Regency Improprieties: Innocence and Impropriety / The Vanishing Viscountess

‘Pomroy is here?’ said Tanner with interest.

Before the gentlemen could sit again, Katy stood, stifling a yawn that did not look quite real. ‘I hope you will forgive me,’ she said in a ladylike voice. ‘But I must bid you goodnight as well.’ She curtsied to Tanner. ‘It was a pleasure, sir.’

He gave her a charming smile. ‘I will see you in a few hours, Miss Green.’

Katy grinned back. ‘You will, won’t you?’

Rose also got up from her chair. ‘I should retire as well.’

Tanner looked disappointed. ‘Must you?’

She nodded. ‘I must get some rest if I am to perform.’

‘May I escort you to your room?’ Tanner asked, somewhat hopefully.

Flynn flinched, preparing for her to say yes.

Rose barely looked at Tanner. ‘I do not live here, sir.’

‘That is so.’ Tanner responded. ‘Flynn said you live with your father. Do we return you to your father or do you stay here this night?’

She glanced at Flynn, not Tanner. ‘I should prefer to return home.’

Tanner’s face fell, but he recovered quickly. ‘We will take you home then, will we not, Flynn?’ he said in a cheerful voice.

‘Indeed,’ Flynn responded, trying very hard to keep his voice bland.

If Rose had allowed Tanner to come with her to a room here, her acceptance of his interest would have been secured, and only the financial arrangement would remain for Flynn to manage. The matter would be at an end.

So how was it he was relieved she had not accompanied Tanner to a bedchamber abovestairs?

He followed Tanner as he walked with Rose out of the parlour. As they passed the game room, Tanner hesitated. ‘I should like to greet my friend who is here.’ He turned to Rose. ‘Would you care to come in the game room a moment, Miss O’Keefe? Or would you prefer to have Flynn see you home directly?’

‘I prefer to go home,’ Rose replied. She extended her hand to Tanner. ‘Goodnight, sir.’

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the air above it. ‘I shall look forward to seeing you at Vauxhall.’

‘At Vauxhall,’ she said.

Flynn descended the stairway with Rose and collected their things from the footman. Neither of them spoke. Flynn ought to have manoeuvred Tanner to take Rose home. He could have done so with a judicious word. Dear God, why had he not?

He had done this to himself. He wanted to be alone with her in the dark confines of the carriage.

Rose felt a flare of excitement as Flynn assisted her into the carriage. She had been pining to speak with him, to thank him for this wonderful night. To share with him her reaction to the opera. She had so many questions.

He did not sit beside her, but rather took the back-facing seat. She could barely make out his features in the dim light that filtered in from the carriage lamps outside.

As soon as the carriage moved, she leaned toward him. ‘Flynn, thank you for this night. I do not know how to express my gratitude.’

‘My duty,’ he responded curtly.

His stiffness took her aback.

He went on in a dry voice, ‘I take it Lord Tannerton was pleasing to you.’

‘Lord Tannerton?’ She shook her head in confusion. ‘I was not speaking of him, but of the opera! Of King’s Theatre. I know that was your doing. You knew what it meant to me.’

He did not immediately respond. ‘I thought only of what would best facilitate my employer’s wishes.’

‘That’s foolishness you are talking,’ Rose retorted. ‘You gave me the opera. I know you did.’ She hugged herself with remembering it. ‘It was so grand! I’ve never heard such singing! The voices, Flynn. How did they make their voices so big?’

‘Big?’

‘You know, their voices seemed to come from deep inside them. The sound filled that huge theatre. How did they do that?’ Even the mere memory of it excited her. ‘I want to learn to do that. Do you think I can, Flynn?’ She sang a note, experimenting. ‘That is not it, is it? I long to understand how it is done.’

She wanted to practise right now.

‘I am sure it can be learned.’ His voice turned softer.

‘I long to learn it,’ She went on. ‘I wish I could return to hear them again. I wish I could remember the music and the words. I could not understand the words. Was it Italian? I do not know languages. Just a little French and Latin, but very little.’

‘It was Italian,’ he said.

‘Think how it must be to know what all the words meant.’ Some day she would learn Italian, she vowed. ‘I wish I had the music. I would memorise every part of it.’

‘Lord Tannerton will be gratified that he pleased you.’

He’d not been listening to her. She’d been talking of the music, not Lord Tannerton. She closed her mouth and retreated to her side of the carriage, making herself remember the music.

