Elizabeth Mansfield (14 page)

Ferdie Shelford gaped. "What are you saying?
Man
of business? That lovely creature?"

Taffy nodded. "Seems she's talented in financial matters. Luke says she's a wonder."

After Taffy left him, Ferdie wandered over to where George Poole was drinking his luncheon. "Did you notice the lovely young woman riding Luke's mare this morning?" he asked.

George's face brightened. "I'll say! A great gun if ever I saw one." His interest was piqued enough to cause him to put down his glass. "Don't tell me you know who she is?"

"You won't believe it," Ferdie said, preening with the pride of being the possessor of secret information, "but she's his man of business!"

George Poole's heavy eyebrows rose. "That's ridiculous," he sneered. "I
don't
believe it."

Ferdie responded in an awed whisper. "I know. I wouldn't have believed it, either, except that I have it from Taffy Fitzgerald. He says that Luke says she's a wonder."

George Poole could hardly wait to be off. Excited at being in possession of so choice an item of gossip, he gulped down his drink, made his excuses to Ferdie, and ran off. There was one person in particular who would be interested in his news—his friend Sir Rodney Moncton. He found Monk downing a tankard of ale in the lounge at Brooke's. "Monk, old fellow, you won't believe what I learned about Luke Hammond," George said in an eager undervoice, pulling up a chair. "He has a new man of business."

Monk merely shrugged. "I thought as much. He had to be getting some new advice to have paid off his debt to me so promptly. The fellow's been behaving like a pudding-heart of late. Won't even sit down at the tables these days."

"Stubble it for a moment, will you, Monk? You're not taking my point." George, his eyes shining gleefully, pulled his chair closer. "It's who the adviser
is
that's the point."

"What difference does it make who he is?" Monk asked, waving the matter off with a flick of his wrist.

"The difference," George said with dramatic emphasis, "is that the
he
is a
she."

Monk glared at him. "What are you babbling about, George? Are you squabbled?"

"Sober as a judge, s' help me. Do you want to hear this or don't you?"

"Very well, then, speak up!"

"Luke's man of business," George announced in triumph, "is a girl!"

"What?" For a moment Monk stared at his friend blankly, but soon his expression changed to disbelief. "A
female
giving him financial advice?"

George chortled. "Isn't that a howler?"

"I should say!" Monk smiled, a slow, smirking smile that he promptly hid by taking a swig from his tankard. "How did you learn this, George?"

"I saw her riding Luke's mare in the park. Lovely-looking filly she is."

"I take it you don't mean the horse."

"No, you gudgeon, the girl. So pretty, in fact, that I can hardly believe she's as clever as Taffy Fitzgerald claims."

"So... the girl is as clever as she's pretty, eh? How very interesting." Monk, still smiling wickedly, heaved himself from his chair. "I think, George, if you'll excuse me, I'll take myself off. There's someone I know who'd very much like to hear about this."

George Poole was, in fact, a bit squiffy, but he was not so cast away that he failed to recognize a certain malevolent look in Monk's eyes. He peered at his friend in suspicion. "I say, Monk, you don't mean to tell—?"

Monk cut him short with a gesture. "Never mind what I mean, old fellow. But I do thank you. You've turned this into the best day I've had in weeks."

In less than half an hour Monk was being admitted to a charming, newly redecorated flat on Curzon Street. The uniformed housemaid led him to the sitting room. "Sir Rodney Moncton," she announced loudly to a closed door.

"Go away, Monk," came a voice from behind the door. "I can't see anyone now. My face is covered with cucumber lotion."

"I've seen you with a green face before now," he said, taking a stand close to the door. "It won't be a shock to me. You'd better come out if you want to hear my news."

"News?"

"Absolutely fascinating news."

The door opened and a lady, swathed in a voluminous, filmy dressing gown, her face masked to the eyes in a pale green paste, emerged. "Monk, you makebait," she cooed and held out her hand, "what a time to drop in. It's midafternoon."

"Dolly, my love!" He took her hand to his lips. "Beautiful even now!"

Her smile could be distinguished despite the thick green ointment. "Jackanapes! What are you doing here?"

"I knew you'd want to hear this news at once. I think you'll find it
most
amusing."

