A Question of Impropriety (2 page)

‘It is not what you think. I can control Jester.'

‘And now you know what I am thinking? Mind-reading
is
a talent of yours. How marvellous.' His eyes pierced her. ‘Do let me in on your secret some time. But for now, I will settle for your explanation.'

‘I failed to pay attention.' Diana hung her head and her cheeks grew hot. ‘I was reading a…a book.'

‘Indeed. There is no book in the gig.'

‘But it has to be there,' Diana said in dismay. ‘The last volume of
Pride and Prejudice.
I left it on the seat when I jumped. I had to know the ending. The author writes so well. I shall have to search out more of his books.'

‘I have it on good authority that the author is a woman.'

‘The author's identity is a closely guarded secret, but I understand from Mrs Sarsfield that it is a man.'

‘Shall we wager on that?' His grey eyes twinkled. ‘A simple wager. With a suitable reward.'

He held out his hand. Diana kept her hand firmly at her side. No wagers. Ever. A simple enough rule to remember. She raised her chin and stared directly at him. ‘I suspect you would not offer unless you knew the truth. I accept the author is a woman.'

‘It does help to know the publisher and his habits.' He gave a small laugh. ‘Never wager on facts you are uncertain of or have not independently checked. It helps keep people honest. But I shall agree with you—
Pride and Prejudice
is well written.'

‘I had assumed that members of the Jehu club disdained reading and education, Mr Farnham.'

‘How do you know I have anything to do with the Jehu club?' His eyes changed instantly and became cold slate.

‘My fiancé was an admirer.' Diana spoke around the sudden tightness in her throat. ‘Algernon Finch.'

He drew his eyebrows together before shaking his head. ‘I have no recollection of the name.'

‘He was younger than you at Cambridge, but he used to speak about the doings of the Jehu club.' Diana clenched her fist. The man who had done so much to encourage Algernon's folly and ultimately his death had forgotten his existence. ‘He even introduced us five years ago.'

‘Five years ago is a long time. I regret that I cannot remember the occasion.' Brett's voice held the faintest note of hesitation. A smug satisfaction swept through Diana. It was beneath her, but she did enjoy the feeling of wrong footing a rake. ‘I look forward to renewing my acquaintance.'

‘He died five years ago, Mr Farnham.'

‘My condolences. But people will talk, and they do some times exaggerate the acquaintance.' He gave a slight shrug of his perfect shoulder, once again every inch the arrogant gentleman. ‘You must not believe every thing you hear. Remember that the next time. The Jehu club disbanded years ago. And it is no longer
Mr Farnham.
I am now the sixth Earl of Coltonby. Have been for the last six months.'

‘My mistake. Lord Coltonby.' Diana inclined her head. ‘I am sorry for your loss, but my answer remains the same. A title does not give one licence to seduce.'

‘I can only apologise for the gross ineptitude of my sex.' A faint dimple showed in the corner of his mouth. ‘It is lucky that I was not intending any such strata gem.'

‘I am relieved to hear it.'

His eyes slowly travelled down her body, lingered on her curves. Diana reminded herself that this was a simple round gown, nothing too flattering. Suitable for visiting the Bolts and others in the neighbourhood, but it would appear dowdy and misshapen in Newcastle, let alone under the bright lights of London. Demure. Modest. Unassuming. His fingers trapped hers, curling around them and holding them fast. He brought them to his lips as his eyes watched her with a steady gaze. ‘You will take driving lessons. I insist. Public safety demands it.'

‘The public make no such demand.' Diana withdrew her hand and ignored the faint tremor that ran up it. ‘I doubt our paths will cross again.'

Brett Farnham stared at the woman in front of him. This inter view was not going the way he had planned when he'd glimpsed her ankle and the slight curve of her calf as she'd drawn her hideous dress up to avoid the mud. ‘And if I say that the stories about me are exaggerated?'

