London Temptations: Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Joyce Alec

  Lady Fortescue nodded and glanced back up at Josephine. “I am a little ashamed to speak of it to you,” she said in a dull voice, “but the truth is, I have discovered that my husband has taken to a rather pretty young thing here in London and has decided to make her his mistress.” Her eyes were dim now, her whole expression downhearted. “It is to be expected, I suppose, for it is the habit of many gentlemen, but I had always believed that he would not do such a thing.”

  Anger flooded Josephine’s soul in a moment and she shook her head, her jaw tightening as she tried to think of what to say that would not only support her friend but make it quite plain that she did not think that any married gentleman ought to behave in such a fashion, no matter what society thought.

  “I spoke of it to a lady I considered to be my friend,” Lady Fortescue continued, closing her eyes for a moment. “It was whispered through all of London the very next day.”

  “Does Lord Fortescue know that it was you who spoke of it to another?” Josephine asked, a little worried for her friend. Lord Fortescue was something of a cruel man and certainly had a temper. She had seen it displayed twice before in the previous Season, and wanted to make certain that Lady Fortescue did not come to any harm. “He has not brought out any anger upon you?”

  Lady Fortescue smiled sadly, a single tear falling to her cheek as she looked up at Josephine, who hastily gave her a handkerchief, glad that they were speaking in a quiet corner of the room.

  “He thinks it is not of particular importance,” Lady Fortescue answered, dabbing her cheek quickly and blinking rapidly so that the rest of her tears would hide themselves away again. “Indeed, he spoke to me of it and suggested that I do not concern myself with such matters, stating that a gentleman had every right to do as he was doing at present and that I should have expected it from him.” Handing the handkerchief back to Josephine, she drew herself up and took in a deep breath, clearly forcing herself to remain calm and collected despite the inner turmoil that Josephine knew she must be feeling at present. “He does not care for my wellbeing and insists that I remain silent in my opposition to such behavior. And, as you well know, my husband is not a gentleman that will allow anyone to argue with him.” A small tremor passed through her frame and Josephine felt her anger begin to burn, her frown remaining fixed in place.

  “What he does not know,” Lady Fortescue continued brokenly, “is that I have been informed of the fact that this mistress is not the first of my husband’s interests. In fact, he has had many before, but I have been entirely unaware of it.”

  A little confused, Josephine moved closer, trying her best not to be overheard. “How can you be sure of such a thing?” she asked as Lady Fortescue reached out to take a glass of champagne from a nearby footman, gesturing for Josephine to do the same. She did so at once. “I cannot understand how you can know of this.”

  Lady Fortescue did not immediately answer. Instead, she took a sip of her champagne and allowed her gaze to rove around the room for a few moments.

  “Because,” she said, eventually looking back toward Josephine, “I have heard it from one of my husband’s friends, who was a little in his cups over dinner. When the gentlemen came through to join the ladies, he came to sit down beside me—although I did not want him to do so, of course.”

  “I cannot imagine that you should have been pleased with his company,” Josephine replied as Lady Fortescue wrinkled her nose.

  “However,” came the quick reply, “this gentleman told me in great length all that my husband had been doing with this particular lady, as well as making reference to the many others that had gone before. I believe he told me in what was a foolish attempt to flatter me, for he continually stated that I was not lesser simply because of my husband’s foolishness.” Her lips twisted. “I think he was trying to be kind, but instead he simply shattered my heart.”

  Josephine shook her head. “I am sorry, Edith,” she said kindly. “Your husband is nothing more than a fool.”

  “And that creature, that Lady Reid, whoever she may be, ought not to be doing as she is at present,” Lady Fortescue replied with a deep sense of anger in her voice. “I understand that she is a widow and that she might very well be struggling with a lack of coin or the like, but that does not mean that she should then seek out another’s husband to keep her in comfort.” She gestured to Josephine. “You have not done so.”

