For once, Beth thought, the army of servants had its advantages.

"Do you have engagements?" asked the d.u.c.h.ess, glancing at the pile of cards in front of Beth. "I am to visit Lord Taberley's to see his collection of medieval jewelry. One of the best in the world, they say. Do you care to come?"

"Thank you, but no, Maman. I am a little tired and will have a quiet day."

The d.u.c.h.ess looked at her with concern. "Are you sure you are well, ma chere? You seem so easily tired. Perhaps-"

"Oh, I doubt it," said Beth, reading the woman's mind.

"One never knows," said the d.u.c.h.ess. "I gave birth to Maria nine months after our wedding."

"Er... I feel that is unlikely in our case."

"Oh," said the d.u.c.h.ess. "I see. In fact, that is as well. You have plenty of time and once the babies come life changes." The d.u.c.h.ess gave Beth a warm, perfumed kiss on the cheek-Beth was careful to turn her left cheek-before leaving.

Beth immediately pulled off the bonnet and undid the silly hairstyle. She then tried to settle to peaceful solitude. The day's edition of the Times, which she usually read with relish, could not hold her interest. Just more speculation about Napoleon's whereabouts and troop movements, all four or five days old. A fascinating article in the Quarterly Review on the Hapsburgs had no appeal. She looked at the clock a dozen times and the hands had hardly moved at all.

She picked over her luncheon, plagued by tantalizing questions. When would he be back? He hadn't said. Would he be home for dinner? There seemed a vast wasteland of time to be got over before even then. Would it be very bold if she were to order a quiet dinner to be served in her room for them both? Very bold or not, it was too bold for Beth.

The only thing to do, she decided in the end, was to go somewhere. She was not a prisoner, after all. She could visit the fashionable emporiums. The idea held little appeal, for she was still uncomfortable with spending large amounts of money on fripperies.

She could visit the Delaneys. But they were such perceptive people, and today she felt transparent as gla.s.s.

What she needed was a long walk to dissipate some of her nervous energy. Decided at last, Beth summoned Redcliff and dressed in a pale blue figured lawn gown and blue twill spencer which matched the high Pamela bonnet. She submitted once more to the curls down the sides of her face and the tower of white straw on top.

Looking in the mirror, she sighed. "This is ridiculous. In this bonnet I must be quite six feet tall!"

"It's all the thing, milady. And it's not as if you have to watch such matters with his lordship. He'd still be able to give you some inches."

Beth glanced at the clock again. Hardly half the afternoon had pa.s.sed. How could she yearn for him so much? It wasn't l.u.s.t even, just a simple longing for his presence, his mischievous grin, his quick and salty wit, his comfortable embrace.

"Is something the matter, milady?"

"No," said Beth, gathering her wits. "We're going for a long, brisk walk, Redcliff."

The maid's face fell. "Where to, milady?"

"I don't know," said Beth cheerfully.

"To Green Park, perhaps, milady?" offered Redcliff.

"Good heavens, no. That's no distance at all. Perhaps to the Tower of London."

"What!" exclaimed the maid. "But that's miles, milady. And through some not very nice areas. You must take the carriage for sure."

"I don't want a carriage ride, Redcliff," said Beth tightly. Perhaps this house was a prison after all. What would happen if she just walked out of the front doors? She imagined striding around the square with a bleating train of anxious servants behind. Her sense of humor returned and she smiled. But what was she to do? It would be no pleasure to drag an unwilling maid around London, and the woman was probably correct about the dangers. Beth knew little of London other than the circ.u.mscribed area of Mayfair.

"I know," she said suddenly. "We'll visit Clarissa. I need to talk to her anyway."

"Miss Greystone? Where did you take her, milady?"

Beth could feel herself freeze in the face of this new problem. Would Redcliff know the name? Blanche, along with other popular actresses, was often featured in the prints displayed in shop windows.

"To a Mrs. Hardcastle," she said carelessly.

No reaction, thank heavens. "Do you want the carriage then, milady?" asked the maid with the clear implication that the answer should be "yes."

"No, I don't think so." Apart from her desire for exercise, Beth did not want more servants aware of her scandalous a.s.sociation with Blanche Hardcastle. "It is not so very far-" she said and then broke off. "Goodness, I don't know the address. How foolish."

