by Joan Smith
And she was hopelessly inadequate to the task. She didn’t know where the traps lay, which gentlemen were rakes and fortune hunters and thieves and gamblers, who would play ducks and drakes with the Hazard’s hard-earned fortune. She needed an advisor herself.
She looked up and saw Mr. Hume striding purposefully toward her. Lydia said he was fabulously wealthy, which suggested that he would not be interested in the Hazard’s fortune. Perhaps he could help her.
“What a tornado you have let loose in society, Lady Wetherby,” he said, taking a chair beside her. “The clubs will make a fortune on bets as to which gentlemen wins Lyle’s Tonics for the Ton. My money is on young Cleary. As handsome as can stare, in debt to his beautiful blue eyes, and utterly without scruples. He’ll find an excuse to challenge any serious competitor to a duel and kill him, compromise Miss Ffoulkes-Hazard in some manner, and walk off with the lot.”
Miranda gasped in horror. “Oh! Which one is Mr. Cleary?”
“The buck who has already ousted Mrs. Bannington from her seat and gained access to the young heiress.”
Miranda looked and saw a dissipated looking young gentleman who was certainly handsome, but much too raffish for Dotty to handle.
“Oh dear! What shall I do?” Miranda asked.
“Sit back and enjoy the charade, milady,” he said, laughing. “This is better than a raree show. There is nothing so droll as the English gentleman chasing an heiress. Mincing and capering and showering compliments does not come naturally to him. It is done better by the Latin races. It is as Doctor Johnson said of ladies preaching. ‘It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all.’
“There, by Jove! Young Cleary has found a pretext for taking hold of her hand. Reading her palm, is he? He’s tried that stunt before. Let him once get hold of her hand and the heart will soon follow. I fear she is lost.”
“But can’t we stop him?”
“Meaning, can’t I stop him? Yes, at risk of my life. For that I shall require some extraordinary reward — like the first set of waltzes with you, madam.” He bowed his sleek head and reached for her hand.
“Anything,” she said, tossing up her hands in relief.
“How interesting!” he murmured. “In that case… Ah, young Bolton has beat me to it.”
In her panic, Miranda had not seen Lord Bolton enter the room. She had not seen his searching gaze settle first on herself, frowning to see her with Hume, before discovering Dotty’s peril.
She watched with mixed emotions as he came forward to greet the Hazards, and put out his hand to draw Dotty up from the sofa and lead her off. She was vastly relieved he had removed Dotty from Cleary’s dangerous society, but was struck with the unhappy thought that he was also after Dotty’s dowry. The details of the Hazard fortune were not known earlier, when he was dangling after herself.
Bolton looked around the room. When he espied Miranda, he came forward, drawing Dotty with him.
“Congratulations, milord,” Hume said. “You have just diddled me out of my reward. Lady Wetherby had promised me a very interesting reward to rescue Miss Ffoulkes-Hazard.” He turned to Miranda. “I hope, ma’am, you will still honor me with a dance for my good intentions.”
He smiled and walked away. Bolton lifted a delicate arch of eyebrow and just stared a question at Miranda. Without his saying a word, she knew what message he was conveying: that he was vexed at that “very interesting reward.’
When he spoke, he said blandly, “The music is beginning. Shall we go to the ballroom? Miss Ffoulkes-Hazard has promised me the first set. And as her rescuer, I claim the waltzes with you, Lady Wetherby.” Then he lifted his eyebrow again and added in an irritated voice, “Unless you can think of a more interesting reward.”
He put one hand on either lady’s arm and led them to the ballroom, where they met up with Lord Robert and Lydia. Lydia drew Miranda aside to chide her.
“You didn’t tell me they were the Lyle’s Tonics heiresses,’’ she said sotto voce. “Everyone is talking about it, and I had them at my party first. If I had known, I would have insisted my brother Tommie come to meet them. He has only two thousand a year.”
Even her old friend Lydia was infected with this lust for gold. “Better Tommie than Cleary,” Miranda said wearily. “Oh, I have been meaning to speak to you, Lydia. Mrs. Hazard wants to have a party. Can you help me arrange it?”
