Damn him. Why should he affect her so? It was typical of a rake, to take advantage and leave. Not that she’d wanted him to stay, of course, or take things further but…
Stop it, now. Josephine castigated herself firmly. She had to get a grip on herself. With only a few months to endure the ton before she could escape and live her own life, the last thing she needed was a gentleman, be he a rake or not, taking notice of her. It would foil everything she had put in place for her future. A future she anticipated with relish. A future where she relied only on herself and was responsible for no one’s happiness except her own.
Josephine tidied her hair as best she could—lord knew it was hard to keep confined at the best of times—then patted cold water onto her rosy cheeks before she accepted a glass of diluted wine from the smiling attendant. She sipped it slowly, and did her best not to grimace. Watered wine was not her drink of choice. She regulated her breathing, even as she cursed how it sped up every time she thought of David. He had enough charm for five, and when he used it… No wonder so many female hearts went aflutter on the odd occasion he came into their orbit.
Why he had chosen to essay it on her was a mystery. Unless, of course, he saw her as a challenge, or he was bored, and baiting her passed the time. Either, she thought, was feasible. She rested the glass on her hot forehead. Why her?
Two other debs almost danced into the room and ignored her. Was she invisible? Probably, to their eyes, she was on the shelf already and thus a nonentity, not worth sparing a thought for. They sat in front of a mirror, studied their faces and began to chat. Josephine resolved to be cheeky and listen in.
“Did you see him?” one asked excitedly. She wore a fussy pink gown decorated with flounces and flowers and looked like a blancmange. “I swear he smiled at me. Oh ’twas such a thrill. I almost swooned. If he invites me to dance, I probably will swoon.”
“He is so handsome,” the other said. “And so well dressed.” She smoothed down her yellow, frilly and furbelow-decked gown, which made her skin appear sallow, and preened. “He could not take his eyes off me. I think he is interested.”
Whoever it is, he is probably wondering how you managed to get that much embellishment on that amount of material. What happened to ‘debs should be demure and pale colors should be worn’? Oh dear, I sound like a cat. Nevertheless, neither gown appealed to her. Two cases of trying too hard. Josephine much preferred the adage her own dressmaker subscribed to—less is more. Although, she thought, amused, the blancmanges did attract attention, and that was obviously what the younger women wanted. Even if it was not complimentary. She herself didn’t want to be noticed. With her blonde hair and curvaceous figure, men never seemed to see past the physical assets to the woman inside, and once she appeared to be uninteresting, ignored her. She intended it to stay that way. She sipped her wine and waited for the next revelation. It was not long in coming.
“I am sure no one ties a cravat as well as he,” the second deb went on. “I would also swoon if he so much as looked at me. As for a dance? Oh my…I would dissolve in a heap.”
That would do a lot of good. Idly, Josephine wondered who they were discussing. Hopefully she would soon find out.
“They say he is a rake,” the first deb said dreamily. “Well, if he is, I want to discover more. Do you know”—she lowered her voice but not enough to make Josephine strain to hear her—“they said Lady Retford begged him to take her to his bed. Begged him, and he said no, he didn’t want someone or other’s castoffs. I didn’t hear whose sadly,” the speaker said in a regretful voice. “But the upshot was that Lady Retford was distraught and retired to the country. Her husband made her. Said he was not going to condone her making sheep’s eyes at the viscount or a laughingstock of himself. No progeny yet, you know. Worrying, my mama says. But she added in a resigned sort of voice that such goings-on were all well and good as long as they weren’t flaunted. Fancy that? Viscount Lyttlethorp must be someone special to evoke such behavior.” The tone of voice indicated that the speaker wasn’t sure whether to be delighted or scandalized. “Such a nonesuch.”
