June Calvin (4 page)

***

“That’s impossible! Tell me again who they were?” Alexander slammed both hands on the table on hearing Henry’s news the next day as they broke their fast around noon.

No less than Henry did his friend Lord Alexander Meade, youngest son of the Marquess of Hanley, need to marry an heiress, though for a different reason. “What is so useless as a third son?” Alexander had often moaned. A tiny estate, hardly worthy of the name, was his total expectation. If Alexander hoped to marry, he must marry well.

Unlike Alexander, Henry had brought his status as a fortune hunter upon himself. He had gambled away his allowance and borrowed extensively upon his inheritance in the form of post-obit bonds. Be his unloved sire’s demise ever so timely, he would still be a pauper. Fortunately, this was a fact he had thus far managed to keep secret from everyone but his bondsmen, and even they were ignorant of each other, and hence of just how much more he owed than he could ever hope to repay.

“I was told they were Jennifer Silverton, daughter of the previous Viscount Cornwall, and Lady Sarah, daughter of the Duke of Harwood. Why is that impossible?”

“But is not Lady Sarah married? She was very definitely promised last year. It was my understanding that she would be wed to a young squire from her home county by now.”

Henry frowned. “I was told that she was single and an heiress. Unfortunately, before I could find anyone to introduce me to either of them, they left.”

“It just couldn’t be. I couldn’t be so fortunate.” Alexander strode up and down the small room, thrusting his hands through his thick blond curls, which required little such encouragement to adopt the windswept style.

“So, you know this Lady Sarah. Do I take it you have an interest there? That is as well, as I have set my sights on the other one.”

“Yes, it certainly is as well, for if Lady Sarah is unwed, I most definitely intend to court her! I found her enchanting last year and would have tried to fix my interest then, but her heart was already engaged.”

“Sounds alarmingly like a dangerous case of lovesickness, Alex!”

“I could love her with very little effort,” Alexander readily agreed.

“I don’t envy you, a penniless, titleless third son, seeking to court the Duke of Harwood’s daughter. If you must know, that is the chief attraction of the Cornwall chit. Not that she isn’t lovely, for she is, though a green girl and a true Long Meg at that. But she has no stern father hovering around her. I for one would not care to brave Harwood’s wrath.”

“Why should I brave his wrath? I have at least as much to recommend me as that Appleby or Allensby or whatever—that young rustic with whom she had an understanding last year.”

“Perhaps that is why she is not married?” Henry examined his fingernails, covertly enjoying Alex’s sudden grimace at this possibility. “Harwood does not look the sort to let young love dictate his choice of a son-in-law.”

Alex sat down suddenly, frowning. “Yes, and he is a subtle man. He doubtless found a way to break it up without his daughter being aware . . . but no! I won’t let myself be defeated without at least trying.”

“I am extremely glad to hear you say that, for it is my hope that you will introduce me to the Cornwall chit.”

“Your wits are going begging, Fort. Never laid eyes on her.”

“But she and Lady Sarah are as thick as inkle weavers. And you
do
know Lady Sarah!”

Alexander looked at Henry Fortesque with chagrin. Not for the first time he regretted the economic necessity that had forced him into sharing quarters with his fellow equerry. Service in the Prince Regent’s retinue, while a high honor, was not a well-paying proposition. Economy had forced him into an intimate association with a young man whose morals occasionally made Alex uneasy. He certainly hesitated to introduce him to a green girl with no father to protect her.

An exceedingly handsome young man who had a great deal of appeal to the opposite sex himself, Alex was often outflanked by Henry, whose dark hair and fair complexion, thick-lashed dark brown eyes, and muscular physique made him virtually irresistible to women. Unlike Alex, Henry had no qualms about bedding other men’s wives, or maidens of the lower classes. Such behavior made Alex hesitant to bring him into Sarah’s circle.

Still, as long as Fort’s intentions were honorable, and as long as he did not attempt to engage Sarah’s affections, Alex decided that it doubtless would be unexceptionable to introduce him to the Cornwall heiress. After all, he
was
heir to a title and, if he could keep his demanding sire happy, a considerable fortune. As such, he was a very eligible
parti.
Doubtless the chit would thank him for it.

“Well, Alex? You can’t be thinking of refusing!” Henry stood and meticulously brushed his clothing free of any possible crumbs from their breakfast. The two young men shared one servant, a former army batman whose skills as a cook exceeded those as a valet, so to keep up appearances they both had long since learned to look carefully to their own grooming.

