Mistress of Madderlea Page 3

  ‘But Sophie is…’ Charlotte, who had been going to say Sophie held the purse strings and could buy whatever she wanted, stopped in confusion.

  ‘I am quite content, ma’am,’ Sophie said, all innocence. ‘Any man who offered for me must take me as I am. It would be wrong of me to pretend I am of greater consequence than I am.’

  ‘Sophie, Lady Fitzpatrick is right,’ Charlotte said. ‘It will look mean of me, if you do not choose at least one or two fashionable gowns for special occasions.’ Blue eyes twinkling, she added, ‘Please do not consider the cost, you know I can easily afford it.’

  Sophie choked on a laugh; Charlotte was doing better than she had hoped. ‘Very well, but I shall not be extravagant.’

  They returned home with the carriage piled high with their purchases and more to be delivered the following day, all to be paid for on Miss Roswell’s account, which would, of course, go to her uncle. The only thing they lacked was that first important invitation.

  It arrived the following day. It was for a soirée being given by Lady Gosport, an old friend of Lady Fitzpatrick’s.

  ‘It will only be a small gathering, but it will set the ball rolling,’ her ladyship said.

  The girls looked at each other. The time had come to test their masquerade and they were half-eager, half-fearful.

  Chapter Two

  The two men had enjoyed a morning gallop across the heath. The horses had gone well and now they were walking them back towards town. Both were tall and sat their mounts with the ease of cavalry officers used to long hours in the saddle; both wore impeccably tailored riding coats of Bath cloth, light brown buckskins and highly polished riding boots. Richard, Viscount Braybrooke, the older at twenty-nine, and slightly the bigger of the two, had been silent ever since they had turned to go back.

  ‘What ails you, Dick?’ Martin asked. ‘You’ve been in the dismals ever since you went home. You found no trouble there, I hope?’

  ‘Trouble?’ Richard roused himself from his contemplation of his horse’s ears to answer his friend. ‘No, not trouble exactly.’

  ‘Then what is wrong? Grandfather not in plump currant?’

  ‘He says he isn’t, but that’s only to make me toe the line.’

  ‘What line is that?’

  ‘Marriage.’

  Martin shrugged. ‘Well, it comes to us all in the end.’

  ‘It’s all very well for you, you haven’t got a dukedom hanging on your choice. It would not be so bad if I had been born to inherit, but Emily was the only child my uncle had and the estate is entailed. My own father, who was the second son, died when I was still in leading strings and my uncle died of a fever while we were in Spain, so I came back to find myself the heir.’

  ‘You knew it might happen one day.’

  ‘Of course I did, but I thought I would have plenty of time to look about for a wife. The old man is holding my cousin Emily over my head like the sword of Damocles.’

  Martin grinned. ‘Quite a feat for an elderly gentleman. I believe she is quite a large girl.’

  Richard smiled in spite of himself. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘She is not to your taste?’

  ‘She was a child when I went away to war and it is as a child that I think of her, my little cousin to be petted and indulged, not as a wife.’

  ‘She is of marriageable age now, though.’

  ‘Seventeen, but her mother has spoiled her abominably and she is still immature, without a sensible thought in her head. I should be miserable leg-shackled to her and so would she.’

  ‘Has His Grace given you no choice?’

  ‘Oh, I have a choice. Find a wife of whom he will approve before the end of the Season, or it will have to be Emily.’

  ‘Why the haste? You have only just returned to civilian life, a year or so enjoying the fruits of peace would not come amiss.’

  ‘So I told him. I also pointed out that Emily should be allowed more time to grow up and make her own choice, but he says he has no time to waste, even if I think I have. He is an old man and likely to wind up his accounts at any time. He wants to see the next heir before he goes.’

  They had arrived at the mews where the horses were stabled and, leaving them in the charge of grooms, set out to walk to Bedford Row where the Duke of Rathbone had a town house.

  ‘Do you know, I begin to feel sorry for Emily.’

  ‘So do I. Choosing a wife is not something to do in five minutes at a Society ball. It needs careful consideration. After all, you have to live with your choice for the rest of your life.’

