by Diana Lloyd
“Hardly tossed,” she said petulantly. “Both your face and name are unfamiliar to me. I cannot be faulted for caution.” Caution had already been thrown to the dogs when she’d agreed to dance with a stranger, but she would not tolerate ridicule of her family.
“I commend your concern and apologize for not making the innocence of my intentions clear.” He smiled again, a lovely display meant to charm women and put everyone around him at ease. It was a nice smile all the same, creating tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, as if his entire face joined in the pleasure.
“I’m off to change my gown. You do as you must, Lord Northam.” Noble intentions or not, he was not a man to be completely trusted. She still might have him thrown out just for good measure.
“Mister. I’m no lord. Let’s not add impersonating a peer to my lies this evening.”
“Good evening, Mr. Northam.” Fighting the urge to run, she turned away as politely as possible. He may have danced a bit of life into her evening, but he was not her savior. There was no point in putting off the difficult conversation she’d need to have with her parents. This wasn’t something she could solve on her own, unless Elsinore returned to the ballroom soon and greeted her as a bosom friend.
Head up, mouth pressed into another smile, she made her way across the room, wondering how much of what happened she would need to relate to her parents. The penalty for dancing with a gentleman to whom she’d not been properly introduced would be harsh, but most likely set aside until after her birthday. As for the social snub, Father would glower, and Mother would hug her and tell her it didn’t matter. But it did.
Weaving through the crowd, a wave of whispers and snickers radiated out behind her, and her face warmed with every step. Gathering up her skirt, she ran the last few yards to her parents.
“I can explain,” she said, even as dread crawled up her spine and settled on her shoulders.
“Explain what?” Her mother’s face was a mask of confusion, her attention centered on the other end of the ballroom.
“Nothing.” Turning to see what her mother was looking at as another ripple of excitement made its way across the room, she noticed the lone footman running toward them. What had she done?
“My lord, the Duke of Wallingford has requested your presence immediately.” Gasping out the request, the footman awaited a reply with a look of horror upon his face. “There’s been an incident concerning the duke’s daughter, my lord.”
“Oh, shite.” Her father straightened his shoulders. “Lead on,” he said turning to follow the footman to the source of the duke’s discomfort.
“What did she do?” Her mother asked as she pulled her closer. “You two are thick as thieves. Tell me what she’s done.”
“I have no idea, I was…dancing.” Scrambling to think of a way to mitigate her own sins while helping her friend, Libby floundered for the right words.
“I saw and we’ll deal with that later. I knew Elsinore was up to something when she ran after Lord Byron. We shouldn’t have invited him but I’m afraid I have a soft spot for poets and rogues.” Winking, she pulled Libby into an embrace. “That’s why I fell in love with your father.”
“Elsinore didn’t speak to me about it.” Deciding against explaining the cut Wallingford’s daughter had delivered earlier, she sealed her lips and waited for details of the scandal that would erase her social downfall from everyone’s mind.
“Who is he?” her mother asked. “The man you were dancing with.”
“Do you recall inviting a gentleman named Kerrigen Northam?”
“No, I do not.”
…
“Ainsworth,” Kerrigen greeted his old school chum with a clap on the back. “Have you warmed a seat at the card tables yet?”
“Too early,” he grumbled. “Let the old men play a few before they have to rush home to a warm poultice and cup of milk before bed.”
“Won’t be long before young men are saying the same thing about us.” It was meant as a joke, but his own father’s failing health, a stark reminder of age and mortality, lurked in the back of Kerrigen’s mind.
“Ah, you and I are on the same subject this evening. Quite fortunate, as I am in need of a favor that you are uniquely qualified to perform.” Even as he spoke, Ainsworth’s eyes scanned the tables counting wagers and cards.
“In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never once asked me for a favor. I was content with being considered untrustworthy.” Favors and obligations made Kerrigen’s feet itch to be moving on, but he’d known Lord Ainsworth since they were both in leading strings, so he stayed put. If Ainsworth was calling in a favor after all these years, it must be important.
