An Improper Suitor Read online

  ‘Is it possible you have not yet heard? I find that hard to credit. You are always the first to know when you have become the object of gossip.’

  His head was still spinning. What possible gossip could there be that would involve Miss Neville?

  ‘I don’t see what there is to be done. You will have to marry her.’

  ‘Deuce take it, Mother,’ he exploded. ‘Stop playing games!’ But she wasn’t playing games. She didn’t like games, except for cards. ‘Just tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘But I am telling you,’ she said, bewildered.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘So why do I have to marry the chit?’

  ‘Because you compromised her, of course. Lady Nattleham, her mother’s friend, was riding in Hyde Park and saw her lying on the ground, with you leaning over her, and your hands—’ She broke off, embarrassed.

  ‘My hands?’ he said, dangerously.

  She reddened. Sometimes he wondered if Mama had actually bedded his father. It seemed hard to believe, though his very existence proved it.

  ‘Your hands,’ she continued, in a faint voice, ‘on her limbs.’

  ‘What nonsense!’ He stood up, his hands tearing through his hair. ‘I did indeed feel her limbs, as you choose to call them, Mother. Her legs.’ She looked up in shock. ‘But I was in the presence of her groom, and another perfectly respectable young lady. And I felt her legs to ensure that they were not broken. She had fallen from a horse, Mother.’

  ‘It was very foolish of you to feel her limbs, even if she had fallen from a horse.’ But then the full impact of his words reached her. She rose and drew him to her, to kiss him on the brow. She was smiling.

  ‘I knew it, my foolish boy. I knew you could not be so indifferent to propriety to—’

  ‘Feel a young lady’s limbs. In Hyde Park.’

  She ignored him.

  ‘We must counter this rumour, and set things right immediately.’ She paused and looked hard at him. ‘Unless you were in the company of some dubious female at the time?’

  ‘No, indeed, Mama. I would not go riding at eight o’clock in the morning with some “dubious” female, as you term it.’

  ‘I beg to differ. Any female who would be riding with you alone in Hyde Park at eight o’clock in the morning can hardly be called respectable.’

  He assured her that Miss Swifton was very proper ton. ‘She’s Lady Bullfinch’s granddaughter, no less, Mother. I think we can call her respectable.’

  Still, there was a nagging doubt in his mind. She had not reacted as any society miss would have reacted when he had pounced on her so very unexpectedly. In fact, now that he thought of it, she had been remarkably unflustered, considering how close he had held her. So close, in fact, that her scent, mingling with a subtle hint of rosewater, had lingered with him.

  ‘Yes, of course, we are well acquainted with Lady Bullfinch. She is a good friend of your grandmother’s. And I knew Miss Swifton’s mother, Olivia, though she was younger than me. A family of bluestockings, and rather odd, but nothing exceptionable. I will call on Miss Swifton, in that case, and we’ll devise a strategy to clear your name. As for Miss Neville, I have heard nothing about her at all, but I cannot help but feel that she must be a scheming nobody.’

  ‘There you wrong her, Mother. She is a perfectly charming and innocent young lady.’ A very pretty young lady, in fact. But the direction of his thoughts shifted to Miss Swifton, struggling in his arms; to the moment of awareness, as she jostled against him. His body had reacted, damn it, and jolted him into noticing her. As a woman. Which was certainly odd, because innocents like her usually left him cold. He liked more earthy, older women. It struck him, too, now that he thought about it, that she had remarkable presence of mind, given the fact that he had handled her. He cast a surreptitious glance at his palm. The teeth marks stood out, a clear circle of red.

  ‘If you are planning to call on Miss Swifton, I would be happy to accompany you,’ he said.

  His mother threw him a quizzing look.

  ‘If she is to help me uncoil this mess, I need to talk to her about it,’ he said, surprised to find a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. Devil take it, he didn’t need to explain himself. ‘Anything wrong with that?’ he said, voicing it as a challenge.

  She smiled, one of those knowing smiles mothers seem to have. ‘Nothing at all,’ she said. ‘I will be glad of your company.’

