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An Excerpt from What a Wicked Earl Wants
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To all of the wonderful readers for
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Acknowledgments
To the two most important partners in my career: Lucienne Diver and Michele Bidelspach. You have both made an incredible difference in my writing life. Thank you for everything.
If once to Almack’s you belong,
Like Monarchs you can do no wrong;
But banished thence on Wednesday night,
By Jove, you can do nothing right.
Henry Luttrell (1765–1851),
English writer of society verse
Chapter One
London 1822
Harry Norcliffe, the Duke of Granfield, descended the hackney and shivered a bit from the cold breeze. A glowing gas lamp lit the pavement and made a fine display of the bow window at White’s.
He could hardly believe three months had passed since Uncle Hugh’s unexpected death. Nothing would ever be the same again. The loss of Hugh often hit him when he least expected it. It still seemed like a bad dream, but it was all too real.
The world he’d known would never be the same, but tonight he was meeting his closest friends and hoped to find comfort in the life he’d left behind three months ago.
A servant appeared at the door and bowed. The scent of beeswax candles was an instant familiarity.
“Welcome back, Your Grace.”
Your Grace. The words pummeled him like a fist. By now, he ought to be accustomed to his new address, but he still felt as if he were an imposter.
The servant shifted his weight. “Your Grace, may I take your greatcoat?”
The awkward moment eased. “Thank you.”
As he divested himself of his hat, greatcoat, and gloves, he remembered thinking there would be changes, but he’d not been prepared for so many.
The sight of the betting book drew him. Here was a part of his old life. He’d always made it a ritual to read the latest wagers. For the first time in what seemed an age, he smiled as he read a wager written this evening. Apparently Aubery had bet Rollins ten guineas that it would rain on Thursday. Harry turned back the pages to read the bets he’d missed while he’d been gone. When he saw his name mentioned three months ago, he paused.
Mr. Brockton bet Mr. Norcliffe two shillings that he would eat no bacon when he visits his uncle’s pig farm.
His chest felt as if a shard of glass had pierced his heart. He gritted his teeth, determined to overcome these unguarded moments. He must go forward and reclaim his old life. But blast it all, he missed Hugh.
“I’ll be damned. It’s the devil come to London again.”
His spirits rose at the familiar voice. Harry swiveled his gaze toward his friend, and relief poured over him at the sight of Andrew Carrington, the Earl of Bellingham. “I suppose you’ve been stoking the fires of hell,” Harry said.
Bell clapped him on the shoulder. “My former rakehell days are long over.”
Harry laughed. “You are the last person I’d ever expect to reform.”
“No one is more surprised than me.”
There was a subtle difference in Bellingham’s demeanor. When they’d first met, Bell had been restless and prone to pacing. Now he seemed relaxed and at peace.
“Enough about me,” Bell said. “My friend, you look a bit careworn.”
“Yes, but I’m glad to see you.”
“I hope you’re ready for a good beefsteak and a bottle or two,” Bell said.
“I am.” It was the first step to returning to his old life, though there would always be an empty place inside now that his uncle was gone.
Bell grinned. “How does it feel to be the last bachelor among us?”
“I thought for certain you would be a bachelor for life,” Harry said, “but you fooled us all.”
“Laura made an honest man out of me. Come, our old table is waiting, and there is someone you must see.”
They had almost reached the stairs when Lord Fitzhugh and Mr. Castelle intercepted them. “Congratulations on the dukedom,” Fitzhugh said, clapping his back.
“You’re a lucky man,” Castelle added.
Harry felt as if hot coals were burning a path to his temples. His fingers curled into his palms, but he tamped down the misplaced anger that sometimes struck out of nowhere, even when he knew the person meant well. “Thank you.” What else could he say?
When Bell mentioned their party was waiting, Harry was grateful.
As they continued on, Bell glanced at him thoughtfully. “After my family perished, I grew cross when others made thoughtless comments. While I knew they meant well, I treated them coldly. My refusal to deal with my grief made matters far worse. Castelle and Fitzhugh know that an inheritance can never replace your loss, but like most people, they’re uncomfortable speaking of death.”
Harry nodded. It helped to have a friend who understood. Over the past three months, he’d learned that grief came in many forms. Tonight, however, all he wanted was to relax with his trusted friends.
As they climbed the stairs, the clink of glasses and silverware echoed from the dining room. The rumble of masculine voices grew louder as they reached the second floor. The distinctive aroma of beefsteak teased his senses.
When they reached the table, Colin Brockhurst, Earl of Ravenshire, his oldest friend from boyhood, stood and pounded him on the back. “Harry, it’s good to see you.”
“And you. How is married life?”
“Well, Angeline hasn’t thrown me out on my arse yet,” Colin said.
“Oh, ho!” Harry said, laughing.
Bell motioned to a young man. “Do you remember this fellow?”
Harry frowned. When recognition dawned, he was stunned. “Is that Justin?”
Justin Davenport, the Earl of Chesfield and Bell’s stepson, grinned as he extended his hand. “Pleased to see you, Harry.”
