Nathanial mentally shrugged his shoulders. Oh well, the feeling was mutual. Without their titles and connections, he wouldn’t have spent a farthing for their company.
Then he saw his friends. Lord Warwick, and the young Lord Bradford. Exceptions that proved the rule that not all titles were wasted on the stupidest of men.
Nodding his head, he made his way to their table. Fair-haired Warwick smiled as he saw him approach. The Viscount looked well, Nathanial thought to himself. Obviously, that nasty business at Pine Crest had caused him no harm.
Young Bradford looked as pleasant as always. A young man just now reaching his full size. An easy-going man with no hint of anger or animosity. Yet, Nathanial had seen him subdue two attackers on the streets of Bengal, India when the lad was but sixteen.
That was how they had met. A former ship’s captain coming to the rescue of a young man only to find out the boy didn’t need rescuing.
Nodding to the two men, Nathanial joined them at the table.
Bradford smiled and raised a class, welcoming him. That was one thing he enjoyed about Bradford. The man never took things too seriously. Receiving his title at the ripe old age of four. Many men would have grown up hidebound and overbearing. Not young Bradford. He accepted people for who they were regardless of their station in life. Uncommon for a British Earl. His mother was to be commended, either that, or his nanny.
“So, Warwick,” Nathanial asked. “Is it true? The Duke of Hampton married his ward’s governess?”
Lord Warwick laughed and shook his head, as if he had trouble believing it, just like the rest of Britain. “It’s true. Four months after he was raised to his title. And the man is married.”
“Better him than me,” Lord Bradford said as he shuddered and took another sip of whiskey.
“So true,” Nathanial said as he accepted his own whiskey off the silver tray carried by Jensen.
“Well, she is a comely lass,” Warwick said with a twinkle in his eye. As if he could well understand why the Duke would want to marry her.
“Yes, but … marriage? It seems like such a harsh sentence.” Bradford said.
Nathanial smiled and settled back in his chair. It had been too long, he thought. He enjoyed these men. They saw the world as he did. A challenge to be conquered. A life to be lived. Free, with as much enjoyment as a man could take with his own hands. Not to be lived tied to one woman. Trapped with responsibilities and expectations. No, not under any circumstances.
A shudder ran down his spine as he thought of the hell Hampton would be going through.
“I imagine the ladies of the ton must be rather upset. Letting a catch like that slip away before they even had an opportunity to trap him,” Nathanial added.
“That’s not the half of it,” Warwick replied. “My mother came very close to cursing when she heard the news. I swear, Mother might have let slip a damn or two if the maid hadn’t been in the room.”
The men laughed.
“And,” Bradford said, “You captured the man who killed the previous Duke. Well done. His agent of all things.”
“Actually, Hampton figured it out. I was just there, asking questions,” Warwick responded.
Nathanial smiled to himself. Warwick asking questions meant the Crown was concerned. They only sent in Warwick if the matter was politically sensitive. The man had more connections than a spider’s web and knew how to keep his mouth shut.
“Gentleman,” Nathanial said, raising his glass. “To his Grace, the Duke of Hampton. A rake who lost his way.”
His friends smiled as they clinked glasses.
“The Duke.”
“The Duke.”
A comfortable silence fell over the three men as each contemplated the perils and pitfalls of matrimony.
“You know,” Nathanial said with a smile. “One of you will be next.”
“Hold your tongue man,” Warwick said with shock.
“I’m too young to face such doom,” Bradford said with a smile. “It will have to be you, Warwick.”
“Why not Caldwell here,” Warwick said, pointing at Nathanial. “The man is richer than God. Everything he touches turns to gold. Surely some young miss will catch his eye. I know that most of the mothers are more than willing to ignore his lack of title if it means their daughter can get her hands on some of his treasure.”
Nathanial laughed. “No, it is widows and courtesans for me, gentlemen. I do not have the time nor the patience for a wife. And because I am without a title, I am not charged with producing an heir. Unlike you two.”
Both Warwick and Bradford looked down at their glasses as Nathanial’s words sank in. Like him, the prospect of matrimony was vexing, to say the least.
“I have brothers,” Warwick said as he grasped at the fact like a drowning man reaches for a float.
“And I have cousins,” Bradford added. “The title will not revert to the crown.”
“Yes, but you both have mothers who will not let you rest until you marry,” Nathanial said with a smile. Oh, how he loved contemplating his friends’ fate.
“I assure you,” Warwick insisted. “It will not be me that marries next.”
“Nor I,” Bradford added.
Nathanial studied his two friends for a moment and then smiled.
“Should we lay a wager? The man to marry next must pay the two remaining rakes a sum. Let us say. A thousand pounds?”
Bradford and Warwick returned his studied look then simultaneously smiled and nodded.
“Jensen, the book,” Nathanial yelled out. Holding up a hand to catch the footman’s attention.
After a short minute, the footman returned to their table with a large leather-bound ledger. Opening it to the first available blank section, he placed the book down in front of Nathanial.”
“So, Gentlemen, shall we say, “Bradford, Warwick, and Caldwell agree that who so ever marries first, must pay the other two gentlemen one thousand pounds on his wedding day?”
