Susanne Marie Knight

by A Noble Dilemma

  Should a national charity program be implemented? Should there be as little governmental interference as possible with the liberties of English citizens, as the Whig stance believed? Or should the security and welfare of the state have more importance than any particular subject, which was the philosophy of Tory ministers?

  These were the pressing issues in this, the year of our Lord 1816: the rights of the individual versus the rights of the state.

  People looked to the Houses of Lords and Commons to cure the country’s ills. How could Lord Liverpool’s government bring about a return to prosperity?

  Enough politics! David shook away his dismal contemplation and concentrated on his surroundings. His steps had brought him to the road bordering St. James’ Park to the south. Birdcage Walk it was dubbed, so named because of Charles II’s long row of exotic bird aviaries set up along the path.

  As he strolled along the road with its magnificent trees shaking glossy dark leaves in the breeze, he inhaled the crisp autumn air. It had a bracing effect, enabling him to set aside the woes of England.

  It felt good to relax.

  “Ingraham!”

  David looked up and saw his friend Henry Penning handling the ribbons on his high-perched phaeton.

  Penning stopped his horse next to David, then leaned across the seat. “Lud, man, what the deuce are you about, traveling under your own steam, of all things? Why do you walk when you can ride?”

  “Thanks but no thanks, Penning. I have been sitting all day. Where are you headed?”

  “’Tis a pleasurable journey.” A smile brightened Penning’s face. “To see London’s new angel, of course.”

  “And who might that be?” Penning rarely expressed interest in any female, eligible or otherwise. Who had captured his friend’s fancy?

  Penning slapped his muscular thigh and laughed. “Ho! You’ve been so busy with government business that you don’t know. Capitol! ’Tis your very own cousin, man. The toast of the town — Miss Branford.”

  David’s jaw dropped. Miss Branford? Miss Bethany Branford? Her image flashed before him in his mind. True, she was an uncommon beauty, but to have already made a splash for herself in London society…

  He stared at his friend with unseeing eyes. For three days now, Miss Branford had resided in his house. And for three nights he had dined elsewhere. Their paths had crossed only once. She had smiled shyly at him, then curtsied. Her hair, sleek and smooth, shone with a healthy glow. He had bowed, then made tracks out of the entrance hall into the safety of his study.

  Despite the mild weather, a sudden chill ran up his spine, echoing his fear. Was his mother proving to be an inadequate chaperon?

  “Where are you meeting Miss Branford?” Even to his own ears his voice sounded harsh.

  “Why, Hyde Park, naturally.” Penning adjusted his top hat. “’Tis a known fact the lady enjoys a brisk drive alongside the bank of the Serpentine.”

  All thoughts of walking now disappeared. Grabbing hold of the seat bench, David jumped up onto his friend’s phaeton. “Changed my mind, Penning. Take me to Hyde Park.”

  “Stap me! I’ll ferry you anywhere you wish, old fellow. Just temper that fierce face of yours, hey? ’Tis akin to driving with the devil himself.”

  David declined to comply nor reply. As Penning’s competent hands urged his carriage forward, David mulled over his unfortunate predicament. Women. He had just recently gotten his sister safely married off. His mother, well, she was a law unto herself. No pulling the reins in on that woman.

  But Miss Branford — if she fell in with the wrong characters, she would be a liability waiting to happen. It would behoove the Earl of Ingraham to take a more personal interest in his cousin’s introduction to society.

  And if he had to play matchmaker to that comely chit to insure she made an acceptable match, so be it.

  Anything to get her off of his hands.

  Sitting next to Mr. Fenwick in his tilbury, Bethany glanced at the autumn foliage of Hyde Park. The dazzling array of colors — oranges, yellows, reds, and of course greens was breathtaking to behold.

  She was not alone in her enjoyment. All of London, it seemed, was within the confines of the park, taking advantage of the fine weather and nature’s vibrant display. In carriages, on horseback, and on foot, people crowded the pathways as if this was their last chance to revel in the glorious outdoors.

