A Desirable Husband

by Mary Nichols

  ‘I will talk to her about it,’ he said. ‘We could make up a party.’

  ‘If the summer has not gone,’ she said, looking at the rain streaming down the window. It had all but blocked out the view of the street.

  ‘Oh, no, it is only June, after all. This will clear up and the air will feel much fresher. It has been far too oppressive of late.’

  Oppressive. Yes, it had and not only because of the heat. She was sorely oppressed by conflicting emotions. The promise made to her sister weighed heavily on her, especially as she had just made up her mind that she would have to see Felix again and get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding him. Before that ill-fated expedition to the theatre, she had told Banny she would fight for him and that determination had suddenly been renewed. If he told her she meant nothing to him, that kissing her had been a jest to prove that he could, if he told her that he loved Juliette, it would break her heart but she would accept it.

  How to bring about the encounter was the problem, considering she was always chaperoned and she never knew where he would be on any given day. And she had to see him alone. Only a few weeks before, she could be sure that if she walked in the park or along the river bank, she would come upon him; it was almost as if fate decreed it. But that had not happened since he came back from his trip north. Except today and today she had been with his cousin.

  If she was quieter than usual Edward did not seem to notice and when the rain eased and they were able to return to the carriage, he took her home in high good humour, chatting about his proposed picnic, which he put to Rosemary as soon as they arrived.

  ‘What a delightful idea,’ she said, after offering him refreshment which he declined on the grounds that they had been confined at the Clarendon for fully an hour and had drunk two pots of tea and eaten two custard tarts. ‘Which day did you have in mind?’

  ‘I leave that to you, dear lady. My engagement book is at your disposal.’

  ‘Before Esme’s ball, I think, as I intend that to be the culmination of her season. You never know, we might have an announcement to make.’ It was said archly and Esme squirmed with embarrassment.

  ‘Rosie!’ she protested.

  ‘Oh, do not mind me,’ Rosemary said. ‘I am such a romantic at heart.’ Which had Esme fidgeting even more. Rosie, romantic! It was almost comical. ‘I hope you will still be in town and able to attend, my lord.’

  ‘Nothing would keep me away,’ he said. Esme, who had been studying the arrangement of flowers in the empty grate, looked up suddenly and saw his smile. It made her shiver with apprehension. He took his leave soon after that.

  He was back the next afternoon, impeccably attired and oozing charm, with some proposals for the picnic, which was soon assuming the proportions of a route march. ‘I thought we could make up a party,’ he said, addressing himself to Rosemary, although Esme was present, sitting demurely in the window seat of the drawing room looking out on the dripping trees in the garden across the street. The overnight rain had gone and the sun was shining, making the droplets of water sparkle on the leaves. The street had been washed clean of the collected ordure of horse droppings, mud and discarded refuse, which now lay in the gutter in heaps waiting for the dustcart to remove them. ‘I thought of approaching the Ladies Aviemore, Bryson and Mountjoy to bring their daughters, and there is Toby Salford, Bertie Wincombe, Captain Merton and my cousin Victor Ashbury. That is if you agree, my lady.’

  ‘Yes, of course. If they are free, that is. If you wish, I will make inquiries.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady.’

  ‘What about your other cousin, Lord Pendlebury, my lord?’ Esme queried, turning from the window.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘You said you were good friends. Surely you meant to ask him?’

  ‘Certainly I will if you wish it,’ he said, with only the tiniest hesitation. ‘But from the manner in which you sent him away the other day, I did not think he would be acceptable.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He sighed. ‘I concluded Lady Trent had told you—’

  ‘I did,’ Rosemary said. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to repeat it. She might then believe it.’

  ‘I hesitate to speak ill of a member of my family and one with whom I have always been on the friendliest of terms.’

  ‘It is for Lady Esme’s own good.’

  Esme sat with her hands in her lap and said nothing. She was anxious to hear what Felix had done that was so dreadful and to make up her own mind about him.

