Authors: Amanda Quick
“I believe I know what you are going to say,” Augusta murmured, pouring herself a cup of tea. “But it is entirely unnecessary. Not only did Lord Graystone see fit to read me a boring lecture, I can assure you, I have learned a lesson from poor Rosalind’s sad plight. I, for one, will never, ever, put anything down in writing that can possibly come back to haunt me.”
“Nor will I, ever again.” Rosalind Morrissey clutched the journal very close to her breast. “What a beast that man is.”
“Who? Enfield?” Sally smiled grimly. “Yes, he is most definitely a bastard when it comes to his dealings with women. Always has been. But there is no denying he fought bravely enough during the war.”
“I do not know what I ever saw in him,” Rosalind stated. “I much prefer the company of someone like Lord Lovejoy. What do you know of him, Sally? Your information is always the most current, even though you rarely leave the comforts of your own home.”
“I have no need to go abroad for the latest
on dit
.” Sally smiled. “Sooner or later it all flows through the front door of Pompeia’s. As for Lovejoy, I have only recently begun hearing of his charms. They are many and varied, I am told.” She glanced at Augusta. “You can testify to that, can you not, Augusta?”
“I danced with him at the Lofenburys’ ball last week,” Augusta said, remembering the laughing, red-haired baron with the brilliant green eyes. “I must admit it is quite exciting to dance the waltz with him. And he is rather mysterious, I understand. No one seems to know much about him.”
“He is the last of his line, I believe. There was
something said about estates in Norfolk.” Sally pursed her lips. “But I have no notion of how prosperous his lands are. Best take care that you are not becoming enamored of another fortune hunter, Rosalind.”
Rosalind groaned. “Why is it that all the most interesting men have a serious character flaw of one sort or another?”
“Sometimes it is just the reverse,” Augusta said with a sigh. “Sometimes the most interesting male around perceives a serious character flaw in a certain female who happens to be quite attracted to him.”
“We are discussing Graystone again?” Sally gave Augusta a shrewd glance.
“I fear so,” Augusta admitted. “Do you know he all but admitted he has a list of suitable candidates he is reviewing for the position of Countess of Graystone?”
Rosalind nodded soberly. “I have heard about that list. Whoever is on it will find it difficult to live up to the standards set by his first wife, Catherine. She died in childbirth the first year of her marriage. But in that single year she apparently managed to leave behind a lasting impression on Graystone.”
“She was a paragon, I presume?” Augusta queried.
“A model of womanly virtue, or so it is said,” Rosalind explained wryly. “Just ask anyone. My mother knew the family and frequently held Catherine up to me as an example. I met her once or twice when I was younger and I must confess I found her a prig. Quite beautiful, however. She looked like a Madonna in one of those Italian paintings.”
“It is said a virtuous woman is worth more than rubies,” Sally murmured. “But I believe many men discover the hard way that virtue, like beauty, is often in the eye of the beholder. It is quite possible that Graystone does not seek another paragon.”
“Oh, he definitely wants a paragon,” Augusta assured her. “And in my more rational moments, I realize he would
make a perfectly obnoxious, quite intolerable husband for a woman of my spontaneous and uninhibited temperament.”
“And in your more irrational moments?” Sally pressed gently.
Augusta grimaced. “In my darkest hours I have actually considered taking up the serious study of Herodotus and Tacitus, throwing away all my tracts on the rights of women, and ordering up a whole new wardrobe of unfashionable gowns with very high necklines. But I have found that if I have a cup of tea and rest for a few minutes such madness passes quickly. I soon return to my normal self.”
“Good heavens, one would certainly hope so. I cannot see you in the role of a paragon of female behavior.” Sally broke out in uproarious laughter and the sound caused everyone in the room to turned toward the threesome seated near the fire. The ladies of Pompeia’s smiled knowingly at each other. It was good to see their patronness enjoying herself.
Scruggs, who had opened the drawing room door at that moment, apparently heard the laughter, too. Augusta happened to glance up and saw him watching his mistress from beneath his thick, beetled brows. She thought there was something oddly wistful in his expression.
Then his startling blue eyes met Augusta’s and he bobbed his head once before turning away. She realized with a start of surprise that he was thanking her silently for giving Sally the gift of laughter.
