by Sahara Kelly
Miles sighed. “Ah well. I won’t let him near anything dangerous.”
Ragnor, overhearing the byplay, chuckled. “Not going to buy a duelling pistol, today, Mowbray?”
The hapless man shrugged. “I wouldn’t dare. Probably shoot myself in the foot.” He was wearing his glasses, and he removed them, polishing them absently on one end of his cravat, making Ragnor cringe.
“You buying, Rag?” Miles crossed the room to stand beside his friend.
“Just looking. You?”
“Might be interested in another set of duelling pistols…” He wandered down the counter, studying the beautiful matched sets on display. “Always like to add to my collection.”
“Can’t bag a pheasant with those,” Ragnor pointed out.
“That’s all right. I can’t say I like pheasant particularly. And I don’t hunt, mostly because it’s usually cold and wet and I’m not fond of either.”
“God. What on earth do you do at those country parties then?”
Miles looked at his friend, a smug grin on his face.
“Oh.” Ragnor shook his head. “I should have known better than to ask.”
“Yes, indeed you should.”
“So who will you be doing this year, Miles?” Matthew nudged him with his elbow. “I hear Miss Fortescue has expressed an interest in your acquaintance…”
“Too flighty for my tastes,” observed Miles.
“Miss Arbuthnot?”
“Far too many teeth.”
Ragnor chuckled. “Better too many than too few,” he offered.
“You’re thinking of Miss DuMonde,” remarked Mowbray. “I say. These are most striking.” He pointed to a beautifully inlaid set of duelling pistols, featuring extensive mother-of-pearl work on their grips. They rested in a rich blue velvet case, not unlike a fine diamond necklace in a jewellery merchant’s display.
“They are indeed,” Ragnor leaned over. “You have a good eye for exquisite workmanship, Mowbray.”
“I’d love to…” he reached toward the guns.
“No,” said Miles, stopping his brother in his tracks. “Don’t touch a damn thing, Mowbray.”
Sighing, Mowbray nodded. “Sorry, I forgot.”
All four gentlemen wandered quite happily; the men who attended their needs were content to let them roam, answering questions if they arose and otherwise permitting their customers free rein. With the exception of Mr Linfield, who was—they immediately noted—to be kept away from anything breakable.
Ragnor eventually selected the duelling pistols, which earned him a nod of approval from Mowbray. Matthew dithered over a rifle, but finally decided to make the decision after the Christmas season, and the other two were merely there for some window shopping.
Once their errands were concluded, they found themselves outside on the street, wrapping up against that damned winter air. “Where to, then?” Miles looked at the others.
“I am supposed to meet up with my sister, who is going to be joining her friends somewhere in Bond Street. I was…um…volunteered to take them for tea after their engagement with the seamstress.”
“Would that be the usual group?” Ragnor inquired casually. “Miss Glynde-Beauchamp, Miss Siddington and Miss Fairhurst?”
“Presumably.”
“Well then. Why should the ladies enjoy all the pastries?” Ragnor grinned. “I am feeling quite ready to appreciate some of Gunter’s finest offerings.” A sharp gust of wind had him reaching for his hat. “Although probably not ices today.”
“Lovely idea,” endorsed Miles.
“Sounds delightful, if you don’t mind me tagging along?” Mowbray’s red curls flapped around the brim of his hat like flames in a furnace.
“Of course not,” Matthew beamed. “Honestly? I was dreading being the only male. Can’t make m’self heard most of the time, and when I do, everything I say is wrong. Sometimes it’s just not worth it, you know?”
Ragnor bit back a laugh and patted his friend on the shoulder. “Bear up, old lad. Once you’ve picked one to be your bride, you will have the last word for the rest of your life.”
Miles shot Ragnor a look. “Do you really think so?”
Ragnor gave him a puzzled frown. “Well, of course. Don’t you?”
Miles merely gazed at him, sadly.
“Shall we walk or hail ourselves a hackney?” Matthew pulled on his gloves.
