by Anne Herries
Most of his particular friends were now either married or engaged, Phipps reflected as he scraped the soap from his chin, studying his face in the mirror Maggs had set for him. Phipps supposed marriage might be the answer to his problems, though he would have preferred some other way of settling his debts. It was rather demeaning to offer for an heiress, knowing that at some time soon after the wedding one would have to dip into her fortune to settle his wretched affairs. Although in theory a woman’s fortune became her husband’s on marriage, there was normally a contract securing an income to her and the most part of the capital to her children. To stipulate that a large portion be allotted for his personal use would make Phipps feel like a beggar.
Besides, having once offered for a lady he had believed to feel some affection for him and whom he had loved in return, only for her to marry a rich man twice her age, he was apprehensive of making an offer to any lady.
What had he, a mere second son, to tempt any lady of fortune?
Phipps had delayed looking seriously for a bride for months. Had he been able to find some gainful employment he would surely have done so before this, but it was not easy. He’d offered his services to Lord Piper, but his father had good agents and did not trust him to replace them. His army pay in peacetime was scarcely enough to keep him in boots and certainly not enough to set up a family.
Unless he could find employment as an estate manager—or perhaps a political secretary?—he must marry an heiress, Phipps admitted with a deep sigh. The devil of it was that he knew of only two who were likely to look on him with favour and were rich enough not to bother that he needed a large sum almost immediately.
Miss Cynthia Langton and Miss Amanda Hamilton: one beautiful and proud, the other a pleasant little dumpling who might have been passably pretty had she been a stone lighter.
He had formed a part of their court for the past two months or more. Miss Hamilton was always to be seen with her beautiful friend, which meant that most of Miss Langton’s suitors ended up sitting at her side and talking to her, quite often of her friend’s beauty. Phipps had found himself relegated to that position less often than most, for, wonder of wonders, Miss Langton seemed often to smile on him. She would accept a cup of iced lemonade from his hand, allow him to dance with her twice at balls, take her walking in the park—with Miss Hamilton and another gentleman—take her driving to various places of interest, with Miss Hamilton following behind in the curricle of another gentleman.
Had Miss Langton been less beautiful and not so universally admired, Phipps would probably have offered for her long ago, but he doubted that she would take him. Her fortune was sufficient not to look for it in her husband, but she did look for rank and it all came back to the fact that Phipps was a younger son. His brother Alex was just a year older and in the best of health, which meant that he had no hope of ever stepping into his shoes—nor would he wish to since it would mean his brother’s demise. They might not be bosom friends, but were fond enough as a rule.
Only by making a distinguished career for himself could he hope to engage the interest of a lady wealthy enough to pay his debts and keep them both in the luxury he and she would enjoy.
Phipps looked himself squarely in the eyes and admitted the truth. Miss Langton might flirt with him, she might encourage him to dangle after her, but she would not marry a younger son with few prospects.
Which left him with the alternative. Miss Hamilton might not be a beauty, but she had many fine qualities: a sense of humour, a ready mind and a generous heart. In short, Phipps liked her, but that was a part of the problem. He knew that he was not in love with either of the heiresses. He did not know of a lady who made him want to die for love of her, to swoon at her feet or fight to protect her. There had been that one unfortunate experience, when he was a green youth, but that had taught him to look beneath the surface, if one did not wish to be burned.
Indeed, rather like his friend Jack, he’d thought that romance was grossly overrated. A man should look for comfort in his home and take a beautiful mistress for his other needs. Given this, it hardly mattered what this proverbial wife looked like, providing she was good-hearted.
So, why had he not asked Miss Hamilton to marry him weeks ago?
Phipps was not a vain man, but he knew that her smile lit up her eyes when he went to sit next to her and she always seemed happy to dance with him—so why not ask her to be his wife? He was pretty sure she would take him if he asked.
