Part 3 (1/2)

”She must have a chaperone,” Pamela insisted. ”Of course, there is always Christine. She is Sharpe's sister, after all. But she is thought to be-well, a little outre, is she not? I cannot think her a proper companion for a girl of Louisa's tender years.”

”No, I think not,” muttered Xanthia.

The truth was, Christine Ambrose was an amoral cat-one who from time to time had sunk her claws into Kieran. But Kieran knew the woman for what she was, and used her about as well as she used him. Sometimes Xanthia thought that perhaps they deserved one another. But Christine chaperoning Louisa? No, it would not do. Slowly, it dawned on her that Pamela's hand was holding hers in a near death grip. She looked down to see an unmistakable pleading in her cousin's eyes.

”Oh, Xanthia, my dear, may I count on you?”

Xanthia barely suppressed a gasp. ”Count on me?” she echoed. ”To...to do what, pray?”

”To see Louisa through the rest of her season.”

”To...to take her about to b.a.l.l.s and a.s.semblies and such, do you mean?” said Xanthia hollowly. ”Oh, Pamela. I do not think...no, I am not versed in such...I could not possibly...” But the desperation in Pamela's eyes was perfectly heart-wrenching.

Pamela sat up a little on the divan. ”I shall arrange invitations to all the best houses in town,” she wheedled. ”And Almack's every Wednesday, of course.”

Xanthia made a slight sound of exasperation. ”Do not be silly, Pamela,” she said. ”We haven't a subscription and likely cannot get one.”

Pamela laughed. ”Oh, Rothewell will be admitted instantly, dear child,” she said. ”His t.i.tle ensures it. And I shall put it about that you are to be Louisa's chaperone and made as welcome as I would be. After all, I am not without influence in Town, my dear. And-and why, perhaps you will have fun, too! Oh, my dear, do say you will do it.”

Xanthia hesitated. Dear heaven! Her hope of never seeing Mr. Nash again was on the verge of collapse. ”But I am an unmarried woman,” she protested. ”That really is not ideal. Is it?”

”But you are a mature woman,” said Pamela firmly. ”It must be you or Christine. It must be family, and Mamma cannot do it. Besides, she and Louisa always quarrel. All you will need is Kieran's escort, or Sharpe's. There will almost always be a cardroom to pacify them.”

Xanthia let out her breath on a sigh. Kieran would not like this any better than she, but he had an uncharacteristic fondness for Cousin Pamela. ”Of course we shall be happy to help, Pamela,” she answered. ”But there are a few things, my dear, which you ought to consider.”

Pamela's pale eyebrows lifted. ”Yes? Of what sort?”

Xanthia dared not tell her about the intriguing Mr. Nash. ”Well, you know that I am greatly involved with Neville s.h.i.+pping,” she said instead.

”Oh, yes, dear,” she said. ”You so often speak of it.”

”But what you may not realize is that I-well, I spend a good deal of time there. Literally. At the business.”

Pamela seemed to consider it. ”Well, you do own a third of it,” she mused. ”One must look after one's interests, I daresay.”

”Actually, I own twenty-five percent,” she said. ”Kieran has twenty-five, and Martinique the twenty-five she inherited when Luke died. Gareth Lloyd, our business agent, now owns the remaining twenty-five percent.”

”Does he indeed?” said Pamela. ”I was not aware.”

”Well, that is neither here nor there,” Xanthia continued. ”The truth is, I more or less manage Neville s.h.i.+pping.”

Pamela nodded cheerfully. ”Yes, you once suggested something of that sort.”

Xanthia took her cousin's hand again and vowed to make her listen. ”Pamela, I go into the East End in a carriage to work every day,” she said, her voice firm. ”I sit in an office surrounded by men, in a grimy little house in an especially grimy street in Wapping-which is filled with some of the most disreputable people imaginable-and I dearly love it. People stare at me, Pamela. One day a man near the London docks spat at me. Most of them do not think I belong-and no one amongst the ton is apt to disagree with that a.s.sessment.”

”Oh. Oh, I see.” Pamela was blinking owlishly. ”Is it...is it rather like having a shop, would you say? Mrs. Reynolds once had a shop, you know. But now she is Lady Warding.”

”Yes, but I never shall be Lady Warding, or anything like it,” Xanthia gently pressed. ”I shall always be Miss Neville who has the utter lack of breeding to keep a job-and to do men's work. For that is what they shall say, Pam, if the word gets out. And it will sound worse, I fear, than being a mere shopkeeper.”

