by Mary Brendan
‘But...?’ he demanded.
‘But there are complications and consequences...’
‘All of which I am aware and can cope with.’
‘No...’ She shook her head vigorously, turning to give him a fierce stare. ‘No...you cannot put everything right...buy everything you want with your money. I told you, we are from different worlds with different ways.’ She swung away and quickly went back into view, waiting by the curricle. When he joined her, she demanded politely, ‘Please take me home now without further delay. My father will be worried about me.’
Lance helped her up and, having leapt agilely aboard, set the magnificent beast to a fast pace. But he kept to his word about not driving recklessly although Emma was aware of his frustration. It was like a solid wall between them. She’d thwarted him, as he called it. And he didn’t like it because he wasn’t used to not getting his own way. In truth, she wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to get his own way, too...and devil take the consequences...
It was as he helped her down at the corner of her street that she realised she had completely forgotten to try to winkle out of him whether he knew where her brother might be.
* * *
The elderly butler’s expression did not betray his loathing for the stylishly dressed woman who moments ago had swept into the house as though she owned it. But indeed he did loathe her and had done so for many a long year. When Wilkins had served William Harley he had in equal part despised and pitied that man for having brought shame on his name by marrying her. Now she was William’s widow and no less of a thorn in the side of the young master than she’d been a pain to his father. But Wilkins knew his place: it was carrying out the Earl of Houndsmere’s instructions. And those instructions were that if the Countess showed up unannounced she was to be treated with courtesy...and asked to wait in the hall.
‘Please take a seat, my lady,’ Wilkins intoned. ‘I will see if his lordship is at home.’
Sonia bristled and would have barged past, but two footmen materialised as if from nowhere to block her way.
Wilkins gave a tiny derisive smile. He indicated a high-backed chair for her to use, then a moment later had disappeared to inform his lordship of his stepmother’s arrival.
Learning that Houndsmere would grant her an audience did little to lift Sonia’s petulant expression. She sailed past the slow-paced butler and theatrically threw open the door to Lance’s study, posing on the threshold.
‘What do you mean, making me wait for your time as though I’m some common visitor?’
‘That is precisely what you are, ma’am,’ Lance said curtly. He had a hand braced against the casement and was idly watching the street scene. He turned to ask wearily, ‘What is it you want?’
Sonia unpinned her hat and tossed it towards his desk. Lance was close enough to intercept the flying feathers before they disturbed his papers. He lobbed the bonnet on to the seat of a nearby chair.
‘I have done as you suggested. I have come to London to make my daughter behave. Have you discovered where she is yet?’ Sonia flounced to the chair and sat down with the feathered concoction on her lap.
Before Lance could reply the butler was back. With a discreet cough Wilkins entered the room.
‘Excuse me, my lord...another visitor has arrived. Mr Clunker asks to see you urgently.’
‘You may show him in.’
Sonia burst out, ‘How dare you interrupt me! I will not wait in another room while you speak to some minion. I was here first.’
‘His arrival is timely. He is here on your business, not mine, so stay and listen to his report.’ After Wilkins retreated, the Earl explained, ‘Clunker is a detective and I’m hoping he’s discovered your daughter’s whereabouts. Whether he has or hasn’t, from today you can deal with him now you’re in town. Augusta is your responsibility.’ Lance knew that, rightly or wrongly, turning up Robin Waverley, or Charlie Perkins as he now was, had taken precedence over finding his stepsister who, unless incarcerated, was likely to abscond again.
