Part 1 (2/2)
”When Adam comes, do you mean to ask him about supporting your school?” asked Jonathan, nabbing another pinch of dough while Sarah's back was turned.
”Yes. Do you think he will? So many people seem to think it foolish, even wrong, to teach common children to read and write, especially girls.”
”Adam has always respected your judgement.”
Sarah hoped the heat of the oven would explain her pink cheeks.
”I seem to remember a certain occasion when he had to carry me down from the top of a larch tree...”
He grinned. ”Never let you forget that, did he? Don't worry, I expect he will give you the funds to set up your school. I must go and start on Sunday's sermon. Bring me Shadrach when he is baked, will you? Payment for the brandy you put in the dough.”
An hour later, Sarah left her brother nibbling on a gingerbread man in his study and returned to the kitchen to wrap several more in a clean linen napkin.
”Johnny Cratch hurt his leg and won't be able to come to Sunday school,” she explained to Mrs. Hicks as she put them in a basket. ”And little Mary Sopwith is feverish, and Esmeralda Buddle has the earache.”
”Won't be none left come Sunday,” grumbled Mrs. Hicks as her mistress set off with the basket on her arm. ”Too kind-'earted by arf.”
CHAPTER TWO.
”Why, I do believe I am almost jealous of your husband!” said Lord Cheverell, grinning at his mistress as he shrugged his broad shoulders into his evening coat of midnight-blue superfine. Though elegantly cut, it was loose enough to allow of dispensing with the services of his valet. Lord Cheverell rarely spent a night within reach of his valet.
”I adore you, Adam,” Janet Goudge a.s.sured him, ”but you know I am monstrous fond of Henry. His s.h.i.+p should reach London tomorrow, so I shall not be able to see you again.”
The dawn light creeping round the richly brocaded curtains was kind to Mrs. Goudge, who could give Adam three or four years. Dark and voluptuous, she curled around him when he sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots.
”You are not angry, are you?” she coaxed.
He patted her shoulder and kissed her cheek in a brotherly fas.h.i.+on. ”Of course not, my pet. It was my pleasure to console you in your loneliness.”
”I was lonely. Henry has been in India for almost two years. I am sure his fortune is quite large enough to make it unnecessary to go again.”
”That reminds me.” Adam stood up and reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a small package. The India merchant's wife had no need of costly baubles, but it was only gentlemanly to provide a farewell gift, even though it was she who was giving him his conge.
The chiefest charm of Adam Lancing, Viscount Cheverell, was his ability to convince any female in his company that she was loved and protected and important to him.
Not that that was by any means his lords.h.i.+p's only charm. Broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips, and the current fas.h.i.+on for skintight pantaloons suited his muscular legs to perfection. His features were, perhaps, not out of the ordinary, with the exception of a pair of lively, speaking blue eyes. But few feminine fingers had ever been able to resist the urge to brush back from his forehead the vagrant lock of corn-gold hair that invariably escaped the ministrations of his valet.
This Janet promptly did as he leaned down for one final kiss. Before he reached the door the curl had resumed its customary place.
Walking home through the London dawn, Adam felt an unexpected wave of relief. Fond as he was of Janet, it would be pleasant to spend one night in three in his own bed. An alarming thought jolted him: was he growing too old, at twenty-seven, to keep three mistresses happy? Yet it was a sense not of excess but of something missing that a.s.sailed him as he entered his Mount Street mansion.
Gammon! Tonight he would be with Marguerite, his flamboyant opera singer; tomorrow, shy, grateful Peggy awaited him in her little Chelsea villa. The world was full of delightful females and he was ever ready to appreciate their charms.
In fact, Adam found most females irresistible. If he had not yet been snaffled by any matchmaking mama, it was because he treated all their hopeful daughters, pretty or plain, with equal charm, courtesy and kindness. To their perennial despair, they could never discern the slightest indication of any distinguis.h.i.+ng attachment.
After a few hours' sleep and a hearty breakfast, Adam called at his clubs: White's, because his father had been a fervent Tory; and Brooks's, because he himself was a fervent, even Radical, Whig. At the former he was joined by Lord James Kerridge, at the latter by Mr. Frederick Swanson, two of his particular cronies. Together, the three friends went on to Tattersall's to see what sort of horseflesh was for sale that day, and then to Gentleman Jackson's for a round or two of boxing. Then Adam left his companions strolling down Bond Street, and made his way to Westminster.
The Parliamentary year was drawing to a close, and with the festivities attendant upon the arrival of the Allied Monarchs in London, little of import was taking place in the House of Lords. The Marquis of Lansdowne, himself a reformer, had used his influence to permit young Lord Cheverell to speak upon his favorite subject.
Adam's attempt to arouse the interest of a few somnolent peers in providing a.s.sistance to dest.i.tute women was not a success. In fact, he would have considered it a triumph to awaken some of them at all, since they appeared to have retreated to Westminster in search of a peaceful place to sleep. Seething with frustration, he drove home to change for dinner and an evening at the theatre.
His butler greeted him stiffly, radiating disapproval.
”A young person called, my lord. She refused to leave without seeing your lords.h.i.+p. I put her in the back
parlour.”
”Thank you, Gossett.” Adam frowned. ”I suppose I had best see her at once. Did she give no name?”
”No, my lord. Shortly thereafter, my lord, another young person called.”
Adam groaned.
”In the morning room, my lord. And a third caller, a Mrs. Goudge, she claims, awaits you in the library,
my lord. Were you expecting any further visitors, my lord?”
”What the devil has brought them all here!” exclaimed Adam, a rhetorical question ignored by the butler.
”I trust they have not seen each other?”
”No, my lord.”
Adam braced his shoulders. ”First come, first served,” he said. ”The back parlour it is, Gossett.”
In the back parlour, a small, uncomfortable room intended to discourage unwanted visitors, he found
Peggy. A pretty, st.u.r.dy girl of seventeen or eighteen, dressed in a simple gown of blue muslin, she was huddled in a chair, her eyes red with weeping.
”Adam!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms. ”It's Billy!”
With soothing murmurs he led her to a sofa and sat her down.
”Tell me everything, my pet,” he urged. ”He's groom up at t'Hall, where I were housemaid. He wanted to wed me, but I come to London instead. He got worried an' come to look for me. Oh Adam, summun telled him 'bout you an' me, an' he wants to kill you! I telled him and telled him how you saved me from that bawdy house where they beat me, but he won't listen. Billy always were that pigheaded,” she added with a note of pride.
Adam felt sure there must be a solution, but half his mind was wondering what Janet and his other visitor-Marguerite he a.s.sumed-wanted with him. ”I must think,” he said in a harried voice. ”Wait here a minute, there's a good girl. I'll be right back.” He patted her cheek and hurried out.
<script>