Three Rogues and Their Ladies - A Regency Trilogy

by G. G. Vandagriff

  As he rode at a punishing pace toward Richmond and back, he tried to banish the sight of Lady Kate smiling up at Walsingham, as the rogue pulled her closer into the embrace of the waltz. She had skimmed the dance floor like down on the wind.

  Cracking the whip over Zeus, he rode faster, but the vision would not vanish.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IN WHICH OUR HEROINE

  FURTHERS HER ACQUAINTANCE

  WITH THE EARL OF WALSINGHAM

  After the marquis read Kate’s note and departed, the Earl of Walsingham arrived at Blossom House. Fortunately, the two peers did not run into one another.

  Lady Kate, watching from her upstairs window, drew on her riding gloves and took one more look in the mirror. She was wearing a new purchase—a saucy, sky-blue hat, perched at a becoming angle on her auburn chignon. It matched her sky-blue walking dress, piped in maroon. The lines followed her taste for simplicity and showed her full figure to advantage, while the color rendered her eyes sky blue as well.

  Confidence in her appearance lent her courage to face this man who so unsettled her. She had never felt free-traders to be more than a nuisance. The suspicion that Lord Walsingham might make up one of their numbers did not account for the revulsion she felt in his company.

  He greeted her in his almost-insolent way. “Still the Original, I see. No lace, not a scrap of flounce to be seen.”

  “You are correct. I fear my modiste despairs of me. Shall we go?”

  “I await your pleasure, my lady.” Holding out his arm, he escorted her to his curricle. When he lifted her up, she felt no thrill of contact like that she felt when the marquis had merely kissed her hand. Annoyed, she tried to banish Lord Northbrooke from her mind. She was not entirely successful. She decided she must tackle this outing from a stance made on her home turf.

  As the horses trotted towards Hyde Park, she inquired of the earl, “Tell me, do you ever frequent the National Gallery?”

  He turned toward her with a sleepy grin. “Should I?”

  “I think you might find it enlightening. Particularly the Italian works.”

  “And why those, as opposed, say, to the English painters?”

  “The Italians understand color, style, passion. Their history and view of life is far closer to the bone than ours. I think it is good to learn to appreciate another culture.”

  “You are definitely an Original, my dear,” he said. His eyes were amused, and he smiled a bit like a satyr. “Did no one ever tell you that proper young ladies do not speak of passion?”

  She colored. “That is because we are English. My point exactly. In the Italian culture, it is permissible for women to speak of passion.”

  “In the strongest accents,” he said. “When listening to an Italian, even when one does not know the language, one knows when they are speaking of passion.”

  “You have been to Italy?”

  “Yes.”

  A slight interest ruffled her. “And what did you think of it?”

  “A lovely country. Particularly Venice.”

  “I favored Florence. The Renaissance is one of the great miracles of the Western world.”

  “You have very decided opinions for a female. I see that you are an Original in both thought and dress.” His tone was wry rather than complimentary.

  “You do not approve?”

  “I did not say that. Tell me.” He faced her. “As a woman not afraid to speak of passion, do you not find this drive in the park rather stultifying and tame?”

  “I confess, I do. London makes me terribly restless with all its constraints. I am used to more freedom.”

  “Have you been to Vauxhall Gardens?”

  “No. However, I cannot say that I really wish to go. I understand it can be quite dangerous.”

  “Come, now! You are not afraid of a little danger, surely?”

  “I do not wish to be assaulted by a ruffian.”

  “I should take greatest care of you. Let me rent a box for this evening. You and your aunt shall be my guests.”

  “My aunt is singing at a musicale this evening which I must attend. It is to be the first performance of an aria from the opera she has written.”

  “May I offer my escort?”

  “I think not this evening.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “My being seen with you twice in one day, having waltzed twice with you last evening, as well, would be bound to cause gossip.”

  He grinned a most insouciant grin. “And what care you for gossip?”

  She definitely did not want her name coupled with the Earl of Walsingham. Quoting Sukey, she said, “Whether we like it or not, the ton is a powerful force. I wish to be careful of it.”