He broke the silence. ‘Did you find Lord Tannerton agreeable, Rose?’

‘Everything agreeable,’ she answered dutifully, trying to recall the melody Elvira sung.

But he’d broken the spell, and she remembered that she’d agreed to see Tannerton again that evening. ‘At Vauxhall tonight. How shall I find you?’ she asked.

‘I will collect you from the gazebo when your performance is done.’

‘Letty will be there. Come alone to fetch me, not with Lord Tannerton.’ She did not need Letty speaking directly to Lord Tannerton.

‘I will come alone, then,’ he agreed. He talked as if they were discussing some manner of business, like paying Tannerton’s bills. It was business, really. ‘Will you see that Miss Green is also there?’

‘I will.’

They rode in silence the rest of the way. When the coach came to a stop in front of her lodgings, Flynn helped her out and walked her to the door.

‘I will walk you inside,’ he said.

There was only one small oil lamp to light the hallway, and Rose heard mice skitter away as soon as their footsteps sounded on the stairs.

In front of her door they were wrapped in near-darkness, a darkness that somehow made him seem more remote and made the music in her mind fade.

‘Goodnight, then.’ She was unable to keep her voice from trembling.

‘Goodnight,’ he responded. He turned and walked to the head of the stairs.

She put her hand on the doorknob.

‘Rose?’

She turned back to him.

‘I am glad you enjoyed the opera.’ Before she could reply, he descended the stairs.

That night Greythorne stood in the shadows of the Grove, watching and listening to Rose O’Keefe sing. If anything, her voice was richer this night, especially passionate. Such passion ought to be his, he thought. He’d be her conductor. She would sing only for him, notes only he could make her reach.

He spied Tannerton in the crowd. His adversary, a man who’d struck the initial claim. Greythorne would not let that impede him. It would only make the prize more precious to know he’d stolen it out from under the nose of the Marquess of Tannerton. The man was all Greythorne disdained, a Corinthian who cared more for horses than for the cut of his coat. Who would know they could share the same tailor? If it were not for Weston, the man would look like a ruffian on the street.

After Miss O’Keefe finished, Greythorne watched Tannerton say something to that secretary who always seemed to be about. The two men parted. Something was afoot. If not for a woman, neither he nor Tannerton would spend this much time in London with summer upon them, not when other pleasures beckoned at places like Brighton or even Paris.

Greythorne wondered what it would be like to take Miss O’Keefe to Paris, far away from familiar people or influences. Perhaps that was what he would do, but first he must discover what Tannerton planned for this night.

He followed Tannerton, but the man walked aimlessly, stopping to speak to the few persons of quality who were present at the gardens this night. He ought to have followed the secretary instead. That Flynn fellow ran the show. Greythorne hurried back to the gazebo in time to glimpse the secretary escorting two women, one wearing a hood. He tried to keep them in sight, but lost them in the crowd.

Cursing silently, he continued to search the line of supper boxes where Tannerton had dallied.

Finally he discovered them.

In one of the more private supper boxes, half-obscured by trees near the South Walk arch, sat Tannerton with the hooded lady. Greythorne wagered the woman was Miss O’Keefe. Greythorne waited for the moment he could make himself known.

His eyes narrowed as he watched Tannerton talking to the chit as if she were already his. The marquess had made progress, perhaps, but Greythorne was not ready to concede defeat. His little interlude of two nights before had quite fired his blood for more. He was more than ready to pluck another flower.

A Rose.

Greythorne left the shadows and sauntered across the walk up to the supper box. ‘Good evening, Tannerton.’ He tipped his hat.

‘Evening,’ Tannerton reluctantly responded, making no effort to change from his slouch in his chair.

‘Forgive me for intruding.’ Greythorne made certain to use his smoothest, most ingratiating voice. ‘I could not resist the opportunity to tell this lovely creature how much I enjoyed her performance.’

Miss O’Keefe, who had been hiding behind her hood, gave a start. Though he could not see her clearly, he made out the tiniest nod of acknowledgement.

‘Kind of you, I am sure,’ Tannerton said in an unkind voice.

Greythorne tipped his hat again. ‘Perhaps we will meet again, Miss O’Keefe.’

At that moment, the other woman in the box stepped forward, bringing a glass of wine to the lovely Rose. It was Greythorne’s turn to be surprised. She was the red-haired harlot whom he had seen with Sir Reginald, the one whose laughter had fired his blood. He widened his eyes in interest, an interest she caught.

