My Fair Lord. Wilma Counts
to some errands this morning, and I should like you to accompany me.”
“Yes, milady.”
“My brother and I have discussed the matter, and we feel that, initially at least, when you and I appear in public, it would be better for you to seem to be a member of the Blakemoor staff. Jeffries has, I think, laid out proper livery in your room. You and Annie shall accompany me.”
“Annie?”
“I do apologize, Mr. Bolton. Annie is my maid. I gather you have not yet met her.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. She wondered if he might object to appearing to be a servant, but then he said quietly, “No, ma’am, I ain’t met ’er, but I’ll do as ye tell me ta do.”
The most important of her objectives this day was to call upon her aunt, Lady Georgiana Mickelson. Since she intended the visit to be a short one, she instructed Mr. Bolton and Annie to wait for her on a bench in the Mickelson entrance hall.
Lady Georgiana, widow of a very successful man of business, was her father’s sister and her godmother. Retta had always been fond of her “Auntie Georgie,” who had been a fiercely independent woman even before she lost her husband at a relatively young age and was thus forced to cope alone with much that life had tossed at her. Retta knew that Lady Georgiana had held out against family censure to marry a man with whom she was truly in love even though he was engaged in trade.
“William and I were ready to fly off to Gretna Green,” she had once confided to her goddaughter, “but the family—even your stepmother—finally gave in, and the wedding took place at St. Martin’s in the Field.”
That her husband had left her a huge fortune—along with a comfortable home in the Bloomsbury district—had, of course, made her independence more palatable to nay-sayers. An ever-critical society that had long since learned to tolerate Lady Georgiana’s eccentricities and her tendency to speak her mind.
With Cousin Amabelle planning to accompany Rebecca and Melinda into the country, Retta needed a chaperon. Who better than her beloved Auntie Georgie—if she could be persuaded to perform that task?
Lady Georgiana received her niece in her drawing room and the two of them sat together on one of two couches upholstered in deep gold. “Oh, my dear girl, what sort of scrape have you got yourself into now?” her aunt asked rhetorically when Retta, after first swearing her aunt to secrecy, had explained not only that she needed a chaperon, but also the particulars of the wager with Rebecca. Retta had always confided in her aunt, who had been far more of a mother than the countess had proved to be. “I suppose if I refused, you would be required to give up the scheme and join your sisters in the country.”
“Possibly . . .” Retta conceded. “I had thought of having Miss Pringle suggest someone, but I am sure you recognize the delicacy of this matter and the need for utmost discretion.”
“Yes, I do.” She gripped her niece’s hand briefly. “And I am glad to see that you recognize that need too. This could well blow up in your face, my dear, but, frankly, I should like to see you succeed. It promises to be very entertaining—and just the sort of come-uppance some of those society cats have coming to them. And your sisters could use a life lesson or two as well.”
“You will do it then? Remove to Blakemoor House?”
“You must give me a few days to arrange matters, but yes, when Amabelle and the girls leave, I will remove to Blakemoor House and try to lend some semblance of propriety to your residing in that mausoleum with only your brothers and Alfred and some strange man.”
“I assume Madame Laurent will accompany you,” Retta said. “With Rebecca and Melinda both in the country, you may have their rooms next to mine.” Madame Laurent, also a widow and a cousin to the earl of Blakemoor and his sister, had been Lady Georgiana’s companion for several years.
Lady Georgiana nodded. “But of course. Celeste is away at the moment, attending to some business with her son. That young scamp is something of a trial to his mother. She does not talk about it much, but I gather that he is not exactly happy as a country curate. She will be sorry to have missed you.”
“Please do give her my regards. And, thank you, Auntie, for rescuing me from a fate not to be contemplated—the censure of the ton’s leading tabbies. Thank you so very, very much!” Retta impulsively hugged her aunt and kissed her cheek. “Mr. Bolton is waiting below. Would you like to meet him?”
“Of course.”
Lady Georgiana dispatched a servant to bring Mr. Bolton to the drawing room. When Retta introduced them, he bowed and stood patiently as her aunt looked him over thoroughly, but seemed to withhold her judgment for now.
“You remind me of someone I know—or once knew,” Aunt Georgiana said in a thoughtful tone. “But never mind that now, I assume you are fully aware of what is involved in this rather unorthodox scheme?”
“Yes, ma’am. Leastways, much as a body can be, I ken.”
“And you have agreed to it freely?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, then . . .” Lady Georgiana shook her head in reluctant acquiescence. “I do hope nothing untoward comes of this for either of you.”
Mr. Bolton bowed again and Retta hugged her aunt again as they took their leave. They retrieved Annie and set out for the rest of Lady Henrietta’s errands of the day. As they approached the carriage, which had been left standing in the roadway in front of her aunt’s house, a smart curricle pulled up in front of the Blakemoor carriage. A stylish young couple alit and immediately called greetings.
“Oh, Lady Henrietta, do tell me we have not missed you,” the young woman said with a pout.
The man lifted his hat and bowed, “Lady Henrietta, how nice to see you.”
“Lord Ralston. Lady Ralston. I wish I could stay to visit with you, but I fear I must get on with an important errand this morning.” She gestured at Annie to enter the carriage as Jake held the door, and she paused to exchange a bit of small talk with her friends concerning the weather and her promise to visit the newest addition to the Ralston nursery.
Retta sensed a rigidity in Mr. Bolton that she had not noticed before, and she noted that his hat was rather low on his forehead as he stood stiffly and seemed to gaze beyond the small group.
She took her leave and stepped into the carriage, Mr. Bolton handing her in ever so correctly.
* * * *
Jake had accepted the idea of his seeming in public to be a servant in Blakemoor House as yet another layer of disguise. He just hoped he could keep all these roles straight—and that in performing such duties he might never encounter anyone he had known in his youth. As he and Annie waited for Lady Henrietta, he had learned more about her ladyship and about the dynamics of the family of the Earl of Blakemoor. Annie was a pretty blond girl who seemed to Jake to be rather young for her position as lady’s maid to an earl’s daughter; he guessed she had no more than sixteen or seventeen years. She was fiercely loyal to her mistress who was a favorite in the servants’ hall.
“She ain’t like them other two. Or the countess. Lady Henrietta has heart,” Annie said fervently. “Always lookin’ out for those women and children at Fairfax House.”
“Fairfax House?” he asked with mild interest.
“A charity house in Spitalfields run by the Fairfax sisters. They takes care o’ women what’s been beaten or left without, and orphans too.”
“Spitalfields?” This had piqued Jake’s interest. “Are ye tellin’ me her ladyship goes to sich a rough part o’ London?”
“Ya. She does. Takes them clothing and other things. What’d ya think we put them bundles and that basket in the boot fer?”
“’Twasn’t my place to wonder none.” But in fact he had wondered. “She goes to Spitalfields