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

by Bridget Barton

  “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?” Heath spoke without any hint that he was ingratiating himself; he had never been a particular friend of the Duke.

  “Once again, you are peering at what you cannot have, Reddington.” The Duke laughed and threw his head back in a most arrogant way. “Do not think that I have not noticed you in your preoccupation.”

  “Indeed?” Heath said, not wishing to engage in argument on the matter but not wanting to back down either.

  “You torture yourself with any ideas you might have on securing the affections of Lady Pennington. You shall not have her, Reddington.” Again, he laughed.

  “I must admit myself surprised to see you here, Your Grace. After all, I had not realized that you were such an advocate for the poor.”

  “And you would be right, Reddington. I am no advocate for the poor, and I never shall be. I am not here to listen to her speak.” He sneered, and it turned his ordinarily handsome face into something quite ugly.

  “Well, I have come here to listen to her speak,” Heath said defiantly. “Do you not think she speaks well?”

  “I am not impressed by women who think they can speak well, Reddington. It is against the natural way of things, and it is certainly not something that I would tolerate.”

  “And yet you display such an interest in the young lady,” Heath went on, determined to hear the Duke say exactly what he thought.

  “I like a pretty and spirited young thing, Reddington. Adds to the spice of it, you see.” He chuckled in a way that turned Heath’s stomach. “The main attraction in a spirited young thing is to dream of the day one crushes that spirit. I like her looks, Reddington, and all of this,” he said, waving an arm vaguely in the direction of the filled coffee shop. “This is a temporary thing. It cannot last; I shall see to that.”

  “So, your primary attraction to the young lady is the idea that you might take away everything that she is, everything that she believes in?” He shook his head and gave the Duke a disgusted look. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Your Grace.”

  “I feel no shame, Reddington. But you shall.” He sneered again. “You shall be roundly humiliated when I marry Lady Pennington and crush your ridiculous little hopes.”

  “My hopes?”

  “Yes, your hopes. Do not deny them, Reddington. I have made a study of you as you have made a study of her, and I see how well you regard her. And I see how badly you have fallen if you can stand there in that doorway and listen to every word she says as if it is of any sense at all. You have made yourself ridiculous, Reddington. You will turn yourself into a pathetic bleeding heart, a man who weeps at the sight of ragged women and children. You would mold yourself into everything that she would want you to be; you would take on her every opinion as your own. And it shall all be to no advantage in the end, shall it?”

  “Credit me, Sir, with the ability to make up my own mind on the subject.” He spat the words and was gratified to see that the Duke was somewhat taken aback by his vehemence. “And I do not see where you shall gain an advantage by acting bullishly and seeking to silence a woman who has something to say.”

  “I always get what I want,” the Duke said as if that was an adequate response for all that had been said.

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes, always. And Lady Pennington will be no exception. I shall have her because I have simply decided to, and it is best that you accept the thing now.”

  “And the lady herself has agreed to that? She has accepted a proposal of some sort?” Heath said and allowed himself a cynical look.

  “I have made no such proposal, but when I do, I fully expect that it shall be accepted.”

  “Really?” Heath smirked.

  “She has yet to disagree with me on any matter as she does with so many other people. That is because the lady has already recognized my authority and that I would not allow it. In the end, that is what women really need. They need somebody to tell them when they have gone too far and somebody who will stop them taking a step further. In the end, they crave it; women need to be told what to do and think, and they are always relieved to find a man strong enough to direct them.”

  At that moment, Heath could have cheered. After all, if Imogen Pennington became vaguely aware that the Duke held such opinions, she would surely never consent to be his wife.

  But what if the man was devious enough to hold such behaviour in camouflage until such time as the two of them were married and he could safely come out of hiding?

  “Well, I daresay I shall see you at my ball at the end of the week. I shall look out for you, my dear fellow, and amuse myself with how you make so sad a study of the woman that you cannot have.” And with that, the Duke laughed loudly and walked away from him.

  Chapter 21

  “You look beautiful, my dear. Really you do. I never thought so dark a blue would suit your colouring, but it has only made your red hair more striking than ever. You have chosen very well.” Adeline looked just like a proud mother.

  “Adeline, you shall make me cry!” Imogen objected. “You say the most wonderful things to me. And yet, I cannot help thinking I ought not to look too well on this night of all nights.”

  “Because the Duke will be there?”

  “Because the Duke is hosting the ball at Dalton Hall. I should not like him to think I have gone to any special effort for him. In truth, I wish I could find some way of escaping the engagement.”

  “Even if you could claim illness, do not forget that Lord Marchmount shall be in company with some very influential and wealthy people.”

  “In truth, that is the only reason for my attendance. Lord Marchmount has been so very generous, not only in his patronage but in offering to introduce me to others who can help as he has.”

