David Lord of Honor (The Lonely Lords) (7 page)

Mrs. Banks closed the wardrobe, turned, and leaned back against it, her posture putting David in mind of a soldier facing a firing squad. “You have said I need not entertain men to earn my wages.”

He wanted to kiss her, to mash her against the wardrobe and make her feel the rebellion against good sense going on behind his falls. At the same time, he resented her for inspiring his arousal, because he spoke of pleasure, and she quoted contract terms.

And he wanted to call Herbert Allen out posthumously, because the man had abused the lady’s sensibilities unpardonably.

She turned her head, the only evasion their cramped quarters permitted. David told himself to step the hell back, but his feet did not listen.

But because he had been a physician, he noticed she was holding her breath, and that small suggestion that he’d become the bully allowed him to move away, closer to the weak light filtering in through the window.

“Your duties are as I’ve stated, Letty Banks, though nothing should preclude you from delighting in the pleasures a woman of the world might seek for her private enjoyment.”

She let her breath out, perhaps because he’d retreated to the chillier space near the window, perhaps because he’d retreated into manners. “Steady income will be enjoyable, I assure you, my lord.”

David held out a hand to her.

She blinked at his outstretched hand, uncomprehending.

“A bargain between business associates is often sealed with a handshake,” he explained with what he hoped was a disarming smile—provided those business associates were male, and reasonably friendly.

Her smile was puzzled, her hand cold, and David trespassed the smallest degree on his good intentions by kissing her knuckles before letting her hand go.

“I’ll have my solicitors write up our agreement and send it to yours,” he said, holding the door for her. “Which firm do you use?”

“I don’t,” she said, following him down the stairs. “I don’t have a solicitor.”

“We’ll remedy that.” Truly, dear Herbert had not valued this woman properly. A mistress might be a commodity, but she ought to be a cherished commodity. “All of the girls who work for me have solicitors.”

She stopped on the last stair, so their heights nearly matched. “They are not girls.”

David wasn’t about to call them whores. Not ever. “What are they, then? My employees?”

“They are
ladies
,” she said, her hand on the newel post as if she were some monarch with her royal orb. “They are women, at least. They are not girls and haven’t been for some time. And if you do employ girls, then our association is at an end, my lord.”

“I do not employ any female under the age of twenty-one, nor have I ever.” Though David hadn’t realized it until this exchange with Her Majesty of the Non-Matching Shawls. “I assume you’ll be able to start this week?”

She clutched those shawls more tightly. “This week? I can’t begin this week.”

Now
, she intended to haggle? He remained one step below her, thinking she’d chosen her moment well.

“I need a madam, and you have accepted the position, at a very generous wage. You said nothing about needing time, Mrs. Banks.”

“I’m asking for one week, and one week only, then I’ll be your madam, and you will own my time, body, and soul—five days of the week. My days off will be my days off, or we have no bargain.”

“One week,” he said, not liking the idea
at
all
. “Though you will join me at The Pleasure House this evening at six of the clock.”

“Tonight?” She looked wary. She looked wary frequently, which would have put a lesser man—a less relieved man—out of charity with her. “Whatever for?”

“I want to show you the place, for one thing, and the clients don’t wander in until eight, or seven at the very earliest. The ladies usually come downstairs about half eight. Tonight is the perfect time to look the premises over and acquaint you with the house itself. I’ll fetch you in my coach, and we can dine when you’ve seen the place. Now, shall we retrieve my coat before I freeze to death standing on your stair?”

“Of course.” She followed him back to the less frigid, more odoriferous parlor, though David had the sense she was profoundly preoccupied.

Well, so was he.

What manner of courtesan was indifferent to the thought of a new wardrobe, had no use for intimate pleasures, and blushed when discussing money? He left the premises uneasy with himself, because perhaps that kind of courtesan—the shy, proper, complicated kind—would really have done better as a housekeeper in County Galway.

***

Vicars did not allow whores around their children or their decent womenfolk.

Vicars did not bring fallen women into their family establishments.

Nonetheless, Letty braved the bitter cold; the stinking, crowded public coach; and the journey that took much longer than it should, and finally, finally found herself knocking on the door of the vicarage in Little Weldon.

“Letty!” Olivia greeted her with surprise rather than joy, but she opened the door nonetheless, as she’d promised she always would. “Come in, come in. We must not let in the cold.”

“Aunt Letty!” Five-year-old Danny chorused from Olivia’s side. “Aunt Letty has come to visit! Papa!” Danny tore off to deliver the news to his father rather than hug his aunt, while Olivia hustled Letty into the house.

“We weren’t expecting you, Letty,” Olivia remarked as she took Letty’s cloak, bonnet, scarf, and gloves. “Is everything all right?”

The question held worry, as did Olivia’s blue eyes, but it wasn’t worry for Letty.

“Everything is fine. I have a new position, and for the present, at least, my situation is settled. I would have written, Olivia, but I left London on short notice, and I can stay only a few days.”

Letty would not volunteer more than that about her changed circumstances, and Olivia would not ask. Their system was simple, and for years now, it had suited them both.

“You are always welcome.” Olivia’s expression contradicted the plain meaning of the words, but further remarks were forestalled by the arrival of Letty’s brother.

“Letty!” Daniel enveloped his sister in a tight embrace, and Letty’s composure abruptly faltered. Nearly ten years her senior, Daniel Banks had always been her hero. He’d taken the brunt of their father’s sour temper, tolerated Letty’s ceaseless tagging along, and when she’d really, really needed it, he’d taken on her burdens without reproaching her. She clung to him for a long moment, then let him step back to inspect her.

Daniel was tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed, broad-shouldered, and too handsome to be a man of the cloth.

