Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  “I am not surprised by it,” Lord Hampton said, “anybody wishing their hounds in good form must do all of those things.”

  “I suppose so, and while I admire the whole operation exceedingly, I must admit having a particular affection for my own mastiff. He does nothing useful and ought to be in the stables, but I prefer to keep him in the house. I am certain he rather prefers it as well.”

  In an instant, Lord Hampton looked truly interested. “I, too, own a mastiff. His name is Havoc and he spends the majority of his time in my library, gnawing on my books.”

  Cassandra laughed, and it was not a forced laugh. “My own is named Mayhem, May for short. She will happily chew up anything she suspects has any amount of value.”

  “I had been under the impression that most ladies preferred a lap dog,” Lord Hampton said. “My mother has some kind of little dust ball—a Pomeranian, I think.”

  “I find larger breeds have a better temperament,” Cassandra said. “Perhaps because they do not spend all their time worrying about being stepped on. May, when she is not destroying something, is generally ranged out in front of the fire and fast asleep, as comfortable as if she were the master of the house.”

  Lord Hampton nodded. “I do believe the larger breeds are more content with their lot. My mother’s dog is forever yapping at the air.”

  “Yes,” Cassandra said. “I suppose their bark is meant to make up for their lack of size.”

  Suddenly, both seemed to note that they’d had a civil exchange for once and both looked away in embarrassment. Cassandra could not say why in particular she should be embarrassed over it, except for perhaps the meaningful glance coming from Lady Marksworth from the other end of the table.

  They had one further interesting conversation before the dinner ended. Cassandra had mentioned her father’s interest in safety measures for his farm workers. Lord Hampton had commented that his own father routinely ordered sick hands to stay abed, as it had been his observation that one sick hand would lead to all sick hands unless the first to come down with the sickness was separated from the rest. That had led to a conversation on safety practices in general, and Cassandra had noted that nothing could be more prone to accident than the sidesaddle and she’d added a second girth to her own to mitigate the risk of sliding.

  After she’d said it, she worried that she’d wandered dangerously close to the subject of riding without a groom, but the lord did not allude to it. Instead, he had appeared to view it as good sense and had even hinted he might pass the idea on to his sister.

  It occurred to Cassandra that while their conversations were commonplace, his words somehow managed to make Lord Hampton even more attractive than she had originally thought him. When he was engaged in a subject, his features were more lively and his strong jaw softened. When he looked at her with interest, she felt a soft shiver run down her back.

  It was a ludicrous thing to feel a shiver while a man talked of dogs. And it was also a shame he was to be a duke and involved in that ridiculous pact.

  In any case, it appeared the rift between them was mended and for that she was grateful.

  *

  Lord Hampton left the Sedways’ dinner in some internal consternation. That consternation had evolved quite significantly over the course of the evening. At first, he had been confounded to find Miss Knightsbridge in attendance, and then further aggravated that he was to take her into dinner. Despite her looks, and they could slay any man with eyes in his head, he had no wish to hear of anymore of her bizarre habits. He already carried a touch of guilt over Dalton’s plan to dig up gossip, even though he tamped it down by convincing himself she’d earned it.

  But then, she had apologized for her remarks at the Bergrams’. She’d not rescinded them, which he’d thought odd, but she regretted them. He had begun to feel sorry that he’d allowed Dalton to take what the lady had said and attempt to make something of it. It began to feel shabby to cause a lady trouble, no matter how little, in an effort to move the attention away from the gentlemen subjected to the pact.

  That regret only grew the more they spoke. When they’d talked of dogs, there had been a real ease to it, very unlike his usual conversations with a lady. She’d even understood the importance of drains in a kennel, a subject he’d spent months discussing with his father’s master of the hounds.

  And who would have guessed a gentlewoman would prefer a mastiff over a puff of fur meant to be carried round the house like a bad-tempered reticule?

  Then, of course, she’d modified her sidesaddle to make it safer. He would only see the good sense in that and was determined to write his sister about the idea.

  All that, and there was that pretty face to contend with as well.

