A Date with Dishonor

by Mary Brendan

  ‘I was not!’ Guilty colour crept up to the roots of Elise’s silky fair hair.

  ‘So who were you talking to?’

  ‘Nobody...’ Elise ejected through gritting teeth.

  ‘You didn’t enquire about me?’ Alex’s mouth slanted sardonically.

  ‘I did not! And I’m sorry your conceit has led you to imagine I ever would.’ She twisted aside her head.

  ‘And did you believe that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That I had left to seek other diversion because I had no interest in the assembled company?’

  ‘I gave it no heed,’ Elise returned icily. ‘And would sooner you didn’t hint at your sordid habits.’

  ‘You started it,’ Alex reminded, drily amused. But he shifted back from her, lounging into the wooden slats with his long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles.

  Elise moved pointedly sideways and turned her head away from him.

  ‘If you hadn’t annoyed me, I would have stayed longer. I might even have asked you to dance.’

  ‘In that case thank goodness you did not tarry. A refusal is not always well received.’ Elise continued squinting away into the distance.

  He threw back his head to shout a laugh at whispering leaves. ‘You’ve obviously heard I’m out of practice on the dance floor.’

  Elise knew he was offering an olive branch, but she felt too piqued to take it.

  ‘Our truce didn’t last long,’ he idly observed, studying his nails.

  ‘I should like it to,’ Elise answered after a short quiet in which she brought her temper under control. There were things she very much wanted to know and she regretted having jumped at the bait he’d dangled and acted hot-headed. She hoped he didn’t think her jealous.

  That worrying thought spurred her to quickly face him, although she avoided looking into his sultry brown eyes. ‘I...I have been shocked by what you have said about our kin’s involvement, but will tell you what my conscience will allow.’

  ‘There’s no need to discuss it further,’ Alex said gently. ‘You’ve made it clear you believe your father will be distressed by unearthing the past. I shall let sleeping dogs lie so there’s nothing else to say at present.’ Alex pushed to his feet.

  ‘I have more to say, if you please, sir,’ Elise insisted, spontaneously and rather rudely pulling on his sleeve to make him again sit beside her.

  Alex covered her quivering fingers with his, stilling them with very little pressure while he looked deep into her eyes. Mockery was still present in his long-lashed regard, but so was another emotion that tightened a coil of sensation in Elise’s stomach. He’d looked at her in that way when their bodies had been pressed together on the dark path at Vauxhall.

  When he again took his place beside her his thigh nudged hers but she made no immediate effort to slide away from his proximity. To her consternation she sensed she wanted to cleave to his warmth and strength. She forced herself to put a seemly distance between them.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you...any of you...’ Alex said, his face turned from her as he watched the approach of her friends. ‘But if you want to pursue the subject, let me say I’m aware your father’s financial position is such that he’d welcome repayment of a debt owed to him.’

  ‘Is it a good deal of money?’ Even if it was not Elise knew it might make a huge difference to her father’s household accounts. He moaned often about the cost of feeding them all and had made economies lately. The butcher’s visits had dwindled to once a week and she and Bea had accepted a small reduction in their already meagre allowances.

  ‘I’ve no idea of the amount; Thomas didn’t let on. That is why I wanted to speak to your father. I’ve no wish to insult him by transferring to him a woefully inadequate figure.’

  ‘So it might be a lot?’ Elise ventured.

  ‘It might...’

  Elise digested that information. ‘Your uncle was indeed a wretched individual to take a man’s wife and his cash, too.’

  ‘I made a similar remark when I discovered what had gone on.’ Alex tipped up his face to frown at a canopy of leaves. ‘I know you consider me a reprobate and perhaps I am, but I have my own codes of conduct and would ask you to remember that no matter what tales you hear about me. They are almost upon us...’ He indicated the Chapman sisters by tilting his dark head. Jago was still at their side, keeping his mount to a sedate pace. Of Beatrice and Hugh there was no sign.

  ‘Do you want me to speak to your father?’

