“Of course,” Ida said, not waiting for the butler’s assistance in removing it. “Thank you.” She was halfway to the library before her cloak was completely in the butler’s keeping. “Can you bring me some tea? With lemon? I might be a while,” she said over her shoulder as she pushed open the door.
The sight of all the books in the library made Ida’s breath catch in her throat, as always. She would never cease being excited at seeing so much information, entertainment, and words in one place.
If it were possible just to move her bed, she’d seriously consider just living in a library for the rest of her life. Marrying the books so she wouldn’t have to marry any gentleman at all.
Perhaps then Della wouldn’t be the most scandalous of the Duke’s daughters. Because running away with the dancing master was one thing; wedding yourself to a bunch of leather-bound tomes would be beyond the boundaries of acceptable behavior.
She smiled at her own whimsy, pushing away any thoughts of what her parents wanted her future to look like as she walked to the section of the library that held the atlases.
Mr. Beechcroft had leased this townhouse from a family whose fortunes had suffered, so most of the books here had been purchased by the owners. The atlases, however, were Mr. Beechcroft’s own; he had a passion for geography, although his business interests, and now his health, hadn’t allowed him to travel.
Once he’d discovered that Ida was as fascinated as he, he’d left the books here for her use when he’d departed London for the country. She’d felt at home here as she didn’t in her own house. And Mr. Beechcroft had come to seem like the father she’d never had—kind, and intelligent, and interested in what she had to say.
“Your tea, my lady.” The butler had returned, and was placing the tea things on the table.
“Thank you,” Ida said from in front of the shelves.
She kept reviewing the atlases until she picked out the one that appeared to be the most promising. It included detailed maps of England, and she brought it over to the long table that held the tea.
Its warm fragrance tickled her nose. If she were to move into a library, she’d have to add to her list of demands that she be served tea at least twice a day. With lemon, although she could forgo that if the circumstances required.
She chuckled at herself as she squeezed the wedge into the cup. She took a sip, sighing as the taste washed over her tongue, then put the teacup down on the table beside her, glancing around before she began the work.
This library was designed to be used. It was comfortable and welcoming, with low, well-worn chairs on either side of the table. A sofa was placed in front of the fireplace, which wasn’t lit, but the room was warm nonetheless. Likely something to do with some new technology Edward had discovered. He and Mr. Beechcroft shared a passion for innovation.
Something they all had in common.
She flipped the book open to the index, scanning for the H section. Hableston, Hackford, and then there it was.
Haltwhistle.
“Aha!” she exclaimed. She had known it must be a town, but until she actually saw it on the page, she wasn’t certain she would be able to locate it.
She traced her finger from London to Haltwhistle, feeling her stomach tighten at the distance.
At least a week’s worth of travel.
And somehow, some way, she was going to get there.
Chapter 4
Always be prepared for something you haven’t prepared for.
Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler
Bennett hadn’t figured out what he could do to help solve his problems, but he knew what he couldn’t do: Marry a wealthy heiress just for her money, which would go directly into his father’s pockets.
Now if only he could come up with another thousand or so ideas of what he couldn’t do, perhaps he would stumble across the solution. There must be some mathematical formula that would help him calculate just how many wrong answers he’d need to come up with to find the right one. Perhaps the erudite Lady Ida would know.
Rob a bank, walk to China, create a scandal that would mean all the Carson-hunters found other prey.
Perhaps marry Lady Ida herself.
He smiled as he continued his walk, thinking about their conversation of the day before. He hadn’t realized before how remarkable she was—he’d just seen the image he presumed she wanted to present: a terrifyingly intelligent woman who displayed herself entirely as she was, with no disguise. But he hadn’t missed the vulnerability in her tone, nor had he missed how delightfully awkward she’d looked after she’d made that funny noise.
There was clearly more to her than mere intelligence.
“Watch yerself,” a voice said, as Bennett swerved to avoid a trio of what appeared to be bakers. Their hats and fronts were coated in what looked like flour dust, and they were arguing amongst themselves about something. Bennett heard the words yeast, rising, and punch before their voices retreated into the distance.
He knew it was ludicrous to envy people like them—workers who likely had to save and scrounge every penny, who perhaps weren’t even allowed to eat the fruits of their labors. He was warm, he was housed, he was fed. But he was also struggling against all the things that defined him. Who was he, when it came down to it?
It would take an escape for him to find out. An escape he wouldn’t allow himself to take.
But no matter how desperate his situation felt, it was a relief to know that Alex supported him, no matter what he might choose to do. That Alex would step in to do whatever was needed. If it was needed.
“Lord Carson!” a voice called out, and Bennett stopped suddenly on the sidewalk, bumping into an older lady selling flowers. She glowered at him until he pulled out a coin and took one of her bouquets.
Then her glower turned to a smile. Of course. Money fixes everything, he thought ruefully. He plucked one of the flowers from the bouquet and put it in his buttonhole.
He shared another smile, this one a real smile, with the flower-seller. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, giving him a quick once-over. “You look even finer.”
Finally, he turned to where the voice came from on his other side.