  Though Lockwood knew he had a weakness for a heart-shaped face, his friend did not know the beginnings of the inclination. When Hampton had been eight years old, he’d fallen hopelessly in love with Jenny, one of the dairy maids on his father’s estate. He’d even thought of how he would convince his father that they ought to marry. He’d hung around the barn when she milked the cows and one day finally worked up the nerve to tell her of his undying love.

  He blushed to think of it now. The girl had laughed as if it were the greatest joke in the world, called him a goose, and told him she planned to marry a young farmer down the road.

  It had taken him months to recover from being thrown over for a farmer, and he never did recover from his attraction to a heart-shaped face. He supposed now that his preference had been there all along and Jenny had only been the first female with such a face who’d crossed his path.

  Hampton reined in his horse, leapt down and handed it over to a groom.

  Here was another such heart-shaped face to cross his path, and far more complicated than Jenny had ever been. Miss Knightsbridge was unusual, that could not be denied. He still could not resign himself to approving of a lady wielding a shotgun. But then, he’d felt far more favorably about a lady knowing something about a well-built kennel. And, of course, she was a lady and not a dairymaid.

  Was that all, though? There was something about her that drew him in despite having no inclination to be drawn in. Each time he had turned to talk to Miss Darlington, half his attention had stayed directed toward Miss Knightsbridge and her conversations with Burke.

  His opinion of her felt in flux. What was not in flux was his determination to see Dalton and call off the scheme to use Miss Knightsbridge as a decoy for the convenience of him and his friends. That, he was now decidedly against.

  *

  Mr. Tuttle had found no difficulty at all in making his way round Guildford and its environs, gathering information for Lord Dalton on a certain Miss Knightsbridge. He’d been managing such clandestine forays for high and mighty gentlemen for two decades and Surrey was very like every other county in England—express interest in its doings and there was no end of folk who wanted to talk about it. Particularly, those on the low end of the stick delighted in talking about those on the high end of the stick.

  It was true that this particular business was not like his usual jobs. He’d been in the habit of tracking down a fellow’s wife, invariably that lady found with some ridiculous paramour or other. Or sometimes, locating a gentleman who’d run out on a debt. He’d even collared a clergyman who’d skipped off with the parsonage’s silver and brought him back to face his accusers. This was different. It had taken him quite some time to understand Lord Dalton’s meaning, but it seemed this lady did not cuckold a husband nor owe anybody a vast sum of money. She was to have broken more delicate rules, like riding her horse without a groom and shooting pheasant.

  He wondered what England was coming to, now that the high and mighty spent their time on such inane matters. Nevertheless, Lord Dalton had said he had reason to believe there was something more seriously amiss about the miss, and Tuttle was to discover it.

  Through his many conversations in various taverns, and the hours of useless information he’d gathered, there had f
inally been a diamond in the ashes. A man down on his luck, having been fired as the master of ceremonies at the Guildford Assembly Hall, had told him a remarkable story. He’d seen with his own eyes a certain Mr. Longmoore in heated conversation with Miss Knightsbridge. From what the man could overhear, the conversation had been of a personal nature. The old sot had even winked and said, “Very personal, if you understand. The lady hit him right in the face.”

  Tuttle did not understand precisely the meaning of what the unemployed master of ceremonies had witnessed, he’d not enough facts to go on, but he’d managed to find Mr. Longmoore and watch the man’s movements carefully. Finally, the gentleman in question had taken himself into the Beef and Boar, and Tuttle had followed him in.

  It was never any great trouble, when one insisted on buying one’s quarry a considerable amount of ale, to become fast friends within an hour. Within two hours, Tuttle had guided the man to the event in question and hinted at a large payment if the information was sufficiently interesting. Eyeing Mr. Longmoore’s rather frayed cuffs, Tuttle guessed any sort of unexpected funds would be most welcome.

  “I only say,” Longmoore said, “well, blasted, you know.”

  Of course, Mr. Tuttle did not know, and was becoming irritated with the gentleman. He’d run into his sort before—a man in the habit of saying a lot of words while saying nothing.

