Sucking in a lungful of fresh air, already warm and promising a glorious summer’s day, Ben clung to the shadows. He didn’t even know where the hell he was, he realised, as he cast about for some landmark to orient him. This was a new low, even by his standards. Searching his brain, he tried to recall where he’d been the previous evening and drew a blank. The woman’s name eluded him, too. God, but he was a cad. Not that he’d ever been anything less, but this was despicable in a way he’d never been before. He only hoped he’d given the woman fair warning, he generally did, though his reputation preceded him. He was not and never would be the marrying type. But then everyone had said the same about August Bright, too.
He’d attended a wedding three days earlier. Accompanying August - Lord Marchmain - who was the best friend and best man to Lord Nibley. Nibley had been marrying the beautiful heiress, Miss Caroline Bridges. All this had come weeks after August’s own elopement, or kidnapping, to be accurate, with his own bride.
August had been the sunlight to Ben’s brooding dark, yet circumstances had brought them together as friends when he’d seen the man in the depths of hell. August had been heart-broken believing he’d lost the chance to marry the lady he desired above all others.
Seeing a man whose reputation was almost as scandalous as Ben’s fall head over heels in love with a woman who had neither great beauty nor fortune had been a revelation. If it could catch a man like that in such unlikely circumstances, then no one was safe. The whole affair had left him feeling unsettled and restless and … and, well, he didn’t know what, only that he was unhappy for no reason he could put his finger on.
Hailing a hackney carriage with relief, Ben gave the driver his direction and then settled back with his eyes closed, nursing his hangover until the carriage drew up outside his town house on Hans Place. He had only moved in a few months earlier after disagreeing with the landlady of the grand establishment where he’d rented rooms before. She’d objected to his ever-worsening reputation and the constant parade of petticoats that scurried to and from his rooms at all hours. Now, he walked into the gloom of the entrance hall and out of the burgeoning sunlight with relief and greeted the ever-reliable Frost with a grunt of acknowledgement.
“There is a letter for you, my lord,” the man said, an edge to his voice that alerted Ben to the fact he was unlikely to rejoice in the correspondence. This could only mean one thing - his oldest brother Hugh, the Earl of Dreighton. Ben sighed, just what he needed. Frost handed Ben the missive with as much reluctance as Ben had in accepting it as he recognised the seal and knew his suspicions had been well-founded. His loyal employee knew well enough that interaction with his eldest brother put Ben in a foul temper at the best of times, and for whatever reason, this did not appear to be the best of times. Frost had been with him for eight years now, and acted as both valet and butler to Ben, whose extravagant lifestyle did not always leave funds enough to employ both. Besides which, he preferred to keep a minimum of staff, hoping to limit the gossip about him.
“Coffee, please, Frost,” Ben said, glowering at the letter before sliding his finger under the edge of the folded note and breaking the seal. The contents were brief but infuriating.
We have matters to discuss.
Today, 4pm. Do not be late.
Dreighton.
Ben cursed and crumpled the missive in his fist. No doubt his brother had heard tales of his latest adventures and wished to haul him over the coals. It wouldn’t be the first time, and not the last. He wondered if Hugh had got wind of the fact that August had kidnapped his bride-to-be using a carriage that Ben had provided - with the Dreighton coat of arms on the side. Despite the pain in his head and his annoyance at being summoned in such a way, Ben could not help but grin. Hugh was a prig, too full of his own self-importance, and a humourless bastard to boot. Riling him was one of the few things that gave Ben genuine amusement.
Heading up to his room, he decided that he could do worse than drink a quantity of black coffee and lay in a dark room until four pm. It wasn’t as if he had the slightest intention of being on time.
***
The journey to his brother’s huge townhouse on Grosvenor Square took ten minutes, and it was closer to five pm than four when Ben entered crossed the threshold and found himself ushered into his brother’s study.
Hugh was ten years his senior, and those years had been unkind. He had the height and breadth that all three brothers shared, but he had not inherited their looks nor their charm. He had, however, inherited the title of earl, and he wasn’t about to let either of them forget it.
