by Mary Nichols
‘My condolences.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Your brother had no heir?’
‘No.’ Lawrence had married as society and family convention dictated, money and rank being uppermost in the arrangement, and that had been a disaster. Lawrence had found himself trying to satisfy a wife who would never be satisfied. As far as Constance was concerned, she had married a title and the fact that her husband’s pockets were not bottomless carried no weight with her. The more he tried to please her, the more she demanded.
‘Why did you marry her?’ Alex had asked him after one particularly acrimonious dispute over her extravagance and the disreputable friends she encouraged.
‘Because it was expected of me. As the elder son I must have a wife in order to beget a legitimate heir to carry on the line.’
He knew that. ‘But why Constance? Why not someone else?’
‘She seemed eminently suitable—old established family, good looks—and she set out to charm me. Once the ring was on her finger, I realised how false that charm was. Too late. Just be thankful you are a second son, Alex, and can please yourself.’
Matters went from bad to worse, until the prospect of a career in the army was a welcome escape from the tensions in the house. The men under his command had become his family. They lived, ate, played and fought together and his care of them was repaid with staunch loyalty. He had seen some of them die, seen courage and stoicism and cruelty too. He had watched those women who had been allowed to accompany their men combing the battlefield after every encounter with the enemy, ready to tend their wounds. He admired their devotion, their stoical acceptance of the hard and dangerous life in order to be with their men, to endure heat and drought, rain and snow, to cook for them at the end of a day’s march, tend their wounds, even carry their kit if they were too exhausted to do so. He had found himself comparing the steadfastness of these ragged uneducated women with some of the officers’ wives who considered it their God-given right to ride in carriages, take the cosiest billets and the best of whatever food was going. And their men, fools that they were, pandered to them, just as Lawrence had done. It hadn’t made Constance love him any the more; Alex suspected she despised him. In his opinion, it was the miserable state of Lawrence’s marriage and his wife’s inability to give him a child that had led to his brother’s heavy drinking and ultimate demise. Alex was determined not to let that happen to him.
He had come home after Waterloo to find his mother in mourning, his sister-in-law run off with her latest lover and the estate struggling to pay its way. But he’d be damned if he’d marry for money, which was what the family lawyer had suggested. He had taken over Lawrence’s mantle, but he was determined not to fall into the same trap his brother had. If he ever married, and he was certainly in no hurry to do so, he would need to be very, very sure…
‘So, what are you doing in London?’ Maddox’s voice interrupted his reverie.
‘I had business to transact.’ He had to bring the Buregreen estate back into profit, but, since his father had never allowed him to have anything to do with the business of running it, he knew next to nothing about how it could be done and he needed the help of a good steward. He had come to London with that in mind and had already engaged a man who had been recommended by his lawyer. ‘And my mother had an idea a little town bronze…’ he added with a wry smile.
‘Then why not come to Almack’s with me on Wednesday? It’s the place to be seen if you’re hanging out for a wife. We could take a peep at Sir George’s stepdaughter.’
‘I am not hanging out for a wife. I would as lief not marry at all.’
‘But every man must marry,’ Maddox said. ‘Any man of substance, that is. It is his duty to find himself a wife to carry on the line, someone from a good family of equal rank and with an impeccable reputation. That is of prime importance. Of course, it helps if she is also decorative…’
‘Duty?’ Alex queried. ‘I did my duty as a soldier.’
‘So you may have done, but there are other kinds of duty, don’t you know? What would happen to all the great country estates if there were no sons to inherit? They’d go to distant cousins, that’s what, and eventually be dispersed. Who would run the country then, eh? Mushrooms, jumped-up cits, men without an ounce of breeding. It wouldn’t do, my dear fellow, it simply would not do.’
Alex had heard that argument from both his mother and aunt since he had come back from Waterloo. ‘I did not expect to inherit, I wasn’t brought up even to think of it. And what I’ve seen of marriage does not dispose me towards venturing into it.’
‘You sound as if you have been bitten, my friend.’
‘Not me, but I have seen what can happen. Misery for both.’
‘So you won’t come to Almack’s?’
‘The only time I went to Almack’s, back in my green days, I hated it. It was too stiff and formal, all that dressing up in breeches and silk stockings and not a decent drink to be had. Besides, I can’t. I have a prior engagement. I promised my aunt I would accompany her to Lady Melbourne’s soirée.’
Maddox laughed. ‘That sounds as exciting as drinking ditchwater.’
‘A promise is a promise and it will be preferable to standing in line with a crowd of young hopefuls, dressed like a popinjay, hoping to be noticed. I am too long in the tooth for that. Besides, the chits who are paraded at places like Almack’s are too young and silly for my taste. And if you have some crazy notion to throw me in the way of Sir George’s stepdaughter, then I advise you to put it from your mind. I have no intention of shackling myself to someone I have never met and do not know just to give you something to dine on for the rest of the Season. It would be the worst possible start to a marriage.’
‘I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort. It was curiosity, that’s all, just to see what she’s like. Why, a man would be a fool to jump into matrimony because he felt sorry for the girl. She might turn out to be a real harridan.’
