Chapter 7
Simon came into the house—he’d responded to that whistle, bless him—and closed the door behind him. At last, Gervaise let the struggling Lord Wrapton go.
“What’s going on here?” Simon demanded, at his most magisterial. “This had better be important. I’m on the way to an assembly.”
“Why, you foul debaucher! How dare you?” Wrapton began, advancing on him.
Gervaise got in the way again. He still held the bloody cleaver, which helped.
He wasn’t quite ready to drop the disguise completely—but by God, maybe he should have.
He’d been merrily chopping meat for the next day while avoiding being seen by his sister or Lady Best, when a gust of wind almost blew him out of the kitchen, and suddenly he knew Thisbe was in danger.
This disguise, and the stupid wager, had almost cost her dearly.
“Sir Simon, this is Lord Wrapton, Mrs. Rose’s father,” he said. “He should be put in irons. He tried to force Mrs. Rose out of her own house and threatened to beat her if she disobeyed. Now, God knows why, he seems to think you are enamored of her.”
“What? I’ve not yet met Mrs. Rose. She’s a friend of my wife’s.” He turned an astonished gaze on Wrapton. “Are you quite mad, sir?”
“Not sir, but my lord,” Wrapton snapped. “I don’t give a tinker’s damn who you are. The proper form of address is your lordship or my lord, and this woman attacked me. She is the one who must be put in irons.”
“But, my dear sir, you’ll look such a fool.” Simon chuckled. “Surely you could defend yourself against a hysterical female, even one holding a cleaver.” He looked Wrapton up and down. “I see no sign that you’re bleeding.”
“Been chopping meat,” Gervaise said, wiping the cleaver on his apron. “Steak and kidney pie tomorrow.”
“My lord,” Wrapton insisted. “Address me properly. She attacked me, damn you!”
“Good God. I have seldom met such a pompous ass.” Simon sighed. “Get into your carriage, my lord, and go back where you came from. I’m busy this evening, but if you are still here tomorrow, trespassing on private property and assaulting innocent women, you will regret it.”
“I’ll find a real JP,” Wrapton shouted, “and I’ll take my daughter away, as is my right as her father, and you’ll be the one to regret your impudence!”
Simon gave Gervaise a look that said clearly, Now it’s up to you.
He folded his arms and waited while Lord Wrapton, muttering curses, stomped out to his coach and climbed in.
The footman closed the door, but instead of jumping to his perch, he waved to the coachman to leave while he remained behind.
The coachman nodded understandingly and drove off.
Gervaise doubted Lord Wrapton even noticed Jerome’s defection, so caught up was he in his own bitter, prideful thoughts. He must never be allowed near Thisbe again. Not only that, if Gervaise had his way, he would someday find himself pleading to be accepted by his own daughter.
So what if it meant returning home? His parents couldn’t understand what had driven him to solitude, but it seemed Thisbe could and did…and not only that, Gervaise had had enough of being alone. With Thisbe, he could build an interesting, worthwhile life.
If she would have him. He was almost certain she had penetrated his disguise, but she had never let on. Why not?
“Good man,” he said to Jerome, making no attempt to disguise his voice. “You’re hired. You and Sergeant Dolman may guard the house tonight. I’ve other matters to take care of—first of all, getting out of this damned uncomfortable women’s clothing. Do you like oxtail soup?”
The astonished footman said, “Yes, ah, sir,” and followed Gervaise into Lucky Cottage.
* * *
Lady Best hustled Thisbe into the coach and settled her on the far side, where Papa couldn’t reach her if he tried. She didn’t think he would; he wasn’t courageous enough, or fit enough, or possibly even stupid enough to try.
“Thank you,” she whispered, taking deep shuddering breaths.
“You poor dear,” Lady Best said. “Whatever happened? No, don’t answer. You need to calm down first.”
“I’m well,” she said. “My father tried to take me home by force.” She dashed away tears. “I thought—I hoped he would be glad that I was gone. He—he dislikes me. He kept trying to get rid of me by marrying me off to one of his friends. I thought that once I left, he might leave me be.”
“Heavens, how horrid of him! Well, you’re safe now,” Lady Best said. “In fact, you’d better come home with us after the ball until everything is sorted out.”
“Oh, no,” Thisbe said. “Surely that’s not necessary. I have a housekeeper and a man of all work. I’ll be fine.”
