client, Maggie Windham is clever enough to recall that her parents retained me, not Maggie herself. If she wants to spike my guns so to speak, to make sure her parents won’t ever use me to pry into her life, then she has to hire me herself.”
Portmaine nodded in comprehension. “I always say women have the greater natural cunning.”
“If they do, it’s because men drive them to it.”
“You’re thinking of your sisters again. I knew something was putting you off your oats.”
“It’s spring, and for the first time in years, my sisters need not hide from the social pleasures that are their due, but the habit is already ingrained, and the mere acquisition of husbands hasn’t affected it. Avis, at least, has the excuse that she’s up in Cumbria, where the weather won’t moderate for weeks yet.” Hazlit eyed the rapidly dropping level of his drink.
“What kind of name is that for a female? Bird. What of the other one, the governess?” Archer tossed back his drink and remained where he was, like some happy, handsome gargoyle sitting on Hazlit’s tidy desk.
“Alex says she’s too busy being a mother to her stepsons. I suspect she’s increasing already.”
“So it isn’t your sisters plaguing you, specifically,” Portmaine said. “We’re back to my theory. I’m guessing Maggie Windham has indulged in a discreet liaison or two. You might broach it with her.”
“She’s a client.”
“And what is it you’re supposed to do for this client?”
“Find her reticule.”
Portmaine’s brows rose, and his smile was devilish. “Not very original, finding her reticule. Did she last see it in the vicinity of, say, her spread knees?”
“Your puerile tendencies are showing, Archer.”
“I’m tired. My creativity is at low ebb. So why, if you’re not going to swive the lady, are you letting yourself be led on this dance?”
“Because I’m contractually obligated.”
“Are peers tried in the Lords for breach of contract?”
“We’re not going to find out.” Hazlit got up and went to the decanter to freshen his drink. “As I handed her up into her coach, she paused and looked around to make sure no one could hear us. When she was assured we had privacy, she gave me one last bit of instruction.”
“Say on.” Portmaine gestured with his empty glass. “We’re not getting younger, and the tale grows interesting.”
“She said I must promise not to look inside this reticule. Not even to peek.”
Portmaine studied Hazlit by the firelight. “Peeking is what we do best. Well, one of the things we do best… but you promised, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because in that moment, Archer, the lady’s guard dropped just for an instant. She’s good, maybe even better than I am, at keeping her reactions under control.”
Portmaine shrugged. “She’s a duke’s by-blow. Maybe she’s had to be.”
“Maybe, but beneath her pretty looks and sharp wits, Maggie Windham is one very scared lady.”
***
Maggie tossed aside the third gown in a row and stood, hands on hips, in the middle of her dressing room.
“The green velvet looked very nice, mum.”
Alice, her lady’s maid, had mutiny in her eyes, despite the deferential tone.
“Forgive me, Alice. It’s just that for years I’ve tried to dress so no one would notice me. I wanted to look… forgettable.”
“And tonight?”
“I want to make a point.” Maggie fingered the green velvet, which was a recent whim, something she’d had made without being sure she’d ever have a chance to wear it.
“What point would that be?”
“I’m not sure.” Maggie put a brown dress trimmed with red piping against her body and considered her image in the mirror. “I don’t want to be quite forgettable. This is a pretty dress.”
“All your dresses are pretty. It’s you the guests should be noticing, not your dresses.”
Maggie put down the brown dress and picked up one in aubergine.
“A matron’s color,”
Portmaine nodded in comprehension. “I always say women have the greater natural cunning.”
“If they do, it’s because men drive them to it.”
“You’re thinking of your sisters again. I knew something was putting you off your oats.”
“It’s spring, and for the first time in years, my sisters need not hide from the social pleasures that are their due, but the habit is already ingrained, and the mere acquisition of husbands hasn’t affected it. Avis, at least, has the excuse that she’s up in Cumbria, where the weather won’t moderate for weeks yet.” Hazlit eyed the rapidly dropping level of his drink.
“What kind of name is that for a female? Bird. What of the other one, the governess?” Archer tossed back his drink and remained where he was, like some happy, handsome gargoyle sitting on Hazlit’s tidy desk.
“Alex says she’s too busy being a mother to her stepsons. I suspect she’s increasing already.”
“So it isn’t your sisters plaguing you, specifically,” Portmaine said. “We’re back to my theory. I’m guessing Maggie Windham has indulged in a discreet liaison or two. You might broach it with her.”
“She’s a client.”
“And what is it you’re supposed to do for this client?”
“Find her reticule.”
Portmaine’s brows rose, and his smile was devilish. “Not very original, finding her reticule. Did she last see it in the vicinity of, say, her spread knees?”
“Your puerile tendencies are showing, Archer.”
“I’m tired. My creativity is at low ebb. So why, if you’re not going to swive the lady, are you letting yourself be led on this dance?”
“Because I’m contractually obligated.”
“Are peers tried in the Lords for breach of contract?”
“We’re not going to find out.” Hazlit got up and went to the decanter to freshen his drink. “As I handed her up into her coach, she paused and looked around to make sure no one could hear us. When she was assured we had privacy, she gave me one last bit of instruction.”
“Say on.” Portmaine gestured with his empty glass. “We’re not getting younger, and the tale grows interesting.”
“She said I must promise not to look inside this reticule. Not even to peek.”
Portmaine studied Hazlit by the firelight. “Peeking is what we do best. Well, one of the things we do best… but you promised, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because in that moment, Archer, the lady’s guard dropped just for an instant. She’s good, maybe even better than I am, at keeping her reactions under control.”
Portmaine shrugged. “She’s a duke’s by-blow. Maybe she’s had to be.”
“Maybe, but beneath her pretty looks and sharp wits, Maggie Windham is one very scared lady.”
***
Maggie tossed aside the third gown in a row and stood, hands on hips, in the middle of her dressing room.
“The green velvet looked very nice, mum.”
Alice, her lady’s maid, had mutiny in her eyes, despite the deferential tone.
“Forgive me, Alice. It’s just that for years I’ve tried to dress so no one would notice me. I wanted to look… forgettable.”
“And tonight?”
“I want to make a point.” Maggie fingered the green velvet, which was a recent whim, something she’d had made without being sure she’d ever have a chance to wear it.
“What point would that be?”
“I’m not sure.” Maggie put a brown dress trimmed with red piping against her body and considered her image in the mirror. “I don’t want to be quite forgettable. This is a pretty dress.”
“All your dresses are pretty. It’s you the guests should be noticing, not your dresses.”
Maggie put down the brown dress and picked up one in aubergine.
“A matron’s color,”
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