The Notorious Nobleman

by Nancy Lawrence

  “You may ask her yourself. I’m not a message boy, Gardner. Now, write the infernal letter.”

  “No.”

  Gavin’s horse minced warningly. “What did you say?”

  “I shall not write a letter to my daughter. Not now; not ever,” Sir Walter replied, stiffly. “My daughter has been dead to me for years, ever since she married that neck-or-nothing, Pettingale!”

  “But she’s not dead. She’s in Sussex, living off the kindness of friends. She hasn’t a pence to call her own.”

  “I did not know that,” murmured Sir Walter with a slight shake of his head. “I had heard Pettingale had died, but she seemed afterward to simply disappear! I had no notion where she had got to.”

  “Nor did you ever try to discover her, I fancy. Julia deserves better from you, Gardner.”

  “She defied me!” countered the baronet. “She shamed me! She should never have eloped with any man, to say nothing of a man of whom I disapproved!”

  “She has paid sorely for the rashness of that one decision. She has nothing, Gardner. Nothing at all. Do you intend that she should continue to pay for your wounded pride for the rest of her life? I would have taken you for a better man than that!”

  Sir Walter looked up and cast a speculative glance Gavin’s direction. “And what, may I ask, is your interest in all of this? What is my daughter’s situation to you?”

  “Nothing. Let us merely say I have a keen dislike of seeing someone left utterly alone in the world.”

  “As you once were,” said Sir Walter with a pointed look. He got up from his chair and slowly crossed the room to where a tray of wines and glasses had been placed on a side table. He poured out two fresh glasses of port and held one out toward Gavin. “Get off that blasted horse, Warminster.”

  After a moment’s consideration, Gavin did just so and led the animal to where Newley and a host of other startled household servants were crammed in the door frame, watching the spectacle of a man on horseback parade about the drawing room of their lord and master. He handed the reins to Newley, saying, “Take him back down to the street. I shall meet you there, presently.”

  With the door shut to afford them privacy, Gavin accepted the proffered glass and found the baronet eyeing him measuringly.

  “Suppose you begin,” said Sir Walter, “by telling me how long you have known my daughter.”

  “Not long. A mere matter of days.”

  “I see. And you’re in love with her, are you?”

  “Not at all,” Gavin said, evenly.

  “I don’t believe you. You are either lying or you have not yet admitted to yourself your feelings for her.”

  “I did not come here to discuss my feelings,” said Gavin, tersely.

  “No, I don’t suppose you did. Let me speak plainly to you, then, for I would not wish you to think I don’t know what it is you’re about. You think to persuade me to recognize her. You think that by doing so, she shall again stand to inherit all that I have, making her once again a wealthy woman.”

  “That is exactly my intent.”

  Sir Walter’s brows went up. “At least you don’t deny it. Your honesty does you credit but it doesn’t change my mind: I shall never recognize any marriage between you and my daughter, Warminster, nor will I ever allow my fortune to fall into your hands.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense, Gardner. I am a wealthy man in my own right; I have no need of your fortune. As for marrying your daughter, the thought has never entered my head.”

  “Is that so? If you aren’t in love with her, then why are you here?”

  Gavin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it just as quickly. He wasn’t certain he could express the reason he behaved as he did. He told himself that he was driven only by a deep desire to see Julia Pettingale happy. He wanted to see the look on her face when she realized her father had been restored to her. He wanted to be there when she discovered that her long and hurtful alienation from her father was over.

  But now that he considered it, he realized he had yet another motive for wanting to see her united with her father: He wanted to remove from her path any incentive for marrying again. From the moment Julia had first told him of her plans to marry, he had wrestled with his feelings. Without knowing why, he had hated the thought of her marrying some respectable yet eminently dull country gentleman. Even less could he like the idea of her dancing in the arms of some respectable villager at a country assembly. It wasn’t until now, under the watchful eye of the baronet, that he realized the reason for those feelings: He was afraid of losing her.

