Miss In A Man's World

‘Yes, my lord, a few coins.’

‘Enough to hire a carriage?’

‘I should imagine so.’ The look he received was unmistakably one of surprise. ‘Why, you didn’t lose all your money, did you, at the gaming tables?’

Concerned though he was, he couldn’t resist smiling at this. ‘What an alarming thought! But, no, child, my reputation remains untarnished, at least where indulging in games of chance is concerned.’

He was suddenly serious. ‘Now, listen carefully. A little way ahead is a side alley. When we reach it I want you to run down there and stop for nothing and nobody until you come to the wider thoroughfare at the far end. With luck you should locate a hackney carriage without too much difficulty. Return to Berkeley Square and await me there. No questions, Georgie!’ he added, when she opened her mouth to speak, and then quite literally thrust her on her way as they reached the alley.

Almost immediately afterwards he detected the sound of heavy running footsteps and swung round. Whipping aside his cloak, he revealed a sturdy silver-handled walking stick, which he wielded to great effect, rendering the first assailant unconscious with a well-aimed blow to the temple. Unfortunately the footpad’s two accomplices bore down upon him simultaneously, one successfully knocking the trusty weapon from his hand, while the other grasped him from behind, holding fast his arms. The second blow directed at his solar plexus had him momentarily gasping for breath. He then attempted to brace himself for the next onslaught. One moment the burly individual standing in front of him was balling his huge boulder of a fist; the next he was, amazingly enough, toppling to the ground, like some sturdy felled oak.

Out of the corner of his eye, his lordship glimpsed his gallant rescuer, silver-handled walking stick still clasped in one slender hand, and cursed under his breath, while successfully freeing himself from the third assailant’s grasp. Drawing back his arm, he accidentally made contact with a high cheekbone with his elbow. An indignant squeal quickly followed before his lordship floored the last of the would-be robbers with a powerful blow to the jaw.

With one sweep of his arm, the Viscount grasped a slender wrist and assisted Georgie to her feet, not knowing whether to feel angry or grateful. ‘Are you badly hurt, child?’ he demanded, attempting to study her in the gloom.

‘I do not think so, my lord, just slightly bruised.’

‘In that case, remind me to beat you when we get home for disobeying my orders!’

He received a gurgle of mirth in response.

Chapter Four

In view of the fact that he and Georgie had reached their respective bedchambers only just after dawn had broken, the Viscount had left strict instructions that his page was not to be disturbed until he had had sufficient sleep. He himself was denied that pleasure by the arrival the following morning of an unexpected visitor. Ordinarily none of the servants would have entered his bedchamber until he rang for attendance. Brindle, however, was well aware that this particular caller was always welcome, no matter the time of day, and so had no hesitation in making the visitor’s arrival known.

All the same, it was almost an hour later before his lordship made his way down to the breakfast parlour in order to greet his very welcome guest. He was almost sure what had prompted the visit, and so didn’t waste time on needless pleasantries. ‘Would it be presumptuous of me to offer my heartiest congratulations?’

‘Not at all!’ Charles Gingham assured him proudly, rising from the chair in order to clasp the Viscount warmly by the hand. ‘A boy! My wonderful darling girl has only gone and presented me with a fine son. Hale and hearty, the doctor assures me. We’ve named him after you. I hope you don’t object? And we very much desire you to be his godfather.’

‘I would have been most offended had you considered another,’ his lordship admitted suavely. ‘Don’t let me interrupt your breakfast, though, Charles. I see my servants have catered for your needs,’ he added, after considering the huge quantity piled high on his friend’s plate. ‘Your second today, no doubt. But, then, you’ve always boasted a healthy appetite.’

‘Let me tell you I was up at five, unlike you, you slug-a-bed!’ Charles defended, brandishing his fork like a sabre. ‘Why, it’s almost midday! Disgraceful!’

His lordship cast a jaundiced eye in the general direction of the mantel-clock. ‘Dear God, so early!’ he groaned. ‘I shall take leave to remind you that one does not keep country hours whilst residing in town. Furthermore, I dare swear I didn’t reach the comfort of my bed much before you deserted yours this morning.’

After instructing the footman to serve coffee and supply him with ham and eggs, his lordship gestured for the servant to leave. ‘So how long do you propose inflicting your company upon me?’

Charles Gingham frankly laughed, not in the least offended. In fact, he had known the Viscount long enough to be sure that the disgruntled tone of one being imposed upon was a complete sham and that his lifelong friend was in a rare good humour. Which was surprising considering his lordship had had so little sleep.

‘Only until tomorrow, old friend. I intend to place an advertisement about our son’s birth in various journals, and I’ll let a few other friends know personally. But I don’t wish to be away from home for too long, though I expect Louise will be glad of the break. She’s complaining that I fuss about her and little Benedict like a mother hen.’

When the Viscount made no comment, Charles’s thoughts turned from his own domestic bliss to his friend’s well-being. ‘I must say I was half-expecting to discover the knocker had been removed from the door and that you’d returned to the country. When we met up a couple of weeks ago you gave the impression of being heartily bored with town life.’

‘Did I …?’ His lordship was nonplussed for a moment, then shrugged. ‘No, I’m not bored, Charles. Quite the contrary, in fact! Life has suddenly acquired a new and rather fascinating dimension.’

No sooner had he volunteered this information than the parlour door was thrown wide, and Charles turned to see a young servant come striding, quite unbidden, into the room. ‘Do you wish me to accompany you out for a ride later—? Oh, I do beg your pardon, my lord! Brindle quite failed to inform me we had a visitor!’

‘How very remiss of him!’ his lordship responded with gentle mockery, while smiling faintly at the look of bewilderment on his friend’s face. ‘No matter, child, come forwards. You remember Mr Gingham, I trust?’

