Picking it up, he carried it with him as he went to stand in front of the fireplace. A small fire had been lit for, in spite of it being early May, the room was a little chilled. He warmed his free hand over the bright flames.
Dammit. Why couldn’t he get her out of his head?
Smart and obviously capable, she appeared to share his love of horses and shown herself to be a skilled horsewoman. Her unruly tongue frequently ran away with her. How many times might she have come close to actually biting it? Hardly the kind of wife suitable for a gentleman.
Wife? He pulled back the hand he held over the flames and curled it into a fist.
No, no, no. He shook his head. Marriage was not in his plans. One close call was enough. As yet only two and thirty, his publicly declared intention not to be leg-shackled until his fortieth birthday had been entered in the betting book at Brook’s.
That he was powerfully attracted to her he could not deny, for why else would he have these unusually strong sexual urges? His circle of paramours, he knew, considered him a skilled and generous lover, but not one of those ladies stirred in him the reactions as did one thought of Emmaline Devereux.
Sounds in the hallway interrupted his thoughts and irritation rippled through him as he recognized his elder sister’s strident voice. Lucius took a seat, rested his elbows on the table and awaited his sister’s entrance.
Wearing a colourful, if not fashionable, crimson pelisse over a mustard yellow morning gown trimmed at the neck with a fichu of lace, Lady Caroline Chulmleigh surged in as though on the crest of a wave.
A much beribboned, wide brimmed straw hat sat on top of her carefully coiffed curls, the white egret feathers trimming it swaying in syncopation with her sprightly step.
“Good Lord, Caro, what are you wearing?” Lucius looked her up and down in dismay.
“Good afternoon to you, too, brother,” Lady Caroline nodded her head in greeting, making the feathers sway even more. “It is so good to see you.”
“That’s as maybe,” replied Lucius, unruffled, “but were I Chulmleigh I would beat you before I allowed you to leave my house wearing a hat like that.”
Lady Caroline smoothed the brim with her gloved hand and reviewed herself in an ormolu framed mirror on the wall behind her.
“My milliner assured me it was the latest style,” she said, turning her head to better review her image.
“And assured herself of your blunt in her pocket into the bargain,” retorted Lucius as he watched her.
“How horrid of you to say so.” Lady Caroline swept to a chair on which she proceeded to arrange herself.
“Horrid maybe, but truthful.” Lucius watched her spread her skirts so as not to crease them. “To what do I owe this honour, Caro? You never visit me unless you want something, so ‘fess up.”
He watched Caroline purse her lips as if thinking before speaking.
“Does your milliner’s bill bring you a little too close to Queer Street?” prompted Lucius.
“Of course not!” Caroline looked shocked. “And say what you like about Chulmleigh, he is never tight fisted. No, no, it is quite another matter, a matter of some delicacy in fact.”
Colour stained her cheeks, contrasting poorly with the colour of her pelisse. An expression of extreme discomfort played across her homely features.
His patience fraying, Lucius waited for his sister to enlarge on the problem clearly upsetting her.
“As your older sister,” she began, “I in some way feel in loco parentis as it were.”
“To whom?”
“Well, to you, of course.”
Lucius straightened in his chair, an expression of disbelief on his face.
“To me?”
“Indeed, and to whom else? What sort of sister would I be if I did not care about the latest on dits surrounding my brother?”
“Ah, I see.” Lucius pushed his chair away from the table and stretched out his long legs, carefully crossing them at the ankles. He tucked his hands in to his coat pockets and dropped his chin onto his chest. “So your visit is something of a fact finding mission rather than any concern for my health and wellbeing?”
“Well, of course I am concerned about your health, and as for your wellbeing my one concern is what I am hearing about your latest chit.” Caroline held her breath. Her brother’s relaxed pose belied the temper she knew to be brewing beneath his outward calm. At last he looked up at her and she almost quailed beneath the savage expression in his eyes.
“What latest chit?”