SEVENTEEN

The afternoon seemed endless to Jane. She kept listening for the clock to strike four. She was to take tea with the Viscount this afternoon, and four o'clock was an appropriate hour. Surely he would send for her by that time.

She was reluctant to admit to herself how eager she was for this encounter. She did not like to believe she was behaving foolishly. But her pulse was racing in anticipation, as if she'd been invited to a ball. In fact, she was behaving quite as if she
were
going to a ball. She'd put on her best dress, the Moravian-worked muslin gown she kept for holidays. Of course, it was far from a ball gown. It was dark blue and looked, she feared, rather severe and spinsterish, but she'd softened it with her most precious article of clothing—a delicate tucker of Alençon lace that her father had brought back to her from France years ago. What's more, she'd taken pains to dress her hair less primly than usual, pulling free some tendrils to curl round her face. And all for
tea!

She knew she was behaving like a silly, dewy-eyed schoolgirl—good heavens, like her sister, Adela!—but she couldn't seem to help herself. Ever since the dinner last night, her inner eye could see nothing but Luke Hammond's face, the high forehead partially covered by the unruly lock that always fell over it, the strong nose and chin, the lips that turned up at one corner in sardonic humor except in those moments when he'd smiled warmly across the table at her, the candlelight reflecting in his eyes.

Time dragged on. To quell this inordinate feeling of impatience, she tried to concentrate on the accounts. She'd just taken out the books, however, when Mr. Parks entered with the news that she had a caller.

"Me?" She shook her head. "Who could be calling on me?"

"It's a friend of his lordship's," Parks said conspiratorially. "Here's his card."

The card read Ferdinand Shelford, Esquire. Jane had never heard the name. "You must have misunderstood, Mr. Parks. He must wish to see his lordship."

"He asked particularly for you. You may as well see him, Miss Jane. No use causing offense."

The gentleman who presented himself a short time later was unremarkable, except for a foppishly high collar and the thickest pair of spectacles Jane had ever seen. "How do y' do, ma'am," he said, making a bow.

"How do you do?" Jane, feeling awkward, got to her feet. "Mr. Shelford, is it?"

"Yes, I'm Ferdie Shelford. I... er... saw you riding in the park today."

She could not imagine what this could be about. "Oh?" she asked.

"You ride very well," he said, shifting his weight nervously from one leg to the other and twisting the brim of the high hat he held in his hand. "Very well."

"Thank you," was all she could think to reply.

"I was wondering, Miss Douglas—"

She interrupted. "You know my name?"

He smiled. "Oh, yes, indeed. Everyone does."

She was startled. "Everyone?"

"Lord Kettering's man of business, y'see. You have everyone buzzing."

She flushed in annoyance. "I suppose a female business adviser would set tongues wagging," she said irritably. "But I interrupted you, sir. You said you were wondering—?"

"Yes. I was wondering if you might... if you would consider going riding with me."

She gaped at him. Was this fellow actually trying to pursue her? A member of his friend's staff? A woman to whom he'd never been introduced, with whom he'd never exchanged a word? She had a sudden impulse to giggle. "You cannot mean it, Mr. Shelford," she said, swallowing the giggle down. "I thank you, of course, but it would not be appropriate for his lordship's business adviser to accept social invitations from his friends."

"Oh, I can make it right with Luke, I assure you," he said eagerly.

"No, I'm sorry. Even if his lordship should approve, I could not. I could never consider something so improper."

Poor Mr. Shelford looked crestfallen. "Are you sure?"
 

"Quite sure."

"Oh," he said, turning his hat brim round and round but making no effort to depart.

"But I do thank you for asking me," she said in what she hoped was a dismissive tone.

"No need to thank me," he muttered glumly, his eyes averted.

She waited for him to go, but he remained fixed. "Was there something else—?" she asked in desperation.

"I'm good at numbers, too," he said, looking up with sudden hope. "They say my memory for facts and figures is quite remarkable."

"Do they?"

He nodded. "We have something in common, you see?"

"Perhaps we do, Mr. Shelford, but that doesn't change anything. I thank you again for your kind invitation, but please excuse me now. I have a great deal of work to do."

