The Wrong Mr. Wright

by Patricia Bray

  “I do not know what to say,” Diana replied. His words had thrown her into confusion, and she no longer knew what to think. She remembered the other night and how she had thought George Wright a spoiled boy. And, indeed, there was truth to that observation. But was it because of a defect in his character? Or was his behavior caused by the fact that he had never been allowed to take on the responsibilities of a man?

  “I wish you nothing but happiness,” George said. “Both of you I am certain my brother will make a fine husband. His sense of duty would not permit otherwise. And in time you will no doubt become accustomed to his rigid adherence to propriety.”

  There was a grain of truth to his words, and she knew it was fortunate that she did not, indeed, plan to be wed. Diana knew her streak of unconventionality would make her chafe at the dull and decorous life that Lord Endicott seemed to have lived before encountering her.

  She wondered what George would say if she told him the engagement was a sham. Would he feel honor bound to offer himself in marriage? A part of her wished to hear him say the words, just so she could have the pleasure of rejecting him.

  “I thank you for the courtesy of hearing me,” Mr. Wright said. “Come now, let us rejoin the others. I promise that I will leave you in peace after today. But if you ever have need of my services, if there is ever anything I can do for you, know that I am at your disposal. You have only to ask.”

  The next night Diana and Lord Endicott joined the Dunnes in their box at the Italian Opera House. The featured singer this evening was an unknown, which mattered little save that it gave the society crowd even more excuse to ignore the events on stage and, instead, concentrate on observing those who were in attendance and gossiping about those who were not.

  Diana waited until the Dunnes were deep in conversation before she turned to Lord Endicott and said, “I saw your brother yesterday. At a picnic in Hampstead Heath.”

  Lord Endicott clenched his jaw in disapproval. “The impudent rogue. I warned him against approaching you. I trust he knew better than to speak with you.”

  Diana waved her fan idly in one hand, ensuring that her expression was hidden from view of the occupants of the other boxes. “We did speak, and he was most civil. Surprisingly so, really.”

  “And what did he have to say?”

  He implied you were an overbearing prig, Diana thought, but she could hardly say such. “He wished to beg my pardon.”

  “Too little, too late,” Lord Endicott said with a growl.

  “So I told him,” Diana agreed. “But he felt he owed it to me to apologize, since it was not possible for him to make amends.”

  “He would have been better served to have left you in peace. As I instructed him,” Lord Endicott said.

  Diana shook her head in disagreement. “I think he was sincere in wishing to make peace between us,” she said. “He knows what he did was wrong, and though we can never be friends, I think he hoped that we could behave civilly toward one another.”

  “You may be able to forgive him, but I cannot. Not today, not ever.”

  “I did not say that I forgave him,” Diana said. Not yet. But she did not like Lord Endicott’s ready condemnation of his brother. She was the injured party; surely it was up to her to decide if George Wright was sufficiently penitent for his actions. Lord Endicott’s refusal to even consider such seemed overly harsh. This was his half brother after all, his flesh and blood.

  She remembered how George had said that his brother was concerned with honor and propriety above all other sentiments, and now Lord Endicott had provided unwitting confirmation of his brother’s accusation.

  “George thinks we are to be married. Is it any wonder that he wishes a truce between our households?” Diana asked.

  “I long ago ceased ascribing such noble motives to his behavior,” Lord Endicott said. “You are letting your soft heart get the better of your judgment. Again.”

  She winced at the pointed reminder. True, she had been foolish in the past when she placed her trust in George Wright’s honorable behavior. But it had been an innocent mistake, and it was petty of Lord Endicott to recollect such ancient history. She had paid for her folly, after all.

  Diana furled her fan with a snap of her wrist. “I can see you are unable to discuss this matter rationally,” she said.

  “I am only thinking of you—”

  “I prefer to think for myself,” Diana retorted.

  To this the viscount made no reply. Diana pointedly turned her back upon him, feigning interest in the occupants of the boxes on the far side of the theater. Recognizing the Fox family, Diana waved to them and was pleased when Charlotte Fox noticed her and waved her gloved hand in return.

  Lord Endicott made a sound of protest, quickly choked off. No doubt he had noticed George Wright sitting in the box with the Foxes’ party. No doubt he would think that she was favoring George. That had not been her intention, but she was not displeased with the results. Let Lord Endicott see her true nature. They might be engaged, but she was not some mindlessly obedient simpleton. She was an intelligent and rational creature, capable of deciding her own fate. It was time that both she and her spurious fiancé remembered that.

  Eleven

  Lord Endicott shook his head in bafflement. One moment he and Miss Somerville had been chatting pleasantly about the opera. And the next instant they had been quarreling, about his brother of all things.

  George, who had deliberately flouted his brother’s wishes and sought out Miss Somerville’s company. And who apparently had used his glib tongue to convince Miss Somerville of the sincerity of his repentance. When he had tried to point out that she was allowing herself to be duped, by a man who had betrayed her once before, Miss Somerville’s attitude had turned positively frosty.

  Even now, as the singers massed on stage for the conclusion of the first half of the performance, Miss Somerville had turned away from him, conversing animatedly with Elizabeth Dunne. But he knew from the set of her back that Miss Somerville was angry with him—very angry—and he did not know how to remedy the situation.

