‘That’s it, sit where you will, gents,’ Temple boomed. ‘No formality at my table and that’s a fact. None of that only talk to your neighbour here, no matter how highfalutin’ our guests might be.’
Vernon could not hold back his grin at that. He leaned down to murmur into Cordelia’s ear.
‘Highfaluting?’
On the far side of Cordelia, he could see Mannington straining to hear what he said. Taking the opportunity to stir the other man’s temper, he lowered his voice to a whisper.
‘I cannot say I have ever had the pleasure of being described as highfaluting before. What, precisely, does it mean? Is it exceedingly unflattering?’
Cordelia gurgled with laughter. ‘It means...well, I guess it is a little unflattering. Pops! You must not insult his lordship with unfamiliar American slang.’
‘Rubbish! His lordship won’t take offence at some good-natured joshing, will you, m’lord?’
Cordelia smiled over her shoulder at Vernon. ‘It kind of means high-flown, grandiose. I do hope you are not offended.’
‘Of course I am not.’
He rounded the table and took his own seat.
Dishes were set in the centre of the table and wine poured, and the servants left the room. Mannington’s plan became clear—by sitting next to Cordelia he could serve food to her plate and speak quietly in her ear as he did so without risk of censure, for who would call him on his manners were he merely asking her what morsels she might prefer?
The meal progressed. Temple held forth on matters of business and Vernon took little part in the conversation, but was surprised at the extent to which Cordelia joined in. She appeared knowledgeable about all her father’s many interests, from their cotton plantation in Georgia to their coal mines in Pennsylvania. It appeared, however, that father and daughter lived much of the time in Washington.
‘For that is where the power is, m’lord,’ Temple said. ‘And that is where I can lobby on matters that will benefit me. It is not like here, where all the power is in the hands of the landowners and very little in the hands of manufacturers who employ the people and make goods to export to bring money into the country. You mark my words...’ he waved a fork ‘...change will come here, too.’
‘Wealth will always count,’ Vernon said.
‘That is true,’ Mannington said, his long fingers playing with his wine glass. ‘But the balance of wealth—and therefore influence—will gradually shift away from the landed gentry and towards those who, as our host has said, actually produce goods.’
Vernon might suspect he was right, but could not resist challenging him.
‘What about food? People will always need to eat.’
‘I do not deny it...’ Mannington tore his bread roll in half and buttered it ‘...but the war with France will not go on indefinitely and grain will be imported once more. Where there is competition the price will drop. That is a basic tenet of business.’
Vernon quashed his irritation at the implication that he knew nothing of business. It fitted the part he played to be thought an idle aristocrat by these people, even though he hated Thea to think of him as such. And how did she always creep into his thoughts even when she was not present?
He forced a shrug of nonchalance, peering down his nose at Mannington. ‘The ruling classes will always be just that,’ he said in his most condescending voice. ‘I do not expect such as you to understand quite how society and government work together for the common good.’
The other man’s jaw tightened. Both Vernon and Mannington had ceased eating, and Temple’s gaze darted from one to the other, consternation writ large upon his face.
‘Henry,’ he said, ‘is the cousin of a dook, my lord. I’m sure we told you that when we met yesterday.’
‘A duke, you say?’ Vernon held Mannington’s gaze as he sipped his wine.
How Leo would relish slapping down the presumption of this scoundrel. And how I would love to see the two come face to face.
He permitted himself an arrogant smile. ‘It must have slipped my mind. And which duke might that be?’
‘The Duke of Cheriton.’
Not by a flicker did Mannington reveal the tension he must be feeling. After all, for all he knew, Vernon and the Duke of Cheriton might be the closest of friends.
‘Ah, yes.’ Vernon sipped again at his wine, his eyes never leaving Mannington’s face. ‘Cheriton. A cousin, you say? Close, are you?’
The muscles around Mannington’s eyes tightened imperceptibly. ‘Close enough, although we do not, of course, move in the same circles. I have a living to earn. Leo...his Grace...does not.’
