Lord Rakehell

by Virginia Henley

  Georgina could have bitten off her tongue. The last thing she wanted was for her closest sister to feel guilty about getting married. ‘‘Don’t be daft! Of course I won’t miss you.’’

  Lady Louisa exchanged a glance with her other sisters Charlotte, Madelina, and Susan. ‘‘Then why are you sad?’’

  ‘‘I’m not sad.’’ She dashed away her tears with determined fingers. ‘‘I’m blazing mad that your wedding day has arrived!’’

  The lovely, Titian-haired bride looked uncertain. ‘‘Georgina, this is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.’’

  ‘‘Pay her no mind, Louisa. You know she’s as contrary as a cockroach.’’ Charlotte rolled her eyes. ‘‘It’s bad form to shed tears of jealousy on your sister’s wedding day.’’

  Georgina’s jaw dropped. ‘‘Jealousy? Allow me to inform you that these are tears of pure self-pity. Now that the rabid Duchess of Gordon has bludgeoned poor Charles Cornwallis into making Louisa Lady Brome, I will become the solitary focus of her motherly attention. She will relentlessly pursue every marquis and duke between the ages of nine and ninety until she bags me a bloody husband.’’

  ‘‘Charles is marrying me because he loves me,’’ Louisa declared.

  Georgina’s tears turned to whoops of laughter. ‘‘Love has absolutely nothing to do with it. You are a Gordon and rank is the only thing that counts. You cannot deny that Mother set her sights on the Duke of Manchester for Susan and the heir to the Duke of Richmond for Charlotte, and hunted them until she ran them to ground.’’

  ‘‘Georgina is queer in the head,’’ Charlotte said dismissively. ‘‘It comes from being the runt of the litter.’’

  ‘‘If I’m the runt, you are the oldest bitch,’’ Georgina teased.

  ‘‘Countess bitch, if you don’t mind.’’

  ‘‘Yes, countess; it all started with you. When you bagged Colonel Charles Lennox, Earl of March and heir to the Dukedom of Richmond, Mother’s ambition for the rest of us suddenly knew no bounds. Her thirst for titles became insatiable.’’

  ‘‘We cannot deny it,’’ Charlotte finally admitted. ‘‘Mother’s instincts are more mercenary than maternal. We were all brought up with one aim in life, to marry with the maximum status. And I freely admit that if I were not the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Gordon, the Earl of March would never have proposed.’’

  ‘‘Not marriage, at any rate,’’ Georgina said lightly.

  The sisters all laughed at her witticism. She was the adored baby of the family, and the precocious little beauty had been much indulged and pampered by her siblings. The entire brood had had a most unconventional upbringing. Their time was divided between fairy-tale Castle Gordon in the Scottish Highlands, an elegant townhome in Edinburgh, a large unpretentious farmhouse at Kinrara beside the wild River Spey, and the spacious mansion in Pall Mall, where they were all presently gathered for the summer wedding.

  Jane Gordon swept into the bedchamber and let out a deep sigh of relief. ‘‘Prime Minister Pitt and dearest Henry Dundas have just arrived. I also spied the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York making their way through the gardens from Carlton House.’’

  Their arrival wasn’t the cause of her overwhelming relief. It was the young groom and his father that she hadn’t been completely sure of. The Marquis Cornwallis, a top general in the king’s army and member of the Privy Council, had objected to the engagement, fearing the infamous taint of Gordon madness, until the duchess had privately assured him, in the strictest of confidence, that there was not a drop of Gordon blood in Louisa’s veins.

  ‘‘Is Charles here?’’ Louisa asked.

  ‘‘What a silly question, my wee lass. Of course yer eager bridegroom is here, as well as yer future fatherin-law, the marquis. What great good fortune that the Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry is the Marquis Cornwallis’s brother and has agreed to officiate today.’’

  ‘‘It will be the wedding of the Season.’’ Georgina winked at her eldest sister.

  ‘‘The Season? It will be the wedding of the decade! An even more impressive affair than they gave the Princess Royal,’’ their mother declared.

  Charlotte said dryly, ‘‘I believe that is the whole intent.’’

  Louisa reached for her bridal bouquet. ‘‘We’d better hurry.’’

