“Mr Devize, your stockjobber, is a gentleman?” she said incredulously.
“I just told you his father’s a peer of the realm.”
Viola sighed. “A gentleman won’t help me, Dickon! A gentleman is bound by a code of honor. Your Mr Devize would be far more likely to help Bamph.”
“Not Dev,” Dickon insisted. “You wrong him, Viola. He ain’t bound by a code of honor. He hates Society, and Society hates him. They say he’s sold his soul to the devil, but that’s probably just superstitious nonsense. I think they’re all afraid of him.”
Viola was intrigued. She had a low opinion of her brother’s intelligence in general, but he did occasionally stumble across a good idea. “Very well. Send for him,” she decided. “If he can help me, I’ll make it worth his while. Will he care to bring his wife and children with him to Fanshawe, do you think?”
Dickon shook his head. “It’s no good. He won’t come. I’ve invited him to Fanshawe heaps of times, but he’s always too busy to leave London. As for a wife, he can’t afford one.”
She smiled incredulously. “Can’t afford a wife? What? In spite of all his shady, unlawful dealings? Where does his money go?”
“It goes to us, of course,” Dickon answered. “Well, I suppose he takes what he needs to live on, and I don’t begrudge him that. He told me once, he does it for the excitement, although what he finds exciting about speculating on the Royal Exchange, I can’t tell you. To each his own. He gets all the excitement, and we get all the profits. Everyone’s happy, except, of course, the poor fools who get in his way, but that’s their lookout.”
“Dickon,” Viola said sternly, “if Mr Devize is dependent on us for his livelihood, he is ours to command. Command him to come to Yorkshire at once.”
Dickon stirred uncomfortably.
“Would it be an act of courage?” Viola asked, amused. “Are you afraid of him?”
“No! But you don’t understand, Viola,” he protested. “Dev can’t leave London.”
“Why not?”
“Dev is a man of genius,” he explained indignantly, “and genius is as delicate as the wing of a butterfly. There is a process, a method, to his success. It’s very intricate—there’s mathematics involved. I’d tell you all about it, but you wouldn’t understand. But we interfere with the man’s process at our own peril.”
“I see,” Viola sniffed. “Well, if your delicate genius is too important to come to us, you’ll just have to go to him, won’t you? You can leave tomorrow.”
“Go to London!” he exclaimed. “At the height of the Season? Viola, if I went to London now, I’d be hunted down like an animal. I’m not just your elder brother, you know. I’m the only unmarried duke left in Great Britain! I’d be in constant danger. There would be invitations!”
Viola’s dark eyes could be damp and imploring when it suited her purposes, as she now demonstrated. “This is my marriage settlement, Dickon. If it isn’t done properly, I shall be little more than my husband’s chattel. Do you want your only sister to be treated like chattel?”
Dickon thought about it. “I suppose not,” he said reluctantly. “But why can’t you go?”
“I shall be in York ordering my wedding clothes,” she explained.
“Buy your wedding clothes in London,” he urged. “Don’t make me go to London on my own, I implore you! The women there are so fierce. I get such headaches.”
Viola held firm. “York would be hurt and insulted if I bought my wedding clothes in London. Besides, if I go to London now, Lord Bamph will think I’m obeying his ridiculous summons. He must learn that Lady Viola Gambol is not at his beck and call.”
“But I am, I suppose!” the duke said resentfully.
Viola started for the door. “I’m depending on you, Dickon,” she said, pausing in the doorway. “Don’t bungle it.”
“When did I ever bungle anything?” he said indignantly.
In the wake of her departure, the duke looked down at his plate. “This is dreadful, Jem,” he exclaimed unhappily. “Something must be done!”
“Her ladyship does seem a wee bit upset, Your Grace,” the footman agreed.
“What?” The duke blinked in momentary confusion. “I’m talking about the ham, Jem. Remember the ham? I think it’s turned. You’d better take it away.”
“Certainly, Your Grace. Shall I bring out another?”
The duke looked at him incredulously. “Of course, dear fellow,” he said. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.”
