THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
Sophia Holloway
© Sophia Holloway 2017
Sophia Holloway has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published 2017 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
For K M L B
Table of Contents
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1
‘Must you, George?’
‘I must.’ His lordship buttoned the wristbands of his shirt, with an adroitness born of frequent dressing without the presence of his valet.
‘But I thought…’
‘You thought? I am sorry, my dear. That was a trifle unexpected, you must admit.’
Lady Yarningale sat up in bed, a pout upon her full, and recently kissed, lips.
‘Don’t be cruel, George.’
‘But you know I am cruel. When I am cruel about others you laugh that tinkling laugh you think so entrancing.’
A frown between her delicately arched brows was added to the pout. There was something in his lordship’s lazy tone that chilled her.
‘Where are you going, George?’
‘I am travelling post into Northamptonshire.’
‘Northamptonshire?’
‘Yes.’ He looked over his shoulder as he opened the door. He was smiling, but not pleasantly. ‘Did I not mention it, my sweet? I am going to make a proposal of marriage.’
*
‘You have arranged what?’ The Honourable Catherine Elford’s voice rose an octave in horror.
‘I have arranged a marriage for you. You heard me, Kitty.’ Lord Bidford tried to sound as if this was something that might have been done to fill in a boring afternoon.
‘Without my consent, without even my knowledge?’ Her voice trembled. ‘And a man of his reputation! I am of age. I have a choice in such matters.’
‘You do indeed have a choice, as I shall now explain.’
This his lordship did with irritating slowness, as if to a fractious child. The viscount enjoyed every moment of it. His half-sister always managed to make him feel so very much the younger brother, not the head of the family. This was a fitting revenge. By the time he had finished, Kitty was incandescent.
‘A choice? How can being cast off as good as penniless and without a roof over my head, or accede, be termed a choice?’
Her half-brother shrugged.
‘Annabel will not countenance living in the house whilst you remain and the servants defer to you.’
‘I may not like her, but I would not think of letting that happen.’ In truth, she disliked her future sister-in- law intensely. Lady Annabel Wythall had a waspish tongue, and liked to find fault with any idea not of her own devising. Kitty secretly delighted in the thought that James would come to regret his choice of bride in short order, when the realities of living with her outweighed her family connections and mouth-watering dowry.
‘Had you put your mind to it, no doubt you could have got someone or other to come up to scratch during your Seasons in London. In fact, as I recall, you had two offers.’
‘Yes, and even my Aunt Topcliffe agreed neither was suitable. The first was from a man a dozen years older than Papa, and who was so deaf he thought my name was Caroline, from first to last, and the other was from a gazetted fortune hunter, who thankfully withdrew his attentions once it was made clear to him that my hand was not accompanied by thousands in funds. I only wonder at Lord Ledbury being persuaded to make me an offer.’
‘That is because you do now come well dowered. Be grateful that is so. I will have to pay heavily to have you out of my house, but Annabel’s money more than makes up for it.’ Bidford was not going to pretend an affection for her which did not exist. ‘Ledbury is neither old nor a fortune hunter.’
‘Since when was Lord Ledbury hanging out for a rich wife? Or indeed any wife at all?’
‘I have no idea. Perhaps since Vermillion lost at Newmarket, or… Oh I suppose it is because his cousin Frederick turned up his toes. He was the heir, and a man owes something to his name.’
‘As opposed to money to everyone else?’
‘You’ll do well to curb that tongue of yours, Kitty. Got a temper, has Ledbury.’
‘Charming. Yet this is the man to whom you would “sell” me, a womaniser with a bad temper. Thank you for your fraternal concern.’
‘It would be a dashed sight easier selling him a horse,’ grumbled Lord Bidford. ‘He is coming on Wednesday, so you have four days to make yourself presentable.’
‘And practise trotting up and down nicely? However bad he may be, James, I am sure he cannot be as miserable a specimen as you.’
With which Miss Elford slammed out of the room.
*
In the privacy of her own chamber, she sat upon the edge of her bed and placed her hands, which trembled slightly, upon her knees. Lord Ledbury; yes, she remembered Lord Ledbury. He was not a man aristocratic matrons added to their invitation lists when they launched their daughters into Polite Society. He was ‘dangerous’, and his reputation was unsavoury. The details were therefore kept from unmarried and virtuous maidens, but it was common knowledge that he had enjoyed liaisons with a number of married ladies whose husbands were either too pusillanimous to call him out, or believed it a better policy to act as if nothing was happening, even when it was, and under their own noses.