  Elise sighed, made a small gesture of uncertainty. ‘Old wounds are best left alone...but if repayment of your uncle’s debts resulted in a dowry for my sister, then good would come out of it.’ She spoke her thoughts aloud. ‘It is daft to speak of weddings after such a short acquaintanceship, but Beatrice would accept a proposal from your friend if one were forthcoming, she has told me so.’ Elise gazed earnestly at him. ‘But then if the sum owed is very little there can be no wedding—’ She broke off immediately and stood up as Verity skipped over the grass towards her. Elise sent a fleeting glance over a shoulder and as their eyes locked felt satisfied Alex had understood her caution. No more mention would be made of the matter today.

  * * *

  James Whittiker brought his elderly mare to a halt in Hyde Park, narrowing spiteful eyes on the happy party congregated under the sycamore tree. He sourly noticed that Fiona Chapman was looking gay despite the fact he hadn’t paid a call on her for some time. He saw, too, that Jago Clemence seemed interested in the younger Chapman girl. But it was Alex Blackthorne who drew James’s full attention. He still harboured resentment over the sale of his estate to the man while conveniently overlooking the fact that if he’d exercised some self-control he would have been able to keep a hold on it. In James’s opinion Blackthorne had taken unfair advantage of his execrable pecuniary position. He was brooding so deeply on what he regarded as a great injustice that he failed to hear a familiar giggle the first couple of times that it was let rip.

  James’s eyes suddenly veered sideways and landed on Lily Watson’s tumble of red tresses. She was promenading with a dark-haired friend, the two of them boldly eyeing up passing gentlemen. James suddenly forgot all about Alex Blackthorne’s triumph over him and concentrated on a very recent treachery. He knew where his missing golden guinea had disappeared to: it had been slipped down the bodice of that thieving little whore the last time he’d visited her. And he’d have it back. He’d lost again at cards last night and was quickly running through the proceeds of selling Grantham Place. No doubt Lily had thought him too stupid or too drunk to miss one coin from the many he’d carried in his purse. But James knew to the last penny how much he was worth, even on those mornings when he counted out his money with a very sore head.

  Since discovering the theft he had several times secreted himself outside her lodgings, hoping to catch her alone. But she’d always emerged from the hovel where she lived with Johnny and he knew better than to get on the wrong side of such a felon. James feared getting skewered if he accused her pimp of theft. Besides, he had a feeling that minx Lily would have kept to herself that she’d been light-fingered. Johnny might know nothing about it and believe him lying.

  At present, Johnny was nowhere in sight and James saw an opportunity to recover his money. After that he’d make sure he went elsewhere for his pleasure.

  Kicking his mount into action, James trotted over the grass towards the sauntering women, but reined back when he saw they’d had some success in finding a client. With a satisfied smirk James observed the elderly fellow thread the brunette’s arm through his, then stroll away while his own prey sulkily watched them.

  ‘Oh...I wasn’t expecting to bump into you, sir.’ Lily tried to dodge past James, but he’d wedged her against a hedge with his horse’s flanks.

  ‘And I don’t suppose you’re too pleased a
bout it, are you, my girl? But I’m glad to see you, Lily. I’ll be happier to see my money.’ Jumping down, he held her arm in a pinching grip, preventing her from bolting. ‘Give back that guinea you stole or it’ll be the worse for you.’

  Lily squirmed, but James tightened his hold until she threw back her head and gave him a defiant glare from beneath a wagging feather. ‘Too late—it’s gone and serve you right for bringing me a brooch worth a farthing.’ She pulled at her lapel to show him a gaudy set of coloured stones. ‘See...bought a nicer one and told Johnny it came from you.’

  James’s mouth disappeared into a hard line and his cheeks whitened in rage. ‘I’ll take payment in some form, you little trollop!’ James began leading his horse and dragging her along with him towards dense shrubbery. He was so fired up he knew he’d forgo decency and tumble her right now in the bushes—with the cream of society close by—rather than let her escape punishment.

  ‘Let me go or I’ll scream blue murder,’ Lily squeaked.

  ‘Do so and I’ll broadcast that you’re a thieving harlot who needs a spell in Newgate to cure her sticky fingers.’

  Lily knew that the magistrate would send her to prison, too. She’d been up before the beak just last month on a charge of soliciting and he’d said if he saw her again he’d have her in gaol.