  As the lights rose for the intermission, many in the audience rose as well, hoping to stretch their legs or to visit acquaintances in the boxes.

  “Ladies, shall we fetch champagne?” Tony Dunne asked.

  “That would be lovely,” Elizabeth Dunne replied. “If you do not mind, Diana and I will stay here. I have no wish to fight the crowds.”

  “Of course,” Tony said, with a quick glance at his wife’s face and waistline. Though no public announcement had been made, Stephen had learned only this week that the Dunnes were expecting their long-hoped-for second child. It was no wonder she had no wish to be jostled by the unruly crowds.

  When he and Tony returned to the box, they found a small crowd had gathered, and they had to shoulder their way back in.

  “Pardon me,” Lord Endicott said, brushing aside one young fop. There were only a half dozen or so visitors, but they filled the tiny box to bursting.

  He looked over the crowd and spotted Diana’s dark head, nodding as if in agreement. And then he saw the sandy brown hair of her conversational partner, and he knew at once who it must be.

  He swallowed hard, tasting bile. Was this really how it was to be? Could George have wormed his way back into Miss Somerville’s graces so easily?

  By dint of personality he managed to clear a path through the box and reached Diana.

  “Your champagne,” he said, handing her the glass flute.

  “Thank you,” Diana replied.

  “George,” he said coldly, giving his brother a frosty glare. “I did not expect to see you here.”

  “Miss Fox insisted on paying her respects, and as her escort, I could hardly let her come alone,” George replied. He smiled ruefully, as if inviting his brother to commiserate on the difficulties of catering to whims of the female sex.

  “Miss Somerville told me of your encounter yesterday,” Stephen said. He wondered if George could hear th
e warning in his words. Though there was little enough, in truth, that he could do to his brother. He had already warned him, banished him from Grosvenor Square, and withheld the advance upon his quarterly allowance that George had requested to pay off his many debts. There was nothing else he could do to control his brother, though a public flogging held more and more appeal.

  “I am glad that she told you,” George said. “I hope we now understand one another.”

  “I think we understand one another perfectly,” Stephen said. He did not know what game George was playing at, only that whatever scheme he had up his sleeve, it was sure to bode no good for anyone.

  Diana stood equidistant between them, her gaze unreadable. He found himself wishing that she would come stand beside him, in a show of public support.

  He heard the ringing of a bell and the attendants moving through the halls calling out that the performance was about to recommence.

  “I have taken enough of your time,” George said to Diana. He picked up her hand, and Stephen watched in disbelief as she actually let him brush it with his lips. Then he relinquished it with every sign of reluctance. What would have been a polite courtesy in another gentleman seemed an obscene act, given George’s past treatment of Diana.

  Then he turned to Stephen. “Brother,” he said. “George,” Stephen replied stiffly. He would not call this man brother.

  “Give my regards to my mother,” George said. “Since I seldom have the opportunity to see her these days.”

  “I will speak of you to Caroline,” Stephen promised, though he intended to do far more than simply pass along George’s regards. He would speak bluntly with Caroline about her son and see if she could convince him of the folly of his present course. If George continued to pester Miss Somerville, Stephen would have no choice but to take drastic action.

  Diana was surprised to receive an invitation to take tea with Lady Endicott, for despite having hosted a ball in celebration of the engagement, the dowager viscountess had shown little interest in her future daughter-in-law. Nor had Stephen shown any interest in having her become better acquainted with his stepmother; indeed, he deliberately seemed to be keeping them apart. Strange, too, that his stepmother was not privy to the facts of their engagement, while his closest friends, the Dunnes, had been told the truth.

  Even more intriguing was the postscript requesting that Diana come alone, without her mother. It was either a mark of rudeness or a sign that Lady Endicott wished to impart confidences that were best aired in private. And so it was with great curiosity that Diana ventured to the viscount’s residence in Grosvenor Square on the appointed day.

  A liveried footman wearing an old-fashioned powdered wig greeted her at the door.

  “The viscountess is expecting you,” he said. “If you would follow me, I will show you to the Chinese drawing room.”

  He led the way down the hall, pausing outside the door to knock once, and then he opened it.

  “Miss Somerville,” he announced, as if there was any doubt.

  As Diana entered the room, her eyes were struck at once by the crimson-and-gold-colored walls and the sofas and settees which were upholstered to match. Two enormous blue-and-white vases flanked either side of the fireplace, while the mantel above displayed carved figurines of ivory. More vases and jade statues were found on the small tables that cluttered the room. It was as if she had stepped into a room in the palace of a Chinese emperor, and she marveled at the time and skill it must have taken to amass such a collection.

  “Miss Somerville, it is so good of you to come,” Lady Endicott said, rising from her seat on the sofa. “Please, take a seat.”

  “Lady Endicott, thank you for inviting me,” Diana said.

  She stepped carefully around a table displaying an ivory and jade chess set and gazed longingly at a curio cabinet before she took a seat opposite her hostess.

  “Pardon my staring, but you have so many beautiful things in this room,” Diana explained.