“With pleasure, darling, but really you have only to tell your butler and he will look after all the details. Lord Croft was not one of the great entertainers, but he had one or two parties each Season. He’s a widower, you know, with no lady to handle the social end. I’m sure he didn’t make the arrangements himself.”
Mr. Calvin, one of last Season’s eligible bachelors, came forward to be introduced to Miranda. When the music began, he asked her to stand up with him. They joined a set with Bolton and Dotty. During those moments when conversation was possible, Mr. Calvin’s talk was all of Dotty. It was pretty clear he had only feigned an interest in Miranda to meet the heiress. Lord Bolton also had a few words with Miranda when the steps of the dance brought them together.
“Who let the cat out of the bag?” he asked.
“Mrs. Hazard — that is Ffoulkes-Hazard, did it herself, after practically swearing me to secrecy.”
“I wondered about that Ffoulkes,” he said, with a glinting grin. “It isn’t on the tonic bottles. We’ll have our work cut out for us staving off the fortune hunters,” he said, suddenly serious. “We’ll talk later.” Then the moves of the cotillion took them apart.
Miranda thought of what he had said. It didn’t sound as if he was chasing after Dotty himself. And if that were the case, he could prove an effective ally. He had cut Cleary out very neatly.
But what were his intentions regarding herself? Was protecting Dotty just a pretext to throw himself in her path, in order to seduce her? She was strangely excited at the notion, until a worse one occurred. Was he feigning an interest in her to gain the inner track with Dotty? Yes, that was probably it. Why should he be any different from the others?
Chapter Six
Miranda had the next set with Lord Robert, and again the subject of conversation was the Hazards. Even Robert, who had no penniless brother to see matched up, was fascinated with them.
“Don’t be too hasty to hand your friend over to some gent, Miranda,” he said, laughing. “You could go into business for yourself and charge a guinea for an introduction to her. The mama is quite an original, isn’t she?”
“Yes. It never occurred to me that they would be such a success. I fear they won’t want to go back to the Laurels. I shall miss them dreadfully.”
“Why not remove to London yourself? You could rent John’s place for a tidy sum and hire a flat in London. You’d have a more amusing time, and better prospects for making another match. You’re too young to wilt into a widow, my dear.”
“Good gracious, I’m not in the Ffoulkes-Hazards’ league. Who would want to marry a thirty year old widow with only life tenancy in her home, and an income of two thousand a year?”
“A fifty year old bachelor with his own very handsome estate and a reported income of twenty-five thousand a year,” he replied. “I’m talking about Hume. He is mighty interested in you.”
“He’s a wretched old flirt!”
“So he is, but he’s getting to that age where he’ll soon realize how ridiculous he looks, chasing after the young girls. I believe he’s about ready to settle down with some pretty lady still young enough to give him a son and heir, and the money is no matter to him. Think about it. Lydia believes you could nab him if you played your cards right. We’d love to have you here in London, near us.”
The idea of renting John’s estate was interesting. London was certainly amusing, and if the Hazards left Surrey, the place would be even more lonesome than before. But she wouldn’t marry a fifty year old man whom she didn’t particularly like, and with some shadow hanging over his past besides.
“Best not to ask that question. It is avoided — like the paternity of one’s friends’ children.”
“You have become very cynical, Robert,” she chided.
“I have been spending too much time at Whitehall. To be serious, Hume is not that bad. Society would cut him if he had married a series of wealthy women and murdered them, or anything of that Bluebeard sort. It was just a crooked business deal, I believe. If you look closely into the past of any wealthy family, you will find more pirates and brigands and rogues than heroes. It is a rare man who becomes wealthy honestly.
“Time is the great healer, and Hume’s peccadilloes, whatever they were, have assumed an aura of respectability over the years. He would be sitting in the House of Lords if he hadn’t argued with Prinny. If he chooses his bride wisely, he’ll end up there yet.”
