The Love of a Rake

by Linda Rae Sande

  Grandby rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “Have you spoken with her father yet?” he asked in a low voice.

  Charles eyes widened. “I haven’t. I thought to come to you first,” he said with a shake of his head.

  Grandby gave him a quelling glance. “A godfather is not a replacement for a father until the man has died,” he said with a shake of his head. “Although I sometimes wonder if some of them haven’t lost their minds,” he murmured. He took a deep breath. “Talk to him. I’m sure he’ll be quite relieved to have his daughter betrothed before the Little Season even starts. He has no clue what he would be in for should he have had to help with her come-out,” he added with a shake of his head. “And her mother hasn’t been back to London in so long, it’s doubtful she would be of any help, either.” His brows furrowed. “Perhaps this is a bit of a blessing,” he murmured. When he looked up to find the younger earl staring at him in surprise, he said, “For her, of course. You ... I’m not so sure about.”

  Charles shook his head. “It’s time I reform my ways, my lord. Time I take a wife and ... and father a child,” he struggled to get out, his attention going to the bundle Grandby still held in the crook of his arm before he frowned.

  “Well, you needn’t make it sound so God awful,” Grandby countered. “It’s not, you know. It’s rather ... wonderful knowing you have a household complete with babes. And all the odors that tend to go with them,“ he added, sniffing experimentally and then deciding whatever foul odor he had just sniffed wasn’t due to his newborn daughter.

  The younger earl’s eyebrows cocked up to the middle of his forehead. “Language, my lord,” he said with a nod to the baby.

  Grandby looked suitably admonished. “Then go forth and get married, Wakefield. Let me know if you need any help with Middleton,” he added with a sigh.

  Charles nodded to the earl and stood up. Leaning over the baby, he carefully lifted the baby’s hand with a single finger. He noticed the miniature fingernails, the tiny wrinkles outlining each knuckle, the way her fingers clenched on his as he lifted it to his lips. “It was very good meeting you, my lady,” he whispered.

  Before Grandby could scold him, Charles made his way out of the study and out of Worthington House.

  Chapter 23

  A Mother Discovers That Someone is Missing

  Four o’clock in the afternoon of September 14, 1817

  Laura Merriweather entered her parlor at exactly four o’clock, anxious to tell her daughter of what she had discovered that afternoon during her call on Lady Winstead. Although Penelope didn’t seem the least bit disturbed by reports of her husband’s recent hiring of a mistress—“Goodness, I should think I would need to be rather worried if he hadn’t,” she had replied with an elegantly arched eyebrow—the news that someone had paid witness to Eleanor climbing into the mail coach in Epping did. “I do hope she is off to visit a friend and not in pursuit of a husband,” Penelope had said, all sweetness and light.

  Laura had angled her head, shaking it a bit. “I’m sure the reports are unfounded. I’m not expecting her to her leave until the Little Season actually starts. In a month or so.”

  But as the half-hour call neared its end, and the two other local ladies in attendance were taking their leave of Lady Winstead’s parlor, Laura had begun to wonder if her daughter had, indeed, run away to London. She would know in a few moments. If Eleanor didn’t come for tea in her own parlor, then she was no doubt on her way to London.

  With none of the servants apparently missing—Laura had asked the butler when she returned—Laura realized Eleanor probably left without the benefit of a chaperone. At least the trip to London would be quick. In fact, she was probably already in London, probably already at her father’s townhouse, arranging for modistes and who knew what else in order to prepare for her come-out, Laura reasoned.

  She hurried to the escritoire, pulling a sheet of parchment from the top drawer and the quill from the ink pot. Her quick note, penned to Lord Middleton, asked that he send assurances that Eleanor had arrived in London and was staying at his townhouse. She thought of dispatching a footman, but she didn’t know if the servant could be trusted to make the thirty-mile trip before sundown and be back sometime the following evening. Perhaps a courier could be hired in Epping.

