King returned an arctic glare. “Neither. I have no designs on Miss Penrose. The poor woman is addled. She must be, to think I’d take liberties with my friend’s sister under his own roof. Good God, what does she think I am?”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but she thinks you’re a libertine, and by definition—”
“Yes, yes, I thank you, Walsh,” King retorted, realising Miss Penrose was correct, he really did sound waspish now, damn her eyes. “I have no requirement for you to spell out all the ways in which she believes me to be the devil incarnate, but that begs the question, what in blazes is she up to? Does she think to trap me in marriage?”
Walsh uttered a choked sound, very much like a smothered laugh.
“What the hell does that mean?”
His valet made a heroic effort to rearrange his face, but King knew the blighter well enough to realise he was enjoying a bit of sport at his employer’s expense.
“Nothing, sir,” Walsh replied, sounding like he might strain something.
“Yes, yes, vastly amusing,” King groused. “But as far removed from eligible as I may be, I am an earl, and a woman in her position can’t be too choosy. An earl in the hand is worth Mr Skewes in the bush, I don’t doubt. My father will die one day, after all, and then I’ll be a wealthy marquess.”
“Your father is as hale and hearty as a man half his age, beg pardon for mentioning it.”
King snorted. “Damn me if that ain’t the truth, but I’ll wager she doesn’t know that.”
Walsh shrugged. “Well, didn’t you at least ask her why she wanted to meet you?”
“No!” King said, rolling his eyes. “I assumed that bit was obvious enough.”
“Did it look obvious?”
“What?”
Walsh let out a long-suffering sigh. “I mean, did she look like a woman eager to be ravished in a dark corner?”
King frowned, casting his mind back. “No. She looked like a woman who would try to fit it into her busy day if she really must. Damn it, Walsh, whatever is she about?”
“Did it not occur to you to ask her?” Walsh asked with an air of mild exasperation King was all too familiar with.
“Well, I….”
“What did you say to her?”
“I….” King cleared his throat. “I told her I wasn’t feeling well and was going for a lie down, and… and that I hoped it had all been a disagreeable dream.”
“Very sophisticated, sir.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Yes, sir.”
King glowered at the ceiling. “With a bit of luck, whatever foolishness she had in that peculiar brain of hers will have worked its way free by now. I don’t expect she’ll mention it again.”
“I don’t expect so,” Walsh replied with his most soothing tone.
King grunted and closed his eyes. He wanted a drink. No, the truth. It was important to be honest with himself at least. He wanted a bottle, possibly three, and he knew if he had them, he wouldn’t stop until he passed out. I’m not drinking. I am not drinking. I. Am. Not. Drinking. It had become a mantra these past days, and it seemed necessary to repeat the words almost every minute, just in case. He would not let Walsh down when the man had shown such faith in him, he would not let himself down. His father might think him a worthless disappointment but that was no reason for proving the man right. He had lost control of himself, of his life, but it was his life, and he would take control of it again. King would not be governed by his father and certainly not by alcohol. I want to live. I am not drinking. This would pass and he would feel better. The drink did not control him, he would not allow it. He’d have a nap like he’d said he would, and with a bit of luck Miss Penrose would have reclaimed her sanity by the time he woke up.
Livvy gritted her teeth as Ceci let out another heavy sigh. Her sister-in-law put aside the latest copy of Ackerman’s Repository and her study of the fashion plates and stared out of the window with a wistful expression. She was plump and pale, and lovely as a faded rose. Ceci had been a beauty once, but a combination of indolence, indulgence, and eight pregnancies would have worn upon even the brightest diamond. Still, she made a pretty picture, reclining on the daybed and looking as though she was waiting for someone to peel her a grape.
“Perhaps you ought to go back to bed,” Livvy suggested, struggling to keep her tone that of a concerned sister.
“Oh, no, no. One must endure, mustn’t one?”
Livvy dug her teeth into her bottom lip. She would not rise to the bait. She would not.
