Part 8 (1/2)
None of the alluring faces and figures which floated across his mind's eye tempted him, and in any case he was leaving for Cheve again as soon as his face was presentable. The search could wait until he returned to town.
The carriage stopped outside the Haymarket Theatre. It was a shabby building, nearly a century old, and by daylight the gilt decoration of the interior was tawdry. According to rumour, Mr. Morris wanted to tear it down and rebuild in the modern style. Among gentlemen, the on-dit went on to explain the manager's novel plan for acc.u.mulating capital for his venture: he promised the best roles to those of his actresses with wealthy protectors who could be persuaded to pay for the privilege of seeing their lights-o'-love star upon the stage. This being understood, Adam brushed through the encounter with a minimum of unpleasantness. Mr. Morris looked complacent as he tucked into his desk drawer a bank draft for a considerable sum.
”At this rate,” he admitted cheerfully, ”I'll be pulling the old place down in approximately the year 1820.”
”I hope you will put up a plaque with the names of your benefactors,” said the viscount dryly. ”Now, if you have no objection, I shall borrow your office for a private word with Marguerite.”
”By all means, my lord. She's rehearsing on stage right now. I'll call her off and give her the good news. Not more than half an hour, now.” He grinned and winked.
”Ten minutes should suffice.” Adam felt in his pocket for the bracelet.
”My, that's quick work!” With obvious admiration for his mistaken notion of Adam's purpose, the manager went off.
Marguerite rushed in, clad only in a number of diaphanous veils over skin-coloured tights. She flung her arms about Adam's neck and planted a smacking kiss on his sore cheek.
”Darling,” she crooned. ”You have made me so happy.”
He extricated himself with some difficulty. ”I'm glad, pet,” he said. ”It's by way of being goodbye, and I have...”
”b.l.o.o.d.y 'ell, wotcher mean goodbye! 'Aven't I bin true ter yer all this toime? Found yerself anuvver girl, 'ave yer, so poor ol' Margrit gets left in the lurch.” Hands on hips, she blazed at him, her face so red with anger that the patches of rouge were invisible.
”Be a good girl, now, pet,” said Adam patiently. ”I have another gift for you.” He pulled the velvet case from his pocket, took out the bracelet and clasped it about her wrist.
”Cor lumme!” She held it up to the window to admire it. ”That's somefing like, that is. You're a dear, Adam, and I'm sorry I kicked up a dust. I'll be sorry to lose you, and that's the truth, but all good things come to an end.”
Silhouetted against the window, her charms were displayed to magnificent effect. The viscount was unmoved.
”You will find someone else in no time. With your abilities, you should hold out for a duke.”
This pleased her. ”So will you,” she a.s.sured him, kissing his other cheek, ”and the rhino's got nuffing to do wiv it. Bet I know who you've got your eye on, too. You've up and taken a fancy to that country bit, I wager.”
”Sarah?” Adam's laugh was incredulous. ”You are all about in your head.”
”Take me for a flat? Thick as inkle-weavers, you was. 'Ave to be a discreet arrangement, what wiv 'er living at that parson's 'ouse. Won't do to flaunt her about like.”
”Miss Meade is a thoroughly respectable young woman,” he said angrily.
”That's how we all starts,” she pointed out.
Adam stormed from the theatre in a fury. Marguerite had no idea what she was talking about, he fumed as the carriage bore him home. As if he could possibly desire his old friend Sarah, let alone have designs against her virtue!
He'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd ever form a liaison with an actress again. A vulgar lot they were, and appallingly temperamental into the bargain. He took out his handkerchief and scrubbed at his unhurt cheek. The doxy had probably left rouge all over him.
No more opera singers, no more lonely wives-it was beginning to look as if he should not be encouraging Peggy to marry her sweetheart. Still, he had never really been attracted by the ingenuous girl, he had just not been able to bring himself to hurt her with a rejection. Nor had he any intention of frequenting houses of ill fame. Most of their inhabitants, in his opinion, belonged in his charitable inst.i.tutions.
Since he had no intention of becoming a monk, that left marriage as the only solution. His mother was right. He needed a wife.
