I am better than my reputation.
—Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller
Angel glanced at the young woman perched beside him on the phaeton’s high seat. She wore a carriage dress that didn’t suit her, steel blue with a white lace collar and matching capelet; an unflattering bonnet trimmed in the same color as the dress; and a bemused expression on her face. “Air-dreaming?” he inquired.
She regarded him reproachfully. “I’m trying to determine how you detached me from my companions, and even induced them to bid me have a nice drive around the park. Are you in the habit of abduction, sir?”
“Abduction?” echoed Angel. “Hardly. That would require too much concentrated effort on my part.” He felt the touch of her gaze on his brass-buttoned blue coat, nankeen breeches, gleaming top boots. The effect was startlingly erotic. “There is concentrated effort there,” she said, as her eyes returned to his intricately tied cravat.
“The credit goes to my valet. I have but to raise and lower my chin.” Angel’s hands were firm on the reins, his horses having already displayed displeasure at finding themselves in company with the creatures that made their home along the shores of the Serpentine. He had himself displayed displeasure during his recent encounter with Daphne. Why was it women must always plot and scheme?
Mrs. Tate didn’t have it in her to plot and scheme. Or she was damned good at it, which was not an impossibility. “Are we to welcome you to the family? My sister tells me that you are Ashcroft’s ‘dear
dear
friend’.”
“I daresay I am. But it’s not what you think. Tony doesn’t wish to take a lawful blanket. Being as he already lives under the hen’s foot.”
Her chuckle was infectious. Angel joined in. In that moment of inattention, an ill-tempered swan came to the notice of his team. An intricate bit of maneuvering ensued. Angel said, “That is called feathering a corner. You may compliment me, Mrs. Tate.”
“And so I do!” She clutched the seat with one hand and her bonnet with the other. “Your vehicle is, ah, well sprung.”
His vehicle was unstable and high off the ground, its front wheels smaller than the rear, the sides left open to the elements; and Maddie Tate hadn’t managed to convince him she didn’t dislike sitting so far above the ground. “Don’t worry. I shan’t dump you out.”
“I am glad to hear it.” She unclamped her fingers from the carriage seat. “You will consider me the merest country mouse, but I have never ridden in a phaeton before. My son’s tutor told us that your carriage is named after the son of the Greek sun-god Helios, who tried to drive his father’s chariot and was destroyed by Zeus with a thunderbolt to prevent him setting the earth on fire. You understand why I might suffer a qualm.”
“Several qualms, I should imagine. In the country, were you accustomed to driving yourself?”
“Oh, yes. I drove a gig, and a wagonette. And several times, although Mr. Tate did not know it, I drove his curricle.”
“Very daring!” Angel approved.
“It seemed so at the time. But you are mocking me, I think.”
“Never!” said Angel, although he had been. “Shall we be serious, then, and discuss — I have it — Mr. Wilberforce’s Society for the Suppression of Vice?”
Maddie still gripped her bonnet. “Is it your intention to remind me that I am driving around the park with a gentleman of doubtful morals? I’ve been warned that you are irresistible to most women — well, to all but the highest sticklers, Tony says.”
“Doubtful morals?” echoed Angel. “I’m offended. There shouldn’t be any doubt that I have no morals at all.”
She turned to study him. “You’re flirting with me again. Why?”
Angel might have pointed out that he flirted with everyone. But the lady had asked a serious question, and so he would answer her. “I flirt with you because I enjoy your reactions. You don’t know
how
to flirt and therefore your reactions are sincere. Now I am being sincere, and I marvel at myself. Tell me about your country home. You would prefer to be there?”
Maddie returned her attention to the street. “I would prefer to be anywhere other than I am.”
“Driving around the park with a man of doubtful morals?”
She shook her head but did not reply.
Her silence deprived him of the pleasure of listening to her voice, which if it hadn’t curled his toes today, had definitely made them twitch, and so Angel made an effort to draw her out. Soon Mrs. Tate was telling him of Meadowmount, and the leaking roof which had resulted in her husband’s demise. Angel’s own spouse would never be so agreeable as to tumble off a roof, but he savored the idea.
