Birds of a Feather

by Allison Lane

  “Not at all. My father merely read me a new lecture on duty and responsibility.” Anger flared briefly in his eyes, but mellowed into a warm smile. “You look enchanting.”

  “Fustian, Reggie. Don’t waste your breath on flattery. I need your help.”

  He frowned. “Surely Sedge is not annoying you.”

  “The other way around, I fear.” She blushed at the reminder of the lemonade episode. But Lord Sedgewick was watching her, so she refrained from explaining. This was not the ideal place to talk, but she must broach the subject before his brother spirited him away for another week. “Lord Wicksfield charged me with screening Harriet’s suitors, but I know little beyond their public faces and fear that they may be hiding truths that would make them unsuitable.”

  “Such as?”

  “If I knew that, I would not be asking.”

  “Forgive me for teasing. You are right that many facts are known only by other gentlemen. What do you look for in a suitor?”

  “Lord Wicksfield is naturally concerned with family background and financial stability. But beyond that, I must find someone who will care for Harriet. Her ephemeral appearance is misleading, for she is not physically frail, but she is emotionally fragile. She needs a husband who can handle her megrims.”

  “I see.” He drew her nearer the wall, lowering his voice. “Who is seriously courting her?”

  “I know Almont means to make an offer. I’ve put him off in hopes of seeing you first. He strikes me as insincere.”

  “Astute of you. Almont needs to settle his succession – he recently had a falling-out with his brother, who is next in line. But he wants only an heir. He will invest no time or emotion in his wife, for his heart belongs to his mistress and their four children.”

  “Good heavens.”

  “He will offer Harriet his name, a large allowance, and the freedom to pursue her own interests once an heir is born. But that is all she can expect.”

  “She needs more – support during hysteria, tolerance for her mistakes, genuine affection.”

  “She won’t get that from Almont. Who else might offer?”

  “I am not sure. Lord Penleigh has been growing more particular.”

  “Good Lord. He’s older than I am.” He frowned. “His primary need is for a hostess. But he would expect her to arrange everything without help, whether for social occasions or political gatherings.”

  “I did not know he was active in politics.”

  “He is very involved in Parliament, and becoming more so each year. His mother currently serves as his hostess, but she is getting older. He wishes to lessen her burden, but she strikes me as a lady who will cling to control until the day she dies – which could easily be twenty years or more; she is stubborn beyond belief.”

  She understood his hints. Penleigh would not care which woman ran his household. He lacked both the patience and the interest to train a wife or support her against his mother. Harriet would likely become Lady Penleigh’s companion. “What about Mr. Parkington?”

  “I doubt he is serious. He attaches himself to every new diamond, but he has yet to offer for anyone. His principal interest is horses. And since he has no title, I doubt he will wed without love.”

  “Which he shows no signs of feeling.” And just as well. Harriet was terrified of riding. She would hardly enjoy a husband devoted to horses. No wonder she was cooler toward him than her other suitors. “What can you tell me of Mr. Stoverson?”

  “Not much. He rarely visits the clubs. I’ve heard little against him, but I can ask. I believe we have mutual friends.”

  “And Mr. Wethersby?”

  He sighed. “Like Stoverson, he is ten years my junior and moves in different circles.”

  “Can you find out his exact financial position? Harriet may have formed a tendre for him, but I doubt Lord Wicksfield will approve.”

  He met her eyes. “There is more to this than you are saying. What do you really wish to know?”

  She glanced nervously at the crowd. “Call tomorrow morning, and I will tell you the whole story. This is not a propitious time.”

  “That sounds ominous.” He frowned.

  “Merely circumspect. London is too fond of gossip. But what do you know of Mr. Reynolds and Lord George Sterne?”

  He sighed. “When did they join her court?”

  “The day you left.”

  “Dear Lord, I feel old. Reynolds is barely out of school, but he might be well suited. He is wealthy in his own right, is heir to the Earl of Bounty, and has close ties to the Marchioness of Woodvale.”

  “You sound uncertain, though. Is it only his age?”

