Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake

by Janice Preston

  ‘I am sorry to keep you waiting, Aunt,’ she said airily, as Hugo emerged behind her and then sauntered over to stand with his mother, who was chatting to a group of older ladies.

  Olivia was relieved to see their coach already waiting at the kerb. Freddie was occupied with assisting Lady Glenlochrie up the steps and would hopefully have missed the coincidence of her and Hugo both leaving the church last, after the events of last night. All she had to do now was wait until Hugo returned her necklace and then all would be well.

  * * *

  ‘You must be patient, Livvy,’ said Nell.

  Olivia paced the salon and, for the umpteenth time since Sunday, she said, ‘Where is he? Why has he not returned it?’

  The suspicion was growing that, perhaps, she should not have put so much trust in Hugo’s promise to retrieve the necklace. She’d heard nothing from him—not one word—and here it was, Tuesday already, and Papa would be home any day. In fact, she counted her blessings he was not already here. At least Freddie had noticed nothing amiss, even though he had access to Papa’s safe, but she could not fool herself that Papa would miss its absence.

  ‘What if he thinks it has been stolen?’

  ‘Who?’ Nell’s fair brows bunched, crinkling her forehead. ‘Lord Hugo? I do not—’

  ‘Not Lord Hugo! Papa!’ Olivia flung herself down on the sofa next to Nell. ‘He will notice it is gone. He—’

  She fell silent as the salon door opened and she looked around, almost expecting to see her father there, the empty jewel case in his hand, with a face of fury. The air whooshed from her lungs in a relieved gasp as Aunt Cecily hurried in, a letter in her hand. And then Olivia forgot her own troubles as she took in her aunt’s expression. She jumped to her feet.

  ‘Aunt? What is it? Not...it is not bad news?’

  Her heart nearly seized in her chest as she mentally reviewed every member of her family—where they were, what disaster might have befallen them. Papa and Rosalind and Mr Allen on a long journey—carriage accidents did happen, as poor Freddie, maimed as a baby, knew to his cost; Uncle Vernon heaven knew where, having left last week on a sudden visit to Worcestershire to look for some boring long-lost cousin; Dominic—he was here in London, and she was confident he would be in no trouble...which left...

  ‘Is it Alex? Is he in trouble?’

  ‘No. It is not Alex.’

  Aunt Cecily looked—and sounded—most peculiar. Olivia helped her to a chair and, as her aunt sat, she caught a glimpse of the letter, recognising her uncle’s dark, sprawling script. Her pulse steadied. If he was well enough to pen a letter, he was not ill. Or—and it was her greatest fear for any member of her family—dead. She did not know whether it was because of the early loss of her mother, but her family meant everything to her and the thought of losing any one of them could send her spiralling into panic.

  ‘It is your Uncle Vernon. I can hardly credit it but...he is getting married.’

  ‘Married? Uncle Vernon?’

  Aunt Cecily nodded. ‘On Friday. Near to a place called Stourbridge, in Worcestershire.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘There is so much to do. I must send word to Dominic and Alex. They shall escort us. If we leave early tomorrow, we should be there in time.’

  ‘But...who is he marrying? Is it someone we know?’

  Whoever she was, Olivia was already half-inclined to dislike her. Their stable home life—already irreversibly altered by the addition of Rosalind and her family to their household—would now be changed even more. Even though she liked Rosalind and her family, Olivia had still found the recent changes difficult. As the youngest, and a girl, she had always felt she must struggle for her fair share of attention, but now her place in this new, enlarged family seemed even more insecure.

  At least Papa still lived at home, but if Uncle Vernon married he would want to live on his own country estate in Devonshire instead of at Cheriton Abbey with the rest of the family and they would hardly ever see him. Resentment squirmed inside her, even though she knew she was being unreasonable. She knew she could not expect everything to remain the same for ever—and, hopefully, she would herself one day marry which would mean she must leave to have her own family—but for both her father and her uncle to marry in the very year of her own come-out into society was just moving too fast.

  She felt a little as though she was in a carriage drawn by runaway horses, speeding towards a cliff edge, but she needed a pause while she caught her breath.