Also, too kind to be anything else.

“You are too thin,” Daniel pronounced. “But a most, most welcome sight.” Unlike his prim, blond wife, Daniel’s sentiments were sincere. “How long can you stay?”

“The rest of the week, only. I’ve started a new position, and I demanded some time away before taking up my duties.” The lies had been easy when offered to Olivia; they nearly choked Letty when given to her brother.

Daniel smiled at his wife. “Let’s have some sustenance in the family parlor, if you please, Olivia. I must hear what my sister has been up to in old Londontowne, and I’m sure you will want to hear as well.”

“Of course, Daniel.” Olivia disappeared into the back of the house, obedient as always.

Daniel’s expression lost its genial good cheer in Olivia’s absence. “She doesn’t mean to be so unwelcoming.”

The irony of Daniel’s pronouncement was profound, and yet he was oblivious to it—thank God.

“Olivia is perfectly civil, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to break free again, so I’ve come to spend what time I can with family.”

“And Danny and I are pleased to see you, as always.” He took her arm and led her into the parlor, seating himself beside her on the sofa. “You really do look too thin, Letty.”

She was famished, and yet more aware that Olivia had shooed young Danny right back upstairs than she was of her hunger.

“I
am
too thin. I’ve been worried since losing my last post, but things are looking up now.” She’d been raised in this house, raised to be truthful, no matter the cost.

“Tell me about the new position.”

Letty fabricated a tale, of course, about being housekeeper to one of Viscount Fairly’s less used town residences. She hated deceiving her brother, for he’d shown her nothing but kindness and understanding, but she couldn’t disappoint him with the truth. He’d insist on her joining his household, which, for many, many reasons, would never do at all.

So she embroidered on the truth, avoided her brother’s eyes, and listened for any sound indicating Danny might be rejoining them.

***

“You are dithering, my lord.”

With three words, Thomas Jennings could jeopardize his own existence, or at least his livelihood.

“I am choosing bed hangings,” David shot back. “In case it has escaped your notice, it’s bloody winter, and a woman needs proper bed hangings if she’s not to fall prey to lung fever. How to choose bed hangings was not on the curriculum at St. Andrews.”

Though
why
David was subjecting himself to this torment was simple: he wanted Letty Banks to sleep right here at The Pleasure House where he knew she’d be warm and well fed, not at that dusty, stinky, frigid little property she shared with her besom of a housekeeper.

Jennings wrinkled a not insubstantial nose and planted himself on a dressing stool upholstered with cabbage roses. “The burgundy, then.”

David held up the swatch of burgundy velvet, which would make Letty Banks look pale, but then, so would the blue and the green. “Why?”

Jennings found something fascinating to study in the vicinity of his boots. “Won’t show the dirt or the dust.”

“Excellent notion.” David tossed the burgundy velvet at him. “Have we had this flue cleaned recently?”

“Yes.”

Thomas was pouting—or brooding. “When?”

“The first of the year, the same as we have all the chimneys cleaned on this property. There are other ways to keep a woman warm at night besides spending a fortune on velvet nobody will ever see.”

David snatched the fabric from him and folded it into a tidy square. “You won’t be keeping Mrs. Banks warm, Thomas.”

Though he’d be keeping her safe, of course. Jennings was constitutionally incapable of allowing a woman to put her safety at risk, and the employees of The Pleasure House seemed to sense this about him.

“I own I am puzzled.” Jennings rose from the dressing stool, the thing creaking as if in relief.

“You are not puzzled,” David said, folding up the blue velvet, which he’d nearly chosen because it was a regal color, and he’d thought Letty—Mrs. Banks—might prefer it. “You are baiting your employer, who is not in the mood to be trifled with.”

“I think you rather are,” Jennings replied, running a blunt finger over the mantel and inspecting it for dust. “I think a good trifling might improve your disposition considerably.”

David left off folding the length of green velvet. The piece was clearly a castoff, asymmetric, the color washed out across one corner. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Jennings used the broom from the hearth set to brush a stray bit of ash back into the fireplace. “A week ago, you suggested I offer Mrs. Banks
carte
blanche
, now you’re telling me to keep my hands off of her.”

David was not in the least fooled by Jennings’s impersonation of a chambermaid. A question was being asked, one David could answer clearly.

“Thomas,” he said gently, “I am, somewhat to my own surprise, saying that very thing. You, the patrons, that trio of expensive flirts in the kitchen, the bootboy—you will all keep your hands off Mrs. Banks.”

Jennings set the broom back where it belonged. “Leaving only one matter undecided.”

They’d spent much of the afternoon choosing bed hangings, having the footmen replace the area rugs, the curtains, and the pillows, and having a chaise brought down from the attics. All in all, the formerly unused bedroom behind the kitchens of The Pleasure House was looking quite lovely.

Though it needed sachets hung on the bedposts and window sashes. Lavender was always pleasant, and rose could be very nice, too.

“And that undecided matter would be?” David asked, because Jennings was smirking again.

“Whether you’ll be getting your hands on the lady.”

David said nothing, for the answer to that question wasn’t his to give.

***

“Tell me,” Letty said, a shade too brightly, “did the Doncaster sisters ever make good on their threat to move to Bristol to be with their niece?”

Daniel looked ready to launch gamely into that riveting topic, when Danny came hurtling into the room. “I want Aunt Letty to come see my pony!”

Letty smiled at the child’s enthusiasm. “I didn’t know you had a pony, Danny.”

“It’s not real. It’s a rocking horse, so I can practice.”

“Does your rocking horse have a name?” Letty asked, heart constricting at the earnestness in the child’s expression.

“No, Aunt Letty. It isn’t a real horse. It’s a practice horse, like a toy.”