Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  “But neither of you ever spoke of such aspirations,” Angel protested.

  Her father’s smile accompanied his fond memories. “Victoria’s brother succeeded to the title of Northerson, and your mother and I set your Come Out as the date of our return. Unfortunately, my Victoria—”

  Belatedly, Angel realized she knew very little of her father’s family. Her mother regularly received letters from her sister Sarah and her brother Edward, but never once in Angelica’s memory had Horace Lovelace claimed a like affection. Her father admitted to being a younger son of a viscount. Yet, Angel could do nothing more than name the title from which he came.

  In America, the name “Lovelace” held as much status as would an English lord. Why had she not insisted on knowing more of his relations? Had she assumed them all dead? If so, why would her father not hold a claim to the title? Was she so consumed with her own consequences that she had ignored the misery Horace Lovelace must have known in leaving his former life behind?

  “Do you mean to visit with Mama’s brother while we are in England?” She remained afraid to ask of his family.

  Her father eyed her with what appeared to be remorse. “Your Aunt Sarah says the Earl of Northerson will return from Scotland next month. I wrote to Northerson. He will receive us upon his return to Blanc Hall. I hoped you would have a promise or an understanding by that time. It would make the transition easier if ...”

  Angel noted the tension between her father’s shoulders. “I shall do my best, Papa,” she interrupted. “I promise to smile at the asinine comments from Lord Newsome or whomever you think an appropriate match.”

  Her father caressed Angel’s cheek. “Be yourself, child. I wish you a viable position, but not at the sake of your happiness.”

  Angel turned her cheek into his palm. “Then I shall promise to cultivate a relationship I find agreeable,” she assured him.

  “But not with Lord Malvern?” her father asked suspiciously.

  “I admire the marquess’s bravery during the storm, but the gentleman does not stir my heart.” Angel prayed her expression would not betray her. “Moreover, the duke wishes a connection with Lady Mathild. A plain Miss Lovelace holds no status in a duke’s estimation.”

  “I will not have you speak ill of your prospects, Angelica,” her father warned.

  Angel kissed the back of his hand. “I would never discredit my father’s name. Yet, the English class system does not approve of those who set their sights too high.”

  “And a father does not approve of a daughter who sets her sights too low.”

  Angel wondered if Horace Lovelace spoke of her or of Lady Victoria Copley’s family.

  * * *

  “Ah, Remmington,” Hunt said as he opened the door to his quarters. “You return at last.”

  The condition of the earl’s clothes indicated he had called on Hunt before freshening his attire.

  Remmington smiled in mock amusement and slouched lazily against the doorframe. “Afraid I might run off with your beautiful wife.”

  Hunt found himself frowning. “Shush. Someone might hear.” He pulled the earl into the room before sticking his head outside to see if anyone was about. Closing the door behind him, he said, “I assume if you are here, Mr. Lovelace rushed to his daughter’s side.” Hunt missed the lady more than he would admit to anyone, not even to himself. He convinced his troubled mind Miss Lovelace represented the only memories he could legitimately claim as his, and it was not she he desired, but, rather, the freedom to think without questioning his every move.

  The earl strolled about the sitting room. “The man is a doting father.”

  Remmington paused to pour himself a brandy, one Hunt should have offered, but the earl’s casual control of his environment had distracted Hunt. Hunt hoped he occasionally exuded such erudition.

  “Mr. Lovelace is no fool, Malvern, he will not take his daughter’s reputation lightly nor will the man surrender simply because you are the future duke.” Remmington sat in one of the padded wing chairs. “In truth, I found Lovelace an admirable companion. He placed me on notice that although he appreciated my protection for his daughter, he would not permit any impropriety.” The earl chuckled. “I began to think the gentleman would demand a proposal from me.” Hunt watched as his friend sipped the brandy. “As it happens, I did not find Lovelace’s insinuations appalling. I could certainly do worse in choosing a wife than Miss Lovelace. The girl is intelligent, as well as strong willed and opinionated.”

  Hunt did not like the idea of Angelica Lovelace choosing another, even if the man was his friend. “Most men do not deem intelligence or strong opinions desirable qualities for a wife.”