He spent the next couple of days lurking in his house while his black eye faded. There was a certain amount of paperwork to be done for his charitable foundations, and when that palled he repaired to his library. He came across a copy of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, and on a whim he looked up the description of the knight in the Prologue. Regretfully he had to acknowledge a poor fit. Generosity and courtesy he could lay claim to, and perhaps truth and honour, but as sole heir to a viscountcy with five females dependent upon it, he had not been permitted to fight in his sovereign's war. Wisdom eluded him, as he was painfully aware, and as for a maidenly modesty ... He laughed. That, at least, Sarah would not expect of him.
He hoped she did not recall the description of the knight's son. The squire was a lover and a l.u.s.ty bachelor. He had loved so hotly, apparently, that till dawn grew pale he slept as little as a nightingale. If Sarah started quoting that at him, Adam would not know where to look.
Once again decked out in rice powder and a broad-brimmed hat, he sneaked into the gallery of the House of Lords to hear Lord Lansdowne's speech. It seemed the least he could do. He managed to dodge most of his acquaintances, garnering a few peculiar looks in the process.
By the third day his eye had faded to an interesting shade of mustard yellow. Desperate for exercise, he ventured to Gentleman Jackson's saloon. Such things as black eyes were understood there, though in general the bucks of the ton avoided hitting the visible portions of each other's anatomy. A round with the Gentleman himself, a rare honour, restored the belief in his own ability which had been bruised by Billy's successful attack.
The bout finished, he wandered over to watch Lord James Kerridge sparring in a desultory manner with Mr. Frederick Swanson. He remembered that he had told his mother he would bring a couple of friends to her house party. Kerry and Swan would do very well, he thought.
Informed of this treat, Lord James demurred.
”Dash it, Adam, I ain't in the petticoat line,” he objected.
”So much the better,” pointed out Mr. Swanson. ”It's Adam who has to find a bride. He don't want compet.i.tion. Come on, Kerry, your brother ain't asked you down to the Hall till August and July in town is deuced dull. No female is going to chase you while Adam's available, so you won't have to talk to them.”
Lord James allowed himself to be persuaded, and the next morning the three gentlemen rode out of London. A variety of vehicles followed at a slower pace, bearing grooms, valets, and luggage.
It was a fine day. Adam was pleased to leave the city, pleased with the company of his friends, and determined to be pleased with the eligible maidens awaiting him at Cheve. If he could not make up his mind among them, he would ask Sarah's advice.
She would laugh at him, but that was all right. He liked to hear her laugh, and to see the teasing twinkle in her grey eyes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
Sarah was rolling gingerbread dough when three large young men erupted into the kitchen.
”Sarah, I have a deal to tell you,” cried Adam without ceremony, then he paused and looked round a trifle nervously. ”Is Billy here?” he demanded.
”No, he went home. You are safe.” She smiled at him, happy at his arrival though she wished he had not found her hot and sticky and engaged upon a domestic task. ”I have a great deal to tell you, too, but will you not introduce your friends first?”
”This is Lord James Kerridge.” Adam waved his hand at the tall, well-built gentleman with the slightly vacant face.
Lord James blushed crimson, bowed awkwardly, and muttered something indistinguishable.
”And this is Swan-Mr. Frederick Swanson.”
Mr. Swanson was short, round, and exquisitely dressed. His face was also round, with an incongruously large nose, but his eyes held an expression of humorous intelligence.
”Delighted to make your acquaintance ma'am,” he said. ”You must excuse poor Kerry here. Scared to death of females.”
”How unkind in you to draw attention to it,” Sarah retorted, then clapped her floury hand to her mouth in dismay. ”Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. We have just been introduced and I am treating you as if I had known you as long as I have known Adam.” To her relief, she saw he was amused and not offended.
”Pray don't stand on ceremony, ma'am,” he urged, ”but I would not have you think ill of me. Kerry looks to me to make his excuses.”
Lord James nodded vigorously. ”'S true,” he blurted.
”I must talk to you,” said Adam with some impatience, ”and without these two gudgeons listening in. Take off your ap.r.o.n and come into the garden.”
”The fire is ready,” Sarah objected. ”I must put the biscuits into the oven.”