A rueful grin touched his mouth. His wretched sense of honour had made him hold back. She might not be beautiful, but she was a thoroughly nice girl and it would be wrong to take advantage of her good nature. Had she been in need of protection from the fortune-hunters, Phipps might have persuaded himself that by asking her he was protecting her from men who would run through her fortune in a year and treat her abominably. He himself would do no such thing. If she gave him her hand, Phipps would do all he could to make her happy and try to increase her fortune—but would it be enough?
She was entitled to be loved for herself. Phipps was too honest to lie, and to admit that he would marry her because he could see no other way out of his debts would be to insult her. She did not deserve to be so shabbily treated! He believed that more than one unscrupulous fellow had already made the attempt and been sent away with his hopes dashed.
Phipps would find that extremely humiliating!
Suddenly, the funny side of it struck him. He could not insult Miss Hamilton by asking her to wed him, and, though he might attempt Miss Langton, he believed his efforts would be doomed to failure.
No, he must simply make some economies. Perhaps if he sold both his horses and his commission, and returned to the country for a few months he would come about—and who knew, he might fall in love with a girl who just happened to be rich. Jack had fallen in love despite the odds, why not Phipps?
He had no time to dwell on his problems now, for he was engaged to Brock for an evening at his house: dinner, cards and music was promised and it would be a popular event, for Lord Brockley’s elder son was much sought by hopeful mamas, though they hunted in vain. Brock was an avowed bachelor and had recently won a large bet with Jack Delsey over which of them would marry first.
Brock’s aunt was hosting the party at his large town house that evening. She was a cheerful, hearty widow who laughed loudly and resembled a horse, but was a good sort who neglected nothing in the comfort of her guests.
Emerging from his dressing room clothed in shirt and evening breeches, Phipps allowed his valet to help him struggle into a velvet coat that fit like a second skin. His hair combed into a style that was known as windswept and suited his dark locks to perfection, he allowed his valet to hand him snowy-white cravats that he then, by dint of lowering his chin, formed into perfect creases. It was not quite a waterfall, Phipps thought, but a very creditable arrangement of his own design and beginning to be followed by the young dandies that desired to be all the crack.
As he thanked his man, then left for the evening, Phipps thought that he might sell his commission. The sum it raised would not settle his debts by a long way, but he might pay the most pressing and then perhaps some clever ploy would present itself.
Phipps did not cast a look towards the small pile of letters awaiting his attention. Time enough for that tomorrow...
* * *
Amanda saw Lieutenant Phipps enter the salon. She and Miss Langton had positioned themselves on a small sofa at the far end of the room so that they might see the guests as they arrived and also be seen. However, the room had filled up considerably and their view was sometimes blocked by ladies and gentlemen lingering to talk in the centre of the room.
Her heart beat very fast as she saw Phipps look about, his gaze finally coming to rest on her. He smiled and began to walk leisurely towards them, his intent obviously to greet Miss Langton and Amanda. She schooled her features to a polite smile as he came up to them, refusing to let her pleasure leap into her eyes as she was sure it m
ust if she did not keep them lowered.
‘Miss Langton.’ Phipps bowed. ‘Miss Hamilton. I look forward to the music this evening. Shall you play cards later?’
‘I do not much care for cards, unless it be whist,’ Miss Langton replied, giving him a smile of welcome. ‘What do you play, sir?’
‘Oh, I do not think I shall play this evening,’ Phipps said. ‘I came merely for the music and the company...’
‘I love to play whist for small stakes,’ Amanda said. ‘I do not see the need for huge pots when it is the skill of the game that counts.’
‘Then perhaps we should make up a set,’ Phipps said. ‘If Miss Langton would play—and who might make a fourth?’
‘I say, do you speak of whist, Phipps?’ a man’s voice asked from behind him. ‘If you play for small stakes just for amusement, then I’m your man. I see no point in risking a fortune when, as Miss Hamilton says, ’tis the skill of the game that counts.’