“Only it made me so sad to see little Birdie this morning wearing poor Rebecca’s hand-me-downs. I mean, Becca is seven now, and—”
“Nine.”
“Hmmm?”
“Rebecca is nine, and Birdie is wearing Jane’s old clothes. She’s seven,” Livvy added helpfully.
“Yes, I know.” Ceci gave a sad shake of her head. “To think we have been reduced to this. My darling Charlie hardly sleeps, you know. If only there was something to be done. It plays on his mind so, I fear for his health.”
“A pity he spent all that money on Christmas presents, then,” Livvy retorted and then cursed herself. Don’t do it. Do not.
“Oh, but the poor, poor children. Imagine how they would feel not having presents for St Nicholas? Oh, dear me.”
Yes, Livvy thought, but did they have to be quite such expensive presents? She suspected the children would rather have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies and not have to face their father being sent to Bodmin Gaol for his inability to repay his debts. Livvy drew in a deep breath and counted to ten, concentrating on the stocking she was darning.
“Here,” she said, pushing the mending basket over towards Ceci with her foot. “Do some darning. It will occupy your mind and make you feel better.”
“Oh, no. I haven’t your skill for thrift and mending, Livvy, dear. You know that.”
Another sigh.
One hundred and one, one hundred and two, one hundred and….
Ceci picked up her magazine again. “Oh. I should have liked to take dear Susan shopping for her gowns in a few years, but I don’t suppose she’ll have a season at all now.”
“No,” Livvy replied through gritted teeth, stuffing the mending back into the basket and rising to her feet. “I don’t suppose she will.”
Somehow, she held her tongue all the way out of the door.
She stood in the hallway for a moment, just breathing, and fighting the temptation to visit Ceci’s wardrobe and pull out all the expensive gowns that had been bought for her over the years. The desire to fling them in her face and say, there, that’s why the girls can’t have a season you selfish, ignorant creature, was almost overwhelming. Knowing what kind of scene would follow was the only thing which made her swallow the words down. She had tried before now, tried to make them see, but it only ended up with Ceci crying and her brother shouting, the children frightened and upset and Livvy ever more aware of just how precarious her position in the household was. If she upset Ceci too badly or too often, Charlie would side with her, not Livvy. It would be her forced to leave, and then what?
Yet, this would not do. Sooner or later she would cause exactly such a scene and her brother would give her an ultimatum: marry Mr Skewes or get out. Once upon a time she would never have believed him capable of such a thing, but now he was determined she listen to reason. After all, he thought marrying Mr Skewes was reasonable. Mr Skewes was young and handsome and wealthy. Why would any young lady not wish to marry him? Indeed, if Livvy ever tried to justify what it was about him she found so reprehensible, she could never quite manage a satisfactory explanation herself. It was pure instinct, in the manner of a dog that shied away from a man likely to kick it. Charlie, who was used to Livvy being the practical one simply refused to listen to explanations about her feelings. He thought she was being an irrational female for no good reason. It was only a matter of time before he forced the issue and she would have to decide, give in, or
runaway with nowhere to go to.
New Year was just three weeks away. Supposing she could even get to Bath in time for the party, she needed to prepare. She had toyed with the idea of writing to her aunt and asking for help, but decided against it. It was much harder to deny someone standing on your doorstep than it was to refuse them by letter. She must make it a fait accompli. Also, she must do something with her best gowns, such as they were, to make them presentable for a lavish house party. One might hope her aunt would lend her something, but it was always better to be prepared for the worst and pleasantly surprised by the best. Still, these were all practical problems, and Livvy saw no reason she could not deal them with herself. The problem of how to be, how to act around a man she wished to make her an offer with indecent haste was another entirely. She had never been in society, never flirted, or made scintillating conversation with a man, with anyone. No, she needed Kingston, and she needed him now.