“I require a bit of social espionage, if you’re up for it. With a mind to my future and under the deluge of my mother’s urgings, I am seeking a bride. A list of suitable young ladies has been decided upon, and I shall use this Season to investigate which would make me the better countess.”
“You dog, that’s so damn romantic I may weep.” If the lucky lady didn’t mind playing second to games of chance and dodging creditors, it would be a happy union indeed.
“I’m serious, Kerr, it’s time.” Ainsworth’s eyes left the gaming table for a moment.
“Who am I to argue with Father Time and your mother? How do I figure into this plan of yours?” Kerrigen’s conscience pinched with pity for both Ainsworth and his prospective bride.
“There are a number of other diversions calling for my time; I can’t be expected to watch them all the entire Season. All those musicales and soirees, I’d expire from boredom and teacakes.”
“How long is the damn list?” Close to reneging outright, Kerr decided to hear his friend out. Being a second son had its own collection of curses and advantages, the foremost of both was the invisibility of his station. Ainsworth was probably correct in that he was the best choice for such a mission.
“Only three. As I have matters to attend to and three very good friends, all I ask is that you keep your eye on one of my prospects whilst I’m out of town.”
“What could be more important to you than choosing a bride? Oh, wait, let me guess—card games and horse racing?” Relieved he had no sisters for Ainsworth to prey upon, Kerrigen wouldn’t wish his friend on any woman he held in high regard. The man would gamble and drink away any fortune he controlled.
“What of it?” Ainsworth snapped back.
“I’m not your nanny, Ainsworth, and I’d rather not be a nanny to some simpering miss all Season. Have one of your sisters follow her around Town until you narrow it down.”
“Spoken like a man who has no sisters. They’ll not only never let me hear the end of it, but they’ll also prattle all around Town what they’re up to. This is a man’s job. A man who can slip in and out of gatherings unseen as a mouse.”
“Mouse? I say, I’ve never thought of myself as particularly mousey. I think I’m insulted.”
“You know what I mean. No title-hungry mamas are trying to foist their offspring upon you by watching you like a hawk.”
“Hawks eat mice, you twit.”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, Kerr, while a good friend, you’re the second of a second. They’ll look right through you. No one will suspect a thing. Winchcombe invited every titled gentleman within two hundred miles. Mark my words, they’re looking to marry the chit off soon.”
“Winchcombe? Which young lady are you talking about?”
“Winchcombe’s daughter, Lady Olivia. I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out.” Putting up his hands to forestall any argument, Ainsworth explained. “Whatever sins committed by her parents are in the distant past. Winchcombe is a fearful fellow to be sure, but both his politics and finances are sound. Mother assures me he dotes on his youngest daughter and will settle her with a dowry large enough to overlook any family peculiarities.”
�
��And what of your peculiarities?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Whomever I marry will get a titled husband and household control over a lovely estate in Hampstead. What more could a woman want?”
“Nothing,” Kerrigan lied. Ainsworth’s penchant for all games of chance and his resultant bad luck was well known among his friends and owners of gaming establishments. It was hardly his responsibility to enlighten anyone to the full extent of Ainsworth’s indebtedness. If Winchcombe were a diligent papa, he’d discover the truth soon enough.
“So, we have an agreement?” Ainsworth’s voice was tinged with doubt.
“Of course, old man. Should be as easy as a walk in the park.”
“You’re a true friend, Kerr. I leave Thursday for Lord Newborough’s hunting party in Epping. He has a daughter ready for her come out next year, I thought I’d get a look at her now. I’ll be out of Town two, three weeks. I’ll be back in time for Prescott’s ball.”
“What am I to do if another man offers for her while you’re gone?” She was a pretty enough woman, it might happen. Those big blue eyes had even mesmerized him for a moment or two.
“It’s your job to make sure that doesn’t happen. Be present and be discouraging to other gentlemen, just don’t mention my name. You’re sworn to secrecy on this. You’re not to utter a word to anyone.” Ainsworth held out his hand. “Do I have your promise on this?”
