Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's List\Saved by the Viking Warrior\The Pirate Hunter (2 page)

No, Havelock sighed. He probably didn't. And anyway, he'd already decided to forgo the pleasure of indulging in a decent set-to with anyone within the walls of this club.

‘Look, I'm related to half the bloody
ton
as it is,' he explained to the bemused Morgan. ‘What with stepbrothers, and stepsisters, and all the attendant stepcousins and aunts and uncles and such like all thinking they have a right to poke their nose into my affairs, I don't want someone bringing yet another set of relatives into my life and making it any more complicated, thank you very much.'

He saw Ashe write the word
orphan
on the list.

Morgan nodded. ‘Makes sense. And an orphan, a girl with no family to support her, is all the more likely to agree to the kind of bargain you seem determined to strike.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

Chepstow poured a large measure of wine into Havelock's empty glass and nudged it towards him.

‘I am sure Morgan meant nothing you need take offence at, Havelock,' reproved Ashe in the reasonable tone that so many men found damned supercilious.

He was beginning to understand why.

Havelock folded his arms and glared across the table.

To his credit, Morgan met his look without blinking.

Ashe removed his spectacles and set to polishing them with a silk handkerchief he produced from an inner pocket of his tailcoat. ‘May I make a suggestion?'

‘I wish you would. It's why I came in here, after all. See if anyone could help me find a way through this...morass,' said Havelock.

‘Well, for myself,' said Ashe diffidently, ‘I could not stand to be married to a woman who did not possess a keen intellect.'

‘Lord,' said Havelock, aghast. ‘I wouldn't know what to do with a bluestocking!'

‘Oh, come,' said Lord Chepstow, his devilish grin returning for the first time since they'd sat down. He then proceeded to offer a variety of suggestions about what exactly a man could do with a bluestocking, her garters, and various other items of apparel before descending into a spate of vulgarity that, though a little off the topic at hand, did at least serve to lighten the atmosphere.

When they'd stopped laughing, had wiped their eyes, topped up all their glasses and called for another bottle of wine, Ashe brought them all back to the point.

‘You mustn't forget that this woman, whoever she may be, will be the mother of your children, Havelock. So, as well as considering what kind of woman you could tolerate living under your roof, you should also ask yourself what kind of children do you want to sire? For myself, I would hope my own offspring would have the capacity to make me proud. I would hate to think,' he said, giving Havelock a particularly penetrating look, ‘that I had curtailed my own freedom only to produce a brood of idiots.'

Havelock ran his fingers through his hair yet again. ‘You are in the right of it.' He sighed. ‘Must think of the succession. Very well, put that on your list, Ashe. Not completely hen-witted.'

Since Ashe was taking a sip of wine it was Morgan who picked up the pen and wrote that down.

‘I want her to be kind, too,' declared Havelock with some force. ‘Good with youngsters. Not one of these women who think only of themselves.'

‘Good, good, now we are really getting somewhere,' said Ashe, as Morgan added these further points to the steadily growing list.

‘It's all very well making a list,' put in Morgan, tossing the pen aside. ‘But how do you propose finding a woman who meets all your requirements? Put an advertisement in the papers?'

‘God, no! Don't want the whole world to know how desperate I am to find a wife. I'd have every matchmaking mama within fifty miles of town descending on me with their simpering daughters in tow. Besides...' he shook his head ‘...it would take too long. Much too long. Only think of having the advertisement put in, then waiting for women to reply, then sifting through the mountain of responses, then having to interview them all...'

Morgan let out a bark of laughter. ‘You are so sure you will have hundreds of replies, are you?'

‘Oh, yes,' said Havelock testily. ‘I've had women flinging themselves at me every Season for the past half-dozen years.'

‘And during summer house parties,' put in Chepstow.

‘There was that Christmas house party, wasn't there,' Ashe added, ‘where—'

‘Never mind that!' Havelock interrupted swiftly. ‘I thought we'd agreed never to speak of
that
episode again.'

‘Then there was that filly at the races,' said Chepstow.

