Virginia Henley (12 page)

Alexandra Sheffield sat engrossed, reading a novel by none other than Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, which Dottie had provided when Alex had plied her with questions about Hart Cavendish’s notorious mother.

“Read this if you wish to satisfy your curiosity about the infamous Georgiana.
The Sylph
is a thinly disguised autobiography in which she pours out her heart on the unspeakable twaddle that obsessed her, namely husband, marriage, friends, and herself. It was written as revenge when she learned her husband had a mistress,” her grandmother informed her.

The book was written in a series of letters by her sweet, young heroine, Julia, an innocent from the country who came to London to marry a wealthy man of fashion.

All my hopes are that I may acquit myself so as to gain the approbation of my husband. Husband! What a sound has that when pronounced by a girl barely seventeen . . . and one whose knowledge of the world is purely speculative
.

It was obvious to Alex that Georgiana/Julia longed for her husband’s adoration when she described attending a ball:
I saw his eyes were on me the whole time; but I cannot flatter myself so far as to say that they were the looks of love; they seemed to be rather the eyes of scrutiny, which were on the watch, yet afraid they should see something unpleasing.
Alexandra knew exactly how Georgiana had felt. Nicholas Hatton looked at her this way!

Before long, Georgiana/Julia was describing her husband’s extravagant gambling, a vice in which she too indulged because her husband soon became bored with her. As Alex turned the pages she realized that Georgiana’s chief complaint against her husband was the lack of romantic love.

My person still invites his caresses . . . but for the softer sentiments of the soul . . . that ineffable tenderness which depends not on the tincture of the skin . . . of that, alas, he has no idea. A voluptuary in love, he professes not that delicacy which refines its joys. He is all passion; sentiment is left out of the catalogue
.

Alex again thought of Nicholas Hatton and was taken by a delicious shudder. She couldn’t understand why the woman was complaining when she admitted that her husband was
all passion
and a
voluptuary in love
. Alex shook her head in disbelief as she realized that Georgiana had turned from her husband to the Prince of Wales
for the softer sentiments of the soul
. Prinny was a figure of fun, a caricature of a man. How could Georgiana have been so foolish? She finished the book and returned it to Dottie. “You were right; it is pure twaddle. I had a devil of a time trying to finish it.”

“Georgiana conveniently solves her heroine’s problems by having her husband kill himself. Unfortunately, in her own case, the Duke of Devonshire wasn’t quite as obliging.”

Alexandra’s lips twitched with amusement. “Admit it, you gave me Georgiana’s novel to discourage me from trying to write my own. It won’t work, of course; mine will be of a much higher calibre.”

“Yes, darling, and as a result it will be much more difficult to get published. Mediocre claptrap appeals to the masses. My advice would be to concentrate on lowering the quality, not elevating it.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Rupert’s arrival. His friend Kit Hatton had called earlier and the two had gone out riding. When the handsome Hatton twin had appeared at Longford Manor, Alexandra’s heartbeat had become erratic until she realized that it was Christopher seeking out the company of Rupert.

Her brother had the sort of open, friendly countenance that could never hide his thoughts. Newly returned from his ride, Rupert threw his tall beaver hat and his riding crop onto the hall table and strode into the sitting room. His face showed clearly that he was bursting to tell them something of great import.

“The Hatton solicitor came yesterday to read the will,” he blurted. “Christopher has inherited!”

“Heirs usually inherit,” Dottie said dryly.

“No, no, Christopher has inherited everything! The title, Hatton Hall, Hatton Great Park, Hatton Grange horse farm, the money, the investments, and even the London town house. The old man cut Nicholas out of his will completely!”

“I don’t believe you. That is impossible! Have you been drinking, Rupert?” Alex asked, suddenly suspicious.

“No . . . well, yes, Kit and I took lunch at The Cock and Bull so we could drink to his great good fortune. But I’m not making this up; Christopher has inherited everything!”

The color drained from Alexandra’s face. Dottie curled her lip. “A leopard never changes his spots; Henry hated his second son before he was even born. This is his petty revenge.”

“Nicholas gets nothing?” Alex whispered through bloodless lips.

“Not a sausage!” Rupert confirmed, eager to expound on what he had learned. “Kit has invited me to London. He has immediate business at Barclays Bank, of course, then we shall paint the town! Kit’s fortune is Nick’s misfortune—get it? Missed-fortune.”

Rupert’s attempt at humor horrified Alexandra.

“When men have imbibed, darling, they think everything amusing.”

“Please don’t try to excuse him; he’s loathsome!” Alex snapped.

“Men have an inexhaustible supply of loathsomeness, I’m afraid.”

Rupert gave his grandmother a speculative look. Emboldened by the liquor he had consumed, he decided to broach the subject of his allowance and thought it amusing to refer to himself in the third person. “By the by, if Viscount Longford is to accompany Lord Hatton to London, he will need to be considerably more plump in the pocket. The viscount has been wondering why his allowance wasn’t increased when he turned twenty-one, four months ago.”

“Tell the viscount that I shall be happy to discuss the matter with him when he is sober,” Dottie replied.

Rupert bowed solemnly. “Very good, ma’am. I must find my valet and have him pack my things for London.”

That should prove a sobering exercise, since you no longer have a valet
. Dottie sighed. The time had come when she must apprise Rupert of the financial facts.

“My God, how could Lord Hatton do this to his sons? It will set them at each other’s throats!” Alexandra began to pace up and down. “He was nothing but a devious, loathsome, worthless swine!”

“Not worthless, darling. He has left his heir a fortune.”

“But it is so unfair! Nicholas must be devastated! What the devil has he ever done to deserve such cruel, vengeful treatment?”

