Beauty and the Brooding Lord

by Sarah Mallory

  Serena knew her friend was enjoying relating the story to her, but she could not share her amusement.

  ‘Poor Mrs Hopwood. Someone should warn her about Sir Timothy.’

  ‘What, when they are providing the ton with such amusement?’ Elizabeth laughed. ‘I am sure the widow can look out for herself and as Mama says, Sir Timothy’s determined pursuit is turning opinion in your favour. No one believes he was ever in love with you now, Serena. No,’ Elizabeth concluded, ‘this little development can only be to your advantage.’

  * * *

  Serena knew it was true, but her new-found happiness brought with it a wish that others should be happy, too, and when she sat down to dinner with Quinn that evening, she could not help but mention her concerns.

  ‘I do not like to think of any woman being duped, as I was, by Sir Timothy,’ she told him, when the covers had been removed and the servants had withdrawn. They were in the habit of sitting together at one end of the table when dining alone and she cast an anxious glance up at Quinn, who turned his head to smile at her.

  ‘Your kind heart does you credit, my dear, but I doubt there is anything to fear. If the widow is as wealthy as people say, then she will have an army of lawyers to advise her.’ He grinned. ‘Sir Timothy is certainly burning his boats in setting his cap at the woman. I saw him at Tattersall’s today, buying a showy pair of greys on her behalf. It would appear this Mrs Hopwood means to drive herself about town in a phaeton and a high-perch one at that.’ He glanced at her. ‘Perhaps you are afraid she will cast you into the shade.’

  She laughed. ‘She may do so, with my blessing!’

  He reached out and briefly covered her hand with his own.

  ‘She won’t do it,’ he told her. ‘You are a nonpareil. I have never seen a woman handle the reins better than you. And you may believe it. You know I will never lie to you.’

  ‘Th-thank you.’ She blushed, inordinately pleased by his praise. ‘Nevertheless, I cannot be easy about this. Sir Timothy is a scoundrel and I do not like to think of him preying on anyone.’

  Quinn growled. ‘You know that nothing would give me greater pleasure than to call the fellow out and put a bullet through him,’ he said, ‘but that would reflect badly upon you, which is something I want to avoid at all costs.’ His hand tightened over hers. ‘Try not to be anxious about Mrs Hopwood, Serena. She will not come to any harm.’

  With that she had to be satisfied, but it seemed that Serena could not avoid hearing about Sir Timothy and his new flirt. Her own escapades appeared forgotten, which pleased her, but it meant that Quinn no longer felt obliged to escort her everywhere. Serena missed his company at the balls and parties, but she tried not to complain, knowing that he did not enjoy such gatherings.

  However, he would have to attend their own party.

  * * *

  Knowing Quinn would not enjoy a ball, Serena had decided upon a musical evening, where they could invite some of the young musicians with whom Quinn was acquainted to perform. But even here Serena could not avoid the latest gossip concerning Sir Timothy. During a performance by a promising young harpist, Lady Grindlesham dropped down on the sofa beside her, declaring, ‘It must be a match. He is for ever in her company.’

  ‘Yes, I have seen them driving out in the park,’ murmured Serena.

  ‘They are everywhere,’ exclaimed Lady Grindlesham. ‘Of course, she may not have entrée into the best houses, but they are together in every public place.’ She leaned closer. ‘They attend a great many private card parties and it seems the widow’s luck is much greater than that of her escort! I understand he is so much in debt that only a rich wife can save him now. Yet he continues to live high. The word in town is that it can only be a matter of time before they are married.’ She gave a little tut of displeasure. ‘I hope she does not think that will make her any more acceptable in polite circles. Sir Timothy’s standing is quite diminished, you know, which I am sure must be a great relief to you, my dear. Any man who could so shamelessly pay court to such a vulgar creature, however large her fortune, cannot be a true gentleman!’

  Lady Grindlesham patted Serena’s hand and moved away as the company politely applauded the harpist’s performance. Nothing more was said of the matter, but Serena relayed to Quinn all she had heard once the guests had departed.

