The Notorious Lord Havergal

by Joan Smith

  When he had done the pretty with half a dozen ladies, they went back outside. A quick perusal of the street told him Crymont was still not about. He allowed himself to be taken to admire the church. Knowing Crymont would never venture inside a church, he felt safe to linger there, admiring the tombs and brasses. After a lengthy perusal, it was Lettie who suggested they should leave.

  “For we have to drive home, have lunch, change, and get to Canterbury. Pretty hard trotting for one day.”

  Havergal laughed, taking it for a joke. “And that still leaves us the evening,” he said. “You are forgetting the duke is taking us to dinner.”

  “Forget it?” she asked in astonishment. “No indeed, that is the best part! I was just going over the day’s activities.”

  “Dinner with a duke is better than visiting an archbishop? I am shocked, Lettie. Your morality is slipping,” he said, and laughed—right in church.

  It was an infectious laugh. Or perhaps it was the busy rush of new and unusual activities that lent a special charm to that morning. Or even his using her first name so casually, as if they were old friends.

  “Shocking, is it not?” she agreed. “But I have met a few archbishops before. Crymont is my first duke.”

  He took her arm and escorted her back to the curricle. “We lesser peers, of course, are not worth mentioning,” he said with an expression of mock abuse. “No, it is not necessary to apologize, Lettie. You would not be in alt to meet a vicar or curate, and you are not impressed to be dining with a viscount—and a poor wasted viscount with his pockets to let besides.”

  “Quite so, especially when said viscount is only here with a view to conning me into padding out those pockets.”

  Lettie was at ease with the curricle now. She put her foot on the mounting disc and felt less strange when Havergal put his arm around her.

  “Conning? That is a hard word, ma’am. It suggests deceit. Begging is more like it.”

  “Come now, Havergal. Admit you want the blunt to pay off your gambling debts.”

  “Will it change your mind?”

  “Certainly. My opinion of you would be better if you at least told the truth.”

  “But would you forward me the money?”

  “No.”

  “So much for that then. I want to improve my hunting box. I do want to, you know, so it is not precisely a lie. It is just that I don’t plan to do so at this time, with this money.”

  “That is the merest sophistry, sir. You misled me.”

  He gave her a resigned look and shook his head. “No, I only tried to. You’re too clever by half, Mr. Beddoes. As I have confessed my misdemeanor, won’t you admit you led me astray there on purpose?”

  “I will allow that I let you lead yourself astray.”

  “Why?” he asked, truly curious.

  “I feared you might dislike having a lady control you.”

  “That is nothing new for me,” he replied with a quizzing laugh. “How’s the gout, L.A.?” he asked, and jiggled the reins for the horses to take off. Accustomed to the suddenness of their start, Lettie prepared herself and saved her neck a rude jolt.

  When he had set a steady pace, Lettie pursued the topic. “The thing is, Havergal, I cannot forward you the thousand without eating into your capital, and I promised Horace I would not do that. That is precisely why he appointed me, to protect the money for you. There is not yet a thousand pounds of interest accrued, you see,” she said, as though explaining it to an imbecile.

  “I know,” he said hastily. “I do have some acquaintance with money management, you know.”

  “Yes, a fleeting acquaintance, but a gentleman in your position ought to be well and thoroughly grounded. You will have all your father’s money and estates to manage one day. It would be criminal to run through them as you do through lesser sums.”

  His anger spewed up, but he knew she was right, and that she would hound him till he admitted it. “You’re right. I know it perfectly well in my head, but in my heart, I keep thinking money is to spend and enjoy.”

  “One can do that, too, if he does it wisely. Is there no way you can retrench? I know your father gives you what seems to me a splendid allowance.”

  “Certainly I could—and shall. In fact, I made a firm resolution last night to reform, but gambling debts cannot wait on good intentions. They must be paid promptly.”

  “Is there anything you can sell?”

  “I have my team up for auction at Tatt’s.”

