Restoration Series - A Scoundrel's Kiss Part 7

In addition to the interesting odors that wafted through the floorboards, Neville and his companion were treated to a cacophony of sound from the street below. Hawkers proclaimed their wares, carters cursed with astonishing imagination, and pa.s.sersby grumble? about the crowd, the dirt, the soot and everybody but themselves.

Neville noticed that Jarvis's hand had apparently became possessed of the power of levitation, for it slowly rose, palm outstretched.

"Tomorrow?" Neville repeated as he reached for his slender purse. "You are certain they are going to the theater tomorrow?"

"Aye, my lord. What happened to your hand?"

"Nothing of consequence. A slight burn."

Jarvis glanced down at the coins that had magically appeared in his hand. He closed his fist around them.

"I see they are wasting little time in the pursuit of a husband," Neville remarked.

"No, my lord, they ain't," Jarvis agreed.

"This can hardly be my father's idea."

"No, my lord, it was the lady's."Neville scowled darkly. What more evidence did he need that Arabella could, and did, exert considerable influence over his father?

Just as he now had ample evidence of Arabella's hypocrisy. What virtuous woman would have remained for so long in his bedchamber, given her state of undress? What innocent maiden kissed with such inflaming pa.s.sion?

If only he had kept his composure last night! He should have alerted his father to her presence in his bedchamber, and any notion his father harbored that she was morality personified would have been destroyed.

But he had not, because he had been rendered an idiot who was too frustrated to do anything save leave the house entirely.

When he had an opportunity to have her hypocrisy and immorality discovered again, he would not hesitate.

He would win the wager, too.

He prodded the bundle with his toe. "I fear you have forgotten something, Jarvis."

The man frowned. "I don't think so, my lord, although I might have, with all the upset."

"What upset is this?"

"The cleanin' and the washin'. You'd hardly recognize the place," Jarvis said with a touch of nostalgia.

"Pining for days of bachelor disorder gone by, Jarvis? I expect my father's hired several servants to clear away the debris."

"No, sir, he hasn't. It's her. Lady Arabella."

"What, all by herself?"

"Until he made her stop."

"Must be the Puritan influence," Neville mused. "Washing away of sin and all that."

"Then she must have thought us all regular pagans, the way she went about it."

"Perhaps, or in need of some cleansing herself," Neville muttered with a sardonic smile.

"Her?" the servant said incredulously.

"Why not?"

Jarvis shrugged.

Neville subdued the urge to scowl. Was there a man in England beside himself who was proof against her fraudulent appearance? "I tell you, Jarvis, you have forgotten something, which will, unfortunately, necessitate my return to the house."

He reached for his purse again.

This time, Jarvis was faster to comprehend."Aye, my lord, so I did, so I did," he agreed as his hand once again ascended.

"I don't know quite when I shall discover that something has been overlooked, but when I do, I shall expect to be admitted to the house to retrieve it, whatever the hour of the day. Or night."

"Your father might dismiss me if he finds you there."

Neville added another coin to the pile in Jarvis's palm.

The Irishman glanced down. "O'course, he hates me anyway," he reflected philosophically.

"He hates just about everybody."

"True, true."

"Do you know the name of the play they intend to see?"

"It is Sir Richard Blythe's new one."

"Not The Country Cuckold?"

"I didn't hear the name of it, my lord."

"Yet you are certain it is Richard's play they plan to attend?"

"Aye, my lord, you can rip me liver if I'm wrong."

Neville smiled. "Fortunately, I don't think it will come to that."

Chapter 6.

"Out of our way, oaf!" the earl thundered as he led Arabella and Lady Lippet through the boisterous crowd in front of Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre.

The coal smoke, ever present in the city, made Arabella cough, and she held her skirt and cloak close about her as she eased her way forward. She didn't want to tear her lovely new gown or have her elaborate coiffure ruined. It had taken the maid a long time to create the confidantes, cl.u.s.ters of curls at the side of her face. Nancy had wanted to do more curls, but there had not been sufficient time, for which Arabella was grateful. It seemed sinful to waste any more effort on her hair.

She felt almost as guilty about her gown. It was an elaborate royal-blue velvet dress in the very latest fashion, or so pet.i.te Mademoiselle Juliette, who had better taste than Arabella had suspected, a.s.sured her. The low, rounded bodice was trimmed with gold embroidery, as was the gathered skirt. The skirt was drawn back and held by a series of slender gold chains to reveal a light-blue silk underskirt. Her feet were clad in thin slippers that made negotiating the mud and dirt of the street a difficult task, and she was in perpetual fear that someone around them would tread on her toes.Her gown was protected from the soot by a thin cloak of taffeta, whose hood rested lightly on her elegant hair.

Lady Lippet was attired in a similar gown, albeit of persimmon and lemon yellow, with a cloak of the most astonishing shade of brilliant pink Arabella had ever seen, which made the earl seem positively subdued in his garments of indigo blue. Where they had come from, she could not begin to fathom, unless his absence from the house this morning meant he had been to a tailor.

So many surprising things had happened since their arrival in London that she could believe even this.

"Clear the way, you impudent puppy!" the earl demanded, speaking to a splendidly attired fellow blocking his way.

The man, who was with a pale, plump, overdressed woman, turned around and ran a disdainful gaze over the earl before slowly surveying Arabella. As he did so, his scornful scowl transformed itself into the most insipid smile Arabella had ever seen.