When Mr. Hume came to claim his dance, Miranda began to sense that he was more than a little interested in her. For one thing, he didn’t flirt. He talked more seriously, gently quizzing her about her life. Like Lord Robert, he hinted that he would like to see her remove to London. She didn’t dislike him. His morals, while not so sterling as her late husband’s, were no worse than the rest of the ton, but she knew in her bones she would never care for him as a husband.
If she married him for his fortune, she would be no better than those sharks dangling after Dotty. There was neither physical nor mental nor emotional attraction on her side.
This was not at all the case with Lord Bolton. She found him dangerously attractive. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird when he took her in his arms for the second set of waltzes. The mere touch of his hand on hers as he led her to the floor made her breaths come unevenly. Their conversation was not in the least romantic, yet her heart pounded as if she had run a mile.
“What are your plans to protect Miss Hazard from the fortune hunters?” he asked, omitting the farce of adding Ffoulkes to the name. “I don’t like the way Cleary is dangling after her. Or Lord Warnville either.”
“Which one is he?” she asked. “I know Cleary by sight.”
“Warnville is his friend, the tall, blond gent flirting with Mrs. Hazard.”
“Oh dear! A pity the fortune hunters are always so handsome! Only see how she is lapping his flattery up like a schoolgirl! She’s probably invited them both to her party by now.”
“What party?” he asked at once. There was that in his tone that hinted at offense at not having been invited.
“It was supposed to be a simple dinner party, but tonight has been such an unexpected success I foresee it becoming a regular squeeze.”
“And who was invited to this more intimate do?” he persisted.
“No one, yet. We had planned to ask you and Robert and Lydia and Hume. We need one other gentleman to even the numbers.”
“I accept,” he said, a smile curving his lips as his pique vanished.
“Yes, and so will Cleary and Warnville, if I don’t warn Mrs. Hazard not to invite them.”
“So will Hume accept, but we’ll look out for Dotty.”
“At least Hume is not after the money,” she said, with a troubled look. Was it possible Bolton had his flashing eye on that jackpot? Setting himself up as Dorothy’s watchdog made access to her sure and easy. She would come to rely on his protection. It would be very easy, in fact only natural, for that sort of relationship to turn into hero-worship on the lady’s part.
“No, he is even more dangerous,” Bolton replied. “He is after you — which leaves me with two vulnerable ladies to protect. And I think the best way to ensure my help being accepted is to butter up Mrs. Hazard. Fear not, Lady Wetherby, I shall be at your side, challenging all comers,” he said, not grimly, but with a certain relish.
When the set was over, he took a firm grip on Miranda’s arm and wedged a path through the throng surrounding Mrs. Hazard.
The Hazard party received dozens of invitations, to tea parties and routs, to assemblies and concerts and plays. “Why thank you, we would be delighted,” changed to “It sounds lovely, but I’m not sure we are free that evening.” Cards were to follow, to help the ladies sort out their schedule.
When they reached home, Mrs. Hazard fell into a well upholstered chair, eased her feet out of her slippers and sighed. “I feel as if I had climbed up the Alps and fallen down t’other side. I had no idea society was so tiring. And tomorrow I am calling on Lady Bolton. She quite insisted. I felt I should, because of Lord Bolton.”
“Did you notice how he walked in and drew my Dotty away from all the other men, Miranda? Jealous as a green cow, I warrant. I like a fellow like that who can take charge. I wager he could run Lyle’s Tonics for the Ton as well as he ran the war, or his own regiment as least. It would be good to have Dotty’s husband at the helm. Not that I don’t trust Beazly, but he is only a cousin. Is Lord Bolton calling on you tomorrow, Dotty?”
Miranda chewed back a smile to think of lofty Lord Bolton hawking patent medicines.
Dotty yawned and stretched her white arms. “I can’t remember, Mama. Ever so many gentlemen asked me if they could call.”
“He had better come early if he comes at all, for we are to call on his stepmama at four. But perhaps he will see us there instead. It’s his house after all, not hers, however high she holds up her nose.”
The next day was a busy one. The saloon was cluttered up with gentlemen and some ladies from two until four, when Mrs. Hazard dismissed them without ceremony and called the carriage to take her to Hanover Square.
