Lord Rakehell

by Virginia Henley

  “I believe the prince is so remorseful over his defiant behavior, he will eagerly fulfill his father’s last wish. He has told me in confidence he will do anything to make amends.”

  The queen’s lips tightened. “Leave us. We will think on the matter.”

  • • •

  Within twenty-four hours Victoria summoned Abercorn and directed him to prepare an official letter to Prince Christian of Denmark for her signature. “Would you be good enough to act as liaison with the Prince of Wales, my dear Abercorn? I’m sure that you understand how much my son’s presence offends me. A wife is exactly what he needs to bring him into line. My dearest Albert had the answer. You have much experience with sons, and you have my authority to bring him to heel. You may inform him that it is our royal command, and he has no choice in the matter.”

  Abercorn, ever the diplomat, informed the prince that he’d persuaded the queen to immediately open negotiations for his marriage to Princess Alexandra of Denmark. “Actually, she had no choice in the matter. The decision was entirely yours, sire.”

  • • •

  “By God, James, I think I like making my own decisions. I did a great deal of thinking when I had the freedom of your town house, and I concluded I need one of my own.”

  “A town house?” James puzzled.

  “A perfect place to carry on a liaison. I’ve been suffering from night starvation for far too long. It isn’t natural for a male to be abstinent. You’ll have to put it in your name of course. I’m sorry that your reputation will be at risk, but I need total anonymity. It cannot be connected to me in any way.”

  “My reputation is already blackened beyond repair,” James jested. “You may rely upon me to accommodate you, Baron Renfrew.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I ’m actually looking forward to church today,” Lady Anne remarked to her mother as they stepped from their carriage in Hanover Square and walked up the steps of St. George’s. “These days it’s one of the few places where I get to see all my friends. I hope Frances will come riding in Hyde Park this afternoon.”

  “I always enjoy my Sunday afternoon drives in the park and this weather is perfect. The autumn wind will arrive before we know it to strip the leaves from the trees.”

  Inside, Anne searched the congregation for Frances Hamilton and saw that she was sitting with Florence Paget. When they beckoned her, she slipped into the pew beside her friends. “Why don’t the three of us go riding this afternoon?”

  “Good idea. The park is one of the few places we can actually socialize with our male admirers until this wretched year of mourning is up,” Frances declared.

  “Speaking of admirers, I see that Henry Rawdon is here again. I warrant he only comes to flirt with Florence.” Anne watched her friend’s cheeks turn a pretty pink.

  “Last week he surreptitiously passed her a note,” Frances confided.

  Anne rolled her eyes. “How very daring! Still, what better place than church to carry on a secret liaison? Why don’t I let Henry know we’ll be riding in the park this afternoon? There are dozens of secluded trails that offer privacy.”

  “Thank you,” Florence murmured.

  Anne saw Fitz, the young Earl of Kerry, and when she smiled, he winked at her. Fitz is always so obliging. When we visited the museum, he was a paragon of patience while I did some sketches of Egyptian artifacts, and when we went to the Tower, he took me to see the crown jewels when I warrant he would have much preferred to view the torture chambers and the artillery and cannons.

  The organ music soared and they stood to sing a hymn. Frances whispered to Anne, “I have some news to tell you about James, but it’s secret.”

  Anne caught her breath at the mention of his name. She nodded her understanding, knowing Frances wouldn’t tell her until they were completely alone. Her mind conjured a picture of the dark, handsome devil. She remembered watching him on the floor of the House of Commons from the visitors’ gallery. Perhaps I’ll go again. Then she recalled that Parliament was in recess until September. Well, that saves me from making a bloody fool of myself!

  After the service everyone congregated outside the church, mingling with friends to exchange the latest gossip, commiserate with one another about how the royal mourning period was preventing them from enjoying any form of entertainment and how glad they would be to bid good-bye to the horrendous year of 1862.

