“Hold calm, my lord!” came a nervous, laughing voice. It was the constable. Richard stared the man down as he came running from the stable main building. One could always recognize a constable, despite the lack of any kind of official garb. They always dressed in a shabby attempt at middle-class respectability.
The constable continued, “I had to take that man in, my lord. A dangerous sort, he is. He became violent for no reason and started shouting mad threats, and all over a carriage axle. You are lucky to be rid of him, my lord.”
“That’s a filthy lie, you old toss!” the stable boy cried. He sprang forward to give the constable a kick in the shin, but Richard blocked his path.
“And by ‘rid of him,’ you mean what?” Richard pressed.
“Well…” The constable worked his jaw back and forth. “Good society can’t abide violent sorts such as he, my lord. Ain’t for the good of the nation, you know. Perhaps if the brute cools his heels in jail for a bit—”
“You arrested him?” Richard balked. “He is at Newgate?”
“Well…yes, my lord.” The man swallowed hard. “But I don’t know why you would want to concern yourself with someone such as—”
“See here!” Richard said, his voice dripping with ice. “I am going to have my man released, and if I find that he has one wound on his person beyond what one would expect from a
fair
fight”—he glared at the stable owner—“I will have your position and your freedom for corruption! As for you, my household’s business with this stable is over, and I will be certain that any and all of my acquaintances know what a filthy little blackguard you are!”
The stable owner’s face turned an interesting shade of purple, while the constable looked as if he were about to pass out. Richard turned on his heel and headed back to the carriage. He pulled his stable boy along by the scruff of his collar, all the while the boy shouting gloating insults at the pair. Richard cursed silently and pulled out his pocket watch. Damnation!
It was no easy thing getting a man released from jail, even for a titled gentleman. Firstly, it was common for prisoners to be brought in without anyone knowing their names, or knowing only false ones. After that, the guards would often be confused about in which cell block so-and-so had been placed and could His Lordship be patient just a moment while the watch asked around, and so on. It was damn infuriating.
It was nearly two hours later when the head jailer produced a beaten man with ginger hair and downcast expression. His shoes were missing, and he twisted the hem of his coat in his hands.
“Apologies, my lord. Didn’t mean to cause such a row, but they said they weren’t going to take responsibility for the carriage, and I says they had better or else, and one of the workers shoved me to the ground, and—”
“Oh, Fizzy!” The stable boy, who had remained with Richard the whole time, burst forth and wrapped his skinny arms around the man’s waist. “Look what they done! Why, I’ll go back there and thrash ’em good!”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” Richard said flatly. “And I will hear no more apologies from you, Fizzy. Tonight has been a disaster, but not of your making.” He reached into his coat and produced some coins. “Hire a hack to take the two of you straight home. And I will not hear about you working tomorrow, Fizzy, nor the day after. Can you even see out of that eye?”
A few minutes later saw Richard speeding toward Grosvenor Square in the rented carriage, though haste was futile at that point. He had already missed the reception line and the first dance with his sister. He slammed his fist against the seat and cursed himself a total fool. Why had he not thought to even send a note?
* * * *
The ballroom at Avery House was packed to the rafters. Dancers occupied the center of the ornate parquet floor, while every available space along the walls was taken up by other guests, standing in groups or sitting on what chairs and sofas could be brought in. It was in the midst of one of these standing groups where the Earl of Brenleigh was being regaled with the latest gossip by a group of his late father’s friends. Though Henry was beginning to suspect that the word “friend” might not be quite accurate. He could hardly remember any of these men visiting the family estate in Lancaster, nor could he believe that his father would be friends with men who should have been well past the age of indulging in gossip.
But Henry chastised himself quickly. These men had at least known his father, and had been kind enough to call on Henry and show him about town. He had arrived knowing virtually no one, and while his rank alone garnered him invitations in droves, it was not quite the same as already having acquaintances to rely on. Besides, gossips though they might be, the men were far more interesting and personable than his father had ever been.
