Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  The duchess held her saucer quite still, but her teacup trembled.

  “Mother?” Hunt said in concern as he reached for the cup and saucer and set it upon the low table. “I never meant to bring you disquiet. I apologize. I overstepped my role as your son in asking you to speak what you know of Devilfoard’s motives.” He gathered her in a loose one-armed embrace as he changed his seat to rest on the arm of her chair.

  “It is nothing,” she protested, but she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

  His priorities changed immediately. His mother required his support. He would find another means for information on Sandahl. He leaned over her to kiss the top of the duchess’s head. “It is something. If you require a shoulder upon which to rest your trials, I still possess one strong one,” he whispered into her hair.

  Her tears increased, but Hunt permitted her the private moments to reset her composure. He could not imagine anyone would ever observe his mother in uncontrollable tears. A memory of the duchess’s strong-willed determination when Harry suffered with a bout of measles at age twelve flitted across Hunt’s internal vision, but he had no time to dwell upon it. His mother wept openly upon a topic he had instigated, and Hunt would find a means to mend her heart.

  “Forgive me. It has been a stressful sennight,” she rasped, at length.

  Hunt knew his disappearance had troubled her deeply, but he wondered if something equally as pressing brought the duchess to this moment. He squeezed her shoulders. “It is I who should beg forgiveness.”

  The duchess raised her head to stare upon his features. “So like your father,” she confessed. A shake of her head and a shift of her shoulders announced the return of the determined mother he recognized as a phenomenal woman. “You are my dearest son, and you deserve more of a response than I can provide you.” She bit her bottom lip in indecision before adding, “However, I cannot speak to Devilfoard’s motives for Hamilton does not share the details of his relationship with Sandahl, not even with me.” A derisive chuckle marked her words. “I asked and was denied.”

  It was Hunt’s turn to stare. His inscrutable gaze rested upon his mother’s features. “From what I observed, the duke cherishes your opinions.”

  “Does he?” his mother asked in bitterness.

  “Speak to me of your qualms, Mother.” He moved to kneel before her. “I will not tell another soul, and it will ease your heart to say the words aloud.”

  Irony laced her tone. “Since when has my son become sensitive to the fairer sex’s frivolities?”

  Hunt smiled in self-chastisement. “Perhaps each man should sustain a blow to the head to rob him of his stubbornness.”

  “Perhaps.” She presented him a weak smile. “I am certain such an injury could do many of the beau monde well.” He knew she meant his father, but Hunt held his tongue. “Very well. But know these are the ramblings of an overly distraught duchess.”

  “Your emotions are duly noted,” Hunt encouraged.

  Her voice cracked with emotion, and that particular fact emphasized the importance of her words. “Like you, I noted Devilfoard’s disgust for Sandahl, and I thought—” Tears misted her eyes again. “I thought perhaps it is not Lord Sandahl that Devilfoard welcomes into his home, but—but Lady Sandahl.”

  Hunt caught her to him. “Oh, no, Mother. If I know nothing else, I know Devilfoard’s devotion to you. A son does not require an excellent memory to know Father did not act the role of saint in his youth, but as his heir, I would know if he kept a mistress. Men commonly speak of such things in their clubs. London and the ton possess small minds and large mouths. Secrets cannot be concealed for long. I hold no doubt either Harrison or Lord Remmington would have apprised me of such before I returned to the Keep if that was the situation.”

  Her tears returned. “There is no other explanation. Your father is not the kind of man to endure pompous idiots, and the Earl of Sandahl is as pretentious as they come.”

  Hunt despised the idea that his mother suffered from his father’s foolishness. When the opportunity arrived, he would give Devilfoard a tongue-lashing for the duke’s insensitivity. “Could Devilfoard owe Sandahl money?” he suggested in caution. “Or perhaps the earl stumbled upon a long-forgotten secret?”

  The duchess cleared her throat. She battled against the hope bubbling into her countenance before giving into it. “Could it be?”

