Scandalous Lords and Courtship

by Mary Lancaster

  She smiled. “I remember your kindness. I suppose it is not the moment, when I have taxed you with helping me find a murderer, to properly express the depth of my gratitude for your attentions upon Carlyle’s death. I have long wished to do so, but you escaped to London before I had the opportunity. I am so glad that we have met again, so that I may do so now.”

  William frowned. “You have no need to thank me. I only did what another would have done in my position.”

  “Always so modest, Lord Brandon,” she replied archly. “You know that you cannot deflect my praise of you now. We are alone and, unless you flee the house, you will have to listen to it.”

  “No, please do not.”

  “I must, and I shall, thank you. You have always been such a great friend to my husband and to me.”

  He swallowed hard but did not reply.

  She studied him. “I wonder at you, Lord Brandon. How is it that a man of your steady disposition and sweetness of temper is not yet married? For certainly, you were made to be an excellent husband.”

  “I... Well, I mean—” He cleared his throat and would have looked away, but her eyes held him transfixed by their sapphire depths.

  “I have never—at least— I suppose I am holding out for someone who—”

  “I know you are a friend of Sir Stirling. Perhaps he could advise you.”

  “I have spoken to Stirling, but I fear that—”

  “What can you possibly fear?”

  Looking back, he wasn’t sure how he could have been so stupid. He should have gone back to Stirling and told him to set him up with someone—anyone—of the hundreds of eligible ladies at Almack’s every week.

  At that moment, he should have stepped away from Lady Carlyle, made his excuses, and left the house, but instead he blurted out, “I am hopelessly in love with the one woman who will never have me.”

  Lady Carlyle smiled as if anticipating the receipt of wonderful news. “Do I know her? Why, if there is some impediment, perhaps I can—”

  And then he did an even stupider thing. He leaned down and kissed her lightly on her full, sweet lips, and when she didn’t immediately recoil from him, he kissed her again, this time with all the desire he had carried with him since he first saw her at Almack’s. It was brazen and reckless and totally unlike the careful and dependable Lord Brandon everyone knew him to be.

  Lady Carlyle stepped away and looked up into his face. “How could? Why?” She couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought. “I – I think you should leave.”

  “Lady Carlyle, please.” He turned away, stung by her rejection. “I will leave, but not before I tell you that you are the only woman I could ever love. Indeed, I have lived in anxious hope since we first met.” He turned back, now angry. “As much as I loved Carlyle as a friend, I have loved you more. Infinitely more. Forgive me. I will not trouble you again.”

  With that, he stormed out of the house.

  That night, he stayed in his rooms and drowned his sorrows in some very good brandy he had laid by for emergencies. The next night, he resorted to wine. And the third, he simply sat by the fire, staring into the flames. On the fourth night, he retired early to bed and stared up at the figured fabric of the canopy until the candle guttered in the socket. Even then, he could not sleep, and passed one of the worst nights of his life.

  The next morning, he bathed and dressed, filled with new purpose. Lady Carlyle would never love him as she had loved his friend. William was wasting precious time waiting when he could be enjoying matrimony with a more willing woman. And the only way he was going to meet such a woman was to speak with Stirling once again.

  He found his friend in his rooms, just finishing a fine steak, some eggs and a cup of strong coffee. “Lord Brandon, my good man. What brings you to my humble abode?” He called his servant and ordered another coffee. Then, when they were alone again, his gaze fixed on William, he said, “Aye, I think I can guess. Is the lovely Lady Carlyle proving harder to woo than you anticipated?”

  William threw himself into a chair opposite Stirling. “I have been a fool for too long and would humbly beg you to introduce me to whichever lady you had originally selected. I promise that you will find me willing to enter into any marriage contract that you propose.”

  “Well, I suppose I could go back and look for another, but I hate to confess to you that Lady Carlyle was the lady I had in mind for you. After it became clear to me that you were besotted already, I thought it better to let you go your own way for a time and see what you made of the opportunity.”

