June Calvin (9 page)

Tears came to Sarah’s eyes as she heard this recital. “How did you stand it? I am sure I couldn’t have. My father has never laid a hand on me in anger.”

“Most of the time Father lived in the city. It was only in the fall when he brought his hunting cronies to Woodcrest that he stayed with us. We used to dread the end of summer so.” Jennifer closed her eyes in pain. “I am ashamed to admit it, but I was glad when he died.”

“Oh, Jennifer!” Sarah leaned forward and put her arms around her friend, patting her back. “I cannot imagine anything so terrible. My father’s greatest pleasure has always been making Mother and me happy. No wonder you don’t want to marry.”

“But I must,” Jennifer sobbed. “My Uncle Vincent is my guardian, and he says I must choose a husband this season or he will choose one for me. He is tired of being my guardian, he says. It takes up his time, and by the terms of my grandmother’s trust, pays him nothing.”

“But you may find someone good and kind, like my father, to marry.” Sarah smiled encouragingly at her friend.

Jennifer looked dubious. “It will be difficult to be sure, though. What if I make a mistake? There is so little time in which to choose.”

“I know!” Sarah brightened. “Your mother can marry my father, and you can live with us. He can be your guardian.”

“I am afraid not, Sarah. My mother will never, never remarry. The very suggestion is enough to give her the spasms.”

“Oh, dear.” Sarah began to worry her lower lip. “And I had hoped my father was beginning to develop a
tendre
for her.”

Jennifer shook her head dolorously. “You had better hope he does not, for he would be doomed to disappointment.”

Chapter 9

While Sarah and Jennifer took chocolate and toast in Sarah’s sitting room the next morning, the duke and his cousin were discussing what John had learned the night before.

“Hampton remembered him well, though they weren’t close friends. He told me Meade was an unusually studious young man, who rarely participated in the usual youthful follies. I didn’t dare ask a direct question, you understand . . .”

“Of course not.”

“So I did not get a definitive answer. However, Hampton is the sort who would certainly pass on such scandalous information if he knew it.”

“So my concerns are likely unfounded.” Harwood drew a deep breath of relief.

“Probably,” John replied. “But I learned something you may not be pleased to hear.”

Harwood folded his arms. “Yes?”

“Meade’s friends tended to be Whiggish, even radical types. Benthamites, that sort of thing. He was considered a potential revolutionary by many of his fellow students. Hampton said there was considerable grumbling when he was appointed to the Prince’s staff, by those pretending to fear he might leak state secrets.”

“Many a young cub espouses radical politics when he is in school,” Harwood mused.

“I know that, sir. But Hampton says he continues his radical associations to this day. He visits and contributes to the support of Godwin, and is a regular member of Lord Langley’s salon.”

The duke considered this thoughtfully. “I am not as alarmed about that association as Hampton perhaps is. Langley has mellowed somewhat since his marriage, you know. And Godwin, after all, has taken a government sinecure.”

“And then there is Shelley, whose disgraceful behavior in eloping with Godwin’s daughters is still causing tongues to wag.”

“Shelley?”

“Yes. Hampton says Meade was an intimate of his, who now openly admires and champions Shelley’s poetry. Hampton claims Meade continued the association after the elopement, defended them when the ‘League of Incest’ was on everyone’s lips. He was a frequent visitor when they returned to England, even before Shelley married the older daughter. Not a very comfortable association for Sal’s potential marriage partner.”

Harwood groaned. “The infamous ‘League of Incest!’ I’ll not have my daughter dragged into such an association.”

He paced the room in agitated thought. “Still, it doesn’t necessarily mean he shares Shelley’s loose morals. Isn’t Meade about the same age as Lord Pelham?”

John ruffled through his notes. “Twenty-six. Yes. They should have been at Cambridge at the same time.”

“Pelham is the scion of an old Whig family, though not at all a radical. Perhaps they knew one another?”

“Should you like to ask Pelham, though?”

“I don’t like doing any of this, but if I must explore such unpleasant subjects, Davida’s husband is an honest young man upon whose discretion I can rely.”

John nodded his head. His kinsman had never been very forthcoming on the subject of Davida Gresham’s flight from London to Harwood Court, so he had no idea to what extent the duke’s heart had been at risk in the whole escapade. “Do you want me to ride up there and talk to him?”

“I will ask Sarah if they are planning to come to London for the season. No need in making that long trip if they are on their way here.”

Just then they heard the girls’ voices echoing in the entryway. Harwood jumped up and went out to see them crossing to the door, dressed for riding.

“What ho? Fox hunting in April?”

“Papa!” Sarah gave a guilty little start. Her giggle lacked spontaneity. “No, of course not, but it is the perfect morning for an invigorating ride.”

