A Roguish Gentleman

by Mary Brendan

  Ross leaned back in his chair, raised his glass to his lips and looked at Edwina over the rim. She was aware of his perusal despite her eyes being fixed on her busy cutlery, and fidgeted beneath his calculating gaze.

  Ross studied her thoughtfully. He had been expecting some stout, plain young woman to be blushing and giggling at table while they ate. Since his peerage had been gazetted, it seemed he couldn’t venture out of the house without some matron trailing a younger version of herself, accosting him on street corners, reminding him of some short acquaintance they’d enjoyed years previously. In this instance it seemed his fears for his bachelorhood were unfounded. ‘Where is your granddaughter this evening?’ he asked idly.

  Edwina choked, thumped herself on the breastbone. Damn! She’d been confident he had forgot! It was only when ruminating on her strategies an hour before his arrival, that she realised she wished she’d never mentioned dear Lizzie to him at all. And she was also hoping her headstrong granddaughter wouldn’t have an uncharacteristic fit of meekness and rush home to obediently join them at dinner. If she stayed out late this evening it would be a blessing. Things had been going so well… Now he looked…too cynical. And this wasn’t a man you played for a fool…

  ‘Oh, she’s off doing good deeds,’ Edwina gasped, still hammering at her ample chest, making the satin undulate. ‘No interest in anything else, don’t you know. Spends all her time with bores and vicars. You wouldn’t like her,’ she dismissed with screwed-up face and wrinkled nose. ‘Now don’t change the subject, Stratton. You owe me a favour. There was that time I paid your marker at Almack’s when you were fifteen hundred down and due to be carted to the Fleet. Then there was that other time when I took your place for over an hour while you disappeared for a snooze. You’d sat at that gaming table all night and couldn’t keep your eyes open, let alone your credit.’

  ‘All right…I give in.’ Ross laughed. ‘What the hell? It’s only money. But ten thousand tops and for just two weeks,’ he said soberly. ‘I can no longer afford to be as liberal as I might have been. I’ve a cash-eating country estate to restore and a few dependants. You aren’t the only one with old retainers to keep happy, Edwina. Stratton Hall’s also saddled with the quaint aspect of allowing one to stargaze from the comfort of one’s bed. I’d guess the roof hasn’t had a full set of slates for almost a decade.’

  ‘Well, make a little side bet with me and you can buy your roof out of your winnings. Come, you know I’m good for the money,’ Edwina purred persuasively. ‘We’ve known each other some fifteen years. When you were first in London as a callow youth, I took to you at once…treated you as my own kin. I would have liked a grandson. Still would…’ she rumbled to herself. ‘Even at eighteen you could charm the birds from the trees,’ Edwina chattered on.

  ‘I remember you were good to me, Edwina,’ Ross said on a smile. ‘That’s why I’ll lend you the cash. Send your man to Jacey’s in Lombard Street tomorrow and he can collect a contract for signature.’

  ‘A contract?’ Edwina barked. ‘Don’t you trust this old friend who once saved your miserable young hide from a rat-infested cell in the Fleet?’

  ‘Of course I do, Edwina,’ Ross smoothly said, dazzling her with his fabled charming smile. ‘For I’ve a notion you’ve no liking for the Fleet any more than I, and would hate our friendship to founder at such an establishment should things turn awry. The contract is as much for your benefit: I might come to my senses and try to renege on such lunatic generosity.’

  Elizabeth put down her teacup and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was approaching nine-thirty and she was tired and ready to leave this little gathering of members of the Society of Friends. Following their weekly visits to Tothill Fields, the members who’d attended the correctional institute for women and children usually congregated at Mrs Martin’s residence for light refreshments and earnest debate. Usually the lively talk held her attention. Tonight she had barely contributed a word.

  The whole afternoon and evening had been dominated by her fascination with Viscount Stratton. She’d seen pictures in books of dark-visaged men with tangled, dusky locks and wicked grins. Did he sport a gold earring or a gold tooth, from his smuggling days? Or keep a parrot and a monkey as pets? Part of her wanted to rush home now, and find out, and part of her wanted to linger here as long as possible, lest she returned too soon, and did.

  Hugh intercepted her next glance at the clock as it chimed the half-hour. He inclined towards her. ‘Are you ready to leave, Elizabeth?’

