by Mary Nichols
‘No, for I was sure you were safe home in bed and making up for lost sleep.’
‘It was too late to go back to bed and I had promised Mrs Stebbings I would help her this morning, not that I think it is the least necessary to explain myself to you.’
‘Such stamina fills me with admiration.’
‘You have not been to bed either.’
‘No, but I am—was—a soldier, accustomed to remaining alert for two days without sleep.’
‘If you did not follow me, how did you know about the house?’
‘Oh, I came upon it quite by chance about a week ago. It seemed to me to be a very worthy cause and one I could support.’
‘Do you mean that?’
‘I am not in the habit of saying things I do not mean.’
‘I was thinking that besides a place to eat and sleep, what the men need most is work. I had thought of setting up an employment agency, but that would mean finding out what the men could do and talking to employers and persuading them to take them on. It would need to be done by a man who knew what he was about. Do you know of such a one?’
‘You thought of that yourself?’
‘Why, has it been done before?’
‘There are agencies…’
‘Yes, for domestic workers and people like that, not specifically for ex-soldiers and ex-sailors. I am sure it will help them, especially if you sponsor it.’
‘Because you ask it of me, I will give it some thought.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I make no promises—there are many aspects to be considered before a decision is made. It would have to be done in a businesslike way, not by a chit of a girl who has more compassion than sense.’
‘That is unfair, my lord, I am not without sense.’
‘You have shown little evidence of it in the short time I have known you. It is certainly not sensible to walk about the streets of London alone. I cannot allow it to continue.’
‘You cannot allow it!’ She was so incensed she turned towards him, her face flushed with anger. ‘And, pray, what gives you the right to dictate to me, Lord Braybrooke?’
‘Someone must. Lady Fitzpatrick has obviously failed to have the correct influence upon you and though Mr Harfield has but lately come to town, I would have expected him to have more care of you. Such a ramshackle way of going on, I never did know.’
‘Then I am surprised you allow yourself to be seen with me,’ she said. It was easier to be angry with him than to sit in silent misery. ‘I can do your reputation no good. I am not in the running for the next Duchess of Rathbone and that must surely be your first consideration. Countenance and elegance and presence, I am informed, are requisites, along with a fortune and turning a blind eye to infidelity. My goodness, I fail in every respect.’
‘Where did you learn that tarradiddle?’
‘On dits, my lord. Your list of requirements is the talk of the town and all the mamas are busy trying to make their daughters conform in order to please you.’
He cursed Martin, who must have told his mother—that inveterate gossip had tongue enough for two sets of teeth. ‘Which just goes to show how silly they are,’ he said. ‘Do you think I cannot tell false from true?’
Her little gasp of shock amused him, but he let the remark hang in the air, waiting for her to find a response. ‘Then it is true, you have made a list of your requirements and are busy ticking them off, one by one against all the possibles. I never met such a toplofty, conceited man in all my life.’
‘Then you have not met many men, for I am the soul of modesty.’
It was said in such a light-hearted way, she found herself laughing. ‘And that boast itself is proof of the contrary.’
‘You have a very caustic tongue for a young lady brought up in the seclusion of the country.’
‘I do not see why I should sit meekly saying nothing while you scold me, my lord, especially as I do not, nor ever will, attempt to conform to your list.’
‘I would be disappointed in you if you did.’
‘Nor will Charlotte.’
‘No, but we were not talking about your cousin, were we? Charlotte is a delightful young lady, pretty as a picture and as mild as you are sharp, but I have no intention of earning Mr Harfield’s undying enmity by making an offer for her.’
‘Mr Harfield?’
‘I am not blind, you know. I have seen the way they look at each other and two people more in love I have yet to see. I wish them well. They will deal famously with each other.’
‘If his father allows it.’
‘Why should he not?’ he asked, testing her. ‘Miss Roswell has a fortune, does she not? And a large estate. Sir Mortimer could hardly quarrel with that.’
Oh, how she wished she did not feel so tired. She might know how to answer that without giving the game away, except it was not a game but a deception of terrifying magnitude. How was she going to endure staying in London a moment longer, knowing he was ticking off those attributes in every other eligible young lady he knew and had discounted her right from the start. But Charlotte, at least, would be glad to know she was not being considered.
‘No cutting response?’ he queried after a moment or two of silence. ‘No set down to put me in my place? No turning of the tables? No denying the truth?’
‘My lord, I am too tired to bandy words.’
‘Yes, my poor Sophie, I know you are and it is unkind in me to tease you. You will soon be home and then you may rest.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Do?’ he queried, as they turned into the end of Holles Street. ‘Why, I think I shall go home to Bedford Row, have a bath and a shave and then I might well take to my bed for an hour or two.’
‘No, I meant what are you going to do about my secret. Will you tell Lady Fitzpatrick?’
He turned to grin at her. ‘Which secret?’
‘My work with the veterans, of course—what other secret would there be?’
‘Now, do you know, I thought there might be something else.’
‘I cannot think what you mean. I was always taught that good should be done by stealth and that is why I have said nothing about the enterprise to anyone, not because I am ashamed of it. Besides, I doubt Lady Fitzpatrick would understand.’