  He recalled quite clearly what it was like to be in love, for he had loved his late wife most dearly; but he also recalled even more vividly what it was like to lose her. He had spent any number of his most recent years behaving recklessly and avoiding at all costs any attachment that might lead to affection. He had no intention of ever again reliving the pain of losing a beloved wife.

  But then he had met Julia Pettingale, and for the first time in years he had felt that tug of attraction that was too strong to be denied. It was beyond his power to admit that he loved her and wanted to marry her himself; but he was very well able to admit that he wished to deter her from marrying another.

  He said, with stunning bluntness, “It so happens, Gardner, that Julia does plan to be wed againBut not to me. She has taken it into her head that she must find and marry some country squire of no doubt high moral standards and infinite respectability. She sees no other way to secure her future.”

  “And that chafes with you, does it?” asked Sir Walter, pointedly. He received no answer to his question and after a thoughtful moment, he said, “Well, I suppose it chafes with me, also.”

  “Then write to her and tell her so.”

  Sir Walter shook his head stubbornly. “She defied me. She was rebellious and willful.”

  “Having met you, I see where she comes by such traits. Now, write the blasted letter, Gardner!”

  Sir Walter sat very thoughtfully for a moment; then, without another word he went to a small writing table where he set his pen to paper. When he stood again a few moments later, he folded that single sheet and, taking a candle from its holder, he dripped a puddle of wax onto the fold and set his signet ring against it.

  Silently he handed the letter to Gavin. “I shall be glad to have my Julia back,” he said at last. “Losing first my wife and then my daughter have been two of the great sorrows of my life. When I think how much time I have wasted!”

  “I am glad to see you come to your senses,” said Gavin.

  “You shouldn’t be,” Sir Walter retorted, “because it’s going to cost you. I trust when you rashly rode that horse of yours into this room you had already considered that you were going to have to find another way home tonight?”

  “I did.”

  “Good, because I intend to have that grey of yours, Warminster. You offered him, and I intend to keep him. That was our bargain, wasn’t it? Well, you have your letter, and now I mean to have that stallion!"

  “I gave you my word,” Gavin replied, stiffly. “I won’t go back on it now.”

  “Tell me, is it your practice to always keep your word?”

  “If I make a promise, I keep it.”

  Sir Walter took his measure a moment. “One day it might come to pass that I shall discover whether you are really as odious and rash as rumor makes you out to be. I rather think not, given your behavior here tonight. There’s one more thing, Warminster, you might be in the way of doing for me, if you’ve a mind to.”

  Gavin inclined his head. “If it is in my power, sir.”

  “I wondered, Warminster,” said the baronet, “if you would be good enough to bring my daughter home to me.”

  Gavin a light leapt to life in the depths of his dark eyes. He raised his glass in salute. “It will be my pleasure, sir. I shall have your daughter home to you within the week. You have my word on it.”

  Julia Pettingale realized that the Duke of Warminster was a
man of his word. He had told her he would not appear at Mrs. Ludhill’s card party and he had not done so, although Julia had spent the better part of the day convincing herself that he would be there. She felt a keen sense of disappointment in the late hours of the evening as the card party was drawing to close and still he had not made an appearance.

  Nor did he appear in the vicarage drawing room the next day, although Julia again hoped to see him. She had even excused herself from paying morning calls in the neighborhood with Harriet and her husband by pleading the headache. Her excuse had fooled neither Harriet nor the vicar. Certainly, she had not fooled herself, for she had neither the headache nor any other malady; she merely wanted to be home in case the Duke should call. Again, though, she was disappointed. The only time the door to the drawing room opened was just before luncheon when Harriet came in to announce that she and the vicar were returned.

  “My dear, Julia,” she said, clasping her friend’s hand, “you do recall what we spoke about yesterday, don’t you? You do realize it is truly best you never see the duke again?”

