Truth about Leo by Katie MacAlister
“A favor?”
“My wife also requires housing.”
“Well, they’ll see you, naturally,” Thom said with obvious hesitation. “But if you are looking for a place to stay, I should tell you that the twins have chicken pox, and Plum has forbidden anyone to stay with us until the crisis is over.”
Leo’s hopes were dashed, but perhaps the situation wasn’t as bad as Thom made out. “Surely it would be possible for one woman—” He remembered in time the companion. “Two women to be in the house without coming in contact with the poxed children?”
Thom shook her head. “Aunt Plum is very firm on the subject. I had the chicken pox when I was eight, so I’m allowed to stay, but the two youngest were sent away to the country with Lady Weston.”
His hopes rose again. Dagmar might very well have had chicken pox when she was a child. In which case, she would pass Plum’s immunity test, and be able to stay with the Rosses until such time as Leo could find a house.
It was certainly worth asking her. He had few other options left to him.
“I believe I will return to my rooms and discuss the matter with Dagmar. Would you tell Harry and Plum that we’ll call on them this afternoon?”
“All right, but don’t expect to go beyond the ground floor,” she warned. “Aunt Plum has declared the upper floors to be a battlefield of pox, and none are allowed to venture onto it.”
Their arrival at the Marquis of Rosse’s house some two hours later was not without drama.
The door was opened by a handsome man of dark complexion and eyes that danced with a wicked light when they alighted upon Dagmar. Leo remembered him from old as being the extremely odd Castilian butler. “Chyes?” the butler inquired, pursing his lips as he eyed Dagmar.
“Would you be so kind as to tell your lord and lady that the Earl of March and his wife have arrived?” Leo noted that the emphasis had completely escaped its target.
“And this beauteous lady?” He bowed and took Dagmar’s hand to kiss it. Leo took her hand away from him. The butler tried to take it back. Dagmar giggled.
“Is my wife, as I just said. My dear, this is—” Leo poked through dark, dusty memories, and withdrew a name. “Juan.”
“Juan Immanuel Savage Torugula Diaz de Arasanto, and I am very at your,” the butler said, giving Dagmar a come-hither look that by rights should have steamed the drapes.
“You’re at my what?” Dagmar asked, looking confused. Leo wanted to kiss her for that. It wasn’t many women who wouldn’t be flattered or at least flustered by such blatant sexuality.
“Chyes,” he agreed and, with a sidelong look at Leo, heaved a dramatic sigh. “I shall fetch Harry and Plump.”
“You do that. Oh, my apologies, Mrs. Deworthy.” Leo realized with a guilty start that he had left Julia out on the front steps. “By all means, come in. I did not mean to neglect you.”
“It’s quite all right, my lord. I am but a humble companion after all.” Her pale blue eyes were large as she scurried over to where Dagmar was standing, glaring at him. “What a very odd man. Is he a servant?”
“The butler, yes.”
Julia blinked. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a butler who tries to kiss the hands of visitors and refers to the master and mistress by their first names.”
Leo smiled at her, then shifted the smile to Dagmar, just to see how she’d like it. He’d been told once that he had a smile that made ladies feel quite flushed, and he had hopes it would thaw the block of ice that had settled around his wife.
Her frown didn’t so much as quiver.
“I think you’ll find that everything about Lord and Lady Rosse’s household is a little eccentric, from the family right down to the servants. But you needn’t worry about liking them,” he said, addressing the last to Dagmar. “Plum is the epitome of kindness, and Harry is a good friend to have at your back in the time of need.”
“Did I hear my name being taken in vain? Leo, you rogue, you look like hell. Have you heard we’re under siege from the chicken pox? Thom says you were injured. Is this your good lady? She’s clearly far too good for you, you old reprobate. What’s your name, my dear? Thom didn’t say anything other than Leo had possessed himself of a wife.”
The tall, wiry figure of a man with a pair of shiny spectacles hurried down the grand staircase toward them, a smiling woman at his side.
