by Lara Temple
‘If it makes Mary happy, I’ll bear the cost.’
‘It wouldn’t merely be monetary. You would have to do your part. And I cannot have you arguing with everything I do.’
What was he letting himself in for?
‘Why don’t you share your ideas and then I’ll decide whether I want to come on board?’
‘Very well. I am afraid the kind of entertainments I have been organising aren’t enough for our purposes. You saw what happened at the ball, and again yesterday at the theatre. Mary lavishes most of her attention on Emily, and even when she doesn’t she mostly relegates herself to the company of matrons and elderly men. She will never meet anyone eligible in that manner, let alone engage their interest.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
‘I suggest we concentrate on entertainments that attract the right kind of men and conduct them in settings where Mary and Serena have no choice but to interact with them.’
He almost felt sorry for these faceless fellows. ‘I presume you have already have a list of likely candidates waiting to be summoned to their marital doom?’
‘Of course—in the drawer right between my list of men guaranteed to bore you with their hunting exploits and my list of men who can dance a quadrille without breaking your toes.’
He crossed his arms, mirroring her stance, and smiled. ‘Sarcasm is not an attractive quality, Genevieve Maitland.’
‘You started it.’
‘You sank to my level without a peep.’
‘I thought it would be easier for you to converse down there. Being polite is evidently a strain on your faculties.’
‘I will have you know that I have always been noted for my good manners.’
‘Pointing out your own good manners is the very definition of ill manners. It implies I am either too vulgar to recognise civility or the cause of you losing yours.’
Her teasing cut uncomfortably close to the bone, but he couldn’t help laughing. ‘Then I shall try to recover my reputation by accepting full responsibility for any unpleasantness between us.’
‘Excellent. Now you have put me in the wrong while redeeming yourself. A masterly move, Captain Carrington. Oh, dear, I apologise... I keep forgetting... I mean, Lord Westford.’
‘I keep forgetting myself. I wish I could do so categorically.’
‘Most men would give their eye teeth for a title and a fortune.’
‘I’d take that trade if I could. It never should have been mine. If I’d known Charlie was in such straits...’
‘I don’t see what you could have done. If your grandfather had no luck dissuading him from investing in those ventures and travelling to Argentina, how could you?’
He was about to comment that he was surprised she had not managed to curb his worst tendencies, but thought better of it.
‘In any case, we are straying from our task,’ he said. ‘Which is finding a husband for Mary. I’m afraid I don’t know her taste in men, though.’
Her smile turned a little sad. ‘Men like your father.’
He moved away from the desk and wandered over to the shelves. ‘He was a fool.’
‘I never met him, so I cannot attest to that, but from what I have heard he was hardly that. Just...lost. Perhaps he should have stayed at sea after your mother died. Giving up too much of the familiar when you are in pain can be hard to bear.’
He shrugged. He had opened the door to confidences. He could hardly object now to her delving into his father’s psyche.
‘In any case, I hope we can find someone more suitable for Mary. She hardly shared his naval interests. I remember she never even wished to come down to the bay.’
‘No, but she certainly shared his interest in antiquities. I know you aren’t acquainted with people in society, but surely your...dealings...have brought you in touch with men who share your interest in art and antiquities.’
‘How do you know I share those interests?’
‘Aside from the tales you told in the letters you sent Emily and Mary, there is the damning evidence at the Hall. One cannot enter a room without encountering one of your baubles.’
‘Baubles?’
‘Since Lord Westford passed, Emily has been placing the gifts you’ve sent her over the years throughout the Hall and it now resembles a museum...in the best possible way. I cannot believe anyone who trades in such artefacts doesn’t know of men who share similar interests.’
The image of all those baubles, some of which were near priceless, being spread indiscriminately around Carrington Hall was a little unsettling. And before he could consider the wisdom of asking, the words were out of him.
‘Did she place any of these “baubles” in your room at the Hall?’
She hesitated, lowering her eyes as she did when she was uncomfortable. ‘She let me choose. There are two jade dragons on my writing desk.’
‘I remember those. I bought them in Macau. Qin Dynasty. They are almost two thousand years old, by all accounts.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I should put them somewhere safe, then.’
‘No, keep them there. They are meant to be appreciated, not tucked away.’
‘I admit it seems sad to put them in a box. They glow so beautifully in the sun, and the way they are shaped, so that their bodies interlace...’ She stopped, a wholly uncharacteristic flush rushing up her cheeks. ‘In any case, once we produce a creditable list of eligible men we can arrange for them to attend our entertainments.’
‘How precisely will we arrange that? You can hardly command their presence.’
‘I never command. In this case I need not even manoeuvre. Not when I have the perfect bait for our trap.’
He smiled at the rather bloodthirsty relish in her voice. ‘And what is that?’
Her gaze focused on him and she smiled. He added another facet to Genevieve Maitland—she could look as smug as a cat with a year’s supply of mice.
‘Why, you, of course, Lord Westford.’
* * *
Genny paused in the corridor outside Lady Westford’s rooms. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts, which were still tumbling over themselves as she tried to make sense of her new pact with Captain Carr—with Lord Westford.
