Everything I Ever Wanted, page 12
Every Wednesday from eight until noon, the small park took on the atmosphere of a fairground. The goods and services that were available changed according to the season; there were entertainments for the children and their nannies and a sampling of oddities for the curious seekers among the gentry. Servants came from the nearby residences to spend their coppers on treats for themselves. The park hummed with the gentle noise of commerce and the occasional squeal of a delighted child.
Southerton watched a footman leave India Parr's home by a side exit and take off on some errand for his mistress.
The servant returned shortly, followed not long afterward by a hackney. The driver pulled directly in front of the house, blocking South's view no matter how he tried to angle his head to improve his perspective. He knew the probable destination was the theatre at Drury Lane. India went nowhere else. South's frustration was that he could not see if she was finally alone.
He had known at the outset he would not follow her. Abandoning his place suddenly in the park would bring notice to him, and he did not want that. His hope had been to catch a glimpse of her with the mysterious Lord M. In the two days since the tease in the Times, there had been only speculation on the man's identity. The man himself remained elusive, at least in the presence of India Parr. Lord Macquey-Howell and Baron Montrose were the leaders in this tight horse race. The betting books at White's and other gentlemen's clubs were busy tracking the favorites, most of them setting odds at two to one. Lords Morris, Mapple, and Milbourne were also in the running. Sir Anthony Matthews was dismissed for never having been to the Continent in his lifetime, nor far from his country home near Gloucester. An interesting dark horse was Lord Embley, recently returned from the West Indies, or so the on dit had it.
There was no admission or denial from any of the men named in public or, as far as South knew, in private. This was not terribly surprising, since for some of them the speculation of a connection with Miss Parr had momentarily raised their standing among others of their set. Even Macquey-Howell, the only married candidate, was close-lipped. South suspected it had something to do with his wife, who was not likely to thank him for any behavior that held their marriage up to public scrutiny.
Lady Macquey-Howell had her bit of intrigue with the Spanish consul, after all.
South sold several more sacks of roasted chestnuts as a new group of children crowded around the puppeteer. He hawked his wares with no less enthusiasm than the flower girl sold her bunches of violets, all the while counting the number of servants that passed in and out of the side entrance to India's home, and looking for a face that perhaps didn't belong. He recognized footmen and maids by sight now; the cook, the cook's helper, even the seamstresses who came and went from Madame Fournier's dress shop were known to him. Mrs. Garrety sometimes arrived with costumes or what looked to be sketchbooks of the same. The lad Doobin was the most frequent visitor from the outside. South had considered how he might gain the boy's cooperation to further his own ends but had not made any move to do so. He suspected Doobin's first loyalties were to India Parr and that bribery alone would not bring the boy to his side.
As though South's thoughts had the power to conjure an image of the lad, Doobin appeared at street level, swung wide around the lamppost near India's front door, and walked jauntily along the narrow sidewalk, his hands dug deeply into the pockets of his coat. It was the fact that Doobin had set off in a direction opposite the one India had taken that piqued South's interest. Looking at the few sacks of chestnuts he had remaining, Southerton determined he could finally quit his area without comment. He turned over his inventory to a grateful flower girl and told her to do with it what she would; then he set himself off at a pace befitting the older man he pretended to be.
It was not so much a merry chase as a meandering one. Doobin took a circuitous route to his final destination, sometimes crossing the same street two or three times or ducking suddenly into an alley, almost as if he anticipated someone was interested in his movements. It caused South to look around himself, wondering if the boy was acting less as messenger for India Parr and more as bait. As much as the latter thought niggled at him, he could find no evidence to support it.
It was only when Doobin slowed in front of the townhouses on Carrick Street that South realized where the boy was most likely headed. This time it was Southerton who disappeared into an alley. There were things he had to do to prepare for the arrival of his young guest.