  “Lord Marchmount is greatly taken with you, my dear. He sees what I see, and he knows you are no dilettante in charitable works. He knows you have sensible thoughts and firm logic to back up your loving heart.”

  “We both do. I shall not take all of the credit.” Imogen smiled. “And I shall always believe that the kindly Lord Marchmount only gave me an audience for so long because he holds you in such high regard.”

  “I am perfectly well prepared to accept any credit which might come my way,” Adeline said and laughed.

  Imogen took one more look at her reflection in the glass. The dark blue gown was, indeed, a new one. She had had it made particularly for the London Season just before she and Adeline left Hertfordshire for Regent’s Park. Having been cut to fit her only weeks before, it hung perfectly. The long gown had short sleeves and was a very simple cut. It was nicely cinched in at the Empire line with a narrow satin band. Her long white evening gloves were brand-new and brilliant against the deep richness of the gown. She wore only a simple silver chain around her neck with a small, heart-shaped locket hanging from it.

  Her maid had once again formed large and loose ringlets which looked soft and framed her face beautifully. Her rich red hair grazed the white creaminess of her neck, standing out beautifully against the dark blue fabric.

  “Well, our carriage awaits, my dear,” Adeline said with a smile and held out a hand for Imogen to take.

  If Imogen could pay the Duke of Dalton any compliment at all, it would be that his greetings at the entrance to his home were always mercifully brief. When they climbed out of the carriage, she was pleased to see that there was not a great queue of people snaking along the Pall Mall Street outside his mansion, despite the steady stream of guests arriving.

  “Ah, how wonderful to see you, Lady Pennington. And how well you look.” The Duke spoke effusively when it came her turn to be greeted.

  “Thank you kindly, Your Grace,” she said with a small smile. “I see you have a good number of guests arrived already. It would seem set to be a very busy evening.”

  “Well, I shall not be so busy that I shall not be able to have an enjoyable evening with you, my dear.” As he spoke, Imogen thought his words seemed to her more of a threa
t than a promise. If only he would leave her alone; she had a good deal of work to do that evening.

  “Indeed,” she said in what she hoped was a noncommittal fashion.

  “I must admit, my dislike of that young man grows daily,” Adeline said when they were barely out of earshot. “I find him most insincere and his determination to monopolize your company for the entire evening presumptuous.”

  “I think the time is coming for me to make my own feelings clear, Adeline,” Imogen said and felt a little stab of fear. There was something about the Duke which made the prospect of such a thing seem a little frightening. “But I daresay the time to do that is not at a ball that the man himself is hosting.”

  “I daresay.” Adeline laughed.

  “Oh look, there is Lord Marchmount,” Imogen said hurriedly. “Perhaps we ought to descend upon him immediately, for I do not want to risk the Duke marching over here and putting an end to things. It really is too important a night for that.”

  “I agree entirely, come, let us descend upon him.” Adeline took her arm and hurried her through the crowd towards the ageing Earl.

  “Ah, my dear Lady Redmond.” The Earl smiled so warmly that Imogen realized just how highly he regarded Adeline. “And you bring the lovely Lady Pennington with you. What a treat.” He smiled at Imogen.

  “Good evening, Lord Marchmount.” Imogen smiled brightly. “I am so pleased to see you so early on in the evening. I must admit myself extremely keen to be introduced to your company this evening.”

  “That is what I like most about you, young lady. You do not flannel me in any way but come right out with the thing. I like honesty, and I like straight talking, and I see both of those qualities in you.”

  “I thank you, Lord Marchmount,” Imogen said and smiled more brightly still.

  The first hour of the evening was an immense success, and Imogen had been introduced to three different men of wealth and learning, all of whom already had a fair idea of the plans that she and Adeline had drawn up. The first two of them had seemed most impressed with her ideas, both being keen on the idea of social reform. Very keen, in fact, and they had decided that her own ideas would tend towards such a thing, even in a small way. It had secured her a private audience with each of them in the days which followed.

  However, when she had been but halfway through her conversation with the third of the men, Lord Toddington, a very keen philanthropist, Imogen had been greatly interrupted.

  “Ah, Toddington.” The Duke appeared as if from nowhere and barked at the man. “I see you are keeping the lovely Lady Pennington to yourself all evening.” Whilst his comment was ostensibly a joke of some sort, his tone very much gave him away, and it was but a matter of moments before Lord Toddington had excused himself from her company with a polite bow.

  “Dear me, I thought we would never be clear of him,” the Duke said dismissively, and Imogen felt her annoyance rising.

  “Which is a great shame, Your Grace, as I had very nearly secured a private audience with Lord Toddington. I had wanted to meet him next week, you see, to discuss the possibility that he might become one of the patrons for the shelter.”