  Remmington’s features hardened. “I am not of the same persuasion as other men, Malvern. I want no biddable girl. I desire a woman of passion. Why do you think I remained a bachelor for so long?”

  “You have me at a disadvantage, Remmington,” Hunt growled. “I hold no memories of your personal life beyond what you and Lord Harry shared. For all I know you prefer your women with bad teeth and protruding noses.”

  The earl barked a genuine laugh. “Not likely. I prefer my women with golden hair and luscious curves and—”

  “Enough!” Hunt flopped into a nearby chair. “Tell me what you came to say.”

  Remmington sat his drink aside. “The Lovelaces will arrive at Devil’s Keep tomorrow. You should be prepared for a very private, as well as a very honest, conversation with the lady’s father. Although Miss Lovelace denied any connection beyond the care of your injuries, Mr. Lovelace means to avail himself of all the details of what went on between you and the girl. You may find yourself betrothed before the duchess’s party ends.”

  Like his friend, Hunt did not find claiming Miss Lovelace’s affections an appalling idea. “I will answer Mr. Lovelace in earnestness,” Hunt assured, “but I fear I will remain a poor source of information.”

  “When do you suppose your memory may return?”

  Hunt reached for the knot at the back of his head. His examination indicated only a fraction of a decrease in its size. “I wish I knew. The surgeon held fewer ideas than I. Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps never.”

  The earl’s expression changed to caution. “Did you speak to Sir Alexander and to Etch?”

  Hunt lifted an eyebrow in irritation. “I followed your suggestion.”

  “And?”

  “And the baronet agreed to examine the incident and to review my earlier reports,” Hunt explained.

  “Sir Alexander will find nothing at the scene of the carriage accident,” the earl declared as he rose slowly. “I prompted Miss Lovelace to describe the area where she first encountered you. Then I took Draco for a nice stretch of my horse’s legs. I discovered pieces of Lord Mannington’s coach and searched backward to the point where it left the road. The scene spoke the truth of the lady’s terror. Where the coach plunged toward the stream is plain to note.” He paused to gather his hat and gloves. “No evidence existed to contradict the lady’s word that her sudden appearance frightened your horse.”

  “Yet, you still believe Miss Lovelace is mistaken?” Hunt asked in wary tones.

  The earl shrugged in resignation. “The Home Office trained me to be skeptical.”

  * * *

  Hunt awaited his “introduction” to Horace Lovelace and the man’s daughter Angelica. The pretense was like a punch to his gut. All he wanted was to catch her to him and feel a bit of normalcy. He knew she could never be his choice for a wife, but his body cared little for class structure. At least, the Lovelaces’ appearance at the duchess’s house party would provide Hunt with a reason to join in some of the festivities.

  Last evening, he suffered Lady Mathild’s companionship during the supper hour. His mother sent him a note earlier in the day to warn Hunt the duke suggested the girl’s presence on Hunt’s right for the meal. Fortunately, his mother placed Henrietta on Hunt’s left and Mr. Connell, a minor son of the Countess of Gunnimore, on Lady Mathild
’s right.

  How his father ever considered the girl an appropriate match, Hunt would never understand. Hunt had lost his memory of his social connections—the names of those seated about his mother’s table—but not his knowledge of books and art and music. Instead of offering him an opinion or two upon the topics he suggested, Lady Mathild played the role of an exotic bird mimicking his every thought. It was deuced frustrating. Moreover, the girl made a less-than-delicate observation regarding Etta’s obvious condition, one Hunt held no doubt the girl had learned at Lady Sandahl’s afternoon teas in London. The remark proved itself another example of the Lady Mathild’s lack of original thoughts.

  Lady Gunnimore made the appropriate introductions to the duchess before turning to Hunt and his twin. “Lord Malvern. Lady Stoke. It is with the greatest of pleasure I give you the acquaintance of one of my dearest friends, Mr. Horace Lovelace, formerly of Cumberland, of late of America. Lovelace, this is the duchess’s eldest son, the Marquess of Malvern and his sister Lady Stoke.”

