“Ladies, forgive me,” he said abruptly as the conversation turned to upcoming social events and Lady Langford began to coyly feel him out as to which ones he meant to attend. “But my cousin and I have business that we cannot put off any longer despite the lure of such scintillating company. Pray excuse us.”
Amid a cacophony of disappointed good-byes, and so many twittering urges that he be sure to do one thing or another that Hugh quite lost track of what he promised to whom, he managed to escape, hooking a friendly-looking hand in David’s arm in the process and thus compelling his cousin to accompany him to his study.
“The matchmaking mamas are hot on your trail already, I see. Oh, what it must be to be young, rich, and a duke.” David threw himself into the leather chair in front of the desk as Hugh closed the study door behind them. The room was not large, but it was one of Hugh’s favorites, with wood-paneled walls lined with shelf after shelf of books and an immense Italian marble fireplace in which a small fire presently burned to ward off the creeping evening chill.
“There are undoubtedly worse things.” Hugh moved toward the vast mahogany desk that had been his father’s and his father’s father’s before him, back countless generations.
“Will we see you setting up your nursery soon?” David’s voice was light, but there was a glint in his eyes that told Hugh how closely the matter rankled.
“Worried about being cut out, are you?” Hugh responded dryly, sitting down behind the desk. “When I have plans to supplant you as my heir, I’ll let you know.” He offered David a cigar from the box on his desk. When David declined, he lit up himself, and leaned back in his chair, eyeing his cousin a trifle grimly. “You’ve been drawing the bustle with a vengeance while I’ve been away, I understand.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” As it had always been his wont to do when the conversation took a turn he didn’t like, David’s expression turned sulky.
“I think you do. Since gaining your majority, you’ve frittered away practically every pound of the not inconsiderable fortune your father left you, and in the nearly two years since your marriage you’ve managed to squander the entirety of your wife’s dowry as well. All that is left to you is a trust fund set up so that the principal is untouchable, which provides you with a small income, and Labington, which came to you free and clear and is now mortgaged to the hilt. You are, to be blunt, quite rolled up. None of which would be my concern—your finances are your own, after all—were it not for the fact that six months ago my man of business began receiving bills for various repairs and services associated with the upkeep of my properties—the ones that your mother and you have occupied with my goodwill and at my expense—that were easily three times what they should have been. He and I went over them this afternoon. You’ve been padding expenses and pocketing the difference, haven’t you?”
David, who’d been sprawling in his chair when Hugh started talking, did not change position. But his mouth contorted into a the slightest of sneers, and his eyes took on a sullen gleam. “What possible difference could a few paltry bills of mine make to you? You’re rich as bloody Croesus.”
“However rich I may or may not be, what is mine is mine. I have a constitutional dislike of being cheated. Even less do I relish being robbed.” Hugh’s voice was hard.
“What would you have had me do, oh mighty cousin?” David sat up and gave Hugh a look that brimmed with bitter mockery. “As you say, I am under the hatches. But, though my funds have unfortunately fallen victim to a series of unfortunate events, I still have to live. I still have a wife to support, too, in case you haven’t noticed, and as you can no doubt tell from looking at her, her upkeep is a considerable expense. The outlay required for her gowns and gewgaws and fripperies is truly staggering, believe me. As your heir, I would have applied to you for relief if you had been in England. As you were not, knowing your generous nature and the fondness you bear me, I assumed you would not object to making me a small loan.”
“You assumed wrong. And we’ll leave your wife out of this, if you please. I’m quite well aware that you are a hardened gamester, and have lost it all at play. I tell you to your head—and I mean to say this only once, so take heed of it—that I will not support such folly. For the sake of your mother, and your wife, this time I will not throw you out on your ear to fend for yourself. I’ll even pay the debts you have accumulated to this point, and will contribute enough to your income to allow you to maintain yourself and your family in tolerable style. But if I get wind of any more gaming, or if you again attempt to fleece me in any way, my patience will be at an end, my subsidizing of your expenditures will stop, and you may go to the devil with my goodwill. Do I make myself clear?”