  Julia shifted her legs from under her and looked up from reading Persuasion. Lady Bullfinch, of course, was reading a philosophical work by Voltaire, whom she adored, all the more so after she had had a fierce argument with him at a salon in Paris.

  ‘It always amazes me how society is so taken in by scoundrels like Mr Elliot,’ said Julia. ‘You would think someone would have exposed him long before.’

  Her grandmother furrowed her brows. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘But scoundrels are generally tolerated by society if they come from a prominent family.’

  Julia sighed. ‘And yet the smallest transgression on our part becomes exaggerated beyond belief.’

  Lady Bullfinch shrugged. ‘That has not always been the case. In my day, young girls were expected to have a romp before they settled down and married, and we had none of this ridiculous white muslin.’

  Julia smiled. ‘Far better these light muslins than the heavy brocades and hoops you wore. I don’t know how you were able to move with all that weight.’

  ‘We didn’t think much of it at the time, believe me. I suppose each generation sees itself as more fortunate than the one before,’ she said.

  ‘Still, one thing remains consistent,’ said Julia. ‘In each generation rakes and scoundrels prey on the innocent.’

  Grandmother eyed her steadily. ‘You mustn’t always think of your mother,’ she said, gently. ‘True, she suffered a great deal when your father abandoned her, but not all gentlemen are like him. Some are quite … exciting.’

  Julia’s cheeks burned, as they generally did, when Grandmother started to talk about her love affairs. There was no convincing her that this topic was considered inappropriate for maidenly ears.

  The clunk of the knocker reached her.

  ‘Odd time for someone to come calling,’ said Lady Bullfinch, straightening herself. ‘I hope it doesn’t mean dinner will have to be delayed. Cook will be livid.’

  Rumbert appeared in the doorway, a gaunt-looking man who had been the butler since Lady Bullfinch’s marriage at twenty. ‘Lady Thorwynn and Lord Thorwynn wish to speak to you. Shall I show them in here, or would you prefer to receive them in the drawing room?’

  Julia threw a sharp look, but her grandmother shrugged and shook her head in denial. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Lord Thorwynn himself should seek them out. Not after Grandmother’s ultimatum.

  ‘In here,’ she said to Rumbert. ‘If they call at such an hour they cannot expect to be formally received.’ The butler bowed. ‘And bring some tea and refreshments.’

  Julia went to the mirror, tugged her hair back into its pins and smoothed down her Turkey-red cotton day dress. They were not receiving that day, so she had not given any thought to her clothing. I really am bird-witted, just as he said. She was actually preening herself to meet him, a practised rake who had seized her in the park and then walked off with the most casual apology. To make matters worse, the image of the cherub flashed before her, so neat and tidy even after her fall.

  Perhaps he was coming to apologize. But somehow she doubted it. It was far more likely he was being pressured by his grandmother. With Grannie’s blessing.

  Julia did not know what irritated her more – the fact that she was not better dressed, or the scheming.

  The moment the door closed behind Rumbert, Julia turned to her. ‘I hope you have not spoken to Lady Gragspur already. If you have, you are betraying the terms of our agreement.’

  There was no time for an answer. The door opened and Rumbert announced the Thorw
ynns.

  Lady Thorwynn did not resemble her son. There was nothing in her colouring to suggest the piercing blackness of his eyes. Nor in her slight, trim figure to suggest his lithe athletic frame. But they both moved with a fluid grace that made watching them a pleasure. Even if it was rude to stare.

  He took her hand, gazed directly into her eyes, and murmured his delight at seeing her for the second time that day. He had the satisfied look of a cat who had stolen a fish out of a tank, as if she had somehow engineered the situation. The impulse to remark that she had invited neither encounter was very strong but she restrained it.

  Lady Thorwynn quickly fell into conversation with Lady Bullfinch. Since it involved common acquaintances, friends of Julia’s mother whom she did not know, she could not participate. Which left her to entertain Lord Thorwynn.

  She knew nothing about him, so she chose the most innocuous topic she could think of. ‘Do you often ride in the park early in the morning, Lord Thorwynn?’ she asked. To her astonishment, the question seemed to throw him into confusion.

  ‘Yes, that is – not often.’