  Her companion glanced over at her and smiled. “There is a decided crush today, wouldn’t you say? But then again Sundays are usually swarming with sightseers, from the tops of society to those who give themselves airs of importance and pretend to ascend to these lofty heights.”

  Bethany waved away his snobbish attitude. Indeed, in that he reminded her of Bamburgh’s blacksmith Mr. Jarvis, only the gentleman by her side — debatedly — had a higher social standing.

  “I can understand the reason for crowds of carriages and pedestrians, sir. The park is delightful. I will never tire of gazing at these majestic trees.” She swept her gaze out past the colorful foliage to the lake beyond. “And also the swans floating on the waters of the Serpentine.”

  The shade from the stately trees lining the road caused the October breeze to feel cooler than a few moments ago. She pulled the warmth of her shawl around the shoulders of her new stylish pelisse.

  “As lovely as the park is, it does not hold a candle to you, Miss Branford.” Mr. Fenwick turned his brown-eyed gaze from the horse’s progress and looked at her for an uncomfortable length of time.

  She frowned. Sweet talk was never acceptable to her, especially from a gentleman she’d only met three days ago. “You flatter me, sir.”

  Hopefully her tone contained the proper amount of disapproval.

  “The truth is never flattery, Miss Branford.”

  She shrugged, then glanced down at a barking dog that chased the open carriage in front of them. Every now and then the animal nipped at the horse’s legs — an extremely hazardous action. The dog was very brave not to be concerned about being trampled by horse hooves.

  Brave, or blissfully unaware of the danger.

  At the crossroads ahead, a fashionable phaeton traversed the road in front of them. The dashing female driving the carriage held the reins with one gloved hand and waved at them with the other.

  As Bethany numbered very few acquaintances in London, the lady must have been greeting Mr. Fenwick, so she glanced over at him to observe his response.

  He lifted his top hat, and then, of all things, he winked at the woman!

  The woman smiled archly at this display, nodded, then continued down the dirt pathway.

  Bethany pulled her shawl tighter. Goodness, was the pink blush on the woman’s cheeks from the artifice of a rouge pot?

  “Who was that lady?”

  The color of Mr. Fenwick’s red hair was now reflected on his cheeks. “I…she…well, no sense in wrapping it up in clean linen. That was Mrs. Lippincott of Drury Lane.”

  His embarrassed explanation confirmed Bethany’s belief in the matter. Heat burned her own cheeks, probably matching her companion’s florid color.

  Now eager for this outing to end, she glanced behind her. Lady Ingraham’s barouche had kept up the pace and continued to follow Mr. Fenwick’s tilbury. Behind the driver, Lady Ingraham and Lady Petunia sat like queens taking in all the splendors of the park as their just due.

  Bethany fidgeted on her seat. If only she could trade places with one of her hostesses.

  “Here is a lovely spot, Miss Branford.” Mr. Fenwick pointed to a flat area surrounded by a copse of beech trees. “Shall we rest here a moment so Lady Ingraham and Lady Petunia may join us?”

  “An excellent idea, sir.” Bethany smiled at him. No doubt Lady Ingraham would gladly switch carriages so that she could sit beside her current favorite.

  He guided the tilbury down a gentle slope and stopped in the clearing next to leafy beech trees. Lady Ingraham’s driver followed suit. While the Countess and Mr. Fenwick exchanged ple
asantries, Lady Petunia motioned for Bethany to join her in a short walk along the edge of the Serpentine.

  Once down from the carriages, they walked arm in arm together. As soon as they were past the tilbury, Petunia lowered her head close to Bethany’s ear. “I am mortified, Bethany! I saw Mr. Fenwick acknowledging that…that Paphian in your company. Gracious! He should’ve given her the cut direct.”

  “He was only being polite, Petunia. Truly, there was no harm done.”

  The Viscountess shook her head, sending her multitude of curls into a tizzy. “My word, ’tis monstrously improper. If my brother ever found out…oh, he would blame me so. ’Twould be a regular blow-up!”

  “But why?” Bethany stumbled on the uneven path, then righted her gait. “What possible difference would it make to Lord Ingraham?”