  ‘It is a Miss Dorothea Markham, and...’ Cecily frowned as she re-read the letter ‘...he does not say much about her, other than that she is adorable.’

  Her brows rose as she exchanged a look with Olivia.

  ‘It sounds,’ she added, in a faint voice, ‘as though your uncle has fallen in love.’

  * * *

  The dread inside Olivia grew throughout that interminable day until she felt utterly consumed by it. The appearance of Alex midway through the afternoon prompted an idea: she would not see Hugo if she sat waiting meekly at home, but she might very well see him in the Park.

  ‘Alex, dearest, dearest brother of mine.’

  He eyed her with suspicion. ‘What are you after now, brat?’

  She let the insult go. ‘Will you escort Nell and I to the Park? Please? Aunt Cecily is too busy with the arrangements for the journey tomorrow and Lady G. is having her nap. And, besides, if we go with her, we shall be obliged to go in the carriage. And it is such a lovely day. I long for a little exercise. Please?’

  ‘Ask Avon. Walks in the Park are more his style than mine. I’ve got more important things to do.’

  ‘Dominic has gone to Westfield to tell them he will be out of town for a week or so,’ said Olivia.

  Westfield School was an orphan asylum and school in Islington that Dominic supported both financially and in person.

  ‘And I thought we might ride to the Park,’ she continued. They could cover more ground that way. ‘After all, we shall be stuck in the carriage for the next two days or more, so—’

  ‘Not me,’ interrupted Alex. ‘I’m not going.’

  ‘Not going? Why not?’

  ‘It’s only a wedding, isn’t it? I shall meet the bride soon enough, when they come to London. No need to go all the way up there—sounds a dead bore to me. With Papa, Aunt Cecy, you and Avon all there to represent the family, I shan’t be missed. And I have commitments here, y’know.’

  Olivia frowned. ‘What commitments?’

  He grinned and tweaked her cheek. ‘Never you mind, Livvy. Nothing for a young miss to trouble herself about, you can be sure of that. It’s men’s business.’

  Olivia tamped down her irritation. Men’s business indeed.

  ‘Please, Alex. You can spare an hour or two, surely? Nell and I are bored with sitting indoors. Our callers have been and gone...’ with two eligible and attractive young ladies in the house there was never any dearth of eager male callers ‘...and now there is nothing to look forward to but dinner and bed.’

  Aunt Cecily had already sent their apologies for the soirée they had been to attend that evening.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ said her brother, with bad grace. ‘I know you...you will go on and on, so I might as well agree now as later.’

  Olivia squealed and clapped her hands before tiptoeing up to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek. ‘Thank you. I shall send word to the stables and run and get changed.’

  Now she must pray that Hugo would be there and that she might contrive to snatch a word with him.

  * * *

  Lord Hugo Alastair strode away from Grosvenor Square after watching young Beauchamp disappear into Beauchamp House. Hopefully he would stay out of mischief for a short while at least. Hugo now had a greater understanding of why indolence was his preferred state of being. What the devil had possessed him to promise Freddie he would keep an eye on Beauchamp? At least
the Duke should be home some time tomorrow. He hoped. That was what Olivia said on Sunday.

  And that was another thing... Olivia. Her and that blasted necklace. In between watching over Beauchamp—and he could not believe that young pup’s resilience. Had he ever been that energetic? On the go morning, noon and night?—he had been trying to locate Clevedon, but he’d gone to ground. No one had seen him since Saturday night and even calling at his house had elicited no further information other than that his lordship was out of town and they did not know when to expect his return.

  At least he would be back by Saturday. Of that Hugo was grimly certain. But his promise to Olivia weighed upon him. He knew she must be anxiously waiting for news, but a man such as he could not call upon an innocent miss without inviting gossip and ill-founded conjecture—he was not the sort of man who called upon young ladies and neither would such a social call be tolerated by the parents of said young ladies. And although he had met up with Freddie, despite there being nothing, as yet, to report on Alex’s activities—if Tadlow really did have a plan, it seemed he was in no hurry to implement it—he could not pass any message to Olivia through Freddie because he clearly knew nothing about that necklace. As far as Freddie was concerned, Olivia’s escapade was done and dusted and there was nothing further to worry about.