  Hunt watched as Lovelace executed a most proper bow. “My lord. Lady Stoke. I am honored by the acquaintance.” Thankfully, the gentleman accepted his role in their collective deception, but Hunt possessed no doubt Lovelace would approach him in private regarding Hunt’s relationship with Miss Lovelace. “My daughter, Miss Lovelace, my lord. My lady.” Lovelace motioned Angelica forward.

  She was within a few feet of Hunt. Her scent filled his nostrils, and the familiar visceral tug erupted in his blood, telling him this woman belonged to him. She dropped her eyes, refusing to meet his gaze, which irritated Hunt more than he cared to admit. “Duchess. My lord. My lady,” she murmured as she executed her curtsey. “Thank you for the notice.”

  Hunt thought to chastise Angelica for her meekness, but before he could open his mouth, Henrietta reached for Miss Lovelace’s hand.

  “I am pleased for the acquaintance, Miss Lovelace. Lady Gunnimore speaks highly of your late mother, and I understand you hold an acquaintance with my younger brother Lord Harrison.”

  Miss Lovelace’s gaze locked with Hunt’s. Did she worry his sister knew of their intimacies? Hunt reassured her with the only means he possessed, a slight shake of his head.

  “Yes, ma’am. I accepted Lord Harrison’s company upon several occasions of late. Like my father, I am honored by the attention of the McLaughlin family.”

  “I fear my days of enjoying the duchess’s entertainments are long passed,” Henrietta continued. His sister patted her expanded waistline, in what Hunt had come to think was a test of a person’s mettle rather than an act of impropriety. “But if you would not mind sharing a bit of your time, I would enjoy hearing of your home. Lord Stoke traveled to America twice to further family investments. My husband returns with the most spectacular tales of the land.”

  Angel smiled at his sister, and Hunt’s earlier dudgeon disappeared. Miss Lovelace did not look upon Henrietta with distaste.

  “I would enjoy doing so very much, Lady Stoke. However, I should warn you I am missing my Virginia home exceedingly. I must ask in advance for you to temper my enthusiasm.”

  Etta’s expression softened. “We shall do well together, Miss Lovelace.”

  Lovelace caught his daughter’s arm. “If you will pardon us, we should freshen our dress before joining the duchess’s other guests for the evening’s entertainment.” Before they could exit, Hunt caught Angelica’s hand and bowed over her knuckles. “My pleasure, Miss Lovelace,” he said softly, attempting to convey with his eyes how much he had missed her. He did not wish for her to leave. He would prefer to enjoy the afternoon looking upon her. Yet, he did what proved proper. A dismissive tilt of his head followed by a simple curtsey on her part, signaled her departure.

  When the Lovelaces and Lady Gunnimore followed the maid the duchess summoned to attend the pair, Hunt offered his sister the support of his arm. As the others drifted away, Etta leaned close to whisper, “Why did you not tell me Miss Lovelace is the woman we observed departing the theater district alone in a public hack?”

  Hunt blinked in confusion. “I am not certain I understand your question.” He directed her steps toward an empty drawing room and closed the door behind them.

  Once they were alone, Etta rallied with what he observed as his sister’s natural tendency to savor the latest gossip. “It was before we departed London. You spent time with my boys and escorted me from the duke’s house in Town to my husband’s home.” She paused as if she expected Hunt to recognize her tale. When he shook off the unspoken suggestion, Henrietta continued. “You took note of Miss Lovelace’s departure from the theater. Later, I learned she abandoned Lord Arden for looking intently upon Miss Dandridge.”

  Again his sister halted her story, but Hunt simply stared at her with marked interest. “Am I to hold knowledge of these people?”

  Etta frowned deeply. “It was more entertaining teasing you when you could participate in the taunt,” she complained. With a sigh of frustration, Etta continued. “Arden meant to marry Miss Lovelace for the girl’s large dowry, and Miss Alexandra Dandridge is your former mistress.”

  It was Hunt’s turn to sigh in frustration. “I take your estimation of those who Miss Lovelace encountered on that particular night as truths. How does your tale relate to today’s acquaintance?”

  Henrietta touched his arm with sympathy. “Although you thought the lady traveling without an escort unseemly, you were quite interested in the woman. If I recall correctly, you mentioned observing the same woman in the park when you played cricket with my twins.”