Her sons weren’t happy in London, confided Maddie. While she felt her boys had the rest of their lives to be hemmed in with rules and regulations, and at their current age should be permitted to enjoy themselves, this point of view was not popular in her father’s house. Sir Owen didn’t care for any of his dependents to enjoy themselves.
Sir Owen’s daughter looked guilty. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You bring out the worst in me.”
Maddie Tate was an unusual young woman. Angel was enjoying this exchange. “I would enjoy bringing out the worst in you, my goddess. But that isn’t my current aim. I fear I must — much as I dislike it! — speak seriously with you for a moment. Regarding the masquerade.”
Color blossomed in her cheeks. “I behaved in the most outrageous manner. I hope you haven’t mentioned — I beg that you
won’t
mention — if Sir Owen found out — Oh, pray tell no one you saw me there!”
“I won’t betray you,” Angel promised, and hoped the same might be said for Lords Saxe and Castlereagh. “Will you tell me what you were running from? If you kissed the pharaoh the way you kissed me, I can’t blame the man for pursuing you.”
Maddie glanced sideways at him. “It
was
a nice kiss, was it not?”
“I’ll have you know,” retorted Angel, “that I am accustomed to my kisses being considered rather more than ‘nice’.”
“Ah, but
I
kissed
you
!” she reminded him. “And I haven’t had half — a quarter — a tenth! — of your experience along those lines. For you, it would have been an enjoyable moment among countless other enjoyable moments. One pair of lips is much like another. You cannot be expected to remember them all.”
But Angel did remember, rather to his surprise. Granted, the circumstances had been unusual. “Burlington House,” he reminded her.
Her amusement faded. Maddie related what she’d seen and heard. Thought Angel:
Damn and blast.
“And how did you come to witness this encounter?” he inquired.
She regarded her gloved hands. “I was peering through the keyhole.”
“What shocking behavior. You were not entirely sober, I suspect. Few people present were. To continue: in your not-entirely-sober state you witnessed a curious encounter between an Egyptian pharaoh and Henry VIII.”
“I’m not sure
what
I saw,” confessed Maddie. “Certainly the pharaoh saw me. I’ve been trying to convince myself he couldn’t have known who I was in that ridiculous costume.”
“It’s your voice he would remember. Did you speak to him?”
“No. I did speak with Henry earlier that evening; he quoted Shakespeare, which
I found odd. There were several Dianas present. Perhaps he mistook me for someone else.”
Angel suspected this could well have been the case. “It might be wise to keep this between ourselves.”
“You think—”
“I don’t know what to think. Other than that you should be on your guard.”
They had arrived at the northwest corner of the park. Tucked into the shrubbery was a keeper’s lodge. Beneath a row of trees, running parallel with the keeper’s garden, were two springs, one used for drinking and the other employed in bathing sore eyes. At the former sat a woman, beside her a table and glasses for the convenience of visitors.
Sightseeing being a thirsty business, the attendant busily dispersed glasses of mineral water, while a milkmaid handed out glasses of milk. It was a scene of serene bucolic activity — until a large, damp, shaggy dog came splashing through the mineral spring. Once arrived on solid ground, he briskly shook himself.
Muddy water flew everywhere. Horrified by this intrusion, which was against the park rules, the attendant shrieked. The dog interpreted her cry as an invitation. He bounded toward her, tail a-wag.
The attendant shrieked again. The dog rested one huge paw on her knee and gave her face a great wet lick. The attendant gasped, gurgled and fainted dead away, overturning both the table and her chair.
“Milk of a red cow!” called the milkmaid; and then, “Murder! Eek!” The dog abandoned his efforts to revive the supine attendant by dragging her into the spring — the silly female, in his opinion, had a poor notion of play — and galloped, barking, toward the milkmaid, who screamed loud enough to rattle the bones buried in the churchyard of St. Martin’s-in-the-Field.
Cows scattered. Sightseers fled. Maddie clutched the edge of her seat. Angel kept a steady grip on his reins. The horses were restive but not reactive, having embarrassed themselves already over the incident of the swan.
