by Mary Brendan
The clientele of White’s Club were used to overhearing heated exchanges between its members; they were also used to the possible outcome if traded insults escalated and led to a dawn meeting in a misty glade. Several gentlemen no longer patronised this establishment, or any other, because they had fled abroad to escape arrest. They were the fortunate ones; other duellists no longer drew breath following an unsuccessful fight to protect their honour.
James knew that if Alex Blackthorne now got to his feet and challenged him to name his seconds a grovelling apology was his only option. The viscount was an excellent shot and his fencing skill had been likened to that of a professional. James wasn’t prepared to risk being killed or maimed because of a moment of madness. He stabbed a poisonous stare at Hugh Kendrick. It was his fault. The viscount had only chipped in that comment about Grantham to take pressure off his blasted impecunious friend.
Alex was aware of the fomenting excitement in the room. Gentlemen reacted to a hint of a duel like a pack of hyenas scenting a carcase. He sensed several had already quit their tables to stealthily, determinedly, approach and gather behind his chair. Ancient Lord Brentley had seemed to be snoozing behind a newspaper on a sagging sofa. Now he was on his feet in a sprightly shove and ambling over.
Alex folded his hand and skimmed the cards over the baize before leisurely getting to his feet. He approached Whittiker and laid a large hand on one of his fat shoulders. The fellow’s nervous quivering was quite tangible through wool. ‘I don’t think you meant to say that, did you, James?’
Whittiker licked his parched lips. The viscount was giving him a way out, but to take it would brand him ever more as a coward prepared to dishonour his family name to save his skin.
From his superior height Alex inclined his dark head to listen for Whittiker’s response. The hushed atmosphere within the room seemed to extend into eternity.
Abruptly the sound of shattering glass splintered the silence. A steward had speeded into the room carrying a tray of decanters and crashed into a table whilst craning his neck to see what had made the club members congregate close to the fireplace.
‘I apologise, Blackthorne; mouth ran away with me,’ Whittiker muttered, using the ensuing confusion to drown out his words.
Alex was aware of the fellow’s insincerity. Whittiker hadn’t even met his eyes whilst speaking. Nevertheless, he gave his shoulder a pat before turning away.
Aware of a score or more pairs of despising eyes on him, James shoved through the throng of gentlemen towards the exit.
Chapter Two
‘I shan’t beg an invitation from the Chapmans, so please don’t nag about it.’
‘But why will you not?’ Bea gestured in exasperation. ‘Verity constantly invites you to stay with her in London, yet you rarely go. She always comes here instead and costs Papa her keep, which he can ill afford. Just a hint from you that we would love to see her and soon we would be booking our places on the mail coach.’
Privately Elise agreed with her sister’s calculation; Verity would immediately issue an invitation should she imply she would like one. Verity was a dear friend from schooldays and hadn’t shunned her when her parents’ disgrace became common knowledge. Neither had Mr and Mrs Chapman turned their backs on them all. ‘You know why I will not do it.’ Elise sighed. ‘Last time we were there you embarrassed us both by insisting we outstay our welcome. We were invited to be houseguests for two weeks yet you wangled for a longer stay, although you know Mr and Mrs Chapman are not well off. I practically had to drag you home.’
‘Mr Vaughan had started paying me attention. It would have been silly to leave at such a time.’ Beatrice had the grace to blush despite her forceful excuse.
‘Mr Vaughan knew full well where you lived in Hertfordshire. I recall you telling him several times,’ Elise responded drily. ‘He would have come after you had his intentions been as serious as you’d imagined them to be.’
‘He did like me.’ Bea’s obstinate tone couldn’t conceal an undercurrent of hurt.
‘Yes, I know,’ Elise concurred softly. ‘Unfortunately his fiancée had a firm grip on him. And now they are married.’
‘He told me if Papa had even a little to offer to ease his financial situation he’d propose in an instant. He only got betrothed to her because cash was dangled by her father.’
‘It tends to make a big difference,’ Elise agreed on a sigh. ‘That’s why I’m amazed you think this harebrained scheme of yours will work. Mr Vaughan liked you very much, yet he was unable to wed a woman without good connections or a dowry to recommend her.’ She frowned as Bea continued staring dreamily into space.
