Diane Gaston - Regency Improprieties - Innocence and Impropriety / The Vanishing Viscountess

‘Got to admit, it is good sport.’ Tanner’s grin turned to a scowl. ‘What have you discovered about Greythorne?’

‘He courted Amanda Reynolds, all the rage a year ago. Everyone thought they would marry. She spurned him, though.’

‘Left him for another man?’ Tanner asked.

‘Some soldier, I believe.’ Pomroy shrugged.

‘Her head turned by a man in regimentals?’ Tanner concluded. ‘Not unheard of, you know.’

‘Yes, but there was more to it, I’m certain,’ Pomroy said. ‘She could have had anyone. Don’t you remember her? She was perfection.’

Tanner conjured up an image of a cool blonde, the sort who would pine for routs and balls and dreadful musicales. He took another mouthful. ‘Always disliked that fellow Greythorne. Looks the whole day like he’d just left his valet.’

Pomroy was summoned by one of the prime articles he’d found in the Gardens. Pomroy would no doubt enjoy her company all night through, but such females held no interest for Tanner. While his friend attended to the pretty thing, Tanner leaned back on his chair, balancing it on its rear legs. He raised his drink and gazed out into the crowd.

With any luck he’d catch sight of his secretary and have him wrangle a meeting with Miss Rose O’Keefe. Even if luck was not with him, he could still congratulate himself for escaping Lady Rawley’s tedious musicale. Half an hour of the soprano she’d hired had nearly done for him. He wished half the fashionable set would leave Town and go rusticate in the country. Leave him free of their tiresome invitations. Let them all go rusticate, in fact.

Not that he had any intention of burying himself in such boredom. He paid his managers well so he would not have to put in an appearance at any of his properties until hunting season.

Tanner swished his arrack in the glass. Ordinarily he’d be in Brighton this time of year, but the elusive Rose O’Keefe had kept him in town.

Tanner’s eyes narrowed as a pristinely attired gentleman swinging a walking stick strolled up to the supper box.

‘Why, if it is not Tannerton.’ Greythorne tipped his hat in an elegant gesture that seemed to mock Tanner’s boyish balancing act.

Tanner perversely accentuated his lack of gentility by stretching his arms to the back of his head. ‘Greythorne.’

Behind Tanner Pomroy laughed and one of his female companions squealed. Greythorne eyed them with ill-disguised contempt.

He directed his gaze back to Tanner. ‘I hear we are rivals of a sort.’

‘Rivals?’ Tanner gave a dry laugh. ‘I highly doubt that.’

Greythorne ignored his barb. ‘For the captivating Rose O’Keefe. I quite covet the girl, you know.’

‘Really?’ said Tanner in a flat voice.

Greythorne tapped the wall of the supper box with his stick. ‘Your secretary tells me she is yours, but I confess I see no signs of it.’

‘Eyes bothering you?’ Tanner remarked.

Greythorne brushed at his coat, as if a piece of dirt dared mar his appearance. ‘You are amusing, Tannerton.’ He glanced in the direction of the Grove where Miss O’Keefe had performed. ‘Perhaps I shall amuse you when the young temptress is mine.’

‘No fear of that.’ Tanner lifted his glass to his lips. ‘Doubt you’ve ever been amusing.’

Greythorne’s lips thinned and Tanner actually fought the need to laugh.

‘To the victor go the spoils,’ Greythorne said, making a salute before strolling off.

‘Trite bastard,’ Tanner muttered to himself.

Pomroy twisted around. ‘Did you say something?’

Tanner did not reply, because he saw someone else in the crowd. He propelled himself out of his chair, sending it clattering to the ground, and vaulted over the supper-box wall.

‘Flynn!’ he called, pushing through the people to catch up. He grabbed Flynn’s arm and pulled him to the side. ‘When do you meet with her, Flynn?’

His secretary regarded him in his usual unflappable manner, not even showing surprise at his presence. ‘I have done so already,’ Flynn answered.

‘To what result?’ Tanner asked eagerly.

Flynn paused, only briefly, but enough to try Tanner’s patience. ‘I was able to give her the ring,’ Flynn finally said.

‘Excellent!’ Tanner’s eyes lit up. ‘Did she like it?’

‘She said it was more than a trifling gift.’

That was all? ‘Well, I suppose that is something.’ Tanner grasped Flynn’s arm. ‘We need more progress, man. That snake Greythorne is slithering around. He just spoke to me.’ Tanner gave a mock-shiver. ‘I’d hoped for a meeting tonight.’

‘I did not expect you tonight, my lord,’ Flynn said in a bland voice.

Tanner grinned. ‘That is so. I escaped some ghastly musicale with some equally ghastly soprano to come here. I could not resist. I tell you, Miss O’Keefe’s sweet voice was balm in comparison.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘This business is taking an intolerably long time.’

‘Patience is required.’

‘Well, we both know how little of that commodity I possess.’ Tanner clapped him on the arm. ‘That is why I depend upon you, Flynn. If it were up to me, I’d go there now and demand she see me, but I suspect you would advise against it.’

‘I would indeed.’

Tanner blew out a frustrated breath. ‘I wonder what Greythorne will do. I trust him about as far as I can throw him.’ He thought about this. ‘Make that as far as he could throw me.’

‘I can assure you she shows no partiality toward him,’ Flynn said.

Tanner grinned. ‘That is good news. What is next for us then?’

‘I shall dine with her tomorrow.’

Tanner gaped at him. ‘Dine with her? Well done. Very well done, indeed.’ His secretary was clocking impressive amounts of time with her. Things were looking up.

Flynn gave him a wan smile.

‘Tanner!’ Pomroy was standing in the supper box, waving him over.

Tanner glanced at him. ‘Pomroy beckons. I suppose I must go. He’s managed some entertaining company, no one to remark upon, but anything is better than that ghastly musicale. ’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Enjoy yourself, Flynn. Might as well see what pleasures the garden can offer, eh?’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Flynn replied.

Tanner headed back to the supper box, not noticing his secretary did not heed his advice. Flynn turned towards the Ken-nington Lane gate where he could catch a hackney carriage back to Audley Street.

The next evening Rose said goodbye to her father and Letty, watching from the window until they were out of sight. Waiting a few minutes longer to be sure they had time to get in a hack, she donned her hat and gloves, picked up a basket, and hurried outside. She walked the short distance to the Covent Garden market past youngbloods who whistled and made lewd remarks. The theatres had not yet opened their doors, but the street was teeming with well-dressed gentlemen casting appraising glances at gaudily dressed women who only pretended to have some destination in mind.

Rose listened for the pie man’s call and made her way to him to purchase two meat pies. She also bought strawberries, a jug of cream, and a bottle of Madeira wine. It would be simple fare, but the best she could manage without the means to cook and without her father and Letty suspecting. She returned home, setting the pies near the small fire in the parlour fireplace. She moved the table they used for eating and found a cloth to cover it. She set two plates, two glasses, and cutlery and stood back to survey her work.

It was not elegant, nothing, to be sure, like a marquess’s table set with porcelain china and silver, but it was the best she could do.

All the day she’d felt out of breath, not from nerves at hiding this from her father, but anticipation of seeing Flynn.