  Shaking her head, she decided she would have her brother decide what was best to do when he returned from his business. After all, how much trouble could Eleanor get into on her way to her father’s townhouse? she reasoned.

  Laura wondered briefly at whose ball Eleanor would first appear. Wondered at what she might wear. How many dances she would dance. How late she would stay.

  Not too late, Laura figured. For she knew her husband wasn’t fond of ton events, apparently opting instead for quiet evenings in the card room at White’s. But she also knew that the sooner Eleanor was betrothed, the happier her husband would be. She knew he wanted his daughter married off, even if it meant divesting himself of the money he had set aside for her dowry. Although he claimed to love her dearly, he also claimed he couldn’t live in the same household with a teenage daughter.

  Until Eleanor Merriweather was married off and out of his country estate, George Merriweather would remain in London.

  Chapter 24

  A Visit with a Countess

  Two-thirty in the afternoon

  Lady Clarinda Norwick screwed up her face and watched as the baby she held responded with a grin. “You are a little flirt, aren’t you,” she whispered as she used a forefinger to rub the girl’s belly. “Just like me,” she added, stunned at the sudden feeling of sadness that settled over her just then. She looked up and around, wondering if the ghost of her first husband, David Fitzwilliam, might be watching them.

  Chiding herself on thinking he might be in the nursery, Clarinda returned her attention to her first daughter. Having just finished nursing, her eyelids drooped in a familiar manner. “Going to fall asleep on me again, are you?” Clarinda whispered. She leaned down and placed a kiss on Diana’s forehead, rather satisfied she had been able to put the babe to sleep so easily. The nurse never seemed to manage the feat with the older twin girl. The younger one, far more peaceful and easily put to sleep, was already napping in the nearby bassinet.

  “I admit to feeling rather jealous of the attention you shower on your daughters,” Daniel Fitzwilliam said from where he leaned against the nursery door’s frame. “But then I remind myself that someday you will do the same for my sons, and I find I cannot find fault.”

  Clarinda regarded her husband with a grin. “I should be the one who is jealous at how much attention you pay to the girls,” she countered. The man had become quite adept at holding both babes in his arms whilst he sat in his study and took turns making faces at them. She was quite sure he had held them for nearly an hour the day before, and only gave them up to the nurse because their nappies needed changing.

  “But you cannot, as I shower you with attention every night once they are abed,” he said as he moved into the nursery and kissed her forehead. Clarinda leaned her head back and angled it to kiss him on the lips. The thought of just what he had done the night before had her entire body shivering in response. The kiss merely reminded her of his gentle caresses and the pleasures he had incited. Another week, and she would once again welcome him into her body. The thought had her insides tumbling about in a most pleasant series of sensations.

  “Attention I spend the entire day looking forward to,” she murmured happily.

  Daniel kissed her again. When he pulled away, he reached down and took the baby from her arms. “As do I. However, right now you have a visitor in the parlor,” he said, “So it’s my turn to put her to bed,” he added as he moved to place the babe in the bassinet she shared with her twin sister.

  Clarinda frowned. “Who is it?” she asked as she rocked herself out of the chair and up to her feet. She shook out her skirts, relieved when she didn’t feel any wet spots in the sprigged muslin.

 
“I’ve absolutely no idea. I intercepted Porter on the stairs and said I would let you know. It is about time for tea, though,” Daniel said as he offered her his arm and led her down the grand staircase to the main floor. “Do be sure to have an extra cake or two,” he encouraged as he paused before they reached the parlor doors.

  Clarinda was about to protest but gave her husband a brilliant smile. “I like how you spoil me,” she said, angling her head to one side.

  Her first husband had never suggested such a thing, but then, David Fitzwilliam had never known of her craving for cakes or for pink roses. Daniel knew because Daniel had courted her first, courted her and asked for her hand in marriage, and then watched in horror as his older twin brother had stepped in and taken Clarinda as his countess.