  She smiled and sent Sophie a meaningful look. Her friend understood the signal and nodded. Elizabeth had decided. She did want a glimpse of this intriguing scoundrel. Perhaps, if they were back in Marylebone before ten, he might still be at her grandmother’s house. After all, from past experience, she knew that Edwina’s guests could linger over some score or more dishes.

  ‘What’s your opinion on the usefulness of the treadmill as a deterrent for felons, Elizabeth?’ Hugh Clemence conversationally enquired as they jogged along. They had five minutes ago dropped Sophie off at her home in Perman Street and were now making good time past the new gas lamps towards Connaught Street, where Elizabeth lived.

  ‘It’s a soul-destroying contraption,’ she opined at once. ‘When used to grind corn or draw water, I suppose it gives some purpose to the discipline; but to make the poor wretches step it simply to beat the air! What a stupid and inhuman exercise! It’s more likely to produce bitter recidivists than reformed characters…’ Her words tailed off. Hugh’s gig had turned into Connaught Street and her stomach fluttered excitedly as she noticed that fine matched greys were approaching along the street at the head of an elegant carriage.

  Hugh was agreeing with some of her comments and tendering his own but she was barely listening, for within that glossy coach might be… The horses drew level and, heart pumping exceedingly slowly, she slanted a wide-eyed violet glance from beneath her bonnet brim at the carriage window.

  She had the impression of staring at the top of an ebony head. A flare of a match illuminated a cupped hand and a cigar pointing towards it. A hard lean profile was momentarily gilded by sulphurous light, and strands of hair slipped forward to soften a strong jaw and planed cheekbone. Abruptly the man’s head snapped back with an inherent shake that took the obscuring locks away from his features. A slash of white teeth were visible, clenching on the newly lit cheroot, then his sensual mouth moulded around it. Aware of the gig, his idle glance strayed sideways, skimming casually as he extinguished the match with a hand flick. A second too late he was aware of glossy wide eyes and whitish curls peeping from a dark bonnet. His eyes ricocheted back, but the vehicles had passed.

  Chapter Three

  ‘What on earth is up, m’dear? You look positively peeky,’ Edwina exclaimed, looking up from her novel. ‘You really must stop visiting the prisons, Lizzie. I swear you look more forlorn each time you return. And I go in fear of the gaol fever creeping within these doors…or the lice.’ A shudder undulated her purple satin bosom.

  ‘Has Viscount Stratton just left?’ burst from Elizabeth as she snatched her bonnet from her dishevelled fair hair and paced back and forth.

  Edwina looked curiously at her. ‘Yes, not more than a few minutes since. You have just missed him.’ Relief lilted her tone at that realisation. ‘The dinner was fine; Stratton enjoyed it…’

  ‘What age is he?’ Elizabeth interrogated. ‘You said you had a long-standing acquaintance. I imagined him to be old…as old as you.’

  ‘Why, thank you for making me sound a veritable decrepit dodderer,’ Edwina huffed drily. Discarding her novel on the sidetable, she absently picked over pieces of marchpane in the silver filigree dish. ‘I have known him some fifteen years, but he was probably only eighteen or nineteen when first we met. He ought to have been sent down, you know. He was hardly scholarly…always gallivanting…’ She frowned at her restless granddaughter. ‘Do stand still, Lizzie! You’re turning me giddy, wheeling about like that. Why ar
e you so concerned about any of it?’ A knowing glint narrowed her eyes. ‘You caught sight of him in the street, didn’t you? Handsome devil, is he not? Is that what’s vexing you? You’re now wishing you’d forgone that whey-faced vicar’s company and dined at home? Well, you’re not the first young woman to be overset by his good looks. With my own eyes, I’ve seen shameless hussies in a pretended swoon at his feet just so he might pick them up.’

  Elizabeth’s violet eyes flashed at her grandmother, her colour heightening. ‘I am overset, Grandmama, because you were half-right in your description of his Lordship! By all accounts, he is, indeed, a devil. Even I, out of circulation for so long, have heard gossip of Ross Trelawney. You conveniently omitted to mention that he and Viscount Stratton are one and the same. Hugh Clemence told me and was as shocked as I that you would know such an individual, let alone invite him to dine with us.’

