June Calvin (8 page)

“Yes. Don’t tell me—three high-flyers in his keeping?” Harwood studied John’s expression, sure it meant bad news.

It was bad news to John, who had hoped to find that Henry Fortesque was quite ineligible, but he cleared his throat and continued. “Not at all. Fort has never had to pay for his pleasure. Women generally throw themselves at him, and he has only to choose. But for the last several months he has not, from what I could learn, had a mistress. He has announced his intention of changing his profligate ways. That he means to marry, and marry well, cannot be doubted.”

“No harm in that, per se, if there is genuine feeling on both sides.”

“True.” John sat back in the chair, chagrined to see that the duke had so quickly reached the same conclusion as he had: Though his past made one a little uneasy, Henry Fortesque was an eligible
parti.

“Were you able to find out as much about the other young man?”

John did not find it nearly as difficult to report that Lord Alexander was eminently eligible, given that the duke would not insist on a wealthy suitor. He doubted that Jennifer had the least interest in Meade, which meant he was not a potential rival.

Confidently, almost happily, he produced his second report. “He is the third son of the Marquess of Hanley and possessor of a small estate in Gloucester. He manages the income from it and his army salary so as to always be beforehand with the world. No debts to speak of, does not game. He is on excellent terms with his family, which is very close. It is not a wealthy family, and there are no less than six daughters, which makes it unlikely that Meade can have any large expectations from his father.”

“And how many high-flyers does
he
have in keeping?” The duke tensed as he asked; he abhorred the notion of an unfaithful husband for his daughter, both for the heartache, and also for the health risks such behavior would bring her.

John smiled. “He seems as pure as the driven snow; at least, I could find no whispers of amours.”

“Not ever?” As John shook his head, the duke grew even more tense. Ironically, this was not good news.

“I could not say that, but he at least does not have to pay for his mistresses, for his never having a member of the muslin company in keeping has caused comment more than once.”

“Not one of the devotees of Greek love, I hope?”

Startled, John stared at him. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Could you find out if he was?”

“As it is a hanging offense, people are understandably discreet.” Both men silently contemplated the serious consequences of such behavior. Knowledge of such activities, after all, were widely whispered to be the hold Lady Byron had over her husband, which had caused him to give her custody of his daughter and quit his country.

At last John said, “I know some men who are the right age to have been classmates of Meade’s at Harrow and Cambridge. If any such tendency exists, it would certainly have shown itself in school.”

“That it would. It has never ceased to amaze me that what will lead to a death sentence in a man is treated as a mere childish
jeu d’esprit
in boys. No one seems to take seriously Wordsworth’s observation that the child is father to the man.”

“Then I will pursue my investigation.” John stood. No time like the present for this unpleasant chore. Probably one or more of the young men he needed to see would be hanging about one of the clubs.

“Oh, and John?”

“Sir?”

“I want you to send in a notice to the papers, to fill your position. It won’t do for the upcoming MP from Little Twinnings to still be my private secretary.”

John grinned widely. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” He had taken one more step up in the world. While the duke had never made him feel any less than a full equal, indeed a confidant and friend, society looked upon the position of secretary, even to a very great man, as a lowly one. The sooner he could shed that skin in favor of John Warner, Esquire, Member of Parliament, the better!

The duke’s answering smile faded as he watched John stride jauntily from the room. What a paradox. He hadn’t wanted to hear that Meade was a womanizer. Now he was worried because the man had too little contact with women.

He didn’t agree with his country’s savage treatment of homosexuals. Yet it would be a cruel fate, he knew, to allow a loving woman like his Sarah to tie herself to a man, however decent in every other way, who could not love her in return.
I must keep him well at arms’ length until this question is settled
, the duke vowed to himself grimly.

Chapter 8

The discordant hum of musical instruments being tuned greeted Alexander as he entered the modest home in Paddington. He was a little surprised by the humble address, but it was clear from the sounds that he had come to the right place.

He gave his hat into the keeping of a servant as a flustered elderly woman, quite grey and in a grey silk dress, rushed up to him, exclaiming with a heavy French accent, “So ’appy to ’ave you, monsieur. Do come into our ’umble abode and make yourself comfortable.”

