According to rumor, the Winston chit had set her cap for Michael’s good friend, Jules Wentworth, the Marquess of Arland, and the Duke of Strathmore’s heir. The Kingsford girl had caught Jules eye and the Furies hadn’t liked any girl of modest background poaching the Incomparable’s intended prey. Arlington indicated something unpleasant had occurred between the four young women, something that may have caused Jules to unexpectedly run off and marry the lovely Damaris Kingsford. Michael hadn’t seen his friend since returning to England and it might be a good idea to learn what Jules knew of his bride’s history with the Furies. For the life of him, Michael couldn’t explain why he should care one way, or another if Kingsford tore the little baggages apart, but for some inexplicable reason, he did care – at least he cared where Araby Winston was concerned.
Michael watched her pause to speak to William Cathcart’s younger sister, Muriel. Whatever she’d said made Muriel turn an unbecoming shade of red. Araby didn’t stop there, of course. She continued the conversation until the girl looked to be on the verge of tears. Only then did she nod and move on. His palm tingled to teach Araby some manners by swatting the dust straight out of her pantalets. Just as he thought he might succumb to one of his baser impulses, she paused at the street corner where a flower girl of thirteen, or fourteen stood forlornly by a crushed basket of nosegays. He moved a little closer, but stayed out of their line of sight.
Araby spoke quietly to the girl, who wrung her hands. Whatever Araby said made the girl’s face pinch up and she began to cry as well. He felt anger surge through him. Picking on a debutante was one thing, but a poor girl who’d clearly lost not only today’s wages, but many future ones as well, was outside of enough. The girl would likely go hungry for days before managing to scraped together funds to buy new stock. He determined he’d give the girl money himself when suddenly, the scourge of the ballroom set did something completely unexpected. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on the young girl’s shoulder. Next, she reached into her reticule and drew out a note. It looked to be a five-pound note at that. Araby pressed it into the girl’s hand and then leaned in to speak earnestly with her. The girl’s mouth hung open in disbelief, her eyes wide as she stared at the money. She nodded rapidly at Araby’s words and dropped a curtsey to her unknown benefactress. Araby nodded and set off across the street with her maid.
Michael lost no time in approaching the girl, using his most charming smile so as not to alarm her. “Good morning, my dear. Would you mind telling me what the lady said to you?”
She looked up at him nervously as though she feared she were in trouble and that her windfall was about to be snatched away from her. She tucked her fist behind her back. “Nuffing, me lord, nuffing at all.”
“You needn’t worry. Here,” he said reaching for his billfold. He pulled out a ten-pound note and offered it to her.
She eyed him suspiciously. “I’m a good girl, sir. I don’t go wif gentlemen.”
“Nor should you,” Michael returned gently. “I’m only offering to pay you for information about the young lady.”
The girl still hesitated and Michael found himself surprised and quite impressed with her sense of loyalty to a stranger. “I don’t want to cause ‘er no trouble, sir.”
“You won’t,” he assured her, pressing the money towards her other hand. “I just want to know what you told her and what she said to you. That’s all.”
The girl swallowed. “I told the lady that a couple of toffs kicked around me basket for sport and ‘ow I didn’t have no money to buy more flowers. She gimme five pounds, sir! Five pounds! Told me I needed to get meself a barrow. She said how her money would be a start.”
“And this will add to it,” he said kindly, offering the money again. This time the girl accepted it, her eyes again filling with tears.
“You going to the theater tonight too, sir?”
“Why do you ask?”
“The young lady, sir. She told me to buy bouquets – proper ones – and to be outside of the Royal tonight after the play’s over. She said she’d buy one from me and then everyone else would too. She said everyone likes to do what she does.” The girl studied the money Michael had given her. “Looks like she’s bloody well right.”
Michael chuckled. “I’ll be there and if you’ve any flowers left, I’ll buy the lot from you. I promise.” The girl gazed up at him with nothing short of hero worship in her eyes. He tipped his hat to her and set off for home. He smiled the entire way, anticipating an evening at the theater as he hadn’t done in ages.