“Harry, you might let them come in and take off their cloaks before you start peppering them with questions. It is a pleasure to see you again, Leo, and of course, your wife and her companion as well.”
Dagmar and Plum did the little bobs women did upon meeting each other, while Julia, evidently finding the informality lacking in niceness, performed a full court bow to Plum, murmuring something about it being so kind, so very kind of them to take her in from such dire circumstances.
“My wife’s companion, Mrs. Deworthy,” Leo introduced them. “And this is Dagmar. My dear, Lord and Lady Rosse, better known as Harry and Plum, whom I have known since I was in short trousers.”
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” Plum said, taking Dagmar by the arm. “Normally you would be most welcome to stay as long with us as you like, but as I know Thom told you, we have the most hideous cases of chicken pox in the house. Six of the servants have come down with it, and both twins, and although I thought they were getting better, we had to have the doctor around again this morning. So I’m afraid that we’re unable to ask you to stay with us unless you’ve both had the chicken pox?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t. Julia says she has, but I have no memory of ever being ill with it.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I should very much have liked to get to know you.”
“Perhaps if Dagmar was to promise that she wouldn’t go anywhere near the nursery…” Leo stopped when Plum turned a gimlet eye on him.
“No, Leo.”
“But if she stayed on the ground floor—”
“No,” Plum repeated more firmly. “I will not have others exposed to that disease. It’s been a hellish nightmare with the twins and the servants, and no more shall fall to its spotty clutches, I tell you, no more!”
“Sorry, old man,” Harry said, giving him a consoling buffet to his good shoulder. “Plum has spoken, and upon this, I agree with her. You’re welcome to stay with us once the plague has moved on, though.”
Leo sighed to himself. He knew any further protests were going to be met with deaf ears.
“What are we to call you?” Harry suddenly asked Dagmar, his brow furrowed as he eyed Dagmar’s breasts in a manner that had Leo suddenly wanting to punch him. “Are you a Lady March or a Your Highness sort of person?”
“I am a Your Serene Highness sort of princess, actually, but you will please call me Dagmar.” She smiled at Harry.
Leo, on the other hand, stopped wallowing in pity and glared at him. “Harry, I’ve known you for a very long time, and although I’ve always viewed you as a respected elder, a man to whom I can come for advice and assistance, if you continue to ogle my wife like that, I will have to knock you down once or twice.”
“Ogle her?” Harry dragged his gaze over to Leo. “Me?”
“Ogle her, you. You were staring at her chest.” He turned his glare onto Dagmar, who along with everyone else, looked down at her front. He hadn’t noticed before just how plump and perfect that gown made her breasts look, but he was noticing now, and he didn’t like it one little bit. “Mind you, I’m not saying that Dagmar’s gown isn’t just about laying it all bare for you, but still, I’d think that you would have the common decency to ignore the fact that she’s damn near naked on her upper parts.”
That was patently untrue, but Leo had an unreasonable desire to swathe her in the heaviest blanket he could find, and since that wasn’t possible, he did the next best thing: he made himself obnoxious.
“Well,” said
“Alas, I am not speaking to him,” she replied with lofty disregard.
“No? Why don’t you tell me about it,” Plum said, taking Dagmar’s arm and escorting her toward the sitting room. “You can’t stay with us, but you can certainly take tea.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that,” Leo said, a sudden wave of weariness making him stagger slightly. “Thank you, but I must find somewhere for Dagmar and Mrs. Deworthy to stay.”
“Don’t be silly, Leo. There’s always time for tea. Now, Dagmar, tell me what Leo has done to put you on such terms with him.”
“His behavior is enough to drive a weasel mad,” Dagmar said, yielding to Plum’s pressure, and allowing herself to be herded into the sitting room. “If I were speaking to him, naturally I would inform him that my gown is quite suitable for the purpose of covering my bosom and all my other parts, but since I cannot tell him that, then I shall simply alternate between pretending he does not exist, and wishing him to the devil.”