  His look turned calculating. It made Kate even more uncomfortable. “I should like to return home now, if you please.”

  Turning the carriage about, he said lightly, “I am yours to command.”

  Upon reaching home, Kate reflected that, all in all, the ride had been unsettling. As to why she felt that way, she still did not exactly know.

  * * *

  With very mixed feelings, Kate observed that Northbrooke was present at the musicale that evening. She had received another long, blotched letter from Joey that afternoon. He was obviously too ashamed to own up to his unhappiness, but she had been able to read between the lines. Perhaps the marquis was not being straightforward, but she must think of her stepbrother. If the marquis wanted a quick marriage, she could not, in good conscience, fail to consider it.

  Kate was engaged in calming her aunt’s nerves before her performance when Northbrooke approached them and bowed.

  “Good evening, Lady Kate, Lady Clarice.” To Kate, he said, “I am considerably relieved to find that your ox is out of the mire in time for your aunt’s performance.” His voice carried a sardonic note. “Especially as I can put a name to the ox.”

  Before she could frame a reply to this provocative opening, he turned to her aunt. “Your ladyship,” he bowed over her hand. “I am very much looking forward to hearing you perform your creation. I understand it is to be in the Italian language.”

  “The only proper language for an opera,” Kate’s aunt responded. “Oh there is Ruisdell and my dear Elise! Have you met them, Lord Northbrooke? They but recently returned from the Continent.”

  Animation lit Northbrooke’s face as he turned to face the approaching newcomers. For her own part, Kate was eager to have someone to speak with other than the marquis. And she was unusually excited to make the acquaintance of the Ruisdells. Whenever they had called on her aunt, she had been from home.

  The duke broke into a smile as he possessed himself of Aunt Clarice’s hand. “At last! The premiere of the great work! Tell me, is this the aria that I heard you working on?”

  “I believe so, yes,” Aunt Clarice replied as she embraced her niece. “My dear! You are in bloom tonight! Now. You must meet your Aunt Mary’s daughter, Lady Katherine Derramore. Kate, this is your cousin, my dear Elise! It is time the two of you met. I believe you will find you have much in common in your approach to the world.”

  “So this is the lady who has brought Walsingham to his knees!” the duchess said. “All of London is talking about it!”

  “Oh, dear,” Kate said. Her eyes flew automatically to the Marquis.’ Northbook’s face became a stoic blank. “It is not that way at all,” she said. “I merely enjoy his company. He is by way of being a friend.”

  “My dear,” Elise said, lowering her voice. “I would sooner make a cobra my friend.”

  The duke spoke up as he shook hands with Northbrooke. “Jack! Good to see you. Still hold the record on the London-to-Brighton run?”

  “So far,” the marquis said. “Married life seems to suit you, Peter. You are looking much better than when you returned from the Peninsula.”

  “For a wonder. Do you know that I was wounded more during my courtship of my divine Elise than I was the entire three years I served on the Peninsula?”

 
“I hope you ran into no problems on the Continent,” Northbrooke said.

  Elise answered, “He took every care not to. As a result, we spent a great deal of time in Constantinople.”

  Kate spoke for the first time, “Oh, I would adore to visit Constantinople! But, tell me, did you see Florence?”

  “Briefly,” said Elise.

  “Florence is the most perfect place in the world,” Kate said with a sigh. “Papa took me there before he died. I long to visit the Uffizi again.”

  Elise guided her to a chair and sat down next to her, while Northbrooke and Ruisdell discussed the world of boxing. Aunt Clarice joined her nieces.

  “So you are interested in art?” Elise asked Kate.

  “She is an artist,” Aunt Clarice said. “This morning she was doing a sketch of my garden. In oils.”

  “Oh, my! You must be very brave to work in oils.”

  “Actually, it is easier than watercolors. Tell me about your travels.”

  “First,” the duchess said, “I must warn you most earnestly about Walsingham. He is a cad of the first order. And dangerous as well. Do not make the mistake of thinking those qualities are attractive.”

