London Temptations: Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Joyce Alec

  Thomas said nothing to either agree with or deny such a statement. He did not want to tell Lord Warwick that he was correct, for that would give his friend far too much satisfaction. Nor did he want to deny it, for Lord Warwick knew him well enough to understand that any such denial would be a mistruth.

  “They are nothing but sport to you,” Lord Warwick continued, when Thomas said nothing. “When will you find yourself a young lady to marry? You have been in London for every Season these last few years and still have shown no intention of doing so.”

  “I am sure that, when I see the right lady, I shall know in my heart that she is the one I am to wed,” Thomas answered flippantly, pressing one hand against his heart in a dramatic fashion. “As yet, I have not found her. Who can blame me for my interest in others whilst I continue my search?” He chuckled, but Lord Warwick only grimaced. “Besides, you cannot tell me that such a thing is wrong, given the fact that you yourself are not wed.”

  “But I do not behave as you do,” Lord Warwick replied firmly. “I am not close to having the ton call me a rake, as you are.”

  Again, Thomas could find nothing within himself to care about what the beau monde thought of him. He would have plenty of company regardless of whether he was considered a rake or not. He said nothing more until the carriage came to a stop and the door opened for them to step down.

  “I do hope you will not be in such doldrums for the rest of the evening,” he said as Lord Warwick climbed out to stand beside him. “You are much better company when you are cheerful.”

  Lord Warwick said nothing but marched ahead, leaving Thomas far behind. Thomas watched his friend stride toward the house, wondering what it was that was behind Lord Warwick’s evident frustration. Was it true concern for him that came through Lord Warwick’s words? Or was there something more that Thomas could not yet see?

  You know all too well what it is like to hide your true feelings away, came a small voice deep within his heart, but Thomas thrust it aside without hesitation, just as he had always done. Regardless of Lord Warwick’s mood, he himself was eager to have as much enjoyment as he could this evening—and a ball was just the place to do it.

  “Good evening, Miss March. Thank you for dancing with me.”

  Miss March, who Thomas had to admit was a very pretty little thing indeed, with large blue eyes and rosebud lips, blushed a gentle pink as she dropped into a curtsy.

  “I thank you for asking me, Lord Farrington,” she replied, her voice very soft. It was as though she were a little in awe of him and Thomas had to admit that he found it very flattering indeed.

  “I do hope that we will be able to do so again very soon, Miss March,” he replied, offering her his arm so that he might lead her from the floor. “You are an excellent dancer. I have very much enjoyed your company.”

  “And I yours,” Miss March replied, her voice softer still so that he had to strain to hear her. A grin spread itself across his face as he led her back toward her mother, who was, Thomas noted, watching him with careful eyes. It was as though she did not quite trust Thomas, or his intentions—and Thomas considered her rather wise in her judgments.

  “Good evening, Lady Matheson,” he murmured, bowing to the Scottish viscountess. “Thank you for allowing me to dance with your daughter.”

  Lady Matheson’s smile did not reach her eyes. “You are very welcome, Lord Farrington,” she replied as Miss March came to stand next to her mother, as obedient as a debutante ought to be. “I do hope you enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  It was a firm dismissal and one that Thomas took graciously enough. Bowing, he took his leave—but not without one further smile toward Miss March, whose blush deepened as she dropped her head.

  Feeling rather satisfied, Thomas continued to make his way across the ballroom, taking his time and allowing his steps to meander rather than to hurry anywhere. He had danced with a fair few young ladies and would spend the latter half of the evening engaging in conversation with those of particular interest to him. Perhaps, he considered, his grin sloping to one side, one of the young ladies might be looking for warm company—and he would be very glad indeed to oblige.

  “Do be careful, Lord Farrington!”

  A loud exclamation made him stumble backwards, realizing that he had slammed hard into a lady wearing a soft yellow gown. Her gloved hand was now a little damp, her glass of ratafia having splashed over it due to his own foolishness.