It surprised his lordship not at all when Georgie came forward to study his friend’s physiognomy quite brazenly, though it clearly wasn’t what Charles was accustomed to. His jaw dropped perceptively when those striking orbs scrutinised his features for a full half-minute.

‘Oh, yes, now I remember you, sir!’

‘Er—do you, my boy?’ Charles asked faintly, much to Lord Fincham’s further amusement ‘Why, yes! You were with us at Deerhampton that day.’

‘Was I …? Yes, I suppose I was,’ Charles returned, evidently still unable to recall precisely where he had encountered the singular young person before. ‘Er—you appear to have the makings of a black eye, young fellow,’ he added, having returned the compliment by scrutinising the delicately featured face and clearly feeling some further comment was expected of him.

‘I know I have!’ was the proud response. ‘His lordship gave it to me.’

This was almost too much for the Viscount’s self control. ‘Go away, you abominable brat!’ he managed with only the faintest trace of a betraying tremor in his voice. ‘And, no, I do not require you to accompany me out today, most especially as you’re sporting that injury. I’m not having the polite world believing I’m some kind of tyrannical monster. What’s more, you are not to venture forth again yourself until the bruise has faded,’ he added above that infectious gurgle of mirth that never failed to win an answering smile from him nowadays.

‘I’m not ashamed of it,’ he was promptly assured. ‘I look upon it as a kind of trophy. I’ve never had one before, you see?’

‘Which only goes to prove that those most closely associated with you in the past must have shown praiseworthy forbearance!’ his lordship parried, which resulted in a further gurgle of that infectious laughter. ‘You may bear me company this evening. I shall not be going out. We shall repair to the library and finish that game of chess we began the other evening.’

Still showing visible signs of complete bewilderment, Charles stared fixedly across the table. ‘Who the deuce was that?’ he demanded to know the instant he and the Viscount were once again enjoying privacy.

His lordship raised his black brows in mock surprise. ‘Why, my page, Charles. Who did you suppose it was?’

‘Don’t try to flummery me, Finch! I’ve known you too long. Since when have you ever required the services of a page?’

‘It would be more accurate to say I acquired one rather than required one. Master Georgie Green has been with me since the day you and I attended that prize fight at Deerhampton.’ He smiled softly as a fond memory returned. ‘After all, it was the least I could do after the child had saved me from possible injury.’

‘Well, I suppose that’s true enough, though I doubt you’d have sustained more than an odd bruise or two, if that,’ Charles responded, having at last recalled precisely where he had seen the young person before. ‘I must say, though, I’m most surprised at you, of all people, tolerating such familiarity that borders on impertinence, most especially in a servant. Clearly the boy doesn’t know his place. I can almost appreciate why you inflicted the black eye, though I don’t usually hold with maltreating flunkies.’

At this the Viscount threw back his head and laughed heartily, something his friend had not witnessed him do in many a long year. ‘I would strongly advise you not to pay heed to everything that little demon tells you.’

‘Do you mean he deliberately lies?’

‘No, I would say, rather, that on occasions Georgie can be somewhat sparing with the truth. I did, indeed, inflict the injury, though it was purely an accident. Against my expressed wishes, the child returned to help me fend off three footpads.’

Betraying a glint of emotion in his dark eyes that was impossible for his friend to define, his lordship fixed his gaze on the silver coffee pot that held pride of place in the centre of the table. ‘At Deerhampton I might, indeed, have sustained only minor injuries—last night was vastly different. Had it not been for my page’s courageous intervention, I might not now be sitting here, having only sustained a minor abrasion or two. It is little wonder, therefore, that I have grown inordinately … fond of that child.’

Suddenly realising he was being observed most keenly, his lordship rose to his feet. ‘And now, if you have finished your repast, let us depart the house and announce the arrival of your own to the world at large!’

Although he refrained from alluding to the subject again, his lordship’s unusual attitude towards one particular servant remained in Mr Gingham’s thoughts. He glimpsed the page again on two occasions only throughout the day. All the same, something about the youth, and he knew not what, struck him as odd. It was not until that evening, however, when he returned to the house, after visiting one or two other friends in the capital, that the truth finally dawned on him.

Entering the library unannounced, he discovered the Viscount and his highly favoured young servant seated on opposite sides of the hearth, both engrossed in a game of chess. Consequently he was given a few precious moments in which to study the intimate little tableau without his presence being detected. Not taking his eyes away for a second, he studied the way the page reached for the glass of wine at his elbow and took the most delicate of sips, and the way slender, tapering fingers moved a chess piece across the board with infinite care. There was only one conclusion he could draw.

‘Why, if it isn’t Mr Gingham!’ Georgie announced, catching sight of him at last. ‘We didn’t expect you back so soon, did we, my lord?’

‘Indeed not, child,’ the Viscount agreed affably, not taking his eyes off the chess board. ‘Draw up a chair, old fellow. I hope you don’t object to us playing a while longer. The game is at a most interesting stage, you see.’

Helping himself to wine, Charles took a chair a little away from the players. ‘Do not consider me for a moment, Finch. I shall be quite content viewing proceedings from here.’

Try though he might to calculate the state of play, he seemed unable to take his eyes off his lordship’s worthy opponent for very long, and the more he studied each and every movement of that slender, lithe young body, the more convinced he became that his startlingly disturbing suspicion was correct. He chanced to glance in the Viscount’s direction at one point, and caught him staring directly back at him, the most enigmatic of smiles hovering about those finely chiselled lips.

The instant the mantel-clock announced the hour of eleven, his lordship leaned back in his chair. ‘Child, it is late, and time you were abed. I shall concede defeat. Well played!’