Chapter Two
Situated on the highest ground in Green Park, Lord Bamph’s London mansion seemed more like a gentleman’s country estate than a town house. The drive from the gate to the gleaming white facade of the house was long, giving Lady Belinda Belphrey ample time to observe that the Duke of Fanshawe’s carriage was not very clever.
“Oh, Mama! It looks like a fat, brown goose waddling up a country lane.”
Swathed in black lace, the dowager Marchioness of Bamph was seated at the escritoire in her boudoir, her handsome face completely innocent of rouge. Lady Bamph loathed black almost as much as she had loathed her dead husband, but she had made herself as plain as possible for the occasion, not wanting to spoil her daughter’s chance to become a duchess by accidentally attracting the duke herself.
“When I am Duchess of Fanshawe, I shall put all my footmen in pink,” sighed Belinda, smoothing down her pink skirts and patting the pink silk roses woven into her red-gold curls.
“Yes, my love,” Lady Bamph murmured absently.
The duke’s carriage, meanwhile, had arrived at the house. “Mama, he’s getting out,” Belinda reported, pressing her pert nose against the window. “Mama! He’s wearing trousers!”
The dowager’s hand jerked, causing an ink blot on the page. “Trousers!” she exclaimed. “You must be mistaken, child. Only shopkeepers and bank clerks wear trousers.”
“Hurry, Mama!” cried Belinda, jumping up. “He’s coming inside!”
Lady Bamph signed her letter with a flourish, and mother and daughter went down to the drawing room to greet their visitor.
They discovered the duke consulting his pocket watch. Upon seeing the ladies, however, he instantly pocketed his watch. Unlike the many dukes of Belinda’s acquaintance, this one was a very good-looking man, with patrician features, a strong, square chin, and the most breathtaking blue eyes she had ever seen. According to Belinda’s information, the duke was hideously old—six and forty!—but, in the flesh, he did not look a day over twenty-five. Incredibly, he was not fat. Even more incredibly, he was tall, the perfect height and build for a dance partner, she decided. His spiky chestnut hair had been cut too short, and he was much too plainly dressed for Belinda’s taste, but these were minor defects, easily corrected, and quite overruled by his beautiful eyes. Overall, Belinda was delighted with her prize.
“Oh, you’re handsome!” she cried, almost before the requisite bows and curtseys had been exchanged. “I’m so relieved! That is to say, so glad!”
Although not immune to the young man’s eyes, Lady Bamph had a cooler head. “I must apologize for my daughter’s exuberance,” she said, smiling. “She is young and impetuous. What a pity we cannot follow her example and say exactly what pops into our heads at any given moment,” she boldly added, fingering the pearls at her throat and staring directly into his eyes.
Unaware that he had been mistaken for his employer, Julian Devize smiled faintly at Lady Belinda’s exuberance, but her mother’s subtlety seemed to leave him cold. “Is Lord Bamph not at home?” he asked, addressing the mother with an air of courtesy rather than preference. “As your ladyship may know, I have come on behalf of Lady Viola Gambol to negotiate her marriage settlement.”
Lady Bamph felt the sting of rejection, but Julian was so handsome, she could not resist trying again. “Perhaps, when you have concluded your business with my son, you will allow me to show you the grounds,” she suggested archly. “There are many beauty spots in my garden.”
Julian smiled thinly. “When I am done, I don’t doubt you will all wish me in Hades.”
“No, indeed!” said Belinda, taking him quite seriously.
Lady Bamph laughed lightly. “A man like you must be welcome wherever he goes,” she said, looking at him hungrily. “Now do stop teasing me and sit down.”
Her fingers released the pearls at her neck and trailed down to rearrange the black lace draped across her bosom. How vexing that her maternal instincts had led her, on today of all days, to disguise herself as a grieving old widow!
“Your ladyship is very kind,” Julian said firmly. “But I am come to deal with Lord Bamph. If his lordship is not here, it would be better if I went away again.”
“Oh, no!” cried Belinda, seizing him by the arm. “Please don’t go. We have so much to talk about before the wedding.”
“Her brother’s wedding, she means,” Lady Bamph said quickly. “Please stay, Your Grace. My son has been a little delayed,” she went on quickly, as his eyes flickered, “but he will join us presently. I apologize for the inconvenience. Won’t you join us in a cup of tea?”