  ‘Some don’t,’ Martin said, as a footman opened the door of the mansion and they passed into a marble-tiled vestibule. A magnificent oak staircase rose from the middle of it and branched out at a half-landing to go right and left and up to a gallery which overlooked the hall. ‘They marry someone suitable to continue the line and then discreetly take a mistress. Look at the Prince Regent…’

  ‘I would rather not look at him, if you don’t mind,’ Richard said, before turning to the servant who had admitted them and ordering breakfast for them both before leading the way to the library, a large room lined with bookshelves and containing a reading table and a couple of deep leather armchairs either side of the fireplace. ‘I may be old-fashioned, but I would rather find a wife I could care for and who cared for me. Emily has no feeling for me at all but, with my uncle’s death, my aunt was deprived of her chance to be a duchess and so she is determined on her daughter fulfilling the role. She will hound me to death as soon as she hears of my grandfather’s edict.’

  Richard sprawled morosely in one of the chairs and Martin, always at ease in his friend’s company, sat opposite him. ‘Then there is no alternative, my friend—you must mix with Society as one of the eligibles and hope for the best.’

  ‘The best,’ Richard echoed. ‘Oh, that I could find such a one.’

  ‘A great deal depends on your expectations, Dick. Tell me, what attributes will you be looking for in a wife?’

  Richard gave a short bark of a laugh, as if considering such a thing had never crossed his mind, though he had been thinking of little else since the interview with his grandfather. ‘Let me see. It goes without saying she must come from a good family, or Grandfather will never sanction her. Beautiful? Not necessarily, but she must have a pleasing face, a certain style and presence, so that I can be proud to have her on my arm in public. She must be able to converse intelligently; I should hate anyone vacuous or missish.’

  ‘An educated wife…that might be asking for trouble.’

  ‘A little education does no harm, but I wouldn’t want a blue stocking; they are always trying to score points. She must want and like children because the whole object of the exercise is to beget an heir and I do not hold with women who have babies and then hand them over to nurses and governesses to rear.’

  ‘That’s quite a list.’

  ‘I haven’t done yet. I would expect her to be considerate towards those beneath her and tenderhearted when they are in trouble, but not soft, not easily gulled. She must enjoy country pursuits because I shall wish to spend much of my time in Hertfordshire on the estate. Not a hoyden, though. Don’t like hoydens above half.’

  Martin was smiling at this catalogue of virtues. ‘What about a dowry?’

  ‘Most important of all she must not be a fortune or a title hunter. In fact, it would be a decided advantage if she had her own fortune.’

  ‘Why? You are a pretty plump in the pocket already.’

  ‘I know, but if she has her own fortune, she will not be marrying me for mine, will she? I want someone accustomed to wealth so that she will fall easily into my way of living and not be overawed by it. Besides, I will not be truly wealthy until I inherit and, for all his protestations to the contrary, my grandfather is fit as a flea.

  ‘It would be better if my wife could afford all the extravagant fripperies she needs without my having to go to him for an increase in my allowance. If she is already
independent, she would not fetter me with extravagant demands. She would be prepared to let me go my own way in return for being able to lead her own life, within certain decorous limits, of course.’

  ‘Do you know, I am sure I heard you say you were not interested in taking a mistress.’

  ‘I should like to keep the option open.’ He spoke so pompously that Martin burst into laughter. ‘You may laugh,’ Richard told him. ‘You aren’t constrained by other people’s expectations.’

  ‘It is your own expectations which are the more demanding, old fellow. Such a paragon of virtue does not exist.’

  ‘More’s the pity.’

  A footman came to tell them that breakfast was ready and they got up to go to the small dining room, where a repast of ham, eggs, pickled herrings, boiled tongue and fresh bread was laid out for them.

  ‘Then you do agree that you must be seen in Society?’ Martin queried, watching Richard fill his plate. His problem seemed to have had no effect on his appetite.

  ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘Well, do not sound so reluctant, you will never attract your paragon like that. You must be agreeable and well turned out and…’

  ‘I know, my friend, I do not need a lecture on how to conduct myself.’