  “No,” Josephine agreed, “I have not. Although, had it not been for the birth of my son, I do not think that I should have had the same amount of contentment and ease of living that I do at present.” Seeing her friend frown hard, her eyes a little dark, Josephine quickly clarified what she meant. “I do not mean to suggest that I should ever behave as Lady Reid has done,” she finished quickly, “but rather that I should, most likely, have been forced into a marriage that, whilst bringing me financial safety, would have been most displeasing in every other fashion.”

  Lady Fortescue sighed and nodded, taking another sip of her champagne. Josephine watched her carefully, feeling true sorrow for her friend’s situation and wishing that there was something she herself could do to bring Lady Fortescue some relief. Her thoughts traveled to her son, who was but five years old at present. She had left him in the care of one of her dearest friends, who was also Josephine’s aunt. Baroness Thorne had always been present in Josephine’s life, ever since she had been a young girl and had lost her own mother, who had died giving birth to Josephine’s sibling—a boy. A boy who was now the bearer of her father’s title and who wanted nothing whatsoever to do with Josephine.

  “You are thinking of Henry, are you not?”

  Smiling, Josephine nodded. “I am. He greatly enjoyed his last summer with my aunt, Lady Thorne. Thus, I was glad to leave him in her care again, for I know they shall have the happiest of times together.”

  Lady Fortescue smiled, pressing one hand lightly to her stomach. “Would that I could find such happiness.”

  “I am certain you shall, in time,” Josephine replied, not wanting to state the truth, which was to say that if Lord Fortescue spent all his time with his mistress, he would have very little time for his wife. “I believe I have told you that the arrival of my son was something of a surprise?”

  “I recall,” Lady Fortescue replied with a smile. “You were in the depths of grief, I believe?”

  “I had already written to my husband’s brother, who I believed would claim the title,” Josephine said, memories coming at her all at once. “Of course, when I discovered that I was with child, there was then a good deal of waiting to be done. I wrote to my brother-in-law again to tell him what I had discovered, and he stated that he would remain abroad rather than return only to find out that he was not, in fact, the heir.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I did not detect any anger from him, but then again, I have never met the gentleman and could not tell from his letters the truth of his emotions.”

  A flicker of interest appeared in Lady Fortescue’s eyes. “Did he reply to your letter when you informed him that you now had a son? The son of Lord Rutherford?”

  Josephine shook her head, her lips pulling tight. “He did not,” she answered, a little sadly. “I thought he might at least acknowledge the birth, but there was never any word from him. I presume, then, that he felt a great deal of sorrow that he was not to claim the title but did not want to write for fear of expressing that emotion.” She laughed and tossed her head. “That, at least, is the excuse that I permit myself to believe.”

  “It is easier than thinking he cares nothing at all for you, your son, or the title, I suppose,” Lady Fortescue replied as Josephine smiled softly. “Sometimes, I think, it is better to know nothing of the truth, if it will save us pain.”

  Considering this, Josephine found she could not agree, although she did not say so to Lady Fortescue. Her pain was still much too raw, much too great for Josephine to state otherwise. For herself, however, Josephine considered that there was nothing better than the truth.

&nb
sp; Over the last five years, she had considered her husband’s death over and over again. She had, of course, set everything aside for the first few years of her son’s life, devoting herself to him entirely. He was the only thing that brought light and joy to her life, the only thing that pulled her from her sorrow. And yet, there had always remained that worry and doubt that told her she was not mistaken in her thinking, that something more had happened to her husband instead of a mere physical malady that had stolen his life from him. Last summer, she had delivered her son to her aunt—his great-aunt—and had returned to London with the single intention of finding out what she could about the house party that had taken place five years ago. It had been rather strange returning to society, for whilst there had been those she recognized, most of the ton either did not know her or did not recall her, which was not altogether surprising, given that she had wed within her debutante year.