“Your ladyship has made a mistake,” Julian said gravely.
The dowager blinked at him. “Mistake, Your Grace?”
“I’m not his grace,” Julian said bluntly. “My name is Mr Devize. I’m the duke’s…er, financial advisor.”
Lady Bamph’s voice was shrill. “You are not the Duke of Fanshawe?”
“No, indeed, my lady.”
All the joy went out of Belinda’s pretty face, and she sank down onto the sofa. “You look like a duke,” she accused him petulantly. “That is to say, you look like they ought to look, but somehow never do,” she corrected herself. “How vexing!”
“I’m very sorry to disappoint you, Lady Belinda,” Julian said gently.
“I was prepared for disappointment,” she said glumly, “but you got my hopes up.”
“Indeed, it was very wrong of you to deceive us, sir,” said Lady Bamph, embarrassed that she had fingered her pearls at a good-looking nobody. “You should have exposed yourself the instant you came into the house!”
“I apologize for my reticence,” Julian said dryly.
“Where is his grace?” she demanded.
“His grace stepped out into the garden to attend a call of nature,” he replied. With the barest movement of his head, he indicated the French windows.
The dowager recoiled. “What do you mean? Do you mean he’s…? On my terrace?”
“In your shrubbery, I think,” Julian answered calmly.
“My rhododendrons!” she gasped, darting toward the French windows as a rotund silhouette appeared at one of them.
“Oh no,” Lady Belinda said sadly as the real duke came in through the French windows rubbing his hands together. “He’s fat and bald, as usual. Is that blood on his stock?”
“Gravy, I should think,” Julian said reassuringly.
Belinda’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh fie! Nothing ever works out the way it should!”
“That is the tragedy of life,” Julian agreed, offering her a clean handkerchief. “It always leaves us wanting more.”
Lady Bamph, meanwhile, had gone forth to meet the duke with plenty of daggers concealed in her dazzling smile. “My lord duke! How did you find my rhododendrons?”
“It wasn’t easy, but I managed,” he answered, averting his gaze from her voluptuous black-clad form. “You should speak to the gardener about those bushes, madam. At Fanshawe, we always remove the thorns.”
“My roses!” she gasped, turning gray. “How could you? You vile little gargoyle!”
“Ah, Dev,” the duke said, hurtling quickly past this overwrought, emotionally incontinent female. “Where’s Bamph, then? I haven’t got all day.”
“Lord Bamph is not yet arrived, Duke,” said Julian.
“You’re so ugly,” Belinda whined, briefly claiming his grace’s attention.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
She blinked in surprise. “I’m Belinda, of course.”
“I’m not ugly, young Belinda,” he corrected her sternly. “I have a unique manly beauty that few can appreciate.”
“Oh,” said Belinda. “I thought you were just ugly. What a pity I’m not one of the few who can appreciate your unique manly beauty,” she added glumly.
Tired of conversing with young Belinda, the duke turned to Julian. “What do you mean he’s not yet arrived, Dev? It’s nearly ten o’clock. I’m bloody hungry!”
By this time, Lady Bamph had decided to wrest back control of her drawing room, and it was she who answered. “My son has been delayed, Your Grace. He will be with us very soon.”
“Oh, he’s your son, is he?” Dickon snorted. “Why are you dressed like that? I thought you was the housekeeper.”
Her ladyship’s smile stretched taut but did not break. “While we wait for Rupert, shall we have tea, Your Grace? Belinda, touch the bell.”
“And cake?” the duke said eagerly. “I like cake.”
Almost before Belinda had touched the bell, two footmen entered the room, one to carry the heavy silver service and one to set up the collapsible tiger maple tea table in front of the dowager’s chair. “Do take your place with Belinda on the sofa, Your Grace,” Lady Bamph implored, choosing a delicate French chair for herself.
While the duke gorged himself on cake, Julian conversed easily with Belinda. Very properly, he remarked on the beauties of the house and grounds, the felicity of losing one’s self in the wilderness of Green Park while remaining within a stone’s throw of Piccadilly, and so forth, but Lady Bamph was not deceived. It was obvious to her that Mr Devize was a devious fortune hunter intent on seducing her child, his object being, of course, Belinda’s well-publicized dowry of fifty thousand pounds.
