Loving the Wrong Lord

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Of course she didn’t. Like many of the women here, save for a handful of women thought to be bluestockings, Charity Ogden was nice enough, but not well educated. He wasn’t certain she would choose a proper education, even if she could, for she was so completely and utterly devoted to her religious studies. Perhaps she should have become a nun. It would have better suited her temperament to wed herself to the church than to a living, breathing man with physical needs.

  In general, Phin was quickly discovering that the women at the house party, much like the women at the previous one, fell into two distinct groups. There were those who were deeply religious and believed that Phin was as well because of his first marriage to a vicar’s daughter and his own very religious father. That group included those like Miss Ogden, who at present was still mulling over what Phin had just said about pride.

  Then there were the women who simply wanted nothing more than to become a duchess. Preferably a wealthy one. That described Lady Margaretta perfectly. She cared about the title and all she would become the mistress of, and not Phin himself. She also cared very deeply about how quickly she could get her hands on his purse strings and never failed to mention that she was “too delicate” for most work of any sort and would likely require an extensive staff.

  Then there was Josie who didn’t fit into either of those two groups. Pity she wasn’t the lady seated next to him. If she had been, he wouldn’t have been so eager for this entire nightmare of a dinner to end.

  “Well,” Phin shot Cilla another anger-filled glare, for he still wished he could wring his sister’s pretty little neck, “if you believe that you are pure of heart and pious, more so than others, is that not being prideful? Which is, of course, not a Godly trait. Would it not be better to be the best person you can be, live a good life, and allow others to decide if you are Godly?”

  Now the woman frowned even more, uncertain of how to answer such a question. Phin was all but certain she would have had an answer for him – and that it would have taken a considerable amount of time for her to get it all out as she talked extremely slowly – but he was saved by a signal from Anson, his butler.

  “I am terribly sorry, Miss Ogden, but if you will excuse me, I am afraid that I am being called away on estate business.” He gestured to where Havenhurst’s stiffly proper butler sent a disapproving look in Phin’s direction. “When one is in my position of caring for so many, one cannot always indulge as they like with dinner parties and whatnot. Duty to the dukedom must come first, as I am certain you understand.”

  Then, before Miss Ogden could launch into a commentary about how proper and pious women made excellent duchesses because they cared so very much about other people’s welfare, Phin all but catapulted himself out of the chair and toward the butler.

  “You required my attention, Anson?” Phin asked, straightening his jacket, well aware that every female eye in the dining room was focused on him just then as he and Anson made to quit the room.

  “I thought you could use a respite, your grace.” The butler offered a half-smile as they went into the hallway. “Oh, and Lord Radcliffe is here to see you, as well. I’ve placed him in the green parlor, well away from everyone else.”

  At that, Phin’s eyebrows nearly shot into his hairline and he headed directly for the south end of the manor house, where Anson had indicated that he had stashed the man. All the while, Phin’s mind was racing. The Duke of Radcliffe? Here? Why? Was something amiss with Josie? Or worse, was he about to get his bollocks handed to him for toying with her in the summer house?

  But no. No one knew about the summerhouse, save for his staff who would have discovered the mess when they went to clean the place this morning. Surely word had not reached London so quickly even if one of them had betrayed his confidences.

  Pausing outside the door, Phin straightened his jacket, though he had little reason to be nervous. Just like Radcliffe, Phin was a duke. Still, there was the little matter of Josie. And the fact that the man was married to the Bloody Duke’s sister. And was rumored to share his brother-in-law’s bloody thirsty tendencies on occasion.

  “Lord Radcliffe. Good evening.” Phin wasted no time with pleasantries as he barged through the door after a quick knock. “Is something amiss for you to have come all this way from London?”

  Phin was a little surprised to see the other man calmly sipping on a glass of scotch as casually as could be. He didn’t appear upset or worried or about to chop off Phin’s still-a-bit-randy cock. He did look extremely amused, however.