As Lord Bolton had not called at Berkeley Square, Miranda assumed he would meet them at his own house, but he was not there. It was the two Ladies Bolton who awaited them, seated in an elegant saloon done in deep blue, with red and gold accents. Miranda was surprised that there were no other guests.
Both the hostesses were charming. They welcomed the guests like old friends, informed Mrs. Hazard which shops held the best merchandise, who were the best milliners and modistes, where to hire musicians and caterers, where to buy wine, and all the things Miranda had been wondering about. She drew out a little pad and pencil and began to jot down the names and addresses, for she knew she wouldn’t remember them all. Until that point, she had been virtually ignored.
Seeing her writing, the elder Lady Bolton said, “Is Lady Wetherby your secretary, Mrs. Ffoulkes-Hazard? How original! Most people have a male secretary. But then you are an Original. I knew it as soon as I laid eyes on you.”
“Lady Wetherby is a good friend who is helping us out a little getting established,” Mrs. Hazard replied.
Lady Bolton translated this to “poor relation,” and paid no more heed to Miranda. She went on to talk about her son, Jeremy, who was apparently hunting in the Cotswolds.
Helen was not so quick to dismiss Miranda. While the other Lady Bolton quizzed Mrs. Hazard and Dotty, she quizzed Miranda. “I saw you dancing with Mr. Hume last evening. Is he a good friend of yours?”
“No, I never met him until two days ago. He was at Lord and Lady Robert Dauntry’s little do. Is he a friend of yours, milady?”
Helen’s velvet cheeks brightened to a rosy hue. “He was a good friend of my late husband. He helped us with the business details when Algernon died, for Max was in Spain at the time of the accident.”
“Oh yes. Now that Lord Bolton is back, I daresay he handles all the family business.”
Her pretty face firmed to annoyance. “He has certainly taken over completely,” she said. The front door opened and she added under her breath, “Speak of the devil.”
Within seconds, Lord Bolton entered the saloon. He had been a good deal in Miranda’s mind, but when she saw him again in person, he looked even better than she remembered. A blue jacket of superfine was molded to his broad shoulders, that still had a military air to them. His cravat was a model of simple elegance, his Hessians gleamed.
Miranda, watching him closely, noticed that his expression hardened to annoyance
to see the company assembled there. She could only assume it was the guests who annoyed him, as he would presumably expect to see his stepmama and sister-in-law. He soon had his smile in place and strode forward to greet them. But why was he angry? These two ladies were no danger to the Hazards. They were the tip of the ton.
“Oh, you’re back, Max,” Helen said. “You said you were going to Tattersall’s to see about a hunter. We didn’t expect you back before dinner.”
“The nag was a jade. I just paid my bill and came dashing home, to the bosom of my family,” he said in a sarcastic tone. “I trust you don’t mind that I choose to take tea in my own saloon, Helen? Would it be too much trouble for me to have a cup?”
Helen performed her duty with a very bad grace. Bolton took his cup without thanking her. There were vacant chairs beside both Miranda and Dorothy. With an impish grin at his stepmama, he chose the chair beside Dotty.
“Well, young lady, has my stepmama chosen your husband yet?” he asked her.
Dotty blushed and simpered and said daringly, “I plan to have something to say about that myself, milord.”
“And so do I!” Mrs. Hazard added firmly.
Lady Bolton laughed nervously and said, “Good gracious, the poor child has just arrived in town. There is no hurry to get her married off. I was just saying to Mrs. Ffoulkes-Hazard she ought to present her daughter next Season. Half the bachelors have left London to go hunting. The spring is the time to make your choice.”
“I would have loved to give my Dotty a Season,” Mrs. Hazard said at once, “but to tell the truth, I hadn’t a notion how to go about it. I had an inkling a patron or sponsor or some such thing was needed if you didn’t know anyone.”
“You will find gold needs no other sponsor, ma‘am,” Bolton said, in his ironic vein.
“There is a good deal of rigmarole to it, but I would be delighted to usher your daughter through the shoals of her debut,” Lady Bolton said at once.