Fitzwilliam, the middle brother, lounged in an overstuffed armchair, glass in hand, and looking relaxed. Ben could see the glint of irritation in his eyes that betrayed him, however. Will despised Hugh just as intensely as Ben did, but he also had a far more even temper and a deal more common sense. He, at least, was politic enough not to let his feelings show. Ben thought him a cold fish, though he didn’t dislike him, they simply had nothing in common. As Will neither drank to excess, womanised, nor gambled, he had no cause to receive the head of the family speech, though.
Ben had heard it often and at length.
Not that Hugh was, in fact, head of the family just yet. Their father, the marquess of Henshaw, was still alive, albeit barely. He’d been ill for many years, but a stroke two years earlier had left him all but helpless. Ben could only hope the old devil didn’t cling to life for much longer. Though he hadn’t been much of a father, Ben would not wish such a lingering demise on a man who had once been such a force of nature. The only problem with that being that once Hugh was a marquess, he’d be insufferable.
“So good of you to join us, Benjamin,” Hugh said, the words heavy with irony as he glowered at Ben. “I do hope we haven’t inconvenienced you?”
“Not yet, no,” Ben replied, giving his brother a smile that showed too many teeth to be pleasant. “So, let’s keep it that way, shall we? I have things to do.”
“No doubt,” Hugh snapped, hauling himself to his feet. Ben regarded him, and more precisely the revolting waistcoat that covered his brother’s large stomach in horrifying shades of puce and lilac.
“Good God,” Ben said, the words drawn from him before he could think, as the sight shocked and revolted him. It did not endear him to Hugh, however, who just looked ever more infuriated.
“I suppose you have more married women to seduce?” his brother shouted, the colour in his face growing ever deeper as his temper rose. “Or perhaps you’ll spend the night in some infamous hell? That’s how you’ve been busying yourself of late, isn’t it? Dragging the family name even further through the dirt and the rest of us down with you!”
Ben sighed and glanced at Will, who just gave a slight shrug and grimaced a little. Ah, family loyalty. Not that he could blame Will. He knew well enough that the man disapproved of his lifestyle just as Hugh did. The difference was he kept his mouth shut and his nose out of Ben’s affairs. He could almost feel real affection towards the man for that. As it was, Ben knew there was little else to do but endure the coming lecture. If he’d had more energy, he would have fought with Hugh. It was always amusing to see the man lose his rag, but Ben was too tired and dejected to derive any satisfaction from it today. So he let Hugh bluster on until he’d said his piece, gave him a curt nod of understanding, which they both knew damn well was a hum, and escaped the moment he could.
“Hold up there, Ben.”
Ben turned to see Will following him out and paused to let him catch up.
“Thanks for the support back there, old chap,” Ben muttered, once Will was in earshot.
Will snorted, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t have done the least bit of good and you know it,” he said, to which Ben could only shrug; it was true enough. “Besides which, you were damn near an hour late on purpose, which meant that I got a lecture in your absence. I wasn’t feeling very friendly towards you when you arrived, I assure you.”
Ben snorted, grinning now. “F
air enough. What did you get it in the neck for?”
Will climbed into the carriage after Ben, who gave Will an enquiring look. “You can drop me off at my club on your way,” he said, settling himself down with a grin as Ben tutted with annoyance.
“It’s not on my way,” he retorted, before giving in and shouting instructions to the driver.
“And to answer your question,” Will replied, giving Ben a wry look. “Your behaviour is apparently my responsibility.”
Ben gave a bark of laughter, amused at the notion Will could stop him from doing precisely what he wanted.
Will grinned, knowing full well it was impossible himself. “It appears, at five years your senior, I am still your contemporary, but old enough to command respect, bring you in line, and keep you there.”
Ben snorted, shaking his head. “He doesn’t know me at all, does he?”
