A Lady for the Brazen Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  But he had seen something very different on that day on Rotten Row. He had seen a woman whose heart had been hurt by what she had seen; a woman who sought to fortify herself and renew her determination by watching the shallow posturing of the lazy and the privileged as they strutted and rode up and down the sandy track in Hyde Park.

  Heath had known in the moment that Imogen had a character quite unlike any other he had come across. And it was a strong character; something he was not accustomed to and had no idea how to deal with.

  And so, he had returned to his ordinary arrogance when next they spoke. He did not know how else to approach her but knew he must at all costs. Any attention was good attention, even if she were exasperated with him.

  He looked at Jemima Ravenswood and wondered if she really was so very beautiful after all. With her polished appearance and perfect, obviously expensive apparel, did she not sit in the shadow of a better woman?

  And how on earth would Heath ever find a way of appealing to Lady Pennington now that he had already done so much to turn her against him?

  As he thought the thing over, he heard Jemima exclaim in annoyance.

  “What on earth does he see in the dreadful woman, Lady Reddington? Really, it quite defies explanation!”

  With a feeling that he knew what was coming, Heath turned to look at Imogen and felt his heart sink to see the Duke of Dalton already settling himself down into an armchair opposite her.

  Chapter 17

  The afternoon at the Mayfair townhouse of Lord and Lady Castleton was an event that, in the end, had proved of very little use to Imogen. People willing to listen to the plans for change and charity that she and Adeline had worked so hard on were in short supply, at least they were after the Duke of Dalton had made himself so determined to monopolize her afternoon entirely.

  From the moment he had taken his seat opposite her, her fundraising chances seemed to drift away with the good people who thought they ought not to encroach if the Duke had made his mind up on the bright young woman.

  Imogen could not help finding herself annoyed by his very presence, not to mention frustrated at the idea that she could not exactly dismiss him. Had he been anybody else, she could have at least employed some polite tactic that would have allowed her to continue in her fundraising efforts for the rest of the afternoon. But the Duke of Dalton was a man in the style of so many other dukes; he was self-entitled and completely convinced that he was the most important man in the room.

  As the afternoon began to move towards evening and the guests of Lord and Lady Castleton gradually thinned out, Imogen found herself relieved. The Duke had taken his leave of her and had left Mayfair after bidding his farewells to his attentive hosts.

  Seeing two ladies that she had particularly wanted to talk to making ready to leave, Imogen decided to attempt to have a few minutes with them before they went. However, by the time she had hurried through the drawing room, the two ladies had already disappeared, leaving her standing alone in a corridor just off the main entrance hall.

  “And how do things go with your Duke?” Imogen turned around with a gasp to see the Earl of Reddington standing behind her.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said a little sharply.

  “I wonder if you have managed to secure his patronage of your cause?” Whilst the Earl was clearly a very quick thinker, Imogen did not believe that was his meaning at all.

  “I have not tried to secure his patronage, Lord Reddington.” Imogen truly could not decide whether he was attacking her or simply seeking information.

  “Ah, then you seek to form an alliance of another kind?” he said, and Imogen felt suddenly furious.

  “And what exactly do you mean by that, Sir?” she said, wishing that she had not moved from her seat in the drawing room.

  “Lady Pennington, I do not think that you will find an ally in the Duke. He is not a charitable man, and I cannot imagine for a moment that his thoughts ever stray to those less fortunate than himself.”

  Imogen could hardly believe what she was hearing; after all, she was not entirely sure that the Earl let his own thoughts stray to those less fortunate than himself. But it was his motive that she could not quite get to the bottom of. Why on earth had he made a point of following her out of the drawing room to question her about the afternoon she had spent in the company of the Duke of Dalton?

  Perhaps he had a particular quarrel with the Duke? Or perhaps, as she had thought before, the Earl of Reddington would take any opportunity at his disposal to question and mock her.

  “I do not understand how it is you feel qualified to make the same observations of another as I have made of you,” Imogen said haughtily and felt her shining red ringlets graze her shoulders as she held her head high.

  “If that is the observation you have made of me, My Lady, then it is the wrong one.” The Earl looked at her intently.

  He was very smartly turned out and wore a tailcoat and waistcoat in an olive green colour, with black breeches and knee high boots. As always, he stood head and shoulders above the crowd and, if she was honest, she had noticed him in the drawing room more than once that afternoon. However, she told herself that it was simply his height; his immense physical presence.

  And yet she had not dared settle her eyes upon the Earl for too long, for she had the dreadful feeling that the Duke of Dalton watched her like a hawk. Even when she turned her head to speak to Adeline, the Duke had interfered in some way.

  “I am so very pleased that you decided to come here this afternoon. I was not sure if you were acquainted with Lord and Lady Castleton,” the Duke had said to her conversationally.