  “Oh dear, how dreary,” the Duke said and smiled brightly at her.

  “I am afraid that I do not find it dreary, Your Grace.” Imogen was absolutely furious; she had known that something of this nature had been bound to happen, but she had not imagined for a moment that the Duke of Dalton would be so unutterably rude and boorish in his manner. “Since that is my very reason for even attending London for the Season. In truth, I find it otherwise most boring.”

  “You find the London Season boring?” He laughed loudly like a braying donkey. “Really, I cannot believe that for a moment.”

  “It is true, Your Grace. I have only once before attended the London Season, and it was four years ago. And before it was quite halfway through, I plagued my father to take me home to Hertfordshire again.”

  “What on earth for?” He was still laughing. “What on earth is there in Hertfordshire compared to all of this?”

  “Well, there is a distinct lack of vanity and pointless parading. There is beautiful countryside and interesting people and healthy pursuits.”

  “Oh dear, that sounds like a death sentence.” He laughed again, and at that moment she realized that he was mocking her.

  For all the times that she had felt herself angry at the Earl of Reddington for what she had assumed was mocking, Imogen had never realized how dreadful a thing true mocking could be. Perhaps, in the end, Heath Montgomery had never really mocked her at all; perhaps he had simply teased her.

  “And I must say, I fear that I might have lost the attention of Lord Toddington now. And that would be a great shame for the poor of London, do you not think?”

  “Do you think of anything other than the poor of London, my dear? I must say, it does become tedious after a while.”

  “Then I wonder that you care to be in my company, Your Grace. And yes, I do spend a good deal of my time thinking of the poor of London. And not just the poor of London, but the plight of the poor anywhere and everywhere.” Imogen was struggling to remain polite.

  “Well, it is all very commendable, I am sure,” the Duke began, smiling at her in a way which made her feel most patronized. “And I fully understand that the young ladies often like to have a mission of some sort. I gather it keeps them nicely occupied until such time as they make a good match.”

  “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

  “There is no need for you to pout at me like that, my dear. I think my little theory has been borne out time and time again over the years. I even believe that my own dear mother liked to involve herself in charitable works until such time as she was able to marry a Duke. You might not see it now, Lady Pennington, but it is the way of things, trust me.”

  Imogen could hardly think straight; in truth, she had simply wanted to stamp hard on the pompous man’s toes and walk away from him. However, the lavishness of her surroundings reminded her forcefully that she was in the man’s own home.

  And yet she could not speak; she could not think of a single thing to say to him in response. All that Imogen could do was look around her at the ballroom and the many guests and the ridiculously large chandeliers.

  Imogen could not help wondering exactly how many people thought as the Duke did, and she wondered how she was ever to get through to such people. Everybody was enjoying themselves, all turned out in their finest clothes to impress a man who seemed to care for nothing and nobody but his own self. Despite her successes throughout London Season, Imogen was always laid low by the idea that society at large was very much of the same ilk as the Duke of Dalton. Privileged, entitled, and utterly uncaring.

  “I beg you would excuse me for a moment, Your Grace,” Imogen said as sweetly as she could manage. “I find myself feeling suddenly a little unwell and would beg that you release me so that I might find my dear Lady Redmond for comfort.”

  “Oh, dear me. Is there anything that I might do?” he said and seemed genuinely concerned. However, Imogen cared nothing for his concern.

  “No, I should just like to find Adeline; I am sure that it shall pass.” And Imogen felt that she really did need to escape his society at that moment for fear that her anger would envelop her and she would say something that both she and Adeline would come to regret.

  “Well yes, of course. You must go and find your friend, my dear,” he said, looking a little bemused but otherwise agreeable.

  With the briefest nod of her head, Imogen darted away through the thick crowd, quite determined to make her way out of the ballroom. In truth, she could not entirely remember where she had last seen Adeline and did not relish the idea of desperately searching through the crowds to find her. Instead, she had decided to find some way out of the mansion and into the cool of the evening.

  The moment she made her way out of the ballroom, Imogen tried to get her bearings. She hurried along a narrow and somewhat winding corridor,
peering into rooms as she went and hoping to find an escape to the outdoors.

  Finally, she came across a morning room with large windows and immense glazed doors. She hurried through the room, opened the doors, and made her way out onto a small and pretty flagged terrace. She closed the door softly behind her and moved to stand at the far end of the terrace in the hope that anybody casually looking out would not see her.

  Within seconds, Imogen felt better. She was still angry that the Duke had interrupted her chances of making some progress with Lord Toddington that evening, but she knew in her heart that she would not give up. She would seek him out and apologize to him for the Duke’s behaviour and beg that he would speak to her on another occasion. Lord Toddington had seemed a very agreeable sort of a man, and Imogen had no doubt that he would agree to it all.