Their gazes met and held. There was anger in David’s expression, and resentment too. Hugh recognized that his cousin, never counted as a friend, might well have become his enemy instead. Had it not been for Claire, and Lady George, who was after all innocent of any wrongdoing save being David’s mother, he would have turned his cousin out of doors forthwith. But for their sakes, he did not.
“Very clear, cousin.” David stood up, thrusting one hand in his pocket and twirling his eyeglass on its ribbon with the other. “Having just been raked over the coals like an errant schoolboy, I feel it incumbent on me to beg to be excused before I dare to remove myself from your august presence.”
“As long as you believe that I mean what I say, you may go about your business with my goodwill.” As tempting as it was to lose his temper with David, Hugh managed to refrain. He dismissed the younger man with a curt nod, then watched with a slowly knitting brow as his cousin sauntered with insolent grace from the room.
After David was gone, Hugh finished his cigar, leaning back in his chair, and thoughtfully pondered the smoke that swirled above his head. A suspicion had entered his mind, and the more he considered it the more solid it became.
Had David, in some kind of convoluted scheme to make money, arranged for the attack on Claire’s carriage? Perhaps hoping to collect a ransom for her safe return? Or, perhaps, hoping for something worse?
He meant to make it his business to find out.
27
“Claire, there, look! You see! It is Cousin Hugh, just as I said.” Seated in the family laundau with Claire and Twindle, Beth practically broke her neck to get a final glimpse as a shiny black curricle traveling in the opposite direction along Piccadilly shot past them at a spanking pace, its driver doing a deft job of weaving in and out among the slower-moving traffic that clogged the street. It was a bright sunny morning some three weeks after Beth’s ball, and the ladies were returning home from a successful shopping expedition in Bond Street. “Oh, my, isn’t he looking slap up to the mark? And did you see the lady he has with him? Who can she be, I wonder?”
Seated beside Beth in the open carriage, Claire nearly choked at Beth’s naive question. She had indeed seen the “lady” her sister referred to as soon as Beth had pointed out Hugh’s equipage barreling toward them through the crush of vehicles crowding the road. Frozen into place, doing her best to keep her face absolutely expressionless in case he should glance their way, she was powerless to prevent Beth’s cheery waves at the approaching carriage. Fortunately Hugh either had not observed or had been gentlemanly enough to choose not to acknowledge Beth’s signals. Despite the brief nature of the encounter, Claire had seen enough to have the female’s image burned into her brain: guinea-gold curls bouncing around a flawless face tilted up to laugh at some remark of Hugh’s; a smooth white neck and ample bosom swelling lushly above a gown of sky-blue silk that was more than a little daring for daytime wear; ropes of pearls and colored stones around her neck that glinted in the sunshine; an enormous hat with a curling brim and a trio of quivering ostrich plumes so large they brushed her shoulders with each sway of the carriage. No lady of Claire’s acquaintance would have dreamed of stepping out in public thus attired. Indeed, Claire knew what such a costume portended: the type of female that Hugh
would never introduce to Beth—or herself. In short, the lady was no lady. Hugh had clearly decided to console himself with a tart.
The knowledge hit Claire with all the force of a body blow.
“He is so handsome, Claire, don’t you think, and most agreeable too. I declare, I am of half a mind to set my cap at him. I would make a capital duchess, and should quite enjoy being top of the trees.”
“Miss Beth, that I should live to listen to such vulgarity from the mouth of a young lady I helped raise!” Twindle shook her head despairingly. Seated opposite the pair of them, the older woman, looking neat as a pin in a soft gray gown with matching bonnet, fixed Beth with a reproving stare. “You will never win a husband of any rank do you not learn to keep a guard on that unruly tongue, and so I warn you.”
“Indeed, Beth, Richmond is far too old for you,” Claire said.