“I hate Green Park,” Belinda pouted. “One feels so cut off from everything. I want a proper town house. I want to be in the middle of everything, not hidden away in Green Park. Mama, can we not break our lease?”
“Lease? His lordship does not own the house, then?” Julian murmured. “Interesting.” Taking a pencil and a small writing tablet from his pocket, he made a quick note. His memory required no such aid; he did it merely to annoy Lady Bamph.
And annoy her it did. “My son is looking for a suitable purchase,” she snapped. “Where do you live, Mr Devize?” she asked him waspishly.
“In Lombard Street, ma’am,” he replied, strangely unashamed of his humble address.
“I’ve never heard of it,” she sniffed. “In which part of London is Lombard Street?”
“The City, ma’am.”
“The City! How quaint. I thought only Jews and shopkeepers lived in that part of town.”
“It’s nothing like the West End,” Julian answered with annoying complacency.
“Do all City men wear trousers, Mr Devize?” Lady Belinda asked eagerly.
“Yes, all, my lady,” came the shocking reply. “However gentlemanlike, white silk stockings are not practical for a man who must earn his living in the dirt and coal dust of the City. And, for myself, I dislike the affectation of wearing riding boots in the metropolis. I’ve not been near a horse since I sold out of the army.”
Belinda sighed happily. “Oh! Were you in the army, Mr Devize? You must have so many wonderful stories to tell.”
“No, not one.”
Belinda was taken aback, until she noticed that his blue eyes were twinkling again. “Oh, you are teasing me! But how splendid you must have looked in your regimentals! Was yours a cavalry regiment?” she asked hopefully.
“No, but I did ride a horse.”
This riddle flummoxed Lady Belinda, but her mother understood. “An officer?” she sneered. “In my day, only gentlemen could be officers.”
The duke handed Belinda his empty plate and licked his fingers. “Madam, I’ll have you know that Dev is a gentleman,” he said angrily. “His father’s a baron.”
Lady Bamph’s eyes widene
d. “You are that Mr Devize?” she gasped. “The son of Lord Devize?”
Julian smiled faintly. “I have that honor, yes.”
“You are the odious wretch who broke Child’s Bank!” she accused him, rising to her feet majestically. “Infamous cur! How dare you show your face among civilized people? You, sir, have been the means of ruining some of my dearest friends! I know your mother,” she went on, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Odious, grasping female! She must be so proud of you.”
“Of course she’s proud of him,” said the duke. “Aren’t you proud of your son? Speaking of which, where is he? The sooner he marries my sister, the sooner I get my nephew.”
Forcing a smile, Lady Bamph sat down again. “I’m sure Rupert is on his way, Your Grace,” she said pleasantly. “He is most eager to meet you…and Lady Viola, too, of course. What a pity her ladyship could not come to London.”
“No, Dev,” the duke said firmly as Julian opened his mouth to speak. “I’ll handle this. My sister is not a traveling exhibit,” he announced as he sponged cake crumbs from his waistcoat with his fingers. “She flatly refuses to come to London. If your son wants her, he must go to Yorkshire and do the pretty. Now, don’t ask me why a man should go all the way to Yorkshire to make love to a girl he’s already engaged to. I couldn’t tell you if you did ask. But Viola is not a man, and we can’t expect her to behave like a rational human being.”
Concluding his speech, he licked his fingers.
“It was I who suggested Rupert invite Lady Viola to London,” Lady Bamph answered. “I thought her ladyship might enjoy the delights of the Season with us. I see now my interference has led to infelicity all around. I see no reason why Rupert, Belinda, and I could not go to Yorkshire with you for an extended visit, if that is Lady Viola’s preference.”
“But Mama!” Belinda protested. “Rupert said if Lady Viola didn’t obey him, he’d make her very sorry indeed when they married. Rupert has a very bad temper when he is crossed,” she confided to Julian, who was taking notes again. “And besides, Mama, it is the height of the Season! We shall miss some very important plays and assemblies. I do not suppose there are plays and assemblies in Yorkshire. Rupert says that Yorkshire is the back end of beyond.”
The Heiress In His Bed Page 2