  Hunt caressed her back. “I am certain of it. Now, may I request your assistance in discovering Sandahl’s hold over the duke? I would prefer not to play the role of the sacrificial lamb in this matter. Neither would I wish my denial of Lady Mathild to bring a public outcry against the dukedom.”

  * * *

  Angel chose to sit with Lady Stoke rather than to join the other young ladies who perused the latest fashion plates with the duchess and Lady Falonwick. A quick journey to the village to examine lace and fabric was not to Angel’s taste. Her mind would not be denied the memory of the conversation with her father. Like her, Horace Lovelace had known both bewilderment and indignation.

  * * *

  Her father had paced the open area of his assigned quarters. “I cannot believe someone subjected you to such gossip!”

  Angel had approached him before Horace Lovelace joined Lady Gunnimore to break his fast. “It is not gossip to those who made the connection between you and the Earl of Sandahl,” she corrected. “Did you know of Uncle Carpenter’s succession to the earldom?”

  Her father jammed his fingers into his thinning hair. “Do I appear to hold previous knowledge of this development?” he said with sarcasm. “When Cadon sent me away, I eschewed any connections to the family. I refused to accept my family’s existence. I never inquired of their wellbeing nor did I send them word of my successes.”

  “But you held knowledge of Uncle Cadon’s accident?”

  He spoke of denial. “Your mother insisted upon my learning of Cadon’s passing. Lady Gunnimore wrote of my eldest brother’s untimely death. At the time, I made the assumption Carpenter became Lord Moses, as was his heritage. I possessed no information on the Seventh Earl of Sandahl’s passing without bonds of primogeniture or of Cadon’s becoming the head of the Wesket branch of the family. Perhaps, if I had—”

  Angel wrung her hands in apprehension. “Should we depart the Keep? Lord Sandahl and his family should return to the duchess’s entertainment tomorrow. I would not wish you to know public disdain, Papa. It is possible Lord Sandahl will choose to name you the target of a very public outcry.”

  Her father’s frown lines deepened. “I do not doubt it. Carpenter often decried my perfidy in marrying Victoria without the family’s permission. Nevertheless, I doubt the beau monde will find a two-decades-old transgression worthy of more than a brief mention. Our families ‘punished’ your mother and me. There are no more sanctions to be doled out. Lineage cannot be denied. Carpenter and I are from the same sire. Even with his peerage, I am as much a gentleman as he, and I am disinclined to avoid Sandahl further. I wish to reclaim my place in English Society, and permitting Sandahl control of my social calendar is not to my liking. I initially withdrew because I had wronged Carpenter. I could not place blame upon Carp’s shoulders for I would have known a deep bitterness if Victoria chose my brother over me.”

  “What shall you do?”

  “First, I plan to enjoy Lady Gunnimore’s company for my morning meal, and then I will request an audience with Devilfoard. I believe the duke should be made aware of my connection to Sandahl, as well as the many ramifications of our reunion. If Devilfoard asks me to leave, we will do so early tomorrow morning, but I pray the duke recognizes my sincere wish to remain one of the duchess’s houseguests.”

  * * *

  Lady Stoke’s taunting tone interrupted Angel’s troubled thoughts. “You are quite preoccupied today.”

  “I apologize, Lady Stoke. My father has not been well of late.” Angel spoke in half-truths. “I was thinking upon this journey and whether it was the wisest choice.”

>   The viscountess’s brows lifted. “Really? Mr. Lovelace appeared quite enthusiastic when he spoke to Lady Gunnimore in the morning room. Even appeared a bit flushed at times.”

  Angel gave herself a little shake. Had her father confided in Countess Gunnimore? Angel had denied Horace Lovelace’s desire to know her confidant’s name. Or was there another reason for her father’s attentions to the countess? “I am certain it does my father well to encounter those he knew from his youth. As Lady Gunnimore has no doubt explained, the countess and my mother were childhood friends. This desire for a Season for me was my mother’s dream, and my father honors her last wishes. Even so, without his wife by his side, he suffered in doing so.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Lovelace and the countess can find a measure of happiness together,” Lady Stoke observed. “I am certain both know the loneliness of an empty hearth.”

