Sons of the Marquess Collection

by Mary Kingswood

“Daker.”

  “Marford.”

  “You are not going to this rout at Kingsley House either?” Reggie said amiably, ignoring Daker’s over-familiar use of his name.

  “Not invited,” Daker said curtly. “Not one of the charmed circle.”

  “You are not missing anything,” Reggie said. “Dreadful squeeze, always, and not even any dancing to liven things up. Is the play good tonight?” He gestured towards the faro table. “Shall we join them?”

  Daker hesitated. “There’s a lot of money changing hands, if that’s what you mean. Mostly towards the bank. Makes me wonder if the box is rigged.”

  “This is one of my brother’s haunts, and he never plays anywhere that rigs the games, so I would say not,” Reggie said. “I can see they are playing high, though — too high for me. Would you like a game of something quieter, for guineas, perhaps? Piquet or vingt-et-un, perhaps?”

  “With you?” Daker said, turning to look at Reggie fully for the first time.

  “Why not? Oh, perhaps you think I play as well as Humphrey? You may disabuse yourself of the notion at once, for I cheerfully lose to everyone. I should be happy to lose to you as well, Captain.”

  Now, while this was quite true as far as it went, Reggie was far from inadequate at the game. Although he had not his brother’s extraordinary skill, he had watched Humphrey play many times, and learnt from him the art of winning or losing, as he pleased. And it pleased him now to lose to Captain Daker, and perhaps relieve him of some of the debts now besetting him. It was an expensive business moving in the seas of London society, even the shallow waters where the Captain Dakers of the world were admitted, and easy enough to run up a few debts without realising quite what one was about.

  They found an unoccupied table in a quiet corner, and began a game of piquet, at first for crowns and then, as Daker began to win steadily, for guineas and tens of pounds. It was hard work, for Daker was not a good player and sometimes played so ill that Reggie could not help but win. And then Daker smirked whenever he won a trick, which was excessively irritating. Still, in an hour or a little less, Reggie had contrived to put two hundred pounds into Daker’s hands, and he could only hope it would be used wisely, and not gambled away again as quickly as it had been won.

  “Time for me to call it a night,” Reggie said, throwing down his last card in feigned disgust. “You have the better of me, Daker. Thank you for the game. It has been a pleasure.”

  “Oh, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” Daker said, grinning, as he scooped his pile of winnings into a purse. “I shall celebrate with some champagne, I think.” And with a slight bow, he disappeared towards the faro room.

  “Well, that was rude,” said a familiar voice. “He should at least have offered you some of the champagne, since you have paid for it.”

  Reggie looked up from the card table to see his brother’s smiling face beaming down at him. Behind him, quite a crowd had gathered, which now began to drift away.

  “Humphrey!” Reggie cried. “I came here in the hope of finding you. Where have you been?”

  “Kingsley House. Wildly boring, you were quite right to miss it. But whatever are you doing pouring money into that wastrel’s lap? Oh — I suppose it was a charitable exercise. Never mind, your charity has won me a pony.”

  “You were betting I would lose?” Reggie said, shocked.

  “Not at all,” Humphrey said, laughing. “No, there was some debate as to whether the two of you would come to blows before the night was out. Or rapiers at dawn, perhaps. Money changed hands on the outcome. Of course, swords are not your forte, not when you are liable to skewer your own foot.”

  “I only did that once. Besides, I should hardly like to face Daker with pistols, either,” Reggie said with feeling. “These military men are the very devil with weapons. I cannot believe my own brother was betting I would be drawn into a duel. You know perfectly well that I am not the duelling type. I never do anything outrageous enough to provoke a man to demand satisfaction. You are confusing me with Gil.”

  “Oh, I know that! My blunt was entirely the other way. But what are you doing, being affable with Daker? His reputation was never high, and it has not improved in recent weeks. He has been scattering his vowels all over town, anywhere that will have him, that is, and not paying any of them. He is awaiting funds from his uncle, he tells everyone. Very bad form, not paying gaming debts.”