  Lettie looked ruefully at the proud heads and heaving flanks of the team. “That is a pity, for I know they are great favorites of yours, but perhaps it is a good lesson. Losing your team may drive home how profligate you have become.”

  “Not this team, actually. It is a spare set of carriage horses I spoke of.”

  “I see. Then my pity is misplaced. Sell them,” she said firmly, “and in the future try if you can to live within your means.”

  Havergal was within a heartbeat of delivering Miss Beddoes a lecture of his own. It was unbearable to have to listen to these platitudes from a provincial miss no wiser and not that much older than himself. While the words were forming into coherence, he glanced down the road and saw Cherry Devereau’s landau fast approaching. Everything else fell from his mind as catastrophe came bolting toward him.

  The carriage top was down to let them enjoy the fine spring weather. Cherry, Iona, and Crymont sat in full view. The ladies wore high-poke bonnets garnished with a quantity of flowers and ribbons not worn by ladies of the ton. It was Havergal’s intention to bolt past without stopping, but in his agitation he pulled on the reins, and his team slowed.

  Miss Devereau’s driver, recognizing Lord Havergal’s curricle, likewise drew on the reins. The carriages pulled alongside each other and stopped. It would be difficult to say who was more surprised, Havergal or Crymont, who thought his friend must have run mad, stopping for a chat with a pair of lightskirts when he was with Miss Beddoes.

  Crymont lifted his curled beaver and bowed his head. “Miss Beddoes. A lovely day,” he said.

  “It is lovely. Are you taking your friends to see the church?” she asked. While she spoke, Lettie’s smile was turned equally on the duke and his companions. Unaccustomed to the niceties of London fashion, she knew only that she was looking at two of the most beautiful and fashionable females she had ever seen. Their toilette was a trifle brighter and more highly garnished than she would wear herself, but then the ladies were young. Probably noble connections or friends of Crymont.

  “Church? Oh I shouldn’t think so. Just a drive.”

  “Well, don’t be late. Remember, we are to leave for Canterbury at two-thirty.” She looked expectantly, waiting for Crymont to present his friends to her. The ladies, she noticed, were giving her sharp looks.

  “Quite. Quite.”

  Lettie was hard put to account for his embarrassment and looked to Havergal for the introduction. He was glaring at the duke with a face made of stone. “Good day, Crymont. Ladies,” he said, and urged his team on.

  Lettie looked over her shoulder and waved. The ladies gave a desultory wave in reply. Crymont bowed.

  “That is odd,” she said. “Why did he not introduce us?”

  Havergal couldn’t believe she didn’t realize the girls’ profession and was, of course, eager to keep her in the dark. “I’ve no idea.”

  “Do you know them?”

  “The blonde looked familiar. A Miss Devereau, I believe.”

  “She is very pretty. Beautiful, really.”

  “Yes, she’s attractive.”

  “Why did you not introduce me? Were you ashamed to be seen with such a country mouse in front of your fine friends, Havergal?” she asked with a bold smile, though she wondered if she had hit on the truth.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he scowled.

  “I sense some deep mystery here. Pray tell me what it is. Are Miss Devereau and the duke meeting clandestinely?”

  He leapt on this idea. “I expect
that’s it. His family would never favor the match.”

  “Is there something amiss with Miss Devereau? Perhaps she is poor—though she doesn’t look it. Such a handsome landau.”

  “Undowered ladies often try to keep up a particularly good appearance to fool the unwary bachelors.”

  “I shall tease the truth out of the duke this afternoon,” she said, and settled back comfortably to enjoy the drive home.

  The newly leafed trees formed a canopy overhead, and sunlight dappled the roadway. The sky was a brilliant blue with hardly a cloud in sight. It was a lovely day, and now a mystery and a romance to make it complete. A whole day and evening of unaccustomed liveliness sparkled enticingly before her. It didn’t seem that life could offer more. Her sole regret was that life had waited so long to favor her.

  Havergal, relieved at having escaped catastrophe, forgave Lettie for her lecture and put himself out to be entertaining. The drive passed all too quickly for her. When she described her morning to Miss FitzSimmons later, she called their guest Havergal, as easily as though she had never called him anything else.