  “Mr. Longmoore,” Tuttle said smoothly, “my patron is very highly placed and has particular reasons for knowing what there is, if anything, against Miss Knightsbridge. He is prepared to pay handsomely for such information. Now, had you any sort of encounter with the lady that might prove interesting?”

  Mr. Longmoore drained his ale and Tuttle signaled the barkeep to bring another. Mr. Longmoore said, “She’s a dashed evil little miss, if you ask me.”

  “I am asking you,” Mr. Tuttle said. “My patron requires specifics, if you please.”

  Mr. Longmoore took a long swig of the ale that had just been placed in front of him. “I have a lot to offer, you know. Steady business and all that. She would have been comfortable, is all I say.”

  “I see,” Mr. Tuttle said, praying to the Gods that they were finally getting somewhere. “May I infer that you proposed to the lady and were declined?”

  The word “declined” seemed to strike Mr. Longmoore as a glove whipped across his cheek.

  “Declined? Me? Declined?” Mr. Longmoore said, pounding his fist on the table. “See here, good fellow, Ignatius Longmoore is never declined.”

  “No, of course not,” Mr. Tuttle said. “May I ask, then, when is the happy day to take place?”

  “Oh, uh, well, as to that…”

  Mr. Tuttle sighed. They were back to saying words with no meaning.

  “The day, Mr. Longmoore. If you please.”

  Tuttle watched with interest as Mr. Longmoore searched his mind for the day. The man finally seemed to find what he was looking for and said, “There will be no day, sir. As it happens, I broke it off. She was all too happy to accept, but I broke it off.”

  “You surprise me, Mr. Longmoore!” Mr. Tuttle said, fairly delighted with this development. “What reason could you have to call off the engagement? It must have been serious, indeed, if the viscount failed to kick up a fuss over the break.”

  Mr. Longmoore seemed rather perplexed by that question.

  “Come now, Mr. Longmoore,” Mr. Tuttle said. “It must have been terrible indeed. Of course, some things are well known, the lady’s habit of riding in an unseemly manner—”

  “She rides to the hunt on a specially-made saddle!” Mr. Longmoore cried. “Everybody knows about that!”

  “And the lady has been known to handle a shotgun,” Mr. Tuttle said.

  “She shoots birds with it!” Mr. Longmoore exclaimed. “Everybody knows about that.”

  “Yes, yes,” Mr. Tuttle said, motioning the barkeep to bring yet another glass of ale. “It seems everybody knows quite a few things about Miss Knightsbridge. What I wonder is, Mr. Longmoore, what is it about the lady that everybody does not know? What terrible thing was revealed that caused you to end the engagement?”

  Mr. Longmoore was silent for some minutes and Tuttle had the idea he was thinking hard. “It was very terrible,” he said, “naturally, I could not overlook it.”

  “Overlook what?”

  Some further minutes passed, Mr. Longmoore gazing over Tuttle’s head as if he admired a far-off vista. Very suddenly, he cried, “She had engaged herself to another! No, two times! There were two other promises made!”

  “Good Lord, Mr. Longmoore,” Tuttle said, working hard to display the right amount of shock, “how did you find it out?”

  Mr. Longmoore stared hard into his glass of ale, as if he’d been told the bad news via that particular libation. He suddenly looked up. “We all arrived at the Viscount’s estate at the same time. Yes, that is how it happened. We met on the drive leading to the house and when we discovered each other’s business, well, you can imagine!”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Tuttle said. “And so, did the other two gentlemen break it off, too?”

  “Oh, yes, they certainly did.”

  “And may I presume that you informed the lady that relations were at an end at a local assembly, thereby leading to the slap on the face?”

  Mr. Longmoore looked as if he would challenge that idea, Tuttle held up his hands. “Dear Mr. Longmoore, there is no use denying that part of the tale—it is too well-known.”

  Seeing he would be forced to own the slap, Mr. Longmoore nodded sadly. “She was that put out about it, sir.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Longmoore. Now, if you will meet me here on the morrow at two o’clock and sign a sworn statement, that would be most convenient.”

