My Lady's Pleasure

by Julia Justiss

  “Vague innuendo, is it? Then let me offer you some facts. Truth, missy, not rumors! While at Oxford, he seduced the wife of his Oxford mentor’s son, and nearly convinced the besotted woman to run off with him.”

  “So I understand. But he must have been very young then—sixteen or seventeen? And the lady much older? Having once or twice observed similar cases among the army in India, I suspect it was much more likely that a bored matron seduced a handsome young man. And only the young man paid the consequences.”

  The countess lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps. But any possible sympathy one might have had over that unfortunate episode was quite ruined by the blatant way he conducted his subsequent affair with Lady Uxtabridge. Strolling into Covent Garden with that woman on his arm, both of them somewhat in…disarray, and then kissing her on the lips as he seated her next to her husband in Uxtabridge’s own box!” Lady Winterdale shook her head. “Shocking bad ton.”

  “Foolish, certainly. Of course, Lord Cranston and Lady Fellowes are much more discreet,” Valeria replied, naming a young aristocrat and the married lady he’d driven out in Hyde Park the last three afternoons running. “And Sir Alewynd and Lady Lydia are merely convivial friends,” she added, indicating a couple, both married to other partners, whose touching and nuzzling, followed by their mutual disappearance for a good hour or more, had caused no end of scandalized speculation at a ball the week previous.

  Lady Winterdale frowned, obviously displeased to have had her arguments rebutted so neatly. “Fitzwilliams is of dubious parentage, and a gamester besides.”

  “He can hardly be held accountable for his parentage. And I have it on the authority of my neighbor, a college-mate of his, that turning to gambling was more necessity than choice. What other occupation is open to a landless gentleman whose family disavows him? The army requires the funds to purchase a commission, and of course, the church was not a possibility.”

  “A gentleman would have found another way,” Lady Winterdale insisted.

  Valeria raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. But I suspect that Mr. Fitzwilliams is really guilty of no more than being half-Irish, having an unfortunate affair with one woman and a too-obvious one with another. Unless you can inform me of some other venality he’s supposed to have committed. Seducing and abandoning an innocent maiden? Murder? Theft or embezzlement? Cheating at cards?”

  “Not that I’ve heard,” the countess admitted.

  “Well, then. Papa told me the army taught him to value a man’s actions over his parentage and prior record. I, for one, do not intend to condemn a man based on his having once committed mistakes for which the grandson of an earl not possessed of an Irish father would have long since been forgiven.”

  “Very well, I’ll allow Mr. Fitzwilliams may have been ill-used. But life ain’t fair, missy, as you should well know. ’Tis a rogue’s reputation he bears, whether deserved or not. ’Tis also the way of the world that if one plays with pitch, one gets blackened fingers. For all your noble talk of treating a man by his actions, are you prepared to risk sullying your own reputation? Ruining your chances of a decent marriage?”

  “Other than your kind sponsorship, Grandmamma, I cannot see that I possess anything that would entice Sir William, or any other ton gentleman, to offer for me. To be sure, you’ve tricked me out in fashionable garments and had Cousin Alicia introduce me around, but the fact remains that I’m a widow of no particular beauty, somewhat stricken in years, with naught but a barely profitable sheep farm.”

  “Don’t be buffleheaded, child. Surely you know I didn’t bring you all the way to London just for a Season. I mean to leave you my fortune.”

  Her lips already parted to continue arguing, that announcement caught Valeria entirely unawares. She paused in mid-breath, stunned. “Y-you are going to—!”

  The dowager waved a hand. “Now you’ve made me bolt from the gate. I hadn’t meant to confirm it to you yet—don’t want it puffed about, lest all the rakehells and fortune hunters in London descend on you like a flock of vultures.” She gave Valeria an exasperated look. “All the other rakehells and fortune hunters.”

  “Dear ma’am, I hardly know what to say,” Valeria replied, still astounded. “Surely you have blood kin—”

  “Don’t you be telling me who I can leave my money to and who I can’t! Alicia’s got her own fortune, which is a mercy, since she’s too great a widget to attract a gentleman of sense, and my great-nieces and-nephews are naught but a passel of idle, ignorant fools. Which I’m delighted to say that you, girl, are not.”

