Allerdale: Confirmed Bachelors Book 1

by Jenny Hambly

  Allerdale

  Confirmed Bachelors Book 1

  Jenny Hambly

  Copyright © 2021 by Jenny Hambly

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The moral right of Jenny Hambly has been asserted.

  www.jennyhambly.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Ruth,

  For all the laughter and encouragement!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Also by Jenny Hambly

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  The Castle Tavern in Holborn was filled with gentlemen of the Fancy. Anyone with an interest in pugilism was welcome. Today, a thrilling if bloody encounter between Ned Painter and Tom Oliver, more widely known as The Chelsea Gardener, had ensured that the establishment was packed. Miles Gilham, Earl of Allerdale, son to the Marquess of Brigham, squeezed shut eyes that were stinging from the thick cigar smoke that hung in the air. Less than a year ago, he would have felt invigorated by the undoubted excellence of the hard-fought contest he had witnessed, yet he found himself strangely underwhelmed by the whole encounter. It seemed that seeing two well-matched athletes pounding each other to a pulp no longer had the power to excite him.

  He opened his dark eyes and scanned the room for his friend Lord Carteret, who had braved the crowd of men standing three deep at the bar in order to furnish them with a drink. It was not yet eleven o’clock, but Miles suddenly wished for nothing more than to go back to his lodgings and make an early night of it. Over the past several months he had become used to retiring at a modest hour and rising with the sun, eager to face whatever challenges the day threw at him. He had thought that returning to Town would be as comfortable as putting on a well-worn glove, yet tonight, at least, he felt as though it was like putting on one that was too tight. He did not doubt, however, that it would soon stretch until it resembled a second skin.

  It was not his friend but another gentleman who suddenly came towards him out of the smoke.

  “Allerdale, where have you been hiding, you rogue? It used to be that you were forever haunting Town, but it is now past the middle of May and this is the first time I have set eyes upon you since I don’t know when.”

  “I believe the last time I had the pleasure of your company, Sandford, was last July.”

  “That long?” Lord Sandford said. “Where does the time go? I might have suspected you had been hiding your latest barque of frailty away from prying eyes and been tempted to wrest from you the whereabouts of the rare beauty that could keep you away from Town for so long if it were not for your appearance.”

  Miles’ lips twisted into a rather world-weary smile. “Temper your imagination, Sandford. I have been hiding no one away.”

  “You have no need to tell me that; your altered appearance tells me as much. Your skin is so brown I can see you have been spending very little time indoors and your hair has been cut in a severe style hardly likely to attract the ladies. I swear, it is shorn as close as a sheep.”

  Lord Sandford’s words did not concern Miles; he knew he exaggerated. Even with his locks trimmed to such a degree that waves or curls no longer threatened them, he still boasted a healthy head of hair. He had become increasingly irritated with the effort it took to tame it over the past year, his not inconsiderable energy having been thrown into far more practical endeavours than how to ensure his appearance was everything that a man about town could wish it to be.

  “How very appropriate a comparison,” Miles said with a wry smile. “It is sheep that I have largely been concerned with for the last two months, but before your mock me, Sandford, I would point out that your dark locks have been brightened by a white streak that reminds me forcibly of a magpie since I last saw you.”

  The Marquess of Sandford grinned. “I cannot deny it. But I rather think that it adds a certain distinction to my appearance that, I am afraid to say, your close-cut crop does not confer upon you.”

  Miles looked into the rather pale, dissipated face of his acquaintance and said, “I am sure you are right, Sandford, but I can at least boast that I am in the best of health, whereas you look as if you need a repairing lease although the season has some way to run.”

  Lord Sandford’s green eyes narrowed a little. “There was a time, Allerdale, when you did not judge your activities by the season. Every month was the season for play. Did you back the winner today? You usually have the devil’s own luck. I must say, it was the best fight I have seen for some time.”

  “Yes, although it was brutal,” Miles agreed. “I am amazed it went eight rounds. I thought The Gardener was gone after two, which I must admit caused me some dismay, as I had indeed put my money on him.”

  Lord Sandford pulled a face. “Mine was on Painter, lost a monkey on him.” His eyes brightened with the gleam of the ever-hopeful gambler. “Never mind, the night is still young. Come with me to Watier’s, why don’t you?”

  “Not this evening, Sandford. We would be there half the night, and my mother is expecting me in the morning.”

  Lord Sandford gave a scornful laugh. “All this talk of interesting yourself in sheep and keeping an appointment with your mother has me worried, Allerdale. Do not say you are turning into a paragon of virtue? You are the last man I would expect to turn into a dead bore.”