  ‘Then we’ll start this evening. Mama has arranged a little gathering at home and I promised to attend. It is very early in the Season, but she assures me there are to be several young ladies up for their first Season and a one or two of the competition too, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘Then I had better do something about my wardrobe. Everything I had before I went into the army is far too tight.’

  ‘That’s hardly surprising,’ Martin said laconically. ‘You were little more than a boy when you left and a man when you returned.’ He looked critically at his friend’s large frame. ‘Not a small one, either. Do you wish me to accompany you?’

  ‘No, of course not, I am perfectly able to choose clothes. I’ll meet you at Jackson’s at four. There will just be time for a short bout before dinner at five.’

  Martin laughed. ‘Do you expect to have to fight for your lady’s hand?’

  Richard smiled. ‘No, but it is always a good thing to maintain one’s ability to defend oneself.’

  ‘Oh, come, Dick, you have no enemies, a more affable man I have yet to meet.’

  ‘It would be a fortunate man who managed to go through life without acquiring a few enemies,’ Richard said.

  ‘Name me one.’

  Richard needed time to consider. He was indeed fortunate that he was popular and well-liked by his peers and the men he had commanded, except for those who had flouted the tight discipline he maintained as an officer. ‘There was Sergeant Dawkins,’ he said, remembering the man he had had courtmar-tialled for looting, something Wellington had expressly forbidden.

  The offence had been exacerbated by the fact that the goods the man had stolen had come from a Portuguese family who were allies. His defence, which had not been upheld, was that the family had been consorting with the enemy. The sergeant had been flogged and dishonourably discharged. Left to find his own way home from Lisbon, he had threatened Richard with revenge.

  ‘That threat was made two years ago and in the heat of the moment,’ Martin said. ‘You surely do not think he meant it?’

  ‘No, of course not, the poor fellow likely never made it back to England. He probably settled down in the Peninsula with a Spanish señorita. You asked for an example and I gave you one.’

  ‘Point taken. But I hope you will rid yourself of your aggression and ill humour against Gentleman Jackson in the boxing ring this afternoon and present yourself in my mother’s drawing room at seven this evening, in a sweet temper, ready to act the agreeable.’

  ‘Have no fear, my friend,’ Richard said, as both men left the table. ‘I shall be a model of the man about town.’

  Sophie and Charlotte had arrived at Lady Gosport’s in Denmark Place a few minutes after seven to find her drawing room already buzzing with conversation. Most of the company seemed to be of Lady Fitzpatrick’s generation and Sophie’s spirits sank. This was not her idea of London Society at all. She looked across at Charlotte and exchanged a rueful grimace, before their hostess caught sight of them and hurried over to greet them.

  ‘Harriet, my dear, so glad you could come.’ She kissed Lady Fitzpatrick on both cheeks and then looked at the girls, taking careful note of Charlotte’s white crepe open gown trimmed with silk forget-me-nots over a pale blue slip, and moving on to examine Sophie’s cambric high gown with its overskirt of pale green jaconet, which her ladyship considered more suitable for day than evening wear. ‘So, these are your charges.’

  ‘Good evening, Beth.’ She took Charlotte’s arm and drew her forward. ‘May I present Miss Charlotte Roswell. The Earl of Peterborough’s niece. God rest his soul.’

  ‘Indeed, yes. My commiserations, Miss Roswell.’ Reminded of her superior station by a dig in the ribs from Sophie, Charlotte executed a small polite bob, not the deep curtsy she had intended. ‘Thank you, my lady.’

  ‘You are fully recovered from your ordeal?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ It was obvious that the girl was painfully shy and would have to be brought out of her shell if she were to take well. Her ladyship turned to Sophie. ‘Then you must be Miss Hundon. Miss Roswell’s companion, I collect.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Charlotte put in. ‘Sophie is my cousin and friend, not a paid companion. We share everything.’