  Valeria had to smile. “A high compliment indeed.”

  Lady Winterdale chuckled. “Mind your manners, child. Ah, ’tis been a delight having you here, a debater worthy of my wit, someone who doesn’t toady or shrink away every time I look daggers at them. But after the…last few days, I can’t pretend I have forever. I’d like to see you settled. And if not in wedlock, I’d like to die knowing you’ll be happy.” Looking away, the countess added in a gruff voice, “Happy as you’ve made me these last weeks.”

  A lump in her throat, Valeria reached over to grasp the dowager’s thin, veined hand. “Thank you, Grandmamma. I’ve been happy here with you.”

  “Then you’d best stop acting the fool,” the countess replied, the tart tone back in her voice, as if regretting her momentary softening. “Which means that when he calls, you mustn’t receive Teagan Fitzwilliams.”

  She held up a hand to forestall Valeria’s protest. “Don’t waste your breath assuring me you’re immune to his charm. I’ve known the boy since they sent him down from Oxford, and even at my age, I can’t image a woman receiving the full attention of those mesmerizing eyes and keeping her senses—or her chemise—in place! Damnation, child, I didn’t bring you to London after having your heart broken by a good man to watch you get your heart broken again by a bad one.”

  “I have no intention of risking my heart.”

  “No, and I’m sure you don’t, but even women of sense tend to turn idiotish when a devil as handsome as Fitzwilliams comes calling. But enough of this. I don’t mean to deny him the house. You’d only sneak out to meet him then, just to spite me.”

  “I hope I’m not so small-minded,” Valeria said primly.

  “You’re an unbroken filly too apt to take the bit in her teeth,” the countess replied, and gave a crack of laughter. “Ah, but you remind me of myself at your age! All I ask is that you consider carefully. Sir William’s a fine man. He’ll give you companionship, comfort, children to occupy that restless spirit, and a permanent place in Society. Don’t throw all that away for a man who’ll dazzle you for a week or a month and then leave you alone with your regrets the rest of your life. You will think on it?”

  Once again touched by the countess’s concern, Valeria replied quietly, “Yes, Grandmamma. I’ll think on it.”

  “Good. Leave me now, child. I’m fatigued.”

  A frisson of fear shook Valeria. “Are you all right, ma’am? Should I summon your physician?”

  “Lord, no! There’s nothing that incompetent will do but leech me, and I’ve had enough of bleeding. I’m not ready to stick my spoon in the wall yet. Go to bed, child. And try not to be a fool.”

  Valeria kissed the old woman’s hand. “I’ll try, Grandmamma. Good night.”

  Valeria slipped from the room and walked across the hall to her own chamber. What a contradiction the countess was—gruff for the most part, which only made her very occasional softening the sweeter. Valeria realized that over the last month, the manipulative, combative old lady had managed to steal into her heart. Suddenly the fact that she would soon lose the countess’s companionship and counsel filled her with sadness and a deep regret that she had not come to know Hugh’s grandmother sooner.

  So what did she mean to do about Teagan Fitzwilliams? The countess was wise in advising caution. It would be all too easy to be “dazzled” by the man.

  However, Valeria did very much want to explore London. She had to admit that sh
e’d feel safer, once beyond the confines of Mayfair, if she were to have a gentleman to escort her, and Sir William had already indicated his disdain for her chosen destinations. As she’d told the countess, she did not mean to eschew the escort of Teagan Fitzwilliams merely because he’d acquired what was, in her opinion, an undeservedly scandalous reputation.

  Surely she was sensible enough to spend a few mornings in his company without losing her wits entirely—and tumbling back into his bed.

  Attractive as that prospect might be.

  A shaft of desire stabbed her at the very notion.

  No, an affair with Mr. Fitzwilliams wouldn’t be wise. Though she wasn’t sure she wished to remarry, she also wasn’t sure she did not. As the countess warned, squandering her reputation in a flagrant affair with a well-known rogue would effectively eliminate that choice.