“Servants are no use against a peer,” Lady Best said. “But my dear, why would he dislike you?”
“It’s a long story,” Thisbe said, and she didn’t intend to confess it all now if she could avoid it. “What it boils down to is that he is afraid I will embarrass him.”
Sir Simon Best climbed into the coach in time to hear this. “The man’s an embarrassment to himself! My apologies, Mrs. Rose—happy to meet you, by the way—but your father is most strange. He kept ordering me to address him as my lord.”
“I’m so sorry, Sir Simon. He’s been unbearable ever since he was made a peer.”
“Prinny should know better,” Sir Simon grumbled. “You’ll stay with us until we sort your father out. Get you some proper protection.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he said. “I have a feeling everything will work out very, very soon. In the meantime, enjoy the assembly tonight. You’ll dance with me, I hope?”
“Thank you, I should like that,” she said, relieved. At least no one was shunning her yet.
Sir Simon couldn’t possibly know that everything would work out, but it was nevertheless kind of him to reassure her.
Perhaps Mr. Transom would say nothing. He’d been protective of her, and he, too, had said all would be well—whatever that meant.
That a handsome stranger was sure to fall in love with her?
But what was the use of meeting some handsome stranger, when Mr. Transom was the only man she wanted and would ever want? Yet couldn’t have.
Papa might retreat for now, but he would return. She could stay a few days with the Bests, but after that, what would she do? What kind of protection could she afford? No servant would dare resist a nobleman.
They all chatted of minor matters until they arrived at their destination.
The assembly rooms were a dazzling display of light—chandeliers ablaze with candles, and mirrors reflecting them along one wall.
Lady Best introduced both her and Lily Transom to a great many ladies and gentlemen.
Everyone was cordial; Sir Simon asked her to dance, which soon led to dances with other gentlemen, some of whom had pleasing aromas. Nothing like Mr. Transom’s, alas.
She shook herself. She mustn’t be foolish.
He wasn’t the only man in the world. She’d married Eddie, and it hadn’t been unpleasant.
Although her inheritance wasn’t much, it might suffice to make a respectable man willing to offer for her—and if her so-called wanton tendencies came up for discussion, perhaps he would allow her to explain the mistake she’d made so long ago: a simple misunderstanding, not a sin.
Soon the ball would be over. She had met many new people. So far, so good. She must simply persevere, and take what help and protection she could find, and—
“Ghostie!” Lily Transom’s shriek startled her out of her reverie.
Thisbe looked up, heart thumping. There he was, elegant as ever, striding toward them. Lily dashed up to him and hugged him. “Gervaise! You came!”
“I did, sister dear, in the hope that you would introduce me to some of your friends, as promised.” He winked over Lily’s shoulder. “But I believe this lady and I have met before.”
Thisbe realized her mouth was hanging open. Hurriedly, she shut it and clapped a hand to her breast. He was here!
Mr. Transom bowed over Thisbe’s hand. Her heart beat so fast she could almost hear it. “Have we not?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, “in Chichester, years ago. How—how kind of you to remember me, sir.”
He grinned. “How could I forget the most beautiful girl at the ball?”
Lord, could she blush any more than this? The musicians struck up for a waltz, and he asked, “Might I have this dance, Mrs. Rose?”
And just like that, he swept her into his arms, like so many years ago.
* * *
At last, thought Gervaise, twirling Thisbe around the floor. He’d expected to arrive much earlier—it didn’t take long to bathe and shave—but he hadn’t expected to be delayed by Captain Moonlight.
Not robbing him, of course; this highwayman was known for robbing people who deserved it.
As soon as Gervaise heard shots up ahead, followed by frightened horses and Lord Wrapton’s unpleasant bellow, he reined in and waited politely for the robbery to be over.
Soon, Captain Moonlight cantered past, raised a hand to Gervaise in the shadows at the roadside, and vanished into the night.
A mighty observant sort, that man—one needed to be, to succeed at highway robbery.
Gervaise chuckled to himself, waited several minutes, then made his way to where Lord Wrapton’s coach still stood.
Thisbe’s father was shouting at the hapless coachman, berating him for not shooting the highwayman—which he couldn’t have done while controlling the agitated team, even if he had a gun in his hand and was a crack shot, which coachmen seldom were.
