Kaleidoscope: A Regency Novella

by Hannah Meredith

  “Oh, bother,” Carolyn said, then squeezed his hand and said, “I have to go.”

  Luke watched her graceful movements as she left the bedchamber. He knew the Earl of Kelton and had always thought the man a prig. He couldn’t imagine that Kelton had been able to become the protector for such an exceptional woman. The thought of the delectable Miss Rydell laboring under such a fop was disgusting.

  Kelton had money, however, and that must be the attraction. Not for the first time, Luke wished he hadn’t alienated his father and still had a quarterly allowance.

  Caro’s irritation with Gerald’s demands eclipsed her delight in her patient’s recovery. As Earl of Kelton, Gerald evidently felt entitled to barge into her house and order her around. Open warfare was counterproductive, however, so she smothered her pique and placed a pleasant expression on her face.

  “Your mystery guest has awakened, then?” Gerald held up a glass of wine as if in salute. She’d requested tea just before leaving. Unsurprisingly, he’d countermanded her order.

  “Yes. And he’s no longer a mystery. His name is Luke Harlington and from his speech, he’s well educated. So your fears that I’d picked up some beggar off the streets were unfounded.”

  Gerald’s face registered a number of different emotions, the primary one being shock. Some thought him handsome, although Caro could never see it. He was too soft and superficial to be appealing. With his mouth agape, he looked like a landed fish. “Lucien Harlington? You have Lord Lucien Harlington tucked away in one of your beds upstairs? Good heavens, woman. Have you no concern for the family name?”

  Caro didn’t care about her effect on the Rydell name. According to Gerald, both her heritage and her adherence to trade had already damaged the family’s social standing. This current objection, however, made no sense. “If you’re correct as to the man’s identity, I don’t see how my rescuing a peer can be seen as negative.”

  His floppy mouth tightened into a sneer. “In this case, lord is a courtesy title. Harlington’s father is the Marquess of Greyling, but there is nothing noble about Lucien. His deviant behavior is such that even his father has cast him off. He’s scandalous in the extreme. And you have him staying in your home without a chaperone in residence. I hope even you can see the negative in this.”

  She knew laughing would be like poking a hornet’s nest, but the sound leaked out despite her efforts. “The man has been grievously injured and isn’t mobile. Hardly a threat to anyone’s virtue. And then, I’m a widow nearing thirty years of age, not some virginal debutant in need of a chaperone. Amala is in attendance at all times, anyway.”

  “Society would never consider some Indian servant a chaperone. Everyone will only see that you’ve opened your home to a whoremonger—and assume you’re taking advantage of his experience since, as you’ve said, you’re a mature widow.” He suddenly stood and came over to lean on the arms of her chair. His mouth formed a rictus of disgust. “You’re lucky my mother and I allowed you to use our name when you landed on our doorstep. We doubt that Uncle Charles ever married you. It makes more sense that you were his mistress and somehow got a sick old man to will you the controlling interest in a successful shipping firm.”

  Caro brought her hand up and shoved Gerald hard in the chest. At the same time, she hooked a foot behind his right calf and pulled forward. Unprepared, he toppled backwards and landed on his butt—hard. She stood and leaned over his prone figure. “I’ve always been embarrassed that a man as good as Charles Rydell was related to you. I keep hoping that since you use your title, no one will realize there’s a connection. Because you’re a very stupid man. Charles had nothing in his will that said you and your mother should get a percentage of the profits from Rydell Shipping. I did that in an effort to buy your acceptance, but I told you Charles had made these arrangements to salve your pride. Well, since I’ve received nothing but your disdain, no more money will be coming.”

  She swiveled and walked away.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

  “Why, upstairs to talk with the only gentleman in the house. And if I’m lucky, maybe he’ll show me what has made him infamous.”

  Luke hadn’t expected the woman to return so quickly. She flew into the room with bright flags of agitation showing on her cheeks. Her pupils covered nearly all her irises, making her dark eyes black. Anger rolled off her like steam from a boiling kettle. She’d obviously had words with her protector. A spurt of guilt shot through him and prompted his saying, “I hope my presence here hasn’t caused you to argue with Lord Kelton and lose what is obviously a financially lucrative position.”