  “Lady Fortescue,” he said, pulling out his handkerchief and then pressing it into her hand. “Do forgive me. Please,” he reached for her glass. “Allow me to assist you.”

  Lady Fortescue did not look particularly pleased but begrudgingly gave him her glass before pressing her glove with his handkerchief in an attempt to remove most of the spilled beverage.

  “Whatever were you doing, Lord Farrington?” she said crossly. “I am aware there is a ball and that there are a great number of guests, but that is no reason to walk into me in such a fashion.”

  “Forgive me,” he said again. “I was quite lost in thought. I—” His gaze suddenly caught sight of a lady hurrying toward them both, with hair that seemed to burn bronze in the candlelight. Her curls bounced back and forth as she came near to Lady Fortescue, looking at her friend in evident concern.

  “Edith,” she said, ignoring Thomas entirely. “Whatever happened?”

  Lady Fortescue shook her head and sighed heavily, before gesturing to Thomas. “Lord Farrington thought he would stride across the ballroom as though it would open up toward him without hesitation,” she said, a bite in her voice. “The ratafia spilled a little.”

  Thomas, feeling a trifle embarrassed and fully aware that he had not managed to begin his acquaintance with this stranger on the best footing, cleared his throat, spread his hands, and shrugged, putting an easy smile on his face.

  “She is correct,” he said with what he hoped was a sorrowful tone. “I have nothing but apologies to make. This was not Lady Fortescue’s doing, but rather it was my own. My thoughts were quite elsewhere.”

  Lady Fortescue muttered something under her breath and then pressed his handkerchief back into his hand before gesturing to the lady who now stood by her. She was a little taller than Lady Fortescue, with an oval face, high cheekbones, and a sharpness in her eye that seemed to spear Thomas in a moment. He found himself feeling rather uncomfortable under her stormy gaze and chose instead to bow deeply, making certain that he did all that would be expected of making a new acquaintance.

  “Lord Farrington, might I present my dear friend, Lady Rutherford. Lady Rutherford, this is the Earl of Farrington.”

  Thomas pulled himself to his full height as the lady curtsied, aware of a sudden tremor that ran through him upon hearing the name. It was a name he had tried not to think of in some years, a name he had fought to forget. And yet now, it seemed, he was to be tormented by the presence of the one person he had sought to push from his mind.

  “Lady Rutherford,” he said, placing a smile on his face that he did not feel. “Good evening. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Lady Rutherford was not smiling. Instead, she stood with that same icy look in her eyes, her brow a little furrowed as though she was trying to make him out.

  “I do hope you are enjoying this evening,” he said, when she did not answer him. “Might you care to dance? I should be very glad to accompany you to the dance floor.” Keeping his smile fixed to his lips, he let one eyebrow lift just a little, recovering himself and his usual sense of self-confidence.

  “No,” Lady Rutherford answered, a little sharply. “I do not think I should care to dance with you this evening, Lord Farrington. Although, from what I have heard, I am sure that you shall not be without willing partners.” Still, she did not smile. Her hazel eyes were swirling with shades of green and brown—a feature he normally found very enticing indeed—but on this occasion, it made him feel all the more uncomfortable.

  “I should like it, Lady Rutherford, if yo
u would make your own judgments about my character,” he said with a small wink, “rather than believe the rumors you have heard.”

  This, he was relieved to note, did make the lady smile. The edges of her mouth curved which brought a small spark to her eyes, pushing aside the coldness there. But her words that followed did nothing other than make Thomas’ heart curl with embarrassment.

  “I appreciate your kind invitation, Lord Farrington, but I believe that I shall take the word of almost every particular lady I have met who has warned me of your rakish ways,” she said in a pleasant, conversational tone of voice which did nothing to dampen the sting of her words. “I might be willing to concede that one or two ladies in particular could be mistaken about your character, but when there are more than a few—when there is a very great number, in fact, I find that I have no other choice but to accept those words as truth.”

