Page 4 of The Mad Baron's Bride
With that very symmetrically pleasing face of his, that solid physique, that strange effect of his regard, as if one had imbibed a liquor that sent warm, languid effects to every part of one’s body—perhaps a woman subject to his attentionswouldenjoy transports.
Leda had never been transported. She tamped down the oddly weakening memory of his hands holding hers.
“What would the advantages be, in Mrs. Limpet’s case?” Leda asked.
“I fail to see any.” Mrs. Limpet’s eyes widened as Gibbs set a loaded plate before her. “Smoked salmon? Lady Plume, you do set a fine table.”
“Leda and I enjoy feeding people,” her ladyship said serenely. “And providing assistance wherever we might to our friends.”
There was a broad hint there, but Leda could not follow. She would be the first to admit what she owed Lady Plume. Her employer did not know Leda’s full history in Bath, how she’d arrived in a stained gown with her borrowed slippers worn through and nothing but a ragged shawl holding all her worldly goods. How she’d fallen by luck and grace into the hands of a schoolteacher who asked few questions but guessed much.
Leda had come quite by chance to the attention of Lady Plume, who was searching for a young and amusing companion, and in her ladyship’s employ Leda had come into the full extent of her powers to manage other peoples’ affairs. She had through many quiet but steady successes built her reputation as a sensible, well-mannered woman who knew everything, heard everything, and could be trusted with a secret.
A formidable, enviable status, to be sure.
An unmatchmaker. Just what her beguiling and quite exasperating dance partner had called her.
That way lay reflections in which Leda did not wish to indulge, and from which she was fortuitously saved by another knock at the door. Lady Plume cocked her head and smiled into her chocolate.
Mrs. Limpet attacked her eggs, as if determined to polish off her plate before she must concede the table to another guest. “I daresay I look a fine catch to a man with pockets to let. I own my shop and the rooms above. I have a respectable trade.” She sniffed. “I’m not hideous to look upon, nor so long in the tooth I might not catch a man’s eye yet. Were I willing to trade the advantages of widowhood for a yoke.”
“The freedom to set your own schedule, go where you wish, and keep what company you please,” Leda offered.
“To wear what I like.” Mrs. Limpet patted her black lace cap, trimmed with beads.
“Take your meals when you feel disposed, and enjoy a menu designed to your tastes.”
Mrs. Limpet’s eyes glowed with a fierce light. “Attend the theatre whenever the fancy takes me.”
“But to have no companion at bed and board,” Lady Plume said. “No children to brighten one’s days and years.”
This seemed an unnecessary intrusion of sentiment, since Lady Plume did not, to Leda’s knowledge, have children.
“No fears for a child’s health or future,” Leda said. “No worries they will not take a trade, or will make a poor marriage, or will shame their parents.”
“No man to warm your bed on a cold eve,” said Lady Plume.
“Or pushing you out of bed on a cold morn to fix his breakfast.”
“No bedsport,” Lady Plume pointed out.
Mrs. Limpet sighed. “I do miss the bedsport.”
Both women looked at Leda. She scowled.
“No man importuning you with his needs and reading you sermons on the marital debt.”
Lady Plume shook her head. “You had the most abominable husband, my dear. That is not the general condition.”
Mrs. Limpet regarded her plate. “I am too old to catch a babe did I marry again,” she said. “But you, Mrs. Wroth—if you will forgive me? Did you never wish for children?”
Toast choked Leda’s throat, as if she had swallowed glass. Lady Plume watched her curiously.
Did she lie now, or later? To reveal the truth would invite questions she was not prepared to answer. “Do I appear the type to have a secret child tucked away?” Leda finally managed.
“But you could marry again,” Lady Plume said.
Leda pulled her mouth into some semblance of a smile. “But then I should be obliged to leave your ladyship, and you are a far more genial companion than a husband.”