“Why, I would not have thought him much above thirty.” Beth frowned, her expression thoughtful as she settled her newly purchased Norwich shawl more closely about her shoulders. Made of heavy white silk with a long, knotted fringe, the wrap was just the thing for a young lady in her first Season, they had all agreed. Admiring its effect when paired with her gown of primrose-sprigged muslin, she had elected to wear it rather than have it sent with the rest of the morning’s purchases.
“He is thirty-one.” Doing her best not to dwell on what she had just seen, and enjoying scant success in the endeavor, Claire answered absently, then realized that she was, perhaps, revealing too much knowledge of her cousin by marriage.
“That is not so old. It’s no older than Shrewsbury, whom you described just last night as a very eligible match.” Beth gave Claire an indignant look. “Indeed, I think you must be quite smitten with Cousin Hugh yourself. You poker up amazingly whenever he comes into a room, and I don’t think I have heard you say more than a pair of sentences to him since we first made his acquaintance. Plus he is always looking at you—which is not wonderful, of course, gentlemen always look at you—but the thing of it is, usually you never look back. With Richmond, sometimes, when he isn’t looking, you do. Tell the truth, Claire: You have developed a tendre for our new cousin, haven’t you?”
Though Beth was teasing, Claire felt her throat tighten with alarm. Her sister, who knew her very well indeed, might pick up on subtle clues others would miss, but what Beth could divine could eventually become clear to someone else as well. The thought of David, or Lady George, making such an observation made her palms turn clammy with panic. Had she really done such a poor job of hiding how she felt? She had been so careful, in Hugh’s presence or out of it, to reveal no reaction to him at all.
“Are you forgetting that I’m married?” Claire said as lightly as she could. “I no longer develop tendres for gentlemen, I’ll have you know.”
“I would, if I were married to your David,” Beth replied, her gaze frank. “I am sorry if this wounds you, Claire, but he does not treat you as he should, you know. He may be handsome on the outside, but on the inside he’s a worm. I heard him tell you this morning that your new chip-straw bonnet makes you look like a hag, and quite aside from the fact that he has no business saying such a thing to you even if it were true, it isn’t! It becomes you most wonderfully, and it is my opinion that he only said it to make you feel bad. Yes, and I notice that you went and took it off, and are now wearing another hat entirely. It is too bad of him, Claire, and so I mean to tell him at the next opportunity, too.”
“Beth, no!” The possibility of her outspoken little sister tackling David on her behalf made Claire feel almost light-headed. The exchange, which had taken place in the hall as Claire had prepared to go out after breakfast and encountered David, obviously just on his way in from the previous night’s revelries, had taken place exactly as Beth had described. And in its aftermath she had, indeed, changed her hat for the high-poke bonnet that now adorned her head. With its dark green ribbons, it was quite a good match for her pale green frock, after all, so making the switch had entailed no great sacrifice. She had not realized that Beth had overheard what David had said. Embarrassment joined with anxiety to bring color rushing to her cheeks. “Indeed, Beth, I pray you will not! David has been somewhat—somewhat out of sorts lately, it’s true, but I don’t regard it, I assure you. He—we—will come about.”
“You may put a brave face on it if you choose, but I am not such a flat that I don’t know when you’re unhappy, Claire.” Beth’s expression was earnest. “If you don’t wish me to speak to David, perhaps Gabby, or, better yet, Nick. . . .”
“No!” Claire shook her head violently. “No, do you hear me? If David and I are on the outs—all right, David and I are on the outs—we must arrive at a solution ourselves. Oh, Beth, let’s just get through this Season, shall we? Things are going so splendidly for you.”
“But I wish things to go splendidly for you, too,” Beth said, her tone gentling, and reached for Claire’s hand. Her blue eyes were dark with concern. “And I don’t think they are.”
“Miss Beth, you quit badgering your sister right this very minute!” Twindle broke in, sounding far fiercer than was her wont. Her gaze moved to Claire, and her tone softened. “Miss Claire, you won’t wish to cry on a public street.”
“But, Twindle . . .” Beth began hotly. Claire squeezed Beth’s hand, silencing her, then released it, laughing a little even as she blinked back the tears that threatened, called forth by this unexpected evidence of her little sister’s care for her.