A few minutes later on her way out of the club, Augusta paused to glance at the latest entries in the betting book that was enshrined on an Ionic pedestal near the window.
She saw that a certain Miss L.C. had wagered a Miss D.P. the sum of ten pounds that Lord Graystone would ask for the hand of “the Angel” before the month was out.
Augusta felt quite irritable for the next two hours.
• • •
“I swear, Harry, there is a wager on it in Pompeia’s betting book. Most amusing.” Peter Sheldrake lounged with languid ease in the leather chair and eyed Graystone over his glass of port.
“I am glad you find it amusing. I do not.” Harry put down his quill pen and picked up his own glass.
“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” Peter grinned. “After all, there is very little you seem to find amusing about this business of getting yourself a wife. There are wagers in the betting books of every club in town. Hardly surprising there’s one in Pompeia’s. Sally’s collection of dashing female friends work frightfully hard to ape the men’s clubs, you know. Is it true?”
“Is what true?” Harry scowled at the younger man. Peter Sheldrake was suffering from a serious case of ennui. It was not an uncommon problem among the men of the
ton
, especially those who, like Peter, had spent the past few years on the continent playing Napoléon’s dangerous war games.
“Don’t fence with me, Graystone. Are you going to ask Sir Thomas’s permission to pay court to his daughter?” Peter repeated patiently. “Come, now, Harry. Give me a hint so that I can take advantage of the situation. You know me, I like a good wager as well as the next man.” He paused to grin briefly again. “Or lady, for that matter.”
Harry considered the matter. “Do you think Claudia Ballinger would make a suitable countess?”
“Good God, no, man. We’re talking about the Angel. She is a model of propriety. A paragon. To be perfectly blunt, she is too much like you. The pair of you will only reinforce each other’s worst traits. You will both find yourselves bored to the teeth within a month of the wedding. Ask Sally, if you do not believe me. She happens to agree.”
Harry raised his brows. “Unlike you, Peter, I do not require constant adventure. And I most certainly do not want an adventurous sort of wife.”
“Now, that is where you are going wrong in your analysis of the situation. I have given this considerable thought and I believe a lively, adventurous wife is precisely what you do need.” Peter got to his feet with a restless movement and went to stand at the window.
The fading sunlight gleamed on Peter’s artfully styled blond curls and emphasized his handsome profile. He was, as usual, dressed in the first style of fashion. His elegantly tied cravat and crisply pleated shirt were a perfect complement to his faultlessly cut coat and snug trousers.
“It is you who craves action and excitement, Sheldrake,” Harry observed quietly. “You have been bored since you returned to London. You spend too much time on your clothes, you have begun to drink too much, and you gamble too heavily.”
“While you bury yourself in your study of a lot of old Greeks and Romans. Come, now, Harry, be honest. Admit you, too, miss the life we lived on the continent.”
“Not in the least. I happen to be quite fond of my old Greeks and Romans. In any event, Napoléon is finally out of the way at last and I have duties and responsibilities here in England now.”
“Yes, I know. You must see to your estates and titles, honor your responsibilities. You must get married and produce an heir.” Peter gulped down a long swallow of his wine.
“I am not the only one who must see to his responsibilities,” Harry said meaningfully.
Peter ignored that. “For God’s sake, man, you were one of Wellington’s key intelligence officers. You controlled dozens of agents such as myself who collected the information you wanted. You developed the ciphers that broke several of the most important secret codes the French had. You risked your neck and mine to get the maps that were needed for some of the most crucial battles in the Peninsula. Do not tell me you don’t miss all that excitement.”
“I much prefer deciphering Latin and Greek to poring
over military dispatches written in sympathetic ink and secret codes. I assure you I find the histories of Tacitus far more stimulating than pondering the workings of the minds of certain French agents.”
“But think of the thrill, the danger you lived with on a daily basis for the past several years. Think of the deadly games you played with your opposite number, the one we called Spider. How could you not miss all that?”
Harry shrugged. “My only regret regarding Spider was that we never succeeded in unmasking him and bringing him to justice. As for the excitement, I never sought it out in the first place. The tasks I assumed were more or less thrust upon me.”
“But you carried them out brilliantly.”