Later that night he watched in amazement as the Incomparable batted her lashes at Lord Iredale and pointed to a bouquet that had caught her attention. Lady Katherine and Miss Melbourne each expressed a similar interest and by the time their carriages arrived, the girl had sold all her bouquets. Only Araby though, turned back and looked at the little flower girl beaming happily at her. She gave the girl a breathtaking smile in return, and waved the tips of her fingers before taking a footman’s hand to step into her carriage. In that moment Michael knew there was more to Araby Winston than he’d ever supposed. Impossible as it seemed, the girl had somehow managed to burrow past his defenses and he feared he might actually come to like her.
***
“I don’t wish to discuss Lady Arabella with you, Michael,” Drew ground out between his clenched teeth. “You’ve already made your opinion of her clear enough, thank you. I don’t need you badgering me.”
Michael let his exasperation get the better of him. “Perhaps if you’d stop acting like a love-starved fool I’d let the matter rest, but you refused to come to the Armitage Ball last week and now you’re crying off from the Deering's picnic. What the deuce has your tailcoat in such a twist if not Araby Winston?”
“Leave it alone, Michael. There’s nothing you have to say that you haven’t said before. Second sons will do in a pinch if they have a good income,” Drew said bitterly, “but third sons can’t compete without a title of some sort.” He turned an ugly shade of red. “I’ve heard it all before and not put nearly as diplomatically as that. I have a rather meager inheritance and Henry will settle a small income on me when I marry, but as Fiona is rather fond of pointing out, it won't be anything nearly grand enough to tempt Lady Arabella.” His voice become falsetto. “After all, Henry and I will have our own children's futures to consider.”
Michael grinned. He had Fiona’s intonation down perfectly. His sister-in-law had no intention of parting with one sovereign more than necessary to support Henry’s family. Michael thanked his own financial skills. He wouldn’t need any handouts from Henry – quite the contrary. Henry might well end up petitioning Michael for funds one day, especially if he didn’t reign in his wife’s penchant for gambling, or their mother’s constant renovations to her dower house at Stowebridge Abbey.
Drew ducked his head in embarrassment. “I suppose that was a beastly thing to say about their children, seeing as Fee lost her baby this fall.”
“You didn’t mean anything by that, Drew,” Michael offered. “Besides, by the time our fair sister-in-law returns from Italy, Henry will have her pleasantly rounded with a babe and she’ll be too occupied with becoming a mother to bother about you, or me.”
“She says I should join the cavalry,” Drew said, dejectedly. “Fiona thinks she’s being subtle, telling me how handsome I’ll look in uniform astride a horse. She says I’d have my pick of wives. She just wants me out from underfoot and thinks that the cost of buying me a commission would save the estate money in the long run.”
“Absolutely not,” Michael replied flatly. He’d speak with Henry upon his return and demand he control his wife, or by God, Michael would do it himself.
Drew glared at him. “Don’t you think I could make a go of it?” he asked in a belligerent tone. “You’re not the only one in this family who can seek his fortune. I’ll have you know that I’m a bruising rider. Father always said I sat a mount better than anyone he knew. Anyone.” Drew made the la
st word a spiteful jab, but Michael ignored it.
“I think you can accomplish anything you set your mind on, Drew. It’s just that there’s a war on and you know how our mother would worry. She depends on you more now that Henry has married. If you leave it will be hard on her. As you know, Mother and I...don’t...get along.” It was the understatement of the year. While Michael felt that much of Drew’s problems stemmed from their mother’s strangle hold on his young life, he’d rather see his little brother enjoying the night life of Paris or Rome, not joining the military during a war. Drew needed to learn to drink, gamble and fuck, not get himself shot.
Thanks to their Mother, Drew had been pulled from Eton before he’d gotten around to any of the pleasurable pursuits that enticed the older boys. Her excuse had been their father’s failing health, but Drew knew better. She’d wanted her little courtier at her side – her favorite accessory when staging her public roles, particularly useful in her part of the devoted wife.
“You won’t have to worry about following the drum for your living, Drew,” Michael said, firmly. “Between the funds father left for you and what I plan to settle on you once you’ve chosen your bride you’ll have more than enough funds to make a good start in life. I’ll teach you to mange and invest it and soon you’ll have your own wealth to leave to your children.”