  However, she had managed to discover the names of every single person who had been present at the house party. It had been hosted by one Lord Stevenson, whom Josephine was acquainted with, and through various discussions, meetings, and seemingly idle remarks, she had made a list of all those present.

  Now all she had to do was speak to each person and see what they recalled of the party itself. Last Season, she had spoken to each of the ladies who had attended the house party, but they had said nothing of importance to her. They had merely expressed their sorrow at the loss of her husband and had made some general remarks about how pleasing they had found him. None of them had recollected any particular illness that had affected him, none mentioned that he had seemed to be in any way unwell, leaving Josephine to believe that had a poison been given to her husband, it had been administered only a day or so before the party came to an end.

  There was also the suggestion, or so she had read, that a poison could be delivered in small amounts, until the person became so unwell from it that they could no longer survive. That final grievous illness, however, might only take a hold of them at the very end. With either suggestion, Josephine was still thoroughly convinced that something had been given to her husband to steal his life away, even though she had no true understanding as to why that might be.

  “What do you think I should do?”

  Josephine forced her thoughts back to the present as she looked into Lady Fortescue’s sorrowful face and tried to remember what they had been speaking of.

  “I—I could not say,” she answered softly. “I am sorry, Edith, but I am unprepared when it comes to matters such as these.” She shrugged and spread her hands with a small, sad smile. “I was not married for enough time to ever have to face such grave matters.”

  Lady Fortescue nodded, her eyes downcast.

  “You might speak to your husband, however,” Josephine suggested gently. “If you are able to tell him the truth of your feelings as regards this widow, then there is the chance he might listen to you.”

  This did not seem to be an amiable suggestion to Lady Fortescue, however, for she sighed and shook her head, biting her lip as she did so. “I do not think he would listen.”

  “He may,” Josephine replied quietly. “It would be worth taking the chance, I think. Tell him of your heart, Edith, for I know that you care deeply for him.”

  “I do wish that Lord Farrington had not spoken to me of this,” Lady Fortescue said with a heavy sigh. “I should rather not have known. The foolish gentleman.”

  Josephine’s breath caught. Lord Farrington was someone that she knew had been at the house party, but as yet, she had not found a way to be introduced to him.

  “Lord Farrington?” she repeated, a slight flicker of confusion on her brow. “I do not think I am acquainted with him.”

  Waving a hand, Lady Fortescue rolled her eyes, evidencing to Josephine that Lord Farrington was not a particularly liked gentleman. “His full title is the Earl of Farrington. He is yet unmarried and returns to London each Season simply to toy with the young ladies who seem to be pulled toward him by some sort of irresistible force.” She clicked her tongue, clearly displeased with Lord Farrington’s conduct. “He is somewhat arrogant, I think, and very much inclined toward speaking when he ought not to do so. He cares very little for those about him, I am sure of it, for he is always confident and determined to do as he pleases, without consideration.”

  A chuckle escaped from Josephine’s lips. “That sounds to me like most gentlemen of the ton.”

  This brought a small smile to Lady Fortescue’s lips. “I suppose so,” she agreed wryly. “But I am less inclined toward him, given what he spoke to me about.”

  “That is understandable,” Josephine replied, with what she hoped was a touch of interest in her voice. “I think I should like to be introduced to that particular gentleman, Edith. Do you think you might be courageous enough to make such introductions?”

  Lady Fortescue’s lips twisted for a moment and she narrowed her eyes at Josephine, as though considering her reasons for stating such a request.

  “I shall oblige,” she said after a while. “But only because I should be glad to hear you speak to him in a manner that no other lady has done.”

  This did not make sense to Josephine. Her confusion must have evidenced itself on her features, for Lady Fortescue laughed and settled one hand on her arm.

  “You shall not be swayed by his handsome face and winsome smile,” she explained as Josephine laughed in agreement. “You will not be overcome by his flattering words or the gleam in his eye when he greets you.”

  “Certainly, I shall not!” Josephine exclaimed, quite certain that nothing Lord Farrington could say or do would make her in any way inclined toward him.

