Scandal in the Regency Ballroom. Louise Allen
it is, then.’ Bree gestured to the waiter. ‘Another jug of chocolate, and a plate of macaroons, please. So, what do you think? And when can you start?’
‘I think that it sounds fascinating, and I could start immediately, if that is what you would like. But I am afraid my wardrobe is singularly unfitted for the role as your companion, especially if you intend to accept any evening engagements.’
‘Goodness, we have not discussed salary, have we?’ Bree thought rapidly. She had not yet investigated the wages a business manager might expect, but now she might well not have to. The Yard Master, Railton, and his men were more than capable of supervising the operation in the evenings and at night as they did now, provided there was someone taking the major decisions and doing the bookwork. She named the amount Miss Thoroughgood had asked for a top-flight lady’s companion. ‘How would that be? And a suitable wardrobe as well? And you can move in today.’
Rosa gasped. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Why, yes. It will be hard work filling two roles. Now that I have been forced into society, I suppose I had better enjoy it, so we will be out and about a good deal.’ She poured the fresh chocolate. ‘Have a macaroon.’
‘I will need a new wardrobe if I am to eat many of these,’ Rosa commented, biting into one of the confectioner’s famous biscuits.
‘Well, any excuse for shopping is welcome,’ Bree said seriously, earning a chuckle from across the table. ‘Let’s make a list.’
Max reined in his team to a walk as they entered Gower Street. The road was relatively quiet and it did not require much concentration to negotiate it to the point halfway down where the Mallorys’ home was.
Which left far too much mental capacity for indecision. The Earl of Penrith was not given to indecision. Max Dysart, the man, was discovering just how uncomfortable it could be. The choices before him were clear-cut enough, but none of them were easy.
One, Max tried rehearsing them again, I can make no effort to see her again and treat her as a mere acquaintance whenever we meet. Two, I can attempt to act simply as a friend and an acquaintance and, thirdly, I can endeavour to attach her.
He pulled up in front of Bree’s house and sat there, the reins still in his hand. Gregg, the groom who was sitting up behind him, arms folded, jumped down from his perch behind and ran to the horses’ heads.
They are all dangerous. Max stared ahead unseeingly between the ears of one of the dapple greys, causing an approaching gentleman to wonder anxiously if there was something amiss with the cut of his clothes, given that the swell in the fancy rig was frowning at him so ferociously. Number one almost ensures that she will find herself courted by any number of other men before I am in a position to make my move.
Two—he reflexively steadied the offside horse which was taking exception to a passing dog—risks her thinking my interest in her is purely platonic and we are back to the numerous other suitors again. Three, I am risking everything on the chance I am no longer married. If I am wrong, then I am embroiling Bree in a scandal that will be plastered all over the papers in every ghastly detail. And all of this assumes I really do want to risk courting another woman and offering her marriage.
‘My lord?’ Gregg was regarding him anxiously.
‘Get back up,’ Max ordered.
‘I thought we were calling here, my lord. I could walk the greys if you are worried about leaving them standing in this wind.’
‘I’ll shake the fidgets out of them in the park,’ Max declared as the groom walked back.
With the licence of long service, the man let his feelings show on his face: the pair were as calm as high-blooded driving horses could ever be, and his lordship had just driven past the park on his way here.
Max gave a mental shrug. If he was going to become indecisive, he might as well get on with it. Once round the park, then I’ll make up my mind, he bargained with himself, lifting the hand that held the reins and sending the greys off down the street at a brisk trot.
‘Oh.’ Bree stood staring down Gower Street at the unmistakable back and shoulders of the driver of the retreating phaeton.
‘Is something wrong?’ Rosa climbed down from the hackney and joined her on the pavement.
‘That was Lord Penrith, the gentleman I told you about. The one who drove the stage for me.’
‘The one who advised you to employ a chaperon and a business manager.’ Rosa nodded, obviously ticking off a mental list from her morning’s briefing.
‘He must have been calling,’ Bree said, lamely stating the obvious. She gave herself a little shake and called up to the driver, ‘Wait a moment, will you? Someone will be out to pay you and collect our baggage.’
The front door opened to reveal the Mallorys’ one footman who doubled as Piers’s valet. ‘Peters, please pay the driver and fetch in the luggage. This is Miss Thorpe, who will be living here from now on. She will be having the blue bedroom.
‘We employ Peters, a cook, Mrs Harris—a general maid—and an upstairs maid who will be looking after both of us now.’ Bree urged Rosa in front of her into the hall and looked at the salver lying on the console table. It contained a number of calling cards and several envelopes. Bree flipped through the cards confidently. ‘Mr Latymer, Lord Lansdowne, Mr Trenchard. Trenchard? Oh, yes, third country dance. Lady Lucas.’ There was nothing with Max’s crest.
‘Peters?’
‘Yes, Miss Mallory?’
‘Did the gentleman who just called not leave a card?’
‘No gentleman has called since eleven o’clock, Miss Mallory. There was a regular flurry of callers this morning, but no one yet this afternoon.’
‘How very odd.’ And how very … Bree searched for the right word to describe her emotions. How very flattening. Max had obviously intended to call and then thought better of it on the very doorstep. But why? She led Rosa upstairs, talking brightly about the household and pointing out the various rooms as they went, her mind almost entirely on Max and his motives.
Had he taken her in disgust when he reviewed the events of last night in the cold light of day? It would be hypocritical of him if he did, but then, that was the way of the world. Men expected to take their pleasures and keep their respectability. The women involved immediately lost theirs.
Did he think her pert and forward, or completely wanton? Her stomach churned uncomfortably and suddenly she felt quite ill with mortification. Last night it had seemed natural to respond to his advances, natural to return his kisses with what small instinctive skill she had. Max had not treated her with disrespect; she had seen no cynical gleam in his eyes.
Which made it worse, in a way. Thinking back, recalling with a blush just how she had responded to him, he must have taken a disgust of her behaviour. Or she was wrong about him and he was actually a rake, bent on her seduction after all—but why, then, would he not call? No, she could not be that wrong about him. But what do I know about men? It was a mystery, and a very unsettling one.
‘Here is your room.’ She threw open the door to the third bedroom. ‘It looks out at the back, so it is very quiet.’ Bree sat down on the edge of the bed and bounced a little. ‘Yes, the bed seems to be all right. Now, what else can we do to make you more comfortable? There is an easy chair, and a dressing table and stool, and I think the wardrobe will be large enough.’
She got up and went to open the clothes press, trying to force her muddled brain to think of practical matters. ‘Good, I think that will do. Would you like a small table and chair for a desk? There isn’t much room in here, and, of course, we hope you will feel absolutely free to join us in the drawing room at any time, but you might like privacy for letter writing and so on.’
‘It looks—’ Rosa swallowed hard and blinked ‘—it is lovely. It is such