‘You do not consider running huge estates and being responsible for vast numbers of employees and tenants to be work?’
‘No. Managers, agents and bailiffs take care of most of that,’ Mannington said carelessly. ‘As is no doubt the same in your case, Boyton.’
Vernon shrugged again. ‘As you say. I do not concern myself with the day-to-day running of my estates. However, neither do I pretend to move in such exalted circles as Cheriton. I have little interest in politics, for instance.’
‘But you are able to sit in the Lords?’ Temple interjected. ‘You do hold some influence there?’
Vernon turned his gaze on the American. This remark, together with his earlier comment on living in Washington, in order to be close to the men who ran the country, provided him with the perfect lever to unsettle Mannington and keep Temple—and hence his daughter—on his side. Viscount Boyton, as a peer, would indeed be eligible to sit in the Lords even though Lord Vernon Beauchamp, with merely a courtesy title, could not.
He shrugged. ‘Oh, I can wield influence if I choose. I have yet, however, to discover a cause about which I am passionate.’ He smiled across the table at Cordelia. ‘Becoming too embroiled in worthy causes does tend to distract one from the more...shall we say, pleasurable aspects of London life.’ He raised a brow. ‘And Worcestershire life, come to that.’
Cordelia laughed. ‘Would you care to expound on that statement, sir?’
He allowed one corner of his mouth to quirk up. ‘Expound in what way, Miss Temple?’
Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of Mannington’s displeasure. He had straightened in his seat and his chin jutted, although his expression remained one of polite interest. Temple, on the contrary, looked smug.
‘I should be interested to hear what aspects of life in London you find the most enjoyable, sir. As Papa said yesterday, we have the intention of visiting London in September to sample its delights.’
‘In that case, you have come to the right man,’ Vernon said. He switched his gaze to Mannington. ‘I take it you are not familiar with London society, Mannington?’
‘I choose not to waste my time on such frivolity,’ he replied. ‘But I might make an exception in the autumn...the attractions of the capital become more obvious by the day.’
‘It will be pleasant to have at least one acquaintance in London this fall,’ Cordelia said, ‘and, if you should choose to go, too, Mr Mannington, that will be even better. Two acquaintances in the whole of the city, Pops. We shall be spoilt for choice.’
‘You may rest assured I shall do all in my power to ensure you enjoy your stay,’ Vernon said. ‘You may only claim two acquaintances. I can lay claim to many more and I shall be honoured to introduce you to anyone you choose.’
‘Splendid, splendid.’ Temple rubbed his palms together with an unpleasant rasping noise. ‘Now, are we all finished? I hope you’ll not object to drinking your brandy with Delia present, my lord? I know it isn’t customary, but we don’t stand on ceremony here.’
Vernon did object, as it happened, but didn’t say so. He had been hoping to engage Mannington in a more frank conversation than was possible with Cordelia in the room. But his time would come. He
could be patient.
Thea’s face floated into his mind, her troubled eyes and her repressed fears pricking his conscience. But not too patient, he promised himself. They needed to find out what had happened to her brother as soon as possible.
As Temple busied himself at a sideboard with a decanter and glasses, Mannington assisted Cordelia from her chair and proffered his arm, which she accepted with a smile. Mannington led her from the table towards the sofa, leaning in to whisper in her ear as he did so. Vernon could not hear what Mannington said, but the flush at the nape of Cordelia’s neck suggested his comment was not one that would have been uttered within her father’s hearing.
He watched closely, but Cordelia gave no hint that she did not welcome Mannington’s attention, neither drawing away nor slapping him down with words. Vernon prayed she had not already developed a tendre for the man. Her behaviour at dinner did not suggest her feelings were engaged, but she clearly enjoyed Mannington’s company and her behaviour around him was both relaxed and familiar, although that could be due to her upbringing. Vernon was accustomed to society events where strict formality was observed. Woe betide any lady who behaved familiarly with a man who was not a relative. From what he had observed of Samuel Temple and his daughter, American society seemed very different. Perhaps it stemmed from being in business.
