A Lady for the Brazen Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “Nothing,” he said, knowing that there was no way to explain why he had been so drawn to the little scene out on the street.

  At that moment, the carriage moved on at greater speed, and the beggar children disappeared out of sight. Almost immediately, he felt a sense of relief that he did not feel compelled to regard them any longer. After all, he could not; the movement of the carriage had taken it out of his hands.

  But as they continued their journey to the Strand, he wondered if, in some way, his relief at the carriage pulling away was not almost the same thing as the haughty man with the cane directing his attention to the road.

  In truth, by the time they had reached the theatre, he felt his spirits unusually low.

  “Oh look, I can see Miss Ravenswood already. She and her father have just walked up the steps into the foyer. Come, we must make haste,” Veronica Montgomery said, flapping a little to hurry her children.

  In the business of helping his mother and sister out of the carriage and giving instructions to his driver, the Earl of Reddington had come back to himself a little. He had been distracted from his low mood almost entirely and was pleased to be busying himself with polite greetings and the organizing of seats once he and his family had made their way into the foyer of the Adelphi.

  “I say, Miss Ravenswood,” he said, smiling brightly at the beautiful young woman. “That is an awfully pretty gown.” And it truly was.

  Jemima Ravenswood was dressed in a deep Mulberry long-sleeved gown, with an overlay of organza which made it rustle a little as she moved. The rich colour of the gown made her flawless skin look paler still and her golden hair even brighter.

  “I thank you, Lord Reddington,” she said and smiled, her full lips holding his attention for perhaps a little longer than they ought to have done.

  “Are you looking forward to the little drama this afternoon, Lady Reddington?” Lord Ravenswood said, engaging his closest ally in conversation.

  “I most certainly am, Lord Ravenswood. We were just talking earlier this afternoon about the wonderful distraction of the theatre and how much I enjoy it.”

  As his mother lied shamefully, Heath almost laughed, especially when he saw the expression on his sister’s face. Their eyes locked for a moment, and he felt her to be his friend once more. And even if it was only for a few brief seconds, he felt very glad of it.

  In the end, Heath took in little of the play he had been so looking forward to. From the moment they had taken their seats, he had noticed that just two rows in front of them and somewhat to the outer edge of the theatre, sat Lady Imogen Pennington and her friend, Lady Redmond.

  It had been Lady Redmond who had drawn his attention first as she had straightened her gown and lowered her rotund frame into her seat. Immediately, he had searched for any sight of Lady Imogen and, once found, he seemed unable to look away.

  “Perhaps you ought not to stare so, Brother,” Prudence, who was sitting on his left, whispered into his ear. “After all, I fear that you shall displease Miss Ravenswood.” He could hear the amusement in her voice and wished that his sister was not quite so possessed of her keen wit.

  Turning his attention to his right, he looked briefly at Jemima Ravenswood. Satisfying himself that she had not seen him looking down the rows towards Lady Pennington at all, he tried his best to turn his attention back to the play.

  However, the play had seemed to have gone on without him, and he had absolutely no idea which character was which or why a curiously constructed wooden horse seemed to be laying on its side at the very forefront of the stage.

  “Why is the horse there?” he turned to whisper in his sister’s ear.

  “The play is almost over, Heath, and you have only just now noticed the horse?” Prudence said, and he could feel her trembling beside him and knew that she was silently laughing.

  Heath did not need any more encouragement to forget the play altogether and resume his secret surveillance of Lady Imogen.

  As he watched her, he was assailed by the curious feeling that the sight of the two begging children had left him with and wished that he could look away from her. Of course, associating her with charitable works was not all that had made him link the two things together. Rather it was her great upset as he sat by her side in Hyde Park, watching the fine ladies and gentlemen parading themselves on Rotten Row.

  He had found himself somewhat moved by her genuine feeling on that day. As far as he had been concerned beforehand, charity work was something that wealthy widows involved themselves in to stave off the boredom of life. And that had certainly been his experience, noting well how most of the ladies liked to organize events but yet still reserved the right to cast judgement on the very people they claimed to help.

  But Imogen Pennington was not in that same style. She was a lady he could quite well imagine rolling up her sleeves and making her hands dirty, as his mother’s phrase of earlier went. Not only that, but she believed in what she was doing.

  All he could see of her from where he sat was the back of her head and the vaguest beginnings of her side profile. In truth, he could simply see her vibrant red hair, the pale skin of her neck, and the vaguest outline of her cheek. For a moment he closed his eyes, trying to draw to mind every feature of her face. After a moment or two, he opened his eyes again, wondering quite why he had engaged in such a pastime.

  There was something about Lady Imogen, and he could not work out what that was. He also could not begin to imagine why it was that he had spent the entire afternoon staring at the back of her head and thinking about every word she had said to him on their last meeting at Rotten Row.