  “His father is venal. Not that it should matter. Reynolds refuses to go near the man. But the lad is very intelligent, so I must question whether he and Lady Harriet would really suit.”

  “I see. He would soon grow tired of her limited understanding.”

  “Or he might not. It would depend on how attached he is. As for Lord George, I find the man tedious beyond belief. We disagree on nearly everything. Since I avoid him, I cannot say whether he would suit. But Sedge would know. He keeps track of everyone.”

  “Do I?”

  Joanna was hardly surprised that Lord Sedgewick had joined them, for she’d felt his eyes from the moment Reggie had arrived. But she blushed, wondering how much he’d heard. Despite his unexpected reticence over yesterday’s clash, she didn’t trust him to keep a secret. The man was too fond of gossip.

  “Joanna was asking about Lord George Sterne. Would he make a convenable wife for Lady Harriet?”

  Sedge raised his quizzing glass toward Harriet’s set, pursing his lips as he examined her. “I shouldn’t think so. He is a fastidious prig, while she seems rather flighty.”

  “So I feared.” Joanna sighed, too concerned over Harriet’s problems to feel nervous tonight. Success was looking grimmer every day. At the moment, Mr. Reynolds seemed the best choice, but she wasn’t even sure he was serious, let alone what Harriet thought.

  Lord Sedgewick turned to his brother. “Crossbridge has decided that you were behind this morning’s embarrassment.”

  Reggie shrugged. “He blames both of us.”

  “I doubt it. I made peace with him two months ago. He knows I would not set him up again.”

  She looked at Reggie. “You refer to the incident at Lady Horseley’s?”

  He nodded.

  “What exactly did he drop – between friends?”

  “A rather suggestive drawing of a man and a woman.” He winked. “But that is as much as I will say.”

  “If it was anything like the one my brother keeps in his desk, it was more than suggestive.”

  Reggie laughed. “I am shocked that you know of such things.” His voice made a joke of the statement. “I am more shocked that you would snoop through your brother’s effects. And I am appalled that a vicar’s son would keep such a print where it might be found.”

  “As well you should be.” Lord Sedgewick was not joking. “Mother is looking for you, Reggie. You had best find her before she stages a scene in public. She expected you to call upon your return.”

  Shrugging, Reggie excused himself.

  Sedge turned a puzzled stare on Joanna. “You are not tongue-tied tonight.”

  “I am not embarrassed tonight.”

  “Don’t you fear that I might ruin you?”

  “Not in the least.” She met his eyes. “It would hardly enhance your reputation to destroy someone from a lower class who poses no threat to your own – unless Society considers lemonade a lethal weapon. I know you would gladly consign me to Hades, but since I am incapable of changing your opinion, it no longer matters. Thus I need not cringe when you appear.”

  Unfortunately, her claims were false. His stares always made her feel guilty of some gross solecism. His very presence made her squirm. But she was determined to prove that she could control her voice and face, despite his renewed use of that dratted glass. “I do owe you an apology for
last night, though, and my thanks for twice rescuing me from disaster.”

  “It was nothing.” Having studied every inch of her costume, he turned his quizzing glass toward Harriet. “Regardless of her age, she is rather young to be marrying.”

  “I agree, but her father wishes her to wed. My job is to screen her suitors and prevent her from forming unsuitable attachments.”

  That snapped his eyes to meet hers. “You?”

  “If you are honestly shocked, then your opinion of me is lower than I thought. I fear your reputation for judging people to the inch must be overstated.”

  “Despite Reggie’s claims to the contrary, you’ve given me little cause to consider you sensible.”

  Heat stained her cheeks. “Touché, my lord. You have indeed seen me at my worst, though I suspect your judgment is based on gender more than our brief acquaintance. Shallow beings rarely look past the surface.”

  “Are you not a female?”

  “So are Lady Hartford, Lady Comstock, and Miss Washburn,” she said, naming an intellectual, a gamester, and a brainless widgeon.

  “Touché, yourself. So which of them is more like you? Until recently, I would have sworn it was Miss Washburn.”

