“Oh, Grandfather’s bequest. He is heaping his whole entire fortune like coals upon one of our heads. We are either to inherit nothing at all, or the vast total of riches he has accumulated over the years. Something about change and railways or something. Primmy, it is a prodigious sum! I had simply no idea! He is cackling merrily and calling it ‘Raven’s Ransom,’ for indeed, it is large enough to be a king’s ransom, I’m certain.”
“Yes . . .” Primrose looked thoughtful. “Does he mention which one of us is to inherit?”
Lily laughed. “Oh, that is the dreadful thing! He doesn’t know himself!”
“What?” Again, both Daisy and Primrose spoke as one.
“He doesn’t, truly! He is a wicked old rogue! He has announced that the inheritance will only be formalized as a dowry when all three of us are married.”
“And then?”
“And then—” Lily looked mischievous, rather enjoying drawing the rapt attention she was receiving. “And then Richmond shall enter his book room carrying a jewel-encrusted tricorne hat.”
“Yes?”
“In it shall be cards bearing our names. He shall draw one and settle his fortune on whoever that name shall be.”
You could hear a pin drop.
“Well!” The sensible Miss Chartley was for once struck mute.
Daisy giggled. “We shall have every fortune hunter in London courting us!”
“They would have to be gamblers, too, for it is all or nothing with the odds against.”
Primrose looked gloomy, though she did admire Lord Raven’s cunning. He was using one fortune to respectably wed three penniless orphans. Still, the thought of a fortune-hunting husband with a predilection for gaming did not exactly rouse her spirits. Grandfather should have consulted her. Undoubtedly, there would have been a wiser way. There was enough to distribute the largesse perfectly evenly between them. She sighed. Inveterate gamblers never seemed to realize that others might not share their enthusiasm for the hazards of chance. There was nothing for it. She would talk to the Earl of Raven. She only hoped she could scotch the nonsense before any harm was done.
When she peremptorily knocked on his door a little later, however, she realized her mistake.
“Wiser?” The old man chortled wickedly and reached for a sip of prime brandy to soothe the ensuing fit of coughing. “A pox on wiser! I have not had so much entertainment in years!” His yellowing teeth glinted with gold in the curtained half light of dusk.
“And by the by, young lady . . .”
She looked at him with exasperation mingled with a slow pride. He might be curmudgeonly, but his wits were rapier sharp and his scheme, whilst loathsome and reprehensible, did have the merit of making a twisted kind of sense. A gazetted fortune hunter would not, given the odds, take the risk of marrying poverty. A peer of the realm, in need of—but not desperate for—funds might well consider the risk worth seizing. There were many, she knew, of the ilk of Darnley and Gresham.
“Yes?” She fixed her gaze on Lord Raven, who was propped up on his pillows consuming a lavish repast of kippers, coddled eggs, and sugared oats.
“By the by, the next time you find yourself rescued by a dashing cutpurse on Westenbury lands, have the goodness, I beg, to furnish him with your direction! I have a fancy to cross swords with a fellow who is more than a mere milk-and-water mannequin! Those last two—Lords Darnley and Gresham—were pathetic!”
Primrose was not surprised her exploits had come to Lord Raven’s ears. There was nothing, it seemed, that escaped him.
“It is Daisy you should address, sir! I believe she was quite enamored of the man, though I am a little suspicious of his professed profession. I should hate to disappoint you and present you with some pink of the Ton who has nothing, whatsoever, to do with the high toby.”
“Pink of the Ton, eh?” The earl stroked his chin thoughtfully. “He was an impostor?”
“Daisy did not seem to think so.”
“Daisy does not think, period! What do you think?”
“I would be surprised, sir, if a well-spoken man with unimpeachable address, impeccable accents, and snow white hands ever did anything more fearsome than ride his steed across the downs at a canter.”
The earl chuckled. “Was he tall, dark, and handsome?”
“Of course. All fairy-tale villains are.”
“Codswallop! You are confusing heroes and rogues. Tell me, were his eyes green?”
“No, they were hazel brown.”
“Ah, noticed, did you?”
“The man was imposing.”
“Doubtless, doubtless. Westenbury, you say?”
