No, Brodfield would not be content with Phoebe’s inheritance alone. He wanted Phoebe, too, and the law forbade him to achieve his ends by marriage, as she had been his brother’s wife. The very idea made Devenham sick as well as angry. How the hell was he supposed to eat a civilized dinner at Watier’s?
When he arrived at the club at the appointed hour, he found Sir Charles Mortimer awaiting him. Sir Charles smiled pleasantly enough, but there was a certain air of gravity about him that alerted Devenham that this was not merely a social dinner.
What could be on Sir Charles’s mind? He had proposed the dinner so quickly last night, it had made the earl wonder. What could be so urgent that they needed to meet less than twenty-four hours later?
“You are unfashionably prompt, Devenham,” said the older man with obvious approval. He led the way into the club’s dining room. “Have you dined here before? The food is infinitely superior to White’s or Brooks’s.”
“That is not difficult to achieve,” Devenham replied, “although I confess I have not had the pleasure.”
They settled at their table and gave their order to the server who was hovering at their elbows.
“I believe the last time we shared a table was playing macao at Brooks’s—it must have been more than two years ago,” Sir Charles observed. “Young Lord Hadley lost ten thousand pounds that night. Have you been in London since?”
“No, I have not.” Devenham was impressed by Sir Charles’s memory.
“That was Lady Brodfield’s second Season as a married woman. I don’t believe she and Lord Brodfield were much in evidence that year. Did you ever meet them?”
“I am certain I did not.” If this was to be the topic, Sir Charles wasted no time getting to it. “I would indeed have remembered Lady Brodfield if I had ever met her before this visit.” The earl smiled a bit self-consciously. He had not intended his reply to sound quite so warm.
“They made a charming couple. Everyone thought so. Lady Brodfield is a very special young woman—a treasure, in my opinion. I would have been very proud to have had a daughter like her.”
Sir Charles paused as the server brought their wine. When the glasses were filled and the fellow had again retired, the baronet continued. “You struck me as rather taken with her, Devenham, if you’ll forgive my saying so. That is the reason we are sitting here at dinner, quite frankly.”
A little chill ran through Devenham. “I see.” I should have known, he thought. What was I expecting? He hid his disappointment behind an air of cold civility. “You thought this might be the most gentlemanly way to warn me off. Has my mere presence already had such a bad effect on her reputation?”
He was surprised when Sir Charles laughed.
“I say! I’m not displeased to see you are awake to that possibility. However, you misunderstand me. I have no right to ‘warn you off’ as you call it, nor have I any desire to do so. I happen to like you, Devenham. Because of that, I wanted to give you a little of the lady’s history, before some scandalmonger comes along and gives you a shocker. I doubted whether Sir Edward would or even could give you full details. He and Lady Allington had not yet arrived in Town when the worst of it happened.”
“You are referring, of course, to Lord Brodfield’s death. Allington did tell me something about how Lady Brodfield and her husband first met, fell in love, and married. I could only guess at his references to the tragic way it all ended. I will confess that, being the persistent sort of fellow that I am, I was not content to remain in the dark, and I arranged to have some inquiries made. It did not take long to learn the story of what happened.”
“I see.” Sir Charles seemed uncomfortable, and the earl guessed he was wondering how much of the story had come out. Devenham waited while the soup was served, then took up the topic again.
“I must admit that I was shocked by the unsavory story that I heard. I find it hard to believe any man married to such an exquisite creature as Lady Brodfield would behave as Lord Brodfield apparently did. Nor do I see how he could have done the things reported without anyone’s knowledge.” He shook his head slowly. “The shock to Lady Brodfield must have been devastating.”
“Indeed it was, to her and to Lord Tyneley as well. To all of us who knew Stephen. It all seemed most out of character. The Stephen Brodfield we all knew was a respectable, responsible young man, devoted to his wife.”
Devenham leaned forward, more than a little interested. This was exactly the kind of thing he wanted to learn. “Had he always been that way?”
“Yes, from childhood. We concluded that he had been leading a double life—that there was another entire side to his nature that he had concealed from everyone. It seemed ironic and somehow worse, in contrast to his half brother Richard’s openly deplorable character. At least Richard Brodfield does not pretend to be anything other than what he is.”
“Lord Tyneley must have been brokenhearted to think that both of his sons turned out so badly.”
“He was not ready to give up on Richard. He truly hoped that service in the military would turn Richard around. After Stephen’s death, he clung to that hope even harder. That really seemed to be when his illness began to get a greater hold on him. He was never again as strong as he had been.”
“What illness did he suffer?”
“A bilious stomach; some think it was cancer. His trouble seemed to come and go. Lady Brodfield was a great comfort to him, as I think I mentioned last night.”
“She must have visited him often?”
“She and Lord Brodfield lived in the house on Charles Street with the rest of the family. It is a sizeable residence.”
“What of Lady Tyneley?” Devenham felt he had stumbled upon a gold mine. He could ask Sir Charles questions to which Mullins might never have found answers. He ate his dinner mechanically, scarcely noticing the food in front of him.