  “Oh, of course!” said Julia, attempting an air of unconcern. “You were quite right to have warned me off any further association with him!”

  Her words were very sensible, but her heart could not have been more at odds with those rational words. She knew herself to be inexperienced in love; but she didn’t think she had to be the recipient of too many kisses to know when a man was deeply attracted to her. But then she recalled that, aside from a few kisses, the duke had never given her any indication of his feelings; and when she chanced to suppose that a man of his reputation had probably kissed a good many women in his time, and that none of those kisses had led to any greater bond, she was forced to realize that he had probably been flirting with her, and nothing more.

  All the many warnings Harriet and the vicar had uttered concerning the duke and his scandalous behavior came rushing back to Julia in one great sweeping wave. Under the force of such an assault, she found herself wavering. It was so much easier in his absence to believe him capable of the many scandalous deeds and misconducts that rumor laid at his doorstep. She was, she decided, better off having nothing to do with him. She was still telling herself so, and feeling her spirits sink appreciably, when she and the Clousters arrived at the village assembly rooms later that evening.

  A swift glance about the room told Julia that the duke was not in attendance. Her spirits plummeted. She had hoped, quite unreasonably, that he would be there. To find him absent told her how right Harriet had been about him. He was not at all in love with her, she realized, or he would have made some sort of push to see herif not at the card party or in the privacy of the drawing room at the vicarage, then at least in the very innocent surroundings of a village assembly.

  Her enjoyment of the evening fell several notches, but she put a brave face upon her disappointment and followed the Clousters as they made their way about the perimeter of the dance floor toward a clutch of friends and acquaintances.

  Harriet and her husband introduced Julia to a number of people; chief among them was young Mr. Worthing, the very same paragon who Harriet had described a few days before. Harriet’s description had been true: Mr. Worthy was a very pleasing young man and immediate upon his introduction to Julia, he begged the favor of the next dance.

  She accepted and when the music began, she allowed Mr. Worthing to lead her out onto the dance floor. He did his best to engage her, smiled quite sunnily upon her, and complimented her on the grace with which she executed her steps.

  She knew he was striving to please her, but she found herself thinking instead, that the Duke of Warminster had a more charming smile by half; and that she was much more flattered by the attention the duke had shown her than she was by Mr. Worthing’s compliments.

  Still, she smiled and danced with Mr. Worthing, ever mindful of the promise she had made to Harriet that she would have nothing more to do with the duke and that she would instead devote her energies to securing a husband.

  “You should feel very well gratified, my dear Julia,” said Harriet in a lowered voice some time later. “I see Mr. Worthing has not been from your side all evening except for those instances when you were compelled to dance with another. Tell me, my dear: Do you like him? Is he not the very gentleman you described to me as your ideal in a husband?”

  Julia felt herself flush and wished most heartily that she had never confided such things to Harriet. “I wish you would not speak so!” she hissed, urgently.

  “Very well, I shall not tease you! The color in your cheeks tells me all I need know. And it very much appears Mr. Worthing means to fix his interest with you, as well!”

  “Harriet, please! Mr. Worthing has given no indication of any such thing!”

  “There is a way to discover his intentions, you know. If he contrives to find some way to take you a little apart from the crowd,” said Harriet, sagely, “you shall know he means to court you. Mark my words!”

  Her prediction quickly bore itself out. Attracted by the sound of their whispered exchange, Mr. Worthing smiled down upon Julia. “May I offer you a glass of lemonade, ma’am? I should be happy to fetch one for you or, if you’d like to refresh yourself a little, I could simply accompany you to the punch table,” he said, and he offered her his arm.

  Julia knew what was expected of her. She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow and, fully mindful of Harriet’s prophesy, allowed herself to be lead away from the dancing guests to a smaller room where drinks and light refreshments were being served.