  James abruptly hissed at Lily to keep quiet and be still as he noticed Alex Blackthorne frowning his way. He didn’t want anybody—especially not that fellow—poking his nose into what he might be doing arm in arm with a notorious doxy in Hyde Park. Although many gentlemen might be acquainted with some of the rougher women sashaying about, they ignored them until after dark.

  Lily followed the direction of James’s eyes and gave a sour chuckle. ‘Bet that fine fellow won’t be taking her into the bushes this afternoon,’ she muttered. ‘He’ll wait for another go at it when they’re alone in the dark at Vauxhall.’

  James whipped his attention to Lily. He found it hard to believe the viscount would dally with such as Lily when he could take his pleasure with the beautiful fêted brunette rumoured to be besotted with him. ‘You know Alex Blackthorne?’ he demanded, shaking her arm to hurry her response.

  ‘No...more’s the pity.’ Lily sighed, giving the viscount a lascivious peek. If such a handsome gentleman showed an interest in her, she’d go very willingly wherever he suggested. ‘But she does,’ Lily added grudgingly. She nodded at Elise.

  ‘Who do you mean? The taller blonde young lady?’ James demanded, puzzled.

  ‘Looks like butter wouldn’t melt, doesn’t she?’ Lily sniped. ‘But I saw the two of them coming out of the bushes together at Vauxhall. Wished it had been me in there with him, I did.’

  James’s jaw sagged. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘’Course I’m sure,’ Lily insisted. ‘I went up to him...but no use...he wasn’t interested.’ She narrowed her eyes on Elise. ‘And I took a good gander at her, too, before she ran off. She’d been poaching on my patch and I promised myself I’d have her guts for garters if she tried it again.’ Lily sensed she had in some way pleased James and she gave him a faltering smile. ‘Was that worth a guinea to you, Mr Whittiker?’

  James smiled maliciously. ‘Oh...I think so...’ He let go of Lily’s arm, then gave her a small disdainful shove. ‘Be on your way.’

  Lily needed no second telling. She trotted over the grass towards the path, pulling her feathered hat to a jaunty angle.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Please stop crying!’ Elise sighed as she stared into the busy street from the bedroom window. Across the road a young housemaid was half-heartedly rebuffing a delivery boy’s raucous advances and vehicles and horses were clattering over cobbles. The cacophony was quite audible through the glass, but Elise was only conscious of the hiccupping sobs coming from the bed behind. She felt sorry for her sister’s dreadful disappointment, but was exasperated with Bea because it had been plain from the start how it all must end.

  A few days ago when the gentlemen had brought the young ladies back from their drive in the park Alex and Hugh had departed almost immediately without entering the house.

  Mrs Chapman had been dismayed that her offer of tea and biscuits hadn’t been taken up, but it hadn’t been a surprise to Elise when the landau swiftly set off along the road. Hugh and Bea had reappeared for the journey home looking tense and solemn, making the other female passengers quieten in sympathy. Only the viscount had seemed unaffected by the leaden atmosphere.

  Straight away Elise had guessed that Hugh had done the decent thing and apologised to Bea for encouraging her to think he might court her when he was actually in no position to do so. Beatrice had confirmed that to be the truth as soon as they had set foot in the Chapmans’ hallway. In a tearful whisper she had imparted that Hugh had honestly admitted he would need to improve his prospects before being able to support a wife.

  Beatrice sat up with a sniff and dabbed at her red eyes. ‘Are the others back yet?’

  Elise shook her head, turning from the bustling vista below to come and sit down beside Bea on the coverlet. Mrs Chapman had accompanied Verity and Fiona to an afternoon salon at the Clemences’ house. Elise would have liked to go, too, allowing Beatrice to wallow in her miseries, but knew she and her sister must have a serious conversation. It was pointless for them to remain in London as the Chapmans’ guests if Bea were to continue moping about creating a bad atmosphere. It had been several days since their outing to the park, yet yesterday evening Beatrice had again chosen to remain upstairs pining for what might have been rather than join them all at dinner. Their host had noticed her absence and asked if something was amiss despite his wife’s attempts to deflect his concern with mutters and meaningful frowns.

