Brenda Hiatt (5 page)

“Presenting it?” Now Nessa was puzzled.

“It is to be a gift, is it not?”

This was becoming more difficult than she’d anticipated, but she refused to waver. “No indeed, Madame. It is for me. However, that rose muslin would complement my sister’s coloring nicely. May we see it? Pray bring us a few pattern books as well. I expect we shall be here for a while.”

Two and a half hours later, a well-satisfied Nessa and a dazed Prudence left the shop laden with various accessories to round out the six gowns Nessa had ordered for herself and the two she had ordered for Prudence, after wearing down her protests. The jonquil silk was to be delivered Friday, the day after her year would be up, and the others would follow over the next week.

“Come, Prudence, let us stop for coffee and ices at Gunter’s so that you can rally a bit before we go on.”

Prudence paused in the act of handing her parcels to the coachman. “Go on?”

“Certainly. I said we would make a day of this, did I
not?” Nessa resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder. She had the oddest feeling that her father and husband were watching her with disapproval. Defiantly, she raised her chin. “I’ve only just begun,” she declared, as much to those dour shades as to Prudence.

“Is that the last one, Havershaw?” Jack stretched his arms high over his head to relieve the tension in his shoulders, produced by several hours bent over a desk.

“Yes, my lord. I must say, you have kept at it. You’ve made it through this backlog of paperwork in record time.” The respect in the steward’s voice made Jack glance up in surprise.

“Really? I can’t imagine that I’ve been as efficient as my grandfather in dealing with the estate business. I’m still learning as I go, after all.”

Havershaw smiled his thin smile, but Jack was further startled to see a trace of genuine warmth in it. “Indeed, my lord, you’re doing far better as a novice than your Uncle Luther ever managed, and though you have not yet his experience, you are in a fair way to match your grandfather in cutting to the heart of most business matters. I believe you may have a natural bent for this sort of thing.”

Jack grimaced. Three weeks ago, he’d have sworn on everything sacred that he’d be a terrible landowner and that the details of running a large estate would drive him to distraction or drink—or worse. Reluctant as he was to admit it, however, he’d almost enjoyed these past two weeks immersed in tenancies, harvests, land improve
ments, and foreign investments. Jack Ashecroft, responsible landowner? It seemed so unlikely.

“Have I passed the test, then?” he asked with a grin. “Do you deem me respectable? With that trust money, I could have the roof leaded and drain the lower acreage before the winter rains set in.”

“No doubt you could,” said Havershaw dryly, “but this quarter’s rents will just cover those items, I believe. True reformation takes time.”

Jack bit back a curse. If the rents all went for repairs, he’d have precious little spending money when he got back to Town. “Can you perhaps give me a clue as to what your standards are to be, Havershaw? I’ve no mind to spend years at this endeavor while Foxhaven falls into ruin for lack of funds.”

“I rather doubt that is a serious risk, my lord.”

And of course it wasn’t. It was Jack’s lifestyle that was at risk. “A wife, then. If I marry a woman of unimpeachable reputation, will you count me reformed?”

He held his breath while Havershaw hesitated. If he said no, Jack realized, he wouldn’t have to get leg-shackled after all.

But the steward finally nodded. “If you can get such a woman to marry you—willingly—I suppose that would be as objective a measure as any.”

Jack let out his breath, his brief hope gone. Pushing the mound of finished paperwork aside, he stood. “In that case, I shall make it my first priority. On the morrow I’ll head back to Town for what remains of the Little Season.”

“Will you be returning for Yuletide, my lord?” Havershaw, imperturbable as ever, began gathering up the papers.

“That will depend on how my wooing goes, won’t it?” replied Jack sourly. “I’ll send word.”

When he reached his chamber, Jack rang for Parker, his valet. A few years older than he, though slighter in build, Parker had been with him throughout his military career and held a position of trust with his employer enjoyed by vanishingly few servants.

“Yes, my lord?”

“We leave in the morning, Parker. Be good enough to get everything ready for our departure.”

“I’ve done so already, my lord.” The valet proceeded to remove his master’s boots.

Jack shook his head. “Don’t know why I trouble myself to tell you anything. You’ve been reading my mind with ease for years now. Know me better than I know myself.”