Pamela pursed her lips, and shook her head. ”You have a right, Xanthia, to look after yourself,” she insisted. ”If Kieran supports your doing that, then it is no one else's business.”

”No, it is not,” Xanthia agreed with asperity. ”But if it gets out-which it will-then the gossips shall make it their business.”

Pamela relaxed against the chaise and patted Xanthia's hand. ”Oh, if it gets out, you will merely be thought an eccentric,” she answered. ”Indeed, my dear, with your charm and your dash, you might make it quite the rage. Perhaps it will become fas.h.i.+onable to have one's own company? I should choose hats, myself. How does one make them, do you suppose? In any case, I am not worried on Louisa's behalf.”

Xanthia smiled faintly. Employment really was a foreign concept to her cousin, who had been raised every inch a lady. ”Very well, then,” she murmured. ”You have been warned.”

”So I have, and now that that is all settled, I want you to put your hand here,” said Pamela, placing Xanthia's palm atop her belly. ”Say h.e.l.lo to your new cousin, the future Earl of Sharpe.”

Xanthia's smile deepened. ”Am I to feel anything?” she asked, curious. ”Will he...will he move? Or kick my hand?”

Pamela laughed. ”Oh, Xanthia, you can be shockingly innocent,” she said. ”No, he shan't do a thing for weeks and weeks. But he is in there, all the same. Shall I tell you when he starts to move about? Would you like to feel him kick?”

Xanthia felt suddenly shy, and, to her shock, more than a little envious. ”I would, yes,” she admitted. ”It is such a wonderful, unfathomable thing to me.”

Pamela's face took on a serious expression. ”You must have children of your own soon, Xanthia,” she said quietly. ”Time marches on. You are what? Seven-and-twenty now?”

Xanthia gave an embarra.s.sed laugh. ”Oh, Pamela, I shall be thirty in a few months' time,” she said. ”And there is one serious flaw in your plan, my dear. One ought not have children without a husband.”

Pamela's expression brightened. ”Well, you are about to enter the marriage mart!” she answered. ”Louisa is determined to look about quite carefully for just the right sort of gentleman. I would suggest, my dear girl, that you do the same.”

Xanthia shook her head. ”I do not mean to marry, Pamela.”

”Well, why on earth not?” demanded her cousin. ”It is the most natural thing in the world.”

Xanthia looked away and chose her words carefully. ”Gentlemen wish their brides to be...well, younger and more naive,” she answered. ”Besides, there is Neville s.h.i.+pping to worry about. If I marry, it becomes my husband's. Even if it did not, no husband would permit me to work as I do.”

”Oh, heavens, let Kieran take care of Neville s.h.i.+pping!” said Pamela impatiently. ”What else has he to do? He has sold his plantations, and he has leased out all of his estates. Honestly, Xanthia, if he cannot find something to occupy his time, Sharpe says he is going to drink and wh.o.r.e himself into an early grave.”

Xanthia stiffened. ”Kieran knows nothing of s.h.i.+pping, nor does he wish to,” she replied. ”He will simply sell the company to the highest bidder.”

”Yes, as he did the Barbados properties,” Pamela remarked. ”I vow, that made no sense to me.”

”He did not sell to the highest bidder, Pamela,” Xanthia gently chided. ”He leased the land in allotments to the men who had worked it year after year. And if you had lived all your life in Barbados as I have done, you would understand why he wanted to do that. The days of slavery, Pamela, are over. It is time we all accepted that. It is a vile and corrupting inst.i.tution, no matter how gentle one's hand.”

”Yes, it is very dreadful, to be sure, but could he not just-”

A sound at the door cut her off. Pamela's maid came into the room. ”The girl from Madame Claudette's has come with Lady Louisa's new gowns, ma'am,” she said after curtsying. ”Shall you wish her to try them on before the girl goes?”

Pamela and Xanthia exchanged vaguely apologetic glances. Clearly, there would be no more talk of slavery's evils on this particular afternoon. It was time to get back to that evil which was far more troubling to the ladies of Mayfair-the unspeakable horror of a badly fitted ball gown.

Chapter Three.

A Grave Misunderstanding in Mayfair Baron Rothewell was savoring a brandy and a black, nasty humor when he heard the knocker drop upon his elegant front door in Berkeley Square. He had been savoring his brandy since teatime, actually, and was not now disposed to break what had thus far been a solitary interlude.

Rothewell was the sort of man who believed very firmly the old adage that silence was the true friend that never betrayed. He made few acquaintances and kept far fewer. Nor was he a man with any fondness for idle conversation-and it was all idle, so far as Rothewell could see.