Mr. Shelford bowed himself out at last. Jane returned to her table, smiling to herself. Mr. Ferdinand Shelford, Esquire, seemed to be a sweet-natured fellow, and she didn't wish to make fun of him, but his suggestion that they could be mutually attracted by a fondness for figures almost made her laugh out loud.

She turned her attention back to the accounts and was soon absorbed in the work. Within a few moments, her caller was forgotten, for, in her examination of the Viscount's personal expenses, she ran headlong into a new difficulty.

She had not examined his personal account before, but now that the household accounts were settled, and his lordship had declared the stable accounts out-of-bounds, only his personal expenses remained to be audited. It didn't take long for her to realize that something was very wrong with them.

Most of the withdrawals listed in the ledger were properly attributed: twenty-nine pounds six to Hoby, the bootmaker; one hundred and twelve guineas to Weston, clothier; two pounds ten for a silver pocketknife, and so on. But the largest amounts—six hundred pounds in one case—were not attributed at all. The withdrawal amount was listed, but the recipient was not. Jane did not know what to make of it.

The grandfather clock in the foyer struck two. Jane sighed. There was still plenty of time to work. She rang the bellpull for the butler. When he arrived, she asked him to shut the library door. Since she only did that when she did not want to be overheard, he braced himself for trouble.

"Look at this, Mr. Parks," she said, motioning him to the chair beside her worktable. "His lordship's accounts. Six hundred pounds here, four hundred here, all followed by blanks. And here—two notations in succession for over one hundred guineas. Where does all this money go?"

The butler looked uncomfortable. "I couldn't say, Miss Jane. You'll have to ask his lordship hisself."

"You know
something,
Mr. Parks. I can see it in your—"

The library door burst open. Joseph, the footman, hurried in. His eyes were widened in a kind of titillated excitement. "You'd better come, Mr. Parks," he said breathlessly. "That lady's in the foyer, lookin' like thunder."

"Lady?" Parks asked. "What lady?"

Joseph glanced at Jane uneasily and then gave the butler a meaningful look. "Ye know whut lady."

"Oh!" Parks got up quickly. "Very well, Joseph, I'll come. Excuse me, Miss Jane, it's urgent that I—"

But the library door burst open again. "How long do you expect to keep me standing in the foyer like some blasted shopkeeper?" a female voice demanded.

Jane, startled, turned to the door. Standing in the doorway was a shapely young woman draped in the most stylish costume that Jane had ever seen. From the hood of her fur-trimmed pelisse of plum-colored velvet (which had fallen over her shoulders like a cape) to the silver sandals on her feet, the woman was a living fashion plate. A diamond pin in her carefully curled pale-blond hair held a number of plumes, a diamond ring gave sparkle to the glove on her right hand, and the round-gown that peeped from the opening of the pelisse was of exquisite Persian silk dyed a shimmering amethyst. It took a moment before Jane was able to tear her eyes from all these adornments to take in the face.

It was a lovely face—oval-shaped, almond-eyed, clear-skinned and perfectly featured. If Jane had the impression that the eyelashes held too much blacking and the cheeks were too heavily rouged, it was probably because she herself was too provincial to appreciate the manner in which the sophisticated ladies of the
ton
touched up their faces.

Mr. Parks was bowing to her. "I beg pardon, Miss Naismith, I did not hear you come in. If you'd be good enough to follow me to the sitting room, I shall have some refreshment brought to you at once."

"Just one moment." The woman had caught sight of Jane, and her eyebrows rose. She brushed Parks aside and stepped inside. "And who is this, pray?" she asked, her eyes raking over Jane from head to toe.

Jane got to her feet. "My name is Jane Douglas," she said, making a little curtsy.

"The latest addition to our staff," the butler added.

"Indeed?" Her head cocked, Dolly Naismith circled Jane, appraising her with shrew eyes. "And what do you
do
on the staff, Jane Douglas?"

Jane stiffened under this rude scrutiny. "I suggest you ask his lordship," she said.

"Oh?" The voice was icy. "Is it some sort of secret?"

"Not at all," Parks put in quickly, wishing to avoid provoking a display of Miss Naismith's notorious temper. "It's only that Miss Douglas is really employed by Lady Martha, not by his lordship. As her secretary, you see. Lady Martha only lent her to his lordship temporarily, to straighten his accounts."