The Infamous Rakes

by Amanda Scott

  Felicia remembered them, too, and remembered as well that more than one had asked for her hand, though none had really understood her responsibilities. She said only, “I fear I was not much attracted to any of them, Aunt. Most were rather boring and, I daresay, found me just as tiresome.”

  “That is not natural. Indeed, I cannot think why I like you so well. Milk-and-water misses generally weary me.”

  Ignoring the tension that crept over her again, Felicia said, “I shall try harder to please you, Aunt Augusta, but I am persuaded you would have been more disappointed had I been the sort of young woman to cause one scandal after another. Not that Theo is that sort, either, of course, for she is not. Oh, good,” she added when the door opened and the footman entered bearing a tray, “here is our tea. I will pour it out, Peters, thank you.”

  When he had departed, Lady Augusta smiled apologetically and said, “A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety, my dear. Forgive an old woman who cares about you, if she occasionally speaks her mind. You may not be the beauty your sister is, but you’ve got natural style, whatever you think to the contrary, and you have never disappointed me, except insofar as you refuse to look after yourself as well as you look after the rest of your family. You ought to be wedded by now, with a family of your own to look after.”

  “Why, and so I should be, ma’am, had any gentleman I could love chanced to ask me to marry him. However, none has, and I do not repine, I assure you. I am needed here, and I shall remain so for as long as Papa and Mama require my assistance.”

  Lady Augusta’s eyes flashed sparks, but to Felicia’s relief, she tightened her lips and did not speak the words so clearly hovering upon her ready tongue. Instead, accepting her tea, she reached for a sweet biscuit and took a small bite.

  Felicia took advantage of the respite to say, “You have not yet repeated a single bit of scandal, ma’am. I cannot believe that you do not have at least one juicy tale to tell.”

  “Good gracious, child, there is scarcely a person worthy of notice in Town yet. Of course there is his majesty’s illness and the usual sort of nonsense one hears about the royal family—the Prince of Wales, in particular, since despite being well and truly married, he continues to make sheep’s eyes at Lady Jersey whilst insisting that his one true love is Maria Fitzherbert. Both are old enough to be his mama.” She shook her head, frowning, then added, “The Devonshires, too, provide grist for the rumor mills, but they are not nearly so interesting now that poor Georgiana has got fat and is blind in one eye. Forgetful, too, I’m afraid, for she sent me two invitations to her musical evening next Friday. He, of course, has been fat for years. Has gout, still drinks too much, and refuses to pay her debts with Thomas Coutts’s Bank, but all that has been so this decade and more, and therefore it is no news to anyone. That cat, Bess Foster, still resides with them, calling herself Georgiana’s dearest friend, whilst doing more to please his grace than Georgiana ever did. And Georgiana still gambles, of course.”

  “That a man, even a duke, can prevail upon his wife to count his mistress as her great friend, and to allow the woman to live with them, seems very odd to me,” Felicia said with a sigh. “The duchess’s debts must be enormous.”

  “Well, if you are thinking that that is why she countenances Devonshire’s liaison with Bess, you are out, my dear. She truly admires the woman and counts her as her best friend. It is the most amazing thing. I should have murdered Bess, I’m sure.”

  Felicia hid a smile. “I cannot imagine my uncle ever having had sufficient courage to make you part of a ménage à trois.”

  “I should think not,” Lady Augusta said with a snort, “though I will do Charles the courtesy to admit he would have been very much shocked had anyone suggested the notion to him.”

  Felicia had small memory of the late Charles Hardy, for he had passed to his reward ten years before, but she was sure that her aunt spoke only the truth. She did recall that her uncle had been a small, quiet man with a ready twinkle in his eyes, and that she had liked him very much, but though she knew he had been possessed of great wealth (for both Theo’s fortune and her own, as well as Lady Augusta’s, derived from that wealth), had she been pressed to remember a single thing he had ever said or done, she would not have been able to comply. Any memory of him was overshadowed by much clearer ones of his outspoken wife.