  William sat back in shock. “But how? Has she expressed to you that she wishes to marry? For that was not the impression she gave me.”

  Stirling chuckled. “Perhaps my wife is finally to be found at fault. I am sure she will not be pleased. I must apprise her of her error immediately.”

  When William did not react, Stirling added, “My wife spoke briefly with Lady Carlyle back in Edinburgh, and Lady Carlyle indicated that perhaps her heart had gone some ways toward mending. I believe it was Lady Carlyle’s motive in coming to London for the Season.”

  “It was not.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  William sighed. Lady Carlyle had not given him permission to speak of Carlyle’s death, but Stirling was eminently trustworthy. “Because I have helped her determine who murdered her husband.” William then proceeded to explain the entire story, not leaving out any detail.

  When he was done, Stirling took a sip of coffee. “You were not jesting when you said you were a fool.”

  “Thank you,” William replied bitterly.

  “But all is not lost. Lady Carlyle is merely trapped by her feelings for her late husband, particularly now that she hunts his killer. Once that mystery is solved, all may be right again.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “It appears to me that you have played your cards very badly. You startled her, and she bolted like a rabbit into the bush. But even a rabbit will become tame if you feed it little by little, day by day.”

  William threw up his hands. “I do not understand this talk of hares and bushes.”

  Stirling smiled. “It is a metaphor for the kind of love that grows stronger over time until it buds and blooms.”

  “And now you talk of flowers?”

  “Just continue to be the man you are—kind, considerate, supporting her in all things—until one day she discovers that she cannot do without you.”

  “But what if she falls passionately in love with another before I can make her see that I am the one she should marry?”

  “From what I understand, her love for Carlyle was a passionate love. I am loath to imagine that she will suddenly develop similar regard for someone else.”

  “She could and very easily. You know how the men surround her.”

  Stirling regarded him gravely. “You have a name in mind?”

  William crossed his arms and studied the floor. “Northcutt is one. She seems to find his company quite agreeable. The new Lord Carlyle is another. She doesn’t appear to favor him, but there is some attraction, I’m sure, to resuming her rightful place at Carlyle Court.”

  “Ah, so you are beset by thwarted hopes and green-eyed jealousy. What a tangle. I can guess in this circumstance that you didn’t seek to apologize to her for your behavior.”

  William slumped glumly in his chair. “No. Truth be told, since she threw me out of her house, I’ve been out of my mind drunk most of the time and nursed the most blazing headache the other bits. I hadn’t thought to do so.”

  “Well, you should have. Now, I will not hear another mournful word from you until you go back to your lodgings, sit down, and write Lady Carlyle the most heartfelt and contrite letter of apology that ever existed. One can only hope that Northcutt or Carlyle haven’t stolen the march on you while you have nursed your wounds like a sulky boy.”

  William left Stirling feeling a little more sanguine. He wasn’t sure just how he could express himself in a lette
r, but if Stirling was correct and Helena was merely trapped by the lack of resolution of her husband’s death, then he would do everything within his power to solve the case. William decided to pay a call on the magistrate of Bow Street and see if he could review the case report with Principal Officer Stephens. Perhaps there was more information to be gleaned.

  Chapter Five

  Lady Carlyle smiled as Mr. Northcutt approached. He had been particularly attentive of late, and his charming demeanor had acted like a tonic for her overwrought nerves.

  “Mr. Northcutt, how lovely to see you again.”

  Northcutt executed his bow with an elegant flourish. “May I be so fortunate as to secure a dance?”

  “I am afraid that I am in no fit shape for dancing this evening. The fatigue of conversation must be my excuse, for I am frankly exhausted.”

  She scanned the ballroom beyond Mr. Northcutt, sure for a moment that she caught sight of Lord Brandon, but no, it was another gentleman of much the same height. Helena had been out every night that week but had seen nothing of Lord Brandon. Instead, she had laughed and danced and talked as if nothing troubled her—sure that if she only pretended long enough, fiction would become truth. Instead, the mantle of weariness and care settled more firmly on her shoulders. Perhaps it was better if she didn’t see him. She wouldn’t know what to say, if she did.