Will smiled again though the expression was rather more sober this time. “He does have a point, though, Ben. Surely you should be growing out of such behaviour by now, not getting yourself in deeper. I mean, Carrington’s wife? Really?”
Ben glowered and folded his arms, nettled at Will’s disappointed tone as his conscience niggled. Carrington was a prick and toady, but still … He hadn’t behaved well, and he knew it.
“Well, it’s not as if you’re settling down for a life of domestic bliss, now is it?” Ben threw back at his brother, deciding he’d best attack now as his own behaviour was indefensible. “Just because you don’t get caught …”
“That’s because there is nothing to get caught at,” Will retorted, cutting over him, his tone rather annoyed now.
“Oh, come now, Will,” Ben retorted, curious. “Doing it rather too brown. No one is as squeaky clean as you. It’s not possible.”
He rewarded Ben with a look of cool dignity as the carriage drew up outside Will’s club.
“I assure you, I am just as I appear to be,” Will replied, terse now. “So, tell me, Spawn,” he demanded, using the unappealing nickname that both older brothers had used for Ben as a child. “What are your plans tonight?”
Ben grinned at him and sat back, his expression defiant. “Well, you know I haven’t yet decided,” he said, glaring at Will and enjoying the fact he was about to get under his skin. “But getting roaring drunk and gambling away the family fortune seems like a good place to start.”
Chapter 3
“Wherein a timely death brings hope and good fortune and a rather pressing dilemma.”
“Joe! Joe! Come quick!”
The tenor of Dinah’s voice must have been one of real panic, as Joe thundered down the stairs with his braces hanging loose, his chin half-shaved, and his razor clenched in his meaty fist, a murderous expression glinting in his eyes.
“What? Who? Where is he?” he demanded, eyes darting around the entrance hall as he tried to find something or someone to murder.
“Where’s who?” Dinah demanded, before realising that she’d thrown the man into an uproar as he’d thought she was being attacked. “Oh, it’s not that, Joe,” she exclaimed, waving a letter in his face. “It’s this! Read it!”
Joe gave her a look of fury at the interruption to his ablutions and snatched the letter from her with a grunt of irritation. Dinah paced as he read, knowing she had to hold her tongue. Joe could read, but not quickly, and it almost killed her to wait, her own heart was thudding so.
“Well, I’ll be buggered,” Joe said, as he lowered the letter to stare at her. “The old bastard finally did the decent thing and turned up his toes.”
Dinah nodded, not daring to hope.
“The solicitor wants to see me, Joe,” she said, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. She didn’t want to believe this life of scrimping and saving and cheating could be over, only to have her hopes crushed. She had learned that hope could be a cruel thing many years ago. It was a lesson she would not allow herself to forget. “You don’t think that … that maybe …”
Joe sat down on the stairs, running a hand through his grey hair as he stared at the letter with a frown. “Why else would he want to see you, little D?”
Dinah bit her lip as her heart leapt in her chest.
“Well, I suppose we’d best find out.”
***
There was something about Ernest Grubber - solicitor - that made all of Dinah’s instincts prickle with alarm. He was unpleasant to look at, for starters. Dead, pale grey eyes that made Dinah think of the glassy eyes of the produce on a fish stall were only the start. It was a flaccid face, the skin all loose around his jowls, and thick lips that gathered spittle in the corners as he spoke. Dinah repressed a shudder and wished the man would get on with it.
Joe was waiting for her outside. They’d both agreed it was best Dot didn’t come. If she heard how much Dinah’s grandfather was worth, she might get ideas. They’d kept that from her, only saying that there might be a small bequest that would keep them afloat awhile. Now, however, Dinah could only listen and gape as the man listed all her grandfather’s assets and worth. It was more money than she could ever have dreamt of. She’d be rich!
“Now then, Miss Osborne,” Mr Grubber said, smiling at her, which was the most unpleasant thing to have appeared on his face yet. “We must get to the details.” There was something in the man’s eyes, a flicker of amusement that made Dinah shift in her seat with the urge to spring to her feet and run. “You see, your grandfather made certain stipulations, concerning your inheritance.”