She’d made one clear discovery—he was just as unnerving when he was being playful and kind as when he was intent on attack.
She rubbed her hands against her skirts and breathed in and out several times to push back at the tingling unease that had been chasing her since he’d appeared at Carrington House.
She was not at all certain she could trust him to see the campaign through. He might be charming and insightful, but he was also a drifter, and might at any moment change course and leave her stranded.
Which meant she must also pursue her own plans.
Now she only had to ensure Lady Westford was compliant.
She tapped on the door and entered. Carmine immediately set up a bouncing warble.
‘Don’t hover in the doorway, girl. Come in,’ Lady Westford commanded from her bed, putting down the quizzing glass with which she had been perusing the newspaper.
Genny slipped a few seeds into Carmine’s cage, buying a few moments of peace, and placed a chair by the bed. ‘Is your hip paining you, Lady Westford?’
‘Don’t use that sweet tone on me, Genevieve Maitland. I’m not happy with you. I’ll concede you made my grandsons show themselves, which is more than I expected. But a ball and a jaunt to the theatre isn’t enough for those hungry young misses to tie them down. Those boys are too canny for that—blast them. Marcus has already hared off back to whatever he is concocting up north, Kit refuses to leave the docks, and Julian... I’m not blind, girl. He may flirt with you, but if he hasn’t popped the question yet he ain’t likely to do so now. The moment Emily weds they’ll scatter, and it will all amount to naught.’
&nb
sp; ‘I agree—which is why we must adjust our approach.’
Lady Westford’s hand groped for her cane, but it was leaning by the bed, so she gave the covers a thump instead. ‘Out with it.’
Carmine chimed in with a warning warble, poking his beak through the bars. Genny scattered a few more seeds at his feet.
‘I have convinced Lord Westford that it will be in Emily’s and Mary’s interests if we hold a series of select entertainments here at Carrington House, but that for them to succeed he must be in attendance. And in residence.’
‘What do you mean, you have “convinced” him? How?’
‘It hardly matters. The point is that both he and Julian have agreed to attend.’
‘Marcus won’t.’
‘Probably not. But two out of three is fair odds.’
Lady Westford’s pouchy eyes narrowed to slits. ‘We shall invite the Burfords. Good blood, large dowries.’
‘Yes. And I think Lady Sarah Ponsonby and Miss Caversham as well. Although we’ll need some men to balance out the list. We cannot be too obvious.’
‘Quite. But no dashing young bloods that might appeal to the Burford girls.’
Genny thought it would be hard to find any young men who could compete with the Carringtons, but since Lady Westford’s concern paved the way for her plan, she nodded.
‘Of course not. I think older men...solid but unexciting. The contrast, you see...’
‘Yes, yes. But...’ Lady Westford tapped her newspaper. Cleared her throat. ‘Are you certain Kit is in agreement? He might pull a runner. He was a devil of a boy—always disappearing. George ran him down in Southampton once. He’d gone to look for that ship.’
Over the years Genny had occasionally come face to face with something elusive behind Lady Westford’s crusted exterior. She had never been quite able to tell if it was love or pain or merely discomfort.
Genny’s attempts to approach were usually firmly rejected, but she stepped tentatively onto the plank. ‘How old was he?’
‘How should I know? It was years ago. Eleven? Been at the Hall less than a year.’
‘Before Mr Carrington married Mary?’
‘Yes. One reason George remarried. Thought the boy needed a mother. Told us to choose someone nice. Well, Alfred found someone “nice” for him, didn’t he? Pity she couldn’t produce more than the one girl. But at least she was good to the boy.’
Poor Mary.
Poor George.
Poor Kit.
‘Was it better for Kit after they wed?’
‘I don’t know. He was away at school, mostly.’
Genny steeled herself to ask the question she’d always wondered. ‘Why did he not attend the same school as Charlie and Marcus and Julian?’
The pale blue eyes flashed to hers and away. ‘Alfred thought it best. Didn’t want the boys dealing with gossip.’
‘I see.’
Lady Westford must have heard enough in Genny’s tone to pull back behind her ramparts. ‘Nothing wrong with Westminster. His best friend was a duke’s heir.’
‘But Kit must have known why you separated him from the others. He is no fool.’
‘What else were we to do? If it wasn’t bad enough for that dreadful grandfather of his to be a shopkeeper and an actor, he was also a foundling. For all we know he was born on the wrong side of the blanket—could be a Hottentot for all we know. When George eloped with that woman all of London was laughing behind their hands at us. At us! I’m the granddaughter of the Duke of Malby and the Carringtons can be traced back to the crusades! Now the Seventh Earl might well be of base blood, not to mention that he carries on like a veritable scoundrel.’
Genny rolled her shoulders, trying to remind herself why she was here. Letting loose the fury pressing against her control would not further anyone’s cause. Still, she could not resist a thrust.
‘From what I have seen of the world, birth has very little to do with worth, Lady Westford. A man should be judged by his actions, not by his ancestors, and in that respect the Carringtons have every reason to be proud of Lord Westford. He was by far one of the best officers who served under my grandfather during the war, and that is saying quite a bit. My grandfather was an excellent judge of men.’