Alexander thanked her and made his way into an already crowded drawing room. Chairs had been arranged around a dais, on which sat a new pianoforte, easily the best piece of furniture in the room. Just in front of it he spotted Sarah’s bright head, bent over her violin, listening as she tuned it.

His glance swept the room twice before spotting Lady Cornwall and her daughter seated with the duke near the middle of the seating area. Beside the duke was an empty chair.

He hesitated, not sure where to sit. The chair was obviously for Sarah when she had completed her pieces. He saw no chairs available near them.

“Lord Meade? Alexander, here?”

He turned toward the voice and faced a buxom red-haired matron. “I am no less amazed to find you here, Mrs. Smithfield.” He acknowledged her greeting solemnly, formally, bowing stiffly over her hand. The voluptuous woman’s reputation made him wary of her.

“Oh, I adore music, especially the violin. Monsieur Pacquin taught the daughter of my good friend, the Duke of Harwood. I am quite sure he will be here tonight.”

Alexander’s eyebrows rose at her claiming the duke for a friend. “In point of fact he is.”

“Where? Oh, I see. And he has saved me a seat!” Lydia charged forward, and Alexander watched, fascinated, to see what sort of reception she would receive. The duke was facing away from the empty seat, talking quietly with Lady Cornwall. Lydia had already glided into the chair before he realized she was coming. Alex could not be sure at such a distance, but he thought the duke looked startled. Certainly he did not welcome her effusively. After the briefest of greetings, he turned his shoulder on her and once again engaged Lady Cornwall and her daughter in conversation.

Alexander suddenly saw how this turn of events could be used to his advantage. He walked down as near to the front as he could locate empty seats. Sarah, her tuning completed, was looking around. She brightened when she saw him. He smiled at her, then very deliberately seated himself next to an unoccupied chair. He watched as her eyes moved to where her father sat, and then quickly, with comprehension in them, back to him, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

At that moment a hush settled over the room as Monsieur Pacquin moved to the center of the dais. Alex glanced at the program he had been given. Lady Sarah was to play early in the evening. He listened impatiently to several performances of widely ranging ability. Sarah, to his relief, was quite a competent player who acquitted herself well.

His patience was doubly rewarded when, after taking her bow, she joined him rather than return to her seat among the performers in the front row. She gave a little wave to her father and friends as she did so. Alex resisted the urge to turn and see what the duke’s reaction was.

“Magnificent,” he whispered as she settled beside him. He could see a fine sheen of perspiration on her forehead, and her hair was frizzing about her face in a manner he found charming.

“No Spanish coin, remember,” she warned him, waggling a finger in admonition.

“I remember and I obey.” He placed his hand on his heart.

Sarah stifled a giggle and shushed him, as the next performer was tuning up.

Vividly aware of one another, the two young people sat through the subsequent performances as though in a dream. The only reality for Alexander was the golden hair, the soft curves, the delicate rose scent of the girl next to him. For Sarah, it was as if Alexander gave off a furnace’s heat, so warm did she feel sitting this close to him. When the audience’s applause announced the end of the program, she was startled, and stared around in a daze.

A deep masculine voice murmured in her ear, under cover of the applause, “As far as I am concerned, they could have just begun and ended the program with you.”

She tipped her head up as they both rose to their feet. “Nonsense. Monsieur Pacquin is a virtuoso.”

“But . . .” Alexander looked embarrassed. “Did he play?”

“Didn’t he? I mean, he was planning to.”

Their eyes met and each realized the other hadn’t been listening. Giggling and blushing rosily behind her quickly deployed fan, Sarah turned. “I must find Father and . . . oh! Who is that hanging on his arm?”

“That is Mrs. Smithfield. She claimed to be a good friend of his, for whom he had saved a seat.”

Sarah smiled, then lowered her eyes. “The seat was for me, but I’m glad she took it.”

“As am I. But we had best join them, else your father may think I mean to abduct you.”

“Silly! Father will be delighted to see you.”