“I am the very soul of discretion.” Smiling because they both knew his statement to be a lie, Kerr shook his friend’s hand. At least the challenge was interesting. Lady Olivia exhibited all evidence of having a sharp wit and the spark of the adventurer. Perhaps this season wouldn’t sour into boredom and ennui as quickly as he’d thought.
“A seat at an interesting table just opened up.” Taking a step toward the game, Ainsworth turned back and said, “Gladstone was looking for you earlier, have you seen him?”
“No, but I’ll find him.” Relieved to have an excuse to leave before Ainsworth thought to add to his request, Kerr made his way back to the ballroom. If he happened to catch another glimpse of Lady Olivia, it would be in the line of duty.
Lord Gladstone was easy enough to spot in a crowd, the man was built like a bloody yellow-haired Viking god and towered over mere mortals at every fete. He was an amusing fellow and fun to be around. Right up until he crashed through the boundaries of taste, decorum, and Society. Then he was an embarrassing drunk with a raging case of the French pox. Had they not met at Eton during impressionable youth, they would not now be friends.
Why Gladstone would be looking for him was a mystery. They had not parted well after their last encounter. He had no wish to witness his childhood friend’s casual fall into the grip of his vices, no matter how entertaining it might be.
“There you are.” A large hand clapped down on Kerrigen’s shoulder, halting his progress around the ballroom’s perimeter. Steering him to the edge of the room, Gladstone’s eyes darted left and right as if on the lookout for someone.
“Lord Gladstone, always a pleasure.” A small lie uttered under cover of civility. Straightening his cravat as he looked up at his Viking acquaintance, Kerr could only wonder what Gladstone might want with him. “Ainsworth mentioned you were looking for me.”
“Did he tell you why?” Stepping farther into the shadows, Gladstone pressed his back against the wall.
“Not a squeak. What can I do for you, Lord Gladstone?”
“So, I’m Lord Gladstone now, eh? How many times must I give you leave to refer to me as Gladstone?”
“The last time I called you Gladys you damned near took my head off.”
“We were both in our cups.” It was as close to an apology as Kerr was ever going to get. “Perform this favor and you can call me Mary Queen of Scots.”
“As tempting as that is, I can’t agree to a favor until I know what it is.” Gladstone must be desperate if he was looking for a boon from a mere mister. The Northam name held no water in London. His feet were already starting to itch.
“You danced earlier, I saw you.”
“Guilty. A thousand pardons if I stepped on your toes, old man.”
“This isn’t about my feet. It’s about your dance partner, Winchcombe’s daughter. You’re not a peer, how did you get an introduction and leave to dance with the chit?”
“I didn’t. I spilled my punch on her gown, offered my arm, and partnered her through a single dance by way of apology. Winchcombe will most likely call me out at any moment.”
“You always told the most amusing lies, Kerr. Keep your secrets. What matters is that you’ve made her acquaintance. I’m not afraid of Lord Scar.”
“You might not want to use that slur in the man’s own ballroom. He’s got a bad habit of ruining those who question his character.” It never ceased to amaze him how often he was accused of lying when telling the bald, unembellished truth.
“I’ve no intention of provoking my future father-in-law.”
“Your future…what?”
“I’m leaving Wednesday to take the waters at Bath. A week or two of the cure and I’ll come back and stake my claim by making an offer for his daughter.”
“You intend to offer for Libby?” Using her pet name was a rare slip of his tongue that he feared he would live long enough to regret.
“Is that what they call her? Thank God, the name Liberty makes her sound like a revolutionary. Other than that godawful name, she’s perfect for my needs. She’ll birth my heir and a spare and have the estate in Reading to keep her busy for the rest of her days. What more could a woman want?”
“Nothing.” Hiding his smile behind a cough, a wave of déjà vu stopped Kerr’s feet from itching. At nine and twenty, it was logical that his friends’ minds should turn to marriage. It was their choice of spouse that was becoming hilariously coincidental. “Does Ainsworth know why you wanted to speak with me?”
