Bertrice Small - Deceived

Lord Shelley bowed to the earl and the duke. "This is about last night at the Brimstone, I presume," he said.

The earl nodded. "We cannot allow Hawkesworth's good name or his wife's reputation to be compromised by such a nasty prank. Sir Roger says you know it wasn't the duchess. Will you sign a statement to that effect?"

"Of course," Lord Shelley replied. "But why is it even necessary? Certainly no one there really believed it was Lady Hawkesworth, my lords. Granted the wench was an excellent fuck, but her skin had not the fine texture of a lady's. No one was fooled."

"Trahern has developed a grudge," the duke said briefly. "He is attempting to spread the rumor, and if it reaches the king's ear, both my wife and I could lose their majesties' friendship if we have not the means to repudiate such a nasty rumor."

"The man is a lowlife, a hanger-on, a scoundrel," Lord Shelley said. "If he were an animal, I would put him out of his misery for all our sakes. Pity he ain't."

"Lord Trahern will regret his actions, I promise you," the duke replied grimly.

Lord Shelley signed his statement, and then joined Sir Roger and Merry Maybelle on the darkened side of the room.

Suddenly the hidden door opened and Lord Bolton, protesting, was pushed into the room by Mr. Wiggums. "Bute!" he snarled. "Is this your doing? You had better have a damned good explanation!"

The earl quietly explained.

"Don't have the slightest idea of what you're talking about," the Whig politician said. "I would never go to the Brimstone."

Valerian Hawkesworth gritted his teeth angrily. The Whigs were currently out of power, and were making strenuous efforts to thwart the king and the Earl of Bute at every turn.

"Bolton, a lady's good name is at stake," the earl said.

"Has nothing to do with me" was the reply.

Lord Shelley and Sir Roger stood up and came forward.

"Both Percy and I saw you quite plainly," Sir Roger said.

"And if you say so, you'll damn yourselves with his majesty," Bolton said smugly. "We all know what a prig he is in matters concerning morals. Makes no difference to me that the farmer duke's wife is slandered or not. Anyone who consorts with that bounder Trahern gets what they deserve."

John Stuart reached out a hand to calm the Duke of Farminster. "We can, of course, call Lady Jarvis, my lord. I do not believe she would jeopardize her place with the queen, or with her husband, to save you from scandal," the earl replied.

"L-Lady Jarvis?" Lord Bolton stuttered slightly.

"Do not deny it, Bolton. You were seen," the earl told him. "Now will you cooperate with us?"

"But the king will see," Bolton protested.

"No, he will not," the earl promised. "If this matter comes to the king's attention, and he takes it seriously, then and only then will the statements be brought forth for his eyes alone. There will be two copies. One with your full name, and the other with only an initial. That is what I will show the king. The other documents will remain in my safe, to be destroyed after the king is satisfied as to Lady Hawkesworth's innocence."

"Very well," Lord Bolton grumbled. "I suppose I must trust you, Bute. Never trusted a Tory before."

"You should embrace each new experience with eagerness," said the Earl of Bute dryly.

When Lord Bolton had signed his statement, the earl dismissed the three gentlemen with his thanks, and the admonition not to speak of that evening's events. All agreed. Now the earl and the duke turned their attention to Mistress Maybelle, who had begun to look a trifle nervous to find herself again alone with them.

"How would you like to be Lady Trahern, my dear?" the earl began. "After all, the cad owes you, does he not?"

"It would not be an easy marriage," the duke quickly interposed. "You realize that you are quite unsuitable for him, and he will be very angry to find himself bound to you in most legal and holy wedlock."

To their surprise, Maybelle came from the shadows, poured herself another tumbler of the earl's whiskey, and then, sitting down, looked them both in the eye, saying, "What's in it for me? This is how yer going to revenge yerself, ain't it, yer lordship? Well, the truth of the matter is that I quite fancy being a lady. A real lady, not just some tricked-into-marriage wife for yer convenience."

"What do you want?" the earl asked her.