And that thought led inexorably and inevitably back to Thea. What was she doing? No doubt she would be fretting about tonight, wondering what he might discover. He briefly entertained the notion of knocking on her door upon his return...of going into her room...sitting on her bed and telling her about the evening’s conversation. Then, savagely, he rejected that image. Even the thought of being in her bedchamber with her again rattled him. If he did go in, could he resist trying to seduce her? She was an innocent, for God’s sake, and she had been badly hurt in the past. He could not risk hurting her again, not until he knew for certain what he wanted from her. If it was merely carnal...a false craving due to their unnatural proximity over the past few days...then he must resist his urges.
‘My lord?’
He came back to the present with a start. ‘I do apologise,’ he said, smoothly. ‘I was wondering how my nephew fares and whether his head will still be sore in the morning.’
Temple chortled. ‘Never you mind about young Theo. He’ll learn, same as the rest of us had to as youngsters. Now, m’lord, try this.’ He thrust a glass of amber liquid into Vernon’s hand. ‘That is a top brandy and that’s a fact. I’ll wager you’ve not tasted such a fine one in a long, long time.’
Sceptical of the other man’s ability to detect a fine brandy, Vernon sipped. His brows rose.
‘That, sir, is a wager I shall not accept. It is a very fine brandy indeed. What is its provenance?’
Temple winked. ‘Ask me no questions, I shall tell you no lie, m’lord. Suffice it to say Henry here had a hand in supplying it.’
Vernon knew what that meant—his estate was in the county of Devonshire and many people, at all levels of society, turned a blind eye to smuggling.
‘Now, Samuel, don’t you go revealing all of my secrets,’ Mannington said, from his place on the sofa, next to Cordelia.
His tone was jovial, but there was an edge of steel to it. Vernon took his place on a nearby chair and Temple stood by the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back as he rocked to and fro on the balls of his feet, spouting forth once again about his business.
Again, the seating arrangement suited Vernon even though the triumphal glint in Mannington’s eye set his teeth on edge. The man was laying claim to Cordelia and, although Vernon had no interest in her in a romantic sense, he knew himself well enough to recognise his metaphorical hackles rising at the other man’s challenge—his mind stilling and crouching even as his body remained outwardly relaxed. He would bide his time, however, and work on gaining Cordelia’s trust and, in the meantime, he would circle and he would watch.
His time would come.
* * *
Later, after saying goodnight, he trod up the stairs, waging an inner battle with himself. He should not disturb Thea...he should not put himself in the way of more temptation...but...what if she was lying awake...unable to sleep...worrying about Daniel...wondering if Mannington had showed up, and if Vernon had discovered anything.
He hesitated outside her door. Ridiculously, his heart beat a little faster in his chest merely at the thought of seeing her. How had he come to this? A man of such experience, reduced to the behaviour of a lovesick youth by a little curly-headed kitten of a woman who could change into a tiger before his eyes.
His thoughts strayed to Leo and his recent marriage to a woman he had met, quite by chance, on a country lane. A woman not of their world—the daughter of mésalliance between a duke’s granddaughter and a silversmith’s son—but a woman who had changed Leo’s life beyond recognition and for the better, who had brought joy and laughter into his world of duty and distrust. Leo had sworn never to marry again: he had his heir and his spare and a beautiful daughter. But his vow could not withstand love. His heart—once he had allowed himself to listen to it—had overruled all his rational objections.
Vernon bowed his head, resting his forehead against the wooden door. Is that what was happening? Was it love he felt for Thea? It was different to anything he had ever felt for any other woman. More than lust. But love?
He lifted his head. Stared at the knots in the door, traced the grain with his eyes.
How can I know? How can I be sure?
Chapter Nineteen
At last!
Thea would know Vernon’s footsteps anywhere. She listened to him walk along the landing and heard him pause outside her door. Her pulse quickened. He had said he would see her in the morning, but she had prayed he would change his mind. Then her heart sank at the unmistakable sound of him walking away. She gave herself no time for second thoughts. She darted to her bedchamber door and wrenched it open.