David Suddards. Josephine decided she might have guessed. Not only was his dress perfection personified, he did leave a trail of broken hearts behind him. Plus, Josephine remembered, she had heard that Lady Felicia Retford was enamored with him. It seemed her attention had become too obvious for both David and her husband. To be fair, his lordship had never shown any partiality for the lady mentioned—it was well known he conducted his affairs with discretion. Some became public knowledge, of course, but in all her almost twenty-four years Josephine had never heard one of his ex-lovers, or indeed alleged ex-lovers, ever say a bad word about him. Nor any of his peers. Most praised him, and words like ‘the perfect gentleman’, ‘generous to a fault’ and ‘a cracking good fellow’—depending on the sex of the speaker—were bandied around.
Even so, one thing was for certain—Josephine was positive she was not going to be one of those who showed any preference for him. She put her now-empty glass down on a shelf and slowly, so as not to draw attention to herself, stood and smoothed down her gown before she slipped a coin to the attendant and left the room. She guessed by the continuing chatter about fob watches, piercing eyes that followed you around the room—as if they had a mind of their own—and cravat pins, signets and smiles meant for one recipient, presumably the speaker, that neither deb noticed her. For that she was thankful.
Now all she had to do was get through yet another evening, and it could be crossed off her calendar. One day less to endure the ton and one day closer to her goal. After seven long seasons in the ton, where, to the despair of her parents, she had ensured she received no offers, they had agreed—with considerable reluctance, and from her mama several bouts of tears—this season would be her last.
Josephine had long known their interest in her was negligible. All they needed was each other and not to be burdened by a daughter. As a little girl she had overheard her papa saying he only wanted a son and heir, and a daughter was worthless. He had ranted that all she would do was cost him money to keep, and anything of value she had would go to said husband, not her papa.
‘Costs me money to keep and I get nothing for it.’ As if she were a joint of mutton. Over the years, Josephine had come to understand her parents truly had no interest in her as a person. Their idea of pushing her into a marriage was, she accepted, their way of finally getting rid of what to them was a burden and a nuisance. She guessed they had reluctantly decided, as no one was prepared to take her on, that out of sight, out of mind was the next best thing. By letting her lead her own life, they would no longer have even a nominal responsibility for her.
Come the summer, she could retire to the cottage on the Northumberland coast left to her by Lady Stenhouse, her godmother, and Josephine could hardly wait. That cottage and all it represented had been her lodestone ever since she became the owner. Almost on the beach, the snug four-bedroomed house with its acre or so of land and servants’ annex would be the perfect place for her to set down roots. One day.
However, that day had not yet arrived and wait she must. Josephine straightened her shoulders and returned to purgatory, also known as the ballroom, or the debs’ dinner—where debutants eyed up the eligible gentlemen as if they were the next meal. She glanced at the elegant mahogany longcase clock as she passed by its prominent position on the landing, not far from the ballroom and the grand staircase, and sighed hard enough to rustle the silk of her gown.
Only an hour or so before carriages would be summoned, but that was sixty-plus minutes too long. Once back inside the overheated, overdressed ballroom, Josephine avoided her mama, who sat along one wall with a group of other grand dames, and headed for a seat by an adjacent wall. There, she hoped her mama would not accidentally catch a glimpse of her, but she, Josephine, could see what was going on. There was something very satisfying about people-watching and seeing how they interacted with one another. Did that make her a voyeur? Probably, bu
t she didn’t care. It wasn’t like she was spying. She wasn’t a peeping Tom or Thomasina, just an interested bystander.
A swift glance around showed her David was nowhere to be seen. She was thankful, wasn’t she?
Chapter Two
The latest news from his man of business should have made him happy. Somehow, David accepted, deep down, it didn’t. Oh, he was pleased with what he had achieved but the reasons for the necessity of his actions still grated. David scowled as he shuffled the papers together and handed them back to Simmons. He made a conscious effort to remove the scowl and replace it with a smile of thanks. It wasn’t his solicitor’s fault it made him out of sorts to have to do what he had.