  ‘Do you want to go home, Bea?’

  Beatrice pulled a face, looking undecided. Eventually she nodded. ‘But I don’t want to spoil things for you if you’d sooner stay in London. Aunt Dolly has said we may lodge with her if you think we are outstaying our welcome with the Chapmans.’

  ‘I’ll forgo Aunt Dolly’s company if you’ve done enough husband-hunting.’ Elise gave a rueful chuckle. ‘But I shall miss the opportunity to observe how Jago and Verity fare.’ Elise was certain that Mrs Clemence’s invitation had been issued at her son’s behest. Elise wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Jago had attended the ladies’ tea party simply to devote more time to her friend. Elise had hoped to take her sister’s mind off her own troubles, but when Bea dipped her head to dab at her eyes she realised she’d been tactless mentioning that blossoming relationship.

  The matter of the money owed to her papa by Thomas Venner was constantly on Elise’s mind and once or twice she had almost confided in Bea that there might be a way. But she knew if she raised her sister’s hopes and it all came to nought because the sum was small, Bea would be even further in the doldrums than she was now. So Elise had stayed silent on the matter of the possibility of a dowry, hoping soon to hear further from Alex. She was sure there must be a way for him to discover—perhaps from a solicitor who knew of the transaction between their kin—how much the debt was and whether it might make a difference to Bea’s future.

  ‘Come...let’s not stay cooped up, but go out and get some air,’ Elise urged, as golden warmth filtered through the lightweight curtains. ‘The sun has come out and we can take a walk and do some window shopping.’ She gave her sister’s forearm an encouraging shake. ‘It might be the last opportunity we get to enjoy Regent Street if we are to return home soon.’

  * * *

  Robinson phlegmatically regarded the portly individual standing on the top flag of a gracious flight of York stone that descended to Upper Brook Street’s cobbles. The fellow looked as though the climb had exerted him: his fat cheeks were florid and his vibrating chest was straining buttons on his garish waistcoat. But it was the visitor’s pompous expression that grated on the servant.
He had overheard conversations between his master and Hugh Kendrick in which it was apparent they found this fellow’s company repugnant. Robinson could understand why that was.

  Nevertheless the butler knew his master had had recent business dealings with Mr Whittiker so tonelessly invited him into the opulent hallway of the viscount’s mansion. He led the way past soaring marble pillars and a twin sweep of graceful walnut banisters to indicate one of a pair of intricately carved ebony chairs, set against a pastel wall. Once the man had seated himself—with a bitter look at his sumptuous surroundings—Robinson announced he would ascertain whether Viscount Blackthorne was able to receive a caller despite suspecting it would be a wasted journey.

  * * *

  Alex had been absently tapping a pen on a blotter, his thoughts with Elise, when his butler arrived to tell him James Whittiker wanted an audience. In front of Alex on his desk was his late uncle’s bequest. He had reread it several times in the last hour, hoping to spot something he’d missed previously. But still the damnable document failed to reveal an amount owed to Mr Dewey. Alex knew he would return to Elise’s father every penny he was due so he must try to shed some light on the matter. His need to settle with Walter Dewey wasn’t solely in the hope the funds might assist the ill-starred lovers by providing Beatrice with a dowry. Hugh and he had been good friends since schooldays, but gaining Elise’s trust and approval was Alex’s prime motivation. For a reason he’d yet to fathom a girl with golden eyes and overwhelming filial duty had intrigued and obsessed him in a way no ambitious débutante or seasoned courtesan could. He thought her beautiful, although he realised some people would consider her too thin and passably pretty. Those same people might think her character lacking vivacity, whereas he found her quiet wit and caring nature far more endearing than the shallow gaiety displayed by a good number of beau monde débutantes.

  Mostly he desired her. He’d come close to losing control and seducing her at Vauxhall and even now just the memory of her silky mouth and warm pliant curves could cause an inferno to ignite within. Since then, whenever they were close, her slender figure captivated him causing his fingers to itch to touch her, making him forget his mistress’s voluptuous body was readily available to him when the urge for a woman was undeniable.