  And therein lay Hugo’s main worry. From what he had learned about Olivia on Saturday evening, she was not the sort to sit around and simply wait. She was more likely to meet trouble head on and that made it more than probable that she would take matters into her own hands before Saturday came around, which is why that bloody necklace was niggling away at Hugo. He needed to get word to her before she did something stupid. But how?

  Now Alex was safely home, Hugo had nothing to do until this evening, when he had accepted an invitation from Tadlow to a card party. He knew from past experience it would be high stakes. He suspected Lord Alexander Beauchamp would be on the guest list. Until ten o’clock, then, he was a free man as far as Beauchamp was concerned. He could relax; shrug off the responsibilities he had so unthinkingly taken upon his shoulders and, to that end, he was heading for White’s to see who was about.

  His steps slowed as he realised that idea held little appeal. He was unusually restless...the mantle of unfinished business pressed down upon him until he could not bear the thought of sitting around and talking of inconsequential matters. With a muttered curse, he halted. He had just left Berkeley Square via Berkeley Street and now he retraced his steps, past the end of Bruton Street—he was in no mood to face one of his mother’s inquisitions: she had a way of winkling out how a man was feeling, even though he had no wish to talk of such namby-pamby nonsense—and rounded the next corner into Bruton Place. Since his marriage to Mama, Sir Horace—an ex-cavalryman and a decent enough cove, now Hugo came to think of it—had generously shouldered the expense of stabling a riding horse for his new stepson. A ride in the Park would surely shake some of these fidgets out of his system.

  At the stables he found his stepfather, looking tired and dishevelled, unlike his usual dapper self, and deep in conversation with his head man.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said. ‘You just arrived home?’

  Sir Horace straightened into his customary upright stance, squaring his shoulders and straightening his coat, looking every inch the ex-military man. ‘Indeed, m’boy. Bennet and I were just discussing that new mare I bought at Tatt’s last week.’

  ‘Is there a problem with her?’

  ‘She kicked out at one of the lads the other day and broke his arm. And she’s a biter. Bennet said some of the lads are chary of going in the stall with her now.’ Sir Horace frowned, his side whiskers bristling as he pursed his lips. ‘I must decide what to do with her. I cannot, in good faith, sell her on, but neither can I reconcile myself to destroying her...not until we have tried everything to calm her down. I suspect she was doped for the sale. She was docile enough before I left for Helmstone.’

  Sir Horace had been called back to Helmstone—his country estate, situated just outside Brighton—on urgent business on Saturday.

  ‘Who sold her? Can you not return her?’

  ‘Caveat emptor, m’boy,’ said Sir Horace. ‘The animals were sold “as seen”. Besides, she really does have exceptional conformation.’

  ‘And I reckon she’s been ill-treated, milord,’ said Bennet. ‘’Twouldn’t be right to send her back, even if we could.’ He glanced at Hugo. ‘Was you intending to go out on Falcon, milord?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll get him saddled and bring him out for you.’ Bennet disappeared into the stables.

  ‘I shall have to put my mind to what to do about that mare,’ said Sir Horace, a deep frown furrowing his brow as he watched Bennet go. ‘I can’t have her injuring my lads.’

  ‘Was your trip satisfactory?’ asked Hugo in an effort to distract his stepfather. He didn’t like to see the old man so troubled. ‘Is everything in order at Helmstone?’

  ‘Indeed it is, m’boy. The harvest looks promising...’ His voice tailed into silence and he tugged at his whiskers—a sure sign he was agitated, so Mama said.

  ‘Is something else troubling you, sir?’

  Even as the words left his mouth, Hugo silently cursed himself. Didn’t he already have enough to worry about without adding more? But the old boy looked pretty grey and Hugo was quite fond of him, really. He’d made Mama very happy and that, in Hugo’s book, was everything.