He was dressed in what Arabella knew to be the most extreme example of fashionable male attire, from his curling wig, ruffled lace jabot and bright green jacket, petticoat breeches adorned with so much ribbon and lace that they looked more like a petticoat than her own undergarments, down to his silver-buckled shoes. His powdered face bore so many patches that he looked as though he had a nasty disease.

His companion was likewise dressed in a flamboyant, expensive ensemble of pea green, which had the unfortunate effect of making her look astonishingly bilious in the daylight. Arabella could only hope she looked better by candlelight.

"May I ask who pet.i.tions me in this bold manner?" the fashionable male vision inquired. Although he ostensibly addressed the earl, not for a moment did he take his impertinent scrutiny from Arabella.

Neville Farrington had also regarded her with bold impertinence, yet he had not made her feel soiled, as this man did.

The stranger's companion looked at Arabella with hostile eyes, and Arabella wanted to tell her that she thought the man looked utterly ridiculous and totally unattractive.

"I am the Earl of Ba.r.r.s.ettshire," the earl declared, running an equally disdainful gaze over the man. "Who the devil are you?"

Lady Lippet shoved her way forward.

"Your Grace!" she cried, as if this stranger's appearance were the answer to all her prayers.

"Madam?"

"It is I, Lady Lippet."

The stranger bowed. "Ah, yes, Lady Lippet. Your servant, ma'am."

Lady Lippet grabbed the earl's arm to pull him forward. "Your Grace, Lord Ba.r.r.s.ettshire. Lord Ba.r.r.s.ettshire, the Duke of Buckingham."

"The Duke of Buckingham, eh? I knew your father," the earl replied, and it was quite obvious the earl was not impressed.The duke didn't seem disturbed by the earl's reaction; indeed, Arabella noted with some distress, he hardly seemed to notice her guardian at all. "And this charming young lady is... ?"

The duke's smooth tone reminded Arabella of some of the peddlers who came to Grantham, the ones whose goods were particularly shoddy and overpriced.

"Your Grace, may I present Lady Arabella Martin," Lady Lippet gushed: Apparently overcome by the honor of conferring with the duke, she began to fan herself so rapidly that a small cloud of powder rose from the unnaturally white expanse of her bosom. "Arabella, this is the Duke of Buckingham."

Arabella dropped a curtsey and kept her gaze focused on the large silver buckles on the duke's shoes.

"London has missed your distinguished presence, my lord," the duke said.

"London is missing many things these days," the earl retorted, "like sense and morals."

"It was lacking even more until the arrival of your beautiful and charming companion. A pleasure to have you among us, Lady Arabella," the duke said as he swept the plumed hat from his head and bowed again.

He reached out to take her hand and leaned forward to kiss it.

The last thing Arabella wanted was to have her hand touched by the duke's painted lips, for the man's appearance and insolence disgusted her. Unfortunately, the crowd continued to press around them and look at them with curiosity, so any action on her part would likely have drawn more attention. Therefore she allowed him the liberty.

"Odd's bodikins!" a familiar voice drawled from close by. "George Villiers, as I live! And-can it be?

Not my own esteemed parent! With the lovely Lady Lippet, too."

Arabella might have welcomed the Devil himself if he had allowed her to retreat from the decadent duke.

Instead, it was Neville Farrington who appeared at her side.

"What are you doing here?" the earl demanded.

"Is this not my natural habitat?" his son replied with an elegant smile and an impudent languor that was a match for the duke's.

In contrast to the duke, however, Neville's plain yet well-fitting black jacket, simple lace jabot, white shirt and black breeches seemed a model of restraint. And he still looked astonishingly splendid, whereas the duke looked more like a court jester than a courtier. "I would say it is you who do not belong here,"

Neville continued.

"I can go wherever I like!" the earl rumbled.

"Indeed you may," Neville replied carelessly. "No father exists to censure you." He turned to the duke. "I see you are making the acquaintance of my father's ward."

"His ward?" Villiers replied with a knowing smirk that made Arabella flush hotly.

"Yes, his ward. To suppose otherwise would be to insult her and my father, eh, Villiers?" Neville Farrington's tone did not alter, yet there came a hostile look into his eyes that told Arabella that whatever his outward appearance and manner, Neville could indeed be a dangerous man.

"And dear Lady Lippet-how long has it been? How many months since you told the king I cheated himat piquet? Fortunately, we had been playing cribbage. An honest mistake, I'm sure."

"Yes, yes, it was," Lady Lippet said, blushing beneath her face paint. "Someone told me you had, and of course I thought only to warn the king-"

"Of course, of course. Duty and honor and all that. I quite understand," he replied, but the expression in his eyes was not a pardoning one.

"Your charming and esteemed father was so good as to address himself to me," the duke said.

"Really? I'm sure he was all civility." Neville gestured at the woman standing beside the duke. "Who is this lovely creature we are all ignoring?"

"That is Mrs. Hankerton, my particular friend," Villiers replied.

"Delighted, Mrs. Hankerton, the duke's particular friend!" Neville said, making an elegant bow, amply demonstrating his virile grace.

The woman, whose face bore a heavy coat of cosmetics and whose hair was as false as the duke's, made no attempt to hide her pleasure at Neville's notice. She actually preened, laying a hand to her rather astonishing cleavage as she curtsied in acknowledgement.

"I trust the duke is usually more attentive," Neville said sympathetically. "Now you really must meet Lady Arabella, my dear. I am quite sure you will find you have much in common with her."

Arabella, who could easily guess the nature of the woman's friendship with the duke, wanted to slap Neville Farrington's handsome, audacious face.

Her wits must have been addled to take any comfort at all from his presence!