The Scandalous Life of a True Lady Page 9

  “Now, my dear, we can have our discussion.”

  “Thank you.” She tried to keep the “at last” under her breath. A man was entitled to relax in his own home, she supposed, although she felt as taut as a bow string. “I have come to a decision. I—”

  He interrupted her. “I beg your pardon, but so have I. So I will save you the awkwardness of refusing my offer. I withdraw it.”

  “I am going.”

  “Yes, so you told Mr. Harris, quite forcefully, too. I understand your scruples and I admire you for them. Never fear I am angry, my dear. Recall, I was the one who suggested you take this time to decide on such drastic action, wasn’t I?”

  “You do not understand. I am going with you to Lord Gorham’s party in Richmond.”

  In his usual slow, deliberative way, he waited before replying, then asked, “With all that the trip entails?”

  Simone could feel the color rising in her cheeks, but she looked straight at him, cursing the dratted spectacles that hid his eyes and most of his expression. “Yes, I wish to be your…companion.”

  “No, you do not.” He grimaced, then asked for a cup of tea, with extra sugar.

  She prepared the cup and got up to hand it to him. “You cannot know that.”

  “Oh, I know.” He took a deep swallow of the sweet tea, almost burning his tongue. “In addition, you told Mr. Harris.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “So did I.” He took another mouthful of tea.

  “What about that nonsense you spoke of: the danger, how you required an escort, a new face, an educated woman? Furthermore, you have already spent a fortune on my clothes and my brother.”

  He brushed that aside, as only a wealthy man could. “Money is not as important as your self-esteem.”

  “It is if you are starving. Charity makes a bitter breakfast.”

  He chose to misinterpret her words. “Has Mrs. Judd not been feeding you well?” He slowly looked her over from head to toe, his scrutiny pausing at her hips and her bust, outlined by the thin fabric of the ecru silk gown she wore.

  Simone quickly went back to her chair across from his, away from his examination. It was all she could do not to hold her hand above the gown’s bodice, where the fabric did not extend far enough for her taste. Madame Journet had made the décolletage to a gentleman’s taste, she said, not a governess’s. Once she was seated Simone told the major, “Mrs. Judd is an excellent housekeeper and cook, as you must know. She would never permit a guest in your home to go hungry, whether she approves of that guest or not.” The housekeeper did not approve of Simone, but that was not the major’s concern. Or Mrs. Judd’s, Simone considered.

  Harrison nodded. “So you have not gone hungry. And your brother’s education is secure. As is his welfare.” He pulled some papers out of his pocket. “Rexford has agreed to stand as guardian, in case of emergency only. The clothes are yours to keep. So you do not have to commit a transgression you might regret for the rest of your life.”

  “No, sir, I disagree. I will regret not going more. You have been kind and more than generous, but I intend to win Lord Gorham’s contest.”

  “Blast! I knew I should not have let Daniel near you. Buffle-headed and cow-handed, both, the jackass. No one else would have mentioned it.”

  “I disagree again. You should have told me. Mr. Harris could have. Mr. Stamfield was kind enough to do so.”

  “Greedy, more likely. Did he also explain that the contest will be rigged so that Gorham’s mistress wins?”

  “Oh. No, he did not mention that. I suppose the points can be miscounted or awarded unfairly so she wins the thousand pounds, but she cannot win each event, as I understand it. A clay pigeon does not play favorites, for one.”

  “She used to be an opera singer.”

  “Very well, I concede to her at voice, but I intend to take the horsemanship prize, and make a good showing at the archery contest. Madame Journet’s wardrobe is beyond anything I have ever seen, if clothing is judged. I am also proficient at the pianoforte. Mr. Stamfield was not certain what else would be judged.”

  “Bedroom skills.”

  “Oh. Oh, dear. And you would not lie, would you?”

  “I told you, I cannot. Despite Gorham’s probable anger, I was not going to put up the entry fee, if you did accompany me.”

  “You can afford it.”