‘My answer would remain the same. In any case, London is your natural habitat. Your stay here will be a short one.' The Beauty's bee-stung lips were turned down. They were the most exquisite colour of rose pink and Brett wondered what it might be like to taste them again. But he decided against the notion. He would be a fool to try such a thing without knowing her antecedents. She claimed an acquaintance. Brett took pride in being discerning. He had never toyed with a woman whose thoughts might legitimately lean towards marriage; women who under stood the nature of the game were infinitely preferable.

‘It may be longer than you expect,' he said, keeping his eyes away from the swell of her bosom. Until he knew the exact nature of her status, he refused to risk any con sequence. Silently, he prayed that she might be a legitimate pursuit, rather than one who was off limits. ‘I recently won a highly desirable piece of Northumbrian property.'

‘Did you, indeed?' Her blue-green eyes became cold. Her eyebrow arched. ‘It appears to me that you play for very high stakes. Far too high.'

‘Cuthbert Biddlestone had had rather too much port and challenged me to a race. I am hardly one to back down. I held his vowels, you see, and it was double or nothing. Now I hold the title to Ladywell Park.'

‘You raced a noted drunkard? That must have been challenging.'

Brett brushed a speck of dust from his travelling coat. ‘He was the one who insisted. He was the one who became a vice-admiral in a narrow ship. I did warn him what would happen. He chose not to believe me. I do warn people of the consequences.'

‘And do you intend to keep this estate or will you wager it again on another race?'

‘I never drink too much port. What I have, I hold…
Miss…' Brett held out his hand and prepared to recapture her fingers.

She smiled and managed to sidestep him. ‘You will not achieve my name by such strata gems.'

‘You claimed acquaintance earlier.'

‘You denied all knowledge.'

‘Perhaps I spoke too hastily.' Brett dropped his voice to a husky rasp. ‘Enlighten me, O Beauty of the wayside, so that I may worship you properly.'

‘I shall wait until we are properly re-introduced—' she tilted her chin and her eyes became glacial ‘—when the proper order has been restored, if indeed you have won the Park.'

Brett smiled inwardly. One of the local gentry. Unmarried as she did not bother to correct him. He had anticipated, given the ugliness of the dress, that she was a farmer's daughter, rather than a social equal. But now that he listened to her tones, he conceded that it was a probability. Annoying, but true. There again, she had mentioned a former fiancé—perhaps there was a stout husband in the back ground? Or, better yet, she could be widowed. Brett smiled. Possibilities remained. He would play the odds. Five years was a long time. A woman who showed a zest for life like this one would not have remained un married.

‘I believe your book has tumbled into the mud.' Brett reached down and picked the mud-splattered volume up.

The lady held out a hand. ‘My book, if you please.'

‘I would not want you to be distracted.' Brett pocketed the volume. ‘I will arrange for it to be delivered if you will divulge your name.'

‘For propriety's sake, stop this funning and give me my book back…' Her lips became a thin white line, but her cheeks coloured.

‘I much prefer impropriety.' He gave a half-smile at her outraged expression.

‘My book, Lord Coltonby, if you please. I have tarried here long enough.'

Brett ignored her out stretched palm, and placed the volume in his pocket. ‘I have no intention of keeping it any longer than strictly necessary, but for now I feel it would be a distraction.' Brett made a bow as she opened and closed her mouth several times. ‘Your servant, ma'am. I look forward with great anticipation to our next encounter.'

Her response was to twitch the carriage ribbons. Brett stood and watched it. She would find an excuse to come to him. It was only a matter of time.

‘R
ude. Arrogant. Impossible.' Diana threw her gloves down on her dressing table and finally gave vent to her frustration. Passion and emotion were permissible in private.

Lord Coltonby actually thought that she would seek him out! And the worst thing was that he possessed the same sort of lethal charm that Algernon had oozed from his every pore. But she had learnt her lesson about how quickly such things vanished. Her rules had kept her safe since then. Diana concentrated on taking deep calming breaths.