“And that vision just over there, the one wearing the lilac and pearls, she is Miss Caroline Leeds,” said Mr. Baxter, a man in his fifties who vehemently refused to adopt modern fashions. He wore knee breeches and the matching coat and waistcoat that would have been popular forty years ago, all done in blue silk. He was an aging fop who still wore face paint.
“I am engaged to dance with her after supper,” Henry replied airily. He detested the facade he was putting on, but the ton seemed to only have fun when they were pretending not to. To that end, the ballroom was filled with people who looked arrogant and bored. Even the young ladies, who just a few weeks ago were still with their governesses in the nursery, were putting on airs and watching the room with drooping eyelids.
“A very suitable match, my lad,” Mr. Colms said, nodding toward the young lady in question. “An impressive dowry, so I’ve heard, and a perfect manner.”
“A dowry is unimportant,” Henry said honestly.
Both men chuckled. Mr. Colms waved his hand and said, “You may be richer than Croesus, dear boy, but never shy away from adding to it. One can never be sure what will happen, you know.”
Henry resisted the urge to frown. One could very well know what would happen. He did not gamble, either at the card table or at the stock exchange, and his estates were famously reliable in their yields. The sheer level of gambling he had seen already in London was shocking. One might think that people who frequented church every Sunday would know better than—
Henry sputtered a little over his glass of champagne. Dear God! He was starting to remind himself of his father more every day. Who on earth was he to lecture anyone on the church or morality? Not that he thought what he had done was immoral. Not that he regretted it in any way. Oh, no.
I wonder what Richard is doing right now
. He sighed and closed his eyes, that sense of mourning weighing down his stomach again.
“I say, Brenleigh,” Mr. Colms continued. “I know what your father’s opinions were on marriage and the nursery and all that, but you are still a young buck. Are you quite sure you want to stretch your neck out for these wolves so soon? You’ll have marriage-minded mamas haunting your doorstep after tonight.”
Henry smiled faintly. “With any luck I can find a suitable bride very quickly and avoid any marriage-minded mamas.”
“Ah, there it is, gentlemen.” Mr. Colms sighed. “The man is determined.”
Henry listened politely as they changed the subject to horses, which suited him just fine. He had no intention of telling them that the direction of his marriage interests was already set and needed only some further testing for him to make certain it would work amicably. But being that Henry’s heart was understandably not in the business, he was keen to keep his options open. There was always the possibility that the lady would reject him, and so he had written his name on dance cards that evening with a very clear purpose.
The current set of dances ended, and the gentlemen escorted their ladies back to their mothers and chaperones. Henry was sure he had enough time to visit the necessary before collecting his partner for the next set—a tall icy beauty by the name of Penelope Finch, whose father was so far in dun territory from constant gambling that the entire family was on the hunt for anyone with a fat purse and a high enough rank to call himself a gentleman. The total lack of love or tender expectation in such a union made Miss Finch an attractive option.
Henry excused himself and made for the men’s withdrawing room. He moved through the card room, which was laid out with at least ten tables of faro and whist. He only had to pass to the far corner of the room to reach the parlor beyond, which led straight to the withdrawing room, but Henry stopped in the far doorway with a start. Someone in the room had laughed and made a taunting joke about someone throwing down a bad hand. That voice…that laugh… They were so familiar.
Henry dismissed the notion and continued on. The evening was very young, and he still had many dance partners to claim. Hopefully there would not be much need of any more preparations beyond tonight. His first dance partner, after all, had been everything that was suitable and necessary in a wife. He could not hope for anything more desirable. He really could not.
* * * *
Richard bounded up the stairs from the servants’ hall and slipped into a dark sitting room on the first floor. He could hear the strains of the orchestra and the hum of conversation that filled the house. He took a moment to look over his appearance in a mirror, then slipped out into the corridor at the other side of the room. He caught a glass of champagne from a passing footman and ambled into the ballroom crowd as if he had been there for hours.
“Lord Richard, there you are,” said a bright, happy voice.
