The Bluestocking and the Rake (The Regency Gentlemen Series)

by Darcy, Norma

  He flung away to the window and leaned his shoulders against the wall. “We are good friends…or at least we were until last Wednesday…and I hoped that perhaps she was beginning to feel something for me…but she doesn’t. She manages very well to keep me always at arm’s length. She teases me…actively flirts with me sometimes…and then retreats behind her shell again. She frustrates the hell out of me, she doesn’t believe that I am in earnest and she won’t believe that my intentions are honourable. She’s damnably infuriating―and…and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  Mrs. Weir stared at her brother in amazement. “Well,” she said at last. “That has given me a picture now, to be sure.”

  “So? What’s the verdict?” he asked grimly.

  “You certainly seem…taken…with her.”

  He gave a short laugh as he picked up a small vase and examined it. “Taken…yes, I think you could safely say that I am taken with her.”

  “But Robbie, are you certain? I would hate for you to make a mistake. Do you desire her?”

  “Undoubtedly. I spend far too much time thinking about our wedding night.”

  “But is that all you feel?”

  He went very still; thinking, and then he spoke softly, “I want to protect her. I want to take her troubles off her shoulders. I want to sleep next to her every night for the rest of my life.” He came back to the middle of the room and sat down beside her once more. “What am I to do, Caro?”

  She took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “Have you kissed her?”

  He looked so uncomfortable that his sister was hard put to it to repress a smile. “I’m not really sure that that is relevant―”

  “Of course it is relevant!” she cried. “If you want me to help you then I need to know what has happened…have you kissed her?”

  “Yes,” he admitted reluctantly.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  She rolled her eyes. “How did she react? Did she like it?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know…we had argued and I…I forced the kiss upon her to prove a point. I was angry, jealous too, I suppose, and I let my temper get the better of me.”

  “I see. And did she slap your face?”

  “No.”

  “Ah. So then, did she kiss you back?”

  He cleared his throat.

  She patted his knee. “So, this is good. She is not adverse to you.”

  “Then why has she accepted Peabody?” he demanded.

  Caroline blinked at him. “Mr. Peabody? She’s going to marry that dreadful man of the lavender pantaloons?”

  “The very same,” said his lordship gloomily.

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Quite,” he muttered.

  She thought for a moment, her head on one side and took a deep breath as if coming to an astounding conclusion. “She doesn’t believe that you mean marriage.”

  It was the earl’s turn to roll his eyes. “I know that! I told you only a minute ago that she won’t believe me to be in earnest. Honestly, I don’t know why I bother―”

  “Have you told her?” she asked.

  He stared at her, somewhat taken aback. “Told her what?”

  She laughed. “Heavens, Robbie, of all the numbskulls…that you’re in love with her.”

  He glanced at her, then at his hands and then at the floor but said nothing, lost in his thoughts.

  She squeezed his arm affectionately. “While you debate and hesitate, she is no doubt forming the opinion that you are amusing yourself with a little flirtation while you are in the neighbourhood. She needs to know how you feel.”

  “Will you come to this wretched ball and meet her?” the earl asked.

  “Do you wish me to?”

  “Yes. You may convince Sarah that Miss Blakelow is not a she-devil who has come to emasculate me. Do come, Caro, if only to prevent me from drowning Mr. Peabody in the white soup.”

  * * *

  His lordship left his sister and went immediately to his club where he was hailed by several of his friends who wished to know where the deuce he had been hiding himself for all these weeks. He smiled faintly and refused an invitation to dine, but on finding one of his particular friends, Sir Julius Fawcett seated by the bay window reading a paper, requested the address of the lodgings where one Sir William Blakelow was currently residing. Sir Julius, citing boredom, folded the newspaper and declared that he would come with him.

  It took the earl some time to track his quarry to earth, Mr. Blakelow having spent all the previous night at the card table and much afraid to return to his rooms for fear that creditors would find him there. His losses had been heavy, his consumption of alcohol even heavier and the earl eventually found him sleeping off his excesses under the table at his friend’s lodgings.

  His lordship walked into the room, assessed the situation with one swift look, and stripping off his gloves, kicked the boots of the sleeping man to wake him up. The man groaned and grumbled but did not open his eyes.

  “He’s not very awake, Rob,” commented Sir Julius, following his friend into the room and observing the young man on the floor through his quizzing glass. “Gad, what a waistcoat.”

  Lord Marcham went to the stand, picked up the pitcher of water and emptied it into the face of Mr. Blakelow. Then he calmly laid his gloves upon the table, sat down, crossed his booted ankles and waited.

  William Blakelow surged to his feet in a storm of bluster and foul language. He looked about him as if trying to find his assailant and on spying his lordship, stormed forwards. “You!” he cried. “What are you―? How dare you come in here?”

  His lordship nonchalantly reached across for a towel, picked it off the wash stand and flung it in the face of the young man. “Dry yourself off, Mr. Blakelow. You are dripping water all over Mr. Boyd’s floor.”