  ‘That is to your credit, my dear,’ Lady Gosport said. ‘But you will find that the possession of an estate and great wealth, as I believe you have, will make your advance in Society very unequal.’ Then to Sophie, ‘I do hope, dear Miss Hundon, you have not been led to expect the same attention as your more illustrious cousin?’

  ‘No, indeed,’ Sophie said, though she longed to bring the lady down to size with some cutting remark. Only the thought of their masquerade being exposed stilled her tongue.

  ‘Come, let me introduce you to the company.’ There were a few young ladies present, they realised, as they were conducted round the room, and one or two young men, who stood about posing in tight coats and impossibly high pointed cravats, twirling their quizzing glasses in their hands and speaking in affected voices which made the girls want to laugh aloud. Instead, they bowed politely and exchanged greetings and longed to escape.

  ‘This is quite dreadful,’ Sophie murmured to her cousin when they had done the rounds. ‘If the whole Season is to be like this, I shudder to think how we shall go on.’

  ‘It is early in the year,’ Charlotte whispered. ‘The Season is not yet under way.’

  ‘I hope you are right.’

  Just then a commotion by the door heralded the arrival of latecomers. ‘Why, it is Martin,’ Lady Gosport cried, hurrying over to drag her son into the room. ‘You are very late. I had quite given you up.’

  He gently removed her hand from the sleeve of his green superfine coat and smiled at her. ‘I am sorry, Mama. Pressing business delayed me. May I present my friend, Richard, Viscount Braybrooke?’

  The man behind Mr Gosport stepped forward and the whole roomful of people gave a combined sigh, including Sophie, who had told herself she was immune to masculine vanity. If vanity it was. He seemed unaware of the impression he had created, and yet, as she looked more closely she realised he did know, for there was a twinkle of amusement in his brown eyes and a slight twitch to the corners of his mouth.

  He was clad in a blue satin coat which fitted him so closely the muscles of his broad shoulders could be detected as he bowed over her ladyship’s hand. His waistcoat was of cream figured brocade and his blue kerseymere trousers, in the latest fashion, reached his shoes and were held down by straps under the instep, making his legs seem impossibly long. His cravat, though nothing like as high and pointed as those she had noticed on the other young men, was so skilfully tied, it drew exclamations of admiration from them.

  His dark hair, cut short s
o that it curled about his ears, was the only slightly dishevelled part of him, but Sophie knew it was a style much favoured among the gentleman of the ton, called Windswept. Here was a tulip of the first order, and tulips were very definitely not what she was looking for, but beneath all that finery she sensed a man of great strength and power. She had a sudden vision of him unclothed, all rippling muscle, and a flood of colour suffused her cheeks.

  She turned away to scrabble in her reticule for a handkerchief in order to compose herself. Whatever was the matter with her? She had never ever thought about a man’s nakedness before. Had he deliberately set out to have that effect? It was disgraceful in him if he had and even more disgraceful in her to succumb.

  Charlotte, beside her, was openly staring. ‘My, would you look at that peacock,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, goodness, Lady Fitzpatrick is bringing them both over.’

  Sophie, struggling to regain her usual serenity, was aware of Lady Fitzpatrick presenting the two men to her cousin. ‘Miss Roswell is the niece and ward of the late Earl of Peterborough,’ she was saying. ‘Being abroad, you will not have heard of the tragedy two years ago which left poor Miss Roswell all alone in the world.’

  ‘Not quite alone,’ Charlotte said, determined to include Sophie, not only because she felt overwhelmed, but because it wasn’t fair on her cousin to shut her out, as Lady Gosport seemed determined to do. ‘My lord, may I present my cousin, Miss Sophie Hundon?’

  Sophie found herself subjected to a brown-eyed scrutiny which made her squirm inside and when he took her small hand in his very large one, she felt trapped like a wild bird in a cage which longed to be free but which hadn’t the sense to fly when the cage door was opened. Here, she knew, was a very dangerous man. Dangerous because he could make her forget the masquerade she and Charlotte had embarked upon, could make her disregard that list of virtues she had extolled as being necessary for the man she chose as her husband, dangerous for her peace of mind. And all in less than a minute!