Parker only smiled.

“Being that’s the case,” Jack continued, “perhaps you can enlighten me as to my conflicting inclinations on matrimony. Think you it’s too high a price to pay for mere money?”

Parker turned to regard him, pale hair falling across his high forehead. “I think the right woman could be the making of you, my lord, if not of your reputation.”

“Blast it, Parker, the making of my reputation is the whole point of the thing! What do you mean by that?”

But Parker merely shrugged and seized his other
boot. Explaining his cryptic pronouncements had never been his way, though they almost invariably proved true in time.

They left for London before the morning was far advanced. Jack reflected that the habit of retiring and rising early, which he had adopted almost without thought while in the country, appeared to agree with his constitution. Very odd, that—and not a little disturbing.

As he neared Town a few hours later, Jack could almost feel the calm of the country seeping from him, to be replaced by the excitement of the city. Yes, surely
this
was where he truly belonged, amid the bustle of humanity. Here, he could live by his wits and the cards, as he’d done before, and to hell with that damned trust. If it weren’t for his grandfather’s memory, that’s just what he’d do. Perhaps respectability wasn’t meant for the likes of him after all.

But even as he said this to himself, he found his thoughts turning to what he had hoped might be the means to that respectability: Lady Haughton. Her period of mourning should have ended three days since, by his calculations. With her puritanical upbringing, of course, she might well intend to observe half-mourning for another twelvemonth. It would not surprise him, in fact, if Lady Creamcroft demanded it of her. If that were the case, pursuing a courtship could be problematic.

Pondering his options, Jack disembarked from his traveling coach and climbed the stairs to Foxhaven House—one of the finer establishments on Berkley
Square. The effect was somewhat marred by the disheveled appearance of his butler, who’d clearly hurried into his coat to answer the door.

Jack handed his hat and cloak to the man with some degree of misgiving. “I’ll be going out after I’ve had a wash and a change,” he advised Carp, or whatever his name was. “Tell Cook I will most likely dine at my club.”

Once in his bedchamber, Jack returned to the matter of Lady Haughton. Ought he to call upon her this afternoon? He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Were she in the whirl of Society, he might find her in Hyde Park in a couple of hours, but that seemed unlikely. No, he would wait and call upon her in the morning, as was proper, and invite her out for a drive the next afternoon.

“My blue coat, I believe, Parker.”

His valet, with customary prescience, already had the requested garment in his capable hands. Jack stripped off his travel clothes and splashed his face with cold water from the ewer, all the while working out his strategy.

Surely, he thought as Parker helped him to shrug into the blue superfine, he would be able to cajole the fair Lady Haughton out of her blacks in fairly short order. If she
had
masqueraded as the lovely “Monique,” she could not be nearly so trammeled by propriety as her sister. The occasional sparkle he had glimpsed in her eyes suggested a sense of humor, as well. Still, a lifetime under the thumbs of Lords Cherryhurst and Haughton would have left its mark.

He would go slowly, he decided, tying his cravat with a flourish. He did not wish to shock his quarry—particularly this early in the campaign. If on the morrow he found her in half-mourning rather than unrelieved black, he would take it as a hopeful sign and proceed from there. He had no particular desire to rush matters—as long as the roof at Fox Manor didn’t spring another leak, anyway.

Well satisfied with this remarkably prudent decision, Jack set out for his club, hoping that Harry or Peter might be there to catch him up on the news of the past two weeks.

Neither of his closest friends was at the Guards when Jack arrived, so he ordered a bottle of port and settled in to wait. He was refilling his glass for the first time an hour later when Harry turned up.

“Jack! Good to see you back in Town!” he exclaimed, signaling for another glass. “I see you’ve only just arrived.” He nodded at the nearly full bottle.

Jack didn’t bother to correct him. “Hello, Harry. Is it my imagination, or is London already a bit thin of company?”

Harry’s glass arrived then, and he filled it before answering. “Perhaps a bit. Hadn’t really noticed. Fair number of house parties, I believe—that might account for it.” He tossed off half of his port at a single swallow, making Jack wince slightly.