  They were alone together in the drawing room, where Quinn had persuaded her to sit down on the sofa and enjoy a glass of wine with him.

  ‘Naturally, I am relieved that people now believe me rather than Sir Timothy,’ she said unhappily, ‘but it has nothing to do with truth and everything to do with the fact that the widow is not considered worthy of their notice.’ She gave a little huff of disgust. ‘Such hypocrisy!’

  ‘Now you see why I dislike town so much.’

  ‘I do, but...’ she tucked her hand in his sleeve ‘...I thought it was also because Barbara died here.’

  For a moment she feared she had offended him, that he would not reply, but at length he sighed. ‘I have never been a great one for society, but I realise now I used her death as an excuse to withdraw completely.’

  ‘Then it is very good of you to come back for my sake.’

  ‘I confess I have enjoyed it more than I anticipated,’ he said, relieving her of her empty glass.

  ‘I am glad.’ She sighed. ‘But I cannot expect you to remain in town for ever, Quinn.’

  ‘Of course not. We shall return to Melham Court in due course.’

  Serena wanted to tell him that she was ready to leave town immediately, but at that moment he took her in his arms and kissed her, driving all coherent thought from her head.

  * * *

  Despite the exigencies of hosting her first social event in town, Serena was up and about early the following day. Now she was most truly Quinn’s wife she felt much happier and much more alive. Perhaps it was the new closeness she felt with her husband. Having completed her household duties, she went to look for him and was a little disappointed to discover he had gone out and would not be back until dinnertime. Serena wondered what to do in the meantime and, looking out of the window at the fallen leaves dancing about the square, she decided a brisk walk would serve to use up a little of her restless energy. She ran upstairs to change into her walking dress and set off with Polly running to keep up with her.

  ‘Where are we going, my lady?’

  ‘Oh, I am not sure yet. I know,’ she said, struck by inspiration, ‘we shall go to the Pantheon Bazaar.’

  ‘You’ve no need to go there, madam.’ Polly sniffed. ‘You don’t need to watch the pennies.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but I have not been there since I was a schoolgirl. It might be amusing.’

  The exercise, and browsing the tempting counters in the Pantheon Bazaar, proved a perfect way to while away a few hours. Serena could not find anything she really needed, but she bought a pair of white evening gloves while Polly was looking about her, wide-eyed at the cornucopia of treasures. Serena took out her purse and gave her a handful of coins, ordering her to go off and treat herself.

  ‘Ooh, madam, thank you, but I can’t take this.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ Serena told her. ‘Now off you go and find yourself something you would like. I shall be happy enough wandering around here. We shall meet back here, in half an hour.’

  Polly went off, her money clutched tightly in her hand, and Serena returned to browsing the selection of gloves laid out before her.

  A flurry of activity caught her attention and she looked towards the doors in time to see a lady enter, a tall, striking figure in a modish promenade dress of scarlet wool decorated with quantities of gold frogging. It was Mrs Hopwood, Serena recognised her from her drives in the park. She took the opportunity to study her more closely. She had a pleasant face, although it was painted and powdered too heavily for Serena’s taste. Her countenance was framed by an abun
dance of thick, dark curls that peeped out beneath her stylish bonnet with its scarlet ostrich feathers. She was accompanied by her maid, a dour-looking woman in a severe black gown and jacket, a complete contrast to her flamboyant mistress.

  Serena bit her lip and after a brief hesitation, she approached the widow.

  ‘Mrs Hopwood.’ The woman turned, her brows rising, and there was a definite wariness about her. That was not surprising, thought Serena, for she was being accosted by a perfect stranger. ‘Forgive me, we have not been introduced.’ She coloured slightly. ‘I am Lady Quinn.’

  ‘Are ye now?’ said the widow. ‘Well, I’ve heard a deal about you, my lady.’