  Having only been courted by Daniel for a few weeks, and then only for a few stolen moments at a time, Clarinda had had no idea how to tell the twins apart. No idea until she discovered her father said she would be marrying the earl—a rake with a reputation. “I made arrangements long ago,” he told her. Then she had only agreed to the match when David assured her he would divest himself of his brothel and gaming hell and give up his mistress. Clarinda had seen to it he made good on his promises when she hired a Bow Street Runner to provide periodic updates on her husband’s whereabouts and activities.

  True to his word, the Earl of Norwick had been faithful to his young wife for the four years of their marriage. Only four years, for David had been thrown from his horse in Oxford Street and broken his neck when he hit his head on a shipping crate filled with Lord Everly’s tropical fish.

  That had been six months ago.

  “Enjoy the cakes,” Daniel whispered before he bestowed another kiss on Clarinda’s forehead.

  “I will,” she replied, giving her skirts another shake before making her way into the parlor. “See you at dinner,” she whispered. She turned her attention to her visitor and noted the woman’s pale complexion and look of fright.

  And her uncanny resemblance to her husband.

  “Good afternoon,” she ventured, moving farther into the parlor. She waved to one of the settees that faced the low tea table. “Will you join me for some tea and cakes?” she asked brightly, hoping to put the poor thing at ease. Given her guest’s appearance, she thought it better to ply her with food and drink rather than attempt to coax an introduction out of her just then.

  Clarinda didn’t recognize the young woman as someone she had met before, but thought she must be in her mid-twenties. A surreptitious glance at her bare hands—she had removed her gloves and clutched them tightly in her left hand—told Clarinda the young woman was unmarried.

  “Yes, of course. It’s rather kind of you to offer, my lady,” Constance said as she positioned herself in front of a settee. She curtsied. “I am Constance Fitzwilliam,” she added with a nod. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”

  Clarinda’s eyes widened and then she blinked. “Clarinda Fitzwilliam. You must be a relative of Norwick’s,” she added, a bit relieved at knowing why the woman resembled Daniel.

  Constance nodded, her nervousness still evident. “I am his cousin, my lady,” she replied with another curtsy.

  Her own eyes widening at the revelation, Clarinda studied the young woman who stood before her. She was a bit taller than most aristocratic women, although not so tall she would attract unwanted attention. Her dark hair was the same color as Daniel’s, and the set of her eyes and cheekbones were similar enough to the earl’s that they might have been siblings.

  “Why didn’t you introduce yourself to Daniel? To Norwick, I mean?” Clarinda wondered, waving a hand to indicate the young woman should take a seat.

  Constance gave her hostess a slight shake of her head. “I didn’t wish to bother the earl. I know he is a busy man,” she added.

  Clarinda frowned. “He would be pleased to know you’re here. In fact, let me ...” She reached over to grab the porcelain bell on the side table, but hesitated when she saw the young woman’s sudden shake of her head. Constance looked positively frightened. “What is it, Miss Fitzwilliam?” Clarinda asked, one of her brows furrowing so a fold of skin appeared.

  “Please, do not,” Constance answered with another shake of her head. “I do not believe the earl would be ... happy to know I am here,” she said carefully.

  A bit alarmed, Clarinda rang the bell anyway. When a footman appeared only a second later, she said, “Bring the tea tray, please. And be sure there are cakes,” she added, giving Constance a wink.

  The footman bowed and took his leave of the parlor. When the two women were once again alone, Clarinda regarded her guest with an arched eyebrow. “Do tell me what this is about, won’t you?”

  Constance allowed a nod. “Of course, my lady,” she agreed with a sigh. After a long pause, she explained how she had met with the Norwick solicitor in Sussex. “Imagine my shock when I learned my inheritance was missing,” Constance said with a shake of her head. “Mr. Asherman, the solicitor in Sussex, knew I would have to come to London. He was the one who recommended I meet with Mr. Barton,” she explained, “Which I did just before I arrived here. His news was not good, I fear, and he was the one who recommended I pay a call on my cousin.”

  Clarinda angled her head, rather concerned for the young woman who sat across from her. She was about to speak when a maid appeared with the tea tray.