  “Yes, but I thought to save you from that decadence by not placing your name in the running.”

  “You saved the Judds and Miss White, but I am no stray. I want the opportunity to rescue myself.”

  “You want to win the purse, or whatever part of it you can. You do not wish to become my mistress. Isn’t that the truth?”

  “You must know it is. It was always about the money.”

  “Good, because I have decided that I do not want you for my lover.” He added more sugar to his tea and gulped it down.

  She gasped, not at the amount of sugar he’d just swallowed, but at the insult. This old man with his shabby beard, stooped posture, and peculiar notions did not want her? Who was he to be so particular? Then she remembered his many kindnesses. “You found another companion?”

  “No, I found my own conscience. I cannot lead a woman down the primrose path. Do you know what is at the other end? You can see them on the street corners outside Drury Lane. Or coughing to death like my own mother. Lord Gorham seeks to be rid of his long-term mistress, as men often do. By holding the contest, getting each gentleman to put in his stake, he can send her off with a handsome pension without reaching into his own pocket, while enjoying the spectacle. Not many kept women retire half so well, nor last so long with one lover. I know a few courtesans do wed their protectors, but the number of them is very small. Most find themselves with child, with the pox, with a handful of baubles as their entire fortune, after being passed from gentleman to gentleman. I will not send a young lady down that road.”

  Simone was near tears. Everything he said was true. But a governess’s lot was no better unless she was fortunate in her workplace. Nor had Simone forgotten that her virtue was no safer where she’d been honorably employed. She could have ended pregnant, diseased, or in jail without even a trinket to sell for a lawyer’s fees. Whereas if she won Lord Gorham’s disgraceful competition…

  “I have another proposition.”

  She leaned forward. “Yes?”

  “I propose to hire you as an actress.”

  She sat back, the bubble of hope deflated. “I am no actress.”

  “For one hundred pounds.”

  “I can learn. What role shall I play?”

  “Why, my mistress, of course. I told you some of my reasons for going to Gorham’s. They are still true, no matter what you believe. Plans are afoot, so I have to attend the house party, which means I need a beautiful woman with me.”

  “But what is the difference? I will be just as ruined whether I pretend to be your mistress or if I actually am.”

  “Not in your heart, and not in my mind. Only your good name will suffer, which is easy enough to fix by changing it. You already look different from the Miss Ryland anyone knows or might encounter in the future. After the house party, you can return to being that woman of impeccable reputation, richer by a hundred pounds.”

  “And whatever else I can win.”

  He smiled. She saw a flash of white, not an old man’s brown-stained teeth. “And whatever else you can win. I shall back you. Afterward, you’ll have far more choices, your own choices, apart from the money.”

  “What if I choose to become Lord Gorham’s next paramour?”

  “Then I might have to kill him.”

  He spoke so grimly, Simone almost believed him. Then she laughed. “I can see I must take acting lessons from you, sir.”

  “There’s more than pretending. We shall have to share a bedroom. I see no getting around that. The servants would talk otherwise. Sally will come along as your lady’s maid, and she would never betray us but—”


  “But she is a delightful rattlepate,” Simone concluded for him. “She might let something slip.”

  “Exactly. So she has to think our arrangement is as it should be.”

  “Country houses usually have large beds. We can manage. After my cot at Mrs. Olmstead’s house, I suppose I could sleep on the floor if need be. Do you snore?”

  “No one has complained about that yet,” he said with another smile. “We have more important matters to discuss, however. As I told you, there is more to this gathering than a foolish romp. I need you to listen, to tell me anything suspicious you hear from the women. Sally and Jeremy will do the same in the servants’ hall.”

  “And Harold, your driver, can be on the alert in the stables.”

  “Um, of course. No one pays much attention to the staff. They might learn something helpful. As for you, I see no reason for anyone to know that you speak French or Spanish. You might hear other conversations that way, spoken in private.”