  Kate said, “I am not the least attracted to him.”

  Lady Clarice asked, “What have you done to merit all this gossip? Sukey said nothing about the ball last night.”

  “I was angry with the marquis for his presumptions. I gave his waltz to the earl, with the result that I danced both waltzes with him,” she admitted. “Lord Northbrooke is far too certain of himself.”

  “Northbrooke?” Elise said in surprise. “Maybe I missed something while we were traveling, but, my dear, he has never been the least interested in a proper female. If he is showing interest in you at all, it is a first!”

  Kate ruminated on this. Why had she been so instantly and furiously put out when she suspected that the marquis was courting her only to get control of his fortune? Was it because she was disappointed that his interest was not in her? As a woman? Of course not. She had already determined that no one could be the equal of Francesco at courting a woman. And, as Caro had reminded her, she was doing the very same thing as Jack. From now on, she must keep her primary purpose in mind for Joey’s sake. Pride had no place in this business.

  In fact, her acceptance of Walsingham’s overtures had been dangerous to her prospects. He surely must have the wrong idea. He certainly was the last person to whom she wanted to be married. She knew instinctively that he would seize control of her fortune and most likely game it away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IN WHICH OUR HERO PRESSES HIS SUIT

  It was time for the musicale to start. Northbrooke had thought to claim a seat next to the enchanting but infuriating Lady Kate, but the Duchess of Ruisdell remained seated at her side, and he had to content himself with sitting on the far side of the Duke. Never fond of female vocalists, he suffered through Lady Clarice’s aria, hoping charitably that no one else felt as he did about it.

  Lady Kate grew progressively more of a challenge, which should appeal to his sporting instincts, but instead maddened him terrifically. What could she possibly see in Walsingham? Her note that afternoon indicated that she was still miffed he had cancelled their ride in the park the day after they met and had chosen a way to take her revenge. But Walsingham! Jack certainly owed it to the lady to rescue her from the Earl’s grimy toils. He could not bear to see that brightness and vivacity dimmed, could not prevent himself from clenching his fists at the thought of that rotter laying a hand on her person. The sight of the two of them waltzing, though he was loathe to admit it, had brought his temper to the boiling point.

  This situation called for a daring stroke. He must put himself out a bit in order to win his lady, and he had just the idea.

  When at last the final vocalist had sung, he had his plan in place. At the end of the applause, everyone rose. Excusing himself to Ruisdell, he moved to Lady Kate’s side.

  “I have a proposal that I am certain will please you,” he said. “But first, may I bring you some punch and a slice of cake?”

  “You may, my lord.”

  “Duchess?” he asked politely.

  “You can scarcely carry two glasses of punch and two slices of cake. Let Peter go with you.”

  The two men entered the crowd bound for the refreshment room. “Interested in the fair lady, I take it?” the duke inquired.

  “Do not make an on dit of it, but I was smitten at first glance.”

  “She seems an interesting gel. Out of the common way. An Original, I fancy, with all her talk of Italy and the Renaissance.” He looked at Jack quizzically.

  “Yes, and I’m about to jump into that river with both feet. She is worth it, I tell you, Ruisdell. Makes my senses gallop, but that’s just between the two of us. I never thought I would find myself attracted to a debutante.”

  “You? A Corinthian to the inch? Take this slowly, my fellow. Reform on a grand scale should be considered carefully.”

  Jack emitted a burst of laughter. “You? You can tell me that? I’ve never seen love change a man the way it has changed you! Is it true that you’re about to become a doting papa?”

  His friend looked slightly sheepish. “Forget what I said. Love is indeed a redemptor.”

  When Jack returned to Lady Kate, bearing her punch and cake, he bade her sit down next to him. As she removed her gloves in order to partake of the refreshment, he remarked on the grace of her hands. He was in a bad way. As casually as he could, he said, “I find there to be a gaping hole in my education, Lady Kate. I require your assistance.”

  Her smile was pert. “I am always willing to enlighten the ignorant.”