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about, son. Nothing you can do—’ The old boy’s jaw closed with an audible snap as a calculating light dawned in his shrewd grey eyes. He grasped Hugo’s arm and steered him to a quiet corner. ‘As it happens...’ he said, slowly, ‘there might be...’ His bushy brows bunched over the bridge of his nose. Then his frown cleared. ‘Thank you, my boy!’

  It was Hugo’s turn to frown. ‘Why are you thanking me?’

  ‘Why, you offered to help, did you not?’

  Hugo thought back. He was almost certain the word help had not crossed his lips. A warning rumbled deep in his gut, like the distant growl of thunder on a summer day. Now what had he let himself in for? His eyes narrowed.

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘Well, I must think this through...but it could be just the solution for the both of us.’

  ‘The both of us?’

  This was sounding more and more ominous and caution screamed through him. He owed his stepfather who, to his credit, had never dismissed Hugo as a worthless rake as the rest of society did. Sir Horace, himself childless, had taken time to get to know Hugo when they had first met in the spring of last year and had sought his advice on running his estate—discussing new agricultural developments, as though Hugo knew anything about them—and shown every sign of valuing Hugo’s opinions. So much so, that Hugo had found himself reading up on such matters in the newssheets and the periodicals at White’s.

  And that was another thing. Sir Horace had pulled strings and made certain that Hugo’s membership of White’s was approved, even though it raised a few eyebrows. So now, for the first time in his life, Hugo was a member of the most respected of gentlemen’s clubs and, he realised, he was frequenting it more and more often.

  His stepfather slapped him on the back, jolting him from that sudden realisation of how much his life was in a state of flux. Satisfaction now gleamed in that shrewd gaze and a heavy weight settled in Hugo’s stomach. Somehow, he had embroiled himself in something else that would interfere with his life of idle pleasure. But...curiosity stirred nevertheless.

  ‘Well, well, my boy. I am suddenly feeling much brighter. Yes, indeed. I haven’t time to go into the detail now, but I shall see you later. Are you free to come to dinner this evening?’

  ‘Indeed I am. I have a commitment later in the evening, but will dine with you with pleasure, sir.’

  ‘Good, good. We will speak
then. For now, though... I am eager to see your mama and I suspect you were on your way elsewhere so I shall detain you no longer.’

  With a cheery wave, Sir Horace disappeared from sight. Hugo blew a puff of air from his cheeks as the clatter of hooves on cobbles announced that Falcon, Hugo’s bay gelding, was ready.

  What the devil have I let myself in for now?

  Before long Hugo was turning in through the gates to the Park. He turned on to Rotten Row and immediately nudged Falcon into a trot and then—where the carriages thinned out—into a canter, in no mood for conversation as his thoughts leapt forward to that night’s card game and what Tadlow might have in store for young Beauchamp. He’d ridden almost the entire circuit when he heard his name.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Hugo!’

  Hugo stifled a curse as he looked over his shoulder, but he soon forgot his irritation when he identified the man who had called his name. He reined Falcon to a halt.

  ‘You are not due in town until tomorrow.’

  Lucas grinned, and clasped Hugo’s outthrust hand in a hard grip. ‘We made good time on the journey. We arrived earlier this afternoon. Then Sir Horace came home and told me you’d just ridden out here, so I thought to join you.’

  Hugo eyed his brother’s mount. ‘That’s his favourite horse. You are honoured. Did you leave Mary and the children in Bruton Street?’

  ‘I did. She and Mama are catching up on all the news from Rothley and Mary isn’t keen to leave the children—they’ve both been asleep since we got here and she doesn’t want them to wake up in a strange place alone.’

  Lucas’s wife, Mary, had been married before and Lucas was now stepfather to her two children—Toby, aged six, and three-year-old Emily.

  ‘Who would have thought it—the original Infamous Alastair, a doting family man.’

  The two men turned their horses and rode on side by side.

  Lucas laughed. ‘I’d forgotten all about that old nickname.’ He nodded at two fashionable young matrons, whose wide eyes and slack jaws followed the brothers’ progress as they passed by. ‘No wonder we are attracting such attention.’