  “Fullbridge. Good to see you!” Then the other man laughed and raised the glass in a toast. “Gads, Phin! You look scared half to death.”

  “Yes, well, when the Bloody Duke’s brother-in-law shows up unexpectedly on my doorstep, what am I to think?” Phin groused. “Besides, it has been a bloody miserable day, so what was I to think?”

  Radcliffe snorted. “That the man entrusted with the care and safety of a true innocent might be concerned for his charge’s welfare? That I am worried about whether or not she is finding the company friendly or if she is miserable and alone? That I feel like a father who has no idea how to protect a child he has only just come to know?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I am not ready for this sort of thing, Phin. I am worried sick over Lady Josie, and she is not even mine!” He shuddered and polished off the rest of his drink. “I can only imagine how much worse it will be when my own daughter is of an age.”

  That, finally, made Phin laugh. “You’re here because you are acting like an over-protective parent?” He was incredulous. “You? Benjamin Sinclair? The man who very nearly fought a duel over the woman he loved? You are worried about whether or not a young lady is making friends?”

  Ben glared at Phin. “That and worried that she might be skirting the edges of propriety, given how innocent and unpolished she is. She needs a husband without scandal, and yet, she is attracted to you, or she was back in London.” He blew out a long breath. “It is an additional fear, I will admit. More so now that she only has your great-aunt to serve as chaperone and, given what I am hearing, no one has even seen the woman.”

  “Great-Aunt Mary is here,” Phin snapped. “She just does not care for people so she does not leave her chambers. And there are dozens of Society matrons stomping about my home, not to mention that technically, Lady Josie’s Grey Lady is still here. She is perfectly safe and well-looked-after.”

  Radcliffe poured himself another drink and nodded in grudging acknowledgment. “I heard about what happened with Miss Hadley. I had so hoped she would be able to pave the way for Josephine.”

  “That particular situation, unfortunately, cannot be helped, but I do think your fears in general are a bit unfounded.” Phin waved Ben back into the chair he had been occupying. “Lady Josie is making friends, though not with everyone, but that is to be expected, of course. There are those who are suspicious of her, as I am certain you can understand. The rumors of her father’s madness are not unfounded either, and we still live in backward enough times that there are those who believe that madness is as catching as a cold.”

  Radcliffe propped one booted foot on his knee. “But she is making friends?”

  “With some young ladies, yes. In particular with Lady Tabitha, the Duke of Averill’s daughter. The two of them very nearly killed my gardener’s prized tulips while playing battledore this morning, but otherwise, I think Lady Tabitha has been good for Lady Josie.” Then Phin narrowed his eyes, tired of this conversation “And now that we are done with that nonsense, because if you were truly concerned only about Lady Josie, you would have beaten the information out of me the moment I stepped into the room, why don’t you tell me why you are really here?”

  Radcliffe’s lips twitched in amusement. “You know me too well.”

  “I know the Bloody Duke too well, and if you are here while your wife might be increasing? Then the matter is obviously important.”

  The other man sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Lord Cleary. He m
ay have been, entangled, shall we say with another young lady before he set his sights on your sister and her far-larger bank accounts. There are some reports that another young lady might now be increasing. I have no idea if such a rumor is true, and neither does Nick, but it is very concerning.”

  If that were true, Phin would rip the man apart with his bare hands. “He is panting after my sister, and she fancies herself half in love with him.”

  “Exactly.” Radcliffe smiled far too sweetly. “The girl in question is now back in London with Lord and Lady Berkshire so she is safe. For the moment.”

  Phin’s eyebrows shot up again. “A Grey Lady, then? A peer’s daughter fallen on hard times?”

  Ben nodded. “Yes. To both of those assumptions.”

  “Then I shall dispose of Cleary where no one can ever find him.” In general, the young women who became Grey Ladies were among the most vulnerable in Society. They were often distantly tied to the peerage, had no family left, no funds, and no way of supporting themselves. They were also under the unofficial protection of the Bloody Duke. “No one will miss him. Least of all me. I can assure you of that.”