  The two women chatted for some minutes more before Lady Augusta said suddenly, “I hope you do not mean to take second place to Theodosia this entire Season, my dear. Since your expectations, if not your countenance, are certainly equal to hers, you will do yourself a grave injustice if you do.”

  “But, ma’am, she must have a chaperon, and when I asked if you would sponsor her, you said she ought to wait a year, which Theo refuses to do, so I have decided to attend to it myself.”

  “Nonsense, my dear. You are entirely unsuited to chaperon that minx, or anyone else. Why, you require a chaperon yourself, if only to ward off fortune hunters, as I had to do when you were with me. But your mother will take you both about, I daresay.”

  “Mama is by far too frail to be trotting about to all the festivities Theo will wish to attend, Aunt Augusta. That cannot be thought of, as you must have just now seen for yourself.”

  “Oh, pish tush, I have no patience with Selena’s megrims. What can she expect you to do? You are far too young, Felicity.”

  “I beg of you, ma’am, do not put such a nonsensical notion into Mama’s head, for I have assured her that I am quite old enough to be considered a proper chaperon for my sister, and you will distress her beyond reason if you tell her that I am not.”

  Lady Augusta drew a long breath, clearly forcing herself to think before saying, “Felicity, I cannot allow this. No, do not interrupt me, for I must tell you that you are going about the matter in quite the most shatter-brained fashion. You have not thought. You will be ruining any chance you or your sister have to make a suitable match if you proceed as you mean to do now.”

  “Why, how so, ma’am?”

  “You are not yet one-and-twenty, my dear, and even at that great age, you would not be considered the proper chaperon for a younger woman unless you were married. If Theodosia were the sort of meek and mild girl that one knew would never set a foot out of place, and if you had no mama or other female relative to serve you, certain persons might be reconciled to such a state of affairs. But that is in no way the case at hand. Unless Theodosia has changed her scrambling, wild ways since last I laid eyes upon her, she cannot be depended upon to behave herself, and you do not have the first notion of how to control her. Nor would anyone expect you to. You must promise me that you will put that notion straight out of your head.”

  “Very well,” Felicia said quietly. “I had not thought that it would reflect poorly upon Theo, but if you say it will, I must believe you.” She looked directly at Lady Augusta, adding with a twinkle, “Does your concern for us mean that I may depend upon you to lend us your countenance, ma’am?”

  “I suppose I must,” she said, “or you will be putting yourselves into the hands of someone like Lady Dacres’s sister, Leah, who promises much but can produce little, I fear.”

  “Lady Dacres’s sister? Ought I to know her, ma’am?”

  “I do not know why you should. Leah Falworthy—she is a widow now—makes much more of the relationship than Fanny Dacres does, though I do not know why she should. Fanny is a pretty chatterbox, whose great claim to fame is a son who has more money than sense. When he had his mama’s portrait painted by Sir Richard Vyne, he also commissioned one of his aunt—she begged for it, I’m sure—and she puffs her sitting off now as if she were a duchess, though as I recall the matter, when Vyne refused to give her blue eyes in the portrait, she nearly fell into a distempered freak right there before him.”

  Felicia chuckled. “I do know who Sir Richard is, ma’am, for as you would know if you had had my letter, I have written to arrange for him to paint Theo’s portrait. Papa expressed a
desire for one, and since Sir Richard is quite the most famous artist of the moment, it seemed appropriate that he should paint her. They say he is very rude, so I daresay it is as well that Mrs. Falworthy did not throw a fit. From what I have heard of the man, he would have painted her just as he saw her.”

  “Now that would have been a painting worthy of the Royal Academy Exhibition, I think,” Lady Augusta chortled. “Only wait until you see her. A plump little woman who was no doubt once a beauty of sorts, but now she makes her way taking young women into company, many of whom, I regret to say, have no business to be there. But when their papas are rich and their sponsor is the sister of a baroness, what is to be done? Most of them do not see the inside of Almack’s, of course. That would be too much.”