Redcliff looked relieved, but Beth was not to be so easily deflected. This outing was a.s.suming the nature of a major challenge.

"The boy," she said triumphantly. "The stable boy called Robin. He knows. Send for him."

"A stable boy!" exclaimed the maid. "Here?"

"Very well, Redcliff," countered Beth firmly. "We will go there."

"To the mews, milady?"

"Yes."

The maid obviously recognized that her mistress's patience was at an end. They exited the mansion by the majestic front doors and then made their way around to talk to Granger, the head groom in Town.

Dooley was apparently off with the marquess and Viking, but Robin Babson was around. The wiry, sallow-faced man was considerably astonished that anyone wanted to speak with him.

"That varmint," he muttered. "He's here right enough, for all the use he is. And the marquess saying he should sleep in. No right being out at night, that's what I say-"

He broke off because Beth had had enough of contrary servants. For the first time she used a de Vaux look. His grumbles died.

"Right away, milady," he said hurriedly. "Oy! Sparra! Come out here!"

Robin came dashing out, a rough ap.r.o.n over his shirt and breeches. He had a piece of leather strap in one hand and a polishing rag in the other.

"Yes, Mr. Granger?"

"Her ladyship wants to speak with you."

The boy turned and gave Beth a c.o.c.ky grin. "Yes, your ladyship?"

Beth drew him away from the listening groom. "Where did we go last night, Robin?"

"What?"

"The address. I want to visit the young lady there."

"Oh, number 8, Scarborough Lane. But how you going to find it, milady?"

"Won't Redcliff know?" asked Beth, amused by the direction she could see the conversation taking.

"Nah," said the boy positively. "It's a small street and quite new."

Beth looked at him and smiled. "You think perhaps you should be our guide?"

"Might be best, milady," said Robin innocently.

Beth turned to the man. "Mr. Granger, would you mind if I took Robin away from his duties for a while? He can guide me to where I wish to go."

The man frowned. "The coachman's available, milady. He knows London like the back of his hand."

"I wish to walk," said Beth with amiable firmness.

"One of the footmen would be more suitable than Sparra, milady."

Beth raised her chin and stared at the man again. "I prefer to take Robin, Granger. The marquess also wishes the boy to be addressed by his proper name."

"Yes, milady," said the man quickly, and in a few minutes they were on their way with Robin, as smart as possible in a st.u.r.dy woolen jacket, walking a few paces behind.

Once they were in the street and heading in the right direction, Beth said, "I don't see how you can lead us from the rear, Robin. Why don't you walk ahead."

Robin was very willing to do this and sauntered along whistling while Beth and Redcliff walked composedly behind. None of them noticed a sharp-featured individual who gave up supporting the iron railings around the center of the square and began to follow them.

This time a sensible-looking young maid opened the door of number 8, Scarborough Lane. Her eyes opened wide, however, when Beth gave her card, and it almost seemed as if she would shut the door in their faces. Perhaps the de Vaux look was becoming a part of her, thought Beth, for the maid gave in and admitted them, directing them to the parlor, before tottering away, muttering. With a wink, Robin followed her.

In a few moments the White Dove entered. "You've given poor Agnes a turn, my lady." She glanced at Redcliff who had finally put two and two together and looked outraged. "And your maid, too, I'll go odds. Why don't you send her to the kitchen where she and Agnes can support one another over hot, sweet tea."

Beth agreed, and it was clear Redcliff was only too pleased to escape the presence of such a notorious creature.

As the two women took seats, Blanche said, "I should offer you refreshment, Lady Arden, but to be honest, I'm not sure anything potable will come out of the kitchen for the next little while. This is a somewhat unusual situation," she added with a twinkle.

"Scandalous," agreed Beth amiably. "You should have seen the trouble I had getting out of Belcraven House and to here without turning everyone on their ear."

"Lucien often found the same thing," said Blanche, and then stopped, looking conscious.

Though the words did give her a slight pang, Beth said, "I don't suppose we'll get anywhere if we ban his name from conversation, will we, Mrs. Hardcastle? I must make it clear, however," she added amiably, "that if I find you still have designs on my husband, I'm likely to put a bullet through your heart."

