Page 35 of A Much Maligned Miss

“Oh yes, I am. I have been seriously considering it since this morning,” he answered coolly, giving her a level look. “It turns out I’m just not ready to relinquish you just yet.”

14

Caroline felt dazed for the remainder of the short drive to Gervaise’s uncle’s house. She had received an indecent proposition. She could not quite believe it still. If she did not end up his uncle’s secretary, she could be Gervaise’s mistress instead. Her head reeled.

What would it be like, being the mistress of an earl? Of course, Gervaise had maintained all along that he had no money, so the idea of his supporting her was questionable to say the least. Then again, she had seen little evidence to indicate he was actually poor.

He certainly did not live the lifestyle of a pauper. His clothes were exquisite as was his every possession, from his Moroccan leather luggage to his silver cigarette case. He had paid for every expense during their four-day journey without a murmur and indeed, had treated Canon Petrie to several meals without even blinking an eyelid. It seemed his idea of being flat broke differed wildly from Caroline’s.

Then again, he had no valet and did not possess his own carriage and horses. By his own admission, he owned no home, and since his uncle had disowned him, he had spent his time bouncing from one friend to another as an eternal houseguest. How could such a man support himself, let alone another?

The cab pulled up at this point and Caroline’s ruminations came to an abrupt halt.

“We’re here,” Gervaise said, flinging open the door. “Pass me down your bag.”

Caroline did so, and he helped her down, then retrieved the rest of his cases as she stared up at the imposing townhouse, filled with misgivings.

The door opened and a butler peered out, blinking rapidly into the failing light.

“That you, Macey?” Gervaise asked. “Be an angel and send out James to fetch in our bags, would you?”

“Right away, milord.”

“Leave it,” Gervaise said as Caroline stooped to pick up her carpet bag. He extended his arm to her. “Come and meet my uncle George.” They ascended the steps as a footman in full livery bounded down them to gather up their things.

“Evening, milord,” he commented, casting a quick curious eye over Caroline.

“Evening, James. Is my uncle in his library?”

“He is indeed, milord.”

Another liveried footman met them in the hall and took Caroline’s cloak from her.

Gervaise reached into his pockets and retrieved the kittens, passing them to the bewildered-looking footman. “Take these two along to the kitchen, Kenneth. Have them fed and watered.”

“Er, yes, milord,” he said, struggling to keep his surprise from his face and failing.

Gervaise shrugged out of his coat and handed it over before taking Caroline’s arm again. “Just through here,” he murmured, leading her along a hallway thronged with gloomy paintings of overripe fruits and dead game birds. “Rather good, aren’t they?” he commented. “Seventeenth-century Dutch. The library is just along here.” They stopped before a glossy wooden door and he rapped upon it three times.

“Come in,” called out a voice, and Gervaise opened the door and led Caroline inside a large library, richly furnished with red velvet seats and many bookcases. In the middle of the room behind a large desk sat a corpulent man with fluffy salt-and-pepper sideburns. He was wearing an opulent dressing gown and a silken cap upon his head. His eyebrows bristled at the sight of Gervaise, and his face assumed a petulant expression.

“Uncle, I have returned to London,” Gervaise announced breezily, though his uncle clearly knew this already as the butler, Macey, hovered in the background pouring drinks out of a decanter. “Your letter indicated you wished to see me immediately on my return.”

“About time,” George Langdon grumbled. “I’ve had the devil of a job trying to locate you these past three months, you scoundrel!”

“Oh?” Gervaise led Caroline to a plush red sofa and indicated she should take a seat there. She perched herself on the edge and he sat down beside her.

“Whisky and soda, milord,” Macey said, appearing at his elbow with a tray.

“Thank you, Macey.”

“And for the lady, a glass of negus,” he said, presenting a glass to Caroline.

“Thank you kindly,” she said, accepting it. She felt extremely conscious of the fact no introductions had been made. Why was that? she wondered with some apprehension. Because Gervaise was in disgrace with his uncle? She eyed him sidelong. If so, he did not look remotely perturbed about it. Or was it more to do with the fact he no longer envisaged her in a secretarial role?

“I had no idea I was so in demand,” Gervaise said after taking a sip of his whisky. He settled back into the sofa. “Is there some particular reason you wished to speak to me, Uncle? After our last interview I was under the impression I was the last person you wanted to see.”

George Langdon cleared his throat and steepled his fingers. “I was hoping you might have come to your senses since then, my boy,” he said sternly. “Miss Blessing is a pearl—”