‘Who?' Rose, her maid asked, looking up from her pile of mending. Rose coming into her life was the only good thing that had happened in London. Sometimes, Diana felt that the world would have gone entirely black if not for Rose's practical approach to life and her sense of humour. ‘What edict has the master issued now? You were displeased with him at break fast. I could tell by the set of your mouth when he went on about you going to visit Lady Bolt. Why he should be interested in the Honourable Miranda, I have no idea. The woman is a menace. She is the sort who
considers every cold a lung fever and faints at the merest hint of anything untoward.'

‘It is not the Honourable Miranda's charms that interest my brother, but the possibilities of using Sir Norman's landing on the Tyne if he makes an offer. Business, always business with Simon.'

‘Your brother should make other things his business. That son of his needs a mother. You do your best, Miss Diana, but you ought to have a life while you are young enough to enjoy it.'

Diana gave a short laugh as she gazed with fondness at her maid who sat sewing by the window. ‘I have discovered someone worse than my brother—an unadulterated rake who goes by the name of Brett Farnham, the sixth earl of Coltonby. He thinks all he has to do is click his fingers and women will fall at his feet.'

‘And do they?' Rose laid her mending on her lap. Her placid face crinkled up. ‘I have often longed to meet one and to see if such a thing is really possible. What was he like, your mysterious rake?'

‘He is no rake of mine. He will have forgotten my existence by the time my gig turned the corner, and certainly once he encounters the next skirt.'

‘You judge yourself too harshly. You have done so ever since you returned from London.' Rose made an impatient motion with her hand. ‘And what do you know of rakes and their doings? You resolutely refuse to read the Crim. Con. papers.'

Diana gave a small shrug as she stared into the large mirror that hung over the mantelpiece. Her features were ordinary: dark hair, reasonable eyes and an over generous mouth. They had not been what had caught the eye of Algernon Finch. He had been attracted to the size and newness of her fortune. And his determined seduction and
easy manner had dazzled her. She had never thought to question his stories until it was too late, far too late. But she had learnt her lesson. ‘Brett Farnham is a rake, Rose. His exploits with gaming, carriage driving and women were the talk of London five years ago. But simply because
other
women fall at his feet, there is no need to think that I should.'

Rose made a noise at the back of her throat. ‘How has he behaved? Tried to flirt with you a bit? You never used to mind such things, Miss Diana…'

‘That was a long time ago, Rose.' Diana tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear as she tried not to think about the girl she had once been. ‘I am no longer a green girl, ready to believe the lies that drop from a man's lips, particularly not when he appears sophisticated and charming. And I have better uses for my fortune than buying a bankrupted title.'

‘Is Lord Coltonby bankrupt?' Rose's eyes widened. ‘You know a great deal about a man in whom you profess no interest, Miss Diana.'

‘The state of Lord Coltonby's finances fails to intrigue me. I simply know what sort of man chased after me in London. Bankrupt. Let in the pockets. They saw only my fortune and not my face or personality.'

Rose shook her head so that her ribbons bobbed. ‘You should judge each man on his own merit. And stop seeing yourself as a plain old maid, an ape-leader who is on the shelf. Abandon your caps and embrace life. There, I have said my piece, Miss Diana, and it has been a long time coming.'

‘Please, Rose. You have it all wrong.' Diana briefly related what passed between her and Lord Coltonby. Her voice faltered briefly when she neared the kiss, but she pressed on, avoiding any mention of it. If she did not think
about it, it would be as if it had never happened. ‘I shall enjoy seeing his face when he realises who I am.'

‘Why would you want to do that?' Rose finished darning a stocking. ‘I thought you were not interested in the man's opinion—good or otherwise.'

‘I can hardly allow Lord Coltonby's arrogance in the matter to continue.' Diana pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to think straight as Rose's lips turned up into a smug smile. ‘I do have my pride, Rose. Simon is a man of consequence in this county.'

‘It is a start.' Rose shifted the mending off her lap and smoothed out the wrinkles in her apron. ‘You should borrow one of those lady magazines and see the latest fashions. One of Mrs Sarsfield's daughters-in-law is sure to be willing to lend her copy of this season's
La Belle Assemblée.
I could easily alter one of your London dresses.'