Alexander could be excused for doubting such a thing, because as they joined the Harwood party, the duke’s cool grey eyes surveyed Sarah’s hand linked around Alexander’s arm with a decidedly frosty air.

“There the dear girl is. And the picture of her mother. My darling child, how beautifully you played,” Lydia gushed.

Harwood cleared his throat. He was forced to do the pretty, introducing his daughter to Mrs. Smithfield.

Sarah gave the older woman a polite curtsy, trying her best to keep her dislike of this effusive, blowsy creature from showing. “May I present Alexander Meade, Mrs. Smithfield?”

“But of course. Lord Alexander and I are dear friends. In a manner of speaking, he was my escort tonight.” Oblivious to Alexander’s startled look or Sarah’s stifled gasp, Lydia rattled on. “I am perishing of thirst after watching all of you performers work so hard.” She attempted to angle the duke toward the back of the room. Most of the audience had left in search of the refreshments by now.

“I would not wish to deprive your escort of your company, I am sure.” The duke smoothly detached Lydia’s arm. “And I am fortunate enough to have a plethora of lovely ladies to escort.”

Without quite knowing how it had happened, Sarah found herself on her father’s arm. Alexander’s strongly ingrained sense of good manners made him offer one arm to Lydia, the other to Jennifer, as the duke gave his other arm to Lady Cornwall.

Wishing to make it entirely clear that he had not escorted Lydia to the affair, Alexander excused himself as soon as he decently could, and left. Lydia, busy interrogating Jennifer as to the changes her uncle had made at Woodcrest, scarcely looked up. Sarah, seeing this, excused herself just as Alexander was disappearing into the foyer.

“I must be sure my music doesn’t end up in someone else’s portfolio,” was her less than convincing excuse. Her father frowned at her, but for once she ignored his wishes. Hastily, she quitted the room and found that luck was with her. Lord Alexander had stopped to speak with some acquaintances who were also leaving.

She caught his eye as she walked across the room and was not surprised when he appeared at her side in the Pacquins’ drawing room minutes later.

“I am trying to find my music. I forgot to put it in my violin case.” Sarah pretended to sort through the sheet music stacked on top of the piano. They had an audience, as several people had carried their plates in from the crowded dining room.

“Let me help. What is it?”

“Never mind. I just wanted you to know that I see what kind of woman she is. I know you didn’t escort her here.”

Alexander’s eyes widened with pleasure. “I only hope your father comes to the same conclusion.”

“He will. Papa is always very fair. You’ll see.”

Alexander tried not to look dubious. It was clear that Sarah adored her father. “Will you be riding tomorrow morning?”

“Will you?”

They grinned at one another. He took her hand and bestowed a quick kiss on it.
“À demain.”

While Sarah was agreeing to meet Alexander, the duke was faced with a direct frontal assault by Lydia Smithfield. “I am having a small dinner party next week, Justin. You will have your invitations tomorrow. I have just the most divine young man for your pretty daughter. He is musical, too. They can entertain us afterward.”

“That depends upon what evening it is. I have a very busy schedule next week.”

“What evening have you free? I haven’t sent the cards yet.”

The duke glanced up to see Lady Cornwall studying him gravely. He sent her what he could only hope was a pleading look, though he wasn’t sure how she could help.

“I believe the duke was bemoaning the fact that he had something scheduled every evening next week.” Deborah met Lydia’s furious glare steadily. “Being a peer, he has political matters to attend to as well as the usual social events, you know.”

“Then perhaps the week after,” Lydia persisted, unwilling to loose her quarry.

“Perhaps. I will check with my secretary when I receive your card.”

Jennifer appeared to have caught a crumb of prune cake in her windpipe, for she began to cough vigorously.

Lydia Smithfield stood abruptly. She might ignore any number of snubs if it suited her to do so, but it wasn’t because she failed to recognize them for what they were. She decided to leave while she still had her temper under control. “Well, then, I can only live in hope. It’s been a delightful evening. I had hoped to congratulate Lady Sarah once more on her playing, but I see she has disappeared.”