“Good Lord.” Harry turned his attention to Bell. “He was a skinny cub the last time I saw him.”
“He’s twenty-one now,” Bell said, “and six feet, three inches tall.”
“What are you feeding him?” Harry said. “He’s as big as an oak.”
Bell laughed. “A great deal of beef. He’s gained a few muscles fencing as well.”
Harry signaled the waiter to bring a bottle of brandy. When it arrived, he poured and looked at Bell. “I can’t believe you’re letting the sprig drink spirits.”
“He’s of age and knows his limits. I wouldn’t have met his mother if not for that flask of brandy Justin hid very poorly,” Bell said.
Justin laughed. “It wasn’t my brightest idea, Father.”
“Fortunately, you’re past sowing wild oats.” Bell narrowed his eyes. “Correct?”
Justin’s smile slanted to one side. “Am I supposed to answer that?”
Colin guffawed, and Harry nearly spewed brandy.
Three years ago, Colin and Harry had met Bellingham. Bell had fallen hard for Laura Davenport and her son. All of them had been fond of the recalcitrant lad, but he was a grown man now. How had time flown by so
quickly?
Colin proposed a toast. “To Bell, for saving our sorry hides that night in the Thames.”
Justin frowned. “What?”
“It’s where we met Bell,” Colin said.
“In the Thames?” Justin said with an astounded expression.
Harry’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Lord, what a caper. I was so foxed I managed to lose the fare for the waterman and somehow fell in the stinking river.”
“Hah,” Colin said. “A trollop robbed you blind.”
“Of two shillings—my total worth at the time,” Harry said.
“Yes, and we had to pull you out before you drowned,” Bell said. “When you came to, you looked at me and said, ‘Lord, it’s my savior.’”
They all laughed.
“My clothes smelled so bad my valet actually gagged,” Bell said. “I had to throw them in the rubbish.”
“Those were the good old days,” Harry said.
Justin pulled a face. “I really hope you’re jesting.”
Bell mussed his son’s hair. “It’s much better viewed from afar.”
Harry set his brandy aside and regarded Colin. “I was glad to receive your letter. Congratulations on your impending fatherhood.”
“Harry, Bellingham has already agreed to be one of the male godparents. Would you consider being the other godparent?”
“I would be honored.” Then, because he wasn’t comfortable with the unexpected emotion for his friend and himself, he said, “I promise not to drop the babe.”
Everyone laughed.
Colin shrugged. “I’m more worried that one of my twin sisters will drop the babe if it’s a girl. My wife insists the twins have matured and should be the female godparents, but I’ve got my doubts.”
“Maybe you’ll have twins,” Harry said.
“God forbid,” Colin said. “We’ll never get a moment’s peace.”
Listening to his friends, Harry had a moment of clarity. There was a greater purpose in his life, one that would see Havenwood, his uncle’s legacy, continue in a direct descent long after he was gone from this world.
Harry figured his friends would likely be astounded if they knew his thoughts. A year ago, he would have never thought about marriage, but Uncle Hugh’s death had changed everything.
“My wife insists the babe is a boy,” Colin said. “To be honest, I’m hoping for a girl.”
“Take my advice,” Bell said. “Just agree with whatever your wife says, even if she contradicts it five minutes later.”
Colin shook his head. “I have no say in the matter. Her mother and my stepmother declare it’s a boy because she’s carrying the babe high. It’s all nonsense to me, but I’m not about to naysay them.”
“Harry, do you still keep rooms at the Albany?” Colin asked.
“Yes,” he said. He’d found his old rooms rather comforting. “I even kept the shabby furnishings.”
“Lord, I’ve never forgotten that lumpy sofa,” Colin said, “and the dog fur everywhere.”
“What have I missed while I was gone?” Harry asked.
“Pembroke lost more hair,” Bell said. “Old Lord Leighton is in love with the widowed Lady Atherton, but she swears she prefers her sherry to him.” He paused. “I almost forgot. Justin’s former friend George wrecked the second curricle his father unwisely purchased for him.”
“Some things never change, I suppose.” He paused and said, “Thank you for the letter, Bell. It was good to hear your news about the birth of your daughter, Sarah. I imagine Stephen is growing.”
“Oh yes. He turned two last week and celebrated by manfully using the water closet. I must say his aim needs improvement.”
Harry laughed. “Well, I suppose you can’t blame the little fellow for trying.” He poured two fingers of brandy for everyone. Of all of them, Bell had changed the most. When they had first met, he’d been rather guarded. Over the course of one season, he’d become an indispensable friend to both Harry and Colin. Bellingham was the sort of fellow a man could count on.
The food arrived. Now that he was relaxing with friends, Harry wolfed down the beef, potatoes, and cheesecake. “I’m stuffed.”
“Me too,” Colin said.
After the waiter brought the port, Justin rose. “Please, excuse me. Paul just arrived, and I’m planning to trounce him at the billiards table.”