Morgan laughed again. ‘Very well. You have all convinced me. Havelock is indeed one of those men that society misses regard as a matrimonial prize.' Though the way he looked at Havelock conveyed his opinion that there was just no understanding the workings of the female mind.

‘And you wouldn't believe some of the tricks they've employed in their attempts to bag me,' he said bitterly.

‘Couldn't you simply settle with one of these women who've shown themselves so keen to, um, bag you? That would save you time, wouldn't it?'

Havelock gave Morgan a cold stare, before saying, ‘No. Absolutely not. Can't stand women who flutter their eyelashes and pretend to swoon, and flaunt their bosoms in your face at every opportunity.'

Modest
, he noted Ashe write on the bottom of the list, out of the corner of his eye.

‘And anyway, the girls I already know, the ones who have made it plain they want me, have also made it plain they want a damn sight more from me than I'm willing to give. I'd make them miserable. So then they'd make damn sure they made me miserable.'

Ashe dipped his pen in the inkwell one more time, and wrote,
not looking for affection from matrimony
.

Morgan frowned down at the list, sipping at his drink. ‘What this list describes,' he said thoughtfully, ‘is a woman who is willing to consider a businesslike arrangement. Someone from a respectable family that has fallen on hard times, perhaps. Someone who would like to have children, but has no hopes of gaining a suitor through the normal way.'

‘Normal way?'

‘Feminine wiles,' supplied Morgan helpfully.

‘Oh, them,' huffed Havelock. ‘No. I definitely don't want a wife who's got too many feminine wiles. I'd rather she was straightforward.'

Honest
, wrote Ashe.

‘Good grief,' said Chepstow, peering rather blearily at the list. ‘You will never, ever, find a woman who has all those attributes, no matter how long you look.'

‘Oh, I don't know,' said Morgan. ‘There are any number of genteel poor eking out an existence in London right at this moment. With daughters aplenty who'd give their eye teeth to receive a proposal from a man of Havelock's standing, from what you tell me. I'm tolerably sure that he could find one or two amongst them who would have at least a couple of the character traits he finds important. Particularly if he's not going to be put off by a plain face.'

Havelock leaned forward in his seat. ‘You really think so?'

‘Oh, yes.'

‘And do you know where I might find them?'

Morgan leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other, and stared hard at the wall behind Havelock's head. The other men at the table waited with bated breath for his answer.

‘Do you know, I rather think I do. I could probably introduce you to a couple of likely prospects tomorrow night, if you don't mind—' He broke off, eyeing Havelock's less-than-pristine garb, and laughed. ‘No, you don't look like a chap who stands on ceremony. And I have an invitation to a ball, given by people who will never be accepted into the very top echelons of society, for all their wealth. Yet, amongst their guests, there are always a number of people in the exact circumstances to be of use to you. Good families, fallen on hard times, who have to put up with what society they can get. I dare say every single female there of marriageable age will look upon you as a godsend.'

‘And you wouldn't mind taking me to such a ball?'

‘Not in the least,' said Morgan affably. ‘Is that not what friends are for? To help a fellow out?'

It was. He'd been on the verge of being disappointed in Chepstow. But really, the fellow had done what he could. He'd brought him to Ashe, who'd helped him to get his thoughts set down in a logical fashion, and introduced him to Morgan, who was going to give him practical assistance.

‘To friendship,' he said, raising his glass to the three men sitting round the table with him.

‘And marriage,' said Ashe, lifting his glass in response.

‘Let's not get carried away,' said Lord Chepstow, his glass stopping a mere inch from his lips. ‘To Havelock's marriage, perhaps. Not the institution as such.'

‘Havelock's marriage, then,' said Ashe.

‘Havelock's bride,' said Morgan, downing his own drink in one go and reaching for the bottle.

‘Yes, don't mind drinking to her,' said Chepstow. ‘Your bride, my friend.'

And let's hope
, thought Havelock as he carefully folded the list and put it in his pocket,
that the woman who possesses at least the most important of these attributes will be at the ball tomorrow night
.