  “It hardly matters, my lord. As Mary Wollstonecraft noted, a woman’s sex even stands between her and rational converse.”

  “Ah, another of her radical devotees, I see.”

  “Hardly. The only radical notion I espouse is that women are as capable of rational thought as men – sometimes more so.” Especially in his case. A rational man would hardly spend his days in vapid conversation.

  “Perhaps you also agree with her comment that many men are capable of a tolerable understanding.”

  “Do you claim such an aptitude?” she dared, surprised to hear him counter her quote from A Vindication of the Rights of Women with a quote from A Vindication of the Rights of Men.

  “Many believe so, though others might quibble.”

  She pursed her lips in thought. Reggie was right. Lord Sedgewick was quick-witted – which made his public persona more enigmatic than ever. “Perhaps we have both been guilty of judging on too little acquaintance. But why would an educated man choose to play the part of a mindless fribble?”

  He flinched. “An odd question. I must wonder why you ask it.”

  “Rudeness. I spoke without thought, though the question itself is hardly odd. I will shortly assume a post as a governess. Training girls will be easier if I understand the society they must enter.”

  “An interesting ambition.” His quizzing glass again examined her.

  The music stopped, recalling her to duty. She had already passed too much time on conversation. “We can debate my ambitions another time, my lord. But for now, I must distract Lord Darnley. He is not a man I wish to see in Harriet’s court.”

  “Quite unsuitable,” he agreed. “But loath to take direction from women. With your permission, I will deal with him.”

  “Thank you.”

  * * * *

  Sedge left Darnley in the card room.

  He had maintained his facade of aloof amusement during the entire confrontation with Miss Patterson, but it had been difficult. Every erotic dream he had suffered in recent days had risen up to torment him the moment he caught sight of her. It didn’t help that Reggie had been right about her intelligence. When she was not in the throes of temper or embarrassed from dousing him with lemonade, she was a most intriguing woman.

  The admission added to his turmoil, for Reggie was more enamored than even their mother had feared. He might claim simple friendship, but when he had arrived in the ballroom, his face had revealed the truth. His eyes had locked instantly onto Miss Patterson, joy stripping years from his countenance. He had all but ignored greetings in his haste to reach her side.

  The sight had shocked Sedge to the core. The girl was not a beauty, but she had blushed becomingly, and the flirtatious light in her eyes made her seem the most desirable woman in the room. When he added her wit, intelligence, and a solid education, she became extremely dangerous.

  He had never thought to see that look on Reggie’s face and could only pray that the attachment had not passed beyond infatuation, for a hired chaperon of limited breeding was clearly ineligible to become Marchioness of Glendale. Surely Reggie was not blind to that reality. Pursuing her could only lead to pain.

  Miss Patterson’s emotions had been harder to gauge. He had surreptitiously watched her since returning to town – which was how he’d managed to collide with her last night; he had wanted to know if she was meeting someone in the refreshment room. She had flirted with no one else, yet he still did not know if she truly wanted Reggie or merely coveted one of the highest titles on the Marriage Mart.

  Not that it mattered. She was a schemer, preying on Reggie’s emotions in a way no other female had managed. A dangerous schemer, for she had the intelligence to adopt the ingenuous facade that hid her determination to leap above her station. Her tale of seeking a position was clever, but clearly false. She sought understanding of Society only to hone the trap she was setting for Reggie.

  Ignoring the voice protesting such arrogant assumptions, he whipped up his fury. If nothing else, it banished his unseemly lust.

  Reggie’s expectations attracted fortune hunters in droves – just as his own mystique did. Aside from taking elementary precautions to avoid being compromised, neither of them offered more than casual contempt to the creatures. But Miss Patterson had adopted a sneakier approach, hiding her ultimate goal behind a facade of friendship. That alone demonstrated her intelligence.

  He exchanged laconic words with a friend, flirted lightly with Lady Jersey, and frowned young Cathcart into staying in the ballroom rather than slipping outdoors with Miss Cunningham. But his mind teased at the puzzle of Miss Patterson.