  ‘‘Nay, that’s the last thing we must do. We shall be fashionably late, and make them all wait for a glimpse of the blushing bride.’’

  ‘‘I warned my husband to keep his distance from Frederick. The last thing we want is pistols at dawn.’’ Lennox had fought a duel with the Duke of York only months before he had wed Charlotte.

  ‘‘A wedding duel would guarantee that we go down in the history books,’’ Georgina jested.

  Jane Gordon threw back her head and laughed with gusto. ‘‘I warrant that graze with the bullet improved Frederick’s looks.’’

  ‘‘That wasn’t the only benefit,’’ Georgina pointed out. ‘‘If Lennox hadn’t been posted to Edinburgh for his audacity in shooting the king’s son, he never would have married Charlotte.’’

  The duchess raised her eyes heavenward and murmured with mock piety, ‘‘Amen to that.’’

  ‘‘Did your archrival, the Duchess of Devonshire, show up?’’

  ‘‘Not yet, Susan, though I doubt she’ll be able to resist.’’

  ‘‘A wager!’’ Georgina announced gleefully. ‘‘A guinea says she’ll be in the ballroom by the time we make our entrance, and that she’ll be sporting the Prince of Wales’s feathers atop her wig.’’

  ‘‘I’ll take that wager,’’ Charlotte declared. ‘‘I warrant the Gordon clan en masse is far too formidable and intimidating.’’

  Georgina’s wry glance swept the chamber. ‘‘You lot certainly intimidate me.’’

  ‘‘Little liar,’’ her mother refuted. ‘‘Yer afeared of neither man nor beast, Georgy!’’

  ‘‘Enough folderol,’’ Charlotte said firmly. ‘‘Let us proceed with the nuptials before the groom has a chance to escape. I shall lead the way.’’

  ‘‘Remember to smile sweetly,’’ Duchess Gordon directed, ‘‘and though capturing young Cornwallis has earned us the well-deserved envy of the haut ton,I order you to banish all traces of smugness from yer lovely faces.’’

  ‘‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation,’’ intoned the exalted Bishop of Lichfield.

  And in the face of the formidable Duchess of Gordon, Georgina added silently. She glanced at her brother, Lord George Huntly, who had escorted their mother to the place of honor. He looks so handsome in his kilt. She returned the devilish wink he gave her.

  ‘‘Charles Cornwallis, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?’’ the Bishop of Lichfield charged.

  Charlie looks so young and vulnerable. Georgina felt a rush of pity rise up in her. We Gordons are a rum bunch—poor bugger doesn’t know what he’s letting himself in for. She glanced at the florid face of Marquis Cornwallis. The groom, already dominated by his father, will now add his wife’s mother to the list . . . From the frying pan into the bloody fire!

  The bishop adjusted his purple miter and cleared his throat. ‘‘Louisa Gordon, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband?’’

  My sister will make Charlie happy, and coax him from being so timid. Louisa and I had such rowdy fun together—I shall miss her sorely. Georgina’s thoughts flew back to the time their mother had taken her two youngest daughters on her now famous Gordon Highlanders recruiting mission. The daring duchess had wagered with King George that she would enlist more soldiers than any of his royal recruiting officers. Dressed in Highland bonnets and the new Black Watch tartan, the beautiful Gordon ladies, accompanied by six pipers, had visited every market and fair held on the vast Gordon lands. They offered a kiss and a guinea to each and every
male who would join the regiment.

  At some of those fairs the atmosphere was so racy and flirtatious, Louisa and I behaved like teasing coquettes. The braw Highlanders were so eager to taste our mouths, we recruited a thousand men in less than three months.

  ‘‘Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?’’

  Proudly attired in his dress kilt, Alexander, fourth Duke of Gordon, stepped forward. ‘‘I do.’’

  Georgina watched her father join her mother. They make a handsome couple. This is the longest they’ve been together without coming to blows since the last wedding. I wish they could stomach each other. I have my father’s black hair and my mother’s vivacious personality, and God help me, I love them both dearly.

  ‘‘Forasmuch as Charles and Louisa have consented together in holy wedlock, I pronounce that they be man and wife together. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.’’ Bishop Cornwallis closed his prayer book and bestowed a sanctified smile upon the newlyweds.