  The crime of privilege without consciousness. Those were her words, and he knew them to be exact. He had found them most curious at the time, and had wondered initially if she had meant to say without conscience. After all, the crime of privilege without conscience had made more sense to him.

  And yet, he could not help thinking that she had not made an error in her speech and that she had entirely meant the phrase exactly as it had been spoken. Perhaps one day he would ask her the full meaning of it.

  In the meantime, he would turn his attention back towards Jemima Ravenswood, the most fashionably turned out and beautiful woman in the entire Adelphi Theatre.

  Chapter 10

  “Adeline, I think this must be our most successful day yet,” Imogen whispered excitedly into her friend’s ear as they stood in the drawing room of Lord and Lady Rossington.

  “Yes, in terms of finding an audience, I think it fair to say that this has been perfect. Although we have not secured any monetary backing this afternoon,” Adeline whispered back.

  “But I cannot help thinking that that will come. The ladies certainly seem to be most interested.”

  “Then we must continue to keep the conversation going right up until the moment we are forced to play a little bridge. After all, I daresay it shall be expected of us.”

  “Ah, Lady Imogen, please do allow me to introduce you to Mrs Gwendolen Forsdyke. I have been telling her of your schemes, and she is terribly interested to hear more,” Lady Rossington spoke excitedly.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs Forsdyke. How very nice to make your acquaintance.” Imogen smiled brightly and inclined her head graciously.

  “And I am so pleased to finally meet you, Lady Pennington. Lady Hanbury and Lady Rossington have told me so much about you and dear Lady Redmond. And how brave you both are to go inside the workhouse at Lambeth. Tell me, was it dreadful?”

  Mrs Forsdyke was that manner of upper-class woman of late middle age who had an air of organization and efficiency about her, like Adeline. Imogen knew immediately that she liked her and was not at all surprised to hear that the good lady was herself involved in charity work in a most practical way.

  “Yes, if I am honest, it was truly heartbreaking,” Imogen said sadly.

  “But I suppose it must be seen to be believed, must it not?”

  “Yes, I think it is vital if one is to keep
in mind why it is we must all strive for the common purpose of fairness.”

  “Then I must congratulate you for undertaking real charity work.” Mrs Forsdyke smiled. “For it is hardest of all to see it with one’s own eyes, is it not?”

  “Yes, it most certainly is. And I believe that you yourself devote much of your time to the poor of London,” Imogen said, keen to open up the discussion since there seemed to be something of a gathering of ladies around her.

  “Indeed I do, Lady Pennington. I am one of a number of ladies who not only raise funds for soup kitchens in the poorest areas but also man the soup kitchens ourselves for a good deal of the time.”

  “And I daresay that you are never in want of something to do whilst you are there,” Imogen said. “I suppose that you could keep open the doors of the kitchens all day and all night and find that you were never lacking in needy and hungry people.”

  “You have the thing most exactly, Lady Pennington. But perhaps you might have some time yourself, whilst you and Lady Redmond are in London, to come and see our little operations for yourself?” Mrs Forsdyke looked hopeful, and Imogen thought her clearly in need of willing ladies to help out.

  She could not help admiring her approach; after all, it was often necessary to be perhaps a little pushy in these matters; otherwise, nothing would ever get done. At least, that was what Adeline had always taught her.

  “Yes, of course. I should be very pleased to,” Imogen said and was gratified to see several ladies nearby smiling in approval.

  It was the first time that she and Adeline had had so great an audience, and so many people interested in the deeper details of their own plans. And it had come as a great tonic to her low feeling of the last days. The sights and sounds of the workhouse had not only pervaded her every waking moment but had haunted her dreams every night.

  “And of course, my friends and I should be most pleased to help you wherever we can. Perhaps we might assist you with some fundraising?” Mrs Forsdyke smiled, and Imogen felt her spirits soar.

  This was exactly what she had imagined when she had first fallen upon the idea of using the London Season as a great pretext for finding the money they so desperately needed to set up their first shelter. And after the sight of such privileged and self-involved people at Rotten Row, the idea that people of her own class really did care and did help had filled her with a hope like never before.

  “My goodness, what a wonderful idea. Lady Redmond and I should be most grateful for your help.”

  “Then it is settled, Lady Pennington. Perhaps I should coordinate a little meeting of interested ladies? I could send a note with the details to Lady Redmond’s home if that suits?”

  “Yes, that suits me perfectly. And please do send the details of days and the dates for our attendance at the soup kitchens. I know that Lady Redmond shall be as keen to help as I am.”

  As the afternoon went on, Imogen wondered at how much she was coming to enjoy the London Season. Of course, she knew that she was now looking at the whole thing through a haze of goodwill and magnanimity and that she would undoubtedly find some fault or other with the London Season and the people who typically enjoyed it sooner or later.