  Edwina flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Don’t be priggish, Lizzie. Do you think I give a fig for that milksop clergyman’s opinion? Do you think Stratton would care?’ A shrewd glance at her granddaughter preceded her declaring, ‘You’re showing a deal of interest in a man you’ve only ever heard tattled over and only ever glimpsed in passing. Did he see you?’ she demanded.

  ‘No…I don’t know.’ Elizabeth was flustered, still pacing about. ‘It was dark and the vehicles had passed so quickly. He might have glanced my way, I think.’

  ‘Good,’ Edwina muttered to herself with some satisfaction.

  Elizabeth slanted a frown at her grandmother. ‘From what I could distinguish of him in the half-light, he resembles a Romany…a heathen. Which is what he is, by all accounts.’

  ‘He has dark colouring, it’s true. But he’s not unattractively swarthy. And never fret over all those ludicrous tales of marauding on the high seas and eating Frenchies’ offal and so on,’ Edwina scoffed through a sweetmeat. ‘Now he’s so sought after by the ton I expect there’ll be more wonderfully concocted fables of his warrior habits: maidens in distress either spoiled by his virile lust or saved on a romantic whim. He won’t bother denying any of it. I think, beneath that cool, detached air he has, he deems it all faintly amusing.’ Edwina grinned widely. ‘Besides, now he’s the King’s favourite and so eligible, he could spitroast a street urchin for his dinner in Pall Mall and still be invited to Lady Conyngham’s ball. If he bothers to attend, he must bring along his cane…to beat off the petticoat set.’

  ‘I don’t see anything amusing in it,’ Elizabeth admonished tightly, fingers dragging through her thick, pearly hair. ‘Wretched street urchins are not a case for banter. And there’s always a grain of truth in gossip.’

  ‘You of all people should know that’s not necessarily so, miss!’ Edwina brusquely reminded her granddaughter. Noting Elizabeth’s wince and flush, she gestured apology with a plump hand. ‘Stratton was good enough to ask after you,’ she added, with every intention of alleviating the tension.

  ‘Me? He doesn’t know me!’ Elizabeth squeaked in protest, renewed agitation sending her in another turn about the room. Inwardly she prayed, Please don’t let such a man know of me or my misfortune, especially if he’s going to be a regular visitor to Connaught Street. I receive more than enough lecherous looks and whispered propositions from Cadmore as it is.

  ‘I told Ross I now live with m’granddaughter and he politely enquired after you. He is cultured and mannerly.’

  ‘He is a rogue, Grandmama, and well you know it.’

  ‘Rogue, maybe, but he’s a gentleman too. He has excellent connections. His eldest brother is a baron and has a large estate in Brighton. His father amassed a vast acreage in Cornwall which another brother now administers. They have business interests embracing mining and shipping and banking which extend the globe. They are an exceedingly wealthy and influential family who are on good terms with other important aristocrats. Sir Richard Du Quesne and Lord Courtenay are but two of his close friends and business associates. Ross courts danger and excitement from choice, not financial necessity.’

  ‘In that case, Grandmama,’ Elizabeth stressed quietly, ‘surely it behoves us to studiously avoid the company of such a madman.’

  Their conversation ceased as Harry Pettifer entered and bowed. ‘Excuse me, madam; may I lock and bolt now that Lady Elizabeth is home?’

  ‘Ah…indeed,’ Edwina said, a little flustered. ‘And, Pettifer…’

  Harry Pettifer pivoted politely, poker straight.

  ‘I should like to speak with you before you retire—’ Edwina broke off to bid her granddaughter good night as Elizabeth pecked her cheek and informed that she was ready for a warm bath and a soft bed. As the door closed behind Elizabeth, Edwina shifted her purple satin bulk in her chair and looked up at the tall, imposing man standing close by. He seemed relaxed, yet she had stiffened with tension while fiddling with small buttons on her cuffs, and it needled her. She forced her fingers still. ‘Am I right in thinking I’ve treated you fairly over many, many years?’ she burst out.

  ‘Indeed, madam,’ Harry Pettifer replied, inclining his pewter head.

  Edwina stared at him, hoping he would contribute more. He didn’t, merely watched her with a clear, untroubled gaze. But amusement lurked far back in his bright blue eyes, she was certain. She shifted again in her seat. The silence protracted. ‘Are you perhaps keen to discover if the grass grows greener in Sussex?’ she hinted, irritated by his composure and how stately he looked: all grey and black and rigid-backed. She bit her tongue to prevent herself simply snapping out that she knew he was planning to quit.