“Ah. Lady Tyneley is a hard person to categorize,” Sir Charles said, pausing to refill his plate with another slice of the tender veal. “She is very cool, very contained, and not given to showing her emotions. She was and still is an attractive woman; certainly Lord Tyneley was happy with her.”
“Did she get along well with Lord Brodfield?”
“Being the second wife, it is not surprising that she tended to favor her own son over her predecessor’s. I think that unfortunate circumstance combined with jealousy of Stephen to make Richard what he is.”
“And what would you say that is?”
Sir Charles lowered his voice. “He is a libertine and a ruthless man. I believe I see him more clearly than his father ever did. That is the other reason I wanted to meet with you. I think it very unfortunate that Lady Brodfield must have any dealings with him over the property Lord Tyneley left her. I just wanted to warn you of his character, as you seem likely to be in her company a good deal.”
Too late, thought Devenham. He dipped his fingers in the finger bowl and dried them on the serviette provided. The level of noise in the various game rooms of the club was increasing as the evening drew on. He looked across at Sir Charles, wondering if he should confide in him.
“I am not likely to be in her company as much as I might wish,” he said tentatively. “Since I am sufficiently recovered now to do so, I have made arrangements to move back to the Clarendon where I stayed on first arriving, and Lady Brodfield seems quite resistant to my interest in her.”
Sir Charles did not appear the least surprised. “Yes, I can think of any number of reasons why she would resist. She might feel that an attraction to you would be disloyal to Stephen’s memory, for one. I’ve known some widows who were plagued by such ghosts of their own devising. I think her reasons may go much deeper, however, given the devastating experience she went through. The scandal was terrible on top of the pain I know she felt. Some of the things people said were extremely cruel. Some laid the blame at
her feet for what happened, can you believe it?”
“No, I cannot. On what grounds?”
“All sorts of rumors flew about—you know how these things go. Infidelity on her part was one, without so much as a shred of evidence, I might add. All manner of wifely failings were speculated, not the least of which was that she gave him no children.”
Devenham shook his head again. How cruel people could be! But then, he knew that himself. “You don’t think that she holds herself responsible for what happened?”
“I don’t know, Devenham. All I will say is that I don’t think she is as averse to your company as she pretends, judging by what I saw last night. I would support your efforts to wear her down, sir, as long as your intentions are honorable, and I believe they are.”
“Why? Most people would not think so.”
“I fancy myself a good judge of character. I have also been around these parts a long time. I know something of your family, Devenham. I suspect it is difficult to live with a reputation you’ve been saddled with from the cradle. People always see what they want to see, eh? And perhaps sometimes it is just easier to oblige their expectations than to fight them.”
Devenham was amazed by the older man’s perceptiveness, even if his words were nothing more than a shrewd guess. This sentiment must have been apparent in his face, for Sir Charles laughed.
“I’ve surprised you tonight, have I not? I’ll wager you didn’t think such an old cannon could still be loaded with so much shot.”
“It has indeed been an enlightening dinner,” the earl responded warmly. “I have to thank you for a good deal more than this elegant meal.” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I will tell you in confidence, sir, that I am making inquiries into the whole business about Lord Brodfield’s death, simply because I cannot accept it. I know it is probably a waste of my time, but if I found even one thing that would help Lady Brodfield, it would be worth the trouble to me.”
“I applaud your efforts. If I can be of any help at all, please do not hesitate to call on me, Devenham.”
“You have already helped, sir. Thank you.”
Devenham declined the opportunity to stay at Watier’s and gamble on macao or hazard or any of the other games. He preferred to try his chances with Lady Brodfield at the Allingtons’ on Wigmore Street.
***
Phoebe was settled quietly with her needlework in Judith’s sitting room by the time the Allingtons returned en masse from their expedition to Greenwich. She hoped there was no outward sign that anything was amiss. She had decided not to tell anyone about her unwelcome visitor, and she hoped Lord Devenham would say nothing of it if she did not.
She had felt even more violated by Richard’s advance than she thought the garden had been, and for a little while had the horrible sensation that she was spreading the foulness of his touch from her own hands to everything that she subsequently touched. She had washed and changed into fresh clothes and had finally washed her hands several more times before she was able to conquer the irrational feeling.
Richard frightened her. She had decided to sell him Beau Chatain as quickly as possible, at whatever price he would pay. If that was exactly what he had intended, she did not care. She would not put stubborn pride ahead of common sense. Common sense said to get him out of her life as quickly and completely as possible.
Henrietta heralded the arrival of the rest of the Allington brood. The scrabble of her hastening feet was muffled by the carpet in the passage, but Phoebe managed to set aside her embroidery before a furry missile launched itself into her lap. The puppy was trying to climb her, licking her cheeks and chin with enthusiasm, when the children burst in upon her.
“Aunt Phoebe! Aunt Phoebe!” came the familiar chorus.
“We fed deer in the park.”
“We went onboard a ship in the dockyard.”
“We saw the Royal Observatory!”