After giving orders that the boy be admitted and served pastries in the kitchen while he cooled his heels, South headed for his bedchamber, followed closely by his valet. Darrow helped him make short work of the ill-fitting tradesman clothes and powdered hair. In far less time than was their usual ritual, the valet had South turned out in buff nankeen breeches and riding boots. The shirt was from Firth's, the only establishment Southerton approved for his linens. The stock was neatly tied above a pale-blue silk waistcoat, and the chitterlings fell in a gentle wave on either side. Darrow assisted South into his double-breasted coat, smoothed the shoulders and back, fixing the tailored line, and pronounced his employer all of one piece.
Southerton was seated casually at a fine cherry wood desk in his study when Doobin was admitted. After his name was announced in stentorian and important tones as Master Doobin, the boy required more in the way of urging from South's butler to enter the room. This consisted of the long-faced Mr. Parker placing two hands firmly between Doobin's bony shoulder blades and pushing, then quickly closing the pocket doors before escape was possible. The boy stood rooted in the exact spot where he had skidded to a halt until South looked up from his feigned examination of some papers.
South did not rise. He looked the boy over, careful not to smile when he saw evidence in the powdered-sugar-and-chocolate smears that Doobin had heartily availed himself of the offered pastries. Southerton's tone hovered between mildly curious and complete indifference as he asked, "You have business with me, young sir?"
"Mm, yes, m'lord."
"What's that? You'll have to speak up." South waved the boy over with a brusque gesture. "Come closer. I have no desire to strain my ears on your behalf."
Doobin quickly shuffled half the distance, then ground to a halt. His eyes were overlarge in his narrow face, and it was a struggle not to gawk at the surroundings in which he'd found himself thrust. "It's me from the theatre," he said by way of renewing his acquaintance. "Doobin. You gave me your card once to pass to Miss Parr. Mayhap it confused you when his nibs called me Master Doobin."
Southerton bit the inside of his cheek, but nothing about his outward countenance was altered. He continued to regard the boy with scant interest.
Doobin braced his slight shoulders as heat colored his cheeks. "'Twas me that carried a message to yer club from Miss Parr not long ago."
"An impressive resume," South said in dry accents. "If I have need of a go-between again I shall certainly inquire after your services." He watched the boy's color deepen even as his chin came up. "Was there something else?"
Doobin's weight shifted, but he held fast. "I have words from Miss Parr," he said.
"Is that so? From Miss Parr?" South leaned back in his chair and crossed his booted feet. "How novel. Words from her very lips?"
"Yes, m'lord. As God and Mrs. G. are my witnesses."
Mrs. G.? South wondered. Who would that be? God's wife? Then he remembered Mrs. Garrety and surmised she was Doobin's reference. God and Mrs. Garrety. Now there was a pair to hear India Parr's confessions. "Very well," he said, letting none of his irritation show. Could India not be trusted to communicate using the means they had established? "Let me hear these words."
"I'm to say she is desirous of your company. This evening, if you will. After 'er performance."
"At the theatre?"
Doobin shook his head adamantly. "She'll take a hack as usual and cross paths with you in the park across the way."
"I see." But he didn't, of course. South was beginning to think that, much against his will, he had been assigned a role in one of India's farces, penned by one Colonel John Blackwood. "She will simply... um, cross paths with me."
"Yes, m'lord. That's what she said. Exactly."
South regarded the boy keenly. "There was no pressure brought to bear?"
Doobin's brow creased. "Don't rightly know what you mean, m'lord."
"No one else around to put these words in Miss Parr's mouth? Mr. Kent, for instance. Lord Macquey-Howell?"
"Mr. Kent? Oh, no. Miss Parr, she was at home when she gave me this message. Getting ready to go out for rehearsal, she was. I come by this morning to tell her it was called early, and it was a rush all around, I can tell you. Mrs. Garrety complaining and clucking about Miss Parr never getting enough sleep. Miss Parr apologizing that there wouldn't be enough time for my lesson. I stood back while everyone was fluttering, hopin' I'd be invited to ride with the hack; only then Miss Parr remembered she had this message for you." Doobin shrugged. "So here I am."