The most stalwart of the sightseers, with the assistance of a cowman, maneuvered the dog into a corner. The creature dropped down on its haunches and peered around, though it was questionable how much he could see through the fur hanging in front of his eyes. The mineral spring attendant clambered to her feet, holding the chair in front of her as if to fend off a wild beast.
Her nerves, she declared, had been forever shattered. Vengeance, she vowed, would be hers. No, argued the cowman, vengeance would be
his
; the excitement had undoubtedly put his animals off their feed. The milkmaid insisted
she
should be repaid for emotional distress caused by the antics of the foul fiend; and left off lamenting only after the cowman boxed her ears. The sightseer suggested that the parks’ custodians should be notified, and the dog forthwith impounded and executed for his crimes.
“No! We must do something!” Maddie cried.
“Take the reins.” Angel leapt to the ground.
The attendant, the milkmaid, the cowman and the sightseer fell silent as the gentleman approached — none doubted that this
was
a gentleman, and a fine example of the breed. The dog whuffed and wagged its tail. Sternly, Angel said, “You need not try and turn me up sweet, you troublesome beast! I should leave you to your fate.” A spirited discussion ensued, the attendant and the milkmaid, the cowman and the sightseer having regained the use of their respective tongues. At its conclusion, coins changed hands. Angel returned to his carriage accompanied by a large, dirty canine.
Not without difficulty, he boosted the beast into the phaeton and climbed up after it. The vehicle had not been designed to hold two adults and a large dog. Undismayed by the cramped quarters, the dog arranged itself across Maddie’s lap and gave Angel a friendly nudge. Angel’s brushed beaver hat tumbled to the ground.
“Yes, you are a splendid fellow,” said Maddie, as the dog licked her chin. “And you must be grateful to Mr. Jarrow, who has told a great many whiskers on your behalf.” She fended off another canine caress. “I wouldn’t have thought you so needful of companionship, sir.”
“I’m not.” Angel climbed down to retrieve his hat. “Your sons, however, are.”
Tale-bearers are as bad as the tale-makers.
—Richard Brinsley Sheridan
Sir Owen was secluded in his study, reading the details of a new Bill which provided that the Surveyor of the Works should receive a salary large enough to induce him to devote himself exclusively to the performance of his official duties, when that peaceful haven was invaded by two footmen and a large dog. The footmen were damp and disgruntled, the dog having introduced them to one of his favorite games, try-and-catch-the-trailing-leash.
One footman went so far as to malign the canine’s parentage. The dog leapt up, planted his paws on the footman’s shoulders, and licked the fellow’s face. The second footman grabbed for the trailing rope. The dog nimbly evaded him, plopped atop the first footman and said, “Woof!”
Demanded Sir Owen, “What the
deuce?
”
Maddie entered the room. “Hush!” she said.
The dog hushed. Sir Owen did not. “Explain yourself! Is that a
dog
?”
Maddie contemplated the culprit. “What an odd question. It never occurred to me he might be something else.”
“How dare you speak to me in such a manner!” blustered Sir Owen. “I—”
“You are surprised that there was a to-do about it.” Maddie had hovered in the hallway several moments before screwing up her courage to beard the lion in his den. “Indeed, I was myself. It was obvious that Lappy was trying to herd the cows. You, sir, remove yourself from atop that poor footman at once!”
Sir Owen, who had never been atop a footman, or a maidservant for that matter, huffed and sputtered and banished both servants to the hall. The dog started to follow. Maddie snatched up its leash.
“Sit down!” she commanded. The dog sat. “Allow me to introduce you to Sir Owen. He is the owner of this residence, and you must be on your good behavior else you will make him cross. Sir Owen, meet Lappy. We have decided to call him Laelaps, after Zeus’s magical hound that always caught its prey. Lappy is growing old and has been retired from service, to his regret.” Maddie scratched the dog’s ear. He rolled an amiable eye in her direction and thumped his tail. “He has just had a nice bath, which he enjoyed very much even though the footmen did not.”
