Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘With the new ballgown, Miss Lily?’ The maid’s voice was eager; of all the gowns Lily had ever bought, this one was the most wonderful in her eyes. ‘Shall I bring it out?’
‘Yes, do that.’ Lily swivelled on her stool to watch as Janet opened a press and reverently lifted out a mass of fabric swathed in white linen sheets. Inside the linen was silver paper, then tissue, and under it all the gown. The sheath of white satin was overlaid with gauze, heavy with silver beads and silver embroidery, floss edged the hem like a cloud of swansdown and the bodice was low-cut to the point of daring and heavy with crystals.
‘I will try it on.’ Lily stood patiently, welcoming the pounding headache that filled her skull to the point of preventing thought. The correct undergarments were found, the stockings and the slippers, and finally the weight of the gown slid over her head.
‘Oh, Miss Lily!’ Janet stood back and looked at the column of sparkling white and silver that was her mistress. ‘You look like something out of a fairy tale, a diamond princess.’
‘Yes,’ Lily agreed, lifting her hands to her aching head. ‘All I need now is my prince.’ And she turned her back on the maid before she could see the tears running down her face like moving diamonds. ‘Send for Madame Hortense, there are changes I wish to have made.’
Four hours after he had arrived at the Bull and Mouth, Jack poured another bumper of rum into his glass, sat back against the settle and contemplated getting very drunk indeed. The drinking house—one could hardly call it an inn, that had too respectable a sound—was hot, almost bursting at the seams, and full of the most extraordinary mixture of people.
Draymen rubbed shoulders with flash coves, bruisers with top-of-the-trees sportsmen. There were more than a few black faces, seemingly representing a range of occupations from respectable tradesmen to down-at-heel servants, and someone was trying to set up a cock fight in the corner, with a number of top-lofty Corinthians already laying bets.
Only the women seemed to be of one uniform class. Jack smiled grimly and took a swig of his rum. Three hours ago he had paid off the little ladybird who had propositioned him at the inn—and he was as damnably unsatisfied now as he had been when he had met her.
Lily had as good as emasculated him, there was no other word for it. Not physically, oh, no. His body had been more than willing, damn it, and yet, his mind would not let him do it. To take another woman like that would have been to betray Lily.
He could not have done it to save his life and, as a result, he was out of pocket by several guineas he could ill afford, his amour propre was at rock bottom and his body was furiously at odds with his brain. There seemed to be only one answer: to get blind drunk and to hell with all women.
The pot boy at the Bull and Mouth had sent him here, with a knowing grin. ‘Want a bit of the low life, guv’nor? I can tell you just the place. All the toffs go there when they want to slum it, you’ll enjoy it, see if you don’t.’
Jack snapped his fingers at the serving girl and watched sardonically as she winked back at him, adjusting her already perilously low bodice even lower before she brought him a fresh bottle. He would forswear all women, become a monk …
‘Damme, but she’s a tasty little bit, never mind her parentage.’ The drawling voice from the settle, set back to back with his own, jarred on Jack’s nerves. Some bloody aristocrat, out slumming. He smiled at himself for his own hypocritical thoughts, and let his head fall back against the greasy wood. ‘And those pert little titties, and those big green eyes, all topped off with a fortune that would make a man drool, that’s what I call temptation.’
‘I heard Randall’s had her already. He’ll be at the Oldbury ball, night after next, what’s the betting he’ll take her back?’ Another voice, lascivious.
‘Not he. And so what if he has had her? So what? For the money she has, I’d take Lily France if she’d been tupped by the whole of the Peerage and the House of Commons after them. And she’s got spirit too, I’ve got the bruised balls to show for it. But she won’t be so fast with her knee next time, little—’
‘Lord Dovercourt, I presume?’ The rum seemed to have drained out of Jack’s bloodstream as rapidly as it had entered it. He felt stone-cold sober and angry enough to kill. The young man sprawled at the table goggled up at him as though he had appeared through a trap door in the floor, like the Devil in a melodrama.
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘My name is Lovell and I take exception to you bandying a lady’s name around in those terms. If you give me your word you will not repeat it again, I may—No, what the hell, I am going to beat the living daylights out of you anyway.’ Jack reached out, took Dovercourt by the neckcloth and hauled him to his feet. ‘I cannot begin to tell you how much pleasure this is going to give me,’ he remarked conversationally, making a fist with his right and fetching his protesting victim a square punch to the jaw.
It lifted Dovercourt off his feet and sent him sliding across the table, taking with him his companions’ tankards and the dish of oysters the landlord had only just placed on the table. Jack found himself confronted by two new opponents, both with porter and oyster juice on their flash suits, both pot valiant with drink and indignation. ‘Come on, then.’ He raised both fists, suddenly happier than he had been since he got to London. ‘Which of you wants to be first?’
The fight was spectacular, bloody, and rapidly spread to encompass virtually every male occupant of the Cat and Bottle, two pairs of fighting cocks, a brace of pit bull terriers, the landlady with a stout staff and three of the serving girls who had a private score to settle.
Twenty glorious minutes later Jack found himself out on the street, his arm around the shoulder of the man with the pit bull terriers and his shirt covered in blood. ‘You hurt, my boy?’ the dog owner demanded. ‘By old Harry, we raised a fair breeze in there. Look at the state of you now. Do you need a doctor?’
Jack looked down. ‘No, not much of that’s mine, I thank you.’ Several victims of the brawl staggered out, assisted by the landlady’s stout arm and a mouthful of eye-wateringly bad language. One of the black tradesmen grinned at Jack.
‘You can fight, guv’nor. Thought of taking it up professional-like?’
‘No.’ Jack shook his head. ‘No, that was personal.’
‘Well, come on then, lad, let’s be finding another touting ken.’ The dog owner whistled up his animals and slapped Jack on the back. ‘What do you say? Shall we make a batch of it? Night’s not old yet.’
‘Not for me.’ Jack shook his head and wondered if all his teeth were still with him. ‘If you can give me a steer back to the Bull and Mouth, I’d take it kindly.’
He strolled back in the direction the man indicated, taking his bearings from the looming mass of St Paul’s in the distance and whistling softly between bruised lips as he went.
Well, that was Dovercourt dealt with. It had been fretting at the back of his mind that he was walking away from those two. But what to do about Randall? It was too much to hope that he would find him slumming in some backstreet boozing ken, and, now he knew for certain that Randall was slandering Lily’s good name, something had to be done about it.
Jack found he was twisting the worn gold signet ring on his left hand. Anything that had been engraved on it was long gone, so it was safe to wear. He glanced down at it. Why not? You are leaving town after all. But not yet, not for another two nights. Coach tickets can be changed.
Chapter Twelve
‘My dear Lily! What have you done with yourself?’ Mrs Herrick stared at her niece as she came into the room where Lady Billington was waiting to collect her for the Duchess of Oldbury’s ball. ‘Your hair! And surely that is not the gown you ordered—and where are all your jewels?’
Lily stood just inside the doorway, defiantly silent. She was not at all certain herself that she