Diana shook her head. She had lost count of the number of rules she had broken today. Wearing clothes that made her fade into the back ground was vital, a constant reminder of what happened when one let one's guard down. ‘My clothes suit the life I have chosen.'

‘It is such a pity. All those lovely silks going to waste.'

‘They stay where I put them—in the attic.'

‘You have mourned your fiancé for too long, Miss Diana. No one expects it. Not after the manner in which he died.'

Diana froze. How could she explain to anyone that she went down on her knees every night and thanked God for her lucky escape? That she had no intention of being caught out again. Ever. There were things about the past that even Rose did not know. Diana forced her fingers to pick up a pile of letters from the dressing room table. ‘The post has arrived. You should have said.'

Rose tightened her lips and showed that she remained
unmoved by Diana's sudden enthusiasm for her letters. ‘Doctor Allen has written. Already.'

‘What has Robert done now? It is barely a week into term.' Diana tore the seal on the schoolmaster's letter. ‘He promised me when we said goodbye that there would be no repeat of last year. He would attend to his studies. Simon will be so cross.'

‘It would be better if—'

Rose's words were drowned out by a door being flung open. The noise re sounded through out the substantive house. Diana gave Rose a startled look and hurried out of the room.

‘He's gone and done it! Lost every thing! On a horse race!'

‘Who has gone and done what, Simon?' Diana regarded her brother's thunderous face as he strode about the entrance hall, his black coat flapping and his neck cloth wildly askew. ‘You will make yourself ill, if you continue in this manner. Be calm and collected.'

Simon gave her a disgusted look.

‘Cuthbert Biddlestone has wagered his fortune on a carriage race. And lost.' He handed the cane and top hat to Jenkins, the butler. ‘He lost his entire Northumberland estate, every thing that was not in the entail.' Simon Clare shook his head as his dark green eyes flashed emerald fire. ‘He wagered the whole thing on his ability to handle the ribbons against one of the best horsemen in the country! His father would be turning in his grave if he knew.'

‘I suspect he did know. It is why he put off Sir Cuthbert's majority until he was thirty.' Diana forced her lips to turn up, but saw no answering smile in her brother's face. If anything, his face became darker. ‘You always predicted such a thing would happen. What was it that you called Sir Cuthbert—a witless fop?'

‘He was a fool. He claimed in his letter that it was my fault as he wanted the money to invest in the travelling engine.'

‘That is complete nonsense!'

‘But it is exactly like Biddlestone. And he did not listen to what I said. I only wanted a bit of his money…for my new engine. Then with the proceeds from the investment, he would have been able to build that new Italianate manor he was always on about. I was even prepared to sell him that parcel of land over looking the Tyne—you know, the one where the old wooden wagon-way used to run—at a knock down price.' Simon ran a finger about his collar.

‘But what does this have to do with the new owner?'

‘He wants to buy the land. Says Biddlestone and I had an agreement. Goodness knows what arrangement he will then strike with Sir Norman Bolt. Bolt's been after that land for years. About the only spark of intelligence Biddlestone showed was his loathing of Sir Norman.' Simon's lower lip stuck out. ‘Is it any wonder that I am furious? Get me the latest copy of
Debrett's,
Jenkins, I want to know the measure of this Earl of Coltonby.'

Diana reached down and gave Titch a pat on the head. Lord Coltonby had told the truth—he was their nearest neighbour. The terrier looked up with big eyes. The simple act eased her nerves. She would be practical and she would not give in to her fears as Simon appeared to be over wrought enough for the both of them. Calmness and tranquillity were the keys to an orderly life. ‘Why should it affect us? Why shouldn't we be able to go on as before? The colliery is profitable.'

‘Everything has changed, Diana. Everything.' Simon's lip curled back slightly and his eyes became even greener. ‘The bloody Earl of Coltonby now demands that I dance at ten dance on him and listen to his scheme for improving
the area. I dare say that he will tap me for money. These aristocrats are all the same. Jenkins, I want my copy of
Debrett's
now, not in a month's time!'