  “Will you kindly show me your favorite paintings in the National Gallery? To be followed by a luncheon at Grillon’s? Possibly the Duchess would care to chaperone.”

  Her face lit up from within, and she fairly glowed. “Oh, yes! I would like it above all things. Perhaps you could ask her immediately, so we can fix a time. How kind of you to suggest it.”

  At length, it was all arranged for the following day.

  * * *

  When Jack arrived at Blossom House, both the duchess and Lady Kate were ready and waiting. The Duchess of Ruisdell was a spectacular beauty, with abundant coal-black hair and her famous midnight blue eyes, but he was smitten once again by Lady Kate’s unusual looks. She capitalized on them today, wearing a cobalt-blue muslin walking dress shot with silver threads. Her hat was slightly outré, sitting at a perky angle almost on the side of her auburn head. It suited her down to the ground, declaring, “London, World, here I am!”

  In his carriage on the way to the museum, Lady Kate explained the approach she planned to take. “I will not drag you through the rooms and overexpose you on this first visit. We are only going to view two paintings. One is my very favorite in the museum. I hope I know enough about art to say that it will draw you in. It is really quite extraordinary.”

  Against his will, he was interested. However, he said, “You look very fetching in that color. I doubt I shall find a painting that will not be upstaged by you, my lady.”

  She laughed. “In order to prevent that from happening, we shall avoid the nudes, though Renaissance painters were quite fond of them, to say the least.”

  He was a bit shocked at even the mention of nudes by a proper young lady; however, the duchess went off in a peal of laughter. “Perhaps we should blindfold him until we get to your paintings.”

  “It might be best,” Lady Kate agreed.

  “I have no intention of being led about by the nose! I can be trusted to avert my eyes when required. I only need a moment’s warning.”

  Upon reaching the monumental gallery, he parked his carriage and, tossing the reins to an urchin, said, “We shan’t be long. A shilling now.” He gave the boy a coin. “And another when we return.”

  Holding Lady Kate’s hand as he helped her to descend, he locked eyes with hers, observing those same sharp snaps of vit
ality he had noticed upon meeting her for the first time. She smiled but a half smile, and even that warmed him deliciously.

  When they entered the museum, she swept him along and up the stairs into a room where flashes of vivid red, gold leaf, and royal blue assailed his senses from all sides. There were countless Madonnas, cheek by jowl with erotic nudes. As promised, he averted his eyes.

  Lady Kate walked swiftly up to what appeared to be a simple portrait of a young man. “Now,” she instructed. “You need to realize the context of this painting before you can understand how remarkable it is. Look around you. These paintings were all done at various periods during the Renaissance. Note how they evolved from flat one-dimensional images to this.”

  Peering at the date on the wall plaque, Jack realized that the painting was done sometime during the period from 1480–1485. Remarkable. To him, upon closer inspection, it was more alive than any Gainsborough or Reynolds that he had seen hanging on the walls of the ton’s great houses. For a moment, both he and the duchess stared at “The Portrait of a Young Man” quietly.

  “It is rather amazing, Kate,” the duchess said. “There is so much liveliness in the work. I cannot believe this artist, Botticelli, could develop from that to this.”

  That was the work that hung next to the portrait. It was a painting of St. Francis of Assisi. Definitely flat. But what was stirring Jack’s blood was the fact that Lady Kate combined an allure that made her difficult to resist with a depth of intelligence he was certain he had not yet plumbed. She was becoming of more interest to him by the minute. Bluestocking not withstanding!

  “He looks a dashed rum cove,” Jack said. “See the way he is looking at me? I’m deuced afraid he’s got it in mind to do me an injury. In the here and now.”

  “Yes,” Lady Kate agreed with more excitement than she had as yet shown. “You have understood what is remarkable about this painting. The light on the face, carving out those interesting cheekbones, highlighting the hair just a bit, gives it added dimension. Add to that the fact that it is realistic, not idealistic. I can see where that downward drag of his mouth and the weariness in his eyes might convey a threat. The question is, where did Botticelli learn to paint like this?”