“And so thought I.” Harwood gestured to indicate that he, too, was dressed for riding. “I have had Tuppence saddled; I thought I’d act as your escort.” Harwood took a closer look at his daughter’s flushed countenance. “That is, if you don’t mind?”

“Why, no, of course not, Papa. I . . . we’d be pleased to have you join us. We are going to collect Lady Cornwall, too.”

“Have you heard from Davida lately, Sal?” John asked from the door to the library.

“No, I haven’t, but I’m glad you asked that. I’ve written her a note this morning, Papa. Would you frank it for me?” Sarah skipped over to the basket that collected their outgoing mail. Her father willingly scrawled his name across the sealed missive.

“Then you don’t know if they are planning on coming to London anytime soon?” John persisted.

“No, I don’t. I’ve begged her to join us, though.”

John looked questioningly at the duke, who shook his head, indicating that he did not feel sufficiently alarmed about Meade to want him to saddle up immediately and ride to Yorkshire to interview Pelham.

John toyed with the idea of joining the three on their morning ride. Daring a glance at Jennifer in hopes of an encouraging smile, he was disappointed to see that she was regarding the tile on the entryway floor as if her life depended upon memorizing the pattern. He watched pensively as the three departed, never regretting his lack of a title or fortune more than at that moment.

***

Lady Cornwall was nowhere in evidence, nor was her horse awaiting her when the three arrived in South Audley Street. Harwood dismounted and gave Tuppence’s reins into Sarah’s hands. He took the steps two at a time and rapped loudly on the knocker. Receiving no immediate response, he started back down the steps, unwilling to leave Sarah in such a vulnerable position for long.

The door opened just as he reached the bottom step. “Harwood! I am so sorry.” It was Deborah. He turned, astonished to see her answering her own door.

“What is wrong, Lady Cornwall? Is there some problem?” He retraced his steps and was at her side almost in an instant.

“No. That is, yes, there is an aggravation, at least. My butler seems to be ill. All of the servants are at sixes and sevens. I sent a footman to the mews for my mare quite an hour ago, but as you see, she still hasn’t appeared. I expect you must go on without me.”

Harwood turned to study his restive mount and the two young girls perched on their eager animals. “I expect so, but shall we go by the mews and see what is the matter? We could bring your mount to you.”

Deborah wrinkled her nose. “No, I think with the staff so disordered I had best remain, or who knows what will happen. I may need to send for a doctor.”

Regretfully, Harwood parted from her, promising to stop in after their ride to see how things stood.

As they clattered away toward Hyde Park, Harwood gently questioned Jennifer, who seemed very worried. “Does your mother have many such problems with her servants?”

Suddenly defensive, Jennifer lifted her chin. “It is not Mama’s fault. They do not consider that they work for her, and so they are intolerably lazy and insolent.”

“Hmmmm.” Harwood said nothing. He led the way to the park, thinking his own thoughts while the two young women talked. Once they had crossed into the park and the horses were safely on Rotten Row, they moved up alongside him, and the three began a sedate canter.

“There is more traffic than the other day,” Jennifer observed.

“Doubtless because of the gorgeous weather,” Sarah responded. The duke noted that her eyes were unusually busy studying the other riders on the path. He began searching for a familiar face himself, and was not much surprised to see Lord Alexander and Mr. Fortesque placidly walking their mounts ahead.
That explains her guilty look.
The duke’s suspicions were confirmed.
She has arranged to meet him here.

“Oh, do look, Jennifer.” Sarah unthinkingly let her mare break from the canter into a brisk trot, dangerously close to being beyond what was acceptable speed in the park. Jennifer looked questioningly at the duke, and held her horse steady when she saw the disapproval on his face.

“Sarah!” He growled a warning that reminded his daughter of her whereabouts. Pink-cheeked, she slowed Lorelei.

By this time the two young men, obviously on the alert for them, had stopped and were awaiting their approach. Henry Fortesque was beaming, but Lord Alexander looked a little guilty upon sighting Sarah’s father. The duke smiled with grim satisfaction.
At least he has some shred of conscience.

He acknowledged the two young men coolly, before reining up to let the girls pair off with them. He rode alone at the rear, studying the quartet. Sarah, her embarrassment quickly conquered, was conversing animatedly with Meade, while Jennifer seemed surprisingly reluctant to respond to Fortesque’s gallantries, as if perhaps she had been warned off.

The duke decided he would share the information he had on Egerton’s heir with Lady Cornwall. Perhaps it would put her mind at ease. Nothing was going to put his mind at ease until he knew more about Alexander Meade.