‘Vernon!’
He pivoted on his heel to face her.
‘Come in. Tell me what happened.’
His jaw set...he looked anything but pleased to see her and pain speared her heart. She had wrapped a sheet around her shoulders as she had no shawl with her and now she pulled it tight around her, defensively. And why would he be pleased to see her, when he had spent the past few hours in the company of Cordelia Temple, dressed in fancy dresses and wearing fine jewels? Had he fallen under Cordelia’s spell? Thea clenched her jaw. Not for the world would she reveal even the tiniest hint of her jealousy, but how she wished she was wearing her gown—the bag Bickling had brought from Stourwell Court had contained her two favourite gowns and her pearl necklace and matching ear drops. She could not take such a risk however. She had stowed the bag beneath her bed, to put temptation out of her sight.
Vernon prowled slowly back along the passage, his gazed travelling from her head—and she knew her hair must be dishevelled after she had speared her fingers through it countless times that evening—to her toes, bare on the wooden floor.
‘Get back inside,’ he growled as he neared her, his frown thunderous. ‘What if anyone was to see you dressed like that? Or should I say, undressed?’
Thea backed inside her bedchamber, tugging the sheet closer still to cover her shift, which barely reached her knees, feeling suddenly vulnerable, the intent in his hooded gaze sending shivers over her skin.
He banged the door behind him, then remained still, glowering at her, the muscles either side of his jaw bunched.
‘Are you trying to get discovered?’
Thea hunched her shoulder as she turned away. ‘Of course I am not. There was no one there to see me.’
She went to sit on the bed and then changed her mind. She did not want him looming above her, not when he was in this sort of mood.
‘What did you discover?’
/> ‘If you mean about Daniel, nothing.’
‘Nothing? But—’
‘And what did you expect? Did you imagine I would question Mannington over the soup? And when was it you last saw Daniel Markham?’
‘No.’ Thea shook her head, disappointment flooding her. How foolish. Of course he could not baldly ask Mannington about Daniel. ‘I did not think. I am sorry, I was just... I built my hopes up.’
Vernon paced across the room and twitched the curtain aside to peer out into the night.
‘I need to gain Cordelia’s trust,’ he said, his back still to Thea. ‘Mannington was unhappy to see me there and he made his prior claim to her very clear.’
‘What did he say?’
Vernon faced her, a puzzled smile on his face. ‘He did not have to say anything, Thea. His behaviour was enough. He is wary of me and that is good. I hope Cordelia—and she is an intelligent woman—will see him with different eyes now I am on the scene. If she does not, however, then I shall have to tell her some of what I know about him.’
‘But—’
‘Do not worry. I shall not expose you. I shall tell her in more general terms. Mannington is already talking of a lucrative business deal and casting his lure to entice Temple to invest. And I fear my presence might force his hand over Cordelia. If we do not find some clue about Daniel very soon, I think I shall have to send Bickling to retrace our journey from Birmingham to see if he can discover something we missed.’
He paced into the centre of the room, pausing at the foot of the bed.
‘I have arranged to take Cordelia for a drive tomorrow afternoon, whilst her father is out on business. I suspect Mannington will also show up—on horseback, probably. He will be on his way home from somewhere and will insist on accompanying us, out of concern for Cordelia’s reputation.’ Vernon laughed, but there was little mirth in the sound. ‘Although her father appears to suffer no qualms about allowing me to drive her around the countryside unchaperoned.’
Mr Temple might have no qualms, but Thea found herself hoping Mannington would show up, as Vernon predicted. Her jealousy battled to break free. Hearing the familiar way in which Vernon called the heiress Cordelia burned in Thea’s chest and, before she knew what she was doing, she was standing in front of Vernon, gazing up at him. Would he kiss her again? Give her some sign that she meant more to him than just a funny little kitten to amuse himself with?
Scandal and Miss Markham Page 19