According to Waverley’s landlady, he’d missed the fugitive by more than a few hours. Lance hadn’t yet decided what to do with the man when he did find him. It would be no easy task even for a skilful team of barristers to sort out the Waverleys’ multitude of problems. For Lance, the main concern was keeping Emma’s name from being dragged through the mud again. She was the source of the scandal that had wrecked her family, just as he was guilty of introducing the woman who had been his father’s downfall. William had been dead for years, yet the effects of his son’s juvenile dalliance with Sonia Peak were ongoing. Lance knew he had money and influence enough to weather his storm, whereas Bernard Waverley was sinking fast and taking his daughter with him. And Joshua Gresham, and no doubt others, were circling, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Was he any different? Lance thought with a tinge of self-disgust. Did his generosity and standing make his lust cleaner? But it wasn’t just that any more. He couldn’t ignore the tenderness she invoked in him. He turned his mind from sentimentality. He’d thought he’d fallen in love before and been wrong, and made a fool of himself and his father because of it. He’d done nothing other than offer Emma a life free of want. What was wrong with that? At his sister’s he’d tricked her into a kiss...and started to seduce her...
Why had he done that? Had he lost control? Had it been an audition? If it was the latter, she’d passed with flying colours. He imagined he had, too; she’d responded to him sweetly. Inwardly, he smiled at the memory of her soft mouth tracking his, her body grinding innocently against his. Even in that she’d been too inexperienced to attempt to dupe him...keep him waiting for surrender. But then earlier today when he’d seen her rushing along with tears in her eyes his only thought had been to scoop her up and shield her from harm... Well, perhaps there had been a stirring in his loins as well as his heart. He thrust his back into the chair, impatient with himself and where his thoughts were heading.
His mistresses were rarely middle class. They were from the lower orders...or similar to himself in status. Several of his paramours had been young, titled widows. But all of them had been seasoned game players and he’d preferred it that way. Business as usual suited him. That’s why it was strange, and maddening, that no other woman interested him at the moment. God knew he wished he could turn his attention elsewhere and forget Emma Waverley. His conscience was bothering him, that’s all it was, he told himself. Perhaps hers would, too, in time. She’d turned down a better life not only for herself, but for her family...so would she eventually choose to change her mind? Lance could be patient...for a short while...after that, what was he going to do? Give up gracefully? He wasn’t sure he knew how. Leave her to go under with her father? He couldn’t. So his conscience was bothering him...
‘What is keeping them?’ Sonia sprang to her feet and paced to and fro in front of the desk. Once sure she’d regained her stepson’s attention, she sat down again, pondering on what engrossed him. She knew it wasn’t her or Augusta putting a frown of intense concentration on his face.
She immediately rewarded his attention with a sugary smile. It did nothing for him other than start him wondering how he ever had been in her thrall. She was a blowsy blonde now, but when he’d first met her she’d been a beauty with a clever tongue. She’d kept him aroused and amused. Youth was to blame...innocence and an inability to see bad in people led the young into all sorts of trouble. Emma might not agree with him on much, yet she’d not deny that. She’d fallen into the same trap. But she’d been a victim as well as an instigator. He wasn’t sure he could claim to have been. Although Sonia, for all her sham modesty and claims to be eighteen, had turned out to be older and more experienced than him when they’d first met. He’d fallen under her spell and now...now he couldn’t tolerate her company for more than a short while. So much for falling in love.
The study door opened again, interrupting his brooding.
‘Take a seat if you will, sir.’ The Earl indicated the vacant wing chair.
Mr Clunker looked surprised to find his lordship had company, but he gave the woman a polite nod, then perched on the chair with his hat secured beneath an arm.
‘Let’s have your news,’ Lance said without preamble.
‘I have located your stepsister. She was lodging in Whitechapel, but has recently moved from there.’ Clunker glanced at the woman, unsure of how much to disclose in her presence.
‘You may speak freely in front of the Countess as she is Augusta’s mother.’
‘Very well, my lord.’ He paused. ‘Firstly, your stepsister is apparently now going by the name of Jane.’
‘Perhaps it’s occurred to her to exercise discretion,’ Lance observed scathingly.
‘I think it is more to evade detection, my lord. She has...umm...got involved with a low sort of fellow, I’m afraid.’ The detective peered beneath his brows at the girl’s mother for her reaction to that.
‘Doubtless she feels at home with him,’ Lance muttered, gesturing for Clunker to carry on.
‘The fellow is a coalman named Charlie—’ Clunker’s hat dropped from beneath his arm to the floor as he abruptly shrank into the upholstery. The Earl had lunged to his feet to stride round the desk.