Amanda smothered a sigh as she saw Lord Johnston. The young man was a pompous bore, but admitted everywhere in society on his infrequent visits to town. He lived in the country and bored everyone by talking about his Jersey cows that produced such rich milk. The prospect of hours spent in his company was not appealing, but what could Phipps do other than bow his head?
‘Splendid,’ Lord Johnston said and sat down next to Amanda. ‘I hear the guest singer this evening is Madame Bonniceur, a remarkable soprano. I believe her voice to be unmatched by any.’
Amanda held her groan inside. Whenever the young man was present at one of these affairs he would find his way to her and monopolise her company for as long as he could. She’d hoped that Phipps might take the seat beside her, but he had moved to sit beside Cynthia and she was left to make the best of Lord Johnston’s company.
He was one of the few gentlemen not in need of a fortune to regularly seek her out at parties and she was always a little apprehensive, for she could not be unaware that he was showing some partiality towards her. If given the least encouragement, she feared that he would propose to her—or, worse, approach her papa and ask for his permission. Lord Johnston was exactly the kind of gentleman that her parents would welcome as a suitor. If not as rich as some here this evening, he was not in want of a fortune. Precise to a fault, well bred and the owner of a large country estate, where he spent most of his time, Papa would not object to his making her an offer.
She must be very careful not to give him the least encouragement. Yet she was a polite and generous girl and she could not be rude or imply boredom and thus hurt his feelings.
At that moment Lady Mellors called her guests to attention, asking them to gather in the music room for the recital. Amanda rose, as did Miss Langton, Phipps and Lord Johnston. Caught in the general movement towards the music room, Amanda was forced to take her companion’s arm. He would of course take a seat near to her and that meant she must endure his company for the whole of the evening. However, Miss Langton led the way to a small two-seater sofa, which left the gentlemen with no choice but to stand behind them or move away. To Amanda’s relief Lord Johnston bowed his head, murmured that he would see her later and moved away to find a seat.
Phipps was more resourceful. He saw a single chair and whipped it up before anyone else could take it, bringing it back to place it just by the side of the sofa. Miss Langton nodded to him and smiled, clearly approving of his action.
Amanda caught his eye and the triumph in it made her laugh. He inclined his head, a look of mischief passing between them. She wished that she might have been close enough to congratulate him on the adroit move, but the music was about to begin.
As the liquid notes of the beautiful aria filled the room, Amanda’s throat seemed tight. It was a song of love...of a young man pining for a girl so far above him that he could never hope to possess her. The achingly tender words and the thrilling music made tears come to her eyes. She thought that she would give every penny of her fortune to be so loved, but knew that it would never happen, and the pain of realising that she would never feel a man’s love made tears slide down her cheek.
Flicking them away with the finger of her white gloves, Amanda found her glance going towards Phipps and the look in his eyes made her feel hot all over. She would swear that he understood her feelings and was sorry for her. A surge of despair followed by anger surged through her. How dare he pity her?
She turned away, concentrating on the music. It had changed now and was a rousing song of war and honour, which soon swept away her foolish sentimentality.
* * *
After the recital was finished and the soprano enthusiastically applauded, their hostess asked them to take refreshments, and everyone moved towards the supper room. A large table was spread with all manner of treats: pastries and mousses, trifles and dainty cakes, as well as cold meats, pickles and bread for the gentlemen. Normally, Amanda would have relished such a feast, but she discovered that she had no appetite—even a champagne syllabub held no appeal for her.
‘May I serve you with something, Miss Hamilton?’
She turned to discover Phipps at her side and forced a smile. It had hurt her to see that look in his eyes, for it told her that he had no idea of offering for her, but thought her an object of pity.
‘No, thank you. I am not hungry this evening.’
‘Then a glass of champagne?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir.’
Amanda accompanied her friend to a table. By the time Phipps arrived with a tray of delicious treats, followed by a waiter bearing two ice buckets with bottles of champagne, four gentlemen had joined them. Smiles and jests greeted Phipps and, good-naturedly, he sent for more glasses so that they might all enjoy the wine he’d provided.