She gave him an appraising look in return. ‘Good evening, sir.’

He smiled most appealingly and doffed his hat to her. ‘Good evening, miss.’

Tanner glanced up at the woman. ‘Greythorne was just leaving.’

Greythorne did not miss a beat. ‘Regretfully leaving,’ he said in his smoothest voice. He tipped his hat again to Rose. ‘Miss O’Keefe.’ And to the redhead. ‘My dear.’

He sauntered back to the South Walk, heading in the direction of the Grove. Not defeated. Exhilarated. Two flowers to pluck instead of one. He’d have them both and rub Tannerton’s nose in it.

Rose shuddered. ‘That was Lord Greythorne?’

‘Who is Lord Greythorne?’ Katy asked, still watching him walk away.

‘He’s a man who … who has asked my father about me,’ Rose told her.

Tannerton’s open countenance turned dark. ‘Not a gentleman worth knowing.’

‘Do you say so, Lord Tannerton?’ Katy said lightly. ‘He seems a fine gentleman to me.’

Tannerton grimaced. ‘Something about the fellow. Can’t remember it and neither can Flynn.’ He turned to Flynn. ‘Right, Flynn?’

‘Indeed, sir,’ Flynn replied.

Katy gave Tannerton’s shoulder a playful punch. ‘You are just saying that because he wants our Rose.’ She laughed. ‘Do not tell me you fear a little competition?’

Tannerton sat up. ‘I relish competition.’

Rose glanced in the direction where the man had disappeared. He had given her a shiver. She turned to Flynn to see his reaction, but his back was to her. He’d barely spoken to her again tonight, but he spoke easily enough to Katy.

Katy came back to him, grabbing his arm and squeezing it. Rose turned away.

Tannerton regarded Rose with a hopeful expression. ‘The dancing has begun. Shall we?’

Rose glanced at Flynn, but he was still thoroughly occupied with Katy. ‘Of course,’ she said to Tannerton, taking his arm.

By the time they had entered the Grove, the lively country dance had ended, and the orchestra struck up a waltz. Tannerton took her by the hand, twirling her under his arm before placing his other hand at her waist. He led her into the steps with great energy, joining the other couples, who created patterns of wheels within wheels.

Tannerton held her with confidence and moved her skilfully. Rose had had little experience with dancing, less with the waltz, but she was aware of his grace and the allure of his physicality. This was a man who did not take a misstep, a man secure being a man.

Such virtues ought to persuade her to succumb to him. Unfortunately, she spied Flynn leading Katy into the dance, and all Rose could think of was how it would feel to be in Flynn’s arms, to be staring into Flynn’s eyes as they twirled under the magical lamps of Vauxhall.

When the dance was done, Tannerton did not release her hand. ‘Come walk with me,’ he urged.

She held back. ‘Please, no. I.I have a thirst. From the dancing.’

He gave her a rueful smile that should have melted her heart, but did not. ‘Then we must return to the supper box for more refreshment.’

Katy and Flynn entered the box behind them. ‘Was that not fun!’ Katy exclaimed, giving Flynn another affectionate squeeze.

Rose could barely look at her, she was so filled with envy. ‘Next waltz you should dance with Lord Tannerton,’ she blurted out.

The marquess paused only a moment before affably agreeing. ‘A capital idea. We shall trade partners.’

Rose was mortified that she had spoken so impulsively. She tried to tell herself that she had done it because she wanted Tannerton to transfer his affection to Katy. But that would be a lie. She’d merely been jealous.

Mr Hook did not keep them waiting long for another waltz, understanding his audience’s preference for the more intimate dance, where the man held the woman in his arms.

Flynn did not seem as eager this time to follow Tannerton to the dancing area. Rose felt another wave of guilt for pushing herself on him when he had placed her off limits to him, but Katy had so easily taken her place.

All such thoughts were forgotten when she faced him and stared up into his blue eyes. He swung her into the pattern of twirling couples, not nearly as skilfully as Tannerton, but it hardly mattered. Rose settled into his arms with the feeling she belonged there.

He did not speak, but neither did he take his eyes off hers. Rose’s vision blurred everything but him, and for this small space of time, she pretended that there was no one in the world except the two of them. At first he held her lightly, as if not wishing to touch her at all, but with each turn he seemed to pull her closer to him. She wished they would turn and turn and turn until their bodies touched and they moved as one. She wished she could burst into a joyous song that would never end.