  “Well, Theo will go to Almack’s and anywhere else she chooses to go.”

  “Are you speaking of me?”

  Both women turned toward the voice and saw that Miss Theodosia Adlam had found not only her bedchamber but her maidservant and clothing, for she had changed from her traveling dress into an afternoon frock of lace-trimmed pale blue cambric. It set off her deep blue eyes to perfection and matched the satin ribbon that held her golden curls away from her lovely face. She stepped quickly toward her aunt, her face wreathed in smiles.

  “Do forgive me, Aunt Augusta, for not greeting you properly when you arrived. I was still trying to find my bedchamber and sort out my things from everyone else’s, but now I am ever so organized and ready to play propriety. It is delightful to see you again. Have you got another cup there, Felicia?”

  “Certainly, but you will not like this tea. It is China, not India.”

  “Oh, dreadful stuff. Don’t bother then. It is a pity that Jack did not think to send cases of India tea with the children, but now that we are in London, we can set the lack to rights soon enough. What were you saying about me? Nice things, I hope.”

  Lady Augusta said with a sniff, “A change of scene does not change one’s character, I see. It would do you more good to hear the truth, my girl, than merely to hear nice things.”

  Theo tossed her head and moved to sit on a claw-footed sofa near the window embrasure. “I heard you mention Sir Richard Vyne, Felicia. Has there been any message from him?”

  “Not yet,” Felicia said. “I wrote to him at his home, you know, for Lady Fellows very kindly gave me his direction, but perhaps the letter had to be sent on to him somewhere else. In any case, he will come to London once Parliament opens, since that is the best time, she said, for him to receive commissions. So I daresay we shall be hearing from him any day now.”

  “His commissions are very dear,” Lady Augusta said. “I hope you do not find the sittings tedious, Theodosia.”

  “I daresay I shall be bored to tears,” Theo said frankly, “but one must endure if one is to be made immortal.”

  “How true,” Lady Augusta retorted dryly.

  Felicia said quickly, “Aunt Augusta has agreed to take you about, Theo, whenever Mama is indisposed.”

  Theo cast her aunt a sidelong look and said pettishly, “I thought you were going to do that, Felicia. I can see no good reason for our aunt to put herself out on my account.”

  “You would soon enough,” Lady Augusta said. “The first time someone made a cutting remark about two young women thinking they had the right to take themselves to parties, you would be wishing you had done the thing properly; I can tell you. And as for you, Felicity,” she added, “I never said I meant to take Theodosia about on her own. I shall be glad enough to take the pair of you—even to arrange a proper ball for Theodosia at my house—but only if you promise not to make a May game of the business by pretending to be an old trout past the age of passion. I won’t be party to such foolishness.”

  “But I am past the age of passion, ma’am, if, indeed, I ever approached it.”

  “I tell you I won’t have it! Now, you just—”

  “Oh, very well, ma’am,” Felicia said, laughing. “Here is Theo with her eyes alight at the very thought of a ball, and Adlam House does not even possess a ballroom, you know. I shan’t spoil her delight. Nor shall I pretend that I won’t like doing the fancy as much as when I was a girl, but nothing will come of that, not with Theo nearby.”

  “I won’t let anyone ignore you,” Theo said fiercely. “I am not nearly such a snippet as others make me out to be.”

  “Of course you are not,” Felicia said before Lady Augusta could speak. “You have quite as much family feeling as I do, my dear, and I know you would never be unkind or allow others to be so, but the fact is that one rarely notices what is in the shadows when the sun shines so brightly.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” declared Lady Augusta roundly. “You just see that you rig yourself out properly, Felicity, and you will soon find that you are not so much in the shade as you think. There are plenty, even amongst London’s foolish young men, who prefer quality to quantity when it comes to looks, for beauty is more than what one sees, and ever will it be so. You might even find that Sir Richard Vyne will prefer to paint your elegance rather than your sister’s opulent beauty.”