“Yes. ”
The earl looked thoughtful. “Ride an Arab?”
“Yes.”
“About five-and-twenty?”
“Grandfather, you talk as if you know him!”
“Hush, child! I am merely lucky in my guesses.”
“You have the devil’s own luck.”
Raven guffawed. “Very possibly.” There was a moment’s pause as he viewed Primrose speculatively. “Then he was the model of propriety?”
“Did I say that?” Primrose did not flinch, but looked at her grandfather straight in his beady, knowledgeable, and altogether far too rakish eyes.
“Propriety was not his second name, my lord. His behavior was reprehensible and his manners altogether far too rakish to be permissible.”
“A rogue, was he?”
“Absolutely.” There was a moment’s silence.
“A personable rogue?”
“Oh, very personable. Daisy practically swooned every time she caught a glimpse of his entirely ample proportions.”
The earl chuckled. “Sounds like a man and not a milksop.” On that point, Primrose was unfortunately forced to agree.
Four
Lord Rochester’s very able valet stared at his lord and master as if he had something akin to the pox. Indeed, his revulsion was so intense that he was hard-pressed not to visibly shudder. Even so, his hands trembled as he set down the elegant garment, studded in lapis lazuli, that he had been about to suggest for the evening.
“My lord.” He swallowed hard and averted his gaze from the slovenly garb the marquis had chosen to effect. The greatcoat had fewer than three capes and though undoubtedly warm, was hardly the height of noble fashion. Likewise, my lord’s riding boots were past their first stare and his unmentionables were exactly that—unmentionable.
“My lord! They turned the Duke of Wellington away from Almack’s because he was not wearing full-dress costume!”
“I am aware of that, Reece!” The marquis grinned a particularly engaging sort of smile and turned to the mirror. “They shall undoubtedly turn me away, shall they not?”
“More like to call in the watch!”
“Ha, I love it when you are moved to sarcasm! Yes, I believe the outfit shall suffice.”
“My lord!” Reece’s tone was somewhat strangled. “I shall never hold my head up again if you persist in garbing yourself like a common groom! You shall be turned away from the door and I shall be the laughingstock of all my peers. I am convinced you cannot be so cruell”
The marquis stared at his reflection in the glass. It looked rather raffish. He set his beaver to an angle, adjusted it ever so slightly, then declared himself satisfied.
“Mama shall have fits!”
“Undoubtedly, my lord.” The valet’s tone was dry.
“Excellent! I shall take the place of her coachman, tonight.”
“What?” Reece’s jaw dropped quite comically.
“She dislikes Jaspers, you see.”
Reece did not see, but he held his peace with a disapproving sniff. The marquis continued. “It is really quite simple. She desires me to take her to Almack’s, so I shall.”
“I am certain she meant escort, my lord!”
“Ah, but she did not say that! I distinctly heard take.”
Reece regarded him in dawning comprehension. The honorable marquis c
huckled throatily at his horror.
“She shall be well served, for I do believe she meant to cut a wheedle with me! She knew I would be too softhearted to refuse to escort her to that wretched place, but once there, she meant to trap me with a quagmire of her friends and her friend’s friends! I cannot stand that place—everyone falling over each other to catch a title and nothing stronger on offer than warm lemonade and little stale cakes!”
The valet remained unconvinced, fingering the lapis lazulis lovingly and itching to pull off my lord’s travesty of a cravat and begin again, with something rather more starched and definitely more snowy than the current pretender. But alas, it was not to be! My lord would have none of it, adjuring poor Reece to “have a very good night”—something which insulted the poor fellow no end, for how could he have a good night when my lord was jaunting about town, destroying his reputation as a valet of the foremost stature?
He did not exactly sniff, but my lord was apprised of his disapproval by the square set of his shoulders and the speaking silence with which he met these frivolous words.
The marquis chuckled. “Cheer up, Reece! I promise to keep my head down low so as to save your precious reputation. All going well, no one but her ladyship need know ought of this little exploit!”
“And will her ladyship approve?”