“My lord, what were you thinking about?” It was Lord Mayweather, accompanied by what Bennett presumed was a Carson-hunter, judging by the hungry look in the young lady’s eyes.
Or perhaps he was too suspicious, seeing a Carson-hunter with every flutter of an elegant skirt.
“This is my daughter, Frances,” Lord Mayweather said as his daughter dipped into a graceful curtsey. She kept her gaze on Bennett, however, so she was looking at him through her eyelashes, which might have looked flirtatious to another man, but to him appeared as though she wanted to pin him to a marriage board. Like a game of darts, but the bull’s-eye was him. Skewered at the center.
Not too suspicious then.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Bennett replied.
“You seemed so lost in thought,” Lady Frances said in one of those soft debutante tones. “Father had to call your name three times to get your attention.”
Bennett reflected that perhaps that might have indicated he was engrossed and didn’t wish to be disturbed.
But he couldn’t fault either one of them for thinking it was just good manners to say hello.
“Frances has just returned from finishing school,” Lord Mayweather said, beaming down at his daughter. “It cost a pretty penny, but she is pretty worth it,” he said, laughing at his own joke.
“Oh Father,” Lady Frances said, lowering her gaze and shifting in a coquettish manner. “You make me blush.” She raised her eyes to Bennett and batted her lashes. Had she been taught that at finishing school? Was there such a thing as a Batting Lashes for Maximum Male Annihilation course of study?
“But I am hoping, my lord, that you will help me find my way in Society. I know so few people, you see,” she said, lowering her gaze to his chest, presumably where the bull’s-eye was.
“I would be pleased to do so,” Bennett replied automatically. Wishing he could grimace as he realized what he’d just said.
No doubt Lady Frances was a perfectly charming young lady, imbued with all the graces a finishing school could instill. But it felt so artificial, this constant back and forth. He wished she could have just said what she meant—Please ask me to dance at the next party so that other young unmarried men like you will know I am a reasonable person to pay attention to. Perhaps you would like to pay permanent attention to me—only that would be scandalously shocking, to say what she actually meant.
In other words, he wished Lady Frances were more like Lady Ida.
Hmm. That surprised him, that he was already comparing other young ladies to that one. Thank goodness she was not among the ranks of Carson-hunters. Although that would be refreshing: “I wish you to propose, my lord. I have reason to believe you will annoy me less than most potential husbands.”
He smothered a grin at the thought.
“Well, we will be looking forward to seeing you at the next event. If you will excuse us, my Frances has to drain my bank at the dressmaker’s.” Lord Mayweather chuckled as he spoke, and Bennett smiled wanly in return.
“Good day, my lady, my lord,” Bennett said, turning on his heel to walk in the opposite direction.
He’d been joking when he’d thought of a bull’s-eye, but as he walked away, he had the distinct impression Lady Frances was sizing him up for a ring and a yoke.
Escape was sounding better and better.
“Tell me again how difficult it is to be you. I want to laugh harder.”
Bennett suppressed the urge to growl at his best friend, who sat opposite him at their club.
It wasn’t precisely the escape he dreamt of, but he had taken a detour on his way home to stop inside for a drink and the company of gentlemen who had no wish to marry him.
It was a relief, although he knew he’d have to leave. Eventually.
Meanwhile, he’d been delighted to see Edward, who’d traveled up to London for the day to take care of some papers for his father, Mr. Beechcroft. Edward’s wife, Olivia, had stayed at home with her father-in-law, although apparently she had sent Edward with several errands.
But they were completed, and Edward had a bit of time before he had to return, which was why they were here.
The two were in a dark corner of the club, as far away from anybody who might come to ask Bennett his opinion on a bill, urge him to marry one of their female relatives, or press him for investment advice.
The chairs were well-upholstered, and comfortable. Bennett felt himself relax just a tiny amount as he looked over at his friend.
“Another glass, my lord? Mr. Wolcott?”
And the club’s servants were also impeccably trained to anticipate its members’ wants. He wished he could just stay here for the rest of his life.
“Yes, thank you,” Bennett replied before Edward could even open his mouth.
“You are desperate,” Edward said, picking up his glass and draining it. “I’ve never seen you so—” He paused, tilting his head as he regarded his friend. “Morose? No, that’s not it. You’re not nearly as miserable as I would be in your position. Unsatisfied? Closer.” He twisted his lips in thought. “Maybe restless. You seem restless.”
Bennett shifted in his chair, bearing out just what his friend had said.
“Your wine, my lord, Mr. Wolcott,” the servant said as he poured more into their glasses. Bennett leaned forward and took a long draught, relishing the way the liquid felt as it slid down his throat. The promise of oblivion only a few glasses away.
He’d wake up with a massive headache and with all of his problems still intact, but it would provide a temporary respite.
A bargain he would take, even though it wasn’t good business.
The servant filled Edward’s glass, then bowed.
“Just leave the bottle,” Bennett said as the servant went to walk away.
The man bowed again, placing the wine on the table as Edward looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
“I’ve never known you to drink to excess. Or do anything to excess, actually,” he said, knitting his brow. “This is serious, then.” He picked up the bottle and topped Bennett’s glass off.