Livvy glanced behind her to ensure no one was watching before she climbed the stairs and walked down the corridor that led to Lord Kingston’s rooms. She wondered why she bothered being discreet. Birdie and George were both napping, and the older children were occupied downstairs. Charlie was ensconced in his study, pretending to work but more likely reading some sporting magazine, and Ceci wouldn’t bestir herself unless the house was on fire. It would never occur to either of them that having such a man as the earl in the house might present a danger to Livvy. Though, to be fair, if there was any danger it was Livvy dragging him into it, not the other way about. Whoever would have thought it so difficult to get a man widely proclaimed a rake and a libertine to take liberties? Which only went to show how badly Livvy needed the help. If she couldn’t get a man like Kingston to make love to her, she was hardly going to incite enough passion in a decent fellow to propose marriage.
With a final glance up and down the corridor, Livvy rapped smartly on the door. It was opened a moment later by Mr Walsh. Ah. Foolish of her not to have expected that. Deciding it better to brazen it out—Walsh must be privy to much of his master’s goings on—she put up her chin and looked him in the eye.
To his credit, she saw only a momentary glimmer of shock in his eyes before he rallied.
“Might I speak to Lord Kingston, Mr Walsh?”
“I’m afraid his lordship is not here at present, Miss Penrose. I believe he has taken a walk to the beach to… blow the cobwebs away.”
“Oh, has he still the headache?”
The valet nodded, but something in his expression led Livvy to believe it wasn’t the headache that bothered him.
“Is he still suffering many ill effects from his drinking?”
Walsh seemed to debate a moment on how to reply before taking a step closer and lowering his voice. “He’s trying hard to shake off his demons, Miss, but it’s been a difficult year for him, and—”
“You worry for him,” Livvy said.
Walsh nodded, and Livvy found herself pleased to discover a sensible man like Walsh worried for his employer. From what she had seen, the valet was hard-working, conscientious, and polite to everybody. If a man like that stayed, and even worried over his master, there had to be a reason for it. Kingston must have some finer qualities. Well, she knew he had. He’d not taken the easy route and married the poor child his father had selected for him. That spoke of a man with a conscience. She had always suspected the scandal sheets exaggerated but… to what extent? Was he not the wicked seducer he was purported to be?
“He’s not the devil you might think him, Miss,” Walsh said, echoing her thoughts. “Oh, that’s not to say he don’t deserve his reputation, for that would be a lie, but… but I reckon he’d reform, given a reason to do so.”
Livvy frowned, an uncomfortable sensation of alarm crawling up her spine. There was a hopeful note to those words that made her believe…. “Mr Walsh, I do hope you are not labouring under the misapprehension that I wish reform him?”
Walsh shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “No, Miss. Truth be told, I ain’t, but a fellow can hope, all the same. A fine strong-minded woman like you could handle King, I reckon, and there aren’t many I’ve met I can say that about, though there’s plenty willing to give it a go.”
“But I have no desire to handle him,” Livvy retorted. A flush rose over her skin as her words produced a rather vivid illustration in her mind of her hands literally upon the earl’s person. Her breath snagged in her throat.
“No, of course not, Miss. I beg you to forgive me for speaking out of turn. I forgot myself.”
Despite the apparent sincerity of his words, a knowing look gleamed in the valet’s eyes for a moment before he bowed his head with every appearance of contrition. Livvy wasn’t the least bit convinced.
“Yes, Mr Walsh, I believe you did. I beg you will not indulge in such foolishness again.”
Whilst employing the obey or suffer the consequences voice she had perfected on the children was a little unfair, Livvy was thoroughly rattled and rather thought he deserved it. Seducing King was one thing. Marrying the man? Oh, dear heaven, no. She stalked back down the corridor and went in search of her pelisse. She might not want to marry the earl—good Lord, what an idea—but she still needed his invaluable assistance. She must at the very least learn to flirt a little to get the attention of someone she did wish to marry. Well, perhaps wish to marry was putting a rosy tint to it, bear to marry might be closer to reality. She may as well lower her expectations now, though how much lower they could reasonably get without sending her into a hysterical fit, she wasn’t sure. Besides which if she was committed to marrying some old, broken down or unattractive fellow as seemed her only option, this might be her only chance to kiss a man who… who made her feel something. Whatever else Lord Kingston was, he was handsome and young and virile and despite her better judgement he made her heart thud harder. It would be nice to have an inkling of what passion felt like before she had to turn her back on it for good.