  For heaven’s sake, she was not asking him to give away government secrets. She tried a different direction. ‘Did Miss Neville arrive home safely?’

  This time he put his tea down with a clatter. ‘I believe so,’ he said, looking towards his mother for help.

  Such a notorious rake could not be tongue-tied. Clearly their visit involved more than a social call. However much she racked her brain, she could not think of a reason.

  ‘And I have heard about your charming granddaughter,’ said Lady Thorwynn. She turned in her chair. For a long moment she studied Julia’s face, her clothing, and her figure, down to the puce shoes she wore that did not match with her dress.

  Would you like to see my teeth, too? Julia submitted to the scrutiny, willing herself not to shuffle her feet and twiddle her thumbs. She kept her eyes on the gold-leaf pattern around the fireplace. What she really wanted to do was wring Grannie out like a wet cloth.

  ‘Which brings me to the purpose of our visit,’ said Lady Thorwynn, nodding in a satisfied way. Had Julia won her approval? Heaven forbid. ‘Which is, in fact, to enlist your help, Miss Swifton.’

  That took her by surprise. In fact, Lady Thorwynn could have knocked her down with one of the ostrich feathers in her turban. Her curiosity running rampant by now, it took remarkable effort to reply calmly, ‘I’d be happy to be of assistance, my lady.’

  Lady Thorwynn smiled. ‘Wait until you know what is required. It is a matter of delicacy. There is perhaps some risk to your involvement.’

  Julia did not like risks. In fact, she positively disliked them. Especially if they involved rakes. She glanced towards Lord Thorwynn. He was staring into his teacup like a fortune-teller, trying to read the future. In the growing dusk, she realized there was something gypsy-like about him, with his long black locks tumbling on to his face. She had known a band of gypsies that had frequented their land every year in her childhood. She could imagine him laughing with the women around the camp-fire, his teeth flashing in the moonlight.

  He looked up, and their gazes met. He smiled, a small reassuring smile, and without thinking, Julia smiled back. Then she realized that Grannie was watching, so she turned her attention back to Lady Thorwynn.

  Lady Thorwynn explained the situation quickly, with a few interruptions from her son.

  ‘So you see, as a witness to the whole affair, you are invaluable in countering the rumours. We must circulate the correct story.’

  Julia threw a glance at Lady Bullfinch. For the briefest of moments, she thought of saying no. After all, if he married the cherub, then her grandmother could no longer use him as a threat to force her to marry.

  But, to Julia’s surprise, Grannie objected. ‘You are asking us to circulate a story which may well compromise my niece.’

  Lord Thorwynn shook his head. ‘That is the risk my mother spoke of. However, if we emphasize that your niece was in your sight the whole time, then there can be no problem. After all, you were only a few minutes behind us.’

  Julia thought of the moments when they wrestled on their horses, hidden by the oak trees. It would take only one witness to that scene for a completely different story to circulate. But there could not have been anyone. She had searched for help and seen nobody.

  Like a gambler staking his future on his winnings, Julia made her decision. After all, she did not think Lord Thorwynn and the cherub would suit each other at all.

  ‘The rumour is completely unfounded,’ she said. ‘Neither Miss Neville nor Lord Thorwynn can be sacrificed to such an absurd interpretation of the situation.’

  Grannie threw her a complicated look that held both surprise and warning. ‘I hope you are fully aware of the risks involved,’ she said. ‘Think about it before you decide.’

  Julia shook her head. ‘I am the only one who can help Lord Thorwynn, since I was the only witness to the events. It would be unconscionable to allow the rumour to spread without attempting to put an end to it.’ From the corner of her eye she saw Lord Thorwynn make some kind of a gesture. She ignored it, keeping her attention on Lady Thorwynn. ‘But we need a plan of action.’

  She was amazed at her outer calm. Inwardly, she squirmed like a worm on a hook. She would aid Lord Thorwynn, because she was duty bound to do so, but heaven help him if he tried to ply her with his charms, because she would expend all her energy to make sure he stayed out of her life.

  CHAPTER 3

  ‘You missed dinner,’ said Conrad, Viscount Benedict.