  “I’ll serve,” she said as the maid lowered a tray to the low table in front of Clarinda. She smiled when she noted the number of cakes that were artfully arranged on the porcelain salver along with a selection of lemon biscuits and berry scones. “How do you take your tea, Miss Fitzwilliam?” she asked.

  The younger woman noted how the countess addressed her. “Connie, please. A bit of cream and two lumps of sugar,” she replied, secretly glad for the opportunity to take tea the way she was accustomed to doing so in Sussex. Since moving to London, she had chosen to eschew the cream and use only one lump of sugar as a cost-saving measure. “I implore you not to bother my cousin with my problems, though,” she added as Clarinda handed her the steaming cup of tea.

  “Nonsense,” the countess responded. “The Norwick earldom is responsible for your situation, and it shall make good on your inheritance,” she added as she helped herself to a cake. “Would you like a biscuit or a scone?” she asked as she held out the decorated porcelain plate on which the sweets were arranged.

  “Thank you,” Constance said as she helped herself to a biscuit. “Truth be told, I have reason to believe my inheritance may have been ...” She paused, not sure if she should tell Lady Norwick of the solicitor’s assertion that the monies were missing because they were stolen. “Taken,” she finally said.

  In the middle of eating one of the cakes, Clarinda stared at the Norwick cousin. She swallowed and quickly took a sip of her tea, glad she hadn’t had a mouthful of tea when Constance made the comment, for she was sure the tea would have ended up sprayed all over the tea tray.

  “Taken?” she repeated. “As in ... stolen?” she whispered, not wanting any nearby servants to overhear their conversation.

  “Yes,” Constance nodded before taking another sip of tea. She nearly sighed aloud at the pleasant taste. So much better than what we’ve been drinking! she thought as she reveled in the high-quality steaming liquid. “It’s possible the money has merely been ... moved, or borrowed, perhaps. But, if so, the solicitor in Sussex is unaware of when or what it might have been used for.” She didn’t add that she suspected her father might have gambled it away, despite his assertion that she would be set for life.

  Clarinda frowned, her eyebrows drawn together so that the fold of skin appeared between her brows. An alarm bell was going off in her head, one that wouldn’t subside until she had a satisfactory answer for the cousin. “Given Daniel ... Norwick,” she corrected herself, “Has been personally seeing to the earldom’s finances, I cannot imagine the inheritance would have been ... borrowed or otherwise used for some other purpose
. I’ll take up the matter with him when I have dinner with him later this evening. Or before, should I have occasion to see him,” she promised with a nod. “Now, do tell me where you’re staying whilst in Mayfair,” she said as a means of changing the subject.

  Constance held her breath a moment, realizing she didn’t have an answer unless she told the truth.

  “If I tell you, will you promise not to tell Norwick?” she asked in a whisper.

  The alarm bell sounded even louder in Clarinda’s head. “Of course,” she finally said, realizing the young woman wouldn’t share her secret until Clarinda promised to keep the information from Daniel. What exactly had happened to cause Constance to fear Daniel?

  “I am staying at the Norwick terrace in Curzon Street,” Constance whispered. “With my maid, whom I am afraid I shall have to dismiss by month’s end, as I won’t be able to afford her salary when my funds run out.”

  Clarinda felt a bit of relief coupled with concern. At least the Norwick cousin wasn’t staying in an expensive hotel or paying exorbitant rent for a Mayfair townhouse. “You’re welcome to stay there as long as you need to,” Clarinda insisted as she helped herself to another cake. “It’s been quite forgotten since Norwick last used it.” That had been back when David housed one of his mistresses there, back before Clarinda had agreed to marry him. Forgotten was not exactly the truth, though, as another courtesan had lived there until recently. Lord Pettigrew’s mistress, Angelika, had left the viscount’s employ and was apparently happily married to a baronet, the man rather proud of an Italian wife who looked as if she could be the sister of Adeline Carlington, Marquess of Morganfield.