At this reminder of his daughter’s defection, Harwood’s eyes narrowed, but he wouldn’t give Lydia the satisfaction of seeing that he had any concern. He half stood to acknowledge her departure, then reseated himself beside Lady Cornwall.

“Now ’tis I who am in
your
debt.”

Deborah fluttered her fan nervously. The duke was an imposing figure of a man. Sitting so close to her, he made her feel like a green girl. “Nonsense; I was returning the favor for rescuing us from Morton the other day.”

“As I said, we are in the same boat.” Harwood chuckled, the laughter softening his face in such an appealing way that Deborah felt her heart give a most unexpected little jump.

Jennifer came from behind her napkin, eyes dancing. “You’ll check with Mr. Warner when you get her card, so you can be sure to be busy that evening!”

“Jennifer!” Deborah frowned repressively.

“No, don’t scold her. That is exactly what I shall do. Except it won’t be Mr. Warner who’ll be assisting me in evading her invitation, I expect.”

“Why not?”

“He is far too dignified a being now to act as my secretary. He will be needing to begin his preparation for a political career. Though in actuality I’ve been grooming him for that for some time.”

Jennifer tried to keep the disappointment from her voice. “Then I expect he won’t be living with you anymore?”

“Oh, I hope he will, whenever he is in town. John will always be welcomed—no, expected—to make his home with us whenever he is in London. Sarah would be quite indignant if he were to do otherwise, for he is a great favorite, almost a brother to her.”

Deborah noticed that Jennifer looked relieved by this news.
And in spite of my warnings!
Vexed, Deborah regretted giving Jennifer permission to spend the night with Sarah. The less time she spent near John Warner, the better.

***

In spite of her mother’s misgivings, however, Jennifer did spend the night with Sarah, though she was disappointed not to catch so much as a glimpse of John. By midnight she was sharing confidences with her new friend. They were lying across Sarah’s enormous bed, under a magnificent canopy strewn with embroidered golden daffodils. It was a beautiful room that had been lovingly decorated with a young girl in mind. Jennifer could not help contrasting it in her mind with her own dark, barren room on the nursery floor at Woodcrest. Her father had thought money spent on a daughter was money thrown away.

As they lay there baring their souls to one another in the way of young girls, Sarah learned of the previous Lord Cornwall’s brutality to his wife and daughter, and Jennifer learned that it was really the duke who was interested in the marriage mart, not Sarah.

“We are both agreed in preferring not to marry, then,” Jennifer observed, one finger tracing the elaborate daffodil pattern carved on the dark wood of the headboard.

Sarah murmured her assent. “Though not because I fear marriage, as you do. It is just that I don’t want my heart broken again.”

“I had thought perhaps you regarded Lord Alexander in the light of a suitor?” Jennifer’s wide brown eyes assessed Sarah’s expression.

“I didn’t intend to, but . . . he is so very handsome, and so very . . .” Sarah stopped and flopped over on her back. “Words can’t quite express how I feel about him. When I am with him, I just feel so safe, so secure, so . . . at
home.
And when he smiles and looks at me a certain way, I get this funny, bubbly feeling all over. But surely I can’t already have fallen in love with him? If so, then I was never in love with Gregory, for
he
never made me feel this way.”

“Never having been the least in love, I cannot say.” Jennifer sighed.

“Did your mother love your father once?”

Jennifer shook her head vehemently. “She admired him, for he was handsome and witty. But her parents had arranged the marriage before she had time to know him well. Almost as soon as she was pledged to him, he began to say cruel things to her. After they were wed, he made her feel that she was the worst wife in the world. It wasn’t until after I was born, and it was clear there would be no heir, that he began to beat her.”

“Beat her!” Sarah sat up straight. “Truly? What did her parents do? I cannot imagine my father letting anyone beat me.”

Her friend sat up, too. “My grandfather cared a great deal for what people would think. When Father began to beat me, too, mother took me and ran away to her father for protection, but he only scolded Father and let him take us back. Grandmother wanted my mother to ask for a legal separation, but she, like my grandfather, has so much distaste for the least hint of scandal, she refused.”