‘Then she is not the unknown benefactress?’
‘No.’
‘Who is?’
‘Would you have me betray a confidence?’ she queried evasively.
She was good at being evasive, he mused. ‘No, I am sure you would never do that.’
‘Then are you going to tell her ladyship?’
‘No, but there is one condition.’ He brought the curricle to a stop outside Lady Fitzpatrick’s front door. ‘You will not go to Maiden Lane alone again. It is a most unsavoury district.’
‘I have seen worse,’ she said, referring to her journey through war-torn Europe.
‘I wonder where?’ he mused.
‘Every city and town in the land has it slums,’ she said, though she wondered how much longer she could keep thinking of answers to his awkward questions.
‘True, but that does not make it acceptable for you to wander about the streets alone. If you must indulge in philanthropy, then we will go together.’
‘But, my lord, if we are seen too much in each other’s company, there will be gossip…’
‘There is one way to silence it,’ he said slowly, turning in his seat to face her. He was feeling reckless. Sitting there, wanting to take her in his arms, wanting to confess his love for her, it was immaterial to him whether it was Miss Hundon or Miss Roswell he was proposing to; names meant nothing. It was the person she was that drew him to her; rich or poor, it was all one to him. But she was also a clever prevaricator. He did not want to believe it was anything reprehensible, but a woman who could keep a secret was a rare specimen. Until he knew the reason for it, oughtn’t he to hold his horses?
‘How?’ she asked.
He reached out and touched her cheek
. ‘My lovely Sophie, I do believe you are too fagged to continue sparring with me and I am not one to take advantage of an opponent’s weakness. We will leave it for another day. I believe you are to be at Almack’s on Wednesday?’
‘Yes, Lady Fitzpatrick obtained vouchers two days ago. Do you go?’
‘I have to leave town for a day or two, I have pressing business in Hertfordshire, but I hope to return in time to be there. If I am not, rest assured I will call on you the next day.’
‘Why?’ she demanded bluntly.
He laughed. ‘Why, for the next round, of course. I shall expect you to be in fine fettle again and leading with your chin as always.’
‘It is all very well to amuse yourself roasting me,’ she said. ‘but if there are paragons who fit your criteria, they will surely all have been snapped up by the time you come to realise that bamming me is not the way to find yourself a wife.’
‘I am not looking for a wife, much less a paragon. How dull life would be leg-shackled to such a one.’ He jumped down and held out his hand to help her down. ‘Come, allow me to escort you indoors.’
She put her hand in his and let him to lead her to the door, so weary that she was almost stumbling. ‘My lord, I beg you, do not stay. You are as tired as I am and you cannot go into Lady Fitzpatrick’s drawing room unshaven as you are.’
‘Do not fret so, little one, her ladyship is too shortsighted to notice, you know that.’
‘But Charlotte will notice.’
‘She will be too polite to mention it.’
They reached the door as a footman opened it but he was too well trained to show any sign of shock or disapproval.
‘Where is Lady Fitzpatrick?’ Sophie asked him.
‘I believe she has gone shopping with Miss Roswell, Miss Hundon. The Pantheon Bazaar, if I understood correctly.’
‘Oh, then I must have missed her.’ Relieved, she turned to Richard, who obviously could not stay under the circumstances. ‘Thank you for your escort, my lord.’
‘My pleasure, ma’am.’ He swept her an elegant bow and ran lightly down the steps and back to his curricle, fired with determination to see his grandfather.
He did not need to go to Hertfordshire to do so, for when he arrived home he found Lady Braybrooke hurrying upstairs behind a chambermaid who was carrying a pile of bedlinen. She caught sight of him as he came in and handed the footman his hat.
‘Richard, where have you been?’ she demanded, returning downstairs. ‘The Duke is here and asking for you.’ She looked at his dishevelled appearance and the stubble on his chin in disgust. ‘Really, Richard, you look like a vagrant. Have you been out all night?’
He smiled and bowed. ‘As you see.’
‘Then you had better go upstairs to change and be shaved before seeing His Grace. I will tell him you are home.’
‘Why has he come to town? He hates London.’
‘I have no doubt he will tell you. He is in the library.’
Richard hurried to make himself respectable and presented himself in the library twenty minutes later, a picture of studied elegance in a frockcoat of green superfine, biscuit-coloured pantaloons, yellow kerseymere waistcoat and a neat but not flamboyant cravat. His chin was smooth and his hair carefully arranged.
His grandfather was sitting in an armchair by the hearth, fortifying himself with a glass of brandy. The tragedy of losing both his sons had taken their toll on him and he seemed to have shrunk a little, so that his dark brown nankeen coat hung loosely on his shoulders. His own, very white hair was covered by a dark wig, but for all that he was upright and alert and his knowing brown eyes missed nothing.
Richard stood before him and bowed from the waist. ‘Your Grace, I did not expect you or I would have been here to greet you.’
‘Didn’t expect to be here. Don’t like the Smoke above half. Sit down, boy, sit down.’
Richard obediently sat in the chair opposite him. ‘I am pleased to see you, sir, but why are you here?’