Chapter Two

‘C
an you really do nothing better with your hair?'

Mary lowered her gaze to the floor and shook her head as Aunt Pargetter sighed.

‘Couldn't you at least have borrowed Lotty's tongs? I am sure she wouldn't begrudge them to you. If you could only get just a
leetle
curl into it, I am sure it would look far more fetching than just letting it hang round your face like a curtain.'

Mary put her hand to her head to check that the neat bun, in which she'd fastened her hair earlier, hadn't already come undone.

‘No, no,' said Aunt Pargetter with exasperation. ‘It hasn't come down yet. I am talking in generalities.'

Oh, those. She'd heard a lot of those over the past few months. Generalities uttered by lawyers about indigent females, by relations about the cost of doing their duty and by coach drivers about passengers who didn't give tips. She'd also heard a lot of specifics. Which informed her exactly how she'd become indigent and why each set of people she'd been sent to in turn couldn't, at present, offer her a home.

‘Now, I know you feel a little awkward about attending a ball when you are still in mourning,' Aunt Pargetter went on remorselessly. ‘But I just cannot leave you here on your own this evening to mope. And besides, there will be any number of eligible men there tonight. Who is to say you won't catch someone's eye and then all your problems will be solved?'

Mary's head flew up at that, her eyes wide. Aunt Pargetter was talking of marriage. Marriage! As if that was the answer to
any
woman's problems.

She shivered and lowered her gaze again, pressing her lips tightly together. It would solve Aunt Pargetter's problems, right enough. She hadn't said so, but Mary could see that keeping her fed and housed for any length of time would strain the family's already limited resources. But, rather than throwing up her hands, and passing her on to yet another member of the family upon whom Mary might have a tenuous claim, Aunt Pargetter had just taken her in, patted her hand and told her she needn't worry any longer. That she'd look after her.

Mary just hadn't realised that Aunt Pargetter's plan for looking after her involved marrying her off.

‘You need to lift your head a little more and look about you,' advised Aunt Pargetter, approaching her with her hand outstretched. She lifted Mary's chin and said, ‘You have fine eyes, you know. What my girls wouldn't give for lashes like yours.' She sighed, shaking her head. And then, before Mary had any idea she might be under attack and could take evasive action, the woman pinched both her cheeks. ‘There. That's put a little colour in your face. Now all you need to do is put on a smile, as though you are enjoying yourself, and you won't look quite so...'

Repulsive. Plain. Dowdy.

‘Unappealing,' Aunt Pargetter finished. ‘You could be fairly pretty, you know, if only you would...' She waved her hands in exasperation, but was saved from having to come up with a word that would miraculously make Mary not sound as though she was completely miserable when her own daughters bounced into the room in a froth of curls and flounces.

Aunt Pargetter had no time left to spare on Mary when her beloved girls needed a final inspection, and just a little extra primping, before she bundled them all into the hired hack they couldn't afford to keep waiting.

‘We have an invitation from a family by the name of Crimmer tonight,' Aunt Pargetter explained to Mary as the hack jolted over the cobbles. ‘They are not the sort who would object to me bringing along another guest, so don't you go worrying your head about not receiving a formal invitation.'

Mary's eyes nevertheless widened in alarm. She hadn't any idea her aunt would have taken her to this event without forewarning her hosts.

Aunt Pargetter reached across the coach and patted her hand. ‘I shall just explain you have only recently arrived for a visit, which is perfectly true. Besides, the Crimmers will love being able to boast that their annual ball has become so popular
everyone
wants to attend. But what is even more fortunate for you, my dear, is that they have two sons to find brides for, not that the younger is quite old enough yet, and I've heard rumours that the older one is more or less spoken for.'

As Mary frowned in bewilderment at the contradictory nature of that somewhat rambling statement, her aunt explained, ‘The point is, they have a lot of wealthy friends with sons who must be on the lookout for a wife, as well. Especially one as well connected as you.'