  “You are most kind,” Lady Endicott said, with a smile. “This room is a favorite of mine. Most of the objets d’art in here were gifts from my late husband, and for that reason I treasure them.”

  “He had exquisite taste,” Diana replied.

  “In all things,” Lady Endicott agreed.

  She poured a cup of tea into a porcelain cup that was so delicately fashioned that it was nearly translucent. Diana accepted it carefully, thinking that such beauty belonged on display rather than being used for an everyday occasion.

  Or perhaps this was not an ordinary occasion, she reminded herself, as the viscountess poured her own tea. The two of them busied themselves adding cream and sugar and then exchanged the expected pleasantries. Diana offered the good wishes of her mother and father, neither of whom were aware of her presence here today. For her part, Lady Endicott expressed herself eager to better their acquaintance.

  As they chatted pleasantly about trifles, Diana took the opportunity to study her hostess. Sunlight was not as kind to Lady Endicott as the candlelit glow of a ballroom, but she was still quite beautiful for a woman who must be nearing forty years of age. Her blond hair showed not the slightest trace of gray, and her French silk gown was in the height of fashion.

  It was not till they had finished their tea that Lady Endicott turned the conversation toward more serious matters.

  “I asked you here today so that we could get to know one another, since we are to be so closely related,” Lady Endicott said, putting down her tea cup upon the tray. “But I will admit to another motive as well.”

  “Yes?” Diana prompted.

  “I want to ask your help in healing the rifts between my sons,” Lady Endicott said.

  This was something Diana had not expected. She had wondered at the reason for this meeting and supposed it might be natural curiosity. Lady Endicott might simply wish to quiz her in private, wondering how it was that Diana and Stephen had become acquainted. Or, if somehow word of the scandal had reached her ears, Lady Endicott might have intended to question Diana about it. She had even imagined that Lady Endicott might wish to apologize for any pain that George had inflicted. But never had she imagined that the viscountess would ask Diana to play the role of peacemaker.

  “I don’t understand,” Diana said, as the silence stretched on between them.

  “Surely you must have noticed at the ball there was some awkwardness between them,” Lady Endicott said.

  “I am afraid that I did not notice,” Diana lied. “In truth, I was overwhelmed by the excitement of the evening.”

  Lady Endicott gave her a shrewd look and then sighed. “You must understand that I was but a girl when I married Lord Endicott. And though there were fifteen years between us, it was, indeed, a love match, and we cared for each other greatly. But from the very first, young Stephen resented me.”

  “I suppose he missed his own mother,” Diana said.

  “Of course, and I tried ray best to make it up to him. But the harder I tried, the more stubbornly he pushed me away. It was worse when George was born. Rather than being pleased at having a new brother, he resented every minute that his father or I spent with the baby.”

  It was difficult to imagine. How could anyone not like having a new brother? Diana had been thrilled each time her mother had presented the family with a new sister, her only disappointment that none of them was the brother that they hoped for.

  “No doubt it was hard for him to share your attention. After all, he was the only child for eight years,” Diana said, feeling she had to defend him.

  “We thought it was just a childish whim and that he would soon outgrow it,” Lady Endicott said. “Andrew and I tried hard to treat both boys equally, but Stephen was always jealous. Whatever George had, Stephen had to have as well. When George was given a pony, Stephen demanded a new hunter. If George had a set of toy soldiers, Stephen needed the same, no matter that he was too old for such childishness. As the boys grew older, it became worse. George worshipped his older br
other and could never understand why Stephen rebuffed his every offer of friendship.”

  Lady Endicott painted a grim picture, indeed, but one that was all too plausible. A grieving widower, his young wife, and the only child who found himself no longer the center of his father’s attention. Many a boy might have acted as she described. But it was hard to reconcile these images with the man that she had come to know. The Stephen she knew was invariably kind and thoughtful. He had displayed infinite patience when dealing with Diana’s younger sisters. She found it hard to believe that he could have behaved as badly as Lady Endicott seemed to imply.

  “But surely they are both gentlemen now and of an age to mend any childish quarrels,” Diana protested.

  “So one would hope. And in time they might have mended things, if my husband had lived. As it was, he died most unexpectedly, leaving Stephen the burden of the title when he was barely one and twenty. His new stature quite went to his head, and Stephen became even more dictatorial and controlling. It was no wonder that George rebelled. With neither father nor brother to guide him, I fear greatly that my son may fall into unsavory company.”

  Lady Endicott took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her pale blue eyes. “A mother worries so,” she explained.

  And she was right to worry, though Diana had no intention of being the one to tell Lady Endicott that her precious son was well on his way to becoming an incorrigible rake having tried to ruin a young gentlewoman to satisfy a drunken wager. Diana could not make such an accusation without revealing that she herself had been the intended victim.

  It was no wonder that Lady Endicott had such a biased view of Stephen’s behavior. Diana wondered how many other scandals George had caused that his mother had remained oblivious to. Lady Endicott saw only Stephen’s efforts to rein in his brother, without understanding the reasons why Stephen acted as he did. It was a dilemma, to be certain, but it was not her place to solve it.

  “And you wish my help?” Diana asked.