A Lover's Kiss

Buggy grinned, looking like a little boy who’d been given a present. “Yes. It shouldn’t be too difficult to make people accept it. Just scowl a lot and don’t talk very much.”

Miss Bergerine laughed, exposing very fine, white teeth. “That does not sound so very difficult.”

“Except for not talking much,” Drury muttered, earning him a censorious look from Buggy and an annoyed one from her.

Why should he be upset by what some hot-tempered Frenchwoman thought of him? He was Sir Douglas Drury, and he had plenty of other women seeking his favors, whether he wanted them or not.

Miss Bergerine turned to Buggy with a warm and unexpectedly charming smile. “Because I think you are truly a kindhearted, honorable gentleman, Lord Bromwell, I will accept your offer, and gladly. Merci. Merci beaucoup.”

And for one brief moment, Drury wished he had a town house in London.

Chapter Four

Edgar looked about to have an attack of apoplexy. Didn’t want to drag Buggy into the situation, either, but he didn’t give me much of a choice.

—from the journal of Sir Douglas Drury

A short time later, Juliette waited in the foyer of Lord Bromwell’s town house. On the other side of the entrance hall, Lord Bromwell spoke with his obviously surprised butler, explaining what she was doing there. She would guess Millstone was about forty-five. He was also bald and as stiff as a soldier on parade. The liveried, bewigged footman who had opened the door to them stood nearby, staring at her with unabashed curiosity, while Sir Douglas Drury, grim and impatient, loitered near the porter’s room.

Trying to ignore him, she turned her attention to her surroundings. She had never been in a Mayfair mansion, or any comparable house before. The entrance was immense, and richly decorated with columns of marble, with pier glass in the spaces in between. The floor was likewise marble, polished and smooth, and a large, round mahogany table dominated the center of the space, with a beautiful Oriental vase in the middle of it full of exotic blooms that scented the air. A hanging staircase led to the rooms above.

She tried not to feel like a beggar, even if her hair was a mess and her gown torn and soiled, her shoes thick and clumsy. After all, she reminded herself, she was in danger because of Lord Bromwell’s friend. It wasn’t as if she’d thrown herself on the genial nobleman’s mercy for personal gain.

“Jim, is something wrong with your eyes that you are unable to stop staring?” Sir Douglas asked the footman in a voice loud enough that she could hear, but not Lord Bromwell and the butler.

The poor young man snapped to attention and blushed to the roots of his powdered tie wig.

She didn’t want to be the cause of any trouble here, for anyone. However, she couldn’t expect a man like Sir Douglas Drury to think about how anyone else might feel. He clearly cared for no one’s feelings but his own—if he had any at all.

She could believe he did not, except for that kiss.

That must have been an aberration, a temporary change from his usual self, brought on by the blow to his head.

When Lord Bromwell and his butler finished their discussion, the butler called for the footman and said something to him. She hoped he wasn’t chastising the poor lad, too!

“You’re to have the blue bedroom, Miss Bergerine, which overlooks the garden,” Lord Bromwell said, approaching her with a smile. “I hope you’ll be comfortable. Ask Millstone or the housekeeper, Mrs. Tunbarrow, if you require anything. A maid will be sent to help you tonight.”

A maid? She’d never had a maid in her life and wouldn’t know what to do with one. “Oh, that will not be necessary. I don’t need anyone’s help to get undressed.”

Sir Douglas made an odd sort of noise, although whether it was a snort of derision or a laugh, she couldn’t say. And she didn’t want to know.

“Very well, if that’s what you’d prefer,” Lord Bromwell said, as if he hadn’t heard his friend. “If you’ll be so good as to follow Millstone, he’ll show you to your room.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

She started toward the butler, who waited at the foot of the stairs.

“We’d better have Jones drive quickly,” she heard Lord Bromwell say to his friend, “although I’m sure Brix and Fanny won’t be upset if we’re late.”

Juliette checked her steps. Fanny? Could that have been the name Sir Douglas murmured when he was injured? And she was the wife of a friend?

What did it matter to her if he had whispered the name of his friend’s wife? What if they were even lovers?

Sir Douglas Drury could have love affairs with every lady in London, married or not, and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference to her.

When Juliette awoke the next morning, she knew exactly where she was, and why. At least, she knew she was in Lord Bromwell’s town house at his invitation, so she would be safe. It had been too dark to see much of the actual room to which she’d been led by the butler, who had used a candelabrum to light the way.

Once Millstone was gone, she’d taken off her worn, muddy shoes, thick, much-mended woolen stockings and her new dress that Lord Bromwell’s money had made possible. Then she’d climbed into the soft bed made up with sheets that smelled of lavender.