“So that’s the lot?” He steepled his hands on the desk and rested his chin on the tips of his fingers as he studied the man on the other side of the mahogany desk. As young as David, Michael Simmons was a gem David didn’t intend losing. “Every un-entailed Midham piece of land now belongs to me and my father has no idea? Plus there is no more that my father has to sell?” He wanted to be certain that no part of the estate that had or could be sold had been missed. “None of my tenants are facing hardship, and those in poverty who are still part of the Midham estates have been surreptitiously aided?”
Simmons inclined his head. “That is it all, my lord. The duke has no idea any of it was purchased by you, of course, which I must admit gives me a great degree of satisfaction. Not that it is my place to comment, but anyone…” He stopped and tilted his head to one side. “But I am, my lord, glad I have been able to play a small part in foiling his mean-spirited actions,” he added with a defiant expression. “Far be it for me to disapprove of the actions of my elders and better, but in this case, I must.”
“You are entitled to your opinion, and he is not entitled to your loyalty, so don’t worry about it,” David said. “You work for me, not him.”
“Nor would I ever be in his employ,” Simmons replied. He shook his head. “Never. I’d rather serve ale in a hedge tavern.”
“Well, as I have no intention of asking you to work elsewhere, you have no need to worry.” Plus, if David’s life proceeded how he hoped it would, Simmons would have even more to do.
Simmons smiled. “I appreciate that. Now, as far as his grace is aware, it is a number of syndicates and such like which have purchased varying lots offered for sale, for different reasons. I made sure nothing could be traced to you. The primary acres were purchased under the name Brixham Associates.” Simmons hailed from that area. “Others as you decreed. Now it is all yours and consolidated as Caldborough Estates.”
David smiled. Caldborough House had been the first place he had bought when he’d come of age and, contrary to his father’s thoughts, begun to invest the inheritance from his grandfather and not gamble with the money as his parent accused him. As the crow flew, Caldborough was not that far from Midham. In attitude and ideals of the owners, a thousand miles.
“You have done all I could have wished for, and more. It fits perfectly. As you know, there is even a common boundary for a few miles with the river. Not that I intend to inform him we are neighbors. If I have been Caldborough’s owner for all these years and he has never bothered to discover plain Mr. David is really me, why should I? He chooses to ignore me, I choose to let it stay that way.” He smiled at Simmons. “Anything else I should know?”
“Ah.” By his tone of voice, David realized Simmons was obviously torn.
“Spit it out, man. If I don’t want to listen, I won’t.”
His man of business still hesitated. David looked at him quizzically. “What am I supposed to have done now?”
“Nothing, but, well, you’ll want to listen,” Simmons said. “Or you should. However, whether you will do anything about the information, I doubt. It is merely that Lady Whitcombe has admitted her babe, luckily a girl, is not yours.”
“Nothing to do then. As I knew that I hadn’t sired the child, it makes no odds,” David said indifferently. He examined his thoughts, and was relieved to discover he really did not have any strong emotions about the identity of the father. “Out of curiosity, have you discovered who did?”
Simmons nodded. “I made it my business. It is Whitcombe’s brother.”
Now it all made sense. “Ah, that would cause problems, I admit.” David stood up and shook Simmons’ hand to indicate the meeting was at an end. “Thank you for all your help. There will be a lot more for you to do once we get to grips with the state of affairs on the various acreages, no doubt. For now, though, I intend to go for a ride to blow the cobwebs away. Then I will consult with my valet as I plan to hie north tomorrow.” Even though it was still shy of nine in the morning, and he would have loved to depart that day, he had too many loose ends to wrap up first, plus his godmother’s ball to attend. He’d made a promise, and the one thing he always did was keep those. “I’ll let you know what needs doing first, once I get north. Will you come if I call?”
“Of course. Will you go to see your father if he is there?”
David shook his head. “You know his stance on things.”
“His way or no way?”