  Mr. Northcutt sat down beside her on the settee that rested against the wall. “Then I shall endeavor to make my conversation as sparkling as possible. How do you like Mrs. Campbell’s take on oriental excess?” He gestured with his quizzing glass at the previously bare walls of the large ballroom, now draped with patterned silk hangings.

  “It is novel. I cannot say I would adopt the same in my own ballroom, but to each his own.”

  Mr. Northcutt smiled. “How very diplomatic you are, Lady Carlyle. No, of course, you would never have imposed garish chinoiserie on the unsuspecting lairds and lasses of Edinburgh. They might have hauled you to the sea and dumped you in to assuage the affront to tartan honor.”

  Helena laughed out loud and felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. She had slept so little of late that every muscle seemed to hurt. “You have a very wicked tongue, Mr. Northcutt.”

  “No, Lady Carlyle, merely an honest one. And if I am being honest, I must tell you what a lovely picture you make in that blue dress. The color magnifies the beauty of your incomparable eyes.”

  “Thank you, sir, that is very prettily said.”

  “Not as pretty as what I am about to say, dear Lady Carlyle.”

  Helena stiffened. How she could deflect what she felt sure must be some sort of proposal? “Indeed?”

  “Come, you cannot be ignorant of my regard. I am your slave, Lady Carlyle, and want nothing more than to worship you on a daily basis. Tell me you will allow me to do just that?” He looked as if he might say more, but they were interrupted by the new Lord Carlyle.

  “I believe we are engaged for this dance, Cousin Helena.” He held out his hand in an imperious manner.

  Helena sighed. She had forgotten that she’d promised him a dance. “Of course, cousin.”

  But Northcutt, perhaps piqued to have his proposal rudely interrupted, stood abruptly and sneered at Reginald. “Can you not see that the lady is fatigued?”

  Reginald looked at him in such a way that Helena’s blood ran cold. “You cannot speak for Lady Carlyle, and if you seek to impose your continued company on her in this manner, I shall know what to do with you.”

  Helena, loathe to make a scene in the middle of a crowded ballroom, stood and stepped between them. “Gentlemen. Your concern for my welfare is most flattering, but I am a woman who honors her promises.” She extended her hand. “Cousin Reginald, I would be honored to dance with you.” Turning back to Mr. Northcutt, “Thank you for charming me out of the doldrums. I am sure we shall have time later in the evening to continue our conversation.”

  As they took their places for the dance, Reginald said, “Mr. Northcutt takes advantage of your good nature, Cousin Helena.”

  “He most certainly does not. I find him an excellent conversationalist, and good conversation is a rarity.”

  “Be that as it may, as your cousin and the head of the family, I must give you a hint that Mr. Northcutt is only interested in one thing, and that is not your conversation.”

  Helena looked at him sharply. “What is it? Pray tell me so that I may be on my guard.”

  Reginald leaned in so close that she felt his sour breath on her cheek. “Your fortune, dear cousin. They say he is quite done up, but then, so it goes with hardened gamblers. He means to repair his fortune through marriage.”

  Helena pulled away and looked down her nose at Reginald. “I find what you are telling me to be incredible. Mr. Northcutt is an acquaintance of old, as you well know, and I do not intend to slight him.”

  The music started, and they parted for a moment. When they came back together, Reginald said in a softer tone, “Forgive me if I have been too abrupt. You know that I only have your best interests at heart. My cousin told me once that I was to take care of you if anything should happen to him, and I take my charge very seriously.”

  Helena said nothing for a moment, her mind in a whirl. She was positive that her husband would never have said such a thing. If he had commended Helena into anyone’s care, it would have been Lord Brandon’s. Yet Reginald’s assertion made her all the more convinced that Reginald had a hand in her husband’s murder. She forced her face into an impassive smile. “I am sure you do, Cousin Reginald, but I am well able to take care of myself.”