Sonia was also startled by Lance’s reaction. A moment ago he’d looked as though he’d found the matter tedious, now he appeared greatly interested in it. It pleased her that he appeared angry to learn his stepsister was consorting with riff-raff. Perhaps the damage to his name was hurting his pride. It was certainly hurting hers. A coalman as a son-in-law! She hadn’t clawed her way from the slums of Wapping to the position of Countess to endure that! ‘You must arrange her immediate marriage, Houndsmere,’ she snapped. ‘There are gentlemen willing to take her, I’m sure...’
‘Beg pardon, ma’am, but it might be too late for that,’ Clunker interjected, swooping on his hat. He would sooner have just dealt with the Earl, but soldiered on. ‘A neighbour of theirs knows them as a married couple. Whether the union is valid—’
‘Thank you for your report,’ Lance cut the man off. ‘You may leave now and I will be in touch about any further enquiries.’
After Clunker had withdrawn with an obsequious bow, Sonia flew to Lance and tried to embrace him. She was still convinced she could seduce him if he’d let her close enough. Impatiently, he disentangled himself.
‘Will you relish having the likes of a coalman as your brother-in-law?’ she taunted, furious at having been rejected again. ‘This must be hushed up.’
‘Are you staying at Larkspur House?’ Lance interrupted. The property was in Chelsea and had been bought by his father after his first wife died, for use by his mistresses. In a final snub to his wanton second wife, William had bequeathed to her use of it until her death. The insult was clear. But Sonia was thick-skinned and besides had nowhere else to stay when in town. She left her daughter there most of the time, in the charge of various matrons she employed as chaperons. For herself she preferred country living and entertaining her gallants in relative obscurity.
‘Well, unless you intend to invite your stepmama to stay here with you in Grosvenor Square I suppose I’ll have to go there,’ Sonia replied, peeking archly at him.
‘Go home, then, and I’ll attend to matters and send word of what’s been done in due course.’
Sonia angrily rammed her hat on her head. ‘You had better do it quickly and discreetly. If they are married, it must be annulled and I’ll accept no less than a viscount for my dear girl—it’s the least she deserves.’
Lance gave a hard smile, but it wasn’t Sonia’s hypocrisy, or his stepsister, that caused it. He’d be interested to discover how much of this Emma had known when they’d been together earlier. Most of it, he imagined. And he wanted an answer from her. But there was something else he had to do first.
‘Is it all right if I borrow the landau again?’
Lance raised a quizzical eyebrow.
‘Miss Sanders has agreed to go for another drive with me. Alas, Mrs Booth is also coming along. Again...’ Jack added funereally and rolled his eyes.
Lance’s expression mingled humour and disbelief. ‘Are you courting?’
‘How can I look for a wife? I’ve nothing to offer.’ Jack grimaced. ‘Perhaps it was a bad idea, asking her out for a second time. I don’t want her to think that I’m willing or able to take things further. She’s not an heiress and that’s what I need to set me straight. I just like her company, that’s all.’
‘Right...’ Lance said wryly. ‘Well, you’re welcome to take the landau and enjoy more of her company.’ He pushed open the door to Boodle’s and immediately their arrival was met with a volley of greetings from gentlemen stationed within the fug of cigar smoke and alcohol fumes.
‘Nixon’s over there,’ Jack said. ‘He called on my sister a couple of days after Ruth’s tea party. He’s taking Bella and my mother to the theatre this week. They’re quite excited about it.’
‘Sounds serious. Nixon seems nice enough.’
Jack gave the young baronet a piercing look. ‘I’ll get to know him better before making my mind up on it.’