Gervaise pondered inviting the coachman to work for him instead, thus leaving the old blusterer completely stranded. Much as Wrapton deserved it, Gervaise couldn’t bring himself to put the coachman in such an awkward situation; a decent chap, who cared about his horses, wouldn’t agree to it anyway.
Instead, Gervaise reined in, doffed his hat, and asked if he might be of any assistance.
“Such as what?” Lord Wrapton snapped. “The highwayman got my purse, my watch, and my signet ring, thanks to this fool coachman of mine.” He frowned at Gervaise in the dim light of the coach’s lantern. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”
“Perhaps,” Gervaise said languidly. “I really can’t say. If you have no need of assistance, I’ll be on my way.”
“Hold on a minute. Did a scoundrel on a big, dark bay—rather like yours, in fact—just pass you on the road?”
“If you mean the highwayman, no, he did not,” Gervaise said. “If he had, he would have robbed me, don’t you think?”
The pompous old windbag scowled. “Impudent! If you want to help, find me a magistrate. I’ll see that fellow hanged if it’s the last thing I do.”
Gervaise doubted that. “It’s late to drag a magistrate out, and for what? The highwayman’s long gone. You’d best wait till morning.”
“Not on your life. What if he attacks me again? Where is the nearest magistrate?”
Gervaise sighed. “Ask at the Old Oak Inn. I’ll show you the way.”
* * *
If it was possible to be in heaven on earth, Thisbe was there now. Dancing with Mr. Transom was like floating on air.
“Did you fear I wouldn’t come?” he asked as they circled the ballroom. “I would have arrived sooner, but what with shaving and bathing, and a slight delay along the way, I’m later than I’d hoped.”
“But—but what about the wager?” she asked.
“The wager be damned,” he said. “It was time to end it. In any case, your safety matters more.” He raised a brow. “How did you know about the wager?”
“I guessed from something Lady Best said, and remembered that you kissed me in Chichester because of a wager.”
“Thanks to a wager. It was the perfect excuse.” He smiled down at her, whirling her around, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Do I need an excuse to kiss you again?”
Oh, dear. “I wish you could, but if you knew what trouble that kiss caused me, and is likely to cause me in the future, you wouldn’t dare ask.”
“What trouble?”
“I was forced to marry Eddie Rose because of that kiss,” she said. “Not that it was entirely your fault, but…”
Just as he’d done four years earlier, he danced her onto the terrace, but instead of kissing her, he regarded her with knit brows. “You’d better explain.”
“I thought you’d got me with child,” she said.
“Which was of course impossible, but my aunt’s maid had always warned me that kisses led straight to babies, and she asked if you had put that horrid thing of yours inside me, and I said yes, meaning your tongue, not that I thought it was horrid at all, but she thought it was that other thing, your, ah—"
He burst into gusts of laughter. “My cock,” he said unsteadily. “Oh, my dear girl, how hilarious.”
When he’d calmed a little, she said indignantly, “It wasn’t funny at the time.
Papa forced me to marry Eddie, who taught me what I would have known if my poor aunt, who is a spinster, had known what to tell me, but by then it was too late for explanations.
So, Papa believes I’m a wanton, which isn’t true at all, but—”
“You darling.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
This kiss was gentle and sweet, and it sent tremors through her, and how she wished it could go on forever.
Too soon, he released her lips, but held her close.
He smiled down at her. “I couldn’t ask you this at the time, because I was obliged to go to the Continent and feared I would never return, but now—will you marry me? ”
Oh, how she wished! She turned away; she couldn’t bear to look into his eyes. “You’re very kind, Mr. Transom, but you need not marry me. No one need know that we lived in the same house unchaperoned.”
He chuckled. “My name is Gervaise, or Ghost if you prefer. When did you know who Mrs. Wix really was?”
“When I got a chance to smell you properly,” she said. “You have the most delightful personal aroma, like no one else ever.”
“You recognized me by how I smelled?”
“Yes, although a few other things hinted that something was amiss.” But this distraction was irrelevant. “Sir Simon knows you were playing a part, so I suppose his wife does too, but surely they will not tell anyone. They wouldn’t wish you to be forced into marriage.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” he demanded. “I wanted to ask you four years ago but couldn’t because of a commitment to go to the Continent. Now I can. Dear, sweet Thisbe, will you please marry me?”
What could she say but, “Yes!”