“If you are quite sure your intentions are honorable . . .”

“I can’t mend my finances by mere seduction!”

“And no abducting an unwilling female!”

“Bah! For all my loose ways, I’ve no taste for forcing myself on a woman! Indeed, I can think of nothing more miserable than being leg-shackled to an unwilling wife. No amount of money would be worth that!”

“Well, then . . . as long as you keep to your Long Meg, and leave me to my little pocket Venus.”

“Agreed!” Henry offered his hand, and Alex slowly but firmly closed his own strong fingers around it.

Chapter 4

The Duke of Harwood restlessly paced the thick carpeting of the blue salon, where he awaited his visitor. The sound of his daughter tripping down the steps brought him to the door in time to see her check her appearance in the mirror strategically placed for that purpose in the entry hall. She looked like spring itself in a light green riding habit with a daffodil yellow habit-shirt, very nearly the same color as her hair. But her eyes were shadowed, her expression somber.

Had she been crying? The duke hastened toward her. His hopes that her melancholia of the last several months would have dissipated at her first ball had not been realized. Not even making the acquaintance of Jennifer Silverton had put the roses back in her cheeks.

The months since Gregory had wed his Amanda had seen Sarah lose weight and acquire an unwonted air of gravity. This morning at breakfast she had been as subdued as at any time since last summer.
Still breaking her heart over Gregory Allensby!
The duke grimaced angrily.

“Why are you looking so fierce, Father?” Sarah had completed her inspection and turned, arrested at the expression on her father’s face.

“I was thinking of suitable means of torture for ignorant farmers.”

Sarah laughed, the sound a little forced. “Entirely unnecessary, Father. I am sure Amanda Greenwood will accomplish your revenge. And at any rate, I don’t think of Gregory anymore, I assure you.”

“No, doubtless those red eyes were caused by tears of regret for the napkin you shredded at breakfast this morning.”

“I was just thinking . . . I can only avoid Arnold Lanscombe and his cruel limericks for so long. Then everyone will know I’ve been jilted.”

“Ah! Pride.” The duke truly smiled, his relief evident. “Hurt pride heals much sooner than a broken heart.”

“Yes, Papa.” But Sarah looked doubtful. “May I invite Lady Cornwall and Jennifer back to tea?”

“I insist. Oh, and John will be here by then.”

Sarah perked up at the mention of her second cousin. “He is returning today?” John Warner was her father’s very efficient secretary. He had been in Scotland for a fortnight, attending to his recently deceased father’s affairs.

“Yes. It was a near-run thing. I greatly feared he might elect to stay with his mother.”

“Pooh! She would not appreciate it. Old tartar! She doesn’t deserve a kind, considerate son like John.”

Harwood nodded his agreement and watched his child dash out to her waiting horse and groom. He yearned to protect her from the spiteful tongues of the
ton
, but knew he could not do so, not completely, any more than he had been able to protect her mother. Eleanor had learned to cope, indeed to give as good as she got, and soon Sarah would have to learn to do the same. But it grieved him to think she must surrender some of her sweetness in the process.

Standing on his front steps to watch his daughter ride away, Harwood surveyed the skies, which were grey but did not look immediately threatening. He wished he could join Sarah, but duty called. Preston Tarbridge, his man in the House of Commons, was calling on him today with what the tiresome old placeholder had insisted was urgent business.

***

“What incredible luck!” Abruptly, Alexander drew up Cavalier, his rangy roan gelding, causing Henry’s mount to bump into its flank.

The resentment this caused in both high-spirited horses kept Henry from learning the reason for Alex’s excitement for several moments as they both struggled to control their mounts. When Henry’s black, Demon, had finally been convinced not to savage Cavalier, and Cavalier had been convinced not to bolt, both young men were red-faced with exertion and embarrassment.

“What the devil brought this on?” Henry demanded.

“After our fine display of horsemanship, I regret to inform you that we have an interested and very interesting audience.” Alex tapped Cavalier lightly with his heels and sprang away toward a group of four horses that had stopped to avoid colliding with them on the bridle path. He drew the roan up smartly and took off his hat, sweeping it forward in greeting.

“Lady Sarah! What a breath of spring you look on this grey day!”

“Lord Alexander!” If Sarah had not already realized her heart was healing from Gregory’s rejection, the way that formerly blighted organ raced at the sight of the handsome blond man’s approach would have told her. Introductions were made all around, and her pleasure grew as Alexander made it clear he had eyes only for her. Since Jennifer, looking very fine in a severely tailored black riding habit, had attracted no small amount of masculine attention on their ride thus far, Sarah was flattered and relieved at Lord Alexander’s attentiveness.