  The dance parted them again, and when they came back together, Reginald said, “You are too good, dear Cousin Helena, and require nothing so much as a strong man to guide you.”

  “I had a man such as you speak of.”

  “But he is gone.”

  “Yes, and I fear that I am not likely to meet another, so I have given over thinking of marriage.”

  Reginald looked at her seriously. “Surely you cannot continue as a widow forever. Come, let me be the man you speak of.”

  The dance separated them once more, giving Helena a chance to catch her breath. Despite all of his fatuous flattery, Reginald had never spoken of marriage so boldly before. With all of the composure she could muster, she replied, “Are you telling me that you seek to take your cousin’s place?”

  “If you would let me, I would gladly assume his role as your husband. Think, Helena, you would be able to assume your rightful place as Lady Carlyle, the Belle of Edinburgh, once more.”

  A hot magma of anger bubbled up within her. To think that Reginald assumed he could ever replace his cousin in anything! But antagonizing a potential killer was not a move she should take lightly, until she had proof of his innocence. She replied, “While I am fully sensible of the charming picture you paint, you know my heart is not prepared for marriage. Alas, my poor Charles is still my ideal of a husband.”

  That seemed to rob Reginald of further speech, and they finished the dance in silence.

  Later that evening, after bidding her aunt a good night, Helena retired to her room with a candle, prepared to pass yet another sleepless night. Ever since William’s kiss, her nights had been filled with strange, disordered nightmares. It was as if the kiss had unleashed the dark phantoms of her mind. She ran though forests of grasping trees, chased by unknown demons, only to wake up panting for breath. And then there were the other dreams, the ones that made her blush to even think of them. Once, her husband had been the protagonist of such fantasies, but he rarely appeared of late, replaced instead by a stranger with warm brown eyes and a lopsided smile.

  “I was right to ask William to leave,” she repeated to herself, as if the mere repetition would make it so. But in truth, she knew it was her surprise and shock that had caused her to pull away, for the kiss itself was pleasant enough. No, more than pleasant. She had completely forgotten the warmth of a man’s kiss, and now, in the silence of her b
edroom, she absently touched her lip, remembering how much she had wanted him to pull her down into the darkness of desire.

  But what was done was done. She set her candle on the washbasin and noticed a folded paper there. It appeared to be a letter sealed with red wax. The servants must have brought it to her room and forgotten to let her know. She smiled. Her aunt was a dear, but she never could manage an orderly house. Helena picked up the letter. The handwriting was unfamiliar and the seal was also unknown. She broke the seal and unfolded the letter. When she held the page under the flickering light of the candle, she read:

  My Dear Helena,

  I am aware that this manner of addressing you is highly improper, but, under the circumstances, I do not know that I can address you by your title. This letter should have been written and sent as soon as I left your aunt’s house, but my condition thereafter was not such that I could put pen to paper. Incapacity must be my excuse, if you are indeed charitable enough to forgive me. I am ashamed and aggrieved at my actions. They were unpardonable, and I can only thank God that you were good enough to ask me to leave instead of the greater punishment I deserved. I will understand if you no longer desire to acknowledge my acquaintance.

  My only defense, such as it is, is that I have been blinded by a passion so complete that it absorbs my every thought and makes me foolish where I should be wise. You are a woman above all others in intelligence, grace and beauty, and I cannot soon free myself from your intoxicating spell. Nor, frankly, do I wish to cease to worship at the altar of your many perfections. They are too numerous and my devotion of too long a duration to change course.

  However, despite my inability to wean myself from loving you, I was a true friend to your husband and miss him greatly. I therefore desire nothing more than to be a true friend to you, if you can allow me to be of use in your investigations. I am at your service in whatever way you will command, dearest Helena. Again, I am sorry for my actions and faithfully promise no further repetition of my abhorrent behavior.

  Yours,

  William