‘What do you mean, Mama?' Charlotte shot a puzzled glance at Mary. It had clearly come as a shock to her to hear there might be anything that could possibly make Mary a likely prospect on the marriage mart, when all week they'd been thinking of her as the poor relation.

‘Well, although her poor dear mama was my cousin, by marriage, her papa was a younger son of the youngest daughter of the Earl of Finchingfield.'

Mary's heart sank. Her well-meaning aunt clearly meant to spread news of her bloodlines about tonight as though she were some...brood mare.

‘But if she's related to the Earl of Finchingfield, why hasn't she gone to him?' Dorothy, Charlotte's younger, and prettier, sister, piped up.

That was a good question. And Mary turned to Aunt Pargetter with real interest, to see how she would explain the tangle that had been her mother's married life.

‘Oh, the usual thing,' said her aunt with an airy wave of her hand. ‘Somebody didn't approve of the marriage, someone threatened to cut someone off, people stopped speaking to one another and, before you knew it, a huge rift had opened up. But Mary's mother's people still know how to do their duty, I hope, when a child is involved. Not that you are a child any longer, Mary, but you know what I mean. It isn't fair for you to have to suffer the consequences of the mistakes your parents made.'

Charlotte and Dorothy were both now looking at her with wide eyes. Mary's heart sank still further. In the few days she'd been living in their little house in Bloomsbury, she'd discovered that the pair of them had a passion for the kind of novels where dispossessed heiresses went through a series of adventures before winding up married to an Italian prince. She was very much afraid they'd suddenly started seeing her as one of those.

Still, since the Crimmers, who were in trade, weren't likely to have invited an Italian prince to their ball, she needn't worry they would attempt to push them into each other's arms. Actually, she needn't worry that either Lotty or Dotty would push her into anyone's arms. They were both far too keen on eligible bachelors themselves to let a single one of them, foreign or not, slip through their own eager fingers.

She pulled her shoulders down and took a deep breath. No need to worry. Aunt Pargetter might talk about her suitability for marriage as much as she liked, but that didn't mean she was at risk of having some marriage-minded man sweeping her off her feet tonight. Or any night. She wasn't the type of girl men did want to sweep off her feet.

Men didn't tend to notice her. Well, she'd made sure they wouldn't by developing the habit of shrinking into the background. And by dint of following just a few steps behind her more exuberant cousins, she very soon managed to fade into the background tonight, as well. It was never very hard. Most girls of her age actually
wanted
people to look at them. Especially men. So there was always someone to hide behind.

Mary found a chair slightly to the rear of her aunt and cousins when they all sat down. By shifting it, only a very little, she managed to make use of a particularly leafy potted plant, as well.

Though she was now shielded from a large percentage of the ballroom, she had a good view of the main door through which other guests were still pouring in, greeting one another with loud voices as they flaunted their evening finery. If she hadn't already decided to keep out of sight, the wealth on display in this room would have totally overawed her. Dotty and Lotty scanned the crowd with equal avidity, whispering to each other behind their fans about the gowns and jewels of the females, the figures and incomes of the males.

‘Oh, look, it's Mr Morgan,' eventually exclaimed Lotty, as a pair of young men entered the ballroom. ‘I really didn't think he'd be here tonight.'

From that comment, and the fact that she and Dotty immediately sat up straighter, their fans fluttering at a greatly increased tempo, she guessed the man in question was what they termed ‘a catch.' She could, for once, actually see why. The shorter of the two men was extremely good-looking, in a rugged sort of way, besides being turned out in a kind of casual elegance that made him look far more approachable than others of his age, with their starched shirt points and nipped-in waists.

‘Who is that with him?'

Following slightly behind the handsome newcomer was a taller, rather rangy man with ferocious eyebrows.

‘He must be a friend of his from school, or somewhere,' whispered Lotty. ‘See the way Mrs Crimmer is smiling at him, giving him her hand and sort of...fluttering?'

Mary joined her cousins in watching the progress round the room of what must be decidedly eligible bachelors, given the way the ladies in every group they approached preened and fluttered for all they were worth.