  “I am only newly acquainted with Lord and Lady Castleton. And I only claim acquaintanceship through my dear friend here, Lady Redmond.” Imogen had turned to look at Adeline who sat beside her on the couch. “And I believe you have known them for quite some time, have you not, Adeline?”

  “Well, I am very glad you are here,” the Duke said again and spoke with a certain forcefulness which had Imogen snapping her head back around to look at him.

  She could not deny the annoyance she felt that the Duke had not even had the courtesy to let her friend answer the question. And it was not the only incidence of such behaviour in so short an afternoon.

  In the end, Imogen thought she could almost feel Adeline sitting stiffly beside her, silently despising the bluff and arrogant man who was, in Imogen’s opinion, certainly old enough to know better. But then, he perhaps thought that demanding her attention was somehow flattering to a young woman; as if he was more interested in her than any other person in the room.

  Imogen, however, did not find it flattering in the least; she found it oppressive.

  “I cannot imagine for a moment that the Duke would ever form an interest in what it is you have to say about your work. I am sure that the same cannot be said of me.” Sounding somewhat hurt, the Earl of Reddington brought Imogen back into the present moment.

  “I have not found you to be particularly sensitive to either the work I do or the plight of others.”

  “I have many times asked you about your work, Lady Pennington,” he protested.

  “And you have ordinarily followed it up with some amusement of your own. And more than once, you have asked me why I bother to work so hard for something that will never come to fruition. I do not see how you think that makes you in any way sensitive to the things which are most important to me.”

  “So, am I to take it that you and the Duke of Dalton have had many and various in-depth conversations about the plight of the poor, the inhabitants of the Lambeth workhouse, and the disgrace of child beggars on the streets of London?” Imogen could tell that the Earl was becoming frustrated.

  If she was absolutely honest with herself, although the Earl did not seem to have gone out of his way to understand the work she did or why she did it, Imogen truly thought that the Duke of Dalton would understand it all even less.

  But was that good enough? Was it eno
ugh that the Earl was less disinterested than the Duke? In the end, she thought not. And yet he seemed to be trying so hard to convince her otherwise.

  “Perhaps, instead of deriding the thoughts and opinions of another, you should perhaps give me your own thoughts and opinions. You talk almost as if you have been affected by the idea of my work and the people who might need my help. Tell me your own observations; I should be most interested to hear them.” Imogen could hear the sarcasm in her own voice and felt a little sorry for it.

  “I can see that you have firmly decided that I have not one caring bone in my body. But I am here to tell you that I most certainly do. Even during the Season here in London, I have seen things which have affected me,” the Earl said in the most determined fashion.

  As he looked down at her, his bright blue eyes never letting go of hers for a moment, Imogen could not help thinking him quite mountainous. He was so tall and broad that, had it been anybody else, she might well have felt a little intimidated by him. And yet she did not; as much as he had mocked her in the past, he had never been really and truly cruel to her.

  As she stared back at him, Imogen fought a curious urge to reach out and touch his face. His chin always looked dark and ready to sprout a beard at any moment, and she wondered if his skin felt rough; almost pleasingly so.

  “And pray tell what are those things which have affected you so?” Imogen tipped her head to one side in curiosity and never took her eyes from his face for a moment.

  Heath Montgomery had sought to interfere in her life, and Imogen was not at all pleased. He seemed to her to be one of the style of men who thought their opinions on any given subject would always be deferred to by the lady they engaged in conversation; even when the subject in question was the lady’s own life and conduct.

  Of course, men who did not behave so were likely in the minority, if Imogen thought deeply about it all.

  “Well, first of all, I saw your tearstained face and had my first glimpse of what your work truly means to you,” he began, less than confidently.

  “In Rotten Row?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “And I was greatly affected.”

  “And then?” she said, keen to hear if there was any more he might wish to add.

  “I saw two little children begging on my way along the Strand. They really were very tiny, and I found myself disgusted when I saw a man of means stride by them, never once looking at their faces.”

  “And so, you intervened?” she said, looking and sounding entirely doubtful. “You helped the two children?”

  “Well … No … I did not,” he said, and Imogen could see how he was slowly becoming unstuck. “I mean, I could not. I was in my carriage on the way to the theatre.”

  “Oh, but perhaps your man of means, the man you saw turning his face away from two innocent children in poverty, also had an excuse? But perhaps he was on his way to the theatre also, or the gentlemen’s club, or for tea and cigars at Simpson’s smoking room? Really, perhaps you do the man a great disservice.” Imogen could not help sounding most mocking. “I cannot see how you behaved any differently from the man you describe.”

  “You do not understand, Lady Pennington,” he said somberly.

