Suzanne Robinson Read Online Free PDF Page B

royal-blue carpet.
    “Um, Randall,” Nick said.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “That lady …”
    “The Lady Augusta Hyde, sir. The earl’s unmarried sister.”
    “Ah. Just so.”
    Randall cleared his throat. “Her ladyship has a somewhat capricious memory, sir.”
    “Ah. Yes, that would explain it.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Lady Augusta seems to think Lady Georgiana is a French spy.”
    “Indeed, sir. A not uncommon propensity on the part of her ladyship upon the appearance of strangers in the house. The earl has given me the responsibility of warning guests about her ladyship’s singular little habits. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to do so in time, sir.”
    “No matter, Randall.”
    “Thank you, sir.” Randall stopped before a white-and-gold set of double doors and opened them. “Your room is the Charles the Second on the gentlemen’s side of the main house. His lordship’s chambers are down the hall. Lady Lavinia and Lady Georgiana are on the east side opposite, and the family are quartered in the northwest pavilion.”
    Nick went inside and was immediately struck by blinding white furnishings and more gilt and gold than he’d seen since he’d bought his last country house five years ago. He waited for Randall to leave. Once the door was closed, he charged across the sitting room.
    “Pertwee, where are you, Pertwee!”
    “I’m at the wardrobe, sir.”
    Pertwee, his valet, was hanging a pair of trousers in a gilded wardrobe. His orange hair was slicked down with oil, and a monocle dangled from a ribbon on his coat. As always his clothing was pristine and free of wrinkles. Nick could never understand that, since they traveled on the same trains and rode the same distances in carriages or on horses. Perhaps it was because Theophrastus Pertwee was so thin as to resemble a stick insect, or perhaps it was because his father had been a stuffy old schoolmaster.
    “Pertwee, quick. I got to get dressed and see bleeding Threshfield right away.”
    Pertwee shut the wardrobe door with deliberation. “Sir wished me to inform him when he lapsed in his speech or manners. Sir is now speaking as if he were a costermonger.”
    “Oh, hang my speech.” Nick began throwing off his clothes. When Pertwee didn’t move from his position and began polishing his monocle, Nick threw hisshirt onto the giant four-poster bed hung with white silk damask. “Bloody hell. All right, all right.”
    He took a few deep breaths and began again. His shoulders pulled back. His chin elevated, and he spoke in tones that recalled Mayfair, Grosvenor Square, and royal drawing rooms. “I shall require a bath, Pertwee, and clothes for tea. Please be quick, as I must obtain an interview with his lordship immediately.”
    “At once, sir.”
    Pertwee glided out of the room as if moving on oiled wheels. Nick fell to pacing around the chamber. If he tried to find his own clean clothes, Pertwee would be annoyed. Gentlemen didn’t set out their own clothing or draw their own baths. Since Jocelin had rescued him from that gutter all those years ago, he’d learned that gentlemen did bloody little for themselves if they could find someone else to do it for them.
    He glanced around the bedroom. Even the bell-pull was embroidered in gold. There were flimsy little Louis XV chairs and a baroque wardrobe and chest that were more curlicue than anything else. As he looked at the ornate furnishings, that feeling came over him again. He’d lived with it for a long time now. It was a strange feeling of disjointedness.
    Only recently had he discovered where it came from. Here in England he lived the life of a wealthy gentleman. His country houses were even larger than Threshfield, his town house a rival to that of any duke. He had grown used to moving among gilded surroundings. But always, deep within, he carried the east-London slums with their coat of manure mixed with coal dust and rotting garbage. The contrast betweenhis surroundings and the fetid slime that covered