“Rumour has it you have a diamond of the first water residing under your roof.” Lady Caroline’s nervousness at addressing her brother extended to her twitching fingers. She tucked an imaginary stray curl under hat before folding her hand firmly in her lap. “If this is true, I have to tell you I am shocked, quite shocked. Even for you it would be crossing a line. I had thought better of you. What were you thinking?”
“Rumour is correct about a diamond of the first water,” Lucius said. “Incorrect that she is residing under my roof. And as for you, Caro,” he got to his feet and prowled to and fro, “I am shocked that you should have so immediately believed such a rumour. My reputation may well be deserved, but when, dear sister, have you ever known me to be so want for sense as to ensconce a mistress under this, or indeed any roof of mine?”
“Your reassurance that it is not so is all I need,” Lady Caroline said soothingly, hoping to offset any angry response from him that, try as she might, she never succeeded in controlling. “I could scarce believe my ears when Lady Beauchamp apprised me of what she believed to be your situation.”
“My situation?” A frown drew Lucius’ brows together. “Caro, you puzzle me even more. To what situation are you referring?”
“Lucius, please do not be obtuse!” Lady Caroline almost stamped her foot. “Who is this girl you are supposedly squiring around Town?”
“So now we get to the truth of it,” he muttered, turning to face his sister. “I surmise you are alluding to Juliana's friend, Miss Emmaline Deveraux.”
“Oh.” For a moment Lady Caroline looked quite downcast but quickly rallied. “So how is it that we have never before heard of or even met this girl?”
“They were at school together and corresponded thereafter. And that, Caro, is about as much as I know.”
“That is such an impossibly slim connection.” A worried expression crept in to Lady Caroline’s eyes. “We must find out more about her.”
“We?”
“Well, you.” Lady Caroline corrected herself. ”Juliana is your ward and it is therefore your responsibility to ensure she has a suitable circle of friends.”
“All I know is that the girl’s grandfather is Sir Miles Devereux who lives in South Devon. Do you know of him?”
A thoughtful frown creased Lady Caroline’s brow as she considered her brother’s query.
“The name does seem somewhat familiar, but I am not sure why. I could ask Chulmleigh, for he has a greater knowledge than I of the personalities residing in our county.”
“Please do, Caro.” Lucius lapsed into silence until he realized that Caroline had stood up. He went to her and took her arm to escort her to the door, but before they reached it she looked up at him, a pleading look on her face.
“Lucius, if you only would marry and set up your nursery mine would be a much lighter cross to bear.”
Lucius set his jaw. “You are not the only person who thinks I should wed, Caro, but I still have eight years of freedom. All in good time, I assure you.”
“It distresses me so to hear you have set time lines,” Lady Caroline almost wailed. “You, who have the advantage of marrying where you will, who could have taken your pick of any debutante each Season since attaining your majority, still single.”
It was a truth he could not deny. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his sister’s cheek.
“I know you were not permitted to marry where you would, Caro, but your marriage is sound, is it not?
”
Lady Caroline clutched at his hand and lowered her head.
“Much more so than I deserve, for Chulmleigh knew full well where my heart lay when he married me. But he is a good, kind man to me and our daughters and for that I have come to love him.”
Lucius gave her hand a squeeze. “Between our parents and you, Caro, I have learnt what marriage should be.”
“But if you don’t find your love, who is going to want you when you are forty?”
“Any mama with an eligible daughter,” Lucius said gruffly. “It is true now and it will be true in the future. Sometimes, Caro, I think people at our level of society are only bred to breed.”
“Lucius!” Surprised at his cynicism, Caroline looked up at him. She drew back slightly as she surveyed him, detecting something different about him. Under his usual arrogance there was a distance in his eyes as if his mind wandered from its usual sharp delineation. Dare she venture a comment? She took a deep breath.