Indeed, he wasted no time, but as soon as he could politely abandon the general conversation, maneuvered his horse alongside hers to engage her in a tête-à-tête. There was nothing remarkable about the words they exchanged, the mere commonplaces that a well-bred gentleman might safely offer to a gently bred young lady. But all the while the two of them were exchanging remarks about the weather, and town being thin of company as yet, their eyes, their bodies were speaking eloquently in another language, the language of lovers.

For quite some distance they rode thus, often in silence, the innumerable sights and sounds of the park fading into obscurity, in their absorption with one another.

Meanwhile, Henry was having heavy going with the two women who rode beside him. Jennifer was painfully shy before this dark, curly-haired Adonis, and Lady Cornwall was studying him in a cool, measuring way that bespoke a most cautious parent. Not terribly propitious, but still, the chit’s very silence might indicate he’d made a strong impression.

After a few commonplaces about the weather and last night’s ball, Henry asked Jennifer if she would enjoy watching a military review. “Parades are few and far between with the Prince unwell and so often in Brighton,” he told her. “You should seize this chance to see us in all our glory.”

“Are you a soldier, Mr. Fortesque?” Jennifer asked timidly, because Henry and Alexander were both dressed in civilian riding attire.

“I am one of the Prince’s personal soldiers, if you will, one of his equerries, as is Alex, there. We have quite impressive uniforms, I assure you, and can show to much better advantage on horseback than we did a few minutes ago.”

Jennifer giggled, while Lady Cornwall lifted her eyebrows in amusement. “That is an exceptionally fine horse, Mr. Fortesque.”

Henry leaned forward and patted the black stallion’s neck. “Demon is Arabian, you know. Won him off of Eberlin. He breeds the best cattle in England,” he bragged expansively. Jennifer looked suitably impressed, but as Henry’s gaze swept past her to her mother, he realized he had made an error. Lady Cornwall’s mouth was primmed in disapproval, and he could almost hear her thinking, “A gamester!”

Demon chose this moment to live up to his name. Caught up in their idyl, Sarah and Alex had slowed almost to a walk, allowing Demon the opportunity to express the grievance he still felt for the encounter of a few minutes ago. A sharp nip to Cavalier’s flank set the gelding to kicking and jibbing sideways. This caused Sarah’s mare, Lorelei, to break into a jerky canter from which she fought her rider for the opportunity to gallop.

Sarah’s alarmed groom yelled out as he spurred his mount to pass Henry, hastening to aid his mistress, “Here, now, sir, if you can’t control him . . .”

“Mind your manners, man, and keep to your place,” Henry snarled, much vexed. “I’ve my mount under control, though I can’t say the same for Alex.”

But Alex had firmly settled Cavalier and quickly moved forward to catch Lorelei’s bridle, ending her attempts to bolt. Sarah was glad for the assistance, for though she was a competent horsewoman, she had a healthy fear of a runaway. She flashed him a grateful smile.

Alex then turned on his friend, his concern for Sarah making his tone harsh. “The groom is right, Fort. That ill-tempered beast isn’t fit for riding alongside ladies. He’s hardly a park horse, you know.”

Already regretting his burst of temper, Henry did not take offense. “Right you are. He’s best suited for racing. Eberlin may raise beautiful animals, but their docility is far from guaranteed.”

The group had come to a standstill, or as close to that as could be managed on six high-strung animals. “I’ve even greater need to redeem myself now, ladies,” Henry asserted. “Please do attend the review tomorrow. I’m to carry the Prince Regent’s colors.”

“And you do
not
intend to ride Demon, I take it?” Sarah’s dimples flashed.

“No, indeed, Lady Sarah. I’ve a fine bay who’ll carry me as steady as you please.”

Agreeing that she would seek permission to attend the review, Sarah bade Alex a reluctant good-bye, for he was urging his friend to get Demon out of the park before the stallion could contrive more mischief.

Henry noted with chagrin that Lady Cornwall very reluctantly agreed that she and her daughter would make one of the party to watch the review. But a glance at Jennifer raised his hopes again, for that damsel pinked beneath his gaze and breathed a fervent “Thank you,” when her mother agreed to the outing.