“Oh, undoubtedly not! That, my dear man, is the point! ”
With these cheerful words, Reece was forced to be content. He may have been mollified to learn that the Dowager Marchioness of Rochester shared his sentiments exactly. Confronted with her son looking like a coachman rather than a gentleman of rank, she hastily waved some smelling salts about her person before moving to greet him. She was too canny a mother, however, to do more than lift her eyebrows slightly and decline a rather pungent arm.
If my lord was disappointed in this mild response, he did not reveal so, merely remarking that “since he was not dressed for Almack’s, he would simply have to wait for her in the chaise,” a point upon which his much-beleaguered mother could not argue. Thus it was that my lord personally drove his merry, royal blue chaise into the courtyard leading up to Almack’s. When his mother descended, she refused to allow him to hand her down, for fear of soiling her ribbed gold sarcenet, acquired most especially for the occasion.
My lord grinned at her cheekily and murmured that she must not scold him, for he was feeling wicked and spoiling for a “bit of fun.” Whereupon the dowager marchioness rapped him on the knuckles with her ebony fan and commented dryly that he was “an incorrigible rogue” and that she hoped he had a long and very boring wait ahead of him, for she intended to dance the night away and more.
The marquis sighed. Doubtless it was true, for the marchioness was wretchedly fashionable and boasted a deplorably long list of friends. They would all, he was certain, jockey for her company until it would be impossible to tell which of her delightful attributes was likely be more worn out—her slippers or her tongue.
Thankfully, the moon was full, his carriage equipped with a wonderfully newfangled gas lamp, and he’d had the foresight to bring with him a long, but edifying book. After he’d settled the horses and idly watched the procession of debutantes enter the hallowed halls, he would thank his lucky stars for the blissful reprieve and settle down snugly. Uranometria made interesting reading.
Miss Primrose Chartley smiled rather weakly and declined her third dance with a very handsome but sadly impecunious gentleman. Her refusal did not help her much, for just as soon as he had taken his leave, his place was usurped by another gentleman—not as handsome, this time, but decidedly higher in rank. Unfortunately, his pockets too, were notoriously to let.
“Am I to be surrounded by nothing but fortune hunters for the rest of the Season?” The tone held a note of amused despair.
“Beg pardon?” Lord Asterley caught her mumbled remark.
“Oh! I was talking to myself. A dreadful habit. Do forgive me!” She accompanied her contrite apology with such a glorious smile that poor Lord Asterley wished he were a mere youth again instead of an elderly statesman in his dotage. Miss Chartley was not hard to forgive when her eyes shone as bright as diamonds and the lights in her hair were as lustrous as copper kettles and a good deal more attractive.
“Not at all, not at all!’ He bowed correctly and offered her his arm. ”Captain Redding was asking after you. Shall I tell him you are on the patio?”
“Heaven forbid! I believe he is hedging his bets, for he has danced twice with Lily and at least once with Daisy. Grandfather’s bequest has become quite deplorable!”
“Very irksome, I am sure.” Lord Asterley did not pretend to misunderstand. The Chartley sisters were the talk of the Ton. Lord Raven had outdone himself. Undoubtedly, they would make excellent matches, but at what cost? Miss Chartley, though not precisely haggard, looked tired and a trifle out of sorts. He could not blame her in the least.
“Would you like a seat? I am certain I can procure one for you ...”
“How kind, your lordship! But no, if I sat down I would doubtless be surrounded by a dozen impoverished peers. I do not like to sound ungrateful, but their attentions are all rather suspect and though I do admire poetry and sonnets I prefer them to be sincere! I have been offered Spanish coin all evening and frankly, sir, I am tired of it!”
“Shall I call up your carriage, then? You may wish to depart before the crush.”
Primrose shook her head mournfully. “No, for Daisy and Lily are enjoying themselves prodigiously! Perhaps I will make my curtsies, though, and wait for them in the comfort of my chaise.”
“Coward!” Lord Asterley took leave to tease. Primrose responded with a wide smile that reached her lovely eyes and quite transformed her often contemplative nature.
“Quite so! Lord Asterley, I bid you adieu!”
So saying, she weaved her way through the interested throng until she found Daisy and apprised her of her intentions. Then it was a quiet wait for Lady Jersey, the most distinguished of the patronesses, before she was able to plead a headache. Finally, escorted by one of the liveried staff, she was able to step into the dark, candlelit mews.