  She and Petunia approached the bank of the Serpentine, then watched the lake’s abundant waterfowl majestically swim close by. As if drawn by a magnet, the ducks and swans sailed closer — within feeding distance.

  When no bits of bread or other edibles were cast upon the waters, the swans honked their protest. The ducks also chimed in.

  “My word, such unharmonious noises coming from such graceful beauty, wouldn’t you say?” Petunia sighed. “What a day this has been. My nerves are shattered. Just shattered. I cannot believe I just received the cut direct from that scheming hussy.”

  Bethany tried to decipher her hostess’ words. “From Mr. Fenwick’s acquaintance?”

  “No, no. From the Marquess of Overton’s abominable daughter, Lady Harriet.” Petunia folded her arms across her bosom, then drummed her fingers. “I daresay you didn’t notice her. Her carriage is quite ostentatious, you must know. But in any event, back to your question. ’Tis amazing that you don’t know. But of course how could you? That woman — Mrs. Lippincott, I believe is the name she goes by — well, she was Davy’s mistress once upon a time.”

  “Oh.” Bethany blinked rapidly, blocking out the scene of the swans and the ducks’ squawking their outrage. She hadn’t acquired enough town bronze to be comfortable with that sort of intimate information. Especially personal information concerning David Greyle. “Oh, I see.”

  “You see what, Miss Branford?” a male voice from behind asked.

  Bethany spun around, then blinked even harder. Standing only an arm’s distance away was none other than the incredibly handsome Lord Ingraham himself.

  As he strode over to the ladies, David tightened his hands into fists. There could be no mistake: both Miss Branford and his sister had guilty expressions stamped on their faces. Why Petunia blazed red, he had no idea. But for Miss Branford — well, he had seen her unabashed smile at Randolph Fenwick. Obviously, she enjoyed indulging in an inappropriate flirtation with that bounder.

  “Davy!” Instead of looking at him, Petunia averted her gaze, glancing down the road. “We, ah, what a pleasant surprise to see you at Hyde Park. And Lord Penning as well.”

  She waved at Penning as he talked with the Countess and Fenwick a short distance away.

  “Just so.” David lifted his hat in greeting to Miss Branford, but no accompanying smile lifted his lips.

  Not that her appearance did not please him. He could admit, but only to himself, that she looked absolutely radiant in her new fashionable clothes. Indeed, she looked as a tempting as a pot of honey to a swarm of overeager flies.

  And two of the aforementioned flies were Fenwick and Penning.

  David nudged a bit of dirt with the toe of his boot, then glanced up at Miss Branford. “It has come to my ears that you enjoy tooling about the park in the afternoon.”

  The shade from nearby beech trees darkened her fair face. “Yes, sir. Mr. Fenwick and Lord Penning have been most obliging in driving us about. It’s important to take advantage of this fine weather before the harshness of winter sets in, don’t you agree?”

  Instead of replying, David watched the parade of carriages passing by their position. And, blast it all, every man, young or old, had his gaze firmly glued upon Miss Branford’s comely visage.

  More demmed flies.

  A cool breeze filtered through the trees and into his bones. He was not the only one to feel the cold. Miss Branford and his sister pulled their shawls tighter around their shoulders.

  Fine weather or no, winter was heralding its arrival sooner than expected. “Come, ladies. Let us return to the carriages. It grows frosty.”

  He led both women back to the waiting carriages. Once there, he gave out assignments. “Mother, you do not mind continuing your outing in Mr. Fenwick’s tilbury, do you? I wish to escort Miss Branford home in your barouche.”

  “Not at all, my boy. Not at all.” The Countess smiled at her cicisbeo.

  Petunia pouted. “What about me, Davy?”

  David glanced meaningfully at his friend.

  “What? Hey, I say, I would be honored if you accompany me, Lady Petunia,” Penning piped up.

  “Oh, all right. Have it your way, brother mine.” Petunia allowed Penning to help her up in his high-perched phaeton. “But do not dawdle on the road, Davy. Tonight is the Duchess of Margrove’s fête and we must have plenty of time to prepare. ’Tis Bethany’s formal introduction into society, you know.”

