LITMIR.BIZ

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and no suitor was going to find her stuck in rural solitude. If that was what the old devil intended then he, Gareth, was probably going to have to make the sacrifice and marry someone else.

      ‘Is there anything,’ he said between gritted teeth, ‘that would convince you that I am not suited for your daughter?’

      ‘Nothing.’ Lord Pangbourne beamed at him, his hands folded neatly over his considerable stomach. ‘I watched you with some anxiety in your salad years, I have to admit. Never can tell which way you young bucks will go—and I wouldn’t have given her to you if you’d been some rakehell, not fair on the girl to have to live with scandal and dissipation.’ He grimaced. ‘Diseases and all that. But look at you now. Perfect.’

      Gareth felt far from flattered. ‘This morning you called me a libertine,’ he pointed out. ‘I was exhibiting behaviour that might well be characterised as both scandalous and dissipated,’ he added hopefully.

      ‘Mere irritation of nerves on my part—that daughter of mine is enough to try the patience of saint. Keeps telling me that her own true love is out there somewhere and she can’t find him with you in the way. True love, my eye! Balderdash! As for your little ladybird—don’t expect you to be a monk, my boy, just be a bit discriminating and don’t upset Maude while you’re about it.’

      Lord Pangbourne hauled himself to his feet and nodded abruptly. ‘I’ll be off. See to it now, Morant—make her a declaration and all will be right and tight.’

      Gareth watched the broad shoulders vanishing behind the book stacks with a sense of being caught in a trap. His thoughts churned. Damn the old… Scandal and dissipation…Coherent phrases spoken in a clear, dispassionate voice penetrated his anger. Embark upon a course of debauchery so public that even Lord Pang¬ bourne will be forced to admit that he cannot marry his daughter to you. That was what the eminently sensible Miss Gifford had counselled.

      It had been Maude’s idea first, but, fond of her though he was, Gareth was used to Maude’s schemes—most of them hare-brained, to put it mildly. Miss Jessica Gifford with her wide green eyes, her clear gaze, her common sense, her sweet, high breasts and innocently generous mouth—Stop that, damn it!—her calm governess manner, now she would not suggest something hare-brained.

      A business arrangement, that was what was needed. He needed to create a scandal with no repercussions once it was all over, so that Templeton accepted he was too unreliable for his Maude.

      Gareth steepled his fingers and tapped the tips absently against his lips. London was filled with highly skilled courtesans with a flair for the dramatic and a love of money. Finding one to misbehave with would be simple. And distasteful. He tried to sort out why. He had taken mistresses in the past, but that had been a straightforward relationship. Something made him recoil from involving a stranger in his business and Maude’s feelings.

      His errant memory conjured up a cool voice observing that a lady could hardly object to Lord Standon, a pair of warm, innocent lips against his and a slight figure shivering at his side in Rotherham’s clothes, terrified yet gamely playing her role. Playing a role…

      ‘Morant, there you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere—what have you done with my clothes, you—’

      Gareth got to his feet as his friend marched into his sanctuary, his chubby face set in a scowl. ‘Rotherham, if you want to pluck a crow with me, you’ll have to do it some other time. I’ll get my man to pack them up and send them round this afternoon. I’m busy now.’ He added something under his breath as he passed Lord Rotherham, giving him an absentminded slap on the shoulder as he went.

      The younger man stood staring after him. ‘I say, Morant, did you just say you were off to create a scandal?’ He received no response. ‘Damn funny way to carry on,’ he grumbled, picking up Gareth’s discarded newspaper and dropping into his chair. ‘Damn funny.’

      An hour after breakfast, her hair braided into severity, and clad in one of the sombre and respectable gowns and pelisses Mrs Childe had purchased, Jessica began her round of the agencies. She knew them all by experience or reputation, although her previous employment had been as much as a result of answering personal advertisements as through their efforts. She did not expect much trouble in finding something suitable. Her accomplishments were superior, her references excellent and Lady Maude Templeton’s address could only, she was certain, add a certain cachet.

      By four in the afternoon Jessica was hungry, thirsty and dispirited. No one, it seemed, was seeking superior governesses just now. The Climpson Agency could offer her a family of lively small boys—Jessica knew enough to interpret that as thoroughly out of control. Another bureau suggested a family in Northumberland who were seeking an adaptable governess for a daughter who, as the owner Mrs Lambert explained, was ‘Just a little, er…eccentric.’ Yes, she confirmed, there was rather a high turnover of governesses for that post.

      And, as always, there were any number of middle-class families who were looking for governesses who would also act as general companions. Jessica had heard about those sort of positions; they translated as general dogsbody to the lady of the house.

      ‘It will be the start of the Season soon,’ Mr Climpson explained, running an inky finger down his ledgers and shaking his head. ‘People have made arrangements already so they can concentrate upon social matters. There are sure to be more opportunities once the summer is upon us; many people make changes then for some reason.’

      ‘I had hoped to find something suitable more quickly than that.’ Jessica looked down at the dark blue wool of her skirts. Every stitch she wore was borrowed, she had not a penny piece of her own until she could write to her bank in Leicester. And then she would have to dig into her precious savings, her only and last resource. How on earth was she going to cope otherwise—unless she took one of those posts that no one else wanted?

      ‘Your references and experience are excellent,’ Mr Climpson added, obviously intending to be encouraging. She knew they were, and knew without arrogance that they were the result of her own hard work and careful selection of posts. To take anything less would diminish her status, but it did not appear she had much choice.

      How long could she possibly impose upon Lady Maude? A week perhaps? ‘I will call back in a few days.’ She stood up with a bright smile—it would not do to appear desperate. And there were always the newspapers to scan. Lord Pangbourne’s household would be sure to be well supplied with those.

      The coachman was waiting patiently outside the agency. ‘That will be all for today, thank you.’ Jessica smiled as the footman flipped down the steps for her and held the door. ‘Please can you take me to Lady Maude’s house now.’ The carriage was such a luxury with its lap rug and heated bricks—it would not do to become used to such things. Jessica sat up straight and gave herself a mental talking to. She was lucky to be here, she knew it. If it had not been for Gareth, she would be living a nightmare of degradation and shame. She had begun from very little when Mama had died—now she had experience and references. Soon she would find employment and, in the meantime, at least she had a safe and comfortable refuge for a few days.

      The carriage drew up and she peered out of the window on to the gloomy early evening scene. This must be the Pangbourne’s residence. A door opened and a tall liveried footman ran down the steps and opened the carriage door. She half-rose, expecting him to offer her his hand to descend.

      ‘Miss Gifford? I have a note from Lady Maude.’

      Jessica unfolded it, confused, tipping the note to read it in the light from the open door. Maude’s handwriting was as bold as her personality, the words slashing across the expensive cream paper.

      Dear Jessica, Things have got Much Worse—but Gareth has a plan, if only you will help us. Please will you go back to his house? Papa must not see you. Imploring your understanding, your good friend, Maude.

      She looked up at the impassive footman. ‘Please tell Lady Maude I will do what she requests. Will you ask the driver to return to Lord Standon’s residence, please?’

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