Daring declarations, p.4
Daring Declarations, page 4
“Deplorable, D-Daniel! Wretched, sodding po-poetry.”
But then inspiration struck.
Roses are red,
Your name is Dorothea.
It pains me to say it,
so I changed it to Thea.
“Nay. Too pat.” Thinking aloud, he rewrote the last line. “…Name is D-Dorothea. It p-pains me to say it, so I chopped it in half.”
There. That brought a smile, and at the man’s third knock, Daniel finally allowed his valet to enter and begin the task of outfitting him properly. This included a fresh scrape of any whiskers that dared emerge since yesterday’s “sculpting” (why Crowley didn’t just call it shaving, Daniel didn’t know), complaints about the missing jar of Lady Wylde’s latest concoction—known officially as The Miraculous Bruise Vanishing Cream (this nomenclature too from his valet)—and a neckcloth arrangement so intricate, it could hold its own in a contest against Brummell’s.
A quick glance in the mirror and Daniel was set.
Still rather pleased with himself for his poetic (if pathetic) turn of phrase where Thea was concerned, feeling lighter than he had all morning, he dismissed Crowley and whisked through his speech notes with nary a slip (shouldn’t be too surprising as he’d eliminated most anything likely to incite a stammer).
Relieved at the sense of accomplishment, he reached for Thea’s letter.
My dear Lord Tremayne,
He really needed to tell her to call him Daniel.
There stands so much I’d like to say but as I know you have commitments today, I shall endeavor to brevity (do stop laughing at me, if you please; I mean it this time—for yours is valuable).
Let me just convey my sincere appreciation for what proved to be a most exceptional evening. (Though I do tend to find myself thinking the same following every incidence of spending time together.)
I confess, when Sarah first suggested our illicit arrangement, I could never have anticipated that I would find such a valued and cherished companion in the bargain.
I knew I’d been lonely and that things were becoming more dire than I wanted to admit (even to myself). But you, why… Well, having you in my life has made what I thought was my last, most reluctantly agreed to (and dare I admit it, desperate) option into one of the most freeing and splendorous experiences of my life. (I blush, but ’tis true, and so I have admitted it. Dear me, where is a fresh breeze when a girl needs to cool her cheeks?)
Your well-pleasured mistress, Thea
PS. Despite your apparent dread last evening pertaining to today’s events—
That gave him pause. Dread. Had his disinclination been so very obvious? For one used to masking their inner selves, ’twas a sobering revelation.
Or was it just Thea who could read him so?
Eager to escape his thoughts, he turned to the remaining lines.
…apparent dread…today’s events, I have every confidence in you. I know you’ll succeed in your efforts and look forward to your realization of the same.
PS. Once Again—I have a full day planned as well and a most peculiar appeal: If you’ll indulge me, and forgive me for being so impertinent, please stay at your residence tonight. Possibly tomorrow night as well. Something your sister mentioned inclines me to think she’s engaged in arranging a surprise for you, one that can only come to successful fruition if you remain home-bound in the evening.
Though “peculiar” didn’t begin to describe her last request, it was the paragraph before that commanded his attention: I have every confidence in you. I know you’ll succeed…
Her blind faith in him pulled the scales from his eyes. Light so painfully bright shone into his being and illuminated the truth bursting from his heart. He loved her.
He utterly and totally loved her, by damn.
Doubt, nausea and nooses aside, by all that was holy and hellacious, he’d fallen in love with his mistress.
Long before the sun rose that morning, Thea had toiled over two of the three notes she’d sent out by way of Buttons. Composing the one to Mr. Taft had been as simple as drawing a dot. Either he’d be reachable or not. Either he’d remember her or not. Either he’d be inclined to grant her request or…
Or she’d be vastly disappointed.
And Lord Tremayne would forever wonder why she was so presumptive as to disavow his presence two nights in a row by having the effrontery to order him to stay home.