She had seen him often enough during her two notably unsuccessful Seasons. He might not be very welcome at Almack’s but he was popular with sporting gentlemen, and could enliven a mundane party with his presence. He was also handsome enough to be forgiven much by older ladies who found twenty minutes of his flirtatious behaviour made them feel nigh on twenty years the younger. He was tall, inclined to the dark and saturnine, and if some regretted that his hair showed not even a hint of a wave, all admitted he possessed a fine figure. It was whispered that his smile could melt hearts, but Kitty had glimpsed it, and she had found it lupine and predatory. She shuddered at the memory, the image in her head. She recalled him, too distinctly for her own peace of mind, but it was highly unlikely that he had the slightest notion what she looked like. There had been nothing out of the ordinary about Kitty Elford. She was remarkably average, in height, and figure, and accomplishments. Her hair was a soft brown, and her eyes variously described as hazel or green, but which she herself likened to ‘muddy’. She had not stood out enough to attract an eligible suitor, as her aunt, Lady Topcliffe, had bemoaned, telling her it was all her own fault for not learning the harp as well as the pianoforte. Why an ability to play that instrument would have brought gentlemen flocking to the house off Berkeley Square requesting permission to pay their addresses, eluded Kitty. When she had offered up that she was accounted an excellent rider to hounds, her aunt had resorted to her vinaigrette and day bed for an entire afternoon.
So Kitty had returned to the family seat, and taken up the running of her father’s house, much to the relief of the staff, who had found his assumption that everything happened as if by magic, and without any need f
or planning or preparation, very trying. Upon his demise her younger half-brother had assumed the title, under guardianship for a year before he came of age, and thereafter, he liked to remind everyone, it was he who was in control, not least of the purse strings.
Many young gentlemen, coming to title and estates at a tender age, would have been at risk of squandering their inheritance, cutting a dash in Town, but James Elford, fifth Viscount Bidford, liked money too much to waste it. He went up to London occasionally to ‘be seen’ and to act the man of the world, but he far preferred sitting with his steward and discussing how he might increase the rents from his acres. He had not thought of marriage, being only four and twenty, but last Season he had encountered Lady Annabel Wythall. Lady Annabel was in her third Season, and her mama was reaching the point of desperation. She was not ill-favoured in looks, but most men shied away from her manner. She had great faith in her own opinions, was much inclined to dispense these upon unwilling listeners, and, which instantly attracted Lord Bidford, advocated thrift. The first time he overheard her telling another young lady that if she would only apply herself to her stitchery she might embellish simple London-made gowns to look refreshed year after year, he was interested, but came to the natural conclusion that she must be one for whom such strategies were a necessity. When he discovered that this was not at all the case, the attraction became magnetic. Lady Annabel, for her part, saw not only a husband who would applaud her penny-pinching, but one whom she could mould as she wished. Thus each was delighted in the other, and only a family bereavement had delayed their nuptials, which were set for the end of March.
The only cloud on Lord Bidford’s horizon had been the presence of his elder half-sister. An uncharacteristically heavy night of it at his club had found him voluble in his desire to get her off his hands at almost any cost, and at this point he had found himself talking with Lord Ledbury. Bidford’s recollection of how they had actually come to an arrangement was a little sketchy, and had he not received a missive the following day confirming that the earl would present himself to pay his addresses to Miss Elford at his lordship’s earliest convenience, he would have thought it a brandy-induced dream. He was not going to give Ledbury the chance to have second thoughts, however, and had suggested a date within the week. His sister’s thoughts upon the matter were irrelevant.
Kitty knew that her feelings were of no interest to her half-sibling. At the same time the idea that Lord Ledbury would have decided to enter the married state upon whim seemed unlikely, and that he would be prepared to marry her even less so. Perhaps he had been inebriated and would think better of it.
Any hope that she might have had that Lord Ledbury would cry off, however, was dashed with his arrival on the Wednesday, as agreed.
*
There must have been Frenchwomen who went to the guillotine with happier countenances, thought the earl, looking at the uncompromising expression of his prospective bride as her brother introduced her.
‘Your servant, Miss Elford.’ He bowed, with grace.
Her curtsey was, by contrast, stiff. Bidford gave her a darkling look, in which fear vied with threat. After all, whilst she would suffer if Ledbury did not come up to scratch, he would have to explain his failure to Annabel.
‘Welcome to Bartons, my lord. I trust you will find everything to your satisfaction.’
The words were polite, but the voice lacked any enthusiasm, and her eyes were watchful. Lord Ledbury was used to women being admiring, nervous perhaps, frequently encouraging, but never had he come under such blatantly cool scrutiny.
He was as she remembered; just as she remembered. There was a loose-limbed grace to the man, a casualness, despite the fact that nothing was actually out of place. Upon reflection, she thought it must emanate from within. He was a man who felt he had nothing to prove, and had the confidence of the animal that hunted and was itself never the prey. She shuddered.
‘I am sorry, ma’am. We are perhaps standing in a draught?’
He flashed her a smile that usually had women sighing. She simply blinked at him, and it was Bidford who replied, almost tripping over his words to fill the silence.
‘Alas, at this season the wind contrives to enter the house, do what we will to preclude it. I can assure you, however, that your chamber is quite snug, Ledbury, and the chimney does not smoke.’ Bidford used Lord Ledbury’s title with an insouciance he did not feel. The earl was, he calculated, some eight years his senior, and he felt as uncomfortable as on his first day at Eton. He was out of his depth.