  Hunt asked the obvious. “Was I aware of the lady’s identity at the time?”

  Etta shrugged away his concerns. “I do not think so. I simply found it odd because, beyond those of Miss Dandridge’s occupation, you rarely expressed interest in any female of Society.”

  Hunt held himself in remarkable self-possession, but his inner voice screamed for him to find Miss Lovelace and demand any knowledge she held of the event. Was it more than coincidence that they had met upon the road to the Devil’s Keep? Had Angelica come to his home for nefarious reasons? Somehow, Hunt doubted it, but it would not be the first time people went beyond the reasonable for an alliance to the dukedom.

  * * *

  How Angelica managed to follow the Devilfoard’s maid to Angel’s assigned quarters, she did not know. She had been in the same room as Malvern, if one could term the magnificent entrance foyer of the Devil’s Keep a room. She imagined, to Lady Gunnimore and perhaps to her father, the marquess appeared well, but Angel knew better. Lord Malvern’s expression spoke of polite indifference, but his eyes searched hers for the connection they had previously shared. It was all she could do not to race into his embrace and assure herself of his lordship’s continued recovery.

  “You must wait to ask Lord Remmington or Lord Harrison of the marquess’s health,” she chastised herself as she stared out the window of the room that overlooked the back lawn. The maid assigned to her had gone below to inquire of warm water so Angelica might attend to her ablutions. “I wish Papa would not question Lord Malvern on what occurred on the Warwickshire border.” Yet, even as she said the words aloud, Angel held no hope her father would relent. Horace Lovelace was as congenial a gentleman as anyone could seek, but not when it came to his family. Then, her father held the temperament of a lion protecting his pride.

  “I have no desire to force his lordship into a marriage.” Yet, even as she said the words, her foolish heart screamed that any connection to the marquess would be pure perfection.

  A tap on the door announced her maid’s return, and Angel swallowed her apprehension. She wished to make a good impression upon the duchess and the Devilfoard company. She had much to address below—proving her reputation as a hoyden as inconsequential, avoiding Lord Malvern, as well as demonstrating to her father nothing of import occurred between her and the marquess, while attracting a possible suitor.

  “I’ve never ’een such a large party,” Beca sa
id in awe.

  Angel thought the girl too naive, but the maid’s news gladdened Angel’s spirits. If the house party numbered many in attendance, her efforts to remain unnoticed by Lord Malvern would prove easier.

  * * *

  Hunt stood between his brother and Remmington, but he watched Miss Lovelace. No matter how often he set himself the task of polite conversation, the tinkling joy of the sound of her laugh distracted his thoughts.

  “Must she find Lord Newsome so entertaining?” Harry grumbled. His brother voiced Hunt’s thoughts. Harry sighed in disapproval before continuing. “I never thought Newsome capable of speaking upon anything other than his hounds.”

  “No one can be so self-absorbed. Perhaps the viscount uses his singularity as a façade,” Remmington suggested.

  The earl walked away, but Hunt recognized the warning in Remmington’s tone, which only piqued Hunt’s interest in the viscount, equally as much as did the gentleman’s attentions to Miss Lovelace.

  “The lady understands her role in this madness,” Hunt said softly to his brother. He placed a steadying hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I realize you feel a certain sense of guilt for bringing Miss Lovelace into our lives, and you think me disappointed in your actions. Yet, you erred, Harry. I was quite serious when I said I owed the lady my life. Moreover your disapproval of Newsome is not necessary. Miss Lovelace seeks an appropriate match, as do I. Do not fret. Like the lady, I am aware of my responsibilities to my family.”

  Chapter Nine

  Angel kept her eyes upon Lord Newsome and Mr. Connell, but she knew Lord Malvern watched her every move, so she placed a smile upon her lips and a welcoming expression upon her features. Even so, she felt anything but congenial. If it were possible, she would reclaim Lord Malvern’s mount and ride for London as quickly as the stallion could carry her. However, responsibilities to her family kept her slipper-covered feet planted upon the Duchess of Devilfoard’s drawing room floor.

  “My mother says your Uncle Mannington lost a favored servant in the flooding,” Mr. Connell managed before Lord Newsome began another tale of his hunting prowess.