  Simone did not actually believe in the major’s fustian nonsense, but if he was willing to take her to Richmond, she was willing to act as his mistress and his spy. Gracious, she’d act as his valet if that’s what it took. Heaven knew he needed one. “What is it I should be listening for?”

  “Plans to overthrow the government.”

  If Daniel had not said what a knowing man the major was, how he worked for the army and terrified lower ranking soldiers, she would never believe her new partner was in his right mind. “That is impossible.”

  “It is all too possible. Not everyone approves of our royal family, riddled with madness, extravagance and debauchery as it is. An assassination here, a bribe there, a judgment of mental incompetence, all can accomplish as much in the right hands as incriminating letters in the wrong ones.”

  “But why?”

  “Because not everyone who will be at Gorham’s believes in the aristocracy. He has invited men of title, but other men of wealth and ambition. They want more power, more say in the governing of the country. Some might prefer a republic, like in America, to a monarchy. Some are known to wish a stronger role for the Commons. A few are suspected of wanting to bring Napoleon back from exile. I shall explain more once we are on our way to Richmond.”

  “You do not trust me now?”

  “I am trusting you with my life. But too many things can go wrong, and you are better, safer, not knowing everything yet. Do you trust me?”

  She hesitated a moment before answering yes.

  He licked the tea off his ragged moustache. “You are not sure.”

  “Stop guessing at my mind.”

  “No, I only recognize the truth.”

  “Bosh. You cannot know what I am thinking. I could tell you my mother’s name was Ermentrude—”

  “Marielle. Your mother was called Marielle, and her mother was kin to the Comte du Chantrevieu. You bear her name, Simone.”

  “How did you…? No, I do not wish to know. Yes, I trust that you will keep your promises and that you speak the truth.”

  “That is enough for now, so let us proceed. What do you wish to call yourself? It should be something that you will answer to with ease, perhaps something close to your real name, in case you make a mistake.”

  “Do you mean how Harrison and Harris are so similar?”

  He paused and looked at her, his head cocked to one side. “Something like that. Do not forget Harold Coachman.”

  “How absurd.”

  “I agree. But back to your name, it would be best if it were not a total lie yet the more exotic the better. Mona is too plain. Sima?”

  “Noma. That was what my brother called me when he was little, when Simone was too hard for him to say.”

  “Ah, perfect. Noma suits you, with your un-English looks. You might be from the American Plains, or the tropical Indies, or the steppes of Russia. What last name?”

  “I am tempted to use Ryland, to shame my father’s family for not doing better by us, but it is Auguste’s name also, and I would not have him connected to my scandalous actions.”

  “Hmm. Reilly is too common. Roland too close. How about Royal? Noma Royal, favorite in the race for Queen of the Courtesans.”

  “No one will believe that is my real name. It sounds more like one you’d give a race horse.”

  “But an actress often adopts a stage name, the way an author uses a pseudonym. They select a prettier name, something memorable and easier to pronounce than their own. I know, but shan’t tell anyone but you, that Gorham’s mistress, Claire Hope, is really Claudinia Colthopfer.”

  Simone laughed. “You are making that up.”

  The major shook his head. “I do not lie, Miss Royal.”

  “Royale, I think, with an e. Miss Noma Royale.”

  “Lovely. Tell Sally and Jeremy so they and you can become familiar with it. And you must start calling me Harry, Noma, as intimate acquaintances would.”

  Somehow the notion of sleeping in the same room was easier to contemplate than the familiarity of using an older gentleman’s given name. “I shall try…Harry.”

  “Capital. Now when we leave on Wednesday, the coach will take you and Sally out of town. I have matters to attend to along the way, but I’ll meet up with you before you reach Richmond. I’ll visit a barber and my tailor before then. Why, I’ll be so dashing you might not recognize me.”

  Simone smiled politely, not speaking a lie. “Whatever is convenient, ah, Harry, as long as I do not have to arrive at Lord Gorham’s estate without you.”

  “Have no fear, we shall make a grand entrance together. Which reminds me, you’ll need to practice acting the part. You’ll have to be a bit more convincing as a courtesan if we are to succeed.”