  Anne sought out Henry Rawdon, who was now laughing with Fitz Kerry. She casually mentioned that she would be riding in the park with Florence and Frances. “We usually meet at the Cumberland gate at two o’clock.”

  On the short carriage ride home, her mother asked if she was still planning to ride.

  “Yes, Frances and Florence are meeting me at two. I think I’ll skip lunch—I don’t want to be late.”

  “I’ve changed my mind about driving in the park this afternoon. That sermon gave me a bit of a headache.”

  “I’m so sorry. Church would be much more enjoyable without a sermon, in my opinion. Perhaps if you lie down, it will go away.”

  When they arrived home, Anne ran upstairs to change into a riding habit. She wrinkled her nose at the black skirt and jacket. I’m so tired of wearing these drab funereal colors. In the spring I swear I’ll design a new habit in a vivid shade of peacock.

  She pulled a riding boot from her wardrobe, but couldn’t find its mate. Where the devil could it be? She looked under the bed, then did a more thorough search of the wardrobe. Anne knew if she didn’t hurry, she would be late, so she went along to her mother’s dressing room to borrow a pair of her boots.

  Anne bent and picked up a letter from the floor that her mother must have dropped. On the dressing table was a velvet box that held about a dozen other letters. The envelope in her hand was addressed to Lady Anne Gore, Datchet, Berkshire, which was the Thames-side village near Windsor where her mother had lived before she was married. She looked at the postal date and realized it was the same year that her mother and father married. She has kept these letters all these years. They must be love letters. I cannot imagine my father penning love letters.

  The temptation to read the letter she held was too great. She quickly slipped it from its envelope and unfolded it. She saw immediately that it was not from Richard. It was signed with the initial L. Guilt washed over her, and she quickly put the letter back in its envelope and put it with the others in the velvet box.

  Anne forgot she had come to borrow riding boots and returned to her own room. She spied her missing boot behind her bedchamber door, pulled it on, then hurried to get her palfrey from the stables. She tried to push away thoughts of the letters, but her curiosity was piqued and she wondered who L could be.

  The three friends met at Hyde Park’s Cumberland gate and within minutes Henry Rawdon trotted up, pretending great surprise at the encounter. He maneuvered his horse close to Florence Paget’s mount and the four riders cantered toward the Serpentine. It wasn’t long before Rawdon veered into a wooded area and Florence followed.

  “It’s rather exciting playing Cupid,” Frances declared.

  Anne couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had lingered since she had found her mother’s letters. “Perhaps we shouldn’t aid and abet Florence in these clandestine meetings with Rawdon.”

  “Surely she’s entitled to a little romance before her parents marry her off to that dull Henry Chaplin. Mark my words, the moment this dreadful mourning for the prince consort is over, her parents will announce her engagement and she’ll be a blushing bride before summer.”

  “It must be awful to marry someone you don’t love.” Anne thought fleetingly of her mother, and pushed the unsettling meditation away.

  “I warrant nine out of ten brides marry without love. Oh, that reminds me of the secret I learned. I overheard my brother James and Father discussing an arranged marriage. But you must promise on your life that you won’t
tell anyone.”

  James is discussing marriage? Anne experienced a sharp pain in her breast, as if her heart were being crushed. “Frances, please don’t tell me—I don’t want to know!”

  “What’s the point of my overhearing a delicious secret if I can’t share it with my best friend? Besides, if I don’t tell you, you’ll never forgive me.”

  Perhaps it’s better if I know. “Tell me, then.” Anne took a deep breath and braced herself for the blow.

  “James and the Prince of Wales are sailing to Belgium to visit the prince’s uncle King Leopold on a highly confidential mission in September. Prince Teddy and Princess Alexandra of Denmark are to have a secret engagement at Leopold’s Royal Castle of Laeken in Brussels. It won’t be announced by Buckingham Palace until the mourning period is over.”