‘I am sure I will have no complaints,’ replied Lord Ledbury, without taking his gaze from Miss Elford. He could not recall ever seeing her before, otherwise he would have said that he had set up her back. Her guard was certainly up, and she was about as approachable as a rolled-up hedge-pig, but he would not call her shy. What had possessed him to make an offer for a woman he could not remember ever having met? He had not been sober, admittedly, but he was known to hold his liquor well, and he had felt quite clear-headed when he had casually offered to take Bidford’s incubus off his hands for the sum the maudlin fool was bandying about. The proposition had been attractive, on the face of it. The financial inducement was generous, and Bidford’s description of his sister indicated that Miss Elford was not some schoolroom miss, with a head full of silly romances and no notion how to go on. A sensible woman who would let him continue in his way of life without fuss was far better. He was also far more at home with women past the giddiness of their teens, but he liked them dashing, daring, and eye-catching. The young woman before him did not catch his interest in the slightest.
‘…and I always say that is very important.’
‘I am sorry?’ He looked to Bidford.
‘I was saying that a degree of fresh air is good for the health.’ Bidford repeated.
Kitty, for all her tension, could not but enjoy the fact that her half-brother was so ill at ease. She despised him. In her view he had inherited the worst aspects of their sire, combined with those of his mother. In fact, the only member of the male gender for whom she had ever had any deep respect was Pulley, the old groom who had taught her to ride and who had become her private groom when she was of an age to have her own horses.
‘My late mama swore by the opening of a window at night between April and September, whilst in the country of course, to prevent any congestion of the lungs.’ Bidford, having found a subject upon which he felt secure, was now getting into his stride. He was the sort who spoke frequently, but listened rarely. Kitty could not help it; she looked fully at Lord Ledbury, and read his expression exactly. It was that of a man wondering what on earth he had let himself in for during the coming days. It made her eyes sparkle with a wicked delight, which was her downfall, for he caught it and, out of habit, responded. The momentary connection between them was enough to make Kitty draw back into herself, cautious again. That was how the unwary were trapped. She resumed her impassivity.
*
Bidford’s comments about the chimney were correct, but Lord Ledbury’s man, Whicham, was not impressed, as he informed his master whilst laying out his evening attire.
‘It is not an establishment upon which any care has been lavished, or rather any sum of money, my lord. Efforts have been made, valiant ones I gather, by the staff to prevent its decline, but it is shabby, very shabby, my lord. There are mutterings below stairs that it will get worse once they have a new lady of the house.’
In truth, Lord Ledbury had not noticed the state of the decor. He was not the fashion conscious sort who would gush over gilded pier cabinets and curl their lip at aged Queen Anne. As long as things functioned, and his bed was comfortable, he was content.
‘You should not listen to gossip, Whicham.’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Unless, of course, I instruct you to do so.’
His lordship smiled, and Whicham, who found the occasional thrown shirt and cutting remonstrance outweighed by the pleasure of dressing a gentleman
whose figure showed off his valet’s skill, and who was impulsively generous and even thoughtful, permitted himself the hint of a response. When Whicham’s aged mother had been forced to take to her bed in her last illness, his lordship had not only given him leave of absence until matters resolved, and upon full wages, but paid for the doctor who attended her. Admittedly, his lordship had been feeling particularly plump in the pocket, following three successes at long odds among his stable, but Whicham had never been employed by a gentleman before who would have acted in such a way.
‘I will be most selective then, my lord.’ Whicham gave a final brush to the sleeve of his lordship’s coat.
*
When dinner was announced, Lord Ledbury greeted it with relief. Be the fare never so poor, it would be a distraction from being caught between an ice maiden and a pompous cub whose tongue ran away with him. In fact the table set before him exceeded his expectations. He was not to know that Bidford was making mental calculations as to how much his sister had squandered upon such an array of quality viands. Cook, given a free hand, had produced a tour de force, since, as she admitted to the butler, there would be little opportunity to do so when her new ladyship took over, if what she had heard from Miss Kitty’s maid was anything to go by.
‘For Miss Wootton says as everyone knows the lady has cheese-paring ways. Fair breaks my heart it does, to think of being asked to make do with inferior ingredients for the sake of economy. ’Tis me as will get the blame of course, but there.’
*
Kitty, who let Bidford rattle on as much as possible during dinner, found herself unconsciously watching her prospective suitor. He held himself in check, but she could see his mounting irritation with the viscount’s banalities. He had a temper, Bidford had said, and she could believe it. Not one to suffer fools, Lord Ledbury, and yet here he was, listening to one. Well, it was his own fault for accepting the invitation. Bidford had not even the sense to see how much worse he made things as he changed the subject from his mother’s nostrums to one which he knew Ledbury would find of interest, horses.
The Devil You Know Page 1