By the time they reached their corner of the ballroom, Dotty and Lotty were almost beside themselves.

‘Good evening, Mrs Pargetter, Miss Pargetter, Miss Dorothy,' said the tall, slender man, somewhat to Mary's confusion.
This
was the man who'd set her cousins all aflutter?

He must be very wealthy then, because he certainly didn't have looks on his side. Not like his companion.

‘Allow me to present my friend,' Mr Morgan added. ‘The Viscount Havelock.'

Dotty's and Lotty's heads both swivelled in unison as they tore their eyes from the man they considered the prize catch of the night, to the man they'd just discovered to be a genuine peer of the realm. They both pushed their bosoms out a little further, fluttering their fans and eyelashes at top speed.

The viscount, apparently unimpressed by their ability to do all three things at once, accorded them no more than a curt nod.

Then his gaze slid past them, caught her in the act of biting back a smile and stilled.

‘And who is this?'

‘Oh, well, this is my...well, almost a niece, by marriage,' said her aunt. ‘Miss Carpenter.'

Mary's cheeks heated. She really shouldn't have been mocking the ridiculous way her cousins had been preening just because a titled man was standing within three feet of them. But he didn't look as though he minded. On the contrary, that bored, slightly irritated look he'd bestowed on them had vanished without trace. If anything, she would swear he looked as though he shared her view that they were being a little silly.

And then he smiled at her with what looked like... Well, if she didn't know better, as if he'd just found something he'd been looking for.

‘Do you care to dance, Miss Carpenter?'

‘Me?' Her jaw dropped. She closed her mouth hastily, then shook her head and lowered it.

‘N-no. I couldn't...' Lotty and Dotty would be furious with her. And insulted. And rightly so. It was almost a snub, to ask her, in preference to them, after they'd made their interest so blatant.

Could that be the reason he'd asked?

You never could tell, with men. What looked like an act of charity could be performed deliberately to spite someone else, or in order to put someone in their place. She stared doggedly at her shoes, her spirits sinking to just about their level. You couldn't judge a man by the handsome cast of his features. And she'd been foolish to have been even momentarily deceived by them and that rather...heartening smile.

It was a man's actions that revealed his true nature.

‘My niece is in mourning, as you can see,' her aunt was explaining, waving her hand towards Mary's plain, sober gown.

‘Really?'

She couldn't help looking up at the tone of the viscount's voice. It was almost as if he... But, no, he couldn't be pleased to hear she was in mourning, could he? That was absurd.

And there was nothing in his face, now she was looking at it, to indicate anything but sympathy.

‘Perhaps,' he said, in a rather kinder tone of voice, ‘you would be my partner for supper, later?'

‘Oh, well, I...' The look in his eyes made her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth. It was so...intent. As though he wanted to discover every last one of her secrets. As though he would turn her inside out and upside down, until he'd shaken them all from her. As though nothing would stop him.

It made her most uncomfortable. But at the exact same moment Mary decided she would have to somehow refuse his invitation, her aunt accepted it on her behalf. ‘Mary would be honoured. Wouldn't you, dear?' She poked her with the end of her furled fan, as if determined to prod the approved response from her.

When she still couldn't give it, the viscount smiled again, then turned his attention to her cousins.

‘And in the meantime,' he said, with surprising enthusiasm, ‘would either of you two lovely young ladies show pity on a stranger, by dancing with me?'

Fortunately, before they could elbow one another out of the way in their eagerness to get their hands on him, the tall thin one held out his hand to Charlotte.

Mary sighed with relief as the foursome made their way out on to the dance floor. But her relief was short-lived.

‘I believe you have made a conquest,' breathed her aunt in rapturous tones as she sidled closer, pushing a palm frond out of the way. ‘Lord Havelock seemed most interested in you.'

‘I cannot think why,' said Mary. She'd practically hidden herself behind a potted palm, she was wearing a plain gown that did nothing for her pale complexion and she'd turned down his offer of a dance. ‘Perhaps he needs spectacles,' she wondered aloud. ‘That might account for it.'