  Across the ballroom, George, Prince of Wales, murmured to his close friend the Duke of Bedford, ‘‘ ’Tis a fait accompli, Francis, so you may breathe easy. Congratulations on escaping the clutches of Duchess Gordon and skillfully evading the dreaded institution of marriage yet one more time.’’

  ‘‘Jane certainly had me in her sights for Louisa, but red hair never did attract me for long. After an initial skirmish, my interest waned. As for being leg-shackled, my brother John’s marriage has given me such a horror of wedded bliss that I have vowed to avoid it at all costs.’’

  Prinny shuddered as he thought of his own disastrous nuptials to his cousin Caroline of Brunswick. I needed so much brandy to face the ceremony that the only thing I recall is my dear friend Francis Russell propping me up. ‘‘ ’Tis the world’s greatest pity that amore and marriage do not go hand in hand.’’

  ‘‘Au contraire! Making love to a wife is one of life’s sweetest pleasures, so long as I’m not her husband,’’ Russell quipped.

  ‘‘Lady Melbourne looks particularly ravishing today.’’ Both the prince and Bedford had enjoyed her sexual favors, and each had fathered at least one of her children. Prinny’s glance moved to the lady who had accompanied Elizabeth Melbourne, and a heartfelt sigh escaped him. Though for years he had professed his deepest love to Georgianna, Duchess of Devonshire, and had given her a lock of his hair, she always refused to become his mistress. He had been forced to settle for her devoted friendship, which they openly displayed before their aristocratic friends. Prinny raised his eyes from Georgianna’s opulent breasts, and they flooded with sentimental tears when he saw that she was sporting the Prince of Wales’s feathers. Like iron to a lodestone, Prinny gravitated toward Georgianna, and Bedford followed.

  She wafted her ostrich feather fan and sketched a graceful curtsy. ‘‘Your Highness . . . Francis . . . I am delighted you both condescended to attend. ’Twill banish our boredom.’’

  The Prince of Wales took her outstretched hand to his lips in a theatrical show of affection. ‘‘My dearest Georgianna, I am ever at your command.’’ He bestowed an elegant bow upon Lady Melbourne. ‘‘Lizzie, you look charming, as always.’’

  ‘‘Ravishing,’’ Bedford said with a leer. ‘‘I know a surefire cure for banishing boredom.’’

  ‘‘Devil roast you, Francis. Your cure takes nine months,’’ Lady Melbourne drawled. ‘‘Do try not to gloat over your bachelorhood. You will be ensnared in the tender trap sooner or later.’’

  The Duchess of Gordon, well versed in protocol, came to greet His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, before she acknowledged her other guests. ‘‘Such an honor, Yer Highness.’’ Her words were calculated to stress that the honor was his, not hers. Then to prove her point, she dipped her knee and afforded the gentlemen an eye-popping view of her lush breasts.

  ‘‘Jane, darling,’’ the Duchess of Devonshire gushed, ‘‘you’ve outdone yourself. Young Cornwallis is quite a catch.’’

  Jane glanced at Francis Russell. ‘‘You should have seen the one that got away.’’ She slapped her thigh and laughed at her own wit.

  The men and Lizzie, thoroughly amused, joined in her laughter.

  ‘‘Georgianna, dearest, it won’t be long before you are husband hunting for yer own daughters. Shall I lend you my rope and teach you how to tie a Gordon knot?’’

  ‘‘My dear Jane, the Devonshire girls won’t need a noose,’’ the duchess said sweetly.

  Jane Gordon was too good-natured not to laugh at the riposte. ‘‘Yer wit is exceeded only by yer beauty,’’ she said generously.

  ‘‘Dare I hope that you will be serving your magnificent Highland salmon, my dear duchess?’’ Prinny was almost salivating.

  ‘‘ ’Tis the thing that makes a Gordon invitation the most sought after in London—that and our famous whiskey punch.’’ The duke owned a salmon fishery on the River Spey, and the wagons that arrived from Scotland always carried barrels of Scotch whiskey.

  Virginia Henley is a New York Times bestselling author and the recipient of numerous awards, including the Romantic Times Lifetime Achievement Award. Her novels have been translated into fourteen languages. A grandmother of three, she lives in St. Petersburg, Florida, with her husband.