“I believe,” she continued softly, “that Lucinda Hawkes-Carradine has a lot to answer for. She hardened your heart and so you avoid marriage and idle your time away on horses and such.”
At the mention of his first love Lucius drew a breath, surprised at his sister’s perception. The sting of betrayal, the sensation of having his heart ripped from his chest, still caught him unawares.
Was Caro right? Was his habitual boredom and free spending ways simply a reaction to not having someone special in his life? To not daring to give his heart again?
“Perhaps,” he said after considering Caroline’s statement for a moment. “But at least our forebears had the extreme good sense to amass the fortune that now allows me to indulge myself.”
Lady Caroline reached up and patted his cheek, an endearment that she would not normally have dared to extend. As she left him, she made a mental note to visit again, soon.
Lucius returned to the fireplace and threw himself into one of the wing chairs flanking it. He would have to watch himself. Cynicism, he realized, was an attitude in which he now frequently found himself. A light knock on the door disturbed his thoughts and he looked up to see his secretary enter the room.
“To what do I owe this honour, Edward?”
“There are some letters for you to sign, Sir, and a communication from your agent at Avondale Park.” Edward placed a ledger, a portfolio and a sheaf of papers on the table.
“Good Lord.” Lucius eyed the pile of paperwork with distaste. “Do I pay you enough, Edward?”
“You pay me very well, Sir,” Edward said with a grin. “This is the communication from Mr. Porter and two invitations for tomorrow evening. The Count and Countess Esterhazy are offering a musical extravaganza, and after the soiree Lady Darnley is hosting a dinner party.”
He handed the gilt edged invitation from the Countess to his employer.
“Angelica Catalani, the soprano?” Lucius pursed his lips as he read the invitation for himself and whistled with surprise. “Now how do you suppose the Countess managed that?”
“As wife of the Austrian Ambassador she has her contacts, I am sure.”
“Contacts.” A sudden thought struck him. “Edward, do you, by any chance, have such contacts at the War Office?”
“Not directly, Sir, but I do have a cousin who is a clerk to an under-secretary at Whitehall.”
Lucius tapped his fore finger against his lips, his eyes narrowing as a scheme began to form in his mind.
“That could be most fortuitous, as long as the under-secretary is not one James Horace.”
“If you wish, I could discover my cousin’s direction.”
“I do wish, Edward, and it must be done as discreetly as possible. I also wish you to discover who else Lady Darnley has invited to dinner. Now, will I be signing my life away if I do not read these damnable letters?”
“You’ll never be sure, sir.” Edward handed him a freshly trimmed pen.
Lucius paused before taking the proffered pen and dipping it into his inkwell. Head bent over the papers on his desk he scrawled his signature across several pages.
“Is there anything more today?”
Before Edward could reply, Beamish joined them.
“Ah, Beamish, just the man I need.” Lucius waved a lazy hand to him. “I have a task for you.”
Edward bowed to Lucius, picked up his paperwork and left them, nodding to Beamish as he did so.
“Before you charge me with any tasks, Avondale, I beg a minute of your time. You see, I, well. . I have something important . . . ”
“Whatever it is Beamish, it will have to wait.” Lucius stood up and paced the floor. Sunshine poured through the tall window panes and cast his long shadow across the carpet each time he passed them. “I want you, my dear fellow, to spend some time with Juliana.”
“Oh, well, if that is all my task is to be it would be my pleasure because. . . .” His words fell on deaf ears.
“I want you to try to determine from Juliana what she and Miss Devereux did at school. What pranks they might have played, what mischief they may have caused and why Miss Devereux left school before Juliana. I mean to get to the truth of this matter, Beamish, I really do.”
“Well, I promise I will do my best but why do you not ask Juliana yourself?”
Lucius gave him a look that would have crushed a lesser man.
“Ah, right,” Beamish blustered. “Got it. You’re her brother, not likely she’d give up any secrets to you.”
“Exactly so.” Lucius stood with his back to the fire. “I told you when we first met Miss Devereux that our lives would never be the same again.”