Bennett explained the problems to Edward, who was sympathetic, even if he did spend a few moments mocking him, pointing out that he was the heir to a Marquessate, he was young, fit, responsible, and had an excellent best friend.
All of which were true, even the best friend part, but it didn’t solve Bennett’s concerns. Or his father’s demand for funds.
“You could join a traveling circus,” Edward continued, after he’d stopped chuckling at his own jokes. Only it came out “you could join a circusing travel. Travel circusing.” He shook his head in frustration.
Bennett and Edward had polished off one bottle of wine, and were making their way through a second. Bennett didn’t feel any less hunted or trapped, but he had to admit he cared a bit less.
“As what?” Bennett said looking blearily at Edward. “I can balance account ledgers, manage grand estates, make money from investments, and partner young ladies in dancing.” Bennett shook his head. “I don’t think audiences would pay to see me doing any of those things.”
Edward leaned his head back against the chair and laughed, the kind of exuberant chuckle that Bennett found he envied. His best friend, while still regarded as lesser because of the circumstances of his birth, was nonetheless incredibly wealthy and married to a woman with whom he was madly in love.
Bennett wanted that kind of happiness eventually. When it was the right time, which at the moment seemed as though it would be never.
“You could get a red coat and try as a ringmaster. You’ve got experience telling people what to do,” Edward said, a humorous tone in his voice.
“I’d just be trading servants and farmers for lions and tigers,” Bennett replied.
Edward pointed at Bennett. “But if one of the lions or tigers devours you, you wouldn’t have these problems anymore.”
“That’s an excellent line of reasoning. Death solves all of it,” Bennett said with a grin, draining his glass. Edward nodded in satisfaction as he regarded his friend.
A few drinks later, and Edward was on his way, leaving Bennett to contemplating his future and the bottom of the wine bottle.
“Lord Carson!”
Bennett turned around at hearing his name, wobbling just a tiny bit. He’d relished the peace and quiet of the club for precisely this reason—nobody coming up to talk to him.
Damn. Lord Mayweather, the father of the Desperate Debutante, stood behind him regarding him as though he were a fox run to ground. A proxy Carson-hunter, it seemed.
Bennett was not as drunk as he’d like, but still muzzy enough to have dulled the edges of his responsibility.
“Yes, my lord?”
“I am so glad to run into you this evening.” Lord Mayweather moved closer, his expression making Bennett brace himself for what the man was about to say. He doubted Lord Mayweather was going to offer to do anything but add to his problems.
“You see, Frances—my daughter—and I were hoping that you could come to dine with us. Frances knows so few people in town, you see. I believe you are just the third person she’s met since she returned. It would help immensely if one of Society’s most respected members were to be known as a particular acquaintance.”
Bennett blinked at Lord Mayweather, his wine-addled brain taking a longer time than usual to process the words.
So perhaps he had had enough to drink after all.
“And then if it were an evening where there is a party, we could all arrive together,” Lord Mayweather said in a disingenuous tone. As though it wouldn’t be seen as an indication of Bennett’s intentions toward Lady Frances for him to squire her to a party.
How clueless did Lord Mayweather and his daughter think he was?
“And since my leg—t
he gout, you know—makes it impossible for me to dance, you can take her out onto the floor for her first dance in Society.”
Very clueless.
“Yes, erm, well, yes. I do like food.”
Bennett wished he could smack himself in the face at his reply. I do like food? Who was he to call anyone clueless? At least he hadn’t added he also liked dancing. Even though he did.
He should not have had so much wine. Damn his father and his own responsibilities.
At the moment, he’d welcome a chance to engage in a battle of wills with a feline predator. Even if the lion or tiger ended up devouring him. Presumably, after all, the predator also liked food. So they would have that in common.
“Excellent! I shall send an invitation over.”
Lord Mayweather’s expression made it appear as though he’d not only caught the fox, but had also snagged a salmon and bagged a pheasant. If Bennett was the fox, salmon, and pheasant, respectively.
Now he had a menagerie running through his mind.
He really was drunk. And perhaps he should think about the zoo as a potential escape plan.
“Good evening, my lord,” Bennett said, walking the rest of the way down the stairs. If he didn’t exit quickly, he might start asking Lord Mayweather his favorite type of sport so that Bennett could get the appropriate garb in which to be hunted.
He ambled for a bit, then realized he’d been walking instinctively toward Edward’s house, although Edward was already heading back to the country.
Edward’s father, Mr. Beechcroft, was a kind, generous man, a marked difference to Bennett’s own father. No wonder Bennett would want to take refuge at that house rather than his own. It felt far more like home than his own home did.
He paused on the sidewalk before the house, staring up at the few glimmers of light within, the indication that the servants were still about.
“Thank you, Smithton,” he heard a voice say behind him. He turned to see an older woman walking up the steps to the house, a few large bundles in her hand. A coachman walked up just behind her, while a young servant stood by the carriage from which the woman—probably the housekeeper—had emerged.
The Lady Is Daring Page 4