  “I hope my two hundred will help a little, and perhaps if I am seen playing with him, it will be understood that he is not so unworthy as may be supposed. Indeed, I hope you would also extend the hand of friendship to him, Humphrey, for my sake.”

  “You want me to lose to him at the table? I have my reputation to consider.”

  “No, no, not if you dislike it. But perhaps you might buy up some of his vowels, if you have the opportunity. That would relieve some of his financial worries, until… And I do believe he is trying to keep away from the high play now. He has learnt his lesson, I am certain of it.”

  “Reggie,” Humphrey said, wrapping a large arm around his brother’s shoulders, “you are ever the optimist. Once a man gets into that sort of downward spiral, he rarely gets out of it before he hits the bottom. If he is lucky, Miss Chamberlain’s fortune will give him the time to think better of his mistakes before he loses every last farthing of it.”

  “Good God, Humphrey! Surely her calming influence will prevent such excesses?”

  “Well… perhaps.” Humphrey gave him a long look. “Let us go and find some brandy.”

  Reggie’s heart sank. “Is this going to be very bad, Humphrey? You have that look on your face that tells me this is going to be bad.”

  Humphrey sat him down in a wing chair and summoned a footman to bring them brandy. “Now, Reggie, let us talk seriously.”

  “I have already been raked over the coals by Connie,” Reggie said gloomily.

  His brother laughed. “I shall not rake you over the coals, but you need to know what is being said. There are all sorts of rumours flying just now.”

  “About Daker? I know all about those.”

  “Not about Daker,” Humphrey said firmly. “He had some trouble in the north two years ago, but that is in the past, and he has some debts now, but that does not signify if he marries Miss Chamberlain. But that raises the interesting question — why has the matter not been settled? What is the difficulty? And so people begin to speculate. They wonder, for instance, if it is the lady who is prevaricating, perhaps wavering between the two of you. The son of a marquess or a captain of the militia? The one who is received everywhere or the nobody? One can imagine that a lady may be rather torn. And then there is the strange sight of the lady in tears at her own ball.”

  Reggie started. “Is that being talked of? Great heaven!”

  “Everything is talked of,” Humphrey said calmly. “The speculation there is that you already have an understanding with her, she wishes to cry off but you, heartless creature that you are and with your eyes firmly set on her fortune, will not release her.”

  “As if I would ever be so cruel!” Reggie protested.

  “Naturally, no one who knows you believes such a thing. But then, why was she crying? Over Daker? Have you, perhaps, duelled with him and driven him away? Are you blackmailing him to stay away from the lady? Or have you done something to the lady herself to cause her such distress?” Reggie gave an exclamation of disgust. “Exactly so. But here is the latest, whispered in my ear at Kingsley House not an hour since — that Daker has compromised the lady’s reputation, she came to you for help and you refused her. That would make any lady cry, do you not think?”

  Reggie sprang to his feet. “This is intolerable! I will not have Miss Chamberlain’s name besmirched in this way! Such wickedness! Such lies!”

  “You cannot stop people from talking,” Humphrey said seriously. “And that particular rumour has at least a tiny grain of truth, for that is exactly what Daker was run out of the Hussars for, when the young lad
y’s father refused to let him get away with it.”

  “You do not think—? No, of course not. But Humph, this is dreadful, and the talk will not stop until Miss Chamberlain is betrothed.”

  “Or until it is clear that she will be, in time,” Humphrey said. “Until there is only one candidate left.”

  “Oh.” Reggie understood him. “My presence here is making things worse, you mean?”

  “So long as there are two of you, and no decision from the lady, the idle gossips will wonder at it.”

  Reggie sighed. “I cannot allow Miss Chamberlain’s reputation to be damaged if I have any means within my power to prevent it. The time has come for me to leave town.”

  But his heart ached at the prospect. Once he left he would never see Robinia again. How could he bear it?