“No. I’ve told no one, and I’m depending on you to keep this under your hat.” Leaning closer, he lowered his voice. “Can I count on your discretion?”
“What, exactly, are you asking me to do?”
“Did I not make myself clear? I’m off to Bath and you are to keep the lady occupied until my return.”
“Occupied?” Convinced that someday he would stand on a table in a crowded pub and relate the events of this evening to loud guffaws, Kerr awaited Gladstone’s answer.
“Discourage other suitors. Occupy all her time, pretend to court her if you must. It’s only for two or three weeks. A clever fellow such as you could certainly charm someone on the household’s staff to share her social calendar.”
“Probably,” he said without shame. “What’s in it for me?”
“Favors, by definition, are a quid pro quo exchange. When you are in need of a favor, come calling and I shall hear you out. Nothing illegal, mind you.”
“Whatever you think of me, Gladstone, I assure you both my feet tread firmly on the lawful side of any event.” Flashing his most charming smile, he brushed aside the passive insult. It was easy not to take offense from a man he no longer respected. “I’d be happy to shadow the young lady. It might be amusing.”
“I knew you’d find it an interesting diversion.” Offering his hand for the gentleman’s agreement, Gladstone smiled as if he’d just made a sure bet on a long-odds horse.
“I’ll start immediately.” Hesitating for a second as a small voice in the back of his mind called for caution, Kerr shook Gladstone’s hand. “Right after I enjoy a glass of liquid refreshment in the form of a very large glass of brandy.”
“I don’t care how you go about your business as long as you keep my interest a secret. After all, I might meet a lonely heiress in Bath and change my mind.”
“Good luck with that,” Kerrigen said to Gladstone’s retreating back. The only heiress who might save his old friend was one rich
in mercury tablets.
Past the trays of delicate biscuits and Vicar’s punch, a knot of gentlemen congregated around a small table set up a few feet from the main refreshments. Queueing up to the party’s offering of brandy punch, he plotted his next move. Gladstone’s idea of obtaining Lady Libby’s calendar of social engagements was sound, but he’d need to be a hell of a lot more charming than usual to obtain it.
“Brandy, Northam? I thought you were a whisky connoisseur.” The statement floated out from the crowd of men, but the voice was familiar. Glass raised to his lips, Kerr swiveled around to identify the speaker.
“Cheers,” Kerr said, stepping away from the table for the next thirsty gentleman to have his turn. Still struggling to put a name to the voice in the crowd, he bided his time by taking another sip of punch that was surely straight brandy with naught but a lemon peel waved over the bowl.
“Pleased to see you back in town. When did you arrive?” Marcus Prescott, Lord Prestwick, raised his glass in salute as he approached. “I trust the trip from Devon was a pleasant one.”
“Arrived just yesterday.” Raising his glass in return, Kerr smiled warmly at his friend. “I’m sure the roads were equally smooth all the way from Manchester.”
“A toast to our third decade before the footman drains the bowl, eh?” Winking mischievously, Lord Prestwick tapped his glass against Kerr’s.
“A long adventurous life to us both, mate. God save us from boredom.” Taking a swig to match his friend’s, the brandy radiated warmth from his throat to his chest. A few more of these and his toes would be tapping in time to the music.
“Speaking of adventure,” Prescott said. “I was going to ask you privately, but since you broached the subject, I require a rather large favor of you.”
“Oh, hell, tell me you’re joking!”
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Acknowledgments
So many, many people have contributed in some way to my writing career that it’s difficult to thank them all on a single page. I appreciate, more than you can know, every kind word from readers, every encouraging word from the writing community, every lesson learned from my writer’s group, and every bit of industry knowledge shared by Romance Writers of America. I will be forever grateful to Entangled Publishing for taking a chance on an unknown author and my amazing editor, Erin Molta, for making sense of my cut-and-paste puzzle of a first draft and molding it into a completed book that I’m so very proud of. You’re all unicorns. You’re all magical in your own way.