  Miles shrugged. “I doubt I will ever be a paragon of virtue, but I have spent the last nine months applying myself to more serious pursuits so perhaps I am a bore. I must admit that now I have a more intimate knowledge of just how much hard work and effort goes into producing the income that funds my lifestyle, I find I am a little less eager to squander it.”

  “And yet you are here, old fellow, and have placed a bet only today,” Lord Sandford pointed out.

  “Yes,” he admitted, “but only a very modest one, I assure you.”

  A relieved smile dawned as he saw his friend Viscount Carteret approaching; Miles had promised his father he would behave in a more circumspect manner this year, and he never broke a promise if it was within his power to keep it. It would be far easier to fulfil his vow, however, if he were not cornered at every turn by some old acquaintance trying to drag him back into his old habits.

  “Carteret! Perhaps you can be persuaded to accompany me to Watier’s? Allerdale is being a dead bore and will not come.”

  Lord Carteret sent a swift glance in his friend’s direction. His cynical grey eyes and firm chin were somewhat at odds with his haphazardly arranged, slightly overlong brown hair, which had a tendency to flop over his forehead. The former attributes suggested that he was astute and determined, and the latter that he poss
essed an easy-going carelessness.

  “Not tonight, Sandford,” he said softly, offering the marquess a lazy smile. “My luck is not in, and I do not believe in chasing my losses, especially not at Watier’s; the play runs so deep there.”

  “Hen-hearted, the pair of you!” Lord Sandford declared, before striding off.

  Miles tossed off the glass of daffy that his friend offered him and winced. “I do not think I will ever truly acquire the taste for gin!”

  “I am quite in agreement, Allerdale, devilish stuff! As we have now partaken of the obligatory glass and listened to every aspect of the fight being discussed in tedious detail, might I suggest we repair to your lodgings where we can enjoy a quiet conversation without any reference to a flush hit, a doubler, or a cross-buttock?”

  Miles lifted a dark eyebrow. “You are such an outstanding practitioner of the art yourself, Carteret, that I own I am surprised not to have heard you hold forth a little more on the bout. Didn’t lose too heavily, did you?”

  The viscount laughed. “When did I ever wager more than I could afford to lose, Allerdale? Sandford would have been justified in calling me a dead bore; I have always been one of your more sensible friends. Not that you have ever taken any of my advice! I am very pleased that you withstood his invitation, however, he is a dashed loose-screw and is running through the not inconsiderable fortune he inherited at a rate of knots!”

  Miles smiled. “I believe that epithet has more than once been levelled at myself.”

  “Not by me,” Lord Carteret said gently, guiding him from the establishment and raising his hand to attract the attention of a passing hackney. He instructed the driver to deliver them to Duke Street and followed his friend into the vehicle.

  “You may have been a trifle profligate last year, but you never went beyond the line of what was acceptable for a gentleman. You have always been a staunch friend, and you have never to my knowledge, trifled with the hearts or reputations of ladies of quality. Unlike Sandford.”

  Miles frowned. “I fear your knowledge is not quite up to date, Carteret.”

  “Really? Then I am delighted that you invited me back to your rooms, Allerdale.”

  “I did not. You invited yourself!”

  “An irrelevant detail. Now tell me, whose heart did you trifle with?”

  “I trifled with no one’s heart, but I certainly endangered a lady’s reputation. I did intend to marry her, however, only she would have none of me! Didn’t like my damnable temper.”

  “Yes,” Lord Carteret said, meditatively, “it is usually that which leads you into trouble. Now come, tell me all.”

  “Very well, but only because I know you will keep mum about the whole affair. I lost heavily at cards to Devonan, and my father refused to pay my debt unless I married.”

  His friend blinked. “Lost to Devonan? You? Impossible!”

  “My father said the same thing. When he could be brought to believe I had not been foxed, he was of the opinion that my drink had been laced with something to impair my judgement.”

  “The cad! Although I am glad you did not, I am surprised you did not call Devonan out.”

  “I had no proof. Besides my father won back everything I had lost and more. Instead, I abducted a guest staying in our house and headed for Gretna Green. When she refused my offer, I held the threat of keeping her overnight in Carlisle over her head and thus ruining her. Very pretty behaviour, wasn’t it? Now tell me I am not a loose-screw!”

  “It was certainly very rash,” Lord Carteret said calmly. “Why did you not apply to me for a loan?”

  “A man does not borrow money from his friends! At least, not such a large sum as I had lost. Heaven knows when I would have been able to pay you back.”

  “As if I would have cared, Allerdale. But you have proved my point. A loose-screw would have shown no such principles.”