  Radcliffe held up his hand in a staying motion. “Allow me to attempt to extricate him quietly first. Before there’s any bloodshed.” Phin growled. “However, if my attempts are unsuccessful, you may have at him and bury him in the nearest crofter’s field for all I care. I am losing my taste for violence, I fear, though I am told fatherhood will do that to a man.”

  Drawing in slow, deep breaths, Phin did his best to calm his raging emotions. Duncan Cleary had been sniffing about Cilla’s skirts back in London. The cad had followed her here, all the while knowing there was a chance he had already ruined a young woman’s future. If this Grey Lady was merely deflowered? The Bloody Duke could easily find her a husband. If she was with child? Then the matter became a great deal more difficult to manage, especially if the man responsible for her condition was in line to inherit as Cleary was.

  “How much time do you require to see about this distasteful business?” Phin needed to know how long he would be required to keep his temper under control. He also wondered how long he had to find a place to stash Cleary’s body, should that be necessary.

  This was the side of him that no one had ever seen, or at least not in a good many years. His mother, bless her, had been a wonderful woman, but she had also possessed the temper of a harridan – one that Phin had inherited. How his parents had ever managed a successful marriage was beyond Phin. His mother had occasionally been a gorgon, and his father had sometimes been the next closest thing to a saint. It made no sense.

  And yet…they had managed. Perfectly by most accounts and from what Phin himself knew.

  Phin’s parents had weathered the gossip that had dogged them for years, for his mother had enjoyed something of a reputation for “devouring” men, as the gossips back then had liked to say. His father? Had been quiet and bookish, devoted to daily prayers and thrice-weekly church services. Their union had shaken London to its core. And yet, the previous Lord Fullbridge and his duchess had been blissfully happy until his father had passed away, leaving his mother in mourning until the day she, too, died.

  Did Phin have to settle for a bland marriage, as he had always imagined he would when he wed for the second time? Maybe not. Perhaps he could choose someone who was…unexpected but still perfect for him. Just as his parents had.

  Until this moment, Phin had never looked at his own life paralleling his parents’ lives, but in some ways, it had.

  That, however, was not what he should be focusing on just then. Rather, he should be thinking of ways to get Cleary out of his house and away from his sister.

  “I should like a day. Possibly more, though I am aware that the house party ends in three days.” Radcliffe seemed to be considering the matter deeply just then. “I make no promises that I can extract him, mind you. He might be Waverly’s heir, but he is horribly short on funds. The entire family is. Waverly attempted to rectify that issue when he hoped to marry Lady Charlotte to Snowly, but as we both know, that did not go to plan either since the lady had a mind of her own.”

  That farce of a romance between Snowly and Lord Waverly’s daughter had played out right here at Havenhurst only last month. It was also something that Phin would very much like to forget. In the end, Lady Charlotte had chosen the man she loved and not the man her father had selected for her, thankfully.

  “Cleary needs money. I have plenty of it. As does Cilla. He knows this and likely plans to use her infatuation with him to coax funds out of one or both of us.” Phin pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is not good.”

  “But we will stop him before matters get that far,” Radcliffe assured Phin. “Has he, er, propositioned your sister?”

  “Not that I know of, and I thank our lucky stars for that. Knowing Cilla, she probably would have slapped him if he had done so, and thus far, Cleary has not shown any physical injuries.” Phin would not put it past his sister to murder the man herself if she learned the truth. “Besides, there is still Snowly to consider, and, when it comes right down to it, crass as this might sound, I have to believe that Cilla would allow herself to be compromised by Snowly before anyone else. Their attraction and entanglement go back years. To their youth, actually. They desire each other and, if it seems as if there is no other way to stop Cilla from falling victim to Cleary? I shall make certain she compromises herself with Snowly.”