  Anne felt weak with relief. “Oh, that’s absolutely marvelous, Frances. Thank you so much for sharing the secret with me. I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Just as I suspected, here comes John Claud. He knew I was going riding. If he pretends this is some sort of coincidence, I shall kick him in the shins. Still, I’m thankful your brother Montagu is with him. The afternoon won’t be a total loss.”

  When John Claud maneuvered his mount next to hers, Anne saw Frances put a warning finger to her lips, and she nodded her understanding to her friend.

  At that moment, Fitz Kerry came riding up from the opposite direction. Anne hid her amusement when she saw John Claud bristle with resentment, before he masked his anger.

  “Lady Anne, I can think of no more rewarding way to spend the afternoon than riding with you at my side.”

  “You took the words from my mouth, Hamilton.” Fitz maneuvered his horse to Anne’s other side.

  “Since you’re both such devoted friends, I think it’s time you called me Anne.”

  John Claud gave her an intimate glance. “I fully intend to be more than a friend.”

  Anne laughed. “Don’t I know it!” She was aware his remark was meant as a warning to Fitz Kerry. “You’re a cheeky sod, John Claud. I give you an inch and you take a mile.”

  “When I act like a gentleman, you are bored to tears and ignore me. When I act like a cheeky sod, you respond with laughter. I warrant this sedate trotting along the bridle path is another thing that bores you. Why don’t we have a race?”

  “I’m game for a race.” Anne raised her eyebrows to Fitz.

  “Me too,” Kerry agreed. “You set the finish line, Hamilton.”

  “How about the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens?”

  “You’re on!” Anne wrapped the reins around her gloved hand and urged her mount into a gallop. Keeping pace with John Claud’s hunter and Kerry’s mare was no easy task. She lost the pins from her hair and it streamed behind her like a banner. A foul oath dropped from her lips as she saw both riders pull ahead and she doubled her efforts to catch them. But by the time she reached the Round Pond, both had beaten her soundly.

  Anne threw back her head and laughed with delight. “Neither one of you has an ounce of gallantry, but if you had let me win just to curry favor, I would have despised you.” She suddenly realized that the two males were far more interested in their rivalry than what she had to say.

  John Claud was furious because Fitz had beaten him by a yard. He swallowed his wrath and turned to Anne. “Will you come riding with me again tomorrow?”

  “Since the weather is so beautiful, why not?”

  “I’d like us to ride alone. Let’s not include the others,” he said pointedly.

  Anne asked innocently, “Do you mean your sister and my brother?” She looked around. “We seem to have lost them.”

  “Perhaps they lost us.”

  Anne shook her head. “Frances is attracted to Montagu, but her head rules her heart. She’s only interested in first sons who are heirs to their fathers’ titles.”

  His mouth tightened. “First sons are notorious rakehells,” he said with disdain. It was a direct insult to the young Earl of Kerry.

  Anne tried to deflect the offense. “You never miss a chance to blacken your brother’s reputation!”

  “I wasn’t speaking of James,” John Claud denied.

  “Then who?” Kerry challenged. “Name a name.”

  John Claud knew Fitz Kerry was ready to fight him. If Anne hadn’t been there, he would have planted the young earl a facer. He backed off a little. “Well, Devonshire’s heir for one.”

  “The Marquis of Hartington? He’s one of England’s most eligible bachelors,” Anne pointed out.

  “He’s profligate.”

  “Tell me,” she begged.

  “Of course I won’t tell you. You shouldn’t know of such things.”

  She remembered Hartington dancing with Louise, the Duke of Manchester’s beautiful wife, at her debut ball. Oh my God, I was right, they are having an affair!

  Anne was shocked that a married lady would have an affair. Then she thought of her mother. Was she having a love affair with another man when she married Father? She pushed the suspicion away. It simply isn’t possible!

  Anne was relieved to see her brother and Frances come riding up to them. In theory it was exciting to have two admirers vying for her favors, but in practice it was rather alarming. “Montagu, why don’t you finish your ride with Fitz and John Claud? Frances and I must find our friend Florence Paget.”