  She should have been gladdened by the prospect that she had been singled out to receive the attentions of such a pleasing young man. She should have been gratified to find that the first stage of her plan to remarry and thereby secure her future had been so easily fulfilled. Instead, Julia felt only a deep sense of disappointment. She was being courted by a man of sense and dependability. She would rather have been courted by the Duke of Warminster.

  She forced a smile to her lips and accepted a glass of lemonade from Mr. Worthing. She had taken her first tentative sip when she heard a well-loved voice behind her, saying, “Good evening, Lady Pettingale.”

  She almost choked on her lemonade. She turned quickly to find Gavin standing there, looking quite handsome in evening dress. She set her glass clattering down on the table and said, visibly distracted, “So, you came after all!” She perceived that he was watching her with an odd little smile playing at his lips and felt unaccustomedly flustered. His smile grew as she stammered, “I mean to say, I didn’t know you were in the neighborhoodWhen you didn’t call at the vicarage, I thought you hadNot that I wished you to call, of course!”

  “Perhaps you would be good enough to introduce me to your companion,” he said, mildly.

  “Of course! Duke, this—this is Mr. Worthing!”

  Gavin shook his hand and said, “I believe this dance was promised to me. I shall return Lady Pettingale to you, presently, if she so wishes.”

  He tucked Julia’s suddenly trembling fingers into the crook of his arm and led her back into the assembly room.

  Immediate upon their entrance, Julia found the eyes of the others guests upon them, forcibly bringing to mind all the warnings she had been given concerning the duke. Most notably, she recalled Harriet’s caution that her reputation would sink past redemption if she were to be seen in his company.

  She blurted, urgently, “I do not wish to dance with you, duke!”

  “No? Very well, then. Shall we sit down here, instead?” Still claiming her hand, he led her over to where a pair of chairs were situated apart from the others.

  “I would rather you returned me to Mr. Worthing.”

  “Why? What has heOh, I see how it is!” he said, the light of understanding in his eyes. “He must be the lucky bachelor who has tumbled into your trap.”

  She felt her face color. “Mr. Worthing is a very respectable young man”

  “And you mean to ma
rry him, if you can,” interpolated the duke. “You told me so once. Oh, you didn’t mention him in particular, but some man very much like him. Is he as boring as I promised you he would be?”

  “More so!” she said, honestly.

  His eyes searched her face. “From the way you are behaving, I could think you don’t wish to see me. What is it? What has occurred to make you so wary of me?”

  “Nothing!” she said, unable to meet his eyes.

  “Less than the truth, Julia? That is not like you. Go on, tell me!” he said, compellingly. “Has that friend of yours been sharing with you more tales about me?”

  “No! Well, rather, she has, but nothing worse than any of the other stories I already heard about you!”

  “Then what?” he demanded.

  She cast a nervous glance about the room and saw that their retreat to a secluded corner had not gone unnoticed by the other guests; nor had Harriet and her husband failed to notice their téte-a-téte. They hurried toward Julia and Gavin; a look of distress marred Harriet’s face and an expression of disapproval lined the face of the vicar.

  Julia rose to her feet, determined to fend off their recriminations; but their attentions were not directed at her. Instead, the vicar said, in a low but angry tone, “Warminster! I should have suspected you capable of this kind of behavior!”

  One of Gavin’s dark brows flew challengingly as he, too, got to his feet. “Speaking with a friend is hardly cause for recriminations, Clouster. Where did you learn your party manners?”

  “Never mind my manners! Have a care for your own! You know very well you should not be speaking alone with Julia!”

  “Once again you have flown to the wrong bait, Clouster. Lady Pettingale and I were simply sharing a few words of conversation in a public assembly. What could be more innocent?”

  “You know very well that no young lady’s reputation can weather an acquaintance with you,” said the vicar, as Harriet wrapped a protective arm about Julia’s shoulders. “Unless you have some more honorable intentions toward Julia, I suggest you behave as a gentleman and bow out, Warminster. Well? Are your intentions honorable?”