“Beth, dear, see what you’ve done? Your championship has very nearly moved me to tears! I won’t wither away because David is rude about my new bonnet, you know, so please don’t worry your head about me. I’m fine, I promise.”
“So you say,” Beth replied skeptically, but in response to a look from Twindle she clamped her lips together and said no more. The three rode the rest of the way in a deepening silence broken only by the sound of the horses’ hooves clicking and the wheels rattling over the cobbled street as the carriage left the bustle of the busier boulevards behind to turn onto the lightly traveled environs of Park Lane. Located right next to Hyde Park, Park Lane was the most exclusive address in London. The houses were huge edifices of brick and stone, four stories tall, with stone steps leading up from the street and rows of leaded windows that sparkled in the sun. As it was relatively early in the day, only a housemaid with a basket over her arm clearly bent on an errand, two children hurrying with their hapless nursemaid in tow toward the park, and a street sweeper busy at that moment right in front of Richmond House were in evidence as they approached. The street sweeper stood aside, tugging at his forelock as the carriage rocked to a halt in front of the house.
“Beth,” Claire said in a carefully neutral voice as the door was opened and the steps let down. “I should not mention to Richmond that we spotted him today if I were you. The female with him was not a lady, I assure you.”
“Do you mean he has taken up with a prime bit of muslin?” Beth, already halfway out of the carriage, sounded fascinated rather than shocked as she glanced back over her shoulder at Claire. “How dashing he is, to be sure! Oh, quit primming up your mouth at me, Claire. You must know that for a gentleman to have a female such as that in keeping is all the crack.”
Twindle moaned in horror and clapped her hands over her ears.
“Beth, where on earth do you hear such things?” Claire asked, aghast. “Ladies, especially young, unmarried ladies, are not supposed to know about matters of that nature, and even if they do, they’re certainly not supposed to talk about them!”
“If you can succeed in convincing her of that, you should have been the governess and not I, Miss Claire,” Twindle muttered, dropping her hands and fixing Beth with a look that warned anyone who knew her well that the recipient was in for a thundering scold once she got her alone.
“Oh, pooh,” Beth said inelegantly, clearly unimpressed, and descended the stairs with a toss of her fiery head.
That evening found them at Almack’
s, that most exclusive of clubs. Known by the vulgar as the Marriage Mart, it was more difficult to get into than St. James’s Palace. Ruled by a set of patronesses who included, fortunately, Aunt Augusta’s good friend Lady Jersey as well as the more top-lofty Princess Esterhazy, Countess Lieven, and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, it consisted of several large but surprisingly shabby chambers on King Street. The surroundings were unimpressive, the refreshments, which were of no higher order than tea, lemonade, or orgeat, small stale cakes or bread and butter, were paltry, and the entertainment was limited to dancing or a few hands of whist or vingt-et-un, and yet admission into its hallowed halls was the goal of every socially ambitious female in the country. The patronesses’ approval, issued in the form of vouchers, had to be obtained before one might purchase a ticket for admission, and the patronesses themselves were notoriously strict about just who was deemed suitable and who was not. Fortunately, that hurdle had been cleared for Claire at the time of her own come-out, which meant that Beth’s admission, sans some sort of major faux pas on that volatile young lady’s part, had been all but assured.
As a consequence, rather than feeling privileged to be a part of so select a group, Claire was feeling bored as she sat with the other chaperons in one of the gilt chairs lining the walls, and headachy, and most unaccountably out of sorts. The truth was that she was blue-deviled, though she meant to admit that to no one save herself. Try as she would, she could not get the image of Hugh and the blond female he’d been driving down Piccadilly out of her head. Was he with her now? she wondered. Were they, perhaps, together in that house in Curzon Street where Hugh had suggested meeting her? Were they even now kissing, or . . .
Stop it, she ordered herself fiercely. She wasn’t going to think about that. She was going to put Hugh and everything concerning him out of her head.
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