“Shot his father, perhaps?” Dottie reminded her.

“That is a vile thing to say!”

“Men are loathsome, women vile . . . it is our natures.”

“I’m going to Hatton Hall,” Alexandra said with resolve.

“Wise decision,” Dottie agreed. “Lay your claim on your future husband now, for once the wealthy Lord Hatton arrives in London, every Society matron with a whey-faced daughter will set a matrimonial trap for him.”

Alex rolled her eyes in exasperation. Her grandmother deliberately tried her patience. Surely it was obvious she was going to see Nicholas. She ran upstairs to change into a riding habit, wondering wildly what she could say to make him feel better. Nothing came to mind as she saddled her palfrey Zephyr and rode to Hatton Hall. It was only after Mr. Burke told her that Nicholas had gone to Slough to visit John Eaton that an ingenious plan came to her. She laughed out loud as she thought about it—it was the perfect solution!

Nicholas Hatton, astride his brother’s hunter Renegade, took the Bath Road to Slough and shortly thereafter rode into the courtyard of Eaton Place. When Kit had suggested that he visit the Hatton financial advisor and pass himself off as his twin, Nick hadn’t taken him seriously. This morning when Kit still refused to deal with John Eaton, Nick decided that he would ride up and speak with their father’s cousin himself.

He had no intention of passing himself off as Christopher until he encountered his second cousin in the stables. When Jeremy looked down his long nose with contempt and said, “Hello, Kit. It didn’t take you long to sniff out the money trail, I see.”

Nicholas was furious. He had always disliked the youth. He was an absolute snot and obviously resented the fact that Kit had come into a title. Nick decided to rub salt into his wound. “I prefer to be addressed as Lord Hatton,” he said in his most arrogant drawl. “Be a good lad, Jeremy, and tell your father I’m here on business.”

Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “The name
Harm
suits you far better than
Lord
Hatton.” His glance slid over Renegade. “Nice mount . . . the one you rode in the fatal hunt, I believe.”

Nick was instantly aware that the young snot was on a fishing expedition and decided to nip it in the bud immediately. “Are you accusing me of something?” When he received no reply, Nicholas deliberately turned his back upon his cousin and handed Renegade to an Eaton groom. When he turned around, Jeremy was gone.

Nick was greeted at the front door by a majordomo wearing livery so fancy he had a difficult time hiding his amusement. As he looked around the entrance hall, he was surprised at the luxury of the furnishings. Though Eaton Place lay only a few miles west in the next county, he had not had occasion to visit in years, and he was amazed at the show of wealth. Directing the finances of others must assuredly be a most profitable profession, Nick concluded.

John Eaton greeted him warmly. “Come along to the library, my boy. You are looking much improved since the funeral, Christopher. I am glad you are bearing up, under such difficult circumstances.”

“Thank you, John. I only just learned that Father named you sole trustee to his will. His . . . my solicitor, Tobias Jacobs, advised me to consult with you immediately.”

“Ah, no hurry my boy. I shall take care of business for you, just as I did for Henry. No need to worry about it at all.”

Nick was immediately aware that Eaton’s cold, agate eyes belied his words. They were far more paternal than their father’s had ever been and rang false in his ears. “I’m sure I need not worry. I am simply here to go over the investments I have inherited.”

John Eaton smiled and wagged his finger. “Ah, Christopher, I detect a note of censure in your voice. You feel slighted that your father did not make you a trustee, but under the circumstances it is far better that he did not.”

Nick raised a dark brow. “Under the circumstances?”

“You inherited everything, your twin nothing whatsoever. Under the circumstances it was best that you not be named a trustee. You may be safely confident that I have your best interests at heart. Your father took my advice in naming you sole beneficiary.”

Nick wanted to smash his fist into Eaton’s long arrogant nose. “So I have you to thank?”

“In no small measure, you do indeed, my boy. You are well aware of the animosity between your father and Nicholas; he made no secret of it. I knew he begrudged handing over Hatton Grange horse farm and its profits to his second born, so I advised him to make you his sole heir.”

“A conspiracy.” Nick’s mouth curved in a half smile that did not reach his eyes.
Father’s motive was hatred, but yours could only have been greed. I warrant your advice was expensive.

“As I said before, I have only your best interests at heart. Do you see now, Christopher, why you can place complete trust in me regarding your investments?”

“Yes, I see things clearly now.” Nicholas lusted to reveal his true identity to the son of a bitch. It would be almost worth it to see the look on his face. He clenched his jaw until it ached to keep from flinging his name in the bastard’s face. Instead, he said, “I would like a list of my investments and what interest they are earning. I would like a full accounting.”

He saw that Eaton was momentarily taken aback. Likely he had never thought his cousin’s heir particularly shrewd. He did know however that he was spoiled and used to getting his own way, just as his own son, Jeremy, was spoiled rotten.

“Of course I shall give you a full accounting. These things take time, you understand, Christopher. It shall be delivered to you the moment the tally is finished.”

Nick suspected that he was stalling, but there was little he could do, other than make it clear he expected the accounting. “Thank you, John. I won’t take up any more of your time. I’ll expect to hear from you in two days. You may send it to the Curzon Street house—another bequest I no doubt owe to you.”

The reception he had received from both Jeremy Eaton and his father gave Nicholas much food for thought on his ride home.

 

At Longford Manor, Dottie walked into her grandson’s chamber and noted its disarray. Shirts and neckcloths were strewn across his bed, while mismatched riding boots and Hessians lay upon the carpet. Rupert stood jangling the bellpull.

“Why the devil doesn’t Wilson answer my summons?”

“I don’t imagine he can hear it.”

“Why the devil not?”