  Angel frowned with unspoken doubt. “I suppose it is possible, but what of Carson?”

  “Carson?”

  “Yes, Carson.” Angel’s head reeled from all the possibilities. “My younger brother. He is but ten and away at school. Surely Papa would not consider another joining without thinking upon his son’s future. I shall find a husband and leave my father’s household, but Carson is his heir. My brother’s needs must be addressed in any decision Papa makes.”

  Lady Stoke apparently noted Angel’s distress, and the viscountess made an effort to change the tone of their conversation. “Men are obsessed with their heirs, are they not?”

  “Not so much in America,” Angel explained. “Without peerages in consideration, occasionally even a female inherits her father’s property.”

  “There are many societies where the last born inherits,” Lady Stoke observed. “The Greeks conferred kingship through the youngest, and many in the Bible, such as Jacob, David, Moses, and Solomon were younger sons. In medieval England, the legal practice was known as Borough English or socage.”

  Angel considered the viscountess’s words. “Lord Harrison might find the concept a worthy one.”

  Lady Stoke laughed easily. “I am certain Harry would enjoy being more than a minor son. As for me, I could gladly accept the concept of the first born inheriting, whether that child be male or female.”

  Surprised by Lady Stoke’s declaration, Angelica looked up. “You are Lord Malvern’s senior?”

  “Yes.” The viscountess’s eyes filled with bemusement. “Malvern often believes his words should hold sway because he is the heir apparent, and most of the time, I agree with his opinions. However, I will admit to taking great pleasure in reminding him he must respect the opinions of his elders.” She spread her hands, gesturing toward where the children played with the nurses and nannies on the side lawn. “Logan is much in Malvern’s position, except he is not only the first male, but also the first child. Lucas, on the other hand, is less enthused over his role as a minor son.”

  Angelica admitted, “I did not realize you presented Lord Stoke with twins,” Angel admitted.

  The viscountess turned her head to smile at Angel. “Malvern and I are twins. Stoke and his brother Giles are twins of the same countenance. My first confinement provided his lordship with twin boys who resemble each other closely, and as large as my lady’s waist has become of late, I expect a second set of doubles. Even the duke knew a twin brother.”

  “Your father?” Angel asked in astonishment.

  “My Uncle Harold. He passed a decade or more prior. It was shortly after Huntington finished at university and perhaps a year or two before Devilfoard paid a bribe payment for Malvern’s return from the Continent.”

  Angel eyed the viscountess with some misgivings. “Was Malvern in danger from Napoleon’s forces?” Her heart raced with thoughts of his lordship knowing the devastation of war.

  “No. Nothing of that nature. Napoleon and Wellington had not reached final blows at the time. Hunt represented the McLaughlins in celebration of a well-known artist in the duchess’s family. Regrettably, Malvern wandered into unreceptive territory, and he knew imprisonment for some four months. His gaolers kept him in a small cell. That is as much as I know. Hunt will not speak of his time there. I fear my brother knew great terror.”

  Angel did not like to think of Lord Malvern suffering. She wondered if he had nightmares. Many she knew from the war against the British upon the Canadian front spoke of great travesties. “The duke paid a ransom for the marquess’s release?”

  “It was all very secretive, but I do know Hunt would go to great extremes not to disappoint Devilfoard again. My twin felt he failed the family.”

  A long silence rested between them while a slight unease formed in Angel’s mind. “Why have you shared such a private affair with a stranger, Lady Stoke?”

  The viscountess cleared her throat. “My brother is a complicated man, and I believe anyone who takes his interest should be aware of the events, which molded him.”

  Lady Stoke’s gracious smile did not falter, but Angel heard the tinge of warning in the lady’s tone. “And you think me a person who holds an interest in Lord Malvern’s wellbeing? Should not your suggestions be made to Lady Mathild?”

  “That wisp of a girl?” the viscountess said with a disapproving tut before her gaze returned to the children. “I am surprised, Miss Lovelace, you did not recognize my children’s countenances.”