Sir Owen stared at the pair of them, as taken aback as if his daughter had sprouted a second head. The dog did look newly bathed. His daughter looked as if she might similarly benefit from hot water and soap. “You can’t—”
Ah, but Maddie could, when her sons’ happiness was at stake. “I decided the boys will be less homesick for Meadowmount if they have Lappy’s company.”
“
You
decided—”
“I can’t imagine why it didn’t occur to me earlier. Boys and dogs belong together. I have boys. Now, as it turns out, the boys have a dog. I have been shockingly remiss in not realizing before that they were missing their pets.”
Sir Owen slapped his newspaper against the table that stood beside his chair. “I believe I have some say as to who — or what — resides beneath my roof.”
“Oh, every say!” agreed Maddie. “If the dog doesn’t suit, I could have Brigit fetched to town. I’m sure your horses won’t mind sharing their quarters with a cow.”
Sir Owen had not realized before that his daughter was demented. “Did you get into the port? There will be no cow.”
“
Or
,” continued Maddie, “we could return to Meadowmount.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” bellowed her father. “And don’t try and tell me you brought that —
dog
here by yourself.”
“Oh, no!” Sir Owen’s face had grown so red that Maddie half-expected to see smoke issue from his ears. “Viscount Ashcroft escorted us home from the park. But it was Mr. Jarrow who discovered the name of Lappy’s owner and arranged matters to the satisfaction of everyone concerned.”
Not everyone
concerned. A megrim had sprung up behind Sir Owen’s right temple. “Angel Jarrow? How does he figure in this, pray?”
Maddie wished she knew. She hadn’t truly believed, when Mr. Jarrow persuaded her into his phaeton, that he was bent on ravishment; and if she’d harbored a few improper fancies, no one ever need know they had flitted through her mind. “His sister is married to Viscount Ashcroft’s cousin. Mr. Jarrow seems a helpful sort of gentleman.”
“Angel Jarrow helpful? Not unless it involves a warm body and a bed.” Sir Owen eyed his daughter. “You wouldn’t— No, of course you wouldn’t. More to the point,
he
wouldn’t. There must be a streak of lunacy in your mother’s family. It certainly doesn’t come from mine.”
He wouldn’t, would he? Maddie assumed an innocent expression. “Is Mr. Jarrow’s reputation so very bad?”
“The man is a philanderer. Worse, he’s a Tory. And those who lay down with Tories, my girl, get up with fleas. Now take that abomination away and leave me in peace!” Sir Owen returned to his reading. Maddie grasped Lappy’s leash and led — tugged — him through the doorway, along the hall, and into the drawing room, where she collapsed on a chair. Lappy huffed in sympathy and rested his chin on his front paws.
Although she had wagered with herself that Sir Owen would ultimately if unenthusiastically accept this latest addition to his household, Maddie hadn’t felt half as calm as she attempted to appear. Brangling with her father always made her ill. But she’d not soon forget how her sons’ faces had lit up when Mr. Jarrow informed them — over her protests — that they now had a dog. She’d not allow that pleasure to be taken from them. Her hands were trembling. She folded them in her lap.
Sir Owen hadn’t threatened her, as she had feared he might. He’d been so thunderstruck by her impudence that he hadn’t even shouted more than usual. “Nevertheless,” Maddie said to the dog, which resembled a large shaggy rug stretched out on the hearth, “we must keep you close at hand.” Sir Owen wasn’t beyond having Lappy taken away and drowned. As would have Mr. Tate. Maddie hoped Penn and Benjie didn’t grow up to resemble her papa and their sire.
The door opened. “Mrs. Holloway,” announced one of the footmen who were waiting in the hallway to learn what unpleasant task might be expected of them next.
Louise entered the room and pirouetted. Today she wore a gown of flounced figured muslin and a green sarcenet pelisse, lavender kid gloves and a hat modeled on a classic helmet with a feather stuck on top. Her pearls gleamed at her throat. In one hand she clutched an embroidered, tasseled bag.
