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A stifled squeal from the back of the phaeton reminded him his groom was present. “If you cannot control your amusement, Sampton, I trust at least you may control your tongue,” he said, tossing the remark over his shoulder. “If one word of this conversation is repeated—!”
“Your lordship may rely on me,” said Sampton, choking off his laughter. “I shall say nothing.”
“Well, see you don’t.” Glancing at Maidie, Delagarde discovered that direct gaze trained upon him, puzzlement writ large upon it. “What is the matter?”
“I think you are a very odd sort of man, Lord Delagarde.”
“On the contrary, I am a very normal sort of man. The only oddity is in my having been saddled with you.”
“But you are not saddled with me. I don’t wish you to do more than lend me countenance. Once I am introduced, it will suit me very much better if you will go on just as if I was not there.”
“Impossible!”
“But what difference can it possibly make to you? Lady Hester—”
“I will tell you what difference it makes,” Delagarde broke in, guiding his pair neatly through a narrow gap between a dray-cart and an ancient hackney coach. “Hitherto, I have enjoyed a blameless reputation, with nothing known to my discredit beyond what may be pardoned in any man about town.”
“There is nothing to stop you going on in that way.”
“Oh, isn’t there just!” muttered Delagarde, well aware that in allowing himself to be persuaded into sponsoring Maidie’s entry into society, he was laying himself open to the justifiable censure of his circle should she offend against its unwritten codes of conduct. From his limited knowledge of her, he had every expectation of finding his reputation in shreds within a very short space of time.
But Maidie, it was evident, had no notion of this. If she could be brought to understand it, she would probably renew her offer of recompense. The thought drew a laugh from him.
Maidie heard it, and wondered at it. She did not ask for an explanation, for she was grappling with thoughts of her own. She was beginning to suspect her instinct about Lord Delagarde had been right. Was he going to prove more trouble than he was worth? Perhaps it was as well he had refused to accept any payment. He could not justly interfere if he received no remuneration. She had offered it because she did not wish to be beholden to him. But if he was not in need of funds, she could accept his patronage as a discharge of the obligation put upon him by his mother—and nothing more.
They had not a great way to go to reach the City, and the journey was beguiled for Maidie by the interesting sights and sounds of a part of London she had not yet seen. There was a great deal of traffic, through which Delagarde appeared to have no difficulty in threading his way. Maidie was much interested in the press of persons jostling one another on the pavings. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, apart from a few loiterers standing about, and street sellers crying their wares. But presently they left a little of the noise and bustle behind, and entered a quieter stretch where Maidie noted a rather higher preponderance of individuals with an air of slight affluence.
“We are almost there,” Delagarde said. “This area is almost wholly given over to those of the legal profession. That is Gray’s Inn Gardens.”
Maidie looked where he was pointing with his whip, and saw a pleasant-looking park with a walk running down its centre. Then they turned into a smaller street, lined with tall buildings with neither beauty nor proportion to recommend them.
“Portpool Lane,” Delagarde announced, and brought the phaeton to a standstill. The groom jumped down and went to the horses’ heads.
“Walk them, Sampton!” Delagarde leapt nimbly down and moved to assist Maidie to alight.
Within a very few moments, she found herself entering the somewhat constricted offices of Mr Bagpurze. A clerk hastened through a glazed inner door to inform the lawyer of the arrival of these noble clients, and Mr Bagpurze himself came out to usher them into his sanctum. He was a stout man of some fifty years, who adhered to a full-bottomed wig in despite of fashion, and who pursed his lips on hearing of Lady Mary’s determination to throw off the protection of Lord Shurland.
“His lordship has already been to see me, I may say,” he said, bending a disapproving stare across his heavy oak desk.
He had set for Maidie one of the two client chairs of latticed wood with cane seats. The Viscount had elected to stand, motioning the lawyer back to his own sturdy armchair of polished wood set between two enormous bookcases crowded with boxes, pink-ribboned files and great legal tomes.
“Firmin has been to see you?” repeated Maidie, in a voice of discontent. “He would. I suppose he told you everything. What did he want?”
“If you mean, Lady Mary, that he informed me of your ill-considered flight from your home, you are correct. But that was not his purpose in visiting me.”
“Well, what was his purpose?”
“Lord Shurland wished to discover if there were any legal means by which he might prevent you from leaving his protection to seek that of Lord Delagarde,” said the lawyer.
“And are there?” asked Delagarde, from where he leaned against the near wall by a dusty window, arms folded across his chest.
Bagpurze looked at him. “No, my lord, there are not.”
“A pity.”
Maidie turned on him the full force of her wide-eyed gaze, a spark darkening the grey. “Why do you say that? I thought we were agreed I was to remain in your house.”
“Oh, we are. But that does not mean I am reconciled.”
