“I should think that’s obvious,” Deborah puffed out her bosom and preened like a peahen.
“There’s no doubt that you’re attractive and equipped with huge udders, but you’re vain and selfish and uneducated and coarse and despite your foray into wedded and widowed bliss, terribly immature.”
“And you must be incredibly mature.” The widow Sheridan sneered the word. “Every bit as mature as my last husband.”
“Your last husband?” Lady Chisenden remarked. “Not your first?”
“My third,” Deborah replied. “I married young.”
The marchioness was surprised the widow Sheridan admitted as much. “All old men I suppose.”
She shook her head. “Only two of them. My first husband was an ignorant farm boy of sixteen. My second, almost as ignorant, was the uncle of the first. My last husband was eighty and a very wealthy cloth merchant in Bristol. He left me a fortune, but of course his son inherited the business and the house, so I moved to London.”
“And became a courtesan,” Lady Chisenden said. “Such ambition. I’ve heard that you stupidly squandered the fortune your cloth merchant husband left you.”
“What’s a fortune for? If not to be spent?” She shrugged her shoulders once again. “When you’re young enough and beautiful enough, you can always find men willing to spend their fortune on you. Your grandson is very rich and very generous.” She cast a sideways glance at the marchioness. “Has he told you that we’re to be married when he returns from Scotland? Is that why you’ve decided to pay me a visit? Did he send you to welcome me into the family?”
Lady Chisenden fought to keep from blanching at the idea. “He did not,” she informed the widow. “As a matter of fact, I decided to pay you a visit because we’re welcoming someone else into the family—the new countess of Derrowford. Neil’s bride.”
“What?” Deborah feigned surprise, clutching at her heart before gracefully sinking onto a pink satin divan.
Lady Chisenden raised her eyebrow at the poorly acted melodrama. “I’m sure it doesn’t come as that much of a surprise. You can’t have gone shopping without hearing the rumors and according to the rumors, you’ve definitely been shopping.”
“I heard several malicious rumors,” the widow replied in a breathy whisper. “I didn’t believe them. I knew they had to be untrue.”
“Believe me,” the marchioness replied, carefully enunciating the words, “the rumors are true. My grandson is married. He sent word of it from Scotland. He no longer has need of this house or of the mistress in it.” She smiled a little at her play on words, then reached into her purse and pulled out a sheaf of bills and papers. “I came to deliver the settlement my grandson agreed to pay you at the end of your arrangement. Also enclosed is the deed to this house and all of its contents.”
Deborah recovered admirably. “Neil bought me the house. Are you certain he intends to end our arrangement?”
“The marquess and I purchased the house to prevent your creditors from turning you out upon the street or sending you to debtor’s prison in the event that you fail to find another generous protector.” Lady Chisenden burst the widow’s bubble of satisfaction. “I’ll present you with the deed and the money when you sign the documents terminating your liaison with the earl of Derrowford.”
“Neil had legal documents drawn up?”
The marchioness shook her head. “I had the documents drafted to protect the countess of Derrowford according to the earl’s instructions. When the papers are signed, the earl’s financial obligations to you and your creditors is at an end. You will be held responsible for your personal and household expenses—including your clothing bills and the salaries of the household staff.”
“No,” Deborah said. “I’ve only your word that Neil wants to end our arrangement. I don’t believe you and I refuse to sign any papers you’ve had drawn up.”
“Very well,” Lady Chisenden agreed. “You requested a cash settlement at the termination of your arrangement with the earl. I have the money and I’m quite prepared to turn it over to you and to assume responsibility for any purchases you made before you learned of the earl’s marriage and the change in your status. But your refusal to recognize that the affair is over or to honor your part of the bargain means that earl is no longer obligated to honor his.” She opened her purse and began stuffing the papers and the money inside it.
“What about the money? What about my bills? Who’s going to pay?”
“I assume they’ll be paid from the money allotted for this month’s portion of your personal upkeep.”
“But Neil’s factor doesn’t give me that much. I’ve already spent far more than my monthly allowance.”