  ‘Then I will speak, but please make allowances for a young man’s folly. He was, as I have said before, born in India and as a boy spent a great deal of time with Indian servants. His father saw no harm in it, but he was learning their ways, sympathising with them, even dressing like them. His mother became afraid he would turn native and persuaded his father to bring the family home to England. For a time he lived as any normal boy would, going to school and university and taking a Grand Tour.

  ‘It was while he was in France that he became involved with the Revolutionary Party. In order to do their work, he inveigled himself into the social circle around Count Lefavre, who was loyal to the King and privy to the measures being taken to counter an uprising. He became engaged to the Count’s daughter, Juliette. When the revolution began, he fled back to England, abandoning the lady. The revolutionaries killed her father…’

  ‘She does not seem to have held it against him,’ Esme put in. ‘She is here in London and seen out and about with him.’

  He smiled. ‘She has a forgiving heart. And when the heart is involved…’ He shrugged. ‘No doubt he had a plausible excuse that she believed.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘I was in France at the time and met him there. I did my best to persuade him out of his folly, but to no avail.’

  ‘And now he is mixed up with the troublemakers again.’ Rosemary put in. ‘Here in England. Our way of life is threatened. The safety of the Royal family is threatened, and all because of that monstrous Exhibition.’

  ‘I find it hard to believe,’ Esme said.

  ‘That is what makes it so dreadful,’ Rosemary said. ‘He looks the essence of what an English gentleman should be. But appearances can be deceptive.’

  ‘No one else seems to believe ill of him,’ Esme said. ‘He is accepted in the highest social circles. Why has no one denounced him? Why have you said nothing except to us, Lord Gorridge?’

  ‘I have been asked by someone very high up to keep silent. The authorities are watching him, hoping he will lead them to the ringleaders. I beg you to say nothing yourselves, either to him or anyone else because I have betrayed a confidence in telling you.’

  ‘There!’ Rosemary exclaimed. ‘Now are you convinced?’

  Esme was shaken to the core. It all sounded so plausible. Why did she find it so hard to credit? Because her heart was involved? Because he had kissed her and sent her whole body into such a tumult she had mistaken it for love? Was it possible to love a traitor? Juliette Lefavre evidently thought it was. She was so muddled, she could not find the voice to respond to her sister.

  ‘Let us talk of happier things,’ Edward said, his sombre countenance suddenly brightening. Having delivered what he guessed was a bombshell, he was prepared to dismiss it. ‘The picnic. Will Saturday week be convenient? We shall need several carriages for the ladies and the picnic hampers, but the gentlemen will no doubt ride…’

  Esme sat and half listened as Lord Gorridge and her sister set about ordering her life for her. The picnic was only the beginning, there would be other outings involving his lordship, culminating in the ball, all carefully orchestrated to marry her off, preferably to Lord Gorridge himself. If she had known what would happen, she would never have come to London. But then she would never have met Felix, never felt his arms about her, never looked into his eyes, never tasted his lips, never felt desire trickling through her. Was the memory of that all she would be taking back to Luffenham with her?
Could she possibly consider marrying anyone else when her heart and soul were elsewhere? Ought she to dismiss Felix Pendlebury from her mind once and for all? Myles had advised her to be guided by her sister? Did he know the truth? Did anyone, except Felix himself?

  She was hardly aware that Lord Gorridge was taking his leave, bowing low over Rosemary’s hand and then hers. Somehow she conjured up a smile and a few polite words and then he was gone. Before Rosemary could start to comment on the visit and the information he had disclosed, she excused herself and fled to her room.

  Chapter Seven

  Felix was not at all sure whether he was keeping an eye on Edward to please his aunt or because he was afraid Esme would accept him. The thought of the woman he loved being married to that man made his blood boil. And yet he was obliged to keep his feelings in check and maintain an urbane countenance.