Richard turned his gaze onto an empty space, then looked down several degrees and encountered the diminutive form of Lady Bridgette Farnsworth. The young lady’s brown eyes sparkled up at him, and she smiled like a child seeing the sweets at Gunter’s for the first time.
Richard smiled uneasily. Little Bridgette Farnsworth, twenty-two years old and still unmarried after suffering through five London Seasons. She was barely more than five feet tall and still had much of the baby fat of a young miss. But most damning of all, her jovial, childlike exuberance was so out of fashion with the jaded ton that it was unlikely she would ever attract a husband.
Richard had always felt dreadfully sorry for her, which was why he always danced with her. Which was also why, he feared, the poor thing had a tendre for him.
“Good evening, Lady Bridgette. I was looking everywhere for you to secure a dance, but all these cursed tall people made it impossible.”
Lady Bridgette giggled. “Oh! But you are very tall too, my lord.”
“Yes, and cursed for it, no doubt.” He sighed theatrically. “Now, don’t say that you have not reserved one tiny little dance for me, my lady. I will be heartbroken if all these dandies have already scooped you up.”
“You make fun of me, my lord!” She laughed. Unlike most ladies, she showed nothing false or coy in her reaction. Richard was relatively sure that Lady Bridgette knew his compliments were half-truths meant to please her, but his attentions seemed to give her inestimable delight regardless.
He raised her gloved hand to his lips without touching, as was appropriate, then jotted his name on the slim ivory dance card that hung from her wrist. He noted, rather sadly, that most of the slots on her card were still blank.
When he lifted his head and glanced around the room, he immediately caught his brother’s gaze. Culfrey was standing near the archway leading to the grand parlor, which was being used as overflow for the ballroom. His attention shifted to Lady Bridgette and then back to Richard. Culfrey’s lips twisted up in a sneer, as if he thought Richard’s interaction with a woman to be amusing.
To hell with you, Tom, Richard thought ruefully.
“If you will excuse me, Lady Bridgette. I have been neglecting my sister terribly and must see how she has been doing tonight.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” She gave him a final glowing smile and turned to skip off back toward her mother. Skip. The poor thing would never get off the shelf.
Richard went round to the grand parlor to reach his brother rather than cross the ballroom floor. As he approached, he could see Anne just reaching his brother’s side. She saw Richard and made a faint smile.
“Anne, I’m terribly sorry,” he whispered at once.
“What happened?” she whispered back, taking his hand.
“An upset with the servants. I had to see one of them out of jail.”
Culfrey scoffed. “If you ran a better household, perhaps your servants would not go around getting themselves arrested. And the fact that you would trouble yourself over something like that—”
“Oh, please don’t quarrel. Please,” Anne squeaked. She patted both men on the arms and forced her face back into a smile.
“I am sorry I missed your first dance, Annie.” Richard sighed. “I did want to lead you out.”
“I stood in your place, brother. It is no trouble,” Culfrey said.
“Yes,” Anne agreed. “Oh, but never mind all that. You are here now, and that’s what matters. And I can tell you all about him. I danced with him for the second set, and I’m engaged to have the dance after supper too. Oh! He’s very kind and cuts quite a dash, even if Emily says his evening dress is not the latest thing.”
Richard frowned. “Forgive me, my dear, but who?”
“Kenly’s son, remember?” Culfrey huffed. “Better than I expected. I half feared some bumpkin who would look more like his servants than a gentleman.”
Richard rolled his eyes and pulled his sister a few steps away into the parlor. As the years went by, Culfrey’s ability to show any kind of good humor in Richard’s presence had deteriorated to almost nothing.
“So, you like him, then?” Richard said.
“Oh, yes. I know we have only just met, but I like him quite well already. He’s very kind and personable. And
handsome
.”
Richard cringed playfully.
“Oh, hush.” Anne poked him with her fan. Her expression became a little more serious. “Still…”
“What?” he pressed.
“He is so very proper. I noted that almost immediately. He said everything that was right and did everything that was just right. I… Oh, what if he thinks I’m a silly chit? I know I smile too much.”