The marchioness shook her head. “You’ll have to discuss that with the earl’s man of business. I’m sure he’ll be able to work out a schedule and a satisfactory method for you to repay the earl the money you owe him.”
“Repay Neil? What are you talking about?” Deborah demanded. “I want the factor to give me an advance on next month’s allowance for my personal use and make sure that Neil releases enough money to lake care of the bill collectors who’ll be banging on the door as soon as they learn of his marriage.”
Lady Chisenden was almost aghast at the young woman’s greed and her audacity. “You don’t seem to understand that money from your monthly allowance will no longer be forthcoming.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Deborah Sheridan sent the marchioness a withering gaze. “If I don’t sign the papers, I’m still his mistress and Neil can make his tight-fisted factor give me more.”
“He doesn’t wish to give you more.”
“I know that. He’s always complaining that I’m intent on driving Neil into the poorhouse.” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’d think it was his fortune I’m spending.”
“You are no longer the earl of Derrowford’s mistress,” Lady Chisenden reiterated. “As such, the earl no longer wishes to support you or your expensive way of life. You won’t be getting a monthly allowance from him and his factor won’t be paying your bills—unless he chooses to do so with his own money. Is the situation clear to you now? You may accept the earl’s decision and his settlement or face your creditors and debtor’s prison on your own.”
The widow thought for a moment. “I could sell the house.”
“You don’t own the house—or it’s contents.”
“You said I would.”
“Only if you sign the documents.”
“I don’t want to sign.”
“Then the house and its contents belong to the marquess and me,” Lady Chisenden told her. “And you may consider your tenancy at an end.”
The widow narrowed her gaze. “What if I’m with child?”
Lady Chisenden eyed the younger woman’s slim figure. “A slight possibility since you assured the earl you were barren.”
“My last husband was eighty,” the widow remarked. “I was barren with him, but Neil is considerably more potent.”
Lady Chisenden frowned. “The earl of Derrowford left London over five months ago, you don’t look as if you’re with child, but I’m willing to grant that it may be possible.”
Deborah smiled triumphantly.
“Should you present a child within the time possible for the earl to have fathered it and should the earl choose to acknowledge your claim, the child will be taken from you and a trust fund will be set up to provide for its care. You will relinquish all rights to it as described in paragraph six, section one of these documents.”
The widow Sheridan glared at Lady Chisenden. “You and the marquess thought of everything,” she said. “Except the fact that Neil did not set me aside before he left for Scotland. He hasn’t seen me face-to-face and he may yet choose to resume our liaison when he returns.”
Lady Chisenden shook her head. “Claremont men are notoriously monogamous.” Noting the widow’s blank look, she hasten to explain. “Claremont men sow their wild oats before marriage, not after it
. Once they repeat their vows, they remain faithful to them. They do not consort with harlots or take mistresses. Your relationship with the earl of Derrowford has already ended.”
The widow turned away from the marchioness and sat down at her writing desk. “Give me the money and the papers, Lady Chisenden. I’ll sign.”
Lady Chisenden walked through the doorway. The butler waited outside the door where she’d left him when she’d barged into the widow’s bedchamber. “Ask His Lordship’s man of business to come inside,” she said. “He’s waiting in my coach.”
“The all powerful wife of the mighty king-maker, the marquess of Chisenden. You came here knowing you could best me. You certainly were sure of yourself, weren’t you?” Deborah sneered.
“No,” Lady Chisenden replied. “I was sure of you.”
“I hear you had a busy day,” the marquess of Chisenden remarked to his wife as they met in the parlor for sherry before going into dinner.
Lady Chisenden glanced at her husband and caught sight of the tiny smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. “No busier than yours I’m sure.”
“Not at all, my dear,” Lord Chisenden replied, before handing his wife her glass of wine. “I had another audience with the king to acquaint him with the latest details on the situation in Scotland, dropped in on a special session of the lords, then retired to my club for a few hours. My day was quite ordinary whereas I heard that you visited the bank, the offices of our solicitor, purchased some real estate on Bond Street, and paid a very early unescorted morning call on the tenant of that newly purchased property.”