“I think that the man to marry second should also pay the one remaining bachelor on his wedding day, as well,” Warwick added.
“Done,” Nathanial said as he added the additional item and slammed the book closed before handing it back to Jensen. “Good,” he said to his friends. “And you wonder how I am so successful at business. It is by taking such easy money from men like you.”
Warwick laughed. “I needn’t worry. It is young Bradford that should be concerned. He has a mother set on grandchildren. And besides, I will probably be returning to Portugal soon. I’m sure he will be trapped long before I return.”
Bradford frowned and said, “They have women in Portugal.”
Warwick laughed. “Yes, they do. Beautiful ones at that. But a British Lord is not as much a prize as one of their own. Believe me, I am much safer there with Wellesley than I am in the drawing rooms of London. Napoleon isn’t near the adversary as some of the mothers of the ton.”
The three men laughed. A comfortable silence fell over them again as Nathanial leaned back in his chair and waved for another round. One thing he had learned over the years. His friends became more creative when they drank. And he was going to need all the help he could get.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “I have recently been made aware of a significant issue. An Issue I thought you might be able to help me with.”
Both men froze for a moment as they studied him. Nathanial could see their minds working as they tried to decipher his statement. Everyone knew that Nathanial Caldwell did not ask for help with anything. His entire reputation was built on the self-sufficient businessman who took no quarter and gave no mercy. If Nathanial Caldwell needed help, it must be serious.
Both men leaned forward and nodded for him to go on.
“It is my sister, Olivia. She is in need of a husband.”
“Ha,” Warwick barked out. “That is why you came up with that wager. You want one of us to marry your sister and hoped to reclaim some of the dowry. I say, Caldwell …”
“N
o,” Nathanial interrupted as he put a hand on Warwick’s arm to stop him from continuing down the wrong path. “No,” he repeated. “Olivia will not be marrying men such as yourselves. I like my sister.”
Young Bradford frowned for a moment. “Olivia, marry? I pity the man. The girl has a tongue sharper than a carving knife.”
Warwick laughed. “It is only you, she despises. The rest of England finds her a beautiful, sweet girl.”
Bradford shuddered. “Besides,” he said as he continued to frown, “she is too young.”
“I don’t know. As I said, she is beautiful and with Caldwell’s money, more than attractive. She should have no problem landing a fish.”
“Gentlemen,” Nathanial said with a forceful tone. “This is my sister we are talking about. Tread lightly.”
Warwick smiled at his friend and nodded. They both knew how special Olivia was to him. The thought of her marrying and leaving his protection worried him much more than it should. According to society, he should be happy that she marry. But that would mean losing her to another man and the one thing he hated in the world was losing.
“I say,” Young Bradford said, “she is what? Seventeen? Is she really ready for a season? Perhaps a year or two of seasoning? If it wasn’t for this bloody war, you could send her to the continent for a tour.”
Warwick smiled at his friend's naivety. “Don’t forget, the London season is how most young women meet their husbands. It is the whole reason for the endless parties and their continuous shopping. Isn’t it all done with an eye to catching a husband? One of the many reasons I avoid the environment. You can’t get caught if you’re not on the field of battle.”
Nathanial slowly shook his head. “She insists on a season.”
“So, give her one,” Warwick said as he shrugged his shoulders.
Nathanial glanced at Bradford to get his input but the young man was staring off into space. Then, pulling himself back to the present, the young lord nodded in agreement.
“But how?” Nathanial said. “I do not travel in your circles …”
“Because of your boundless luck,” Warwick said with a smile as he took a sip of whiskey.
“I have no older female relatives,” Nathanial continued. “No one to help her through this. Buy the right clothes, meet the right people. How to avoid becoming attached to the wrong man. The last thing I need is another duel. They are bad for business.”
“I still don’t understand why Olivia finds me so off-putting,” Bradford said, completely ignoring the issue at hand.
“Because you said she reminded you of the Indian monkeys,” Warwick said with a shake of his head.
“She was twelve years old and halfway up an oak tree,” Bradford replied.
“And you were seventeen and should have known better,” Warwick stated as if his friend was an dullard for making such a mistake.
“Yes, but …”
“Gentlemen,” Nathanial interrupted. “The issue, need I remind you, is to help my sister obtain a husband. Someone who will treat her right. Someone that both she and I find acceptable.”
Warwick scoffed. “I don’t see the problem. Offer a huge dowry and you will have fifty proposals within the weak. Two-thirds of them by men with titles behind their name.”
“No,” Bradford said. “I still say Olivia is too young to marry. Especially to some fortune hunter.”
Nathanial ignored him as he stared out the window. “There will be no fortune hunters. Never fear. No, I want her to marry someone she desperately wants to marry. Someone of merit. A title would be nice, but not necessary. But by the same token. I won’t have her marrying a shop clerk. No, it must be a man of standing. With a good name. From the right family. In other words,” he said with a pause. “A man unlike us. I won’t have her marrying a rake or a near-do-well.”
Both of his friends studied him for a long moment as they pondered what he had said.