As to that, the note to Lord Tremayne proved significantly more difficult to write than the brief missive to the respected clockmaker. When one has thousands of thoughts vying to be heard, how to select only a few to share? She managed well enough, or so she’d assured herself before superstitiously kissing the page (a good-luck gesture intended for the man who’d open it) and folding it shut with crisp, precise edges.
It was the third and last letter that her pen dithered over the most. The letter she’d composed in more than a cursory state of shock because when she’d arrived home hours before and crawled into bed, intending to commit Lord Tremayne’s address to memory, what should her eyes be greeted with upon pulling from her reticule the card Lady Elizabeth had surreptitiously given her just before departing the box?
Not a simple address—which it did have.
But the hastily scrawled-upon card also contained an additional note, one that rendered Thea wide awake into the night: Lord W is away most days from 10 until 6, often later. Please call upon me at your earliest convenience. ’Tis urgent.
Urgent? Something Thea might assist with?
After scant hours of fitful sleep haunted by rampant curiosity, not to mention persistent recollections of the lusty encounter she’d just indulged in, Thea awoke without an answer. How exactly did one respond to such a note?
She debated and deliberated, paused and pondered.
In the end, she sent Buttons to deliver the other two, asking that he come back straightaway, determined to have decided before his swift feet brought him home.
Simply put, invited or not, Thea couldn’t bring herself to show up at the woman’s house, and she was reluctant to ask Sarah’s advice. Thea was positive one never contacted the well-born sister of one’s titled protector, but assumed, as with tinkering with Mr. Hurwell’s cuckoo clocks, ’twould be easier to ask for penance than permission.
And perhaps, Lady Elizabeth enjoyed writing as much as her brother?
Lady Wylde—
Was that the proper address? Once upon a time, Thea’s mother had begun teaching Thea all she’d learned from finishing school, manners and etiquette and how to address those with titles, but the lessons had ceased when Mama became ill and crossed over to another existence.
Much worse than an incorrect salutation, what if the note was delivered to Lady Elizabeth’s husband first? Mr. Hurwell always insisted upon reading and approving any correspondence Thea sent or received, likely why she’d lost touch with her few remaining friends shortly after her marriage. She’d wondered more than once whether her letters even made it across the threshold.
Best assume prying eyes might, well…pry.
All right then…
Lady W—
If it is not overly presumptive, I would request that you visit me at your convenience. Since you indicated this was a matter of some urgency, I will endeavor to remain home for the next three days
Or should that be two days? That trip to Seven Dials Thea kept putting off weighed on her; her rent might be paid through the following weekend, but who knew whether Grimmett would honor it?
the next three two days (in their entirety) and you may call at your leisure. My household tends to rise early, so do not fear
“Thea,” she gritted out between clenched teeth, shaking her quill over the wordy missive and speckling it with ink, “keep it brief.”
Ever mindful of the expense, for paper was precious regardless that it was no longer her purse making the purchase, she folded, creased, and then carefully ripped the page free of her ink-blotched blathering.
Lady W—
Please call upon me at your convenience. Any day or time this week is agreeable.
T.H.
* * *
“Ma’am?”
As well he might, Buttons looked startled by her request upon his return.
Thea strove to appear calm and in full possession of her faculties. “Aye. This one is intended for Lady Wylde, Lord Tremayne’s sister.” Buttons just kept staring and Thea’s lips kept flapping. “If it helps, I met her last night and she asked me to call on her. I’m sending this instead.” Thea thrust the labored-over note into his safekeeping.
Diffident now, he nodded. “O’ course. Know jus’ where she’s at, not that you need bother explaining your actions to me. I’m just your humble servant.”
“Of course not,” Thea said dryly. “You tell me that after I’ve babbled a defensive explanation.”
With a wink, he was off, leaving Thea to debate anew whether she’d made the right decision.
Ah, well.
Time would tell.