  Tonight? He had forgotten the Duchess’ much anticipated ball, which was not a surprise considering all the meetings and business matters he had juggled since arriving back in London from his trip to Paris.

  “Until later, then.” David watched his sister and friend take off in the phaeton, then waved to his mother and Fenwick departing in the tilbury.

  With everyone else gone, David helped Miss Branford into the enclosed barouche. Once the horses were on their way, he settled back onto the comfortable squabs, glad for a chance to talk to his houseguest in private.

  Miss Branford beat him to it. “Is there anything wrong, sir? You seem to be in an ill-humor.”

  Blast.

  The girl spoke her mind, that much was certain. He removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “The truth of it is, I wondered, Miss Branford, is my mother an adequate chaperon?”

  Her large hazel eyes blinked several times, probably in astonishment at his inquiry. “Why, yes, sir. The Countess and Lady Petunia both have been extremely conscientious and gracious in their attentions to me.” She worried her plump lower lip between her pearly white teeth. “Have you seen anything amiss in my behavior?”

  Double blast!

  Acting as guardian or father figure to an extremely nubile young female was difficult in the extreme. David shifted in his seat, quite aware that he was exceedingly attracted to Miss Bethany Branford…and his body made no secret of the fact.

  “No, no. Of course not.” He hurried to set her mind at ease. “I, er, I only noticed that you seem to exhibit a slight partiality for Mr. Fenwick, and, as yet, I am not acquainted with his circumstances to know if he is, well, a suitable, er, suitor.”

  Her eyes grew enormously large.

  “Mr. Fenwick?” She smiled, then lifted her chin and laughed heartily. “Oh no, sir. You are mistaken. I am not partial to Mr. Fenwick in the slightest. He is, you must know, a favorite of your mother’s, and to please her, I am polite to him. I have given him no encouragement. I confess, sir, I cannot understand why Mr. Fenwick is quite so attentive to me when the Countess is very obvious in her preference.”

  Plain speaking again. How rare that trait was in females.

  To hide his grin, David glanced out the window. The carriage came to a halt in front of his townhouse. “To be sure, my mother can be a most determined flirt when it suits her. Only my father was able to curb that tendency of the Countess’. In any event, I am glad we have had this chance to talk about these matters. You are…quite an attractive woman, and I am certain the more you are out in society, the more attention…and marriage offers you will attract.”

  His words were intended as a compliment, but instead of being pleased, she seemed to be the reverse.

  She squ
ared her shoulders, flared her nostrils, and frowned. “Sir, I did not come to London to contract a marriage. Indeed that is most impossible — ”

  The surprise on his face stopped her.

  She gathered her skirts, then murmured, “Please excuse me.”

  A servant opened the barouche door, and she flew out onto the sidewalk, a veritable blur as she dashed up the steps into the townhouse.

  How very extraordinary.

  David took his time in exiting the carriage. Although he had pressing personal and government business weighing heavily upon him, he dismissed everything except this particular matter at hand. Of number one importance was to learn just why the exceedingly attractive Miss Bethany Bradford believed marriage to be impossible for her.

  Chapter Four

  Miss Hasbrouck followed the instructions on a mysterious note that had been slipped under her bedchamber door. After climbing stairs to the attic, she came to a closed door. She placed her hand on the doorknob. Panic welled in her heart, but she ignored her fear. She had come this far; she had to discover what was behind the door.

  She turned the knob and the door creaked open.

  “Looking for something, Miss Hasbrouck?”

  Goodness! She nearly jumped out of her skin. Swallowing her mortification, Miss Hasbrouck turned around to face the imposing figure of Lord Innis.

  He —

  Bethany’s bedchamber door opened. Before she had a chance to put away her writing, Petunia entered.

  “Gracious, Bethany! What in the world are you doing? Writing a letter at this late hour? Unthinkable! ’Tis almost time to leave for the fête.” She stepped further into the room, then made a quick turn. The lace overlay on her blue satin gown danced airily about her ankles. “How do you like my new dress? And my pearls. Weatherhaven bought them for me.”