  A fraternal relationship in which she merely explored the city with him, in daylight hours with her maid to chaperone, should not. Any prospective suitor who trusted her so little that he doubted her word about the nature of her relationship with Mr. Fitzwilliams would obviously not be worthy of becoming her husband, anyway.

  Husband of the rich Lady Arnold. A rich woman who, unlike a widow struggling to survive, would be free to marry—or not marry—as she chose.

  Elation filled her as the full implications of that seeped into her mind, and she laughed out loud. She would be truly free—free from worry over want, free from the necessity to marry for security, free to pursue her own interests and desires.

  That decided it. She would meet Mr. Fitzwilliams in the morning and, if he were amenable to the limits she set on their relationship, tour London with him.

  As Valeria settled back into bed, she tried to damp down the glow of anticipation. ’Twas only a visit of the city. She mustn’t make the mistake of seeing in Teagan Fitzwilliams either a potential suitor—or a friend.

  And be he ever so dazzling, surely after what had happened before, she was too intelligent to risk handing her heart over to a man who could have no interest whatsoever in it.

  At the Devil’s Den a few hours later, Teagan laid down the last card of his winning hand, and to the groans of the other gentleman, drew over a stack of guineas. While scooping them up to place in his purse, he called to a passing waiter to have the butler bring his coat and cane.

  “What’s this, Jester? Leaving us already?” Rafe Crandall peered at Teagan through the haze of smoke.

  “Merely taking pity on you, my lord,” Teagan replied. “I’ve won enough for one evening. ’Tis time to let you other gentlemen have a go.”

  “I do believe our Jester’s reforming his ways,” Rafe announced to the group, which included Teagan’s friend Lord Insley, as well as Crandall’s usual cronies, Markham and Westerley. “First he visits a debutante’s ball—though how he managed that feat without being tossed out on his rear I still cannot fathom—and now he means to retire to his bed before dawn! Damme, Teagan, what’s about? Not trying to turn respectable on us, are you?”

  “Wouldn’t do him no good,” Markham observed. “His family won’t touch him. His cousin, the earl, would rather spit on ’im than look at ’im. Told me so himself at White’s t’other day.”

  Teagan gritted his teeth at the casual insult and forced his usual bantering tone. “Whist, and should I ever be in danger of earning the earl’s approbation, I should have to quit England forthwith.”

  “Aye, he’s a dull dog, your cousin,” Rafe agreed over the ensuing laughter. “Probably despises you because he knows the ladies prefer your energetic and talented performance to his money and title.” Then Rafe straightened, spilling some of the brandy in his glass. “’Od’s blood, that can’t be it, can it? Jester, you’re not sniffing up the skirts of an honest woman, are you now?”

  Careful, Teagan warned himself. Despite his constant state of inebriation, Rafe Crandall was no fool. “Faith, and what would I want with the likes of an honest lass?”

  “True, true.” Westerley wagged the wine bottle he held. “’E’s got no money to get leg-shackled. ’N anyways, no ton mama worth ’er salt would let ’em next ’r nigh some innocent virgin. Rich merchant neither. If he’d a mind to marry, Jester’d have to find ’imself a widow.”

  “A rich one,” Markham said, flicking a cigar ash off his florid brocade waistcoat. “Dressin’ well’s expensive.”

  “And one poorly chaperoned,” Rafe observed. “Very well, I concede.” He threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Any female with money enough to tempt the Jester would have to be long in the tooth and ugly besides, not to have already been snatched up by some other fortune hunter.”

  “And Jester’s too discriminating to settle for an ugly woman, be she ever so rich, eh?” Westerley asked.

  “Now wait a moment.” Rafe frowned and closed his eyes, as if making a diligent effort to concentrate. “Isn’t the beauteous Lady Arnold, my lovely neighbor from the far north, presently visiting poor old Hugh’s grandmamma in London? I believe I remember m’ mother nattering on about it when last I visited the family manse. And don’t I recall the Jester taking a ride in her woods?”

  Teagan hesitated, knowing he must choose his words with caution. After so carefully guarding the secret of their first meeting, he certainly didn’t wish to say something that might inspire Rafe Crandall and his drunken cohorts to bandy Lady Arnold’s name about.