  It was not made easier by Juliette’s assumption that he had accepted what she had told him about her affair with Peaucille and that he had forgiven her for it. As if he did not know that Peaucille was not the only one! Here, in London, there were others and it was these others he had been set to watch. Some were French, but there were Englishmen among them who were deliberately setting out to stir up discontent among the workers from the factories whose chimneys belched smoke, those whose living was made on or about the river and sweat-shop employees, as well as those without work, who spent their evenings drinking and making plans to turn on their employers and anyone in authority. How much of it was simply the drink talking and how much they really meant to put into action, he could not be sure. He sympathised with their plight, but not their way of going about redressing their wrongs.

  He tried remonstrating with Juliette, asking her why she mixed with these men, but she laughed, trying to tease him out of his sombre mood. ‘Oh, Felix, chéri, you are jealous!’

  ‘No.’ They were talking in his Aunt Sophie’s drawing room, though the lady herself was absent, as was Victor. ‘I am concerned for your safety and reputation. Good God, Juliette, you are the daughter of a nobleman…’

  ‘The nobility ’ave ’ad their day.’

  ‘You forget that I am one.’

  ‘No, I do not forget, but an aristo embracing the workers’ cause would lend it credence, don’t you think? You should follow the example of your cousin.’

  ‘Victor was always a hothead.’

  ‘Not only Victor. Edward.’

  He had laughed. ‘If you think Edward will give up his title, wealth and privileges to embrace a lost cause, then you are more naïve than I thought. He is enjoying being Viscount Gorridge too much to risk losing it. Why do you think he is toadying to every title and socialite in the capital?’

  She laughed. ‘Including Lady Esme Vernley. Oui, I ’ad noticed. But let us not talk of them, Felix. Let us talk about you. And me. If you want me to give up my friends, then I will do so, but I will need something from you. I will need protection.’ She paused to make sure she had his full attention. ‘A wedding band might do it. You do understand me, I ’ope.’

  He understood perfectly well; she was not so committed to the cause of revolution as she pretended and he wondered what her associates might say or do when they realised that. Was that what she meant by protection? One thing he was sure of—nothing on earth would persuade him to comply. ‘I would not dream of putting you at risk, my dear,’ he said, with a twisted smile. ‘Let us think of some other way.’

  She hid her anger well. ‘You won’t win her, you know.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lady Esme. I think she would like being a viscountess, don’t you? A viscount is better than a baron, n’est-ce pas? Moi, I am ’appy to be a baroness.’

  ‘Then I wish you luck in finding your baron.’ With that he turned on his heel and left the house, passing his aunt on the way.

  ‘Going, Felix?’ she queried.

  ‘I am afraid I do not have time to stop, Aunt. Another time, perhaps.’

  He left her staring after him and hurried down the street. He wasn’t sure where he was going. The one place he longed to be was barred to him and so he walked the streets until hunger and thirst drove him into one of the seedier clubs on Monmouth Street. He had given up his hat and was striding across the foyer when he spotted Edward through the open door of one of the gaming rooms, sitting at a table with Victor and two men he did not know. One was dressed impeccably in a dove-grey suit and a lilac cravat. He had dark side whiskers and hair that Felix felt sure had been dyed to cover its grey streaks. He was the older of the two by several years. The other, red-faced and corpulent, favoured the checks of a countryman. There was a pack of cards spread across the table and a heap of coins in the middle which the dark man was scooping up, watched warily by Edward as if he would like to snatch it from him.

  ‘Ah, Felix, the very man I want to see,’ Edward called out to him.

  He did not feel like talking to anyone, let alone his cousin, but politeness and curiosity won and he crossed the room to join them.

  ‘Do you know Monsieur Philippe Maillet?’ Edward indicated the man taking possession of the money. ‘And Mr Patrick Connelly?’

  Maillet! That was the name the Duke of Wellington had mentioned. He was careful to keep his voice neutral as he answered, ‘No, I do not think I have had the pleasure.’

  ‘Philippe, Patrick, my cousin Felix, Lord Pendlebury. Tell them, Felix, that I am good for a few thousand.’

  Felix guessed his cousin had lost heavily. ‘Why ask me to vouch for you? Is your word not as good as your bond?’