  ‘I know.’ Lionel wrinkled his nose. ‘I dined at my mother’s. She insisted.’

  Benedict raised a thick red eyebrow, but said nothing.

  ‘By the way, I need your company tonight, Benny,’ drawled Lionel, spreading his arms on the back of the familiar settee, as far as his starched collar points would permit. The settee seemed almost moulded to his form – he always sat there when it was available. Brooks’s was his place of refuge, somewhere to enjoy a quiet interval before moving on to his next activity.

  Today, though, Brooks’s failed to have that effect. Lionel had a prickling sensation between his shoulder blades. The impulse to look round to make sure no one stared was overwhelming.

  He hoped he looked a great deal more at ease than he felt.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Benny, peering at him. ‘Something wrong?’

  He did not fool Benny, of course, never could. Not even as a thirteen year old at Eton, where they had first met. Benny always saw through him.

  Since nothing else would satisfy him, he explained the situation to Benny, glancing around to make sure none of the gentlemen lounging around them could be listening.

  ‘As far as I know, the rumour hasn’t reached White’s,’ remarked Benny, when he’d finished. ‘I was there earlier. I’ll keep a look out for you, though. Since you won’t set foot in the place.’

  ‘You know why,’ said Lionel, grimly. ‘There are certain … people I wish to avoid.’

  Benny looked pained. ‘I’m very well aware of why you don’t go to White’s.’ His tone made it clear he did not want that particular subject opened. ‘I haven’t heard anything here, either. So no one’s heard at the clubs yet. Perhaps there’s nothing to it.’

  ‘Dash it, Benny,’ he said. ‘If my mother’s heard it, you can be sure there is something to it. It’ll be in the betting books by tomorrow. “Will I, or will I not, salvage Miss Neville’s reputation?”’

  ‘Is she an antidote?’ asked his companion.

  An image of blonde ringlets, blue eyes and parchment skin rose up and disappeared. ‘No, she’s quite presentable, in fact.’ He considered, rubbing the tip of his nose with his thumb. ‘She’s pretty enough, but much too debutante for my taste.’

  Benny swirled his brandy and nodded. ‘Still, better than a girl with a squint.’

  ‘Confound it! I’m not planning to marry her. That’s where the Swifton chit comes in. And where yo
u come in.’

  Benny set down his glass. ‘You’re not planning to marry the Swifton girl?’

  Lionel guffawed. ‘You haven’t met her, if you can ask that question.’ Unbidden, he recalled her penetrating hazel eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a mouth that was definitely kissable with a deucedly stubborn expression. ‘Wouldn’t marry me if I went down on my knees and begged. One of those ladies who don’t like marriage, I believe. A bluestocking, and a Wollstonecraft follower.’ She had never said anything like that, certainly never spewed anything about the Rights of Women during their brief interaction. But he knew her grandmother had been a friend of the notorious Mary Wollstonecraft, and been part of the group that supported her ideas. ‘For God’s sake, Benny, all this is beside the point. The point is’ – he cleared his throat – ‘you need to escort me to Mrs Wadswith’s ball tonight.’

  Benny let out a bark of laughter and put his hand to his heart. ‘What’s the world coming to? A ball, for the famous Thorwynn! The Laughing Rake par excellence! With a room full of debutantes! Coming it too brown!’

  Lionel drained his glass. ‘Don’t rub it in.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to abandon my pedestal for the night and come down to earth,’ he said ruefully. ‘A temporary condition, I hope. But very indicative of my dire straits.’

  ‘And you can’t do without my support?’

  ‘Your support is essential. If only to keep the match-making monsters at bay. The moment they realize I’m not going to marry the Neville girl after all, they’ll sink their claws into me, and I’ll be done for.’ He rose, noting as he did the smirk on Benny’s face. ‘You might think it funny, but it’s no laughing matter for the Neville girl, or for me, if we can’t squelch the rumours.’

  Benny shrugged. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss the event for anything. It will be the height of amusement to watch you trying to extricate yourself from the old tabbies. And to see Mrs Wadswith’s face when she realizes you have chosen her ball to make your first appearance in society since your return from the Continent.’