  “Forgive me; please do tell me what it is that I do not understand, Lord Reddington.” She seemed unable to stop herself taunting him.

  “I was taken by surprise, and by the time I had thought seriously about it all, I was quite at the other end of the Strand.”

  “Taken by surprise? Surely you were not taken surprised by the idea that the poor beg on the streets of London?”

  “I think you are making it your purpose to mock me, My Lady,” he said, his tone clipped and annoyed.

  “Well then perhaps, knowing now how it feels, you might not be quite so keen to freely mock in the future yourself.”

  “I do not freely mock.”

  “In truth, you do,” Imogen said, standing her ground and firmly determining not to give him an inch.

  “You are quite impossible, Lady Pennington.”

  “Good, I find myself glad. And I thank you for the compliment.” Imogen knew that she was making a little too much of the victory she was so sure she had secured. At least, in that particular conversation, at any rate.

  “It was not a compliment,” he said sourly. “And I do not find myself surprised that the poor of London beg on the streets. Not only did you misunderstand my meaning entirely, but I firmly believe that you chose to do so. That does not make you clever, My Lady, to secure so petty an advantage.”

  “A petty advantage?” she said, her surprise showing itself in her voice.

  “Yes, a petty advantage. I shall not explain it to you, Lady Pennington, for I am quite certain that you know perfectly well what I mean.”

  “Then please do tell me what it was that took you by surprise if it was not the very idea that the poor beg on the streets?” she said knowing that, to some extent, the Earl had made a valid point.

  After all, she had known the moment he had spoken that he did not mean he was surprised by the idea of the poor. Perhaps she had taken a petty advantage.

  “I was not surprised to see the two children, a little boy, and a little girl, begging. And I was not surprised to see a man of my own class give them the widest birth possible so that he did not come into contact with them at all, nor even look at them. None of this was surprising to me, Lady Pennington. What was surprising to me, what had rendered me entirely immobile in those moments, was quite how the sight of them had made me feel. For some time afterward, I could hardly explain what something seemingly so simple had done to me. Even now, I could not put that feeling into words and make myself understood. And in truth, I shall not try. After all, you are making it very clear that there would be little point.”

  “I think it most outrageous of you to attempt to secure some guilt on my part; to act as if I have treated you unfairly. After all, you made it very clear exactly how you felt about my work the moment you met me. I do not forget that, Sir.”

  “Which is a pity, Lady Pennington, because it means that you cannot ever move forward.”

  “Who are you to presume to tell me how I ought to conduct myself? And you do not know me well enough to say such a thing.” Even though she spoke her words angrily, Imogen felt the fire of the argument dying down in her belly; after all, she was not sure why it was she was arguing with him in the first place. She could not pinpoint the exact source of the discord between them. “I think it speaks quite fully about your vanity, Sir,” she finished and wished to be released.

  “My vanity?” he said and snorted. “And what of your own?”

  “My vanity?”

  “Yes, your vanity, Lady Pennington. For is it not vanity to show yourself as a great worker for a cause, only to shrug it off the moment a Duke pays you a little attention?”

  “How dare you?”

  “Is it not true, Lady Pennington? Did you not come here this afternoon in hopes of securing further funding? After all, there were a good many people here this afternoon who, I am sure you know, would have taken very little persuading. And yet you chose to sit with your Duke instead. Tell me, how is that not vanity, My Lady?”

  “I beg you would excuse me,” she said and tried to walk around him back towards the drawing room.

  “Wait,” he said and reached out to gently take her wrist. “Lady Pennington, please forgive my words. I …” It was clear he was trying to apologize and had very likely instantly regretted much of what he had just said.

  “Excuse me,” she said sharply before pulling her wrist free from his loose grasp.

  As she marched around him, the Earl of Reddington did not make any other attempt to detain her. Imogen had felt her eyes welling with the tears of frustration and, perhaps, a little hurt. After all, she had been much annoyed by the Duke’s presence and the fact that she had lost potential funds on account of it.

  But that the Earl had noticed, that he had seen it with his own eyes a
nd misconstrued her own feelings on the matter entirely, had affected her more than she would ever admit.

  Blinking hard to disperse the tears before they fell, Imogen hurried back in the direction of the drawing room. However, as she reached the door, she came face-to-face with Miss Jemima Ravenswood.

  Miss Ravenswood held her gaze in the iciest way, and Imogen felt the chill of pure hatred being aimed entirely at her. Surely, for Miss Ravenswood to look at her so, the young woman must have listened to a good deal of their conversation. Perhaps she was simply angry that the man in which she had so great an interest was once again in conversation with Imogen.

  However, her look had been so very cold, so very intent, that Imogen knew it was not quite so simple. Without a word, she hurried around the unmoving young woman and made for the safety of the sofa and Adeline.