  Thomas did not know what to say to this. He had never once, in all the introductions and all the acquaintances he had made over the years, had a lady speak to him in such a manner. She was being both blunt and a little rude, he considered, putting his hands behind his back and clearing his throat as he struggled to find something to say.

  “I see,” he muttered as Lady Fortescue looked on, a look of delight beginning to spread across her face. Thomas had no doubt that Lady Fortescue did not think highly of him either, given what he had evidently told her about Lord Fortescue—something he did not completely remember—but he had not expected to see such an expression of satisfaction on her face in this moment.

  Lady Rutherford tipped her head just a fraction, her eyes still assessing him. “I believe you knew my late husband, who was the Marquess of Rutherford.”

  Thomas cleared his throat again and nodded, not quite able to look at Lady Rutherford. It was not only that he found her words toward him a little sharp and discomfiting, but also the fact that he certainly did not wish to recall anything about that particular house party. Lord Rutherford had not been an enjoyable presence there that evening, and it was not something that Thomas was glad to recall.

  “I did,” he said, a trifle gruffly. “I was sorry to hear of his passing, Lady Rutherford.”

  She said nothing for a moment, her eyes still fixed to his. “It was some time ago, Lord Farrington, although I appreciate the sentiment.”

  Not quite certain what else he was to say, Thomas decided that it would be best, therefore, for him to step away from Lady Rutherford and Lady Fortescue. This conversation was not flowing easily and, given that he was not at all used to ladies of the ton speaking to him in such a manner, Thomas thought it would be best to remove himself entirely. There was no need for him to linger or attempt to overcome Lady Rutherford’s obvious dislike in order to encourage her to improve her considerations of him. He would simply push their meeting to the back of his mind and, instead, find other young ladies who were much more eager for his company.

  “I do hope that you will enjoy the rest of the evening, Lady Fortescue, Lady Rutherford,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “If you will excuse me, I believe I am to dance with Miss Templeton next, and I should not like to be tardy.”

  “Good evening, Lord Farrington,” Lady Fortescue murmured as Lady Rutherford said the same. “Let us hope that you do not bump into anyone else this evening.”

  This inspired a laugh from Lady Rutherford, leaving Thomas to feel nothing but embarrassment as he made his way past them both in search of the elusive Miss Templeton, with whom he was supposedly to dance. That had been nothing more than a lie, of course, but he was certain the lady would do so if he asked her. After all, most ladies in the beau monde would be glad of his company, would they not? Lady Rutherford was one who might be less than inclined toward him, but her consideration of him was not at all important. He had no need to think of her any longer, although it would, most likely, be best to avoid her company in the future.

  Particularly if she is to ask about the house party, he thought to himself, a cold fear grasping at his heart. Giving himself a slight shake so that he might thrust aside such thoughts, Thomas set his shoulders and felt his confidence return to him. He was just as he had been before—assured and determined. The rest of the evening was bound to go very well indeed.

  3

  “Yes, I was present at the house party. I recall it well.”

  Josephine’s heart stopped for a moment as Lord Warrington nodded his head slowly, a glass of brandy in one hand, held halfway to his mouth. This was her third social occasion this week and yet, thus far, she had achieved nothing other than a few nods and murmurs of recognition about her late husband’s presence at the house party. No one had said anything about what had taken place, if anything at all, and certainly no gentleman had appeared eager to talk about it with any degree of openness.

  “Lord Stevenson’s, was it not?”

  “Yes,” Josephine replied as Lady Fortescue glanced at her, a small frown flickering. “Yes, that is correct.”

  Lord Warrington, who was an older gentleman with a thinning crop of grey hair and a rather large moustache, harrumphed loudly, then took a sip of his brandy, frowning hard as though he were trying hard to remember something of great importance.

  “Your husband was there, of course,” he said after a few moments as Josephine battled her exasperation. She fought the urge to remind Lord Warrington that she herself had begun the conversation by stating that her husband had been at the very same house party as he some years ago, and instead chose to remain deadly silent.