Time that moved wretchedly slowly as every second seemed to expand the longer she waited for a reply. Surprisingly, it was that dot-easy missive that caused her the most unease. Would Mr. Taft remember her? Would he be willing to accommodate the unusual request?
And how many more times could she circle her small entry before wearing through the floor and finding herself instantly dropped into the kitchen? Fortunately it was not a question she’d answer today, for at just that moment, not only did her brazen cuckoo clock gong, bong, chime and chirp, but the knocker on the front door sounded. One of her notes bearing fruit, perhaps?
* * *
After receiving Lady Elizabeth in her sedate morning room (hoping the woman had turned a blind eye to the decor on the way), pouring tea and exchanging pleasantries, Thea thought she’d be treated to the reason for this most unusual visit.
Only Lady Elizabeth seemed more inclined to relive last night’s adventure, speaking vibrantly of the ballet dancers, the opera (which was odd, given how her husband ushered her out shortly after it started), the crowds, her most “prodigiously happy brother”, orreries, speeches, more on the ballet dancers…
Even when moneyed females had deigned to step into Mr. Hurwell’s shop, Thea had never seen more elegant daytime attire. Clothed in a pale blue walking dress with a double layer of some fancy lacework at the bottom, Lady Elizabeth managed to look both cool and composed.
Though her visitor chattered away and appeared concerned with nothing more than light gossip and fashion (she’d just begun describing the magnificent opera dress worn by some woman Thea had never heard of), Thea couldn’t help but notice the dirt smudged into her slippers and the grass stain on the edge of her double-flounced hem—and the sprig of lavender defying Lady Elizabeth’s repeated efforts to tuck it neatly away in her reticule.
What secrets lurked behind the dirt-dusted slippers and speedy sentences sallying forth?
When her guest’s third monologue (this one enumerating all of her brother’s admirable qualities) showed no signs of abating, Thea decided to implement her newfound habit of speaking what was on her mind. “Pardon my boldness, but we both know you didn’t come over here so expediently to talk solely of last night or your brother.”
Granted the woman had been all that was amiable and affable, issuing none of the warnings or dire predictions Thea had secretly feared. ’Tis a passing fancy, she’d dreaded hearing. Certainly, he likes you now, but expect naught next week. Naught but him tiring of you.
Broooohahaha-ha-ha-ha!
Demonic monsters and armor-attired mice had run amok through her dreams. Shaking off the residual trepidation, Thea implored, “Tell me, what is so vital you risk visiting a woman of disrepute?”
“Please, do not put yourself down so. You are the perfect person to help me with my little predicament. Well, I confess, ’tis not so little. It’s grown to epic proportions over the last few days, becoming a most Dire Dilemma.”
“Whatever it is I shall provide whatever assistance I can.”
“Oh,” Lady Elizabeth exhaled on a gust. “I knew I could depend upon you! ’Tis a simple matter really…”
“Aye?” Thea prompted when no more was forthcoming.
“Teach me how to be a mistress.”
As though a flood of mud clogged her hearing, thickened her tongue and sludged her breathing, Thea slowly enunciated, “You…would…like…me…to…do…what?”
Lady Wylde didn’t fidget, didn’t demure. Her feet remained firmly on the floor, hands folded in her lap. She presented a serene, dignified manner that on the surface appeared everything that was proper. And when she spoke, her words were clear as glass. “Mrs. Hurwell. Thea.” But her cheeks bloomed like a rose. “I need you to tell me, precisely, how to go about being a mistress. A spectacular one.”
Once Thea quit laughing (which took rather awhile) she attempted, as delicately and decisively as possible, to explain this wasn’t exactly a position she’d held long, nor one in which she claimed prodigious experience. “Truly, I am muddling through one encounter at a time.”
“But you must be doing it right! I’ve never seen Daniel so relaxed, so buoyant.”