  16: Visits

  Robinia’s season in London was not going at all as she had expected. It had seemed such a straightforward matter when she and her captain had planned it. They had met in York not long after she had come into her inheritance. She had been staying with a friend who was also in mourning so that they might be company from each other while they were out of society. Even though they had accepted no engagements, there were calls made on them, and they went to quiet dinners with acquaintances of Robinia’s friend.

  It was at one such dinner that she had been introduced to Captain Daker, newly in the militia. She had not truly believed in love at first sight before that moment, but so it had been, for both of them. He called on her the next day, and every day thereafter, and there were walks about the town and any number of opportunities for two young people to meet and come to an understanding. Naturally, being still in mourning for her uncle, she could not agree to an engagement then. Nor could she like the timing, for there would be those who condemned Captain Daker as a fortune hunter. She knew him to be no such thing, for he had not the least idea of her having a fortune. He had been mortified at the discovery, and at once wished to withdraw, but of course she could not bear the thought of it. So they had devised this scheme — he would come to London and woo her slowly, and then follow her home and present himself to her father.

  She had not guessed, however, that he would have so much difficulty moving in society. In York he had been invited everywhere, but in London it was not so, and once the season was fully underway and all the great families in residence, her diary was filled with cards for any number of spectacular balls and routs to which her love was not invited, and it would have been foolish in the extreme to refuse such opportunities. Her first season had not been so grand! Lady Cotter’s circle of acquaintances was rather small and undistinguished, but now Lady Carrbridge had drawn Robinia into the first circle of the ton. Had she been so inclined, she could have chosen a husband from a duke’s son, two viscounts, a baron, a baronet and any number of distinguished but untitled gentlemen.

  Or Lord Reginald, but she did not want to remember him, bound as he was with the inextricable memory of her own abominable behaviour on that night. She was relieved he was gone, naturally, for his presence was an oppressive reminder of the reason why Lord and Lady Carrbridge had taken her under their wing. Not that she had heard one word of reproach from them. Indeed, Lady Carrbridge had been kindness itself.

  “You must follow your heart,” she had said at once, when Robinia had tentatively offered an apology. “Nothing is more fatal than to marry from obligation, I am persuaded. It would have been delightful for all of us if you had chosen Reggie, but you must think no more of it. Your father will expect you to be sensible, but he will also understand that you must love your husband as well as respect him.”

  It was Lady Carrbridge who had told her of Lord Reginald’s departure. She had called so early one morning that neither Robinia nor her godmother were dressed, indeed Lady Cotter was still abed and thrown into a whirlwind of distress at the thought of keeping so distinguished a visitor waiting. Robinia had completed her toilet without delay and gone to meet the marchioness.

  “I am come to give you a message from Reggie,” Lady Carrbridge said after the civilities had been attended to. “He left town at first light and has no plans to return, but I am instructed to explain his reasons to you and to assure you that you need not be troubled by his presence again.”

  “Oh, I did not mean—” Robinia began, before realising that in fact it was exactly what she had meant. And he had taken her at her word and gone away. She did not need his reasons explained, but she was curious as to what he had told the marchioness. “His reasons?”

  “He said that— Oh, but I cannot do better than to let you read his letter. Here. There is nothing… of a private nature.”

  Robinia took the proffered paper and unfolded it. The page was covered with neat script, a strong, masculine hand, with no corrections or blots.

  ‘My dear Connie, I find I cannot stay in town any longer. Miss C is being too much talked of in the clubs, and I would not for the world be the means of increasing such gossip. Do go to her as soon as may be, and tell her that I will trouble her no more, and express to her my deepest regret that I have ever caused her distress. You will know all that is proper to say, Connie dear, everything that I am unable to say to her myself. You will find some excuse for my absence, I am sure. I have written to Lady H, Lady T-C and Mrs B to apologise in abject terms for my failure to meet my commitments to dance with their daughters, and Lord R, whose youngest daughter has been waiting so patiently to be driven in my curricle. Tell her I will be sure to take her next year, if she be not married by then. I hope I have not forgotten any other such engagements! Pray give Miss C my very best wishes for her future happiness, and I hope she enjoys her first visit to Vauxhall Gardens. Regards, Reggie.’