“I discharged my duties to the best of my ability and now the war is over. And none too soon, as far as I’m concerned. You’re the one who still seeks out unhealthy thrills, Sheldrake. And I must say, you are finding them in the oddest places. Do you like being a butler?”
Peter grimaced. His blue eyes were bright with wry humor as he turned to face his host. “The role of Scruggs certainly lacks the thrill of seducing a French officer’s wife or stealing secret documents, but it has its moments. And it is worth a great deal to see Sally enjoying herself. I fear she will not be with us too much longer, Harry.”
“I know. She is indeed a gallant woman. The information she was able to glean from certain parties here in England during the war was invaluable. She took grave risks for her country.”
Peter nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Sally has always loved intrigues. Just as I do. She and I have much in common and it pleases me to guard the portals of her precious club. Pompeia’s is the most important thing in her life these days. It gives her much pleasure. You can thank your little hoyden friend for that, you know.”
Harry’s mouth curved ruefully. “Sally explained that the harebrained notion of a ladies’ club modeled after a
gentlemen’s club was all Augusta Ballinger’s idea. Somehow it does not surprise me.”
“Hah. It would not surprise anyone who knows Augusta Ballinger. Things have a way of happening around her, if you know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately, I believe I do.”
“I am convinced Miss Ballinger came up with the idea of the club solely as a way to amuse Sally.” Peter hesitated, looking thoughtful. “Miss Ballinger is rather kind. Even to staff. She gave me some medicine for my rheumatism today. Few ladies of the
ton
would have bothered to think of a servant long enough to worry about his rheumatism.”
“I did not know you suffered from rheumatism,” Harry said dryly.
“I don’t. Scruggs does.”
“Just see that you guard Pompeia’s well, Sheldrake. I do not want Miss Ballinger to come to social grief because of that ridiculous club.”
Peter quirked a brow. “You’re concerned about her reputation because of your friendship with her uncle?”
“Not entirely.” Harry toyed absently with the quill pen on his desk and then added softly, “I have another reason to want her kept safe from scandal.”
“
Ah-hah
. I knew it.” Peter leaped toward the desk and slammed his empty glass down on the polished surface with explosive triumph. “You’re going to take Sally’s and my advice and add her to your list, aren’t you? Admit it. Augusta Ballinger is going on your infamous list of eligible candidates for the role of Countess of Graystone.”
“It defeats me why all of London is suddenly concerned with my marital prospects.”
“Because of the way you are going about the business of selecting a wife, of course. Everyone’s heard about your list. I told you, there are bets all over town on it.”
“Yes, you told me.” Harry studied his wine. “What, precisely, was the wager in Pompeia’s betting book?”
“Ten pounds that you would ask for the Angel’s hand by the end of the month.”
“As a matter of fact, I intend to ask for Miss Ballinger’s hand this very afternoon.”
“Damnation, man,” Peter was clearly appalled. “Not Claudia. I know you have the impression she would make you a very proper sort of countess, but a lady who wears wings and a halo is not really what you want. You need a different sort of female altogether. And the Angel needs a different sort of man. Do not be a fool, Harry.”
Harry raised his brows. “Have you ever known me to play the fool?”
Peter’s eyes narrowed. Then he grinned slowly. “No, my lord, I have not. So that’s the way of it, eh? Excellent.
Excellent
. You will not be sorry.”
“I am not so certain of that,” Harry said ruefully.
“Let me put it this way. At least you will not be bored. You will propose to Augusta this afternoon, then, eh?”
“Good God, no. I do not intend to propose to Augusta at all. This afternoon I am going to ask her uncle for his permission to wed his niece.”
Peter looked momentarily blank. “But what about Augusta? Surely you will have to ask her personally first? She is four-and-twenty, Graystone, not a schoolroom miss.”
“We both agreed I am not a fool, Sheldrake. I am not about to put an important decision such as this in the hands of the Northumberland side of the Ballinger family.”
Peter continued to appear blank for a moment longer and then comprehension set in. He roared with laughter. “I understand completely. Good luck to you, man. Now then, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall make a quick trip to a couple of my own clubs. I wish to place a few wagers in the betting books. Nothing like having a bit of secret intelligence, is there?”