  “I did not put on the face paints this evening, or the most revealing gown.”

  “No, my dear. What I meant is about showing affection: kissing, touching, standing close, holding hands, sending smitten glances.”

  “In public?”

  “Such displays will be expected at Gorham’s, even common. A proper female would be aghast at the blatant behavior, but you must not be shocked, no matter what you see. In fact, you have to be just as forward and free with your favors, to me, naturally. Make no mistake, the house party is about sex also, not merely games and intrigue. If you do not seem loving, receptive of my attentions, no one will believe we are lovers, and then they will start asking questions neither of us wants to answer. We will not be paramours, in fact, but only the two of us must know that.”

  “I…I think I can do that.”

  “Then kiss me, Noma, for practice, of course.”

  “Of course.” Simone stood and stepped toward his chair. She bent down, closed her eyes, and pressed her pursed lips to his moustache.

  “Lud, sweetheart, you really are no actress, are you?”

  Chapter Ten

  Simone sprang back as if she’d been scalded. “You knew I was no Cyprian.”

  “I didn’t know you’d never been kissed, dammit!”

  “I have, too.” Before he could accuse her of a lie—had the kiss been that bad, that he could tell?—she amended her statement: “That is, the baron did, before I hit him with the poker. The son of my previous employer caught me alone in the nursery once, and kissed me until I could scream for help. And I was properly kissed by a gentleman under the mistletoe my last Christmas at home.”

  “By your blasted curate? None of those count. Lud, we’ll be found out within an hour of our arrival. You might as well wear a chastity belt if you are going to show that much enthusiasm for lovemaking. Damn, you’ll stand out like a donkey at Epsom Downs. I’ll be a laughingstock, bringing a virgin to a bacchanal; you’ll be banned from the foolish games. Worst of all, no one will talk to you.”

  “I can learn. How hard can it be?”

  “It’s not supposed to be hard, by all that’s holy, and a lot that’s not! I’m the one supposed to— Never mind. Relax and try again.”

  Relax, after he yelled at her loudly enough to
make the cat run out of the room? This time Simone did try to soften her lips. She kept her eyes open, too, to make sure she found his mouth, not his moustache. She did manage to hit her target, after bumping his nose. His lips were firm but pliant under hers, a not unpleasant feeling, she decided. “There,” she said, pulling away so fast she dislodged his spectacles. “You see, I can do it.”

  He did not see at all, for he kept his eyes closed while he replaced the glasses on his nose. “That was hardly a kiss. More a cold brushing of lips so quick it might have been a passing snow shower. Devil take it, couples married for thirty years manage to put more emotion into an embrace than that. Tell me, Simone, do you wish to kiss me or not?”

  “That’s Noma, sir, not Simone.”

  “That is avoiding my question. I know who you are. Yes or no?”

  Simone couldn’t say “No,” not and keep her job. “Yes” would be a lie, which he’d know instantly. “It’s…it’s the moustache. I do not like the feel of it.”

  He stroked the offending article. “I would feel naked without it. But tell me this, Noma, what if I asked you to attend the party with another man, one who was clean-shaven, young, passably good looking?”

  Simone was more indignant than if he’d said she kissed like a cow. “I will not be handed around like a flagon of wine. I made an agreement with you and no one else. Your friend might be far more demanding of my services, or far less appealing to me.”

  “And hell might freeze over,” he muttered. Aloud he said, “I was afraid you’d say that. But what if he was Harry, too?”

  “How can he be? Either you are Harry or you are not. You said you never lie.”

  “Aye, that’s a problem.”

  “Which makes no sense. There can be any number of Harry’s, but only one you. Harry, Harrison, Harold, a name means nothing. You said so yourself. Why, I would never kiss Mr. Harris, no matter what that dry stick calls himself.”

  The major started coughing, so she brought him another cup of tea.

  When he was done choking, he said, “People are not always who or what they seem to be.”

  “If that is a riddle, you will have to solve it for me.”