The distant expression on his friend’s face suddenly struck Beamish. The reply he had been about to utter died on his lips to be replaced with a smile as he left the library.
Miss Devereux, it seemed, had made a conquest.
CHAPTER 8
Peregrine leaned back in his chair and surveyed his aunt from beneath lowered eyelids as she paced in front of the fireplace.
“You are robbing me blind, Peregrine, and you know it.”
Peregrine finally looked up. “You asked me to find out what I could about the Devereux girl. It takes money to find the right people and extract information from them. So, the question is how badly do you want this information?”
Lady Rosemary Darnley fixed him with a cold stare.
“Olivia needs to make a good marriage and I am determined that Avondale will fix his interest with her. But that is not going to happen with that girl around. There must be something in her background that I can use to discredit her.”
“From what I know of Avondale, he will never fix his interest with Olivia, that girl or not.” Peregrine made a great show of inspecting his fingernails before looking up at his aunt. “I have to tell you, ma’am, that your daughter is the most lack-lustre prospect in the current marriage market and would be extremely fortunate if anyone made an offer for her.”
“I do not need you, or anyone else, to point out Olivia’s short-comings.” Rosemary ceased her pacing and dropped onto a chair opposite Peregrine.
“Give me one hundred guineas and I will begin to acquire the information you seek.”
“I do not have that kind of coin sitting around. I shall give you a bank draft.”
“No.” The word was hard and final between them. “No bank drafts, Aunt. We have discussed this before. I will return at ten thirty tomorrow morning. Please have the payment ready.”
Peregrine rose and left the room, leaving Rosemary to fume at his intransigence. He had no love or respect for her. Having married his uncle for his wealth and nothing more she was, he considered, a female version of himself. Having pockets to let most of the time, Peregrine simply saw her as a means to an end.
His own wealth at that moment was reduced to a few coins in his pocket, enough for a lamb pie and a tankard of ale at the Bunch of Grapes and perhaps a stake in a game of faro. That would at least see him through until the morning when he would visit his
aunt again.
His natural inclination was to take the money she promised him and visit one of the gambling hells that still admitted him. As he ambled along the street he grudgingly admitted to himself that his aunt would expect results, so before he tried his luck at the tables he should first discover what he could about Miss Emmaline Devereux.
Observing Avondale’s party at Almack’s it was clear to him that she and the Clifton girl were confidantes. That Avondale himself was interested in her he was in no doubt. But where had she sprung from? The name was not familiar to him, and he always made it his business to know who was who in the upper echelons of the ton.
Servants, and especially under servants, were usually a fount of knowledge but he knew better than to approach anyone in Avondale’s household. His only option was to watch the comings and goings from Avondale House until he had the opportunity to follow his quarry and so determine her direction.
Too bad that Juliana Clifton would not give him the time of day. Trying to engage her in conversation anywhere they might meet was a lost cause at the outset.
With a start he realized that his idle footsteps had carried him into Berkeley Square. He strolled slowly past the great houses, looking at their edifices as if he were admiring the architecture.
He passed Avondale’s house, remembering the massive brass lion’s head knocker that gleamed against the imposing black painted door. He had entered that house only once, on a weekend break from Oxford when Avondale had invited him, Beamish and a few others to a house party.
A wry grin twisted his mouth. He had never been invited again, nor would he be.
He was about to turn the corner when Avondale’s front door opened and William Beamish stepped out.
“What a fop,” Peregrine muttered, but slowed his pace and pretended interest in an ornamental railing. From the corner of his eye he saw Juliana Clifton step through doorway behind Beamish.
“We are riding at ten o’clock again tomorrow morning, William, so please do not be late,” she said. “It is going to be such fun.”
“If you say so,” Beamish grumbled. “Though why we can’t wait until later in the day, I don’t know.”
His Dark Enchantress (Books We Love Regency Romance) Page 7