‘Your aunt asked me to come. Seems you have been making a cake of yourself, rattling round town, playing fast and loose with every unmarried wench…’
‘Your Grace, I have simply been doing as you asked and looking for a wife.’
‘With an impossible list of requirements which has the whole haute monde buzzing with conjecture.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I cannot blame you for that, but why make it so public?’
‘It was only a jest between Martin Gosport and me, not meant to be taken seriously, but he must have told his mother…’
‘That gadabaout. Tell her and you tell the world.’
‘Yes, I should have known. But it has certainly had some revealing consequences…’
His Grace held out his glass. ‘Fill that again, will you? And have one yourself. I must speak bluntly and you may have need of it.’
Richard, who had never known his grandfather to be anything else but blunt, went to obey.
With the newly replenished glass in his hand, His Grace leaned back in his chair and surveyed his grandson for fully a minute before speaking. ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’
‘In what respect, Your Grace?’
‘In respect of finding a wife. Though why you should feel the need when I have already made known my thoughts on the subject, I do not know.’
‘You mean Emily?’
‘Yes, whom did you think I meant?’
‘But, sir, Emily is my cousin; we grew up together as children. She is little more than a child now. She needs more time and you have told me to make haste…’
‘Marriage will soon mature her.’
‘Grandfather, you are being unfair to her. Given a year or two more and a free hand, I am sure she would not choose me.’
‘And what would happen to the noble families of England if their daughters were allowed to pick and choose? Why, they would be so diluted they would die out, the estates would be broken up and, before you know where you are the proletariat would be running the country. Your Aunt Philippa understands that, if you do not.’
‘You did give me an alternative.’
‘So I did. And what have you done about it, except earn yourself the reputation of being a rakeshame?’
‘I have met someone…’
‘Ah, if my information is correct, you mean the Roswell filly, niece of the late Earl of Peterborough. Coming out with her cousin Miss Hundon, under the wing of that antidote widow of an Irishman, are they not? She’s as queer as Dick’s hatband. If Miss Roswell is as high in the instep as rumour says, why could her guardian not find someone more au fait with Society to bring her out?’
‘Lady Fitzpatrick is short-sighted and a little deaf, but good-hearted enough.’
‘So good-hearted the chits are allowed to do as they please. You have not made an offer, I hope.’
‘No. There are complications…’
‘Indeed, there are. There is Philippa, for one. Not that I can’t deal with her, if I have to. But Emily is also my grandchild and I am fond of her.’
‘As I am, Your Grace. That does not mean we should suit.’
‘You know your aunt is bringing forward Emily’s come-out and giving a ball for her next week? I am persuaded she means to steal a march on Miss Roswell and bring you to the mark before that young lady’s own come-out.’
Richard sighed. ‘I was afraid of that.’
‘I have told her she must invite Miss Roswell. I want to look her over.’
‘And Miss Hundon, I hope.’
The Duke, in the act of setting down his empty glass, looked up at him sharply. ‘Miss Hundon? The country cousin? I thought it was Peterborough’s niece you were dangling after?’
‘She will not come without her cousin. They are inseparable.’ He smiled. ‘Sometimes it is difficult to tell one from the other.’
‘Then invite them both. Invite the whole ton. Let me see them all at once. The sooner I meet them all, the sooner I may return to the country.’
‘You ma
y see them before the ball, if you wish. They will be at Almack’s on Wednesday and I have said I will meet them there.’
‘You want me to dress up in evening clothes and sit around drinking lemon cordial all evening?’
‘You need not stay the whole evening.’
‘No, I should not do so in any case.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Oh, well, we might as well get it over with. But if I have come on a wild goose chase and you change your mind, I shall not be pleased.’
He would never change his mind about Sophie, he told himself as his grandfather released him; the thought of marrying anyone else was abhorrent, but he knew instinctively that she would never agree to marry him if he had to defy his grandfather to do it. But how to bring about the metamorphosis from country cousin to Madderlea heiress without upsetting the whole applecart, he did not know. He could not humiliate her by revealing her secret, but on the other hand, if she could not bring herself to confide in him, then could he trust her at all?
‘Well?’ His aunt accosted him in the hall. ‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing of import. Where is Emily?’
She gave a smile of unconcealed relief. ‘Why, I do believe she is in the garden. Go and find her, Richard. She will be so pleased to see you.’
He bowed and hurried away to find his cousin. She was sitting on a swing in a little arbour at the end of the garden, dreamily pushing herself with her toe. She looked like a gangly child, all arms and long legs. Her dark hair had been fastened back with a ribbon, but it had come undone and her tresses were spread across her shoulders.
‘Emily.’
She looked up and he noticed she had been crying. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
He went over to her and put his hand under her chin to lift her face to his. ‘What is wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I do not believe you are the sort to weep for nothing.’
‘I am not weeping.’
‘That is a whisker. Has your mama been scolding you?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘No, for you never do anything to invite a scolding, do you? Do you not sometimes feel like rebelling?’
‘Oh, no.’
‘So, if you were told to marry someone you hold in aversion, you would do it, simply because your mama says you must.’