  “Then I am already looking forward to such an introduction,” Lady Fortescue said with a bright smile that Josephine was very glad to see. “For I shall think of it as a punishment for Lord Farrington to be brought low by your words and your lack of smiles, which is what he will surely expect.”

  Josephine inclined her head, smiling broadly at her friend. “Then I will be only too happy to oblige,” she said, before picking up a glass of champagne and taking a long sip.

  2

  Thomas ran one finger lightly over his cravat, fully aware that his valet, who was standing behind him, was wincing in evident displeasure at such an action.

  “I must look perfect,” Thomas reminded him, turning to glance at his servant. “Are you convinced that this is nothing short of perfection?”

  The valet stepped forward. “Certainly, my lord,” he said as Thomas dropped his hand from his cravat and let out a small sigh. “Your cravat is utterly flawless.”

  Resisting the urge to turn back and look at it again in the mirror, Thomas nodded and, turning on his heel, made his way from the room without so much as a backwards glance. Striding toward the staircase, he hastened down it only to see his friend, Lord Warwick pacing up and down the hallway.

  “And finally, you decide to show your face,” Lord Warwick said with exasperation, throwing up his hands. “Or did you forget that I was to call for you with the carriage tonight?”

  “I did not forget,” Thomas replied with a chuckle. “But my cravat needed some attending to, and these things cannot be rushed.” Whilst his voice was mirthful, Thomas knew that everything he said was quite true. He did want his appearance to be as perfect as could be, and that included his cravat. Every day in London was another day to make himself as contented as possible, and this evening, he was certain, would be another exciting one.

  Lord Warwick, however, let out a loud groan and turned away from him as Thomas began to walk toward the front door of the house. He did not mind his friend’s dramatics, however, knowing that Lord Warwick meant nothing too grave by them.

  “You should take a little more care yourself, Warwick,” Thomas said, standing by the door and lifting one eyebrow. “That cravat is certain to be noticed by a good many this evening—particularly since it is coming undone.”

  Lord Warwick let out an exclamat
ion of horror and dashed to the drawing room, where he knew a large looking glass would be hanging on the wall. Thomas chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he waited for his friend to return. Even after their many years of friendship, Lord Warwick still did not seem to understand that not everything Thomas said was either true or genuine. He took great enjoyment in Lord Warwick’s disgruntled expression, leaning on the door frame and gesturing toward the carriage as he did so.

  “We are going to be late if you continue to insist on checking your appearance,” Thomas said with a broad smile, seeing how Lord Warwick’s brows lowered all the more. “Do hurry up, Warwick. I should not want to leave Lord Eastport waiting for our arrival.”

  “You are ridiculousness itself,” Lord Warwick muttered as he strode past Thomas toward the carriage. “There is nothing wrong with my cravat.”

  Thomas laughed, the sound chasing through the night air all around them. “But you did make certain to check your appearance, did you not?” he said, climbing in after Lord Warwick. “And that, I am sure, is never a bad thing.”

  Lord Warwick said nothing, merely grunting in evident displeasure. Sighing contentedly, Thomas leaned back against the squabs and smiled to himself. He was in excellent spirits this evening, which, he was sure, would only make the rest of the evening very enjoyable indeed.

  “And which young lady do you intend to seek out this evening, might I ask?” Lord Warwick muttered as the carriage made its way through London. “Miss Armitage has been watching you very keenly these last few days, I think. And Lady Beatrice is certainly eager for your attention.”

  Shrugging, Thomas spread his hands. “And that is precisely why I shall give them very little attention, Lord Warwick,” he said calmly. “They are much too desirous of my company. No, I should rather find a lady a little more reserved and do my utmost to pull her toward me, even if she should not wish it.”

  “A married lady, no doubt,” Lord Warwick said with a shake of his head. “Or one of those particularly wealthy widows who are always beckoning you toward them.”