‘You weren’t born into this world, Genevieve Maitland, and you and I have different notions of pride. Why do you think my Alfred fell ill when poor Charles died? He knew what was likely to happen. That when his moment came the future of his family name would be in the hands of that...that vulgar hussy’s son. You didn’t know her. She hadn’t an ounce of proper respect. Looked us straight in the eye and said she and George didn’t need us and would make their own path in the world. Snapped her fingers at us as if she was a queen, no less. At us!’
Good for her, thought Genny, keeping her jaw tightly locked.
Lady Westford subsided with something between a sigh and moan. ‘It killed my Alfred. Killed him!’
There was such confused pain in those words that, despite her antipathy and disgust, Genny almost reached out to touch her gnarled fists. Instead she sat in silence and waited.
Finally, Lady Westford unknotted her hands. ‘Do what you need to do, girl. But I think you’re wasting your time on Kit.’
‘What?’ Genny asked, startled.
‘Trying to find a match for him. I’d like to see one of the Burford girls take my place as Lady Westford, but likely Kit won’t be interested in either of them. I daresay if he ever marries he’ll bring back someone wholly unsuitable, like a Saracen or one of those harem girls of his. If he lives that long. Still, you’d best invite Lord Ponsonby’s daughter. Handsome thing—and clever. She might wheedle her way past his defences. But make your big push with Julian. He’s a rake, but he needs funds for his hobbies so he’s most likely to fall into the trap. The Ponsonby heiress might do even better for him. She’s no one’s fool and she’ll keep his head above water. And she might not take offence at his flirting with anything in a skirt.’
‘He is a touch more discriminating than that, Lady Westford.’ She didn’t mention that Lady Sarah, definitely no one’s fool, had shown at the ball and at the theatre that her sights were set firmly on Kit.
‘Hmm... Now, go away. I’m tired. And I don’t appreciate you giving Carmine treats. He’s getting fat.’
Genny left the room, accompanied by Carmine’s shrill objections.
When the door had closed behind her she allowed herself a smile. There was nothing quite like recruiting one’s enemies to fight one’s battles.
Chapter Ten
Hell on earth.
Kit had been to many places that might have deserved that epithet. The top of his list was still the hold of a Barbary Coast pirate ship, where he’d spent three hellish weeks. But dinners at Carrington House were climbing to the top of that list faster than a monkey up a coconut tree.
And the night was still young.
The worst of it was that he had walked into this particular hell with his eyes, and his bank coffers, open. He had no one to blame but himself...
Actually, there was someone else with whom he could at least share the blame. He cast a reflexive glance halfway down the ludicrously long dinner table to where Genevieve Maitland was seated, between two of his grandmother’s portly whist partners.
Since their discussion in the library, the pocket-sized Generalissima had taken the helm at Carrington House with a determination that had left the other members of the household, even his grandmother, breathless in her wake.
In the past week the threatened Venetian breakfast had not only taken place—in full sunshine—but had lasted well into the night as the famous songbird Madame Vestris had given a brilliant recital of Italian arias by the light of several dozen lanterns floating up into the evening breeze. Not a single cloud had dared make an appearance.
The following day Ge
nevieve had transformed the ballroom into a lecture room, and half the directors of the British Museum had joined prominent members of the Antiquarian Society for a lecture on the latest developments in the deciphering of Egyptian hieroglyphs.
He’d actually enjoyed that—and not merely because Mary had been in seventh heaven. And, to be fair, not all the entertainments had been horrible.
It was mostly the dinners. They seemed to involve interminable hours spent discussing tedious topics and parrying even more tiresome questions.
Still, there were elements of interest even in the dullest of evenings. One was watching the inexorable tightening of Genny Maitland’s net about a supremely unaware group of eligible men. The list of guests was being constantly modified as she reviewed, discarded and revised her objectives.
He didn’t bother trying to keep track of the list—merely watched the dance with appreciation, trying to follow her moves as she slowly amassed an impressive group of eligible, intelligent and mature men. She was strict with her pawns too. When the hands of a brilliant and wealthy antiquarian had happened to rove casually to Serena’s derriere, he had been promptly struck from the list.
There were other selections she had made that were more obscure to Kit. For example, he understood the imperative of inviting the Duke of Burford and his granddaughters, as the Duke was a close friend of his grandmother. But Kit could not see her reason to invite someone like Lord Ponsonby. He was relatively eligible, but he’d already gone through two wives and many more mistresses.
Not someone Kit would care to see choose Mary as his third wife.
There were also a few others who were regular invitees—possibly for reasons of familial connection that eluded him. Unfortunately, they too were possessed of an annoying number of daughters.
He would not have minded if only he did not have to sit next to them. But when he’d made that point to Genny after the first few days she’d brushed his objection away without a smidgen of sympathy.
‘You are head of the family, so you don’t have the luxury of choosing your dinner companions. And do remember you promised you wouldn’t make a fuss.’