  As Adeline had predicted, she herself had been tempted into a game of bridge, partnering Lady Rossington and making a most formidable team. Imogen stood close to the table for a while and watched several hands before turning to look around the room to make a study of the rest of the guests.

  She found she had been so caught up in the excitement of finding like-minded people, that she had not even noticed the presence of the Earl of Reddington and his family and friends. Looking at him only briefly, lest he return her gaze, Imogen could not help thinking him smart in a brown velvet waistcoat and tailcoat with fawn-coloured breeches.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Pennington,” came a voice at her side. “Tell me, do you play?” Imogen turned and found herself pleased to see Lady Prudence Montgomery smiling at her.

  “I do play, Lady Montgomery. Not terribly well, but with vigour,” Imogen said and laughed.

  “Well, that sounds perfectly suitable to me.” Lady Prudence laughed. “Would you be so good as to partner me for a game?”

  “Oh yes, of course,” she said and eagerly followed Lady Prudence over to two empty seats at a table.

  “I must admit to not playing terribly well myself, but I do enjoy the pastime,” Lady Prudence said before they took their seats and engaged their opponents.

  “I must admit to being relieved, Lady Montgomery. At least if we are equally matched, I shall not be embarrassed by thinking myself letting you down.”

  “Likewise, Lady Pennington.” Lady Prudence smiled at her, her blue eyes bright against her dark hair, so like her brother’s.

  As they played, the two ladies talked a little, rendering their concentration on the game poor. However, their opponents did not seem to mind, being of the type who liked to win with little effort.

  “I must admit to hearing a little of your conversation earlier. How much I should wish to be able to come and assist you and the other ladies at the soup kitchens,” Lady Prudence said quietly.

  “Well, you shall be more than welcome to join us. I can give you the details of any arrangements we make,” Imogen said smiling and finding herself warming to the young lady even more than she had done at Vauxhall Gardens.

  “I am afraid that my mother would not allow it.”

  “Oh, forgive me, I did not mean to place you in an awkward position,” Imogen said, keen to put her new acquaintance at her ease.

  “No, no, you have not.” Prudence smiled back warmly. “But I do wish that I could have joined you, nonetheless.”

  “Perhaps your mother would not be quite so displeased with something in the manner of a fundraising event, rather than ladling soup into bowls in Kennington or Southwark.” Imogen smiled, hoping to amuse her.

  “Oh yes, that would be very much more acceptable to my family.”

  “And it is most important work.”

  “Yes, I am sure that it is, Lady Pennington. But the real work is something else altogether, I imagine. It is being out in the world and doing something, actually doing something that makes a difference, is it not?”

  “Yes, it is true to say that it is. I suppose it feels different if you will. It is as if, when you can see how your work benefits another, you feel you are making some progress.”

  “I daresay that you would do better to concentrate on your game instead of trying to recruit my sister.” Imogen had to turn full in her seat to look up at the Earl of Reddington for he stood directly behind her.

  “And what do you know of our game, Sir?” Imogen said, politely antagonistic.

  “Well, I have been standing here for but a few moments, and already I can tell that I should not invite you to be my partner and expect to win at the same time.”

  “Then I shall promise never to accept such an invitation if that pleases you,” Imogen said and wished that he would not stand behind her so.

  “If I am honest, I am not sure that entirely pleases me,” he said, somewhat ambiguously. “Really, what a mistake you make in laying that card,” he added and leaned over a little to peer at the game more closely.

  “Heath, you really are terribly off-putting,” Prudence complained and treated him to a brief and light scowl. It was an exchange between brother and sister which almost made Imogen laugh and wish that she had a sibling of her own.

  “Do you find me off-putting, Lady Pennington?”

  “At this moment in time, or in general?” Imogen said, making a great show of concentrating hard on the game and not looking up at him.

  The Earl did not respond, but she heard him laugh behind her.

  “Tell me, Lord Reddington, was your intention in coming all the way over to put me off my game? I ask merely for information,” Imogen went on.

  “No, my good lady, I did not mean to put you off. I merely sought information of my own,” he said, cryptically.r />
  As she continued to play, trying her best not to let Prudence down, Imogen could not help thinking of their last meeting. She had been tearstained and distraught, and he had been very much less arrogant and overbearing. As they continued with their little comedy, she could not help thinking that they had been almost as two different people entirely.

  However, she was curiously grateful that the Earl had returned to his customary manners, despite his teasing. In truth, he did not know her well enough to make any attempt at teasing her publicly, as he was doing at that moment, and yet she thought their acquaintance thus far had already breached etiquette just a little here and there along the way. After all, he had twice sat down at her side without invitation, and she knew that, for her own part, she had insulted him more than once. Not that she thought he did not deserve it.