  Radcliffe raised an eyebrow at Phin’s rather radical proposal but finally nodded. “That is good and gives me something I can work with for the moment.” He nodded, obviously still planning his next steps. “But for now? I think it best that I disappear. I don’t want anyone to know I am here.”

  “I’ll make certain Anson has a room prepared for you.” Away from the rest of the guests, because Lord knew, Phin had the rooms to spare.

  “Thank you. I really don’t wish to be seen by anyone other than you and Cleary if I can help it.” Radcliffe looked a bit sheepish. “While I am worried about Josie, I have no wish for her to know that I am here. I don’t want her to think that I am spying on her, or worse, do not trust her.” He shook his head and then paused, as if considering something. “Actually, I hate to ask, but do you think you could find some way to keep her occupied for the next day or so? I would be ever so grateful. I hate to ask because I know you are trying to stop rumors and find a bride of your own, but if she sees me? This entire situation might end badly. I need her to be otherwise occupied.”

  “I can do that.” Hell, Phin would jump at the chance to spend more time with Josie. Doing so essentially with Benjamin Sinclair’s blessing made it that much better. “Do not worry. She will never know you are here. I can also manage the gossip, should it become an issue. I actually find such things bother me very little these days.”

  “You will?” Radcliffe sounded dubious. “And you don’t care about gossip?”

  “I don’t, and I will see to Lady Josie’s welfare while you are here at Havenhurst.” Phin was all but beaming at the other man now. “Trust me.”

  The other man looked as if he wished to do anything but trust Phin. Still, in the end, he stuck out his hand, and they shook on the matter. “As long as you are certain.”

  “I am,” Phin assured him. “In fact, it will be my pleasure.”

  A pleasure to spend time with Josie and at the same time have someone get Cleary away from Cilla for him. Especially the chance to spend time with Josie part. But Radcliffe didn’t have to know that. In fact, it was better for all concerned if he didn’t.

  Chapter Twelve

  Town Tattler

  (Far, Far Too Early Morning Edition)

  The Fullbridge house party continues on as the remains of a rather eventful London Season begin to wind down. I am told that those young ladies not selected to be the next duchess – should a choice for that open position even be made – will scurry back to London rather quickly in a last-minute attempt to find themselves
a husband, lest they be forced to wait for the Little Season to try again. Will one of those ladies be Lady Josie? Or Lady Margaretta? Or even Miss Ogden, she of the deeply religious mind-set? At this point, one can only wait and see, dear readers, for even I have no idea how this shall play out.

  What I can say with some certainty is that Lady Priscilla will likely be a married lady come the end of the Season – a spinster no more. Between Lord Snowly and Lord Cleary, she has both men panting after her like fools, and Lady Priscilla herself is no fool. If she wished to wed, this is her last, best chance and will likely settle on one man to hold her affections.

  So, what of other lords, including Queensbury, Copeland, and Sutton, amongst others? Again, I have no answers, dear readers, for until now? Those gentlemen have shown no interest in setting up their nurseries. What has changed? Time, most likely. None of us can stay young forever, so keep watching this column, as I expect their loves stories to play out in rather public fashion over the next few months. Mark my words that by next year at this time, all three of those men shall be wed. You can trust me on that, dear readers, for my sources, though shadowy, are excellent.

  -Lady A

  After a restless night when even reading Mrs. Kingsley and the Black Pirate, one of her favorite Gothic novels, hadn’t helped settle her mind, Josie ventured downstairs the next morning a little irritable and more than a little tired.

  Last night’s dinner had been long and tedious. While she had enjoyed the company of both Lord Queensbury and Lord Sutton, along with Lord Copeland, she had found her other dinner companions dreadfully dull. Though she was hardly possessed of a great intellect, Josie liked to think that she could converse fairly knowledgeable on a variety of topics. While her governesses might not have thought that the writings of Plato and Descartes were appropriate subjects for the female mind, her father – who by that time had been completely wrapped up in Elizabeth’s life and travails – hadn’t much cared what she read from his extensive library, even if she risked becoming viewed as a bluestocking.