  “Talk to Lady Georgianna Voss about my principles and she will laugh in your face!” He groaned. “I did not mean to mention her name, but it is too late now, I suppose. You will undoubtedly make the connection if she is in Town, although she is now Lady Somerton.”

  His friend chuckled. “I have indeed had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. She is elegant, beautiful, and quite formidable in her way. She does not suffer fools and is very forthright. I like her the better for it. But I am intrigued; you are neither married to her nor has any breath of scandal reached my ears. What occurred to make your foolhardy plan go awry.”

  “She hit me over the head with a poker and made good her escape.”

  “How very intrepid of her,” Lord Carteret murmured, a smile lurking in his eyes.

  “I caught up with her but had by then come to my senses.”

  “I imagine you might have. What did you do next?”

  “I took her home only to find her father and Somerton had arrived. The former was hellbent on making her marry me, and the latter, ready to murder me.”

  They had by now reached Duke Street. Lord Carteret followed his friend into the building and cast a surprised glance about Miles’ sitting room. It was usually in disarray, with riding crops, invitations, gloves, and a myriad of other random articles littering the desk and furniture. This evening, however, he found it unusually tidy. A neat stack of correspondence graced one corner of the desk, and no articles of clothing or any of the accoutrements necessary to a keen whip and accomplished rider were draped carelessly over the two chairs or couch that were set about the fireplace. But then, his friend had only been in Town a matter of days, so perhaps that explained it.

  When they were both comfortably settled in front of the fire nursing generous glasses of brandy, Lord Carteret took up the thread of their conversation. “And yet you are neither married nor murdered. How did you avoid either of these terrible fates? I, for one, would not wish to cross Lord Somerton.”

  “Impressive, isn’t he?” Miles agreed. A fond, reminiscent smile softened his countenance. “It was all thanks to Georgianna. She was so calm and matter-of-fact about the whole episode that she took the wind out of everyone’s sails.” He laughed. “She coolly pointed out that she was home before nightfall and so her reputation was in no danger unless anyone in the room breathed a word about it. And when my father asked her how it was that we had arrived at Brigham together in such an amicable fashion, she merely said that when I wasn’t being tiresome, I was very good company.”

  An appreciative smile curved Lord Carteret’s lips. “She was in the right of it, Allerdale. The same thought has crossed my mind on more than one occasion. But I find it hard to believe that you were let off the hook quite so easily. What price have you to pay for your idiocy?”

  “Damn you, Carteret. If we had not been firm friends since our first term at Eton, I would not let that pass.”

  “I doubt it not,” Lord Carteret said. “But you can hardly take umbrage at my calling you an idiot when I have been doing so almost from the moment that we met. Have you forgotten that it was I that fished you out of the pond when you lost your temper with one of the older boys who tried to bully me? I told you then that you were an idiot to square up to someone three years your elder.”

  “What ingratitude!” Miles protested. “How could I have done otherwise? You were as slender as a sapling, small for your age, and a prime target for any of the dolts who thought they could prise from you your pocket money, half your dinner, or persuade you to do their homework for them. I will say this for you, Carteret, your intellect was always far ahead of your years or your stature.”

  “Yet you would not listen to my counsel, even then,” his friend said softly.

  Miles threw up his hand in defeat. “I know. But how should I have known then that you have your own way of routing your enemy? I have never known such a fellow for biding his time and taking his revenge in a cold, calculated manner.”

  “It is a dish best served cold, I believe,” Lord Carteret said. “Something I have been failing dismally to teach you for years. But we digress, you
have still not informed me of the price you have to pay.”

  Miles was completely unconscious of the fact that his booted foot had begun to tap on the floor.

  “I have spent the last nine months learning the business of running Murton, one of our estates in Yorkshire,” he said curtly. “I have found the experience both illuminating and absorbing. But it is only half of the bargain. Although my father withdrew his insistence that I marry, my mother became quite carried away with the idea. When I returned to Brigham for Christmas, in a moment of weakness, I agreed that I would find a bride this season.”

  “Then your affection for your mother and your scruples have got the better of you, my friend,” Lord Carteret said softly. “Your word has ever been your bond. For what it is worth you have my sympathy.”

  “You are still not reconciled to the prospect of marriage then, Carteret?”

  “No,” his friend said, his voice flat and his eyes hard.

  Miles sighed. “It has been five years since Lord Haverham dashed your hopes of securing Diana Ramshorn—”

  “They were not dashed by Haverham though, were they?” he interrupted, his voice silky. “They were dashed by Diana. She gave me every encouragement, furthermore, I told her I would call on her father and she did nothing to discourage me. She even allowed me to propose to her so she could have the pleasure of declining me. She tried to lay the blame at her parents’ door, saying that they would not contemplate a viscount when an earl was in the offing.”