“I’m tickled to hear it, but—”
“There must be someone we can ask,” Lady Elizabeth said earnestly as though discussing how to cultivate loose sexual behavior was as humdrum as hemlines. “Someone you know who can give me lessons. Pointers. Guidelines.” Now she was beginning to lose her polish, as her words came faster and more frantic. “Or just a vague indication of how to behave in a sultry and alluring manner. I’m not overly particular but I need assistance, I tell you! Instruction so I can seduce my husband before he wanders!”
And then the whole story spilled out—how Lady Elizabeth’s husband expected her to be his mistress (else he’d find another, or so Thea gathered, secretly thinking the man’s methods seemed rather sweet but keeping her opinion to herself as Lady Elizabeth’s agitation grew).
Eventually Thea rose and placed a calming hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “Never fear, we’ll find someone,” she assured with pure bravado because she’d just recalled Sarah was away from London, visiting family. Think, Thea!
She straightened and began to pace. Who—
When the lavender spike peeking out from Lady Elizabeth’s reticule again caught her attention, she no longer had to feign confidence, a pair of stockings that exact color flashing through her mind. “I have it. I know just the person! She’s young but enthusiastic.”
At the pronouncement, Lady Elizabeth’s face noticeably brightened, then turned a bit puzzled. “Enthusiastic? About…”
“Sex,” Thea said plainly, hoping Buttons knew how to direct her new coachman to wherever Anna and, by association she’d learned the night of Sarah’s party, Susan resided.
“That was poorly done, Dan. Poorly done indeed. The way you treated Everson’s boy Tom was abominable! You let me down.”
Those were Penry’s greeting words, delivered like a death knell, when he walked into Daniel’s study after Rumsley showed him in.
After his cryptic note and absence, Daniel had expected to hear from him eventually—either an explanation or the requesting of one. But he’d assumed it would come by letter-bearing footman.
Penry had an aversion to dog drool, something he’d admitted after Cy sniveled over and ruined his second pair of buckskins. And since Daniel had an aversion to visiting any abode with six chirping women in residence, the man’s friendship was maintained primarily through correspondence, bouts at Jackson’s, and the rare meet at their club.
“Braving Cyclops,” Daniel mused, as Penry barreled toward him where he sat at his desk. When his visitor reached it, instead of taking a chair, Penry remained standing, breathing fire. Daniel tilted his head to make eye contact. “Damn. Must be important in-d-d-deed.”
“Right, it’s important, you insolent pup,” Penry roared. “I would have been here sooner, much sooner, else for those blasted offers. And tears—buckets of them! They cry if they don’t call, they cry if too many do and now— But no, let me not quibble about like a nagging woman.
“I can’t stay long,” Penry grated out, indignation expanding his chest. “Have an appointment with one of the bucks angling after Eliza. Then there’s the committee vote this afternoon.”
Penry paused and glanced down, took another, evaluating, look at Daniel’s face. “That was accommodating of you—I see you let someone do my job for me and throttle you senseless.”
“Let?”
“Come now, we both know no one gets in that many jabs against you unless you allow it. Nevertheless, Dan”—his eyes narrowed to slits and it wouldn’t have surprised Daniel to see smoke coming from his ears—“that haughty air you cultivate to avoid others sometimes works to your detriment, if you would but see it! Everson thinks you do not like him.”
Startled by that, Daniel protested. “I like him fine. B-better than most.” Especially now.
“When are these blamed things going to wind down?” Penry gestured toward the rotating mechanisms abounding at the moment. Trying to come to grips with his recent revelation regarding his mistress—and his feelings toward said mistress, Daniel had paced his study, winding up and starting every orrery he owned; the functioning models that was, his prime machine still limped along sadly in the center of the room.
After getting them all going, he’d lounged in his chair to enjoy the show.
“Maggots, one and all!” Penry frowned at a sprightly, spinning tabletop unit as though it were responsible for every unwanted gentleman caller he’d suffered that week. “Distracting as hell!”