‘Quite,’ Alex said, thinking of Lawrence. ‘Away with you to your bed, young ’un. I am going home to mine.’
They parted on the corner of Mount Street and Alex strode down its length to the house on the corner of Park Lane where he was staying with his aunt, Lady Augusta Banks. He was very fond of his aunt, but he knew she had been asked by his mother to help him find a wife and she was determined to discharge that commission to the best of her ability. Already she was planning to put him in the way of every unmarried young lady in town, but searching for a life partner in that cold-blooded way went so much against the grain he had not been co-operative. It was why he had gone to Brooks’s, in order to escape yet another soirée, although he had promised to escort her to Lady Melbourne’s. There were often men in government in her ladyship’s drawing room and he had a mind to sound some of them out about a pet project of his.
He wanted to do something to help discharged soldiers coming home from the war without employment, which had been on his mind even before he became the new Viscount. It was employment they needed, not charity, and his idea was to set up workshops and small manufactories and provide them with tools so that they could make their own way and provide for their families. He could not do it alone, which was why he wanted to talk to men with influence. If he took his place in the Lords, he might be able to make a noise about the scandalous way the men had been treated. They were in dire need, which was something that could not be said of a chit worth thirty thousand a year.
Nevertheless, it was a long time before he could sleep, though he blamed it on the noises in the street from the increased morning’s traffic in the road outside his window as the business of the day progressed.
Chapter One
Lady Emma Lindsay looked at herself in the mirror, not out of vanity but simply to assure herself that the gown she wore would pass muster. It was made in pale blue mousseline de soie, with tiny puffed sleeves, a deep boat-shaped neckline edged with a darker blue satin ribbon, and a high waist marked by the same ribbon. The
skirt stopped just short of her feet and revealed satin slippers. Her maid had arranged her dark brown hair à la Grecque, held with a coronet of tiny silk flowers.
‘There! You look very fine indeed,’ Rose said, as she helped Emma on with her velvet cape, handed her a fan decorated with a woodland scene and stood back, smiling at the picture she had helped to create. ‘You will have all the eligibles falling at your feet.’
‘Too late, Rose, too late. I shall soon be one and twenty, almost at my last prayers.’ She was unusually tall, but then all the Lindsays were tall, so it was hardly surprising. What with her height and her age, she despaired of finding a husband, at least not one she could love for himself and who would love her for the woman she was. And that was the problem. It was not finding a husband because her dowry was enough to ensure that, but finding the one to set her heart beating faster. Did such a man exist?
Mama said love did not come into it and she should not consider it, that a fortune and a pleasant temperament were of far more use, which was strange considering Mama had married again less than two years after losing her first husband and Sir George Tasker had neither a fortune nor a pleasant temperament.
Emma had been preparing for her come-out in the spring of 1813, when her father, Earl Lindsay, died suddenly and threw her into deep mourning. Naturally her trip to London had to be cancelled, but in truth Emma, grieving for her dear papa, had been in no mood for frivolity and had been content to spend her time quietly in the country at Pinehill, the family home in Hertfordshire. But one morning a year later, woken by bird song and the sun streaming through her bedroom window, she had suddenly realised that spring had arrived and life was passing her by and she ought to do something about it.
Mama must have had the same thought, because later that day, she had suggested taking Emma to London for her delayed coming out. The Duke of Ranworth, her mother’s brother, had offered them the use of Ranworth House in Hanover Square and they had done the rounds, attending balls and tea parties, but in the end it had not been Emma who found a husband but the dowager herself, though calling Mama a dowager was a jest, considering she had not been above forty at the time and still comely.
‘Lady Emma, that’s just the right age to be,’ Rose said, answering her last comment. ‘Though you are still young and beautiful, you are past the age of being thought an empty-headed schoolgirl that no one need take seriously. Some gentlemen would value your maturity.’
Emma laughed. ‘Thank you, Rose. What would I do without you? It is ridiculous when you think that a lady is not expected to dress herself, to do her own hair, or allowed to go out alone. But it is not only the dressing and looking after my clothes I value you for, it is having someone to talk to. I can say anything I like to you.’
‘My lady, I am sure you would manage.’ She paused and then took a deep breath before going on. ‘My lady, I have to give notice. My mother is having another baby and she needs me to look after the other little ones. There are seven now.’
Emma sank down on to the bed and stared up at her maid, who had been part of her life ever since she could remember. Rose had been a parlour maid at Pinehill, but as soon as Emma had become old enough to have a maid of her own, the girl had been promoted to lady’s maid. She was more than a servant, she was a friend. ‘Oh, Rose, of course you must go, but I shall miss you terribly. How long do you think you will be away?’
‘My lady, my mother is almost past childbearing age and this time she has found it very difficult carrying. I think she will need me to stay. I am sorry, my lady, truly I am. I do not want to leave you, but I must.’
‘I understand, Rose, of course I do.’ How selfish men were, Emma decided, determined to have their conjugal rights no matter what the consequences to their poor wives, but she did not say it aloud because she knew Rose loved her father—besides, it was not considered a suitable subject for a young unmarried lady to air. ‘When will you go?’