Blanche grinned. "Good for you! Is it possible you'll go so far as to call me Blanche, your ladyship? My real name's Maggie Duggins, and I should tell you I'm a butcher's daughter from one of the less desirable parts of Manchester." She paused for a moment to give Beth the opportunity for comment. When none came, she smiled and continued, "I'm well-used to Blanche by now, but Mrs. Hardcastle never sounds like me at all."

"I will," said Beth, "as long as you don't 'your ladyship' me. I find that equally strange. In private, please call me Beth."

"I doubt we're ever likely to meet in public, Beth," said Blanche wryly. "You've come to see Miss Greystone?"

Beth nodded.

"She's in her room, and I'll call her in a minute. I'd like to talk to you first, though. That girl is in a very awkward situation. Do you have any plan for her?"

"No. I wanted to talk to her again and see if she has any ideas. I also wanted to warn her and you that her parents and Lord Deveril have started a full-scale search. I had hopes they would be more discreet for fear of scandal."

"Money on one side and l.u.s.t on the other leaves little room for discretion," remarked Blanche. "Miss Greystone did ask if I could train her for the theater, but aside from the fact that it would be improper it's hardly a place to hide."

"She could become a teacher or governess, though I'm not sure she is really suited to the profession," said Beth thoughtfully, "but how it would be achieved, I don't know."

"Perhaps you could fake references for her," said Blanche casually.

"What?" asked Beth, shocked.

Blanche shrugged. "If she went after some provincial position with references from the Marchioness of Arden, it would doubtless work."

"Oh, I couldn't."

"If you're going to be squeamish, you'll have her married to Deveril," said Blanche plainly. "She can't stay hidden here too long without word getting out, particularly if they post bills and a reward. She needs to be well away with a new ident.i.ty and some form of employment. Someone will have to forge something."

Beth felt as if she had suddenly found herself at the edge of a precipice. "So if I behave correctly I will fail a girl in dire need," she murmured.

"'Rules to regulate behavior,'" quoted Blanche quietly, "'and to preserve reputation, too frequently supersede moral obligations.'"

Beth stared at her. "Mary Wollstonecraft!"

Blanche smiled. "You seem like a woman who would have studied her. Surely she would say, 'Help Clarissa and be d.a.m.ned to Society.' After all, Miss Greystone's position can't help but remind me of her Maria in The Wrongs of Woman," she said, referring to Mary Wollstonecraft's novel.

"Indeed. I wouldn't put it past Lord Deveril to consign Clarissa to an insane asylum if it suited his purpose. But it's not just reputation, Blanche. It's the law."

The two women immediately plunged into a penetrating debate on right and wrong. Only the rapping of the door knocker broke their absorption. As Agnes pa.s.sed through the hall on her way to answer it, they looked at one another and smiled.

"Oh," said Beth, slightly appalled at the situation in which she found herself "but this is likely to be a tortuous friendship."

"It'll give Lucien giddy fits," said Blanche, laughing.

"Indeed," said a sneering voice. "A more improper a.s.sociation is hard to imagine."

Both women turned sharply to see Lord Deveril standing in the doorway with a pistol in his hand. Two unpleasant-looking men were behind him, one dark and bearded, one sandy with piggy eyes. Pig-eyes was holding Agnes. His fat hand was clamped over the maid's mouth and above it her pale eyes bulged with terror.

"I think it my duty to remove my bride from such a den of iniquity," said Lord Deveril.

Chapter 20.

He was as horrible as Beth remembered-gaunt but with a brutish strength in his jaw and hands; sallow with shadows almost black around his bloodshot eyes. The vile smell of him was already oozing across the room.

Beth looked at Blanche and saw she was almost exploding with rage at this invasion. She spoke quickly before the other woman could make the situation worse. "Clarissa is not here."

"No?" remarked Deveril. "You consort with your husband's wh.o.r.e of your own accord? No wonder he chose you for his bride. So compliant. Do you perhaps enjoy three in a bed?" He turned his disgusting gaze on Blanche. "Do you allow voyeurs Mistress Blanche? I would gladly pay for such a spectacle."