tess was being besieged by the gentlemen while Clio sat talking in a desultory manner to Lucille. It was deuced queer, concluded Sapphira, wondering what it meant.

The dowager duchess was not the only one to ponder Tess’s apparent success, and not the least of the others thus puzzled was Tess herself. It did not surprise her that the gentlemen were polite to her, for she knew them all to be friends of the Duke of Bellamy and Sir Morgan, and assumed that they had been asked to be kind to the country mouse. She thought nothing of it, though she appreciated the effort to make her feel comfortable, and when Brummell engaged her in a discussion of Wellington’s progress in the Peninsula, acquitted herself quite nicely with a knowledgeable discussion of the situation at Badajoz. The Beau—who, unknown to Tess, neither held a kindness for country bumpkins nor made a practice of obliging his friends—listened and smiled rather enigmatically, then with professed reluctance and an odd glance at Sir Morgan took his leave. This was the sign for a general exodus. Only Sir Morgan, Shamus, and Cedric remained behind. Conversation briefly lagged, then Drusilla—stunning in a Spanish robe of pea-green muslin for which she had not yet paid—suggested getting up a party to attend the Royal Opera House. The idea was seized upon eagerly.