Drew’s eyes filled with hope. “Do you mean that, Michael? You’d teach me?”
“It would be my pleasure,” he answered with feeling. The earnest light in his brother’s face suddenly triggered a warning. Damn, Michael thought, choose any girl but her. She’ll run you into the pauper’s house if she’ll even have you at all. An idea sprouted in his brain. It was time his brother expanded his knowledge of feminine mysteries and became familiar with the demimonde – intimately. “Little brother, what if you and I attend the Deering's picnic and then I take you out for an evening you won’t soon forget.”
Drew flushed and looked away. “I don’t think you and I have the same tastes in entertainment.” Michael could hear his mother’s disapproving tone in his brother’s voice.
“Perhaps we should,” he said drily.
“ Society has certain expectations of gentlemen,” Drew said quietly. “I choose to live up to them, not ignore them.”
So his mother had succeeded in driving a wedge between the two brothers, had she? Their father had begun the chasm when he’d first exiled Michael from the family. He tamped down the familiar pain of his father’s anger and ultimate rejection.“You’re more bother than you’re worth boy. You’re lazy, irresponsible and worse yet, plain damned immoral. I know what to do with you – by God, I do! I’m sending you where your antics won’t heap any more embarrassment on this family. You’ll either amount to something, or not, as you choose, but at least we won’t have to deal with you any longer.”He’d been thrown out of his family at twenty, deemed unworthy because he’d taken a society matron up on her offer to share her bed and had gotten caught by her irate husband – her irate duke of a husband.
“Drew,” Michael began evenly, “you are seventeen, a young man. It’s high time you learned how to get on in life outside of a ballroom. All men have their youthful exploits, even our brother Henry, the much vaunted saint of Stowebridge Abbey himself, gamed and wenched before he married. Who do you think took me to Madame Cecile’s my first time? It sure as hell wasn’t our father. Come on, Drew. Live a little.” Drew turned to look at him and Michael could see he was tempted. He grinned in encouragement. “Cecile’s girls are beautiful, all lace and silken skin. They smell like flowers and they are very, very creative. They don’t tease a man like some virginal ballroom chit.” The curious light in Drew’s eyes suddenly died. His shoulders hunched and he appeared to fold in on himself. Michael frowned. “What is it, Drew? What’s got you so knotted up inside?” he asked quietly.
Drew’s face flushed and he shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just not interested, that’s all. Besides, why would Cecile’s girls be interested in me? I can’t afford them.”
Michael chuckled. “Neither could I at your age, but like you, I had a big brother who could.” He clapped Drew on the shoulder and watched as an embarrassed smile turned up the corners of his brother’s mouth. As quickly as that smile came, it left.
“I appreciate the offer, Michael, but I think I’d rather stay in tonight.”
Michael sighed. “It’s that Winston girl, isn’t it?”
Drew stiffened at Michael’s question and then, as if all the air had left his body, his shoulders drooped. “I love her, Michael. I know you thinks it’s impossible that she’d ever have me – gad, it’s not as if I deserve her either. Araby is so full of life, so beautiful. She’s an angel.” Michael snorted and Drew glared at him. “You see, this is exactly why I don’t want to talk to you about her. You’ll never understand her – her passion, her spirit,” he dropped his voice, “her vulnerability.”
And there it was, the two sides of Araby Winston – the heartless temptress and the waif, both equally captivating. Michael strode across the room barely resisting the impulse to shake some sense into his brother. “Damn it, Drew there are beautiful women all over the world, women who welcome a man, not tear up his heart for fun. Araby Winston is a spoiled brat. If she were my responsibility I’d tan her backside regularly, believe me. Any self-respecting father would, given her behavior and he’d be justified....”
Drew recoiled as if Michael had struck him. “Shut up, Michael,” Drew yelled, “You think life is so easy for her don’t you? You’re just like everyone else. You never look past the surface. She’s just a beautiful, willful girl and you all know what should be done with her, don’t you.” Michael stared dumfounded into his brother’s fury. “None of you have the slightest idea and none of you give a damn.” Drew stormed from the room leaving Michael standing in shocked silence.