‘Will you write and ask Verity if we may stay for just one week?’ Beatrice was acting as though she’d not attended to a single sensible word Elise had uttered.
‘Tell me truthfully,’ Elise demanded. ‘Have you received replies to your advert? Is that why you want to go to town—to meet fortune hunters on neutral ground?’ From the moment Beatrice had started pestering her to get them to London Elise had feared her sister was planning to disgrace herself—perhaps them all—by risking secretly meeting a gentleman.
Beatrice hesitated just a fraction too long before issuing a denial.
‘I knew it!’ Elise gasped. ‘You’ve made an assignation with a stranger to beg him to marry you!’
‘I won’t need to beg,’ Bea said airily. ‘I’ve had a dozen or more replies, but only two seem worth considering.’ She grinned at Elise. ‘Some have sworn that the money is not a temptation and they simply have fallen a little in love with me after reading my sweet prose.’ She chuckled. ‘What piffle! I can spot a liar a mile off.’
‘Do you think these two gentlemen you are pinning your hopes on aren’t able to do the same?’ Elise choked a mirthless laugh. ‘Your respondents are doubtless not as gullible or upstanding as you hope they’ll be.’
‘Neither am I gullible,’ Beatrice asserted. ‘I want a fellow who’s honest enough to admit my money was a lure. Of course, he’ll also need to have sufficient income of his own and to like me well enough to propose when he finds out I have nothing. We must then both try hard to make a go of it. But I can forgo luxuries.’ She continued sourly, ‘I am well used to doing so.’
‘Nevertheless, I think you want too much,’ her sister told her. ‘Your chosen two might suspect you are a doxy touting for business, then you’ll be in grave trouble as they won’t have falling in love or marriage on their minds.’
‘They don’t need to fall in love with me. I just want a kind husband and a little family.’ Beatrice hung her head, concealing her yearning expression with a curtain of blonde locks. ‘Is that too much to ask?’
A surge of emotion overwhelmed Elise on hearing her sister’s plaintive wail. A hiccup of breath caught in her throat, bringing a salty sting to her eyes. Of course, she knew it was not too much to want! How often had she daydreamed about something similar for herself? But painful memories of her parents’ miserable life had damaged her ideal of romantic love. She’d seen there was a dark side to desire that was selfish and cruel.
‘Why are you acting so silly?’ Elise demanded in frustration. ‘You might bring disaster down on all our heads if you carry on with this.’ She quickly approached her sister, clasping her hands. ‘I will talk to Papa and ask him to arrange for Aunt Dolly to give us board and lodging in Hammersmith. She knows a few good families, and if she arranges some social outings you might meet a gentleman in the customary way instead of resorting to this daft—’
‘I have already asked Papa,’ Bea interrupted despondently. ‘He insists he can’t afford frivolities like trips to town to see Aunt Dolly. He says his sister is a tight-fist who will want a pretty penny to feed us mutton and cabbage.’ She glowered at Elise. ‘He’s right, too. She served up scraps last time we went there. Papa said why don’t I ask you if we can a
rrange a trip to stay with your friend Verity Chapman, for it will be more pleasant and economic.’
Elise turned away, her brow puckered in thought. Her sister was not to be dissuaded from her pursuit of a husband. Beatrice’s need to be away from the dreary life in the countryside was making her very depressed at times.
For almost seven years they had shared a bedchamber in the cottage their father continued to rent. As the time had progressed Elise had been woken at night by the sound of her sister weeping softly into her pillow. Bea’s melancholy was now overtaking her during the daytime too and Elise didn’t want to see her sister seriously ill.
Walter Dewey surfaced from his papers and ledgers on occasions to notice what went on in his household and had more than once enquired of Elise what ailed his eldest daughter. On hearing the truth he tended to become impatient. He would then impress on them both—usually as they ate their dinner, and with much tapping of cutlery on china for emphasis—that the fearful plight of those less fortunate made him proud that, as a fellow abandoned by a weak woman, he was able to keep his two daughters in adequate fashion, despite the constant trial of it all.