  “I fear I do not understand, Viscountess,” Angel said in wariness.

  “If you think upon it, Miss Lovelace, you will recall a day at the park. You were in a carriage, and a gentleman was in play with two rambunctious boys. And later at the theater as you boarded a public hack, the same gentleman stood under a street lamp—”

  Angel finished the viscountess’s story. “With a woman fully enceinte upon his arm. My Goodness! How often have Lord Malvern and my paths crossed prior to our first introduction?” She thought to say “prior to our meeting during the storm,” but at the last moment she recalled the lies they had spoken to the McLaughlin family. The marquess’s sister did not know their history.

  Lady Stoke gave a huge sigh. “I was thinking how wonderful it is that Fate appears determined to bring you and Malvern to a common understanding. After all, taking note of that one special person across a crowded park or upon a busy London street is quite singular.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Her conversation with Lord Malvern’s sister did little to ease Angel’s apprehension. As attracted as she was to the marquess, she did not want to be responsible for his potential happiness.

  “It is not as if a future duke can choose an untitled miss as his duchess,” she grumbled under her breath as she waited for her father upon the terrace overlooking the duchess’s gardens to join the others partaking of afternoon tea. “Moreover, despite his sister’s protestations, Lord Malvern cannot claim an American bred woman over those from English Society.”

  “Talking to yourself, my dear?”

  Angel looked over her shoulder to note the grin of amusement upon Lord Remmington’s lips.

  She scowled, but it was useless to be angry with the earl. Instead, she joined in his tease. “In America we have a saying about belling the cat to warn of his approach, my lord.”

  “Do you consider me a danger, my dear?”

  Angel studied his countenance. The woman who finally tamed him would never know boredom. “Most certainly, my lord. I would never think to underestimate you.”

  He reached for her hand to place it upon his sleeve. The earl turned their steps toward the garden. “Now, explain this propensity of yours to keep your own counsel.”

  Angel shrugged with a laugh of self-chastisement. “I swear I only do so when I require intelligent conversation.”

  Lord Remmington threw his head back to laugh at her taunt. “You are quite delightful, Miss Lovelace.”

  They walked in silence for several minutes.

  “What is it you seek, my lord?” she asked warily. “Do you think me the purveyor of devious means? Has the marquess asked for your i
ntervention? If so, please assure Lord Malvern I hold no designs upon him. The means which placed us in each other’s paths are nothing more than coincidence.”

  A proud tilt claimed the earl’s chin, and a stormy disquiet crossed his features. “Do you object to my company, Miss Lovelace?”

  A soft blush rose to Angel’s cheeks. “No, my lord. You always treat me with respect, and I appreciate the freedom to speak openly when we are together. It is an aberration among many within English Society.”

  “Precisely.” The earl brought their steps to a halt under the rose arbor. “I am the marquess’s associate, not his servant. When I seek your company, it is because I find you the most fascinating woman of my acquaintance. You describe me as a predator of sorts, yet, you do not fear me. You offer me intelligent conversation, as well as an open challenge. And as to your eschewing Malvern’s attractions, I am pleased to hear it.”

  Angel drew in a long, steadying breath. Although the earl was not her Lucifer, he was a very virile man, and his attentions flattered her pride. Perhaps she had discovered an Englishman she could tolerate.

  “I beg your pardon for my circumspection, my lord. May we begin again?”

  * * *

  Another hour passed before Angel could speak privately with her father. “What did the duke say?”

  Horace Lovelace frowned, and the chiseled hardness upon his lips took Angel by surprise. “It was an odd conversation. Devilfoard appeared both mollified and concerned over my reunion with Sandahl. Even so, the duke did not demand my withdrawal. In fact, Devilfoard summoned his duchess to his study and explained the situation. The duchess expressed a like determination to act in a responsible manner. It was as if I played a role in an intricate dance. As crass as it sounds to say so, I felt as if my appearance brought the duke and duchess to a new understanding.”