“If we’re going to indulge in pastries, I think a walk is in order, Matthew.” Miles tucked his cravat firmly into his waistcoat and buttoned his overcoat. “Besides, we should arrive looking healthy and filled with fresh air.”
“Good God, why?” Mowbray followed his brother’s example.
“Ladies like to see a man in good health, I’ve heard,” answered Miles. “Flushed cheeks, exuding an appetite for exercise, all that sort of thing.”
Ragnor rolled his eyes as they set off. “You know a lot about women for someone who has managed to avoid settling on one for all these years…”
“That’s how I learned,” grinned Miles wickedly. “You won’t find me getting caught in the parson’s mousetrap.”
“I do beg your pardon, Miles, but you’re going to have to. The continuation of the Linfield line rests on your shoulders.” Mowbray trotted along behind them.
“I will, at some point. But I’m barely twenty-seven, Mowbray, as you well know, being two years my junior. I have a goodly period of time to explore all the delightful feminine options available to me before narrowing the field down to just one woman.” He gave a slight shudder. “I can’t even begin to imagine such a thing at the moment.”
Ragnor listened to the conversation with amusement. He agreed with Miles in principle, and they were within a year’s age of each other. But he, although experienced with women, had found it surprisingly easy to accept that Miss Fairhurst was the woman for him. She’d slid into his life without any fanfare, and before he’d realised it, she was in his thoughts far more often than any other lady of his acquaintance. He looked forward to seeing her this afternoon, just to reassure himself he’d made the right decision.
He knew he had, but there was no harm in ensuring his feelings were still ones of satisfaction in her company. She also had a sensual nature that he eagerly anticipated developing further. Yes, every time he deliberated the matter, the notion of a life with Miss Judith became more and more appealing.
Oddly enough though, never once did he consider that Judith might not feel quite the same way about him…
Their stroll to Bond Street accomplished without incident, since Mowbray had been very careful in his attention to the pavement in front of him, they were greeted with the sight of Lydia about to enter a shop.
She waved. “Hallo. How lovely. I was just going to collect the others. Will you wait?” She smiled hopefully. “And take us to tea?”
“Do we have a choice?” grunted Matthew.
His sister gave him a punch on the shoulder that made Ragnor wince. “No choice at all, dear brother. You will all accompany us.” She smiled, showing lots of teeth. “Isn’t that correct, gentlemen?”
Three heads nodded in unison.
The door opened and the ladies emerged, tying their bonnets securely and adjusting their cloaks.
Ragnor stared, frowned, and stared again. “Where’s Miss Fairhurst? Isn’t she with you?”
Ivy looked at him. “Why no, Sir Ragnor. What made you think she’d be here?”
“I thought…” he frowned. “It’s not like her to miss a shopping trip,” he improvised. “I trust she is well?”
“We have no idea,” shrugged Rose. “She knew we’d be here. I expect another engagement came up.”
“Hmm,” said Ragnor.
He was not pleased at all.
*~~*~~*
Judith triumphantly took another hand from Gadsby Rolfe, both gamesters blissfully unaware that one of them had been missed by Sir Ragnor.
Title notwithstanding, his Lordship took his cards seriously. The fact th
at he was now faced with a player who was certainly more skilled than himself gave him cause for concern. The additional fact that the aforementioned player was a she, and not yet twenty? His masculine ego was sitting in a corner, shivering and weeping with embarrassment.
“I am about ready to declare defeat, Miss Fairhurst,” he said on a sigh.
“You play an excellent game, my Lord,” she replied calmly. “If not for a miscalculated discard, you would have won that last hand.”
“Sir Laurence must be thrilled to have you in his house.”
“We have enjoyed more than a few such games. I find we’re evenly matched, so it is always a delight. As has this game been, sir. You are a worthy opponent as I believe I already mentioned.” She smiled as she gathered the cards. “Do you wish for one more hand?”
He glanced at the clock. “I would say yes, but duty compels me to say no.”
“Very well.” She tidied up her side of the table.
He toyed with the tiny jewel in his cravat and suddenly noticed Judith’s eyes following his fingers. She stilled.