The duke escorted the two girls back to Jennifer’s mother. On reaching the Cornwall town house, they found an under-footman in charge of the door. Jennifer and Sarah scampered away in search of Mittens, while the duke asked to be shown to the viscountess.

“The viscountess is not in residence. I suppose you mean the dowager viscountess.” The young man sneered with more punctilio than wisdom.

“I mean your mistress and employer, and I’ll thank you to keep your insolent tongue between your teeth.” The duke’s eyes were grey flint. He took a menacing step toward the footman, who suddenly remembered his manners.

“Yes, sir, right away, sir. I mean Your Grace, sir.”

“Poorly trained as well as totally devoid of manners and polish. How on earth did you get a position in a noble household?”

“I, er . . . Mr. Rayburn, the butler, is my uncle, sir. I mean Your Grace.”

“Why am I not surprised? Conduct me to the viscountess without further delay!” The duke gave a dismissive wave, and the footman scurried ahead of him into a small study near the back of the building.

“My lady, the Duke of Harwood.”

Deborah looked up, amazed by the footman’s awed tone. “Yes, Thomas, show him in.”

“I see your butler is still not at his post. Nothing serious, I hope?” The duke took the chair she indicated, noting briefly the shabby nature of this cubbyhole, which Deborah seemed to be using as an office.

“It is the most vexing thing. He tried to convince me he had contracted an influenza, but I suspect he has a hangover, and I believe the other servants must have been carousing with him, for they are all down-pin this morning from the footmen to the tweeny. My message probably never so much as reached the mews, though I wonder if my grooms are also nursing hangovers.”

“I think you should send the lot of them packing.”

“I can’t, though, and they know it. ’Tis why they dare behave so. They aren’t my servants. They’re Vincent’s, and . . .”

“Surely he would not wish to see you so poorly served?”

Deborah sighed. “If he were here, they’d all be performing with military precision. He would think me a hysterical female for complaining.”

The duke looked at her closely. She seemed near tears. “Shall I put a flea in their ears?”

“Oh, no, sir. Goodness. You have far too much to do without taking on my domestic problems.”

Harwood crossed one booted foot onto the other knee. He was surprised to find in himself a deep-seated need to ease her burdens. “Perhaps you can help me with a problem in return.”

“Gladly, if I am able.”

“I would like to enlist your help in curtailing my daughter’s time spent in the company of Lord Alexander Meade. She had arranged to meet him in the park today, the minx.”

“Why, is he not eligible?”

“I am having his background investigated and would prefer to know a little more about him before I let him court Sarah. She seems alarmingly willing to receive his attentions. Odd, isn’t it. A week ago I would have been in alt to see her eyes sparkling again when she looked at a man.”

Deborah nodded. “I felt quite the same way. But now I am hard put to explain to Jennifer why she cannot follow her inclinations.”

“If it is Mr. Fortesque you are worrying about, my investigation indicates he is quite eligible.”

Surprised, Deborah exclaimed, “But he is a gamester.”

“Apparently he has conquered that tendency. He has not played heavily in several months. He is Lord Egerton’s son and heir, you know. He will be a man of wealth and property someday, and titled, too.”

“No, I didn’t know.”

“Yes. They had been estranged, but recently Fortesque has paid all of his debts and mended his ways, which indicates a reconciliation with his parent, who would be delighted to see him set up his nursery.”

“I see.” Deborah studied the duke thoughtfully. His words in no way convinced her of Henry Fortesque’s eligibility, for she believed from bitter experience that once a man was a gamester, he was always a gamester. Still, it was kind of Harwood to share this information with her, when he was surely hoping his own daughter might catch Fortesque’s eye. Would he be as forthcoming about his own kinsman?

“Actually, it was Mr. Warner whose effect on Jennifer I was concerned about.”

“Ah ha!” The duke leaned back in his chair. “It must have been love at first sight for both of them, for I have never seen John so affected by a female before. He is ordinarily the most phlegmatic of men. Do you consider him entirely ineligible, then?” Harwood’s voice was gentle, without condemnation.

“That depends upon his prospects. Actually, it is not that I myself am so concerned. Character is much more important to me than wealth, but I know that my brother-in-law will be, and he must approve her husband, ’ere she can come into her fortune. My mother, you see, thought a great deal of Vincent’s judgement, so she gave him enormous power over Jennifer’s future.”

Harwood templed his hands and gazed steadily at Deborah over his fingers. “That is, if she and her husband-to-be should insist on possession of her fortune.”

“Quite.” Deborah’s mouth firmed. “Is Mr. Warner to be independently wealthy, then?”

The long fingers tapped against one another in a pregnant silence.

“I thought not.”

“He
will
have a competence, and there will doubtless be governmental sinecures to come his way. And I will make a settlement on him if need be.”