  She stopped mid-stride. “Excuse me?”

  Was she embarrassed that he’d guessed she was Lord Kelton’s mistress? When Luke was young and still had the funds, he’d kept a bouncy brunette named Holly, and she’d seemed proud of her position. Of course, she’d been prouder still when she moved on to being the mistress of a viscount. Even when Luke had received an allowance, it hadn’t been princely.

  “I made the assumption that you were Kelton’s, eh…” he searched for inoffensive euphemism, “very good friend and that he was financially supporting you.”

  “You thought that I was that idiot Gerald’s mistress?” She grinned and then laughter bubbled out. Once she started, she seemed unable to stop, leaning over and pressing her hands against her mouth. He tried to get up. She noticed the motion and waved him back, pulling in great gulps of air.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when she was again in control of herself. “But that was the funniest thing I’ve heard in some time. I wouldn’t become Gerald’s mistress if I were starving, and he wouldn’t want me if I were a gift.”

  She’d said that Kelton was an idiot, and he’d have to be one if he weren’t interested in Carolyn Rydell. With her face flushed and her dark eyes glittering, she was magnificent. It took very little imagination to visualize her stretched across a bed with her raven’s wing hair rioting on the pillow. And the lower portion of Luke’s anatomy didn’t lack for imagination. He sat up straighter in bed to hide his obvious interest. His head and side still ached, but he was assuredly not dead. “I can’t believe there’s a man alive who would not want you,” he blurted out before his brain could stop his mouth.

  She laughed again, but this time the sound was companionable and appealing. “Gerald has never forgiven me for having an Indian grandmother and for marrying his uncle. To have someone of my heritage in his esteemed family is anathema and, more importantly, if I didn’t exist, the income from the Rydell Shipping Company would be his now that his uncle has died. So the two of us do not rub along well together.”

  Luke was surprised he hadn’t equated the Rydell family name with the Earl of Kelton’s family. But Kelton had come to his title when he was only a boy and in Luke’s remembrance, had always simply been Kelton. That Carolyn—no he must think of her as Mrs. Rydell—was a widow explained why there was no husband or father in evidence. “I can see why the two of you don’t get along. I must admit that I never much liked the man.”

  She chuckled again. “Well, it seems he’s not too fond of you either. In speaking of you, among his many descriptive phrases was ‘whoremonger.’”

  This had to be one of the oddest conversations he’d ever had with a lady, for Mrs. Rydell was every inch a lady, regardless of how plain spoken she was. No, not just plain spoken. In her unbridled mirth and uncensored word choices, Mrs. Rydell sounded like a man.

  “I take exception to that description. I’ve never consorted with whores,” he said, echoing her forthright language. Of course, he had consorted elsewhere, but that wasn’t the point. “I will admit, however, that among the ton, my reputation is perhaps not all that it could be.” Now that was the greatest understatement that had dropped from his lips for all time.

  “So I was led to believe. Gerald’s advice was that I throw you out as quickly as possible if I hoped to retain the minimal acceptance in society that I have.”
/>   Guilt, his persistent friend, asserted itself again. “Kelton is an ass, but in this he’s correct. My being here can do your reputation no good.” If her grandmother were indeed an Indian, then Carolyn Rydell was clinging to respectability by her fingertips. It might have been different if her husband had been alive or if Kelton had enthusiastically embraced her as family, but this didn’t seem to be the case. Society was not kind toward those they deemed half-casts. Having been its recipient, he was well aware of the cruelty lurking in London drawing rooms.

  “I doubt you could injure my reputation, and that’s hardly a consideration since I seldom go out in society as it is.” She came over by the bed and began fussing with his pillows. He breathed in her elusive, spicy scent and knew she would not be welcomed in many drawing rooms simply because of her beauty. The ladies of the ton didn’t relish imported competition.