The path down to the beach was winding and circuitous. A buffeting wind tugged at her skirts and pushed her faster downhill on the steeper parts, as sand and loose pebbles skittered beneath her boots. The beach here continued in the same fashion, sand with swathes of pebbles and large areas of sharp rock. The children loved it here in the summer, searching the rockpools for darting shrimps and tiny crabs that scuttled away at the last moment, and exclaiming when they caught them. This was not a day for such innocent pleasures, however. The sea plunged and crashed with white-topped waves. Thankfully it was far enough out, though the sting of cold spray still drifted on the chill wind, making her skin tight and her lips taste salty.
Livvy hesitated as she saw the earl on the shore, staring out to sea. His shoulders were hunched against the cold and he looked as though he’d been there for some time. There was something stark and lonely about his posture, an air of desperation that tugged at her heart. Nonsense, she scolded herself. It would be foolish of her to consider him a romantic hero. There was nothing the least bit romantic about a man who would drink himself to death. He was troubled, no doubt. After nearly killing himself with liquor, one could hope he would take the time to reflect upon his life and the choices he’d made. That being the case, it was unfair of her to burden him with her own concerns at such a time. She ought not disturb him.
With her decision made, Livvy sighed and was about to turn back when he looked around and saw her. His dark hair whipped about his face and for a moment his expression appeared so bleak her breath caught. Then he smiled, and she wondered if she’d imagined it, the change in him was so sudden and forceful. He strode across the beach and bowed once he was close enough to greet her.
“Miss Penrose, a happy coincidence.”
“Nothing of the sort, I’m afraid, my lord,” Livvy replied, deciding she may as well tell him now.
Perhaps, if he had been feeling out of sorts, it would help him to have something else to think about. It was how she kept herself from becoming blue-devilled after all, by filling her
days from morning till night…not that she had much choice in the matter.
“Oh?”
Livvy nodded. “I realise I was less than explicit about what it was I wanted from you when we spoke at breakfast.”
“I beg to differ,” he replied at once, frowning at her.
“No, no. I’m sorry, but you did not understand me. I have no interest in a romantic involvement with you. None at all, so you need not suppose me madly in love with you or plotting to trap you into marrying me. I understand your finances to be in dire straits, and so that won’t help me in the least. In short, my lord, we do not suit.”
He gave her a doubtful glance, which she found a little aggravating.
“I’m afraid not every woman wishes to fling themselves at your feet, as disturbing as this information may be to you.”
He narrowed his eyes a little, which drew her notice to his eyelashes and gave her a stab of envy. How unfair that a man should have lashes as thick and long as that.
“What, then?” he demanded.
“I told you, I need your help.”
“Help which involves meeting me in private to….” he hesitated and Livvy tutted with impatience.
“Tryst. Yes. I’m sorry, I know the word offends your tender sensibilities, but really one must call a spade a spade.”
His expression darkened. “Oh, I know how to do that, Miss Penrose, I assure you, but then it would be you who was offended. What the devil are you playing at?”
Livvy took a breath, undaunted by his tone. “You know my brother wishes me to marry Mr Skewes. I do not. However, Boscawen is my brother; and I am at his mercy. He is going to ruin us, sooner or later. I have no doubt of that. I must marry, and I must do it soon. If Charlie gets any deeper into debt, I fear for what may happen to us all. If I marry a man of means who is willing to be generous, I can at least take care of the children.”
“What the hell has that to do with me? As you so succinctly pointed out, I haven’t a feather to fly with.”
“If you would only listen and stop interrupting, I shall tell you, my lord,” Livvy replied with a tut of impatience.
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