***

By the time the three ladies had made their way back to the Harwood mansion for tea, a fine mist had begun to fall. “We must go upstairs and do something about our hair,” Lady Cornwall concluded after a quick glance in the entryway mirror. At that moment Harwood emerged from the blue salon, where he had been awaiting their return.

“Ah, I hope you will not. I see the mist renders your hair as vivacious as Sarah’s.” Tenderly the duke captured a long vining tendril of his daughter’s curly hair around his forefinger. “What do you think, John? Do you not prefer this infinitely to a well-tamed chignon?”

The tall, craggy-faced man who had joined him in the doorway smiled noncommittally.

Sarah batted Harwood’s hand away. “Papa! We look a fright, and you know it. I am certain Jennifer and Lady Cornwall do not wish to be brought to John’s attention until we have had a chance to freshen up.”

“Now, is that polite, to call your guests frights?”

“Ignore him,” Sarah advised the other two, leading them up the stairs. “He thinks ‘A sweet disorder in her dress’ is some sort of biblical commandment women ought to follow.”

Lady Cornwall glanced back, somewhat surprised at such an assertion, considering how impeccably turned out Harwood always was, but then she had a sudden vision of Eleanor, her hair standing out in a halo about her head. Deborah remembered well the day the duchess had, on an impulse, commanded a stylist to cut her hair to the newest fashion. They had been together on a shopping expedition at the time. The effect had been startling, for Eleanor’s hair, freed of its weight, had rioted, rejecting any efforts to bring it to order.

Deborah had worried all afternoon and evening about what the duke would do when he learned his wife had cut her beautiful hair and was left with such an untamed mop. She knew full well that had she done such a thing without her husband’s permission, he would have beaten her.

But at the ball that night Eleanor had obviously been the object of the duke’s adoration, her bright blond curls floating about her head completely unconfined except for a token ribbon pinned with a pearl brooch. Once or twice Deborah had seen him just barely brushing his hand over the soft curls in a gesture so tender it had brought tears to her eyes, tears of joy for her friend, and of sorrow for herself for having so intolerant a husband.

The duke lifted an eyebrow as he saw Lady Cornwall hesitate on the stairs, her eyes wide with some unknown emotion. She turned away then and dashed up without saying anything. One hand upon the newel post, he mused on her odd skittishness. “Hardly more settled than her green daughter,” he muttered before turning back to follow John into the blue salon.

“What a pretty girl!”

The duke smiled at his young kinsman. “Yes, Sarah has turned out remarkably well.”

“Her, too. Who
is
the brown-haired beauty?”

“Lady Cornwall.”

John frowned and glanced away, not hiding his disappointment. “That is the new viscount’s wife? Already married, then—and so young!”

“She’s all of thirty-eight, as I recall. But cheer up, she’s a widow. Dowager Viscountess Cornwall.”

“Now, Justin, you know perfectly well . . .”

“Oh, perhaps you refer to her daughter. Jennifer is a child, not yet seventeen, even. But she has an enormous dowry—why, there’s no pleasing you!” For John had begun to frown again, and shake his head.

“It just means there’s no hope. Much too young, for one thing.”

“Ah, yes. An old greybeard of eight and twenty would think so!”

John Warner was a very serious-minded man who was often baffled and frustrated by the duke’s conversational gambits. He shook his head now, in irritation. “I was hoping to hear that she is an untitled girl of modest fortune.”

“When I suggested you think of marrying, now you are a man of property, and a potential member of Parliament, I hadn’t expected you to take the bit between your teeth quite so quickly or so eagerly.”

“I hadn’t seen those beautiful brown eyes then.”

“Take heart, lad. Lady Cornwall seems to me to be the sort of mother who will place her child’s happiness above fortune or title.”

Indignantly, John demanded, “Then why has she brought her to market so very young? Surely, she is too young even to know where her happiness might lie? I would hesitate to court so young a miss, had I ten times more property and a title to boot.”

The duke folded his length into a comfortable chair. “I’ve wondered why, myself, but the mother keeps her own counsel, at least so far. Ah, here is the curly-headed band.”

Sarah bounced across the room and into her second cousin’s arms. “John, you are back! And looking fit! Did you manage any trout fishing?”

“My land grows only sheep and trout, and I assure you I had my fill of both.” John reminded Sarah of her manners with a meaningful glance toward Lady Cornwall and Jennifer, who stood self-consciously nearby.

“Oh! Yes, excuse me. Lady Cornwall, Jennifer, I wish you to know my cousin, well, actually my second cousin, John Augustus MacTavish Warner. John is my father’s indispensable secretary.”