  “You should go out in society. Nothing protects a woman like marriage to a peer, and I can’t imagine that there are not a number who would happily marry you.”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “I’m well aware of this concept. My late husband married me to give me the protection of his name. Since I arrived in London a year ago, I have not been without offers. But the men who offered marriage were impoverished, and the attraction was my wealth and not myself. Men with plenty of money made other offers.”

  Luke bet they did. And he suspected even those who needed funds were motivated by more than the desire for financial improvement. He knew he would have been. “Are you quite wealthy, then?” he asked.

  “Quite.” She dropped her eyes as if embarrassed, long black lashes fanning her cheeks.

  “Then this makes my departure even more imperative. I’m afraid I fall into the ‘impoverished’ category, and I’ve been known to take gifts from women.” The admission was harder than he’d anticipated. He wanted her good opinion, even if he didn’t deserve it.

  “Why don’t you then take employment?” She seemed perplexed. “I have never understood men who complain about their poverty and do nothing to change the situation.”

  He nearly laughed. She obviously didn’t have a good opinion of him, but it wasn’t because he accepted presents from women. She thought he should be gainfully employed, and he could hardly claim his talent in the bedroom was his vocation.

  “Laziness,” he admitted. “While my father covered my bills, it was easier simply to enjoy life. And then, after my fall from grace, I did attempt to obtain a suitable paying position. I applied to various gentlemen for the position of secretary. My education made me well-qualified for this work, but my reputation ensured that no one would hire me. As some of your thwarted suitors were undoubtedly trying to do, I could marry money, but so far, I’ve been unable to make myself take that route.” He didn’t go on to say that he couldn’t imagine a lifetime with any of the woman who would settle for him.

  “I think this aversion to work is a peculiar trait of the British upper class.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “Are you actually in debt? If so, I could hire you as a clerk in one of my warehouses.”

  “No, not in debt. Thank God. But reduced to frugality and relying on the kindness of friends.” He had a distinct vision of himself as a clerk, one of the many drones who flitted about town on their masters’ business. The idea was appalling. He was more of a snob than he liked to admit. “And I’ve relied on your kindness for too long. I have a friend, Viscount Tremaine, who will come collect me if he’s still in town.”

  He didn’t want to leave but feared that if he stayed, he’d end up a clerk in a warehouse just to be near Carolyn Rydell. Something about her called to him in ways he didn’t understand. He saw a vulnerability beneath her brisk competence that he recognized in himself. It was well past time he left.

  Caro stood at the window and watched as Lord Lucien’s friend awkwardly helped him into the carriage. She’d said her good-byes in the foyer. Hovering on the doorstep like a sailor’s wife waiting for the ship to leave would be demeaning. So, she’d kept her self-respect intact but couldn’t resist peeking around the curtain until the carriage disappeared from sight. Lord, she hated to see him leave. Knowing he was lying in bed upstairs had somehow made her loneliness less evident.

  And she was willing to confess she was lonely. She usually stayed so busy she didn’t notice, but with Luke’s departure, the house was once more echoingly empty. She would again stay late at the shipping office and bring work home with which to fill the evening hours. She could have brief conversations with Amala, but she had long grown away from the girl Amala recognized. She found herself exhausted from maintaining her youthful persona if they talked too long.

  She missed Charles. She missed India. Life there was not always perfect, but it had been filled with patterns she recognized and found comfortable.

  Coming to England might have been a mistake, but she’d promised Charles she’d relocate here. She hadn’t fit into Anglo-Indian society, which had begun excluding those with Indian blood, and Charles had thought that when he was gone, she could come to England and start anew. He’d imagined that her connections to an earl’s family would make her mixed heritage less important. Charles had also stressed that she had people she could trust to handle the Calcutta end of the business and that the weakest connection was in London.

  Neither she nor Charles had imagined that his nephew and the rest of the family would be so resistant to her arrival, however. Their hostility had made her acceptance nearly impossible. She was determined to make a place regardless of their attitudes—but it was hard.