“Go on, then,” Bell said. “Hail a hackney and don’t make a lot of racket when you come home. You do not want to face your mother’s wrath.”
When Justin retreated, Harry said, “You’ve certainly tamed his rebelliousness. Well done.”
“He only needed guidance. I suppose we’ll keep him after all.”
Harry laughed. It felt like old times again.
“What about your family, Harry?” Bell asked.
“My girl cousins haven’t changed much.”
Bell’s brows rose. “I’m surprised your family isn’t pressing you to marry now that you’ve inherited.”
He shrugged, unsure if he was ready to confess his intentions.
Bell frowned. “You’re aware that I was prepared to let my property go back to the Crown—or so I thought. Then Laura asked why I hadn’t sold it.”
“I took Havenwood for granted over the years, but I owe much to my late uncle.”
“He was a good man,” Colin said. “The best.”
“After Uncle Hugh passed, I realized how much the property means to me,” Harry said. “There are so many memories. I know he would want me to ensure his legacy thrived for many generations in a direct line of descent.” One day, God willing, it would pass to his own son.
“Does this mean you will join the old married men’s club?” Colin said.
He was a little embarrassed, so he resorted to a joke. “Not tonight.”
His friends chortled.
“Harry, that reminds me,” Bell said. “Laura invited you to dinner in a sennight.”
“Let me guess. I will be seated next to a single lady that your countess has chosen especially for me.”
Bell’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Laura will be heartbroken if you do not attend, but don’t feel the least bit obligated.”
Harry smiled. “Maybe another time.” He’d never thought much about having a family before. His own father had died when he was eight. It had been hard on him at school until Colin had befriended him. They had been like brothers ever since.
“Your uncle was an exceptional man,” Colin said. “I have fond memories of spending summers with you at his farm.”
Harry’s spirits rose. “Remember the time Uncle Hugh caught us having a pissing contest out the window?”
Colin grinned. “Oh, Lord, you pissed on the gardener.”
“Uncle Hugh made us muck pig shit out of the pen. There are reasons I don’t eat bacon.”
Harry’s smile faded. He would have to return to the farm in late summer. He didn’t know how he would bear his uncle’s absence. After the funeral, he’d kept expecting his uncle to walk into the room. But he knew his duty, and he loved Havenwood for all it represented for his uncle and now him.
“Harry, I assume you are confident in your uncle’s advisors and solicitors,” Bell said.
“Yes, they’re capable men.” He’d never admit it, but he was woefully ignorant about many of his uncle’s affairs. In hindsight, he ought to have insisted upon helping with the estate business while his uncle was alive, but regrets were useless.
Bell picked up his glass and swirled his port. “When I returned from the Continent all those years ago, I made the steward, solicitors, and bankers explain everything in detail.”
Harry nodded, knowing it was Bell’s way of making a suggestion.
Bell retrieved his watch. “Ah, damn, it’s getting late.”
“I must be going, too,” Colin said. “My wife and I have an early appointment with an architect. Pity me. Angeline is determined to tear down half the town house I just bought.”
Harry laughed, but
truthfully, he was a bit disappointed. In the old days, they would smoke cheroots and drink well past midnight, but his friends had responsibilities to their families.
Bell rose. “Gentlemen, same time next week?”
“Absolutely,” Colin said. “Harry, are you in?”
His spirits rose. “Definitely.”
Harry followed them downstairs. They donned their outerwear and walked out of the club. His breath frosted and the cold air chafed his face as he shook hands with his friends.
“Can I give you a lift?” Bell said.
“No, it’s only a few blocks.” Harry wrapped the woolen scarf around his neck. “The streetlamps are lighted and a walk will clear my head of the brandy.”
Lucy Longmore finished sweeping the scraps of material and thread from the floor of the dress shop. She’d been searching for a new second job that paid better, but without a letter of character, she faced difficult odds. After she stacked bolts of fabric on a shelf, she glanced at her friends. Evelyn and Mary were still sorting their sewing notions.
“Evelyn, did you have many customers this morning?” Lucy asked.
“Yes, a number of lofty ladies and their daughters came. Most of ’em too particular.”
“Or couldn’t make up their minds.” Mary mimicked them: “Mama, I simply cannot wear primrose, for it makes me look sallow.”
“My favorite story is the mama and the biscuit jar,” Lucy said.
Evelyn grinned and mimicked the girl’s fretful voice. “Mama, why is the seamstress having trouble with the hooks?”
All three of them said in unison, “Because you cannot keep your hand out of the biscuit jar.”
They all laughed.
Evelyn sighed. “There’s nothing more irritating than a spoiled aristo.”
“I sort of felt sorry for Biscuit Jar Girl,” Lucy said.
“That’s because you have a soft heart,” Evelyn said, “but you misplace your sympathy with the spoiled rich girls.”
“Well, if I were rich,” Lucy said, “I would have no trouble at all making a decision on a gown.”
Mary closed her sewing box. “If you had lots of choices, you might.”
What a Devilish Duke Desires Page 1