  Insley shot Teagan a quick glance. “Gentlemen, if you are to retain any pretensions to the name, you really must cease discussing respectable ladies in such terms.”

  “I believe our plain talk offends young Insley,” Rafe sneered.

  “Perhaps we should send for his mama to escort him home,” Westerley sniggered.

  Teagan gave an elaborate yawn. “If you gentlemen persist in discussing so dismal a topic as marriage, I shall certainly leave.” After making them an elaborate bow, he walked with unhurried steps from the room.

  Insley followed him. Once outside the club, Insley stopped Teagan with a hand to his elbow.

  “No word of what happened at the ball will be spoken by me. But I expect your presence there—and the story of the lady whose introduction you sought—will be one of tomorrow’s on-dits. What,” Insley said hesitantly, “do you mean to do about Lady Arnold, if I may ask?”

  In his mind’s eye Teagan saw the image of a polished mahogany door shutting in his face. “Probably nothing.”

  Insley offered Teagan a hand. “’Tis your own business, to be sure. Good night, then.”

  After shaking the young man’s hand, Teagan turned to walk pensively into the lightening dawn. Insley was correct; Teagan’s impulsive claiming of Lady Arnold’s acquaintance earlier in the evening would certainly become fodder for the gossip mills. When Rafe Crandall heard of it, as inevitably he would, the suspicions he might voice would fly through the ton. The ensuring speculation was certain to be far more damaging to Lady Arnold’s reputation than Teagan had ever envisioned when he’d permitted himself that innocent stroll across a ballroom with her.

  A sinking sense of dread dulled the rush of anticipation that had buoyed him since leaving the Insley ball. He’d erred, allowing a selfish desire for her company to lead him to defy the social ostracism he usually accepted without question, thereby calling down on her head the avid notice of the ton.

  The idea of Lady Arnold’s name being involved in scurrilous innuendo sickened him. And if it became known that he was squiring her about the city, the rumors would only grow worse.

  His Lady Mystery deserved better than that of him.

  Perhaps he would do her a greater service by not keeping their appointment, after all.

  Chapter Eight

  B efore nine the following morning, Valeria’s maid did up the last tiny button on her favorite of the new morning gowns, a deep peach sarcenet. After instructing Molly to take her pelisse downstairs so she might be ready to set out as soon as she’d offered Mr. Fitzwilliams refreshments, she picked up the guidebook a
nd crossed to the wing chair near her window overlooking the garden, where crocuses and daffodils were just now awakening from their winter sleep.

  Excitement bubbling in her stomach, she opened the guidebook and tried to concentrate on choosing the sites for their first expedition.

  Bullock’s Egyptian Hall at Piccadilly, the guidebook said, offered an excellent collection of objects gathered from Africa and the far Americas, including an extensive exhibit of animals and insects. She wrinkled her nose at the idea of tropical insects, having encountered more than she ever wished to see again while living in India.

  But viewing the relics from the land of the Pharaohs would be interesting, or perhaps they could stop by Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre, whose equestrian displays her brother, Elliot, an avid horseman, had pronounced “spectacular.” Mr. Fitzwilliams, himself a fine rider, would probably enjoy the show.

  Valeria pried her mind from contemplating the admirable figure Mr. Fitzwilliams presented while mounted on his fiery black and tried to direct her attention back to the guidebook. For the first time she wished her window overlooked the front entrance instead of the back garden.

  Idiot, she chastised herself. Time would pass even more slowly were she to sit watching the street. And she certainly didn’t wish for Mr. Fitzwilliams to ride up and find her with her nose pressed to the glass, as if she had nothing more urgent to do than wait for his arrival.

  Though that was the truth. Read, she told herself again, and picked up the guidebook.

  But after another half an hour, during which she lost her place a dozen times within the same paragraph, she shut the book in disgust. A glance at the mantel clock revealed the hour not yet struck ten.

  With a sigh, Valeria put aside the volume and stood up. She’d walk in the garden, she decided. Jennings could summon her from there easily enough, and she could more profitably occupy herself comparing the plants now peeping out of the ground with the slower progress being made by those in her garden farther north.