  ‘Oh, it is, but unfortunately my friend Patrick needs to be paid immediately and I cannot lay my hands on that amount. The lawyers are taking their time winding up my father’s estate and I’m short of the ready. You’ll stand buff for me, won’t you? You can have it back as soon as the lawyers are done.’

  Felix was reminded of what he had overheard on the day of the late Viscount Gorridge’s funeral. If Edward wanted money, he would have to go through his trustees. Or marry. Esme! His dearest Esme. He would impoverish himself before he let that happen. ‘How much do you need?’

  ‘Five thousand.’

  ‘Five thousand!’

  ‘Yes. Four for Patrick, five hundred for Philippe, less the fifteen guineas he scooped up from the table, the rest to keep me going for a week or two. I have an important social occasion to arrange.’

  Felix turned to Connelly. ‘If you meet me here tomorrow at two o’clock, I’ll have a draft drawn on my bank.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the man said, rising. ‘Good day to you, Gorridge. Mr Ashbury.’

  He left, followed by the Frenchman, who walked with a slight limp. As soon as they were out of earshot, Felix turned to his cousin. ‘Who are those men, Edward?’

  Edward shrugged. ‘Just a couple of gamesters I met through Ma’amselle Lefavre. I do not know them well.’

  ‘Well enough to gamble with them.’

  ‘Why not? Connelly has connections with a good Anglo-Irish family and Maillet is related to a French aristo. He told me he had an English mother, which is why he speaks such perfect English. I am eternally grateful to you for standing buff for me.’

  ‘There are conditions to that.’

  ‘Conditions. You said nothing of conditions when you agreed to stump up.’

  ‘I did not want to embarrass you in front of strangers. I will pay your debts as long as you leave Lady Esme Vernley alone.’

  Edward laughed. It was a high-pitched cackle, which made Felix want to smash his fist into the man’s face. ‘I do not see the joke,’ he said coldly.

  ‘No? I will not be allowed to leave Lady Esme alone, her sister will see to that. Lady Trent is determined to make her sister a Viscountess and the lady herself is more than willing, I can tell you. I believe the announcement will be made at Lady Esme’s coming-out ball. If you want your money back, you will have to accept that.’

  ‘I haven’t given it to you yet.’

  ‘Oh, you will, my dear cousi
n, you will. I know your reputation for keeping your word is something you value above everything. If my friends are thwarted, the word would soon spread—’ He stopped in mid-sentence and shrugged his shoulders.

  Felix turned on his heel and strode out. For the second time that day he walked the streets until, no nearer a solution, he returned home and went up to his studio, where he sat drinking cognac and staring at the sketches he had done of Esme. Was she really about to accept Edward Gorridge? Had he lost her? He ran his finger over the drawing he had made for his Crystal Girl, the outline of her head, the expressive eyes, the soft lips. He had once felt the real thing, the smooth flesh, the soft lips responding to the pressure of his own and discovered himself in love, and he was not prepared to give in without a fight. He smiled suddenly, emptied his glass down his throat and went to bed.

  Esme saw Felix again sooner than she expected when she was out walking with Rosemary two days later and, strangely, it was in almost the identical spot she had seen him before, close by Annie Hicks’s cake stall. Even more strangely, he was talking to an elderly gentleman she recognised immediately, from pictures she had seen of him, as the Duke of Wellington.

  ‘Fancy him being friendly with the Duke,’ Rosemary murmured.

  ‘Why shouldn’t he be? They are both on the Exhibition committee.’

  ‘I wonder if the Duke knows.’

  ‘Knows what?’

  ‘About Lord Pendlebury’s dubious activities.’

  ‘Rosemary, I do hope you are not intending to make trouble. I am sure his Grace would not be speaking to him if there was anything at all dubious about him.’

  ‘You heard what Viscount Gorridge said.’

  ‘He might have a personal reason for that.’

  Rosemary looked sharply at her. ‘What reason?’

  ‘I don’t know. When they were together the other day, they were baiting each other and exchanging veiled insults. Lord Gorridge pretends they are friends, but that was not my understanding.’