“There! It is that one, with the royal blue wheels.” She was thankful that it was so close to the entrance. The coachman was nowhere to be seen. Doubtless he was partaking of his own jollification together with the other assorted grooms and ostlers so essential to the occasion. She opened the door with ease, for it was marvelously well oiled and waved the attendant away.
“I shall be perfectly fine, thank you! No, it is not necessary to help me up, there is a stair. See?” Deftly, she pulled down the little step and clambered in, careful not to catch her gown under her slippered feet. It was made of shimmering amber organdy and she was loath to ruin it. Though she was not vain, the color was a perfect foil to her lustrous eyes and cropped copper head that harbored just the whisper of curls. She waited as the footman lifted up the step and clicked the door shut. Then, with a wave, she turned from him and allowed her eyes to become adjusted to the relative gloom of the interior.
“Oh!” Her heart gave a lurch as she realized she was not alone. There was a man in the chaise, and though he was fast asleep, she could not quite ignore the broad chest and hard muscles that lay beneath his cream shirt. If he woke, she would undoubtedly be powerless, for there was a firmness about his jaw that brooked no argument. Also, his arms, reprehensibly visible in their turned-up shirtsleeves, appeared entrancingly strong. She knew a wild moment of wanting to touch them, to feel if they were indeed as powerful as they seemed.
Instead, she vacillated somewhere between a scream and sublime curiosity. What was he doing here? Surely not abducting her, when his countenance was so serene in slumber? Besides, on closer scrutiny he did not look like a gentleman at all. Rather than elegant velvet knee breeches and the obligatory clocked stockings, he was wearing a rather disgusting confection that made him appear to be a groom or a coachman at best.
“Oh!”
At last,
Primrose thought she had her answer. The man was her coachman, taking a rather large liberty by napping in her interior. She smiled. Well, why not? He appeared exhausted.
She folded her arms and tried to ignore his presence, thinking back to the events of the evening. She must speak with Grandfather—his bequest was untenable. She would rather be a wallflower than suffer the attentions of a myriad of fortune hunters. She stared out the window, but it was too dark to see a thing. Strange, despite the coolness of the evening, she felt warm and her pulses were racing quite unaccountably.
She steadfastly ignored the breathing of her manservant, but when he moved, slightly, so that his hand was just touching the seam of her elegant velvet gown, she felt she had stretched forbearance to the limit. She lifted his fingers and placed them back on his chest. They were warm, ungloved, and ridiculously inviting. Primrose felt herself flush. She realized with a shock that she actually wanted to kiss them, a guilty sensation that she found as unaccountable as it was intoxicating. She resisted, of course, but the sensation lingered, causing her heart to beat quite out of pelter with her sensible thoughts.
Her eyes caught the book discarded on the floor, Uranometria. They widened in disbelief. Uranometria. The man, surely, was not literate! How could he be reading such an animating discourse on the universe?
She picked it up and fingered it gently The leather smelled pleasing, and the pages were invitingly crisp. She pulled off her gloves and fingered through the book, settling, at last, for a fascinating description of the planets. Sadly, her thoughts would not settle in the disciplined manner to which they were accustomed, veering dangerously toward a certain unexpected intruder.
How shocking that she should not yet have raised an alarm! How shocking, too, that she was now searching about for her carriage blanket that she customarily kept under the squabs. It was not there. Dash it, the man must be lying on it! She leaned a little closer, then gasped as his eyes opened and she found herself caught in a vicelike grip, prone across her captor. He smiled beguilingly in the dim lamplight, then pulled her head down to his. His lips were featherlight and warm, rather more dreamy than she imagined—and she had imagined, though it is scandalous to reveal as much. She thought of struggling, but his arm was hard against the arch of her back and she knew a certain thrill in its obvious dominance. Struggling was out of the question. Too undignified by far. She wafted, then, in a wave of desire that made a mockery of her habitual common sense. After a whilst, she found herself reluctantly released, though there was a beguiling light in the stranger’s eye as he examined his quarry in more detail.
Raven's Ransom Page 4