Each of the children wanted to be first to relate what they had seen and done. The resulting confusion created noise without conveying much meaning at all. It took several minutes for Phoebe to establish order and finally hear about the pleasures she had missed. By that time, Judith and Edward had also joined them.
“Oh, Phoebe, it is really too bad that you did not come,” Judith lamented. “The park was so green and cool, I know you would have enjoyed it. We had a delightful picnic. And I think you would have found the Royal Observatory most interesting.”
“We climbed to the very top!”
“There were all kinds of astro-nom-i-cal instruments.”
“They had clocks! Lots of clocks.”
“Chron-o-meters, William.”
Phoebe listened patiently until the children were sent off to prepare for dinner. Judith and Edward had accepted an invitation to join friends for dinner and the theater at Drury Lane, so Judith excused herself to consult with the cook.
“You are certain you won’t join us tonight?” Edward asked Phoebe. He had not sat down again after Judith left the room. “Last night was not such an ordeal, now, was it? I do not think our friends would mind.” He seemed to be regarding Phoebe rather thoughtfully.
She forced a smile. “Last night was not nearly as difficult as I had expected. For the most part, I actually enjoyed it. But I do not feel inclined to go out again tonight, Edward, thank you. Perhaps on another night, soon. You should just go along and enjoy the company of your friends. I will enjoy the peace and quiet of an evening alone.” As if to prove her point, she bent her head over the embroidery on which she had resumed work.
Her brother-in-law cleared his throat and hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. He looked at the carpet and then looked back up at her. “I have the distinct feeling you were not going to tell me Richard Brodfield called this afternoon.”
Phoebe dropped her needle in surprise. “Oh, dear,” she said, hunting about for the implement, shaking her skirts and searching the seat cushion of her chair.
“Maddocks told me that Brodfield appeared to be quite angry when he left here and that you have requested he not be allowed admittance to the house from now on. Does this mean you have decided not to sell Beau Chatain to him?”
Phoebe stopped hunting for a moment. Now what could she say? She should have known Maddocks would inform Edward of her visitor. “I—actually, no, I mean to say, I had not made up my mind when he was here the first time. I had told him I would inform him by letter when I had decided what to do, but he was too impatient to wait. He—well, I guess he was angry to find I still had not come to a decision.” Certainly, that much was true. “I have thought some more since he left, and I have decided that I will sell. That is all.”
“Are you certain that is what you wish to do, Phoebe? You must not allow him to push you into a hasty decision. You know we have not quite finished with our evaluation of the property.”
Phoebe went back to her search and found the needle when it stuck into her hand. “Yes, I am certain.”
She joined the children for her evening meal rather than dine in solitary splendor, and passed the time with them playing spillikins and the Mansion of Happiness. She went up to kiss them goodnight after they retired for bed under Lizzie’s and Nanny’s supervision.
“Were you lonesome here without us all day?” asked William in a sleepy voice as she bent over him.
“No, I spent the time in the garden, love. But of course I missed you. Hush now, and go to sleep.”
Ironically, she had not been alone enough to be lonesome, she thought as she descended the stairs again. She wished she had been. But William’s question, coming so soon after the ones Devenham had asked her in the garden, made her reflective. She had ignored the earl, but she had heard his words. Would she spend the rest of her life living with Judith and Edward? What function would she have as the children grew older? David was old enough now to be
sent off to Harrow or Winchester or Eaton. Thomas would soon follow. She supposed she would have to take any amount Richard paid her for Beau Chatain and buy whatever sort of modest property she could get. Then she could live there for as long as her income would allow, receiving occasional visits from the children or Judith and Edward.
Maddocks surprised her when she reached the first floor landing.
“Madam, Lord Devenham has returned. He is in the drawing room.”
Phoebe felt the conflict within her as clearly as if she saw it acted out in front of her. First there was a spark, a little thrill of excited anticipation, and then there was a thick blanket of denial that rolled down over it to snuff it out. Devenham! Everyone had assumed that he would spend his entire evening at Watier’s. Conscious of her duties as hostess, Phoebe forced her steps toward the drawing room. Perhaps he would be content to entertain himself with the day’s newspapers in Edward’s study. Somehow, she did not think he would.
When Phoebe entered, Devenham was standing by the fireplace with one casually placed elbow resting on the mantel shelf. His back was to the door, and he appeared to be examining the Meissen porcelain figures that invariably made their home on the mantel. He looked up and met her gaze in the mirror above his head.
“Lord Devenham, good evening.” Phoebe thought she achieved just the right mixture of coolness and civility in her tone. “We had not expected to see you back this evening—I mean, at least not so early. I’m afraid Judith and Edward have gone out.”
“Have they?” He sounded perplexed. “I am sorry to hear that. I have some news I wanted to share with them.”
“Perhaps it will wait until tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow I will be moving back into the Clarendon. That is my news—a declaration of independence, one might say. I am getting about so well now, I really cannot impose upon their—and your—hospitality any longer.”
Persistent Earl : Signet Regency Romance (9781101578841) Page 16