  Felicia glanced at Theo to see if she would take offense at such a ridiculous statement, but her sister was smiling, no doubt still thinking of the promised ball, so she relaxed, turning their aunt’s thoughts in a new direction by asking her advice about which of the many fashionable mantua makers and milliners could be depended upon to rig both young women out in style.

  In the week that followed, Felicia was reminded that her aunt knew her business. Their thoughts, and Theo’s, were soon filled with all the practical details of preparing for a London Season. The children were left to their own devices, and even Lady Adlam’s megrims had to take second place to the necessities of proper wardrobes. Still, there were minor crises to demand Felicia’s attention, and Theo managed to ask her at least once a day whether Sir Richard Vyne had yet replied to her letter. And so it was that the following Friday when Peter entered the drawing room to announce a gentleman caller, though she was engaged in writing to inform a friend that an appointment with a seamstress on Tuesday prevented her from accepting her invitation to pay duty calls together, she responded with more alacrity than the interruption might otherwise have warranted.

  “A gentleman, Peters? Did he give you his card?”

  “No, Miss Felicia,” the footman said. “Said he forgot his card case, but he did say to tell you he is an artist.”

  “An artist? Then it must be Sir Richard Vyne. Show him up at once, and ask Miss Theodosia to join us here in ten minutes, if you please.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  But as he turned to leave, the door burst open, and Theo entered, fairly dragging a gentleman in with her.

  “Felicia, I found him in the hall parlor and brought him up at once, for he is jolly and amusing, and I knew you would want to meet him. I am certain he must be an even better artist than Sir Richard Vyne.”

  Felicia stood up, startled out of her composure for once by her sister’s behavior, and found herself looking at a tall, well-dressed gentleman with the muscular shoulders and thighs of a sportsman. His dark hair was brushed back from well-chiseled features, and except for the twinkle dancing in his dark brown eyes, he appeared to affect the rather languid demeanor of a man about town.

  Regaining her composure with difficulty, she nodded, striving for dignity. “You are not Sir Richard Vyne then, sir?”

  “Ah, no,” the gentleman replied, glancing away to flick an imaginary bit of lint from his sleeve. “Not exactly.” He smiled, an extraordinarily charming smile, then added, “Not at all, in fact.”

  His voice was deep and as smooth as honey, and to her astonishment, the sound of it caused a very odd, tingling sensation in the depths of her body. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen; yet that was scarcely cause for the weakness in her knees or the unfamiliar humming in her mind. Truly, she thought, the faster pace of London must already be taking its toll on her constitution. She would have to
take care not to overdo things or she would soon cease to be any sort of fit companion to her sister.

  3

  NOT CERTAIN THAT VYNE might not decide to call in person rather than to write for an appointment as he had said he would do, Crawley had looked up and down Park Lane while waiting for someone to answer the door. Seeing nothing more active than a gray mongrel sniffing the area railing, and pleased to think he was a step ahead of the artist for once, he had given his hat and cane to the butler and announced his purpose as glibly as if he were telling the man the truth. As he spoke, he noticed a towheaded urchin peering over the gallery rail above, but the face disappeared the instant he noted it, and he dismissed the child from his mind.

  His assurance wavered when a footman showed him into a small side parlor and requested his name so that his presence might be properly announced, but he recovered swiftly, and the elegance of the chamber soon diverted his attention. Considering that it was merely a room where the servants parked unknown guests, he thought it extremely well-appointed, for its ceiling was nearly as grand as that of the hall through which he had passed, and its furnishings were up to date and obviously fashioned by the finest craftsmen.

  He strolled to a tall window framed by blue velvet curtains looped back on gold swags that had been carved to resemble long-necked swans, and found himself looking out at the brick wall and thick overhanging beech trees bordering the east end of Hyde Park. Through nearby Grosvenor Gate, he could see the afternoon sun reflecting off the waters of the reservoir, surrounded by greening lawns. The view was a pleasant one, but he suspected there might be a good deal of traffic here on a Sunday afternoon, or even on weekday afternoons during the Season, when the beau monde turned out in droves to see and be seen in the park.