  She wanted to hear Charles’ beloved voice again. Unconsciously, her hand reached out and stroked the smooth surface of the kaleidoscope he’d given her so long ago. It made her feel close to him and was a symbol of his many kindnesses. She leaned over and peered through the ocular. Rotating the cylinder, she watched the patterns change. Each form was predictably unpredictable—each shape different, yet still beautiful.

  But how she wished she could return to the patterns of old.

  Patterns for May 1825

  Luke leaned over the hand-drawn floor plan and pointed to the east wall of his half-brother Templeton’s office. “The safe is there, behind a panel to the right of the fireplace. The panel opens by pushing on the right side.” He looked up at Tremaine’s lowered head. “You’re sure this locksmith you know can pick a safe?”

  Tremaine gave him a gleeful smile. His friend seemed to relish all this plotting. Tremaine’s attitude and his ability to quickly produce a dishonest locksmith gave credence to the rumors that the older man had done something clandestine in the war with Napoleon. By comparison, Luke, who’d initiated the harebrained idea, was a nervous mess.

  “Sharp can pick it, as long as you’re sure it’s there,” Tremaine said.

  “Lord help us. Your lock pick is named Sharp?”

  “It’s what I’ve always called him.” Another cheeky grin appeared.

  “Well, I know the safe is there. Before I became persona non grata, father sent me to Templeton’s to have some family papers stored there. Temp was happy to show off his new safe, which he’d had installed behind a false wall in an opening next to one of the large chimneys. Father, at least, was convinced this was more secure than the safe at his house. So, if my mother’s jewels are anywhere, that’s where they should be.”

  “But you’re not sure they’re there?”

  “No.” That was the wrinkle in the plan.

  His father hadn’t summoned him until his mother lay dying. He’d been appalled at her skeletal appearance, her wheezing breath. Regret closed his own throat. He should have forced the issue and insisted on seeing her when he’d first heard she was ill. But his pride, his damned arrogant pride, had kept him from begging entry into a house where the door had been locked against him. Until it was too late for any true rapprochement.

  He’d lifted his mother’s hand and gently kissed the parchment dry skin that clung tightly to the bones.

&nb
sp; Her pale blue eyes opened. “Lucien?”

  “Oui, ma mere.”

  “The marriage settlement is clear. The jewels are yours.”

  And then her eyes closed and she slept. She never reawakened.

  His father couldn’t ban him from a funeral at which he was a chief mourner, but afterwards, when he asked about the loose stones his mother’s family had brought with them from France during the Terror, he was met with a blank stare. “She long ago sold them to aid other émigrés,” his father said and walked away.

  Luke knew his father lied. At the time, with his supposed disgrace still fresh, he’d assumed his father withheld the gems as part of his punishment. But his father had continued to deny the jewels’ existence—as if Luke had not played with them as a boy. As if, when he was grown, his mother had never mentioned them as his legacy protected by her marriage settlement.

  Well, enough was enough. He would simply take what was his. He’d already been delayed over a month due to his injuries.

  “Will everything be in place for the night of the Hazelton’s ball?” he asked Tremaine.

  “The Earl of Kelton requests a moment of your time.” Sanjeet’s delivery was bland, but his eyebrows were raised in the question his inflection didn’t indicate. As manager of Rydell Shipping, Sanjeet shared Carolyn’s enmity with her late husband’s nephew. He’d strutted around the office for days when he learned she’d put Kelton on the floor with the hook-and-push trick he’d taught her.

  But what was Gerald doing here? He never came to the Rydell Shipping offices. He preferred to pretend the shared name was happenstance, since the family of a peer wouldn’t be involved in crass commerce. He’d appreciated the monthly stipend this commerce generated, of course. Its withdrawal had probably prompted his visit.

  Carolyn hadn’t seen him in nearly a month, not since their argument at her house. Before his death, her late husband Charles had suggested giving some money to that side of the family to make them more amenable to easing her way into London society. The idea had been a good one; it just hadn’t worked. Charles would have been the first to tell her to stop a bribe when it didn’t have the desired effect.