Elise glanced at her sister’s miserable countenance. If they went to stay with Verity, perhaps it might be possible to put Beatrice in the path of a decent bachelor who might fall for her and propose. Their papa would have his oldest child settled and the financial burden on him would be eased.
‘I’ll write to Verity on one condition,’ Elise said. ‘You must promise not to contact any of these ne’er-do-wells who have replied to your advert.’ Having received Bea’s brisk nod and breathy affirmative, Elise continued, ‘But I won’t badger for an invitation if I receive an ambiguous reply. You know they are not much better off than are we, and now that Fiona has a beau Mr Chapman might soon have the expense of her wedding to pay for.’
Verity had written recently to let Elise know that her older sister was at last being courted. Fiona was a pleasant-looking young woman who had seemed content to let romance pass her by. Even during her début she’d seemed happier at home drawing landscapes than seeking a husband. Elise gathered from her friend’s amusing prose that neither the fellow’s appearance nor his character was attractive, and that Verity was of the opinion her older sibling should have stuck to her watercolours.
Elise became aware that Beatrice was waiting expectantly for her to continue. ‘I will try to get you your wish...’ Elise squealed as Beatrice rushed to thank her with a hug before she’d finished speaking.
* * *
‘Ah...Mr Chapman is here!’ Elise exclaimed in relief. She urged her sister to pick up her portmanteau.
‘So sorry to be late,’ Anthony Chapman burst out as he heaved his bulk from the trap to politely assist the young ladies on to it. ‘A costermonger had turned his cart over and I had a devil of a job getting through the press of carriages. It all got very heated and I thought a fight might break out between two jarveys.’ He wheezed in air. ‘I hope the way is now clear or we will be delayed on the road back.’
Verity’s papa seemed stricken to have missed the appointed hour to meet them on alighting from the mail coach to transport them to his home in Marylebone.
‘It is no trouble to us to have waited a few minutes,’ Elise replied soothingly. ‘It is very kind of you to fetch us. We could have hailed a hackney, after all, and saved you the journey.’
‘No...no...’ Mr Chapman flapped a stout hand whilst the other assisted in hoisting him back up on to the carriage seat. ‘Wouldn’t hear of it, m’dear. It’s a pleasure to see you both and looking so very well.’ Having sucked in a heavy breath, he turned his head and beamed at the young ladies seated beside him. ‘And your papa is in good health, I trust?’
‘Indeed he is, sir, and he sends you and Mrs Chapman his very best wishes.’
Anthony patted at Elise’s closest hand. ‘Verity will be so pleased to see you. As will Fiona, although she is in a tizz over Mr Whittiker.’ His mouth drooped to blow a sigh. ‘Her mama is pleased, of course, that she has a beau.’
Elise noticed his furrowed brow and had the impression that Mr Chapman was no more enamoured of the idea of Mr Whittiker joining his family than was Verity.
Chapter Three
‘For country misses you have pretty manners.’
Elise rewarded the fellow’s faint praise with a cool smile. ‘Indeed, thank you, Mr Whittiker.’ He’d come too close to her and, stepping away, she added, ‘We like to think ourselves housetrained.’ She dipped him a curtsy but he continued smirking and Elise realised he was too thick-skinned to comprehend the insolence in her answer.
‘We were reared in London, sir,’ Beatrice cheerfully explained, having overheard his crass remark yet seemingly unaffected by it. ‘We moved to Hertfordshire many years ago, worse luck...’ She fidgeted uneasily beneath Elise’s swift cautionary look.
‘Have some more tea, sir.’ Verity had grabbed up the pot and hurried towards him to hinder him from pursuing the conversation, or Elise for that matter. He had seemed to dog her friend’s footsteps as she moved from bookcase to bookcase, attempting to shake him off her shoulder. ‘I tried to give a hint about him when I last wrote to you,’ she murmured, refilling Elise’s cup.
‘I fear no hint could do justice to Mr Whittiker,’ Elise returned ruefully, stirring her tea and watching Fiona shyly conversing with her beau. Elise had always considered Fiona to be a bit too nice, but nobody’s fool. She certainly still thought her over-obliging, but was beginning, sadly, to suspect perhaps she might be a fool to be encouraging an oafish fellow to court her.