“Exactly. And as I tore up the list of potential brides he handed me and scattered them over him like paper raindrops, that scenario is as likely as Prinny being thrifty. I highly doubt I will ever go voluntarily to Midham whilst he is still master there. I intend to see my tenants, reassure them they will not be out on the streets and decide how best to go forward.” Now the new Caldborough estates were complete, he could make sure everything was as it should be. Apart from which, it would be good to get out of the capital and away from scheming mamas and their daughters. “Thwaite”—his factor—“will be overjoyed to hear he has more than Caldborough Hall and its immediate surrounds to oversee.”
“Indeed.”
“To that end, anything urgent send to me there, by messenger if need be.” Not that David thought that would be the case. Simmons was more than competent, and now David had ensured that none of his inheritance had fallen into other hands, all should be well. “If you hear of anything I should know about with regards to Midham, you have my permission to do what you think fit, and let me know via our usual channels.” It was complicated to help out and make sure it looked as if it were someone altruistic who had no connection with anywhere specific, but so far it had worked. His father might have intended that David’s inheritance be a millstone around David’s neck, but David had made damn sure it wouldn’t be.
Simmons took his leave and David made his way upstairs to change to take the opportunity to ride before most of the ton was awake.
Satisfied he had achieved everything with regards to safeguarding his lands and people, he pondered the other problem that bothered him. It was time to look for a wife. Someone to share those lands with. Someone to help him make the estates profitable and the people on them content. And, of course, to ensure he had an heir. In his mind, that meant someone whom he chose because he wanted that person to be his wife, not someone foisted upon him.
Why did an unexpected image of Lady Josephine Bowie spring to mind? Surely she was the last person he should be thinking about. Heavens, with her in his life he’d never have a moment’s peace.
But life would be interesting, and never dull. And how my papa would hate the fact that I didn’t have a wife who would play false and loose, and that I was happy with someone not of his choice.
He left the house and headed for the mews and the stables. These early morning rides were his salvation when he had to endure the capital. Since his estrangement from his parents, he had unfortunately spent most of his time there, and little at Caldborough. Mainly, he knew, because he didn’t want his father to find out what he was up to, and at Caldborough, as a new landowner—even as plain Mr. David there would be visitors aplenty and gossip would be rife. In London he made it seem he was following his perceived hedonistic ways. In Yorkshire it wouldn’t be possible to do so.
He trotted his horse sedately throu
gh the streets to the park and managed several decent almost-gallops up the row before more people were out and about and ready to join him. David turned his horse toward the gates and was hailed by one of his cronies who, like David, also steered a much less pleasure-driven way than people thought.
“It’s your godmother’s ball tonight,” James Dempster said once they were within speaking distance of each other. “I expect you got the ‘you will attend’ note the same as I?”
David laughed. “Of course, but it won’t be all bad. I have promised her I will have one duty dance with one lucky—or unlucky, depending on how you see it—deb, and then it’s the card room. I intend to be nowhere I can be caught and put into a compromising position. Did you hear how one chit had the barefaced cheek to follow Ronnie Phillips into the library at the Beltons’ soiree and demand he offer for her? He’d gone there to wait for another deb, so you can imagine his consternation.”
“Good God, poor Ronnie. What did he do, offer for the chit?”
David shook his head. “He went out of the window.”
“But the Beltons’ library is two stories up,” James said in an aghast voice. “How the hell did he manage that?”
“Ronnie always was the one of us who could climb the best. To say they were amazed when he was found in the ballroom dancing with the Marsden chit was an understatement.” And he, David thought as they parted, made sure he was never found with anyone. A state of affairs he intended to keep.
* * * *
Twelve or so hours later, with good food in his stomach and a superb brandy in his hand, David watched his friend throw his cards down in disgust.
“Suddards, damn you, you win again. If I didn’t trust you implicitly, I would swear you marked the cards,” James said wryly as he picked up his brandy goblet and took a large gulp. “Oh God, I know you don’t cheat, straight as a die you are, but how you manage to win, I have no idea.”
The Viscount Meets his Match: A Regency Romance Page 3