“Am I not demure?” she asked. “It is my latest effort to bamboozle Jordan into thinking I am everything proper and prim. But I have heard the oddest gossip! People are saying that you and Angel Jarrow rescued a dog. Oh, mercy! Is that it?”
“We call him Lappy because he is fond of placing himself on laps. “
Louise regarded the dog doubtfully. “He is very large. I shouldn’t think he’d fit. Are you certain he’s alive?”
“Lappy had a recent resurgence of youthful enthusiasm and is exhausted from his exertions. I assure you he’ll revive.”
“If you say so.” Louise ventured closer to the hearth. Lappy’s nose twitched. He sneezed, stood and ambled toward her. She squealed and hopped up on a chair.
“He wants to sniff you,” explained Maddie. “Lappy likes sniffing people almost as much as he likes chasing them and sitting in their laps.”
“But I don’t want him to sniff me! And I certainly don’t want him sitting in my lap. Maddie, he’s trying to eat my bag!”
“How poor-spirited of you, Louise. He just wants to play.” Maddie hadn’t anticipated, when she let Angel foist Lappy on her, how much she would enjoy watching people interact with the dog. “You, sir, release that bag at once.”
Lappy obeyed. Maddie summoned a reluctant footman and handed him the leash.
She knelt before the dog and looked him in the eye. “You are going to the schoolroom. Matthew fears you will be so great a diversion that no work will get done, but
I
know that you are going to be a perfect gentleman, because otherwise you’ll have no nice juicy bone.” She rose. Lappy whined, but allowed himself to be led away.
Louise protested, “You can’t believe that creature understands what you say!”
“Lappy listens better than some people of my acquaintance,” Maddie replied.
Without the least indication that she realized this comment might refer to her, Mrs. Holloway climbed down from the chair. “Caro Lamb claims that Byron said or showed her something that has destroyed her affection for him. Now everyone is speculating what his secret may be — or his vice! But, because of Jordan, I’ve no way of finding out. Meanwhile, you
are riding around Hyde Park with Angel Jarrow without making the least effort to discover what he might be trying to hide, which is most unfair. Must I remind you that I have a reputation for being
au courant?
”
Maddie wondered who Angel had meant to escort along perdition’s pathway on the night of the Burlington House
bal masque
. “Mr. Jarrow makes little effort to hide his vices,” she observed.
“It may not be his vices that he’s hiding.” Louise paused by the looking glass to adjust her hat. “But I am forgetting what I came to tell you! You are to accompany us to the fête that Prinny is putting on in honor of Wellington at Carlton House. You must come, Maddie. If you are also present, my brother won’t spend the entire evening hovering at my heels.”
Maddie recalled the last favor she had done Louise. She could not drum up enthusiasm for another, not even an event at the Prince Regent’s town residence, which faced the south side of Pall Mall, its gardens abutting St. James’s Park. The structure had been transformed during Prinny’s tenure, with the assistance of various architects and the outlay of an immense amount of money, from a fairly normal dwelling into a palace worthy of a potentate.
Mere mention of Carlton House was enough to set Sir Owen frothing at the mouth. “Louise—”
“Don’t disappoint me, it’s settled!” Mrs. Holloway perched on a chair. “His Grace wishes my brother to attend. Jordan can’t refuse the Duke.” With a sly sideways glance, she added, “Angel Jarrow is sure to be there. He’ll want to hear about the dog.”
Maddie doubted that. She suspected the dog and its rescue had already slipped Mr. Jarrow’s mind. Still, were Angel present at the fête, they might speak further about what she’d seen and overheard, and what it might mean.
Louise added, “I am having a new gown made. Celestial blue crepe over a white satin slip, embroidered with blue silks and chenille, ornamented around the bottom with a deep lace net border. I shall be exquisite. Oh, I know you’ve told me I shouldn’t spend money I don’t have. But pretty things make me happy, and if people are willing to give them to me, why should I refuse? Everyone knows that if you cannot pay one reckoning, you should run up another. It is the way of the world.”
It was also the way to debtor’s prison. Maddie bit her tongue.