“Trouble in paradise already?” Harry asked softly as, reluctantly, Leo followed the ladies. He didn’t particularly want a cup of tea, but he also didn’t wish to embarrass Dagmar with his bad manners. Besides, Harry was likely to offer him something stronger, which he very much did want.
“He refuses to let me put him to bed,” Dagmar said, causing everyone in the room to freeze. “I’ve begged and pleaded with him, but he refuses.”
Leo groaned to himself as all eyes turned to him.
“Having some bedchamber trouble?” Plum asked, her gaze going from Leo to Dagmar. “I have a book that might help.”
“If it is large enough that striking him over his head with it would render him insensible so that I could get him in bed, then the book would be most welcome,” Dagmar declared.
Harry gave him a sympathetic look. “Listen to Plum, old man. Her books are really quite remarkable.”
“I have never met anyone so obstinate as Leo,” his wife continued, appealing to Plum. “Look at him, just look at him. Don’t you think he needs to go to bed, Lady Rosse?”
The little companion said softly, “Oh, he does, he very clearly does,” before effacing herself on a chair in the corner, observing the proceedings with interest.
“Call me Plum, please, and I quite agree that it’s every husband’s duty to do as his wife likes in the bedchamber. Let me just fetch you a copy of the latest book.”
Leo intercepted Plum as she was about to leave the room. “Dagmar, stop, I beg you. You’re just going to embarrass us both.”
“Embarrass us!” She spun around and stomped over to him, poking him on his good arm. “I like that. All I’m trying to do is make you well, and you tell me I’m trying to embarrass you. Every other man I know would let me put him to bed, but not you!”
Harry’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, after which he took his wife by the arm and steered her over to a sofa, where they both sat. “This has all the evidence of being an extremely interesting argument.”
“Yes, but don’t you think I should get the book—”
“Consider Leo, my dumpling. He does not have the air of a man who would be appreciative of the joys of Squirrel Hoarding Nuts.”
“I like squirrels,” Dagmar told them. Leo wished for a moment that an earthquake would strike and open up a pit at his feet.
“I’m sure you do, my dear,” Plum said sympathetically before turning a chastising look on him. “For shame, Leo. Depriving your wife of…squirrels.”
Dagmar lifted her chin and looked to be suffering nobly.
“Oh no,” he told her, shaking a finger at her. “If anyone gets to wear that long-suffering expression, it’s me. Harry, Plum, you have misunderstood the situation. I haven’t refused to take Dagmar to my marital bed.”
“Well, you haven’t, although I’ve always felt that was because you were delusional with fever,” she pointed out. Leo wanted to throttle her. And kiss her—both, although the kissing was leading.
“I’m not going to detail our personal issues here,” he said grandly and then ruined the effect by explaining anyway. “I was near death, and Dagmar and Mrs. Deworthy nursed me back to good health, and that left no time for…er…other activities.”
“He was very much almost dead,” Dagmar agreed, her gaze softening as it rested on him.
“I thought he was dead several times,” the companion offered, nodding and accepting the cup of tea handed to her. “Dearest Princess Dagmar worked ceaselessly over Lord March.”
Leo felt suddenly warm, too warm, and had an overwhelming desire to get Dagmar alone in a bedchamber, where he would thank her in ways that would surprise her. He started making a list of just how many methods of gratitude he could perform.
“And that is why I want him to go to bed, you see. He is clearly in pain, but he will not let me put him to bed and make him more comfortable. He insists on running around when he should be resting. I’ve told him that the fever could return, but he scoffed at the idea.”
“I did and still do scoff. I’m not so feeble as to be unable to bear up under a little discomfort,” he protested, although in reality, he was feeling more than a little miserable. His shoulder throbbed with a growing persistence, the wound on his chest ached, and his limbs felt as if they were encased in lead.