  Violet lifted her eyes to the ceiling and said softly, “If I were ten years younger, I would toss my bonnet at him.”

  “So would I,” Lettie answered unthinkingly.

  “Why Lettie, you are only a few months older. That is not to be taken into account.”

  “What is to be taken into account is that I am an ancient spinster of twenty-seven years, whereas he is a young sprout of the same age. Yet there is a difference of about a decade in there somewhere. All the noble debs in London must be after him. The ladies I saw with the duke this morning were gorgeous. Besides, his character is shockingly unstable,” she added, though in less accusatory accents than before.

  “Yes, but in a strange way, I find that a part of his charm. Never quite knowing if he is going to be a trifle indiscreet. I’m sure he means no harm.”

  “That is true.” She knew at least that he had regretted his outburst about her age. “He meant no harm.”

  Chapter Seven

  The drive to Canterbury proved a letdown. It was not only that the archbishop was in London, though that was a hard blow for Miss FitzSimmons. For Lettie, the greater disappointment was the abrasive nature of the afternoon’s conversation. She had been anticipating a delightful drive with two handsome and eligible peers, and instead found herself acting as referee between a pair of squabbling young men.

  The drive began auspiciously enough. Crymont expressed himself delighted at her new bonnet. Havergal, too, she thought, liked it. He did not add his compliments to the lavish surfeit of Crymont’s, but he smiled and lifted his eyebrows in an approving way that pleased her.

  The pleasantries broke down as soon as they were on their way, and Lettie said, “Why did you not present me to your friends this morning, Duke? They looked charming.”

  She noticed that Havergal glared at him as before, and the duke stared back questioningly. “I expect Havergal has told you something on that score,” he said vaguely.

  “Only an enticing hint that the meeting was clandestine.”

  “Exactly,” the duke said. “It was a clandestine meeting, which is why I could not introduce you.”

  “You cannot think I would have told anyone! I don’t know Miss Devereau.”

  “He told you it was Miss Devereau!” the duke exclaimed, staring at Havergal. It was inconceivable to him that Miss Devereau’s scarlet eminence was not known, even in Ashford. She had knocked Harriet Wilson, the reigning courtesan, right off the map in London.

  “Your secret is safe with me. I don’t know any of her family, or yours,” Lettie pointed out.

  “Miss Devereau doesn’t have any family,” the duke said austerely.

  “I see. Well, she is very beautiful in any case.”

  “Her friend is also very pretty, even if some people choose to reject her,” the duke replied with another of those scathing looks to Havergal.

  “What is her friend’s name?” Miss FitzSimmons asked him.

  “Miss Hardy. Iona Hardy.”

  “Are the girls related?”

  “Friends. Just friends. Miss Devereau has no family,” he repeated.

  “You must feel free to bring them to call on us if they are still in town tomorrow, Duke,” Violet said.

  Lettie noticed the duke shoot a triumphant glance to Havergal at Miss FitzSimmons’s invitation and wondered at it. Havergal seemed determined to keep her from meeting those ladies.

  “The girls have left, have they not, Crymont?” Havergal said in a strangely commanding accent.

  “They have decided to remain another day.” Crymont wore an air of victory, and Havergal was fairly steaming at this news. “But I doubt they will be up to a visit. Miss Hardy is feeling poorly,” Crymont added.

  The conversation veered to other subjects, but the cheerful mood of the morning was never recaptured. A closed carriage, even such a well-sprung and extravagantly upholstered one as the duke’s, was no match for the open curricle, though the knowledge that strawberry leaves decorated the door did much to raise its value once they entered Canterbury. They had all seen the cathedral, and when it transpired that the archbishop was away, they did no more than take a quick run through it.

  Next came a stroll along the Stour River to admire the watered meadows and have Lettie explain the hop gardens to Crymont. Before leaving, they took some refreshment at the Rose in High Street. It occurred to Lettie that if the poor spirits of the afternoon continued into the evening, the dinner party would be as flat as this outing.