‘I’m baffled, too, by what Fiona thinks she is about.’ Verity had correctly read Elise’s concerns as they settled down together on a sofa. ‘But I know what’s drawn him in.’ She glowered sideways at James. ‘Our grandmother has recently passed on and left Fiona a little nest egg.’ Despite their distance from the room’s other occupants Verity continued concealing her lips with her teacup. ‘She has left me the same amount, but in trust until I reach twenty-one. On reflection I’m quite glad of that as Mr Whittiker might have turned his attention to me instead.’
Verity was six months younger than her, thus Elise knew her friend must wait another year and a half to lay claim to her cash. ‘You think Mr Whittiker has found out about the inheritance and is a fortune hunter?’
‘I’m almost certain of it. It is three thousand pounds, not a fabulous sum, but I overheard Papa telling Mama that the fund is enough of a lure for a man like James Whittiker who has his pockets permanently to let. Papa seems very suspicious of his motives, but Mama is simply relieved that one of us might soon be sporting a ring.’ Verity sighed. ‘She has been chivvying Fiona to get herself off the shelf. Whittiker can claim good connections—and believe me, he does constantly boast about his uncle who is a baronet.’
‘Perhaps there is a genuine fondness between them.’ Elise glanced at the couple, noticing they appeared to be chatting amiably.
‘Hah!’ Verity snorted quietly. ‘He has a habit of ogling me that makes me think he is not as besotted with my sister as he’d like us all to believe.’
Elise knew the fellow had an unsettling habit of sidling up and standing far too close for comfort while ogling her bosom.
On their arrival earlier Verity had immediately whispered an apology to Elise because they were to be burdened with Mr Whittiker’s presence. She’d explained that he’d called on Fiona yesterday and, discovering that young ladies were expected on the morrow, had prised an invitation from Mrs Chapman to join them at teatime to welcome the Dewey sisters to London.
‘Mr Whittiker has offered to accompany us to Vauxhall on Friday. We’ll have a nice time, won’t we?’ Having noticed her younger daughter and Elise were deep in private conversation, Maude Chapman had loudly addressed the pair in an attempt to draw them into discussing the week’s social agenda.
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Maude was always glad to offer hospitality to her daughters’ friends. Her husband was not a tight-fist, but he was careful with his money. Yet Maude had noticed that when the Dewey sisters came to stay Anthony’s generosity seemed to improve. She took no offence at her portly spouse’s silly attempts to impress the pretty girls, for everybody benefited from it.
‘But Elise and I have something else planned for Friday.’ It was the only excuse Verity could dream up on the spur of the moment.
Elise didn’t relish spending an evening with James Whittiker either. But a trip to such a popular venue might turn up introductions to a suitable gentleman who might take a fancy to Beatrice. Her sister had also pounced on the opportunity and she gave Elise an energetic nod.
‘It would be nice to go, Verity. I’ve heard Vauxhall is an enchanting place,’ Elise enthused, appeasing her friend with a subtle wink that promised a private explanation would soon be forthcoming.
* * *
‘Please do a recce for me, Alex. It won’t take you more than a few minutes. I’ll take care of Celia while you’re gone.’ Hugh’s eyes darted from his friend’s dark profile to settle apprehensively on the petite brunette dangling from one of his arms. He knew every fellow in the vicinity had her lush body under covert observation and would gladly swap places with him. But Hugh was under no illusions as to what he was taking on. Keeping such a fiery temptress entertained whilst his charismatic friend was running his errand was going to be no easy task. The prospect of fending off her gallants until Alex returned to claim her was alarming.
Celia Chase’s full red lips were aslant, displaying her boredom, because her lover was dividing his time between her and Hugh. One of her slender white fingers began twirling an ebony ringlet, then her exaggerated sighing could be heard as she glanced about.
Viscount Blackthorne turned from his mistress to his friend, a low curse in his throat. Hugh had been hovering at his shoulder and muttering in his ear for some five minutes.