***
“Then, damn me if she didn’t run off with everything but the chamber pot. It was the last time I engaged a mistress without a written contract, I can tell you that.” Michael winced at the conclusion of Skeffy Arlington’s woeful tale of his first mistress. Most of the other men assembled in the Earl of Delafield’s library merely looked uncomfortable at Skeffy’s story that would have best been recounted on a late evening at a gentlemen’s club and after a considerable amount of brandy. Some of the older men in the room glared. This was a picnic, after all, and ladies glided gently about the place just steps beyond the doors of this manly retreat.
Michael caught the eye of one particular gentleman in the group and shook his head to indicate his own disapproval. He was a director of Barclay’s Bank and Michael had come today with Arlington in hopes of an introduction to him. Arlington might be considered a buffoon, but he was very wealthy and had important family connections in both finance and government – connections Michael needed if he wished to buy the foundry outside Liverpool and seize some of Her Majesty’s very lucrative naval contracts as his own. The older man frowned at Skeffy’s horsey laugh and turned to regard Michael who raised his own eyes heavenward before giving the other man a half smile of commiseration. Within moments the older man gestured for Michael to join him at the sideboard, leaving Skeffy to entertain his remaining audience with another off color anecdote. Michael turned his opportunity to even greater advantage and before long had secured an appointment at Barclay’s to discuss financing his purchase of the foundry. All in all, a satisfying days work.
As Michael turned to leave the room he heard his younger brother’s name mentioned. “Gad, you should have seen young Lassiter’s face. Then she says, coolly as you please, ‘Everyone knows that a third son is only one step above a by-blow. Come to think of it, you are a third son, aren’t you, Mr. Lassiter?’ ” Michael froze. Edmond Bennet stood by the window regaling the circle of young men surrounding him. They all laughed long and loud at Drew’s expense. Michael fought the impulse to drag Bennet outside and give him a sound thrashing. It would only make matters worse.
“Ir
edale will have his hands full with her, won’t he?” exclaimed one young man, whipping a mirthful tear from his eye.
“A couple of rather delightful handfuls, I should think,” Bennet rejoined, leaving no doubt what part of her would fill a man's hands so amply. He lifted his whiskey glass. “To Araby Winston, a spirited girl whom I’d very much enjoy breaking to bridle.” The young men cheered as they drank to their own fantasies of doing the same.
Michael searched the room to see who else bore witness to Drew’s humiliation. Lord Ambrose stood quietly by himself. He gave Michael a considering look. Perhaps he should call on the man after all. He hadn’t given the man’s invitation serious consideration until now – until he remembered what a vicious little viper Araby Winston could be. He'd let himself be deluded by the incident with the flower girl and his memory quickly drew him back to another woman with soft skin, the color of cafe au lait. He remembered her exotic scent, a blend of jungle flowers, musk and sexual arousal. Revati – temptress, she-devil. He’d been not much older than Drew when he’d met her and fallen completely under her spell. Six months later he'd become a penniless, husk of the young man he’d once been, running for his life with her laughter still echoing in his head. He nodded to Lord Ambrose, an unspoken promise on his lips.
***
Arabella waited on the terrace steps as Katherine and Sarah descended into the garden. She’d dressed with particular care today, intent on catching a certain viscount’s eye. Her new carriage dress, a pale, blue-green taffeta creation with its complimenting bonnet cost a small fortune, but the ensemble set off her face and figure to perfection. With luck and the right opportunity, Lord Iredale would very quickly be brought up to scratch – perhaps even today. Arabella brushed her hand down the skirt of her dress, admiring the sheen of the material. Madame Marchant didn’t create her fabric confections for just anyone. This particular gown with its four flounces edged with dark, green velvet and embossed with a trailing vine motif had been designed specifically with Arabella in mind. Madame sent the gown and embroidered mantle to her for approval and of course, Arabella approved it immediately. One must have the newest and best weaponry available when hunting in the marriage mart.
A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) Page 6