"So you are. You came here straightaway?"
Doobin considered that a moment before answering. "As straightaway as served, m'lord."
South recalled Doobin's meandering route and wondered at the instructions India had given the boy."Miss Parr must trust you a great deal."
Doobin's chest puffed a little. "Indeed she does, m'lord."
"Does she often engage you in this manner?"
"As she needs, I suppose. It's not so easy for one like her to get about without notice. She's particular about her privacy, I think you'd say. Doesn't want me to attach a shadow to myself, if you know what I mean."
"I think I do," South said with a certain wryness. "And did you attach such a shadow when you came here?"
"No. Oh, there was one bloke I thought was matching my steps, but I rid myself of him easily enough."
Southerton only narrowly managed not to choke. Was the boy talking about him? He merely raised an eyebrow to encourage Doobin's elaboration.
"It was simple enough to avoid him, m'lord. Even if it was the old fellow's game, he couldn't keep up."
This time South had to clear his throat. Wouldn't his friends and the colonel like to know he'd been nearly caught out by this cunning, crafty lad? "You do very well by Miss Parr."
"Yes, m'lord. An' she does well by me."
If Doobin's blush was any indication—and South had to believe it was—the boy was deep in the throes of his first unrequited passion. He hoped India had the good sense to tread carefully around this child's heart. "What of her protector?"
"M'lord?"
Southerton leaned forward, dropping his forearms to his knees and addressing Doobin as a familiar and equal. "Let us be frank. You have heard the rumors, have you not? Miss Parr has accepted the attentions of a certain lord."
Doobin's chin came up. The sudden change in his host's demeanor from lord to confidant, and his need to defend India, conspired to make Doobin forget to hold his tongue. "I know what's being said. All the whispering about 'er... that she's taken a lover. It ain't true."
Since Southerton was of a similar inclination, he recognized he was predisposed to believe the boy. "How can you be so certain?"
"Because I ain't seen the like."
"None of them? Macquey-Howell? Embley? Montrose?"
Doobin shook his head fiercely. "I don't know them, m'lord."
"What makes you think you would? You cannot be privy to all of Miss Parr's intimates."
"I know you, don't I?" Doobin said with irrefutable logic.
"Morris? Mapple?"
"I heard their names, same as you, m'lord. Never from Miss Parr, though. I never had words for them, like I had for you and..."
"And?" Southerton prompted after a moment. He gauged Doobin's reluctance to say more and saw the boy was considering the consequences. He cautioned himself to be patient.
The reply, when it finally came, was barely audible, and Southerton had to strain to hear it. "Well, there was a Mr. Kendall."
* * *
India put down her book at the first soft sound of footfalls in the carpeted hallway. Flames flickered in the hearth as her bedchamber door was quietly opened. Margrave entered without waiting for an invitation to do so.
"He was not there," he announced without preamble. "You warned him."
She shook her head. "You know that is not possible."
"Then the boy did."
"No!" India could not keep the alarm out of her voice. "He could not have. Think, Margrave. What suspicions could Doobin have that it was naught but a ruse? I did precisely as you instructed. If Southerton was not in the park, then it is because he does not trust me. You will do nothing to the boy. It must be clear between us on that count. Do you hear, my lord?"
He closed the distance between them and took India's chin in his hand, raising her face. Margrave did not mind that she regarded him stubbornly. It was more to the point that her mouth was firmly closed. The mutinous line of her sensual lips did not bother him in the least. Quiet was what he wanted from her. "I hear you," he said. "And so would your servants if you spoke but a whit more loudly. Have a care, India. I grow weary of taking your orders."
She could not have laughed at the absurdity of that statement even if she had been free to do so. India kept her chin still in the pocket of his palm and waited for Margrave to release her. In spite of the welcome news that nothing untoward had befallen Lord Southerton, India found herself chilled. It was always thus when Margrave held her.