  “A sworn statement? Well, I don’t know…”

  “I will bring fifty pounds in consideration, naturally.”

  “Fifty pounds?” Mr. Longmoore said in wonder. “Fifty?”

  “Not a pence less,” Tuttle said, smiling. He did not know if even half of what the blowhard had said was true, but a sworn statement would do for Lord Dalton. He would make his way to the Guildford Arms this very moment to relay the good news to his patron.

  Mr. Tuttle rose and muttered, “Lord Dalton shall be very pleased.”

  Chapter Five

  The following day, Lord Hampton sent a note to Dalton’s house to call off the manufactured rumors against Miss Knightsbridge. He’d waited nearly all the afternoon to hear word back and, when he did not, he made his way to the house.

  He was aware that Lady Marksworth’s house was just across the street and glanced surreptitiously at it as he mounted the steps. The more he’d thought of Dalton’s plan, the more he was bound to stop it.

  They had all been so casual about casting an aspersion on a lady’s reputation! He knew Dalton did not plan to paint her as scandalous. His friend hoped to dig up some other untoward habit of Miss Knightsbridge’s—just enough, taken together with riding out ahead of a groom and a penchant for shotguns, to set tongues wagging. For all he knew, it would be an unnatural understanding of kennels or that she owned an unusually large dog for a lady. It was not the sort of gossip that would ruin her, and yet it was the type that would be endlessly repeated. It was even the type that might cause a few invitations to dry up. There were those formidable ladies in London who would not tolerate a whiff of boldness from a female just out.

  He’d been the architect of it, having allowed his own pique to color his judgment. He had repeated Miss Knightsbridge’s words. To the others, it must be some far-off idea happening to an unknown person. But he! He had encountered the lady twice now, and the second time had been a deal more pleasant than the first.

  He thanked God the occupants of Lady Marksworth’s house could have no way to divine the reason for his visit to Dalton.

  As his thoughts ran this way and that, Dalton’s butler answered the door. Bellamy was as stooped and decrepit as ever. He’d been the old duke’s butler for twenty-five y
ears, until he could no longer keep up with such a great estate. As he’d known Dalton since he had been a boy, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to take him on for Dalton’s London house.

  Dalton said he and his butler had a very convenient arrangement—Dalton gave him twice the footmen he really needed so he might do next to nothing, and Bellamy did not comment on his master’s activities, as he really could not care less about them. Bellamy wished for a comfortable bedchamber, a warm butler’s closet, and a general ease of life. He had all that, and so Dalton might bring home a cadre of actresses of an evening and Bellamy would not look askance.

  “Ah, Lord Hampton,” Bellamy said, clutching the doorknob for support. “Lord Dalton is not at home. Do you wish to come in and refresh yourself?”

  “That depends,” Hampton said. “When is he expected back?”

  “He said the day after tomorrow,” Bellamy said, “but as he’s gone to see his father, he may very well be delayed.”

  Gone to see his father? What for? He’d said nothing about going to Somerset.

  “Do you know if he read my note sent yesterday before he left?”

  “Oh, no, my lord,” Bellamy said. “It is still right here in the hall. If it is vital, I can send it on, but it might very well cross paths.”

  Hampton was thoughtful for a moment. He had no idea why Dalton would have gone to his father so suddenly. Especially at this moment, with the pact hanging over their heads. Though, perhaps it was lucky. Dalton had planned to go to Surrey with the seedy Mr. Tuttle to find something further on Miss Knightsbridge. Apparently, the project had been postponed.

  “Would you see that he is given my letter first thing when he returns?” he said.

  Bellamy nodded and clutched the doorknob ever harder. Hampton thought he’d better not delay the man another minute lest he fall over. He nodded, turned, and jogged down the steps to the waiting groom.

  Hampton thought it was a funny thing to have a butler who could barely stand at the door. It was his own opinion that Dalton really ought to pension the old fellow off rather than go on with such nonsense.