“Oh?” Dinah asked, trying to sound unconcerned and giving the heavy paperweight on his desk a longing look. She was close to throwing it at his head by now. “What stipulations, Mr Grubber?”
The solicitor sat back in his chair, his repulsive gaze roving over Dinah and making her fingers twitch with the desire to reach for the paperweight.
“Oh, do call me Ernest,” he said, his lips stretching into that unpleasant expression again. Dinah wished the man had glimpsed Joe waiting outside the door. It might have made him a little more respectful.
“What stipulations did my grandfather make, Mr Grubber?” Dinah repeated.
The man scowled, a dark look that seemed far more at home on his face than a smile.
“You must get engaged to be married, Miss Osborne, and you must do it fast. Before your twenty-first birthday, in fact.”
Dinah gasped in astonishment. “W-what?” she exclaimed, wondering if the man was pulling her leg. “But that’s in … in six weeks!”
Grubber smirked, looking pleased with himself. “Indeed, Miss. That is not all, however. You must be engaged to a man of worth, your grandfather’s expression,” the man added with a rather disgusted tone. “By which he means, nothing less than a lord. He wanted the family fortunes to rise, not only financially, but socially, and you are to have one final chance to make it happen.”
She stared at the man; surely, he was joking? Except she knew from the smug look in his eyes he was doing nothing of the sort.
“How on earth am I to become engaged to a man of that stamp in six weeks?” she demanded. “It’s impossible!”
Dinah watched with unease as Mr Grubber got to his feet and walked around the desk. She stiffened in her seat as he perched on the edge of his desk, too close to her for comfort.
“Yes,” he said, his tone too silky by half. “I should agree that it is impossible. However, it is a difficulty I might help you around.”
Help himself, more like. Dinah glared at him, holding herself still. “Oh?”
There was that reptilian smile again, making her skin prickle with revulsion.
“Oh, yes, Dinah, may I call you Dinah?” he asked, leaning a little closer.
“You may not,” Dinah replied, her tone cold. “Please get to the point.”
His face darkened once more, and she saw anger in his eyes. She knew his type only too well, the sort of man to use his fists when he didn’t get his own way. Only on someone weaker than himself though. He’d squeal like a stuck pig if Joe got his
hands on him. She reminded herself that Joe was just outside the door and stared back at him.
“Well, Miss Osborne,” he said, his tone contemptuous now. “As you’ve said, it is impossible that a woman of your … nature be able to even meet a man of that kind,” he said, the insult clear. Dinah didn’t even flinch. She’d heard far worse in her time from men who believed a woman in her circumstances would end on her back. They were often right. “So, I propose a deal. It would be possible for me, as the executor of the will, to make certain allowances. I could, with a little incentive, arrange things so you still got the money and the man you had to marry need not be a lord.”
“And what would I need to do, Mr Grubber?” Dinah demanded, a sour taste in her mouth.
“Why, Miss Osborne, you’d need to marry me.” The self-satisfied look in his eyes was too much for Dinah and she jumped to her feet.
“I’d rather starve,” she said with venom, meaning it as she put as much space between them as she could. Her stomach heaved at the idea. “Tell me, Mr Grubber,” she demanded, as she realised just how crooked this man was. “Exactly when did my grandfather die?”
There was that complacent smile again. Mr Grubber spread his hands out before him and gave a slight shrug. “Ah, but the demands put on a man like myself, Miss Osborne. Such a weight of work, your pretty little head cannot possibly conceive … and such matters take time, such a lot of time.”
Dinah gritted her teeth. The foul creature had likely been sitting on this will for weeks, leaving it as late as possible to make the whole affair impossible and leave her no option but to accept his revolting offer. Well, she’d show him.
“Very well, Mr Grubber,” she said, as his eyes lit up for a moment. “I am a resourceful woman and I don’t give up easily. I shall bring you my fiancé as soon as may be.”
The Last Man in London Page 2