  “Perhaps we shall meet your friends at the hotel this evening at dinner,” she said hopefully. Silence descended like a pall over the table.

  “Shall I invite them, Havergal?” the duke asked mischievously.

  “Do as you think best,” Havergal replied with an air of indifference, and quickly finished his wine.

  After the ladies had been delivered home and Havergal remained a minute chatting to the duke at the carriage, Lettie and Violet retired to the latter’s bedchamber to discuss the outing. “There is some mystery about those ladies, I know it,” Lettie said.

  “I sensed the hostility every time they were mentioned. Very likely the lads are both in love with one of them.”

  Lettie gave a gasp of surprise. “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “It would be the blonde, Miss Devereau. I don’t think Havergal even knew Miss Hardy, though the duke was hinting him in her direction. Havergal is in love with Miss Devereau, and the duke is cutting him out. It is just as well, too, for she has no dowry. Havergal ought to marry a wealthy lady, unless he puts it off till he inherits his father’s estate. But it is odd Havergal didn’t want them joining us for dinner, is it not?”

  “No doubt she is tempted by Crymont’s superior title and wealth. He would prefer to have her to himself.”

  “So much for my tossing my bonnet at him,” Lettie said, and gave a resigned shrug.

  “It is all conjecture. We may be far off the mark. Perhaps Havergal owes Miss Devereau money. That would account for his stiffness every time you mention her.”

  “I cannot think he would borrow from a lady, Violet. Surely he is not that shabby.”

  They were interrupted by a servant telling them that Mr. Norton had called during their absence. She handed Lettie a note, in which he requested the honor of calling on her and Miss FitzSimmons that evening. He usually came without permission, but he knew Lettie had company and was trying out noble manners.

  “I must answer this at once. I daresay his nose will be out of joint when I refuse.”

  “Yes, and a bit of jealousy might bring him to the sticking point,” Violet replied, not entirely happy with the possibility.

  “Oh Lord, I hope he does not start that again.”

  * * * *

  At Crymont’s carriage, it was the duke’s behavior that was under attack. “Why didn’t you send them packing?” Havergal demanded. “Get rid of them, at once! Disaster was only
avoided by a hair this morning when we met. And tonight they’ll be at the inn while we’re dining belowstairs.”

  “They refused to leave. You know Cherry has a mind of her own. And Iona was in the boughs, the way you’ve been ignoring her after she came pelting all the way to Ashford.”

  “I don’t even know her! This is all your doing.”

  “I did it for you, Havergal. Iona is very eager to meet you.”

  “Well I am not eager to meet her. What would Miss Beddoes think if she realized?”

  “Are you making headway with the Terrible Turk, then?”

  “Not really,” he admitted. “The woman’s an oak, Crymont. She won’t bend an inch.”

  “Then we might as well leave tomorrow. And it won’t matter if she does find out, will it?”

  “We can’t leave. We’ve promised to escort the ladies to the assembly.”

  “They’ll find other escorts or go by themselves.”

  Havergal frowned at the duke’s selfishness. “It means something to them to have a pair of noble gents squire them to the party, Crymont. I can tell by the way Lettie was showing me off this morning. I cannot like to disappoint her.”

  “It might be amusing to watch the provincials fawn on us,” Crymont said thoughtfully. “I have noticed the London debs aren’t so warm this year. Their mamas are warning them off from us, I expect.”

  “We are hardly that bad!” Havergal exclaimed, shocked. Certainly he had noticed no diminution of attention.

  “My reputation has had a few more years’ battering than yours, of course. In three years you, too, will be squinted at with suspicion.”

  Havergal listened and reminded himself again of the necessary reformation. “I would not want Lettie to think me a womanizer as well as a gambling fool.”

  Crymont examined his friend through narrowed eyes. “This is a new twist, my friend. She can’t keep your interest from you or the whole capital when you are thirty. If she won’t give you the advance, there’s no need to worry for your reputation in that quarter."