  • • •

  “Are you feeling better, Mother?” Anne had changed for dinner and tamed her wild mane of hair, which had been disheveled by the race.

  “My headache didn’t last long. Did you enjoy your ride?”

  “Yes, I had a lovely time. Montagu and John Claud met us in the park. He invited me to go riding again tomorrow, and I accepted.”

  “I’m so glad you said yes. He makes no secret of the fact that he’s enamored of you, darling. I want you to know that I fully approve of him as a suitor.”

  “He’s a good friend, but he’s rather young. I never think of him as a husband.”

  “Why ever not? You are just the right age for each other. There is little happiness in marrying an older man.”

  Her mother sounded wistful, and it gave Anne the courage to probe a little. “You were only sixteen when you married Father. How did you meet?” she asked softly.

  “Come and sit down. I think you’re old enough to hear my story. Perhaps it will help you make a wise decision when it comes to choosing a husband, or at least keep you from making a foolish mistake that could ruin your happiness.”

  Anne took a seat and looked into her mother’s eyes. Perhaps you’ll tell me who wrote the love letters.

  “My father died when I was six. All I remember is that he was Irish and had red hair. Because he was an admiral in the navy, we lived in a village on the River Thames close to Windsor Castle. My mother, Georgiana, was a lady of the bedchamber to Queen Adelaide, and your father was the queen’s lord chamberlain.

  “After your father’s first wife died, rumors began to surface that he was the queen’s lover. Queen Adelaide spent a great deal of time at your father’s country estate, Gopsall Hall, in Leicestershire. The queen decided the best way to put an end to the gossip was to find him a wife. My mother suggested me. Both the queen and Richard, Earl Curzon-Howe, thought it an excellent solution. My feelings were not taken into consideration. I was sixteen—I had no choice in the matter.”

  “Do you think the rumor of Father and the queen was true?” Anne asked, wide-eyed.

  Her mother shrugged. “Where there’s smoke, there is usually fire.”

  She believes my father was the queen’s lover! No wonder she avoids going to his country estate in Leicestershire.

  “I was in love with a young man who was just a little older than me. I should have listened to him when he begged me to elope. He warned me that my mother would conspire with Queen
Adelaide to marry me to the lord chamberlain, but I refused to believe him.”

  “Who was he?”

  Her mother hesitated. “He was a young officer in the army. He was immediately posted abroad, and I realized the queen and her chamberlain had a hand in it.” She shook her head sadly. “Darling, I’ve always regretted that I did not have the courage to take my happiness in my own hands and marry the man with whom I was so deeply in love.”

  I wonder if you were lovers? I certainly hope you were.

  • • •

  At dinner, Anne noticed that Montagu looked preoccupied. His eyebrows were drawn together in a deep frown, which was unusual since her brother had a sunny nature.

  She refrained from asking him questions in front of their parents, and decided to wait until the meal was over and she could get him alone.

  After dinner their father went into his library, and their mother withdrew to her sitting room. Anne decided to question Montagu before he left the dining room.

  “Did anything happen between John Claud and Fitz Kerry after I left?”

  “No! Absolutely nothing. Why do you ask?”

  Her brother’s denial had come quickly . . . too quickly . . . and it raised a red flag. “Oh dear, they didn’t come to blows, did they? John Claud hates my being friends with Fitz.”

  “They didn’t come to blows.” Montagu pressed his lips together.

  “Well, something happened. You might as well tell me.”

  Montagu hesitated, then blurted, “John Claud told Fitz that he was wasting his time dangling after you because you were going to be his wife. Fitz Kerry laughed at him.”

  “That was the end of it?” Anne pressed.

  Montagu said quickly, “Yes!” He bit his lip. “No.”

  “Good God, it’s like trying to get blood from a stone!”

  When she said blood, her brother blanched.

  “Anne, when Kerry laughed at John Claud, all hell broke loose!”