“You were misinformed, Louis. I visited six dressmakers who agreed to furnish a wardrobe with matching slippers, nine cobblers who agreed to fashion the additional shoes Neil requested and the warehouses of four furniture dealers before I made the other calls. And I wasn’t unescorted. My maid was with me during the shopping expeditions as were three members of the household staff and both Mrs. Mingot and Mrs. Petrie. I left the two housekeepers to manage the purchases I’d made and paid an unplanned call on Mr. Heaton after I learned that the resident of the house on Bond Street had been doing an alarming amount of shopping herself.” Lady Chisenden took a sip of her wine, savoring the fine quality and the distinctive nutty flavor, then smiled at her husband. “So you see, I was never unescorted. Mr. Heaton accompanied me. He waited in the coach until he was needed.”
“Why didn’t you allow Mr. Heaton to continue to handle things just as he’s been doing since Neil left for Scotland?” There was a note of censure in Lord Chisenden’s voice.
“I’d heard a good many rumors about the money she spends on clothes and I was afraid Mr. Heaton was being too lenient with her. After all, he is a man and she is a courtesan who’s been left to her own devices for several months. I was afraid a mild mannered solicitor like Mr. Heaton would be putty in her hands. And I was—”
“Curious.” The marquess grinned. “About her and the house our grandson rented for her.”
“Yes, I was.”
“And I suppose that since I’ve never taken a mistress, you decided to take advantage of a last opportunity to get a glimpse of a lifestyle beyond your realm of experience and have a close look at the woman Neil had chosen as his mistress.”
Lady Chisenden made a face at her husband. “You know me so well, Louis.”
“Much better than you know our solicitor,” he retorted. “The man is known for his honesty and his penny-pinching. That’s the reason I chose him and the reason I encouraged Neil to use him. He’s quite a traditionalist. The poor man must have been astonished when you showed up to conduct business.”
“He was a bit surprised,” she said. “But I reminded him that I was acting in Neil’s best interest and that my husband and my grandson held me in such high regard that they would naturally stand behind my purchase of the property and my method of dealing with the resident of it.” She tried to look contrite and failed miserably.
“I see.” The marquess pursed his lips. “And immediately afterwards you coerced a strange gentleman into accompanying you in a closed coach to a not quite respectable house on Bond Street in the middle of the morning?” He shook his head and made a clucking sound. “Most unladylike. What of your reputation? Will I have to demand satisfaction from Mr. Heaton to squash the gossip?” he couldn’t resist teasing her.
“Posh, gossip! Mr. Heaton isn’t a strange gentleman, Louis. He’s a solicitor and he’s handled our business for twenty-five years. Besides, I asked him to wait in the coach in order to preserve my reputation—and yours.”
“Oh?” He lifted his eyebrow in the familiar gesture she adored and had spent years perfecting for herself. “How so?”
“I thought it beneath his dignity and mine for him to bear witness to a cat fight between the marchioness of Chisenden and a trollop.”
The marquess threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Need I ask who won?”
“I did, of course,” the marchioness replied. “I’m older and I’ve more experience, but the little she-cat did manage a few scratches of her own.”
“Aside from the fact that she’s a greedy little trollop, how do you assess the situation?” he asked. “Will she be satisfied or will we be hearing from her in the future?”
“She isn’t the type to be satisfied,” his wife admitted. “We’ll be hearing from her again when she exhausts her settlement. But she did sign the documents I asked Mr. Heaton to draw up and I think we’ve quieted her for now.”
“Documents?” His ears perked up.
“Of course,” Lady Chisenden answered. “Legal documents stating that in exchange for the cash settlement and the deed to the house on Bond Street she agreed to relinquish any and all claims, actual or implied, on the earl or the countess of Derrowford, their property and estates and the property and estates of any and all future heirs.”