  “Am I being talked of in the clubs?” Robinia said. “That is very bad, is it not?”

  Lady Carrbridge laughed. “It is entirely normal. Gentlemen love to make wagers, and when nothing else offers, they will wager on who a young lady may choose to marry. It is a great compliment, Robinia, for you may be sure that no one bets on the marital prospects of Miss Smith of Nowhere in Particular. You, on the other hand, are much admired and therefore there is a great deal of speculation.”

  “It is my fortune which is much admired,” she said bitterly. “Is it not so?”

  “Your fortune enhances your other attractions, that is all. A gentleman may look at you and see everything that is desirable in a wife — beauty, accomplishments, quickness of mind, elegance and an ease in society. All this and a fortune.”

  “But a gentleman who ignored me two years ago, yet now sees me as a prize to be won is no more than a fortune hunter! I am exactly as I was before, except for the fortune.”

  “Robinia, dear, you understand how it works. Love is not the only measure of a satisfactory match. There is also parity of rank to consider, and your fortune allows you to look a little higher than before, and makes you acceptable to families who would otherwise restrict themselves to other members of the aristocracy.”

  “The marriage mart!”

  “But it need not be a soulless transaction — a title bought for money, as it were. There is still room for love, even amongst the upper echelons of society. For this one year, Robinia, you are the shining star of the season and may have your pick of the eligible gentlemen of the ton. Use your time wisely and choose well, with both your head and your heart, and mindful of your father’s hopes and expectations for you, and your course will be set fair for the rest of your life.”

  “I know that very well,” Robinia said hotly. “You need not remind me! I am sorry if you are disappointed about Lord Reginald, but I shall choose my husband for myself!”

  “Of course you will, dear,” Lady Carrbridge said, standing and smoothing down her skirts. “As you must — as we all must. I did not mean to lecture you — forgive me. You are the best judge of what sort of man will bring you the happiness you deserve. I do not blame you in the least for turning Reggie down. After all, I did the same myself, once. I am only
disappointed on his behalf, because he is so much in love with you.”

  That reminded Robinia of the look she had seen in Reggie’s eyes that last evening, when he had spoken openly of the difficulty of hiding his feelings for her in public. It was a glimpse behind the public facade, and she had been shaken by it. She had never suspected him of any depth of feeling. Even when he had made his declaration and spoken of love, it had seemed to her that it was merely a form of words, something a man was expected to say when he proposed marriage to a lady. Yet perhaps he truly did love her.

  How she regretted her behaviour that evening! She had made a spectacle of herself in waiting for Captain Daker to appear and refusing to dance with anyone else, and then she had been unspeakably rude to Reggie without the least provocation. Had he not always treated her with the utmost courtesy and respect? And she had repaid him with insults, and sent him away. It was unforgivable of her, quite beyond the pale. However had she come to forget herself so far? It was not the behaviour of a lady, and she was deeply ashamed, especially when she compared herself with Reggie’s perfectly gentlemanlike manner. And if he really loved her, how deeply she must have pained him! Did he love her? Was it possible that she had mistaken him? Surely Lady Carrbridge knew better than anyone, and if she said it was true, then it must be so, and her reproaches were well justified. Poor Reggie!

  Robinia soon found that Lady Carrbridge’s hints were subtle and delicate beside Lady Cotter’s heavy-handed remonstrances.

  “This Captain Daker simply will not do!” she declared robustly. “He is very personable but he is an outright fortune hunter, child. He has no money and no connections, nothing to offer you except himself. You must give over any idea of him altogether. What about Lord Milford? Such a pleasant man, and a viscount, you know.”

  “He has a squint,” Robinia said.

  “Has he? I had not noticed, I am sure. The Marquess of Ramsey, now — heir to a dukedom! My dear Robinia, can you imagine a more glorious prospect? You would be a duchess!”