encounter with Bascomb. Nick had a feeling it was far worse than that. "There is little Oliver Hampton holds sacred, Miss Woolcot. You are fortunate to have escaped him as you did."
"As I said, my lord, I am grateful for your help. I realize I am a burden, but—"
"Hardly that. A bit of an inconvenience at times, perhaps, considering the life I am used to, but I imagine we will all survive." He shoved back his chair and stood up. He was beginning to feel an unwelcome desire to linger in her company and that was the last thing he wanted. "Thank you for being so forthright. It is a rare quality in a woman. Now, if you will excuse me, there are matters I must attend. Have a pleasant day, Miss Woolcot."
She bowed her head slightly as he departed. "And you, my lord."
Two days passed. More guests arrived, two gentlemen and their ladies who had been taking the waters at not-too-distant Tunbridge Wells. Elizabeth knew who they were, Mercy Brown turned out to be a wellspring of information. For a simple vow of silence, Elizabeth had access to every hit of gossip in the house.
It was late in the morning when the carriage arrived. The jangle of harness alerted them, and Elizabeth and Mercy went over to look out the window.
"Lud, the nerve o' them hussies." Mercy shook her head, tilting the mobcap she wore over her dark hair at a precarious angle. "Comin' 'ere like they was royalty instead of some expensive London light-skirts no better than the poor gels who works the streets."
Elizabeth felt the color rise into her cheeks. "You ... you are saying those women are ... are ..."
"High-priced wagtails, to be sure. Old Lord 'Arry's mistress, Emma Cox, and the viscount's woman, an actress named Jilly Payne." ,
"How .... how do you know?"
Mercy waved her hands as if it were a stupid question. "They been 'ere a'fore. Lots of folks goes to Tunbridge Wells. They stop to see the earl 'cause they know 'e don't care who it is they bring with 'em."
Elizabeth watched them through the panes of the mullioned window, the women stepping down from the carriage in gowns of lace and silk, careful to keep their skirts up off the muddy ground. "They're very pretty," she said.
Mercy made a throaty, harrumphing sound and turned away from the window.
Elizabeth still stared at the women, who were being led inside by a tall blond man in his early thirties and an older, dandified man wearing an old-fashioned silver wig. The woman beside him, blond and fair but sporting a bit too much lip rouge, bent and whispered something in his ear and he gave up a husky laugh that faded as the front door closed behind them.
"Does... does Lord Ravenworth also have a mistress?" Elizabeth inwardly cringed to think she had come right out and asked.
Mercy's dark eyes rolled skyward. " 'Andsome man like 'is lordship, 'e's got 'imself plenty of women. That prissy little piece from Westover—she's 'is latest bit of fluff. That 'igh and mighty, Lady Dandridge. But she won't last long. None of 'em do."
Elizabeth said nothing more. For some inexplicable reason it bothered her to think of Nicholas Warring with a woman like the two who had just gone into the house. With any woman for that matter.
Even his wife.
* * *
"Hurry up, Aunt Sophie—the race will be starting and we're going to miss it."
Aunt Sophie waddled forward down the hall. "Coming, my dear. I'm hurrying as fast as I can."
Elizabeth hurried, too, tying the strings of her bonnet beneath her chin, then swirling her cloak around her shoulders. Holding open the door at the side of the house, she helped her plump aunt down the steps to the gray stone walk, then led her off toward the stables at the rear.
The day had turned blustery, but it wasn't really cold. A few scattered clouds drifted across the sun, but the fields were dry, and the green of spring was beginning to poke through the rich Kentish soil.
"I hope you know what you're doing," Aunt Sophie said. "His lordship doesn't like us to mingle
"As I said, my lord, I am grateful for your help. I realize I am a burden, but—"
"Hardly that. A bit of an inconvenience at times, perhaps, considering the life I am used to, but I imagine we will all survive." He shoved back his chair and stood up. He was beginning to feel an unwelcome desire to linger in her company and that was the last thing he wanted. "Thank you for being so forthright. It is a rare quality in a woman. Now, if you will excuse me, there are matters I must attend. Have a pleasant day, Miss Woolcot."
She bowed her head slightly as he departed. "And you, my lord."
Two days passed. More guests arrived, two gentlemen and their ladies who had been taking the waters at not-too-distant Tunbridge Wells. Elizabeth knew who they were, Mercy Brown turned out to be a wellspring of information. For a simple vow of silence, Elizabeth had access to every hit of gossip in the house.
It was late in the morning when the carriage arrived. The jangle of harness alerted them, and Elizabeth and Mercy went over to look out the window.
"Lud, the nerve o' them hussies." Mercy shook her head, tilting the mobcap she wore over her dark hair at a precarious angle. "Comin' 'ere like they was royalty instead of some expensive London light-skirts no better than the poor gels who works the streets."
Elizabeth felt the color rise into her cheeks. "You ... you are saying those women are ... are ..."
"High-priced wagtails, to be sure. Old Lord 'Arry's mistress, Emma Cox, and the viscount's woman, an actress named Jilly Payne." ,
"How .... how do you know?"
Mercy waved her hands as if it were a stupid question. "They been 'ere a'fore. Lots of folks goes to Tunbridge Wells. They stop to see the earl 'cause they know 'e don't care who it is they bring with 'em."
Elizabeth watched them through the panes of the mullioned window, the women stepping down from the carriage in gowns of lace and silk, careful to keep their skirts up off the muddy ground. "They're very pretty," she said.
Mercy made a throaty, harrumphing sound and turned away from the window.
Elizabeth still stared at the women, who were being led inside by a tall blond man in his early thirties and an older, dandified man wearing an old-fashioned silver wig. The woman beside him, blond and fair but sporting a bit too much lip rouge, bent and whispered something in his ear and he gave up a husky laugh that faded as the front door closed behind them.
"Does... does Lord Ravenworth also have a mistress?" Elizabeth inwardly cringed to think she had come right out and asked.
Mercy's dark eyes rolled skyward. " 'Andsome man like 'is lordship, 'e's got 'imself plenty of women. That prissy little piece from Westover—she's 'is latest bit of fluff. That 'igh and mighty, Lady Dandridge. But she won't last long. None of 'em do."
Elizabeth said nothing more. For some inexplicable reason it bothered her to think of Nicholas Warring with a woman like the two who had just gone into the house. With any woman for that matter.
Even his wife.
* * *
"Hurry up, Aunt Sophie—the race will be starting and we're going to miss it."
Aunt Sophie waddled forward down the hall. "Coming, my dear. I'm hurrying as fast as I can."
Elizabeth hurried, too, tying the strings of her bonnet beneath her chin, then swirling her cloak around her shoulders. Holding open the door at the side of the house, she helped her plump aunt down the steps to the gray stone walk, then led her off toward the stables at the rear.
The day had turned blustery, but it wasn't really cold. A few scattered clouds drifted across the sun, but the fields were dry, and the green of spring was beginning to poke through the rich Kentish soil.
"I hope you know what you're doing," Aunt Sophie said. "His lordship doesn't like us to mingle
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