“It won’t be easy,” Warwick began. “You haven’t been nice to the ladies of the ton, especially the mothers. Ignoring their repeated invitations to their balls. Turning your nose up at their society, a commoner no less. To them, you should have been overjoyed to be included.”
“And all that beautiful money going to waste when they could spend it so much better,” Bradford added with a chuckle.
“I have no need for their parties and drama,” Nathanial said with a vigorous shake of his head.
“Until now,” Warwick said with a smile.
Nathanial’s shoulders slumped. Warwick was right. He was out of his field here. The politics and maneuvering of the ton was something he had spent his life avoiding. It had always been something that he not so secretly sneered at.
“Never fear,” Warwick said as he slapped Nathanial’s back. “I might have a solution.”
Nathanial’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“I know someone…” the Viscount began.
“Why am I not surprised?” Bradford interrupted as he took a drink.
Warwick ignored him. “In fact,” he continued, “it might solve several problems at the same time.”
Nathanial held his breath as he waited for his friend.
“Lady Alice Weston,” Warwick said as if he had answered the question about the meaning of the universe.
Nathanial frowned. He had never heard of this Lady Weston. What was so special that she could help his Olivia? Glancing over at Bradford, he silently asked his friend for his thoughts.
Bradford shrugged his shoulders. “It might work. But I still say that Olivia is too young to think of getting married.”
Nathanial slowly shook his head. His friend was wrong. Olivia would marry. At least one of the Caldwell children should. And heaven knew, it would never be him.
Chapter Two
Lady Alice Weston pulled the needle through her work and glanced over at her mother again. Her heart turned over when she saw the white pasty skin and the difficulty the older woman was having with her breathing.
This cold room doesn’t help, she thought to herself angrily. A small drafty room, in a small drafty house, located on a dirty, forgotten street in the wrong part of town. For the thousandth time, she cursed her cousin for pushing them to this fate.
“I will have to sell my blue silk gown,” Alice said to her mother. The words scraped at her throat. But they had no other choice.
“No,” her mother replied with as much force as her frail body could muster. “It is your last gown. You may need it. Really, Alice, you must think of the future.”
Alice scoffed at the miserable future that lay before them.
“I must sell it,” she said as she put her sewing on her lap and focused on her mother. She needed to make her understand just how serious things had become.
“The merchants will extend us no more leeway. If we are to eat, I must pay in coin. Spring lingers, the nights are cold, and we are almost out of coal. The rent is caught up, but Mr. Sewey will not allow us to fall behind again.”
Her mother looked back at her, a tear forming in the corner of her eye. Oh, how far they had fallen. She could well imagine that her mother was remembering the servants. The large house. Never having to worry where her next meal would come from. And the thought that she must now concern herself with how much coal was in the bin. It must tear at her soul.
Alice set her shoulders and leaned forward. “I must Momma. There is no other choice. It is either sell the dress or become some man’s mistress.”
“Alice!” her mother barked, “don’t say such things.”
Alice returned to her sewing. “I don’t know, Mother. If cousin Jonathon refuses to change his mind. We could well be looking at much worse than me becoming a courtesan.”
Her mother stared back at her in disbelief. In her world, there was nothing worse than a woman becoming some man’s mistress. A wife, yes. Marriage to a blackguard, a cheat, or thief, even a wife beater, all perfectly acceptable. A spinster, alone and unhappy, understandable. But a mistress? Never.<
br />
Alice’s heart fell once again. It was all her fault. If she had done what Jonathon had demanded, they would be living well and her mother would not be so ill. Sighing, she fought back her own tears and tried to focus on the simple cotton dress in her lap. She was desperately trying to repair it without the blemish showing.
Oh, if her friends could see her now. Mending a day dress herself, doing maid’s work, they would turn away in shame. But then, they had obviously never been true friends. Not if they had allowed this to happen to her and her mother.
Sighing, she pushed the thought from her mind and tried to focus on the here and now. She would sell her gown. Four to five months would be bought. Enough time to explore other options. For one thing, Alice knew, if they didn’t find a solution soon, she would have no choice but to become a mistress. Selling her body to some man so that she and her mother could eat.
There were only two options for a penniless lady of the ton, she thought to herself. Marriage, or courtesan. That was how it had always been and how it always would be. And she had long ago destroyed any chance of ever getting married.
Sighing to herself, she tried once again to finish her work when a knock on the front door made her heart skip with surprise. The only people to ever visit were merchants with a debt to collect. Frantically she scoured her mind trying to think of an excuse that would buy her time enough to sell the dress.
Rising slowly, she made her way to the front door. One more indignity, she thought. Answering her own door. At one time, a butler, or one of the footmen would have taken care of such a thing. But there were no more butlers. No more maids. Now it was just herself and her mother.
Her hand hovered over the door handle for a brief moment as she gathered herself for the coming storm. Taking a calming breath, she twisted and opened the door, surprised to see a footman in red and gold livery standing on her stoop.
“Lady Weston?” the footman asked as if he met members of the aristocracy answering their own door every day in this part of London. “Lady Alice Weston?”
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