“Sir, if I may be so bold…your pin.” She took a breath. “It strongly resembles an earring.”
His skin chilled. “Do you think so? I found it interesting. One gets so tired of the usual baubles offered to gentlemen for their cravats.”
She lifted her head and looked him in the eye, one eyebrow quirking into an arch. “Really?” The word was a drawled challenge. “This particular bauble reminds me of one I believe belongs to a young lady. I was told it was an heirloom.”
He forced himself to be still, appalled at his lack of control. “Perhaps there are others in a similar style.”
“On the ears of Miss Barrett-Goddings?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, fighting for composure. “An innocent mistake, I’m sure.” Dammit. Was his eye twitching? It seemed like it.
She put the cards down, brushed off the green felt tablecloth with a sweep of her hand, and leaned back in her chair. “Did you take it from Fiona?”
He was trapped, and the words sprang from his mouth before he could stop them. “No, I didn’t. She gave it to me.”
“You forced her.”
“Absolutely not.” He stiffened. “And I’ll challenge anyone who says that to a duel.”
She held up her hand. “If not, then how does it happen that you are in possession of it?”
He slumped. “She gave it to me. I am not prevaricating. She took it from her ear and gave it to me.”
“And did you force her into the garden?”
“No.” He was outraged. “I would never do such a thing.”
“You didn’t force kisses or other unwelcome attentions on her?” Judith’s eyes were clear and fixed on his face.
He squirmed. “I did not. I swear. None of my attentions were unwelcome.” He blinked. “Damn.”
Judith frowned. “My Lord, I am really not here to pry at all. I’m here to ask if I might be a dealer for a night. Perhaps we’re touching on things you would prefer not to discuss…”
He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. She was backing away from his revelation of an incident and a truth that could have served her well, both as fuel for gossip or as very effective blackmail. “I…I find it hard to speak of that night…” His hand strayed back to the pin, as it did so often.
Her mouth fell open. “My God. You’re in love with her.”
He glared across the table, a mix of anger and embarrassment. “Of course I am, dammit. Do you imagine I’d have kissed her otherwise?”
“It does happen,” replied Judith mildly.
“Well, not to me. And not to Fiona either.”
“She didn’t faint?” Judith’s lips curved a little.
He looked away, unable to meet that grin. “Not at that moment, no.”
A sigh greeted his words. “You’re in a terrible mess, aren’t you? I take it you know your affections are returned?”
He nodded, feeling oddly as if a weight had fallen from his shoulders now that he could talk about it with this strange girl. “Yes. Fiona and I knew, the instant our eyes met. It was…incredible. Amazing. All those things one hears about but doesn’t believe in.”
“So,” Judith paused as if in thought. “The problem would be her Duke?”
“And her parents,” answered Rolfe on a groan. “The scandal would be huge. She’d be shunned, cut dead. I’d be cast as the evil seducer.”
“Would you marry her if you could? Even if she broke her engagement?”
“In a heartbeat, Miss Fairhurst. Tomorrow. Later today. I could get a license because she’s just come of age. I’d drive to Gretna Green. To the Antipodes. Anywhere, anytime, anyplace.”
“I’m told she’s possessed of a notion that breaking her engagement would ruin her socially, which would also ruin her in your eyes.”
He frowned. “That’s her parents talking. She has a tendency to focus on what they have drilled into her mind throughout her entire life, rather than her own more logical assumptions, I’m afraid.” He looked at Judith. “But she has given me to understand she’d marry me if she things were different.”
“She might faint at the ceremony…”
A slight smile roamed over his face. “I think I could cure her of that.”
Judith’s smile matched his. “Somehow, yes, I think you could.” She was silent for a few minutes. “You said you have an estate to go with the title?”
He blinked, thrown off track by the change of topic in her conversation. “Yes, I do. But it’s in Cornwall. Not one of those extensive grandiose palaces though, and quite out of the way.” His mouth turned down. “It’s smaller than you’d expect, given the amount of money I’ve sunk into it.”