"Well," Maybelle told him, "I know I ain't a bad-looking female. With the right clothes I might look the part, but I don't know nothing about being a lady. Because I'm a whore don't mean I don't want to better myself. I weren't born a whore. I was born a farmer's daughter in Essex, and foolish enough to listen to the master's younger son when he said he loved me. But when he left me, I didn't go to pieces. I saw quick enough once we got to London how it was going to be, and him always delaying the wedding. I made certain I had enough to live on before he went off. I've picked and chosen the men I wanted to protect me, but it ain't no easy life, and I'm twenty-five now, and here in London ten years. I got to think of my old age now, I do. I'll help you, but you got to help me. I want a sum of money put aside with a goldsmith of my choosing first off, and then I want lessons in how to be a lady."

"How much?" the duke asked her.

"Five hundred pounds, yer lordship. I can live comfortable the rest of my life on that, and it ain't, I suspect, that much to you. Call it my dowry"-she smiled-" 'cept the bridegroom ain't going to get it to gamble away. Don't think I don't know Lord Trahern ain't got a pot to piss in, because I do know."

"Why do you want lessons in being a lady?" the earl asked her, quite curious by the request.

"Yer little lordling will eventually drink himself into the grave or desert me," Maybelle said. "Once he weds me, his own kind won't want to have anything to do with him, will they? Well, when he's gone I can set myself up with a nice dress shop, and while I won't get the gentry for customers, I'll get those just below them on the social ladder because I'm a damned good seamstress, but only if I knows how to talk right, and have nice manners, yer lordship," the girl finished.

"I will pay your dowry, Mistress Maybelle," the duke said quietly. "Is it only the money that convinces you to help me?"

"Nah," she told him. "Look, yer lordship, I'm tired of being a whore. I knows better, but how on earth am I ever going to be able to get out of the life I've made for myself, and into a new life, if I don't take a chance. Yer offer is a heaven-sent opportunity."

"Trahern will not be easy," he warned her.

"I know he won't," Maybelle replied. Then, "Does he own any property at all? I mean a place I can call home."

"He has a small house down in Suffolk somewhere," the duke said, "and, of course, he keeps rooms here in London."

Maybelle nodded. "Any family?"

"A younger sister married to a clergyman and a younger brother in the army," John Stuart supplied. "The brother is out in India, and unmarried, I believe."

"So he'll get the title one day when my Charlie kicks the bucket," Maybelle said thoughtfully.

"Unless you give Trahern an heir," the earl said, smiling.

"Don't want no brats fouling up my life," she replied, "unless, of course, that house in Suffolk is entailed on the title. His rooms here in Suffolk he'll be renting."

"The house could be in debt," the duke warned.

"You'll find out for me, my lord?" Maybelle turned to the Earl of Bute. "I'll marry the devil whenever you want me to, but I'll need to know sooner than later if the house can be mine one day without having a kid. You understand. I got to take care of meself 'cause I don't have anyone else who will."

"You don't have to do this," Valerian Hawkesworth said, feeling guilty already, but the young woman soothed him immediately.

"Listen, yer lordship, I'd marry old Scratch himself for five hundred pounds. Don't you feel sorry for me now. I knows just what I'm getting myself into, and I can handle his lordship."

"Very well, then, Mistress Maybelle," the Earl of Bute said. "Hawkesworth, do you have a plan?"

"I do" came the solemn reply. "Oh, I most certainly do."

Charles Trahern was astounded to receive an invitation to the Duke and Duchess of Farminster's farewell ball. At first he thought it must be a mistake, that the duchess's social secretary had forgotten to strike his name from their list of welcome guests, but no retraction came. Then a few days later he received a note penned in Aurora's own hand saying although she was still quite piqued at his taking her to that awful club, she would forgive him, and was looking forward to seeing him at their ball. He was amazed.

Had they not heard the rumors about her? Come to think of it, no one had heard the rumors he had sought to have spread. All the gentlemen involved in that delightful night of debauchery, rather than bragging about it, were astonishingly silent on the matter. Of course, none of them had been that drunk, and when he reconsidered the whole affair, he realized that none of them were fooled. It had probably been put down to a wicked prank on Trahern's part. On one hand, he was relieved, and on the other, a bit disappointed. And now the Hawkesworths were leaving London. He knew it was not likely he would meet up with them again. So, he would go to their ball. It was to be a masked and costumed affair, and he did love such spectacles!