‘I am trying, Mister Clare.' The butler's voice echoed from the library. ‘It does take time.'

‘I know of Lord Coltonby,' Diana said quietly as Simon looked about to explode and the butler wore a hurt expression. The last thing she wanted was to have to find yet another butler. Jenkins was the third butler they had had in a year. ‘He was there when Algernon died. One of the seconds…for the other man. It was all in Algernon's last letter. Then Brett Farnham…'

Diana hated the way her voice trembled. She swallowed hard and steeled herself to explain about today, but Simon held up his hand, preventing her from speaking further, from telling him about her earlier encounter with Lord Coltonby.

‘By all that is holy! Brett Farnham…' He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. ‘I never realised your fiancé knew him. I would never have listened to Jayne and agreed to the match if I'd known that.'

‘You never wished to know much about him,' Diana replied care fully. She refused to speak ill of the dead—neither Algernon nor Simon's late wife, Jayne. ‘Perhaps it would have been better if you had. How do you know Brett Farnham?'

‘Farnham and I were at Cambridge together. He with his drawling voice and oh-so-smooth manner as he threatened to dunk me in the Cam for wearing the wrong cut of coat.'

‘It was mostly likely a joke, in poor taste, but an idle boast.'

‘The water was ice cold, but I swam to the other side while he and the rest of his cohorts stood braying on the
bank.' Simon's eyes flashed a brilliant green. ‘The man is debauched, Diana. He bragged about his gambling prowess and how well he drove carriages. And the women. You should have seen the parade in and out of his rooms. He and his kind are one of the reasons I detested Cambridge.'

‘It may not be as bad you fear. Rakes are ever in need of money.' Diana kept her head high and her voice expression less. She wanted to shake Simon. He should have questioned her chaperon in greater detail before entering into negotiations about her marriage.

‘Why me? Why now when the engine design is be ginning to show its true potential? Why am I being punished in this way?' Simon slammed his hand down on the mantel piece, making the Dresden shepherdess jump. ‘I should have insisted on the agreement being formal, but Sir Cuthbert hemmed and hawed about being honourable gentlemen. Honourable! Him! My great-aunt Fanny! He wagered his entire estate on a daft horse race. How can that be considered honourable?'

‘He was not the man his father was.' Diana closed her eyes. ‘The ways of the aristocracy are very different from ours. They always honour their debts to other gentlemen.'

‘And never to their tailors. Papa finished being a tradesman before you were born and I am no tradesman's son.' Simon waved an impatient hand. ‘I do not need the lecture, Diana. We both know what they are like, despite our dear papa's desire to become one. Coltonby is the worst of the lot. Mark my words. He will be up to some deviltry.'

‘You don't know that.' Diana laid a hand on her brother's arm. She had to get Simon out of his black mood. A fit of the blue devils was not what anyone needed. The entire house's routine would be upset for days on end. ‘Think logically, Simon.'

‘You are against me as well! My own sister.' Simon slammed his fist against the table, narrowly missing the alabaster lamp.

‘Simon Clare. Do not pick a fight with me, simply because you are cross with Lord Coltonby and his treatment of you years ago. You will find the finance for the engine. Perhaps Lord Coltonby is keen on all these new machines. Maybe he, too, sees the possibilities of steam and iron. Ask him. Maybe he will want to invest.'

‘Ask? You never ask Farnham anything. He always declined politely to remove his boots from the stair well, to not hold drunken parties, to stop fraternising with coachmen. He simply curls his lip and laughs at you.'

‘You could try. People do change. You have.' Diana regarded her brother with his expensive frock coat and well-tied neck cloth, the very image of a prosperous landowner. ‘You are no longer a student at Cambridge with little consequence. You do have a name and standing in Northumberland. You have a reputation for innovation and resourcefulness. The earl will listen to reason in time. You are under no obligation to sell that parcel of land.'