  “He’s rather pale, March,” drawled Sir Julius, observing the young man at length through his quizzing glass. “He’s not going to part company with his breakfast is he?”

  “I would be very much surprised if he hasn’t already parted company with it,” replied the earl. “Do sit down, Julius, you are frightening Mr. Blakelow.”

  Sir Julius did as he was told, stretching his extremely long legs out before him. “And how do you know this young puppy? Does he owe you money?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” murmured his lordship.

  “You―what do you mean by coming in here and accosting me in such a manner?” demanded Mr. Blakelow, absently plying the towel to his red and dripping face.

  “I wished to speak to you. You were…ah…indisposed. And that method seemed to be the most effective.”

  “You will meet me for this,” said Mr. Blakelow, lifting his fists menacingly.

  Sir Julius put up his brows. “Good God, is he actually threatening you Rob?” he asked, astounded.

  His lordship smiled faintly. “He seems to have a penchant for violence—against me, anyway.”

  “How very peculiar,” observed his friend.

  “I will have satisfaction,” declared Mr. Blakelow furiously.

  “He wants satisfaction, Rob. Very bad business. And him hardly out of short coats. Not the done thing at all, but if he will force it upon you…”

  “Hush, Julius, you interrupt Mr. Blakelow,” said Lord Marcham softly.

  “Hardly out of short coats?” repeated William, practically exploding with rage.

  “For God’s sake, puppy, calm down,” recommended his lordship. “Do you think I want to fight with you? Take a damper.”

  Mr. William Blakelow was a bullish looking young man with a short, thick neck and a rather stocky physique. He was a shade over medium height and had a rather ruddy countenance and he put his lordship in mind of young Ned Blakelow. His hair was more copper than gold and his eyes a pale blue, but he was unmistakably a Blakelow. He plied the towel to his wet shirt, glaring angrily at his lordly visitor.

  “What do you want?” William demanded belligerently.


  The earl pulled his snuff box from his pocket and flicked open the lid. “Sit down, Blakelow.”

  “I’d rather stand. I don’t take orders from no murderer.”

  “Sit down,” said his lordship softly, taking a pinch of snuff and putting it to his nostril.

  William baulked a little. “You cannot tell me what to do.”

  “On the contrary, while I hold the purse strings I can tell you precisely what to do. Now, are you going to sit down or do I have to resort to more immediate methods?”

  The young man reluctantly drew out a chair and sat down.

  “Thank you,” said his lordship. “I wish to speak to you on a delicate matter. Your sister came to me about two months ago with a preposterous idea. She wanted me to loan her the money to make Thorncote profitable enough again to pay the debts your father owed me.”

  “Eh?” put in Sir Julius, putting up his quizzing glass again.

  “Exactly. That is almost to the letter what I said at the time. Now, while I admire her courage and enterprise, I am, as you may imagine, rather reluctant to invest my blunt into a sinking ship without some…contingencies…put in place.” The earl paused and looked over at the florid young man before him. “You play deep, do you not, Blakelow?”

  William Blakelow flushed. “No deeper than you, my lord.”

  “Ah, but I can afford to pay off any debts I may incur…you, on the other hand, are a little…er…compromised.”

  “I pay my debts, sir,” said the young man through his teeth.

  “That’s not what I heard,” drawled Sir Julius.

  “I do, I tell you!”

  “Of course you do,” said the earl soothingly, “and I would not imply otherwise. But you must see that from my point of view, I do not wish to be—how do I phrase it?—forever filling up a leaking bucket.”

  Mr. Blakelow flushed. “I have an allowance. My debts will be paid come the beginning of the next quarter.”

  “Naturally,” smiled Lord Marcham. “But by then, you will have another handful of debts to pay off. And a few more the next month and a few more the month after that. You will, I am persuaded, understand my concern.”

  “You wish me to retrench?”

  “No, Mr. Blakelow, I wish you to go home.”

  There was a short silence.

  “Go home?”

  “If you wish me to help you set Thorncote back upon the road to recovery, then I need to see evidence that you are willing to put in the work to make it happen. Your sister cannot manage it all on her own.” The earl paused, smoothing the fabric of his pantaloons across one knee. “And besides, she may not always be at Thorncote. She loves the place and wishes to see it restored for your sake. And I want to see you taking responsibility for your own property. I don’t want to see you burdening her any longer with problems that are yours. Is that clear?”

  “What has this got to do with you?”

  His lordship smiled. “Here we get to the delicate aspect of the issue that I mentioned. I wish to have the honour of your sister’s hand in marriage.”

  “What?” cried William.

  “Eh?” said Sir Julius and let his quizzing glass fall.

  “Quite. And as you are head of the family, I feel I should…er…inform you that I intend to pay my addresses.”

  “She’s barely half your age! I will not have it. It’s disgusting.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said the earl softly but with a steely glint in his eye.

  William Blakelow gulped. “She is an innocent and you…you…”

  His lordship raised a brow in silent enquiry.

