Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1. Louise Allen
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matter. Annie, please say to the footman that Miss Grey will be happy to call as Lady Parry asks. Can you remember that?’
‘Yes, miss.’ The maid closed the door behind her, mouthing the words of the message silently.
‘What can it mean, Zenna?’
Tallie handed the letter to Zenna, who scanned it and handed it back with a shrug. ‘I have no more idea than you, goose.’ Her friend laughed. ‘Perhaps she wants to set you up in your own millinery business, producing exclusive hats only for her and her circle of bosom friends.’
‘Now that would be wonderful,’ Tallie agreed, smiling back. ‘But somehow I do not think it likely.’ Rack her brains as she might, she could think of no plausible explanation for the mysterious note and she could not help but feel a twinge of apprehension at the thought of another visit to Bruton Street so soon. What if she met Lord Arndale again? ‘I wish tomorrow were not Sunday,’ she said with a little shiver. ‘I hate mysteries and being kept in suspense.’
Sunday did indeed drag, despite Matins at St Marylebone Church and a damp walk in Regent’s Park. By mid-afternoon Tallie was disgusted to find herself apprehensive and, as she described it to Zenna, ‘all of a fidget'.
‘But what on earth is the matter with you?’ her friend enquired, looking up at Tallie quizzically from her position on the hearthrug where she was burning her fingers roasting chestnuts. They had the parlour to themselves and had settled down to an afternoon of comfortable relaxation before the chilly walk to church for evensong.
Tallie considered confessing that her wild imagination was conjuring up images of Lord Arndale denouncing her to Lady Parry as an immoral and wanton young woman who posed nude for artists, but the words would not form on her lips. ‘I am afraid I may have done something to displease Lady Parry and she is summoning me to say that she no longer requires my services,’ she blurted out at last.
‘What nonsense,’ Zenna stated. ‘Ouch! Oh, do pass that bowl, Tallie—these are so hot.’ She dropped the nuts into the dish and gave the matter some thought while she sucked her fingers. ‘Even if you had displeased her, surely she would write to Madame d’Aunay, not ask you to call?’
Not if Lord Arndale had told her such a scandalous story, Tallie thought miserably. Lady Parry was too kind to spread such a tale abroad, but she would certainly not tolerate continuing contact with such an abandoned young woman.
Zenna twisted round on the rug and studied Tallie’s face thoughtfully. ‘Has this anything to do with that incident at the studio the other day?’ she demanded.
‘Oh! How did you guess? Zenna, I met the man who found me in the closet—I would know his voice anywhere. And he is Lady Parry’s trustee and nephew and he came to the house when I was there last.’
‘And did he cry, “There is that beautiful woman I saw in a state of nature the other day"? Or did he quite fail to recognise you face on, fully clad, with your hair up and a bonnet on your head?’
‘He did not recognise me then, I am sure of it. But, Zenna, he may have thought about it afterwards and something might have jogged his memory …’
‘What nonsense. You told me you had your hair loose and it was falling around your face, did you not? It is a lovely colour, but not such an unusual shade that he could recognise you from it—and you look very different with it up, in any case. Besides, I somehow feel it would not have been your hair he would have been looking at.’
Zenna got to her feet and took the bowl of chestnuts from Tallie’s limp grasp. ‘If you are not going to eat these, I most certainly am. Do you really think that he took so much notice of you? At Lady Parry’s, I mean? He would have had to be made of stone not to take notice before, of course.’
‘No, you are quite right, Zenna. I am being foolish. All he saw at Lady Parry’s was a milliner, not a young lady, or an artist’s model.’
‘Ah, but you rather wish he had.’
Tallie made a face at her friend, but some treacherous part of her mind did indeed wish that those lazy grey eyes had looked at her and seen neither a naked model nor a humble menial, but the real young lady beneath those guises. Stop it, she thought. He is dangerous, and leaned over to take a still-hot chestnut from the bowl.
But a long night tossing and turning did nothing to calm Tallie’s nervous apprehension. She dressed with care and penned a note to her employer explaining that she had been called away for the day unexpectedly and sent little Annie off to deliver it, keeping her fingers crossed that Madame would not take exception to this rare absence.
Tallie took a hackney carriage, reluctant to risk arriving either late or windswept on Lady Parry’s doorstep, but even a safe and punctual arrival did not make her feel any better.
Rainbird opened the front door with his usual stately demeanour, although a spark of something more than welcome showed in his eyes as he regarded the shabby visitor. ‘Good morning, Miss Grey. Her ladyship asked me to show you through to the library.’
Tallie followed across the hall to a door she had never entered on her previous visits and was startled when Rainbird opened it and announced with some emphasis, ‘Miss Grey.’ It was not treatment she was used to and Tallie looked around the room with interest as she entered.
The first person she saw was Lord Arndale standing by a heavy mahogany desk set in the window embrasure. He had apparently been leaning over studying a document spread before the other occupant of the room and had glanced up at Rainbird’s announcement. Tallie’s heart gave a hard thump at the sight of him and she looked in confusion at the other man, a complete stranger to her.
The two could hardly have been a greater contrast. Nick Stangate towered over his seated companion, broad shoulders filling his riding coat, everything about him seeming to exude life and ruthlessly controlled energy. The other man was more than twice his age, his hair scant and greying, his face thin and of an unhealthy shade. His eyes, though, were sharp and intelligent and Tallie almost stepped back as he fixed them on her face.
There was no sign of Lady Parry and, in the few seconds of silence as the two men regarded her, Tallie felt the colour ebbing out of her face. Why she should feel she was on trial in some way she had no idea, unless it was her guilty awareness of her scandalous secret.
As Mr Dover rose to his feet Nick Stangate straightened up and studied the young woman who had been shown in. The same shabby gown and pelisse as before; the same rather elegant bonnet, but this time she looked as though she had passed a very indifferent night. He stopped speculating as his companion spoke.
‘Miss Grey, good morning. We have not met: I am James Dover, Miss Gower’s attorney at law. I believe you are acquainted with Lord Arndale, who is her executor?’
Now, what the devil had there been in that introduction to cause her to go white to the lips? Nick stepped forward and took her hand. ‘Miss Grey, you have gone quite pale. Are you unwell? Please, sit here.’
She did not resist him as he urged her gently into a chair. ‘I am sorry, my lord, I am being foolish. It is just that meeting a lawyer brought back the memory of the last encounters I had with members of Mr Dover’s profession. You must forgive me, sir,’ she added, turning to the older man. ‘I mean no disrespect, Mr Dover. The situation when my father, and then my mother, died was … difficult.’
Nick realised that he was still holding her hand lightly in his. Her wrist felt cold under his fingers and she looked up to meet his eyes. Hers were candid, green and intelligent. He realised that although she must be deeply puzzled she had asked no questions. Her reticence was refreshing and also disconcerting. ‘I am sorry we alarmed you, Miss Grey, your pulse is racing.’ Her gaze dropped, and on an impulse he added, ‘For a moment I thought you had a guilty secret.’
There was a silence. Then her eyes flew back to his face and to his surprise Nick saw the colour staining her throat, rising up to her cheeks. Without meaning to he had touched a raw spot and some hunter’s instinct in him stirred. Instinctively