“Perfect.”
“For what?” He was lost.
She sighed. “Look. It’s really quite simple. If you love each other, and want to be together, then just do it. Since nothing’s been put into the Times yet, Fiona can write a note and tell her Duke she’s crying off because her affections are otherwise engaged. Then she can tell her parents she’s marrying you. Tell them, mind you, not ask them. She will then walk out of the house, get into the carriage you happen to have brought conveniently to her front door—timing will, of course, be important—and the two of you can be wed as soon as maybe.” She folded her hands and continued.
“There will be a massive eruption of hurt feelings, tears, whispers, rumours and outrageous lies rippling through Society. It may well be the scandal of the year. But with a bit of luck, and a lack of fainting, you two will be well on your way to Cornwall to get married. Does the aftermath really matter, when it comes from a tightly knit group of busybodies who have nothing better to do than rip other people’s reputations to shreds? All it takes is for our Princess to give birth and they will completely forget your particular scandal.” She leaned forward for emphasis. “The Princess is due soon. Think about it. A royal child arrives, and you can have your life with Fiona away from all this.”
“Uh…” his mind seemed to have stopped working.
“And I will wager my new bonnet that if you decide to return to London after a suitable interval, there will be a great deal of attention focussed on you two. They might well fight over you when it comes to invitations to next season’s most spectacular balls. You and Fiona would be the centre of attention, not cut dead. Society being what it is, I believe more than a few hostesses would fall over themselves to be the first to invite you both to their events. Can you imagine it? The wicked gambler-turned-Lord and the proper Lady who loved him.” She sat back. “Oh. There’s a title for a delicious sensational novel.”
Lord Rolfe stared at her as she chuckled at her own joke. “You know something, Miss Fairhurst? You are utterly unique.”
“Thank you, sir.” She smiled sweetly. “Does this mean I can come and deal a few hands on your behalf?”
He grinned. “You’ll find some dresses in a small room off the hall. S
ee if any fit. Be here on Friday at eight.”
Chapter Fifteen
A rriving back at Sydenham House late in the afternoon, Judith was surprised to see that Lady Maud and Sir Laurence were entertaining. Usually such visits occurred earlier in the day, or in the evening, but upon hearing voices, she hurriedly divested herself of her outer garments, straightened her hair and walked to the parlour.
The first voice she distinguished was that of Lydia.
“So you have no idea where she might be?”
“None,” answered Maud.
Judith sighed, having a really horrid feeling that her friends had, for some unknown reason, decided to find her. Of all the days. She paused for a moment or two, trying to think of a reasonable excuse. The flaw to the half-dozen that entered her mind, of course, was her maid. Susan had accompanied her to the area around Pall Mall, so that limited Judith’s range of rational destinations.
She clenched her teeth and walked into the assembled fray.
“Oh thank God,” Lydia jumped up, ran over and hugged her. “You’re all right.”
“What?” Judith managed astonishment. Or tried to. “Of course I am. What on earth is all this about?” She looked around and saw the room full of her friends. Lydia, Rose and Ivy were all looking at her with varying shades of relief, Matthew and Lord Miles Linfield were surveying her—and what Lord Linfield was doing there she had no clue—and Ragnor was frowning at her quite awfully.
“Apparently your friends were concerned when you didn’t meet them as planned,” said Sir Laurence, eyeing her carefully.
“You did tell me you might go over and join the girls in Bond Street,” added Lady Maud.
Judith winced. That was quite true.
“Did it occur to you, at any time during these past hours, that we might have been concerned?” Ragnor stepped forward and loomed over her. “That your absence might have been not only noted, but worried about?”
She refused to step back, but looked him straight in the eye, anger building inside her. “Sir Ragnor, I am gratified by your evident concern. But the fact that my plans for this afternoon changed should in no way be sufficient cause for your ire. The matter of my actions and my whereabouts are solely the business of Sir Laurence and Lady Maud. Had I been further delayed, I would have sent them a message. I fail to see where your right to chastise me enters this conversation at all.”