“That’s very understandable, my dear,” Plum said, patting Dagmar on the arm. “Men can be so stupid about resting so they can get well again and perform to their utmost their squirrel duties.”
Harry gave her a long look but said nothing.
“And I’m relieved to know that this interesting story was nothing more than wifely concern for Leo’s health, rather than a failure in the connubial department.”
Leo weaved slightly and made a gesture toward Dagmar. “My wife’s desire for me to recover in bed notwithstanding, I would appreciate any suggestions you have on someone with whom I can trust her welfare. Just for a few days, until I can set up a house.”
“Hmm.” Plum looked at Harry.
Harry looked at Plum. They both turned their heads and looked at Dagmar. She smiled a beguiling smile that Leo felt to the tips of his toenails.
“I’m afraid I can’t think of anyone at the moment,” Plum said slowly. “I don’t know a great many people who are in town now, at least, no one with whom I would feel comfortable sending Dagmar to stay.”
“There’s Renfrew, but he’s taken to drink, and his wife can’t control him,” Harry offered. “Noble’s in the country. My cousin Althea is about ready to give her husband yet another child, and from the way she complains about intimate details that I would really rather not know, I suspect inhabiting the same house with her would be a highly unpleasant experience, one fraught with the latest update on her piles. What about Salter, Leo? He’s in town now.”
Leo thought about the whispers involving the head of his department and several young maidservants who were let go after they had become pregnant, and swore to himself. He had much respect for Lord Salter’s political acumen, but he’d be damned before he left his attractive, innocent, tantalizing wife within fifty feet of that old reprobate. “Er…no. But that does bring to mind someone else.”
“Really? Who?” Dagmar asked, sipping her tea.
“Do you remember the man and his sister on the ship?”
“Oh, them.” Dagmar gave a little shrug. “They were pleasant enough. Plum, Leo says I must have clothing and is willing to purchase it for me despite the fact that we might have to be annulled. Can you help me?”
“Certainly.” Plum moved over to sit next to Dagmar, obviously settling in for a confidential chat. “I do know of an excellent dressmaker. What exactly do you need to have made, and w
Harry thrust a glass of whiskey into his hands. Leo looked down at the glass, seeking clarity of mind in its amber depths. He really did not want to take up the offer made by Philip Dalton, but there seemed to be little other choice. “What do you know of a man called Dalton?”
“Dalton?” Harry looked thoughtful. “Philip?”
“Yes.”
“Cousin to the Duke of Lancaster. Lost his wife a few years ago. Spends most of his time in the country. I understand he’s quite the hermit. Bookish. Dabbled in politics in his younger days, but mostly stays busy with an academic interest—Roman architecture or something of that ilk. There’s a sister too, if I’m thinking of the right man.”
“That sounds like him. Her name is Louisa.”
“That’s it!” Harry nodded. “Louisa Hayes.”
“Her son was killed. Murdered, according to Dalton.” Leo gave Harry a sober look. “And he hoped Dagmar would know who she was.”
Harry’s spectacles glinted in the sunlight. “And did she?”
“I haven’t had the opportunity to ask her yet.” Leo explained about the connection with Copenhagen, glancing over to Dagmar as he did so. She was chatting quietly with Plum. He had a horrible suspicion that his wife was detailing her reasons for divorcing him, but decided that of all his friends, Plum and Harry would keep his private affairs from public knowledge. “Know if Dalton has any vices?”
“Obvious ones, you mean?” Harry shook his head. “He’s chapel and fairly devout, or so I seem to recall. Doubt if he’s one to chase skirts, although you never know for sure. You thinking of putting your lady in his house?”
“It’s possible. His motivation in seeking my help aside, he knew a hell of a lot more about my business than made me comfortable, but I gather his godfather—Lord Salter—had been bending his ear about me.”
Harry removed his spectacles and polished the lenses with his handkerchief. “How long do you think it will take you to find a house?”
“A few days if I’m lucky.”