  “Are…not,” the young man finished lamely.

  Lord Marcham picked up a clock on the table, examined it briefly and then set it down again. “Miss Blakelow is an exceptional woman. Not only does she look after your brothers and sisters, the running of Thorncote and the house, but she is also the most selfless person I have ever met.”

  “Marianne?” demanded William. “She does not know one end of a scythe from the other!”

  “Ah…I think we are talking at cross purposes,” the earl said with a smile. “I wish to marry your eldest sister…Georgiana.”

  William stared at him. “I don’t have a sister called Georgiana.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “I’m sorry?” said his lordship.

  “I don’t have an older sister called Georgiana.”

  “He don’t have an older sister, March,” added Sir Julius, helpfully.

  His lordship suddenly felt that the carpet appeared to have moved of its own volition under his feet. He sat up in his chair, looking at the younger man intently. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I have an aunt called Georgiana. She lives at Thorncote. But I doubt you wish to marry her, my lord. You can give her twenty years.”

  There was another silence.

  Lord Marcham regarded William fixedly. “Georgiana Blakelow is nine and twenty, tall with dark hair and green eyes. She is bookish and wears thick spectacles. Now tell me you don’t know her.”

  William blinked at him. “I have three sisters: Marianne, Kitty and Lizzy.”

  The earl got up and began to pace about the room. “What the devil―?” he began and then broke off suddenly, whirling around to face his prospective brother-in-law. “When was the last time you were at Thorncote?”

  “I was there for Christmas, my lord.”

  “The Christmas just gone?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And you have never seen such a young woman as I have described?”

  “Georgiana Blakelow is, as you say, a rather bookish and damnably prudish lady who loves moralising at the dissolute young men in the neighbourhood and writing pamphlets…and making my life miserable. She is in her sixtieth year and spends a great deal of time dispensing health remedies to those unfortunate enough to get stuck with her.”

  Lord Marcham ran a hand over his jaw. “When did your mother die? Forgive the question, but I must know.”

  William shrugged. “Lord, years ago. Why?”

  “And what was her maiden name?”

  “Oh, lord, I don’t know. Bray or Gray or something.”

  The earl thought for a moment. The name rang no bells. He looked at Sir Julius who shrugged; he did not recognise the name either. “And she had six children?”

  “Yes. She died giving birth to the Jack. Look, what is this? Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  “Was your father married before?”

  “No, my lord.”

  The earl swore under his breath.

  Mr. Blakelow stood up. “Will that be all, my lord? I have an appointment to view a horse at one and I need to get home to change. I say, that is a natty waistcoat you are wearing, who made it for you?”

  Lord Marcham was not listening. He was staring out of the window, a frown like a furrow between his brows. “Your father…forgive the question…had no illegitimate children?”

  “How should I know?”

  “No wards or other dependents?”

  William picked up his coat and began to put it on, shrugging it over his shoulders. “He had a step-daughter.”

  The earl turned around. “What was her name?”

  “Lord, I don’t remember. She lives abroad. Haven’t seen her for years.”

  “Your father married again?”

  “Yes, after my mother died, although briefly. But the lady was not in the best of health and she died not three years from their wedding. Can I go now?”

  “And you don’t remember the lady’s maiden name?”

  William rolled his eyes. “How should I? I was hardly eleven years old at the time.”

  His lordship sighed impatiently. “Do you have other relatives in London?”

  “No, my lord. Can I go now?”

  Lord Marcham nodded absently and picked up his gloves from the table. “Let us go, Julius,” he said.

  “With the greatest pleasure on earth,” responded his frie
nd.

  Mr. Blakelow took himself off without as much as a thank you to his host. A footstep sounded in the hall and the earl looked up to see Mr. Boyd loitering in the doorway in such a way as to make his lordship suspect that he had been listening at the door to at least the latter part of their conversation.

  “Apologies for the intrusion, Mr. Boyd,” said his lordship, pulling on one of his gloves. “And apologies for that young man’s less than beautiful manners.”

  Mr. Boyd smiled. “Not at all, my lord. Did you find out what you wanted to know?”

  “In the usual way of things, my enquiries have raised more questions than they have answered. Is Blakelow a good friend of yours?”

  “An acquaintance. He has the ability to land himself in a scrape in the time it would take you to tie that neckcloth.”

  Lord Marcham smiled faintly as he drew on his other glove. “Taken him under your wing, have you?”

  “All young men need a little guidance.”

  “To be sure.”

  Mr. Boyd clasped his hands behind his back. “I think we both want the same thing, my lord.”

  “Indeed?” enquired the earl softly, “and what is that?”

  Mr. Boyd smiled again and his cold eyes gleamed. “To find Miss Sophie Ashton.”

  His lordship smiled. “I see that we begin to understand one another.”

  “I work for a gentleman who has entrusted me with a task to find that young woman. A woman who vanished off the face of the earth. A woman who has been invisible for ten years. And I believe we are very close now, my lord, very close indeed.”