  “A bit of a nasty business, from what I remember,” Lord Warrington said suddenly, frowning. “Although it was all kept very quiet, of course.”

  Josephine swallowed hard, biting her lip to keep her from throwing questions out toward him.

  “Lord Farrington was not at all pleased,” Lord Warrington continued. “He did not think very highly of the matter, of course, and made it plain to your husband.” He gave her a sad smile, reaching out and patting her shoulder as if to suggest that she knew all too well what he was speaking of. “A very difficult time for those involved.”

  Nodding in supposed agreement, Josephine let out a heavy sigh. “It was rather trying, yes.”

  “I can imagine it would have been!” Lord Warrington exclaimed with a lift of his bushy eyebrows. “Lord Kingston was very angry with them both, of course, but Lord Farrington did state that he would resolve matters and that it would not be allowed to continue.”

  Josephine shook her head and dropped her gaze, letting her shoulders slump low as though she were now rather sorrowful and pained at having been reminded of such a difficult time.

  “I do hope your husband did not bring such distress home to you, Lady Rutherford,” Lord Warrington said with a kindness in his eyes that Josephine felt herself warm to. “It was, as I have said, a rather distressing business and one that I can only imagine must have brought a great deal of trouble with it. Trouble that you yourself did not need to be involved in.”

  Spreading her hands, Josephine gave Lord Warrington a small smile. “My husband spoke to me briefly, once he arrived home,” she said, making sure to keep from Lord Warrington that the only words her husband had spoken to her upon his arrival were of his pain and torment in being so unwell. “I was sorry to hear of it all.”

  “But of course you were!” Lord Warrington exclaimed, throwing up one hand, whilst the other held his brandy glass securely. “Even I, who did not know of it all, was shocked to hear what was said. Lord Farrington was the one to bring it all to a close, although quite how he did so, I cannot say.”

  “I am sure I do not know either,” Josephine replied, pressing every single piece of information into her heart so that she would not forget them. “Lord Stevenson must have found it all rather embarrassing, having had such a display within his own house and during his own house party.”

  Lord Warrington clicked his tongue and shook his head. “As the host, he was greatly frustrated, I believe,” he said as Josephine nodded s
agely, pretending she understood everything. “In fact, I am not even certain that he has ever truly forgotten what occurred. And, of course, his friendship with Lord Farrington and Lord Morton was ruined.”

  Josephine frowned, not recognizing the second of the names. She had never heard of such a gentleman before and it was not one that her husband had ever mentioned of his acquaintances. Then again, her husband had never really spoken to her at great length about anyone that he knew and had kept much of his affairs entirely private. Still, she kept the name in her mind, knowing that she would have to remember a good many details so that, once she returned to the quietness of her own home, she would be able to write down all that Lord Warrington had said.

  “I do not think I am acquainted with Lord Morton,” Lady Fortescue said, looking up at Lord Warrington with interest. “Is he in London?”

  Lord Warrington’s brow furrowed and his eyes downcast. “I am afraid that Lord Morton also passed away, a short time after the house party,” he said, making Josephine catch her breath in astonishment.

  “How dreadful,” Lady Fortescue said, putting one hand to her heart and looking up at Lord Warrington with wide eyes. “Whatever happened?”

  Lord Warrington let out a long breath. “I do not know entirely,” he said heavily. “From what I understand, Lord Morton was thrown from his horse—an accident, of course—but thereafter there came a great illness upon him, as a result of the injuries he sustained. He lingered for some time but there was nothing the doctors could do to stop him from leaving this world.”

  “I must presume from your expression, Lord Warrington, that you were closely acquainted with Lord Morton,” Josephine said gently, seeing the pain in the man’s eyes and recognizing it as it chimed with her own. “I do hope the sorrow has lessened somewhat.”

  Lord Warrington did not reply for a few moments, his eyes searching Josephine’s face, as though to determine whether or not she spoke genuinely. What he discovered there must have given him the answers he sought, for he nodded slowly and then let out another sigh.