The earl allowed his fingers to slip along the length of India's jaw before he released her. He saw that she was careful not to draw back. He had taught her that, taught her how it displeased him to be shown any proof that she merely suffered even his casual embrace. Stepping back, he regarded the pale sweep of her hair where it lay over one shoulder. She must have braided it earlier, he realized, then unwound it. Perhaps the process had been repeated a dozen times over the course of the evening, for the gold and platinum strands were faintly rippled. "It is a crime the current fashion is to wear the hair so high and full on the forehead. What man would not gladly give his fortune to look on yours as it is now? Unbound. Floating. You must tempt them all with the promise of it."
"I am sure you mistake the matter."
"Why do you say so?"
"I am surrounded by idle flatterers, and no man has ever intimated as much."
Margrave's laughter was low. He sat on the wide arm of the chair opposite India's and folded his arms across his chest. "Do you think I detect no insult in your words?"
"I meant none."
"I am a man." He waited to see if she would dare take issue with him. She did not. "And no idle flatterer. Is my observation about your hair of no account?"
"Forgive me," she said gravely. "Again, I meant no offense."
"Then give none. Wear your hair down for me. I find it soothing to look upon."
"Yes. Of course."
One of his brows kicked up. "So meekly compliant of a sudden? You must feel more for Southerton than I first suspected. Are you so relieved he remains unharmed?" Before she could answer, he went on. "Tell me, India, if it were put to you that the little maggot Doobin or the supremely arrogant viscount must go, whom would you choose?"
She said nothing. Her palms were damp, and a bead of moisture formed on her upper lip. India recognized the signs of the same sick feeling she sometimes encountered when she was about to step onstage. The difference was that she could not lose herself in this role. This was her life.
"That is unfair of me, is it not?" he said amiably. "Let us hope it does not come to that."
India reached behind her and dragged the shawl folded over the back of her chair across her lap. There was a glimpse of bare white calf as she adjusted it and inadvertently lifted her nightgown at the same time. When she looked up, she saw Margrave was watching her closely, his eyes fixed on the point where her leg had been uncovered. She could not name exactly what she saw in his expression. Desire? Regret? A fair amount of frustration? Perhaps it was all these things, she thought, and more besides. All of it confused by the heat of anger, so there was no peeling back a single layer of emotion. So often she thought of Margrave as having no emotion, it was odd to think that he might be possessed of too many.
Margrave looked up suddenly, caught India's eyes, and pinned her back in her chair. "I have decided to put a period to the speculation, India. I cannot abide the likes of Macquey-Howell and Mapple riding my coattails."
"Lord Macquey-Howell has sufficient coattails of his own."
"Hah! His wife's the well-connected one. It is unfortunate that her ambition exceeds her husband's ability. The countess seems to have no sense that she has overreached herself." He made a dismissive gesture, unwilling to pursue the topic with India. "Lord Mapple, though. Now, there is a toady. You should be embarrassed, Dini, that his name is linked to yours in the betting books."
"I am embarrassed by all of it," India said quietly. She drew a shallow breath. "How is it that your name has escaped the attention of the ton, my lord?"
"I imagine because I intimated to Lady Calumet that I was withdrawing immediately to the country to visit my mother. Such devotion to one's mother rather flies in the face of simultaneously securing a mistress. I confess I also like the idea of confounding the oddsmakers, for there is money to be wagered and won there when my name appears." He paused when India's mouth pressed itself in a tight line. "But I see talk of it merely causes you further distress. For that I am sorry."
India did not think he sounded in the least sorry. He merely mouthed the words. "How will you make yourself known?" she asked. "Shall you attend a performance? Greet me openly backstage? Am I to expect jewelry?"
"All of those things, I think." He smiled, his eyes darkening. "And something more besides."
She would not think on what he meant by that last, and yet she was afraid she would think of nothing else. "When?"
He shook his head. "I favor your genuine response to my attentions. Let us agree that surprise will add to the flavor."
She would be sick with the anticipation of it, and well Margrave knew it. "As you will."