  The voice was rough, uncultured and had an unmistakable northern burr, but a smile hovered about her carmine lips and her unmistakable friendliness caused Serena to relax a little.

  She said, ‘Can we talk, privately?’

  Mrs Hopwood regarded her for a moment, then she nodded to her maid, who withdrew to a discreet distance. The widow turned towards the embroidered stockings displayed on the counter.

  ‘Let’s look at these and we’ll be less conspicuous, perhaps. Well, Lady Quinn, what is it you wish to say to me?’

  What indeed? Serena sought about for words that would not be insulting, or misconstrued.

  ‘I have seen you driving in the park.’

  ‘Have you now?’

  ‘You are always escorted by...’ Serena could not help her lip curling in distaste ‘...by Sir Timothy Forsbrook.’

  ‘What of it?’

  Serena’s colour rose, but she had come too far to turn back now.

  ‘I wanted to put you on your guard.’ The widow gave her a searching look and Serena hurried on. ‘I may be wrong. Perhaps he is indeed in earnest and means you no harm, but—’ She stopped, her cheeks burning. ‘You say you know of me. If you heard my story from Sir Timothy then it is lies, but I do not ask you to believe that. All I can say, all I would urge, most strongly, madam, is that you should be careful in your dealings with that man.’

  There was a long silence and Serena wondered if she had offended the widow. After all, they were not acquainted, what business was it of hers? Serena was about to apologise and walk away when the widow spoke.

  ‘Thank you for your concern, dear, but I know exactly what I am about.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ murmured Serena. ‘It was presumptuous of me—’

  ‘No, no, I understand and I am grateful. Truly. But I pray you will not be anxious for me.’ The voice had softened and lost its strong north-country accent, but the next moment it was back again. ‘Now, you’d best move away from me, my lady, before anyone can remark upon our meeting.’

  Serena nodded. She had half-turned away when Mrs Hopwood touched her sleeve.

  ‘Bless you, my dear. It was good of you to warn me.’

  With a swirl of scarlet skirts the widow went off to join her maid and Serena was left wondering if she had been wise to address a total stranger. But she could not regret it. Mrs Hopwood might be in thrall to Sir Timothy, but at least she had tried to warn her of the danger.

  * * *

  It was a Monday morning, overcast but dry, and Quinn was already in the breakfast room when Serena entered. His smile was intimate, reminding her of the night they had spent together. Of every night for the past few weeks, she thought, her stomach swooping delightfully, but his voice when he spoke was perfectly calm.

  ‘Well, my dear, what are your plans for the day?’

  ‘Why, nothing very much, my lord. I thought perhaps you might like to drive out with me later? November is upon us and I doubt we shall have many more fine days.’

  ‘Alas, I have business in the city today.’

  ‘Oh.’ She tried to hide her disappointment.

  ‘And I shall not be at home for dinner this evening.’

  Serena looked up from pouring her coffee. ‘You will be out all day?’

  ‘I am afraid so.’ He added, as an afterthought, ‘It is Settling Day at Tattersall’s.’

  ‘Good heavens.’ She laughed. ‘Have you been playing deep, my lord? I had not thought that was your style.’

  He bared his teeth at her. ‘You know it is not. But I thought I would look in today.’

  ‘But you will be back in time to come with me to Lady Yatesbury’s rout tonight? We do not need to be there until later.’

  ‘Alas, I fear I shall not.’ He glanced across the table. ‘Do you really wish to go? It will be a dreadful crush,’ he told her. ‘Yatesbury has no discernment and lets the world and his wife through the door. I would much rather you did not attend.’

  ‘Then I shall not do so.’ Serena bit her lip, more disappointed at not seeing Quinn than missing the rout.

  ‘Good.’

  He turned his attention back to his plate, indicating that the matter was closed, and Serena felt a little stir of alarm at his reticence. She had never known Quinn to gamble recklessly and she could not believe he had done so now, but there was something he did not wish to share with her. Dunnock came in with the post on a silver tray. Serena drank her coffee while Quinn sorted through the letters. He pushed his chair back.

