How to Catch a Duke (Rogues to Riches #6) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,82
shouldn’t talk to anybody about the man who’s putting a roof over her head. Rest your foot.”
Stephen did, because it seemed the polite thing to do and because his knee was throbbing.
“The jewels Stapleton has given Ophelia are paste, Betty. He set ruffians on Miss Abbott in an attempt to drag her off a stagecoach, and he’s searched her house at least once. Stapleton buys up vowels to extort compliance from MPs and younger sons, and now he’s made Miss Abbott’s life difficult.”
Betty passed him a square pink pillow to place under his calf. “A mistress who gossips is soon no longer a mistress. To you it’s a matter of curiosity to talk to her, but for her it’s life and death to keep her mouth shut. She already sees other men on the side just to make ends meet. Stapleton cut back her allowance because he can’t…he doesn’t…”
Betty Smithers was blushing.
“His lordship can’t perform?” Stephen suggested.
“You are awful,” Betty muttered, but she was smiling. “He’s useless, according to Ophelia. She’s tried everything, and I do mean everything. The bindings, the whips, the elixirs, the toys…His lordship stops by for a late lunch, has a nice lie-down, sometimes fondles her bubbies a bit, then goes on his way.”
Ironic. The son had been a rutting hound, the father was impotent—now. No wonder Stapleton hadn’t remarried a woman of childbearing age.
“I’ve heard of keeping up appearances,” Stephen said, “but to maintain a mistress merely for show…” No wonder Ophelia had other customers. “Does she frolic with Lord Fleming?”
“She cares for him, the fool. He’ll never marry her, and he started calling on her just to keep an eye on Stapleton. Fleming is decent to her, but the men are all gents at first, aren’t they? Fleming has to marry—he’s an only son—and Ophelia will never be wife to a lord. Ophelia thinks Fleming will marry Stapleton’s daughter-in-law, the better to manage Stapleton.”
A memory intruded, of Lord Fleming leading Lady Champlain out for the quadrille at the Portmans’ ball. They had made a handsome couple, with her ladyship’s customary friendly smile on display throughout most of the dance.
Fleming’s smile had been…possessive? Appreciative? Abigail would have the word for it, if she’d seen the couple dancing. That smile gave Stephen a glimmer of a theory regarding why Abigail’s life had been turned upside down, and who was manipulating whom in the Stapleton household.
“You have been most helpful,” Stephen said, lowering his foot from the stool. “How is the shop doing?”
Betty’s gaze went to the roses. “I might sell it to Clare. Would you be angry with me if I did?”
Stephen pushed to his feet, though his knee offered him profanity for making the effort. “You have caught the eye of a military man, and not a half-pay officer. He has room to keep a thriving rose garden and a glass house. He’s probably widowed. Witness, he knows enough to trim the thorns from his bouquet. You like him, and that unnerves you.”
“You unnerve me. How did you know he’s former military?”
“The precision in the arrangement, the stems all cut at exactly the same angle, the colors chosen to match. He’ll be loyal to you, Betty, and he’s seen enough of life that he won’t judge you for making your way as best you could here in London. Soldiers tend to be kind people, when they aren’t on the battlefield.” And often even when they were.
She touched a delicate pink rose petal. “He has a son, a darling little fellow. The captain adores that child. The lad’s mother did not survive long after the birthing. The captain brings Tommy with him into the shop and is so patient with the boy.”
Stephen had the odd sense of having been gently pushed off the stage of Betty’s life. He’d thought to make a dignified exit, assuming he’d always be welcome to return for a cameo appearance, and that had been arrogant of him.
“If Clare needs a silent partner,” he said, “I am happy to oblige. I’ll want the name of your parasol shop too.”
Betty followed his slow progress to the front of the shop. “Does your Miss Abbott appreciate you?”
“She argues with me, about guns, society entertainments, and anything else that strikes her fancy.”
Betty measured out a scoop of gunpowder fragrant with the scent of jasmine flowers. “But when she touches you, is it…real?”
“Her affection is genuine.” And far too fierce for the tame label of affection.