‘No time like the present,’ Lance advised, his attention already elsewhere. It seemed luck was on his side, providing him with a perfect opportunity to corner somebody. As Jack set off to cross-examine his sister’s suitor, Lance ordered a cognac from a passing steward. When he had it, he took a swallow, then strolled towards a table where a game of Basset was in progress. The circle of spectators standing behind the gamesters’ chairs indicated that a serious amount was at stake. As he got closer, Lance spied the banknotes, coins and assorted items of gold and silver on the table. In among the jumble were visible edges of papers, denoting IOUs had been pledged by those who’d emptied their pockets, but still weren’t prepared to admit defeat. Lance stood at the back, staring at one player in particular until the fellow sensed his observation. Others in the audience had deferred to the Earl, making a space for him to move forward and get a better view. Usually he wouldn’t have bothered; today he did.
Joshua Gresham puffed out his chest, a smug smile tugging at his lips, at the honour of having been singled out for recognition by the Earl of Houndsmere.
Lance transferred his attention to the young man seated in front of him. He was sweating and his hands were trembling as he pushed his solitary crown over the baize. He was wasting his time staking it as far as Lance could see. The luckless young buck had been given a set of duds. When the hand was played out Lance lowered his head to speak to him. Peter Rathbone peered over a shoulder, looking terrified to see the Earl close behind him, considering how they’d parted at that tavern. But he was soon listening intently. His jaw dropped as he digested what was being said. A moment later he nodded vigorously, then shot up from the table to push a path through the crowd.
‘I’ll take Rathbone’s place...and his debts...’
‘Highly irregular...’ the banker trumpeted, knowing the Earl for an excellent player.
‘Is he in his cups? Why’d he saved Rathbone?’ a different gentleman hissed, knowing full well that Houndsmere would bet high, drunk or sober.
‘He knows that cub’s father,’ somebody else rumbled. ‘Saving young Rathbone from embarrassment, I expect.’
‘What are you lot worried about?’ Lance enquired of nobody in particular as the muttering continued to ebb and flow around him. ‘I’m the one starting off down a hundred.’
‘You can make that nearly two,’ the banker snorted. ‘Rathbone put vowels in as well.’ He glanced from one gamester to another. ‘Any objections to Houndsmere sitting in?’
Not a word was said, although nobody looked content at the substitution.
Lance shrugged and emptied his glass, then immediately signalled for a refill before slouching into the vacant chair. ‘I’m f
eeling generous and in need of some diversion, so deal the cards.’
‘We were all sorry to hear the Countess has just arrived in town,’ a tipsy voice crowed from among the spectators. ‘Not as sorry as you though, eh, Houndsmere?’
A tense silence followed; most of the men present believed that such gross impertinence warranted a request for an apology at least, a meeting, at worst. The Earl had avenged himself pitilessly for less of a slur in the past. This time he shrugged. ‘Commiserations accepted. But don’t mention her again.’
The fellow with the big mouth sidled off towards the bar. Lance emptied his glass the moment the steward put it down. Before the man could retreat he’d offered it back to him for another refill. Then he drew from his pocket a roll of cash.
Joshua had been watching and listening to what went on. He’d never before sat at a card table with Houndsmere. The Earl usually chose to gamble with an exclusive elite comprising Valance, his brother-in-law and other close friends. They often had a table set up especially at the back of the room. But Boodle’s was rarely graced with his illustrious presence. Watier’s or White’s were his lordship’s usual haunts. The banknotes at the man’s elbow drew Joshua’s sly eyes. In common with the others he had heard of the harlot who’d married the late Earl and he’d heard of her equally troublesome daughter. If they had distracted Houndsmere with family woes, Joshua would be delighted to capitalise on it.
Other gamesters seated around the table were thinking the same thing, concealing subtle smiles by rubbing their chins. Joshua deemed himself a skilful player; a stack of cash at his elbow proved it no idle boast. He was ahead and was confident he’d manage to stay that way. What a feather in his cap it would be if he cleaned out his lordship’s pockets this afternoon. His smirk was swiftly controlled. What he’d really like to do was foster a proper acquaintance with Houndsmere: it would open all sorts of doors. Veronica had been a shrew of late, but she would be as nice as pie to him if, through his new friend the Earl of Houndsmere, he secured her an invitation to Mrs Sweet’s.