But the music did end. Flynn still held her.

‘Thank you, Flynn,’ she murmured, gazing into his eyes.

His eyes were dark and needful, and the blood raced through her veins in response. She felt herself pulled to him, closer and closer, just as the twirling of the dance had drawn them close.

He held up a hand and stepped back. ‘Tannerton will be waiting.’

Chapter Eight

Two days later Flynn once more stood before the door of Rose O’Keefe’s lodgings. Tanner had charged him with giving Rose something that would induce her to accept him. Something more precious to her than emerald rings. Something that was her heart’s desire. Something that would ensure his winning over Greythorne.

Flynn had arranged it.

He listened to the voices of Mr O’Keefe and Miss Dawes inside, and hesitated a moment before rapping on the door.

‘Answer the door,’ Miss Dawes shouted from within.

Footsteps sounded across the floor. The door opened.

‘Yes?’ O’Keefe broke into a smile when he saw Flynn standing there. ‘Why, it is Mr Flynn, is it not? Come in, sir. Come in.’

Flynn entered the room.

‘Mr Flynn.’ Miss Dawes’s voice was syrupy ‘.it is a pleasure to see you.’

‘I come to call upon Miss O’Keefe, if you please,’ Flynn said.

O’Keefe looked hopeful.

Miss Dawes said, ‘I hope you have come to make an offer. We cannot wait for ever.’

Flynn disliked such brashness. ‘I would urge more patience. The marquess is taking the next step. That is why I have come.’

‘Rose is at the market, shopping for dinner. She will be home shortly.’ Miss Dawes gave a frustrated gesture, and Flynn spied the emerald ring on her finger.

Flynn frowned. ‘I must take my leave. I shall return when Miss O’Keefe is home.’

Before they could object, he was out of the door, heading to the market in hopes of finding her. He passed stall after stall of fruits and vegetables, each owner loudly attesting that his wares were the finest. One stall even sold hedgehogs, an animal some Londoners fancied as a pet, mainly because of its appetite for beetles.

Covent Garden was also the ‘den of iniquity,’ the place where dolly-mops and lightskirts congregated, displaying themselves much like the colourful oranges, limes and lemons on the fruit stalls. Had Flynn wished for some female company, he had only to nod and show his coin, but he was intent on finding Rose.

He spied her at a stand where herbs were displayed, lifting a fragrant bundle of lavender to her nose. He navigated his way through the shoppers to reach her.

She saw him approach and put the lavender down. ‘Flynn.’ She gave him a cautious smile.

He tipped his hat. ‘Good day, Rose.’

‘What a lovely surprise.’ Her smile fled as she glanced over to a group of doxies loudly hawking themselves. ‘Are … are you here to shop?’

He saw the direction of her gaze and realised she thought he might be looking for female company. ‘I came looking for you.’

‘For me?’ Her emerald eyes looked cautious.

‘Come, let us walk together.’ He reached for the basket she carried on her arm.

They strolled past the stalls in the direction of her lodgings, entering a quieter part of the street.

‘Why did you look for me, Flynn?’ She asked in a soft voice.

‘Lord Tannerton has a gift for you.’

She blinked and looked away. ‘I do not want a gift.’

‘You will like this one,’ he assured her.

She tossed him a sceptical glance.

‘Lord Tanner has arranged for Signor Angrisani and Miss Hughes of King’s Theatre to give you lessons in voice—’

She clutched his arm. ‘You do not mean it!’

He tried to keep his face composed, but her excitement resonated inside him. ‘Indeed. And if your voice is suitable, Lord Tanner has convinced Mr Ayrton to use you in the chorus, for at least one performance.’

‘Mr Ayrton?’

‘The musical director,’ he explained.

Her eyes grew as large as saucers. ‘I would perform on the stage of the King’s Theatre?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, Flynn!’ Her voice cracked and her face was flushed with colour. Every muscle and nerve in his body sprang to life.

‘It is wonderful!’ She twirled around, but stopped abruptly. ‘Oh.’

‘What?’

She stared into the distance as if unable to speak. Suddenly she turned back to him. ‘Lord Tannerton arranged this?’

He opened his mouth to answer, but was silenced by another transformation of her features.

An ethereal smile slowly grew on her face, and she seemed to glow from within. She lifted her jewel-like eyes to his. ‘You arranged this, Flynn.’