  ‘Would you like me to tell you whether I intend to take up Mrs Penney’s offer of employment at her Brighton townhouse? Or accept a similar offer from Mrs De Vere or Lady Salisbury?’ he blandly offered.

  ‘You know dam’ well I would,’ Edwina gritted through her teeth, abandoning any attempt at nonchalance. Flinging herself against the chairback, she grabbed a handful of sweetmeats and chewed ferociously.

  Harry inspected his immaculate shoes. His mouth twitched. Then his eyes levelled on his fiery-faced employer.

  ‘I have not yet responded to those ladies’ offers, but I have little desire to…er…investigate the shade of turf outside London,’ he said solemnly.

  ‘Why not?’ She eyed him suspiciously. ‘I know, without you telling me, all those…ladies—’ she spat on a sneer ‘—have offered you more than I pay you.’

  ‘Money isn’t the first consideration, at my time of life. I have adequate funds for my needs, and a little to spare. I have no wish to leave Lady Elizabeth…or you.’

  Finished with the sweetmeats, Edwina chewed her full lower lip, eyeing him thoughtfully. ‘You have a deal of fondness for Lizzie. I’ve noticed a rapport strengthening between you the few years she’s lived with us. You would spoil her as a child when she visited with her papa: bring her titbits from the kitchens.’

  Harry Pettifer bowed his head. ‘As you say. I have a great fondness for Lady Elizabeth…and her family,’ he added quietly. ‘I have been employed by Sampsons for a long while now. I believed you deemed me loyal.’

  Edwina fidgeted and grew hot at the gracious reproof. A finger commenced twirling absently in the silver dish. She suddenly lifted the bowl and proffered it, by way of reparation. ‘Have a sweet,’ she said, shaking the dish. ‘Come…take one…’ she cajoled with a coy smile.

  Harry Pettifer approached and his long, patrician fingers selected a small piece of marchpane. Edwina watched as he carefully chewed.

  ‘It seems to me, Pettifer, we both want the best for Lady Elizabeth. I imagine you, as much as I, would like to see her happily settled, before we are grown too crotchety to hug her children. She is in her twenty-ninth year, you know, and no nearer to swallowing her pride and socialising properly than she was immediately after the…um…delicate situation.’

  ‘I understand the predicament, madam. Lady Elizabeth, I think, is proud. And not without reason. She is of noble birth and character. Of course I crave to see her happy.’<
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  ‘You think she’s not happy?’ Edwina pounced.

  ‘I think she is at times a little…wistful,’ Harry said, choosing his words carefully.

  Edwina nodded slowly, eyeing him thoughtfully. ‘Yes…wistful…that’s it. It is time she was wed…not wistful.’

  ‘I heartily concur, madam. Lady Elizabeth would make some fortunate gentleman an excellent wife.’

  ‘And children would never find a better mother,’ Edwina added. ‘She has a lot of affection going begging. Succouring waifs and strays is no substitute for having a husband and children to love. Mayhap she just needs a little nudge in the right direction…to realise it.’

  ‘I think those are very wise words, madam. My sentiments exactly,’ Harry said, emphasising his approval with a movement of his steely head.

  Edwina’s flushed visage cocked to one side; she watched her plump fingers pleating the satin of her skirt. ‘It was nice to see Trelawney again after such a long absence, don’t you think?’

  ‘Indeed, I do, madam. In all the years I have welcomed that gentleman into your houses, he has never grown too coarse or too fine to speak to me and ask how I do. To my mind, Viscount Stratton is an altogether grand fellow, for I always judge as I find.’

  ‘I think those are very wise words, Pettifer. My sentiments, exactly,’ Edwina said, an affable look slanting from beneath her lashes at him. ‘It seems we share a deal of common sense where m’granddaughter and the Viscount are concerned. I wonder if there’s a way in which both might benefit from it?’

  It was when her grandmother described him as cool and detached, yet given to a latent amusement, that something far, far back in her mind started to stir.

  Relaxing back into warm, scented bathwater, Lady Elizabeth Rowe allowed corners of banished memories to pierce her consciousness. People…events…conversations…trickled in, pulled together to surface from a deep well of pain.