Page 3 of The Mad Baron's Bride
“She’s opposite King’s Bath, is she not? We could visit today.”
“Reverend Warner is taking subscriptions for his history of Bath. One volume, royal quarto, with engravings. Shall I put us down for one?”
“Put us down for two, and we’ll give one away as a gift for Yuletide.”
“And there is a brew house for let on the quay.”
Her ladyship smiled. “You already have enough to do, dearling. You know I depend on you.” She raised her cup to her lips. “Anything of interest transpire at the ball?”
“Nothing beyond what I told you already on our long journey home.” The Upper Assembly Rooms lay one short street away from the Crescent, where Lady Plume had her house, and in her brief walk alongside her ladyship’s chair Leda had communicated the events she felt of interest.
She had not, curiously, said a word about the strange man who danced the minuet with her and set her hackles up in the most unexpected ways. For one thing, against every rule of politeness, she had not learned his name. For another, she did not intend to assist him on his hunt for a wife.
Never mind that she regularly participated in pursuits of wives for friends and strangers alike. She was not going to recommend a wife forhim.
Rude, offensively handsome, and possibly mad. His wit would no doubt prove aggravating upon prolonged exposure and his beauty and charm would come to constitute an offense. She could not in good conscience subject any woman to that.
“Hmm.” Lady Plume smiled as Gibbs set a loaded plate before her. She tucked in as a knock sounded at the front door. “You do not mind taking callers, my dear?”
Leda tugged the mob cap covering the tresses she’d efficiently brushed and pinned up. “I am half-dressed, at least.”
She and her ladyship were accustomed to callers at hours in and outside fashionable times. The needs of supplicants did not adhere to the forms ofton. Thus Leda had donned a morning walking dress of sprigged muslin and was prepared for exercise either in or out of doors.
“Mrs. Limpet, your ladyship,” Gibbs announced, conducting a petite, nervous-looking matron into the room.
“At your breakfast, you are! Indeed, I hate to disturb you. But you suggested, your ladyship, and I confess I hoped?—”
“Sit,” her ladyship said in welcome. “Gibbs will fix you a plate. I know you are eager to hear what Mrs. Wroth has discovered.”
Leda rolled her paper to the side. “I wish I had better news.”
Mrs. Limpet’s expression fell into lines of dismay. “I knew it.”
Very often they did, Leda thought. A woman knew when a man was false, when a man was lying, when she was being bamboozled with fanciful words or gifts while a man she relied on, a husband or brother or guardian or son, took from her with the other hand what should have been hers.
Leda did not hate men as a class, nor did she detest the sex. Women were just as capable of perfidy. But it was women who sought out Leda, again and again, wanting confirmation of something they suspected but hoped was not true. Needing another set of eyes to peer around a corner or see into the dark.
Leda was never surprised by what she found there. After all, she herself had escaped the worst demons. It was her privilege and her duty to keep other women from falling into the same maw that had once swallowed her and which she had eluded by no others means than the grace of God and her own determination.
Gibbs placed a plate of buttered toast near her elbow with a sympathetic gaze, and Leda recalled herself. Gibbs tended to her ladyship with complete devotion, but he never made kind gestures toward Leda. He still, after six years of her employment, had never given Leda one sign of approval.
“Thank you, Gibbs. I regret to say, Mrs. Limpet, that his friends confirm that Mr. Crutch regularly lives beyond the means of his quarterly allowance. A great many of his acquaintances hold his vowels, and he has not paid his tailor in two years.”
Mrs. Limpet clenched her jaw. “Doubtless he sees my chemist shop as a way to line his pockets.”
“Your cordial Balm of Gilead is selling very well, is it not?”
Their guest nodded. “That and the True Scots’ pills. I’ve found a formula that reduces the griping other Scots’ pills can cause.” She added a large lump of sugar to her tea and stirred, frowning.
“Of course, many women might be glad to share their worldly goods with a husband.” Lady Plume regarded Leda over her chocolate. “In return for the protection and—other advantages a man may provide.”
Gibbs, at the sideboard loading a plate with sausage links and coddled eggs, raised his eyebrows.
Leda crunched her toast, relishing the sweet, creamy butter. All these years later, she had not learned to take for granted the luxury of good food and regular mealtimes. The price of provisions might be dreadfully high, but Lady Plume’s kitchens had so far not suffered. Sir Dunlap Plume, though departing the world perhaps too soon for his own liking, had, through the many wise and well-managed investments he left behind, ensured a long and comfortable widowhood for his lady.
One argument for marriage. Perhaps the only one Leda could think of.
The most exalted status a woman could have, her partner with the gray eyes had said. So confident that his attentions would send a woman into transports.