Both gratification and guilt engulfed him. He’d pleased her, as he longed to do, but she must believe it was on Tannerton’s behalf.

She touched his arm, the sensation of her fingers on his sleeve radiating through all parts of him.

‘You arranged this for me.’ Her voice was awed. ‘Oh, Flynn!’

Rose took in Flynn’s handsome, too-serious features, her heart swelling in her chest. He alone had known what this meant to her. Flynn was giving her what she’d dreamed of for as long as she could remember.

‘You have arranged for my fondest wish to come true,’ she whispered, gazing into the depths of his eyes.

Four young bucks staggered toward them, holding on to each other and swaying with too much drink. One of them grinned. ‘You plucked a right rose,’ he said to Flynn. ‘M’hat’s off to you.’ The young man tried to reach his hat, but the lot of them nearly toppled over as a result. With his companions cursing him for nearly knocking them down, they stumbled away.

‘They think I am your doxy,’ she said to Flynn.

She’d received other frank remarks from men in the market that afternoon, remarks that made her cringe with discomfort and hurry on her way, but somehow she did not mind so much to be thought of as Flynn’s doxy.

But he looked pained, so she changed the subject. ‘Tell me where I am to go, what time, what I am to do.’

‘If you are able, the signor and Miss Hughes will see you at King’s Theatre tomorrow, at two o’clock.’ He spoke stiffly, as if he were scheduling some appointment for the marquess. ‘I shall come to escort you there.’

‘You will?’ That made her even happier. She wanted to share her dream with him.

They walked the rest of the way to her lodgings, she in happy silence. All she could think of was walking in to King’s Theatre on Flynn’s arm. Perhaps he would stay and listen to her sing. Perhaps he would escort her home and she could talk to him about each moment of the lesson.

Her building was in sight, and she was loathe to leave him, even though his expression was as hard as chiselled granite. This gift he would give her came with strings attached, she knew. The time was approaching when she must repay Lord Tannerton for what Flynn had done for her.

As they neared the door of her building, Flynn slowed his pace. ‘I spoke with your father and Miss Dawes,’ he said. ‘They are pressing for Lord Tannerton to make his offer.’

She nodded.

‘It is your move, Rose, but I urge you not to delay. Your father may accept another offer not to your liking.’

‘With Greythorne?’

‘Yes.’

Rose knew he spoke the truth.

‘I must accept Tannerton,’ she said in a resigned voice. ‘I know this.’

His eyes seemed to reflect her pain. ‘Soon,’ he said.

The next day Rose and Flynn stood in the hall of King’s Theatre with MrAyrton, the musical director of Don Giovanni.

‘So pleased to meet you, Miss O’Keefe. Any friend of the marquess is certainly a friend to us. He is the most generous of men …’

He escorted them through the pit of the theatre to the stage, where, standing next to a pianoforte, were two men and a woman.

‘I am to go on the stage?’ Rose asked in wonder.

‘Indeed,’ replied Mr Ayrton. ‘What better place to examine the quality of your voice?’

Flynn held back, and Rose twisted around to give him one more glance before she followed Mr Ayrton to the stage entrance.

She was presented to Miss Hughes. ‘Hello, my dear,’ the woman said in her melodious Welsh accent.

‘You played Elvira!’ Rose exclaimed, stunned that this ordinary woman had transformed herself into that character, so much larger than life.

‘That I did.’ Miss Hughes smiled.

‘I confess I am surprised you are not Italian. I could not tell, to be sure.’

The next person introduced to her was Signor Angrisani. ‘And you were Don Giovanni,’ Rose said, as he gave her a somewhat theatrical bow.

‘That is so,’ he said smoothly. ‘And I am Italian, unlike Miss Hughes.’

The third man was the pianist, a Mr Fallon, who merely nodded.

‘I shall leave you to these excellent teachers,’ Mr Ayrton said. ‘But I assure you, I shall listen with Mr Flynn.’

Rose’s nerves fluttered, and she was grateful Flynn would be with her the whole time. She gazed out into the theatre, but it was too dark to see him.

She turned back to Miss Hughes and Signor Angrisani. ‘Thank you both for taking your time to teach me.’

‘Oh—’ Miss Hughes laughed ‘—we have been amply rewarded, I assure you. Shall we warm your voice and discover your range?’

They began by having her sing what she could only describe as nonsense sounds, exercise for her voice.