  ‘There is one for you,’ he said, coming around the table to her. ‘From Lady Hambridge. You may tell me later what she says. I must deal with my correspondence before I go out.’

  He bent to drop a light kiss upon her hair and was gone, leaving Serena feeling restless and uneasy. Quinn was as kind and affectionate as ever, but he went out a great deal these days and rarely told her too much about where he was going. Perhaps he was developing a taste for town life, just when she had decided she would prefer to return to the country.

  * * *

  The day dragged. In the afternoon Serena sent for her phaeton and took a drive around the park at the fashionable hour. However, the house felt even more silent and empty when she returned. She went upstairs and while she waited for Polly to come and help her to change her dress, she stood at the window, looking out at the square. There was no doubt about it—she missed Quinn. Whenever he was away from her she was impatient for his return. It was foolish. It was definitely unfashionable, but there it was.

  She went downstairs and instead of going to the morning room, where she usually spent her time alone, she made her way to the library in an effort to find some small crumb of comfort. There was no study in the town house and Quinn worked at the large mahogany desk in the library. She went in, smiling when she saw everything on the desk top was in order, inkwells full, a supply of pens trimmed and ready for use, the accounts journals piled neatly on one side.

  At Melham she had been in the habit of helping Quinn with the estate business, but although they still discussed such matters, there was little to be done from London and she felt excluded. How foolish, she thought, going around to sit in his chair. She ran her hands over the carved arms, as if trying to feel some sense of Quinn from the polished wood.

  He had never excluded her and, if he currently appeared preoccupied, it was because he was immersed in town life: dinner at the clubs, sparring with Gentleman Jackson at his famous boxing saloon in Old Bond Street, perhaps even attending cockfights, although Quinn never mentioned such things. He must know she would not approve.

  A sliver of paper protruded from the top right-hand drawer of the desk. Careless of Quinn and probably indicative of his hurry to be gone this morning. She pulled open the drawer. The offending sheet was the top one of a sheaf of opened letters that had been hastily pushed into the drawer. This morning’s correspondence, she guessed.

  As she reached forward to flatten the top sheet she noticed the flowery heading. Rundell, Bridge & Rundell. It must be the bill for her coral parure. She lifted it out, mildly intrigued to know how much the set had cost. The figure at the bottom of the page made her gasp, until she realised that beneath a detailed description of the
parure were three further items: a diamond bracelet, ring and necklace.

  Serena stared at the page, an icy hand squeezing her insides. Perhaps Quinn planned to give them to her later, but a far more persuasive answer presented itself. Quinn had bought the diamonds for his mistress.

  Some women would settle for nothing less.

  No. There must be some mistake. But she could not resist pulling the rest of the bundle from the drawer, bills from London tradespeople, mantua-makers, milliners, haberdashers and shoemakers. There were even two more bills from Rundell’s. She scrutinised each sheet, but recognised none of the items listed. She reached over and took out the last document. Spreading it open on the desk Serena gazed at it in dismay. It was the lease of a house in Devonshire Place.

  Carefully Serena put everything back in the drawer, blinking away the tears that threatened to drop and smudge the elegantly written accounts. She had not even considered it, yet now she berated herself for a fool. Quinn was a man, was he not, and it was years since the love of his life had died. Why would he not have a mistress? And why would he give her up, merely because he had married? He had wed Serena to save her reputation and she was so damaged that it was only recently that she had welcomed his advances. It was quite understandable that he would want someone to give him the comfort that was lacking in his marriage.

  It was too much. She collapsed on to the desk, sobs tearing at her body. The pain was intense, as if indeed her heart were breaking, but such powerful emotions could not continue and at length she dried her eyes. There might be another explanation for these purchases. She should ask Quinn. But even as she wiped all signs of her tears from the library desk she knew she would not do so. He had promised her he would always tell the truth and she was afraid that his answer would be too painful to bear.