‘At the end of the week if that is convenient to you, my lady.’
‘My convenience is not important, Rose, I would never keep you from your mother. Go and look after her, I shall manage.’ She stood up. ‘Now, I must be off or we shall be late.’
Hurrying downstairs, Emma found her mother and Sir George waiting for her in the drawing room. Her mother, in a becoming gown of rose-pink taffeta, was looking unhappy, her face pale and eyes bright with unshed tears. Sir George, arrayed in a mulberry evening coat, an embroidered waistcoat, white silk breeches and silk stockings, was standing with his back to the hearth, his mouth set in a thin line of annoyance. There was a tension in the air, which immediately communicated itself to Emma.
‘About time too!’ Sir George said.
‘Goodness, child, whatever do you do up there to take so long to dress?’ her mother asked more mildly. She had once been upright and sprightly, but age and being cowed by her demanding second husband seemed to have diminished her.
‘I’m sorry, Mama, but I was talking to Rose. She wants to leave.’
‘Why? Whatever have you done to her?’
‘Nothing, Mama. She has to go and look after her brothers and sisters. Her mother is enceinte again.’
‘Well, there’s nothing to be done about it tonight,’ Sir George snapped. ‘You can send her packing in the morning.’
‘In the morning?’ Emma queried. ‘She is prepared to stay until the end of the week.’
‘No doubt she would like to, but it is my experience that servants under notice are worse than useless; they do no work, undermine the morale of the others and use every opportunity to steal…’
‘Rose is not like that,’ Emma protested. ‘She is honest and loyal.’
‘So you may think, but it is my rule that when a servant expresses a wish to leave, they are turned off immediately.’ He turned to his wife. ‘You will see she goes tomorrow. Now, the carriage is waiting. If we are not careful, we shall be the last to arrive and I particularly wanted to be there on time. There is someone I wish you to meet.’
‘Oh?’ Had he tired of waiting for her to accept an offer of marriage and found a husband for her? She waited to be enlightened.
‘Lord Bentwater.’
‘I do not think I know the gentleman.’
‘No, of course you do not or I would not be going to the trouble of introducing you.’
‘And what am I to make of this gentleman?’ She spoke coolly because she would not let him intimidate her as he intimidated her mother; if he expected her to fall into the arms of one of his disreputable friends, then he was going to be disappointed. She was not so desperate to marry that she would accept anyone in breeches. In fact, she was not desperate at all. Her mother’s miserable second marriage was enough to put anyone off.
‘You may make of him what you will, miss. What is more to the point is what he makes of you. Come, now, the horses will be growing restive.’ Followed meekly by his wife and an exasperated Emma, he set off down the hall, where the front door was opened by a liveried footman. A few short steps and he was at the carriage where he stood to one side as one of the grooms opened the door for the ladies to enter. Sir George seated himself opposite them and gave the order to proceed.
Although Almack’s was almost certainly the most exclusive club in London, it could hardly be called grand. Lit by gas, the ballroom was enormous, made to look even larger by the huge mirrors and a series of gilt columns. Other smaller rooms were used for supper and cards. The Patronesses who presided over the weekly balls during the Season made sure only the best people attended and that everyone behaved themselves. It was here young ladies were paraded before the eligible bachelors in the hope of finding a husband. Emma thought it unbearably boring and could not understand why her stepfather should suddenly take it into his head to attend. Except for that hint about someone he wanted her to meet. She was curious, but not hopeful.
As soon as they arrived Sir George disappeared in the direction of the card room and Emma and her mother wandered into the ballroom, whe
re the sumptuous gowns of the ladies and the richness of the gentlemen’s coats formed a shifting rainbow of colour as they walked and gesticulated and preened themselves between dances. Spotting Lady Standon and her daughter, Harriet, they crossed the room to join them.
Harriet, a year younger than Emma, had recently become engaged to Frederick Graysmith, lawyer and Member of Parliament. He was likeable enough, but there seemed to be no fire in him. He would be safe but dull as a husband. Emma decided she wanted more than that. She wanted excitement and passion and a little something extra, though she could not define it. All she knew was that she would recognise it when it came. If it came. And if it did not, would she be able to settle for second best? She had a dreadful feeling that her stepfather was about to try to force a match on her and, if Lord Bentwater was anything like Sir George, she knew she would not like him.
‘Emma, I had no idea you would be coming tonight,’ Harriet said, her brown eyes bright with excitement. She was dressed in buttercup yellow, which contrasted well with her dark hair.
‘It was Sir George’s idea,’ she said. ‘He says there’s someone he wants me to meet and it must be important, for he insisted on buying me a new gown for the occasion.’ She looked round to see her mother deep in conversation with Lady Standon and lowered her voice. ‘We had such a rush to find something in the time available.’
‘It is very becoming,’ Harriet said, stepping back to appraise her friend. ‘You mean he is matchmaking?’
‘If he is, I cannot think what is behind it. I’m not sure I shall like it.’
‘Being married? Oh, surely you do not mean to be an old maid.’
‘It would be better than enduring an unhappy marriage, don’t you think? Once the deed is done, there’s no going back on it.’