  If she was merely a fortune hunter, he could probably buy her off. But if she cared for Reggie, opposition might make her dig in her heels. Revealing that a man of Reggie’s rank could never offer for her could prompt a compromise.

  Yet he did not truly fear compromise at this point, for she did not need to press the issue. Reggie was so tied in knots that he might toss propriety to the winds and actually make an offer.

  So he must control Reggie. And he must assume that she had formed a tendre for his brother, making her the most dangerous of all the fortune hunters. Heading her off would be a challenge.

  He would not underestimate her again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Mother is in another of her takings.” Harriet dropped wearily into a chair. “What am I to do, Joanna? She lectures me daily on duty and honor. Unless I attach a man of wealth and power, I will bring disgrace to a family whose reputation for sense and decorum has continued unblemished through five centuries.”

  “You are not the one threatening that reputation,” Joanna reminded her. “Your father’s own actions have brought him to this pass.”

  “But I have been designated to rescue him – as Mother reminds me daily. She interpreted Lord Ellisham’s long absence as a sign of disinterest, so she is concentrating on Lord Almont. Why does she insist on him? Despite his incessant compliments, I cannot like the man, yet she is pressing me to bring him up to scratch.”

  “If he does not please you, then ignore him,” Joanna said, grateful that she need not divulge her own reasons for disapproving Almont. Harriet had a history of revealing secrets when in the throes of excited chatter. Aside from the impropriety of an innocent girl discussing gentlemen’s liaisons, it would do her no good to publicly insult Almont. “You know your father cares about your happiness as much as solving his own problems. And now that Ellisham has returned, she may stop championing Almont.”

  “I don’t see why. Ellisham pays me little heed.”

  “But she is unlikely to notice that. While it is true that Ellisham will make no offer, he can distract your mother. What do you think of Mr. Reynolds? He seems quite enamored.”

  Harriet stared at
her foot. “I do not know. His dress is rather extreme.”

  “True, though he merely follows fashion as so many others do. And that will mitigate as he grows older.” Last night’s shirt points had resembled blinders, the impression enhanced by an enormous cravat that had thrust his chin halfway to the ceiling and had drawn a frown from Lord Sedgewick. “But he is sensible about most things.”

  “He is so educated that I fear to open my mouth lest I say something stupid.”

  “You need not be. Gentlemen do not expect ladies to be well-read.”

  “Most gentlemen feel that way,” agreed Harriet. “Almont all but patted me on the head when I asked him to explain the difference between helping the war veterans from his village, which he approves, and helping the tenants evicted from his estate by an enclosure act, which he opposes. I’m not to fret over such complexities. But Mr. Reynolds is different. Lady Woodvale raised him, so he is accustomed to intellectual women.”

  “You have a point,” she conceded, surprised by the astute observation. She had known that Harriet could be sensible, but now she wondered if the girl was smarter than anyone gave her credit for. Perhaps her frequent faux pas arose from immaturity rather than incompetence. “So we will not encourage Mr. Reynolds. But there are many other gentlemen. I am sure we can find one capable of satisfying both you and your father.”

  “No such paragon exists.” Tears appeared in Harriet’s eyes.

  “Nonsense. The Season is not yet over. New gentlemen take note of you every day.”

  Harriet looked doubtful, and with her new suspicions of the girl’s intellect, Joanna had to agree. While it was true that more gentlemen were drifting into Harriet’s court, most were young bucks with no serious intentions. The older ones had been courting girls who’d accepted others, so there was little chance they would form a new attachment this Season.

  “A breath of fresh air will drive away these megrims,” Joanna said briskly, needing to remain optimistic. “Fetch your pelisse and that new bonnet. A walk will make you feel better.”

  Wicksfield House was only a block from Hyde Park. Joanna preferred walking in the morning, for carriages jammed the park during the fashionable hour. Today, a fresh breeze drove the soot and smells toward the city, leaving the sky clear over Mayfair. Birds sang merrily from shrubs and trees. Flowers nodded, saturating the air with their sweet nectar. A dog barked in the distance.