If she hadn’t been utterly exhausted, she would have lain awake for hours, worried about what had happened and what the future might hold. As it was, she’d fallen asleep the instant her head rested on the silk-covered pillow.

Now wide-awake, she surveyed the room and discovered she was in the most beautiful, feminine room she had ever seen or imagined.

The fireplace opposite the bed had pretty Dutch tiles around the opening. The walls were papered in blue and white. Blue velvet draperies covered the windows, matching the canopy and silk coverlet on the bed. The cherrywood bed and armoire standing in a corner gleamed from much polishing and wax. Armchairs upholstered in blue velvet as well as a round pedestal table, had been placed near the hearth. A tall cheval mirror, a dressing table with a smaller looking glass, and a washstand completed the furnishings.

Wondering how long she’d slept—for she could believe it had been several hours—Juliette stretched, then got up. Reveling in the feel of the thick, brightly patterned carpet beneath her feet, she went to one of the windows, drew the drape aside and peeked out, to see that the sun was indeed very high in the sky. Below, there was a small garden with a brick walk and a tree, and what looked like a little ornamental pond.

Wandering over to the dressing table, Juliette sat and marveled at the silver-handled brush and comb. There was a silver receiver, too, and a delicate little enameled box of gold and blue. She gingerly lifted the lid. It was empty.

There was another box of carved ivory full of ribbons. Another, larger ivory box held an astonishing number of hairpins. She had never been able to afford more than a few at a time.

Like a child with a new toy, Juliette took the ribbons out of the ivory box one by one and spread them on the table. There seemed to be every color of the rainbow. Surely she could use one of the cheaper, plainer ones….

She picked up the brush and ran it through her hair. Doing so felt wonderful, and she spent several minutes brushing her hair before braiding it into one thick strand and binding it with an emerald-green ribbon. Then, using several pins, she wound the braid around her head.

She studied the effect, and her own face, in the mirror—a luxury she’d never had. At the farm she had only the pond for a looking glass and in London she had to be content with surreptitious glimpses of herself in the fitting-room mirrors.

She wasn’t homely, but her eyes were too big, and her mouth too wide and full. Her chin was a little too pronounced, too. At least she had good skin. Excellent teeth, as well. And she was very glad to be wearing her new chemise, the linen purchased with the money Lord Bromwell had given her. It made her feel a little less out of place.

Nevertheless, she jumped up as if she’d been caught pilfering when a soft knock sounded on the door.

A young maid dressed in dark brown, with a white cap and apron, peeked into the room. “Oh, you’re awake, miss!”

Without waiting for an answer, she nudged the door open and came inside carrying a large tray holding a white china teapot, a cup and some other dishes beneath linen napkins. There was also a little pitcher and three small pots covered with waxed cloth. Juliette could smell fresh bread, and her stomach growled ravenously.

The maid also had a silken dressing gown of brightly patterned greens and blues over her arm.

“Mrs. Tunbarrow thought you might like to eat here this morning, and she thought you’d need this, too. It’s one of the viscount’s mother’s that she doesn’t wear anymore,” the maid explained as she set the tray on the pedestal table. “Lord Bromwell and Sir Douglas have already eaten. The master’s gone off to one of his society meetings—the Linus Society or some such thing, where he can talk about his bugs. Nasty things, spiders, but he loves ’em the way some men love their dogs or horses. Sir Douglas is here, though. I heard him say he didn’t have to be at the Old Bailey today. Lucky for him he can pick and choose, I must say.”

Never having had a maid, and uncertain how to proceed, Juliette drew the dressing gown on over her chemise. It was soft, slippery and without doubt the most luxurious garment she’d ever worn. She stayed silent as the young woman plumped a cushion on one of the armchairs. “Sit ye here, miss, and have your breakfast while I tidy up a bit.”

“Merci,” she murmured, wondering if she should ask the maid her name, as she wanted to, or if the servant was to be treated as little more than a piece of furniture. The rare times she’d been summoned to the upper floors of Madame de Pomplona’s establishment, the ladies’ abigails had been like wraiths, sitting silent and ignored in the corner on small, hard chairs kept for that purpose.

“I’m Polly, miss,” the maid said, solving her dilemma, and apparently not at all disturbed that Juliette was French, although that could be because she was supposed to be Sir Douglas’s cousin.

“I’m to be your maid while you’re here,” the lively young woman continued. “I can arrange your hair, too. I’ve been doing Lord Bromwell’s mother’s hair when she’s in London, and she’s right particular about it. Mrs. Tunbarrow thinks I have a gift.”

“That will be lovely,” Juliette replied, although she had never had anyone help her dress or do her hair, either.