‘Well, this is a merry party.’ Lord Johnston had seated himself beside Amanda. ‘I do not know that I have ever enjoyed an evening as much.’ He gave her an arch look. ‘I believe you know why it is so pleasant to me, Miss Hamilton.’
Amanda lowered her gaze. His hints were becoming bolder and she could not doubt that he was working up to asking her to marry him. For a moment she was tempted. After all, if there was nothing more in life for her, she might as well take what was offered. She enjoyed life in the country and if she had children... The thought of what must pass before she could forget herself in the care of her children caused her to shiver.
‘Are you cold?’ her companion asked. ‘I thought it hot in here and was about to ask if you would like a stroll on the terrace?’
‘I thank you, no, sir,’ she replied and sipped her champagne. ‘I’m neither cold nor overwarm—I think someone just walked over my grave.’
‘What a terrible saying that is,’ Miss Langton put in. ‘I should not like to think of you in your grave, Amanda dearest. We were just speaking of a jaunt to Richmond for a picnic and you must come with us, Amanda, for I shall not go if you do not.’ She held her head to one side and looked naughtily at the gentlemen hanging on her every word. ‘What must I do to persuade you?’
‘There is not the least need to persuade me,’ Amanda said and laughed, feeling grateful for the interruption. ‘I am always willing to oblige you, Cynthia.’
‘Well, I think you have your answer, gentlemen,’ Cynthia replied and threw a challenging look at one of the men. The Marquis of Shearne was a new admirer who had only that evening become one of her court, having been in the country until the previous day. ‘We shall expect to be royally entertained, sir. The success of the day must fall on you, since it was your suggestion.’
‘Your wish is my desire,’ the marquis answered gallantly. ‘We have two ladies and five gentleman, we must find more ladies...’
‘Then you may include me, and my sister will chaperon us,’ Harry Brockley spoke from behind the marquis. ‘I dare say Miss Langton’s cousins will make up the party?’
‘I am certain of it,’ Amanda said, looking at him in surprise for he had not hitherto paid Miss Langton the least attention, even though he was Phipps’s frie
nd and often with him. ‘I think Mama would like to come—and perhaps Miss Jane Field...’
Miss Field was a rather shy young lady, pretty but modest, who blushed easily and was quite often left sitting on the sidelines at balls and dances, unless a kind lady introduced her to a partner. Amanda had invited her to all her mama’s parties and the girl was painfully grateful.
‘There, Miss Hamilton takes us all in charge,’ Brock said. ‘It is all arranged, so when do we set out on this famous expedition?’
It was agreed for the following Friday and Amanda undertook to ask Miss Field. Phipps gave her an approving nod, his eyes steady on her face in a way that made her heart flutter.
‘It was kind of you to think of Miss Field,’ he murmured as their hostess reminded them that card tables had been set up. ‘She is not here this evening, I think?’
‘Jane does not always receive an invitation to smaller parties, though she makes up the numbers when there are to be many guests.’
‘I believe she is not in as fortunate circumstances as yourself and Miss Langton?’
‘I am not certain of her circumstances,’ Amanda replied, though she knew well that Jane’s father had little fortune and she was here only to bear her richer cousin company during her Season. ‘But I care little for that—I like Jane. She is a kind girl and shy.’
‘You are a generous young woman,’ Phipps said. ‘Miss Langton is to be my partner. Does it content you to partner Lord Johnston at whist?’
‘I could not object,’ Amanda said, though she wished she might have reversed the pairing. ‘Lord Johnston is an adequate player, I believe.’
‘We shall see,’ Phipps said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Miss Langton seems taken with Shearne. I think he has but recently returned to town?’
‘Yes, I believe so...’ Amanda glanced at her friend and saw the way she was sparkling up at her new admirer. She felt a pang of sympathy for Phipps and her anger with him vanished as she understood that he must be feeling cast out. ‘I dare say she is flattered by his attentions—they are marked.’