“I’m impressed,” he murmured in a low throaty tone of voice that still sent shivers of anticipation up and down her spine.
“I haven’t been married to ‘the king-maker’ for all these years without learning something about negotiations.” Lady Chisenden set her glass of sherry down on the nearest table and cast a speculative glance over at her husband.
He didn’t disappoint her. “Then what say we forego a formal dinner and have a midnight supper brought to our rooms after we negotiate our way beneath the bed linens?”
Chapter Eighteen
Neil took the heavy pail of hot water out of Davina’s hand as he dismissed her from the kitchen and bid her a pleasant good-night. He emptied the bucket of boiling water into the wooden tub, then walked over to the hearth and tossed a chunk of peat into the fire. He untied his tartan as he retraced his steps to the tub. He pulled it from around his waist and draped it across the back of a wooden chair before stepping over the rim of the tub and gratefully easing his body down into the warm, soothing bath. He watched with complete satisfaction as wisps of steam rose from the surface of the water and floated up toward the ceiling. It had taken some experimenting, but he had finally discovered the correct ratio of boiling to freezing water to fill a proper tub. Five pails for a warm, comfortable bath, seven pails for a steaming one. And after mucking out and repairing most of the castle’s old antiquated garderobes all day, Neil had opted for steaming. “Aahh …” He closed his eyes and let out a blissful sigh as the hot water worked its magic on his tired, taut muscles.
“Here, laddie, this’ll do more fer yer aches and pains than that.”
Groaning at the intrusion, Neil opened one eye and fixed his gaze on Auld Tam. “What are you doing here?”
Tam cast a disparaging glance at the steaming bathtub, then thrust a small clay cup into Neil’s hand.
“I brought ye sumthin’ to put hair on yer chest.”
Neil eyed the cup with suspicion. “I have hair on my chest, old man. And I’m sure you have better things to do than watch me bathe.”
Auld Tam tugged off his bonnet and dropped it on
the worktable. He scratched his head then reached over and removed another cup from the shelf by the stove. “Aye,” he said. “I’ve come on an important mission.”
“Which is?” Neil interrupted.
“I’ve come to see why a young handsome mon like yerself is attemptin’ to catch his death of cold bathin’ in a tub of water in the kitchen instead of cuddlin’ in a warm bed wi’ his bride.”
“Who told you I was bathing in the kitchen?”
“I passed Davina on my way and she told me ye were in here attemptin’ to catch yer death.”
Neil sighed. “Davina should mind her own business.”
“She’s grown fond of ye, lad,” Tam told him. “And she’s worried about ye.”
“I’ve spent the whole day cleaning out and reconstructing this castle’s ancient garderobes,” Neil reminded him. “And while that certainly isn’t the most pleasant of chores, it is a chore entirely worthy of a hot bath instead of a quick wash in the freezing water of the loch.”
“Which brings us to my second point,” Tam continued. “Ye’ve been thatchin’ roofs, repairin’ cottages and outbuildin’s, constructin’ walls and cleanin’ shite houses. If ye keep pushin’ yerself at this pace, ye’ll wear yerself out before winter.”
“I’ve no choice, Tam. You abducted me from a military encampment. You know it’s only a matter of time before the army rides into this village looking for me. My time here is limited. I have to push to make the castle habitable by winter. The stonemasons I sent for will be here any day and we’re not ready. We simply don’t have enough men to do the job.”
“An’ we’ll have one less if ye keep workin’ yerself into a frenzy.” He grinned at Neil. “I dinna go to the trouble of abductin’ ye and arranging’ yer weddin’ just to have wee Jessie made a widow afore her husband makes her a proper wife.”
Neil frowned, wrinkling his brow in warning, as Tam broached the dangerous topic.
Auld Tam ignored the warning. He shoved the wooden chair out of splashing range of the tub with his foot, then settled his bulk onto it. He pulled a metal flask from the depths of his plaid, removed the cork stopper, filled his cup and drained the contents in one long swallow. “Go on, lad, drink up.” Tam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and refilled his cup.