What was the matter with him? Normally he’d be matching Harry glass for glass, not deploring his habits! Still, it was borne in upon him for the first time that Harry had begun to drift toward the outer fringes of Society over the past few months—and not uninten
tionally. He wasn’t likely to get the sort of news he’d hoped for here.

At that moment, however, a better source manifested itself, in the form of Lord Peter. “Jack!” he called out as he strode toward them. “Fernworth said you were back in Town.”

“Ferny? Don’t recall seeing him since arriving.”

“Said he saw your coach at Foxhaven House,” explained Peter, taking a chair. “Wondered when your next…entertainment might be. I tried to put the damper on such expectations.” He regarded Jack questioningly, as did Harry.

“I’m back in Town but two hours and already you’re playing the mother hen.” But Jack’s jibe lacked rancor. The truth was, he had no burning desire to return to the excessive lifestyle he’d enjoyed last month, even if he could have afforded it. An unsettling thought.

Harry clearly did not share his change of heart. “Really, Pete, what a damned interfering nodcock you are. High time Jack threw another party, in my opinion. What say you, Jack?”

Jack shook his head. “Much as it pains me to admit it, Peter is right. I’ve made great strides toward respectability in recent weeks, and would hate to see such heroic effort go for naught.”

With a sound of disgust, Harry refilled his glass. “I’d hoped two weeks sequestered in the country would bring you to your senses. You’re on your way to becoming as dashedly dull as Pete here, I hope you realize.”

“Why thank you, Harry!” Jack shared an amused
glance with Peter. Harry merely snorted again and turned his attention to his wine. “So, Peter, what news? Has Society managed to carry on without me for a fortnight?”

Some of the amusement left Peter’s face. “There is one tidbit you may find of interest, actually,” he said. “It concerns Lady Haughton, who, I believe, was your prime candidate when you left, was she not?”

“What is it?” Jack asked, more sharply than he intended. “Has she left Town? Or—surely she hasn’t already accepted another offer?” He wasn’t sure why either of those possibilities should weigh him down so.

“No, no, nothing so bad as that,” Peter assured him. “It’s just that I saw her Saturday night at Mrs. Westercott’s soiree. She’s well and truly reentered Society now, it appears.”

Jack felt a surge of relief. “But that’s all to the good,” he exclaimed. “I’d been wondering whether I’d have to persuade her out of her weeds, even though her year is up. Feared it might be difficult.”

“Not difficult at all, I’d say,” said Peter wryly, “considering that she was dancing at Mrs. Westercott’s—and wearing bright yellow.”

Jack blinked. “Yellow? When only days ago she was in heavy blacks? Hmmm…” He lapsed into thought.

“Yellow,” Peter repeated. “Not quite the thing, if you ask me, and certainly not what I’d have expected of Cherryhurst’s daughter and Haughton’s widow. Lady Creamcroft was with her, and looked more than a little embarrassed.”

“So your supremely respectable widow has decided to cut a dash, has she?” Harry clearly found the situation highly entertaining. “Mayhap she’s a better match for you than we suspected, Jack!”

Even Peter chuckled, though he still looked somewhat worried. “She may not be the best choice for your plan after all,” he suggested. “More than a few eyebrows were raised Saturday night. Perhaps you should give one of the debutantes another look.” His lips twitched slightly in response to Harry’s continued laughter.

But Jack was not amused. Upon Havershaw’s promise that marriage would turn the trick, his intention to wed Lady Haughton had firmed to the point of resolve, though he had not fully realized it until now. He had no desire to look elsewhere.

“I’ll simply have to move more quickly than I’d intended. Any idea, Peter, where she’s likely to be tonight? Anything of importance going on?”

Lord Peter thought for a moment. “There’s the Plumfield ball, and Lady Trumball’s card party. Various smaller dos—supper parties and the like. Perhaps the theater. What have you invitations for? Or do you plan to use the same tactic as at the Mountheath do?”

“Actually, I’ve no idea what invitations I might have. I left the house before checking my letters. I’ll go do that now. Care to join me, gentlemen?”

Peter tossed off the remainder of his glass and stood. “Wouldn’t miss it, I assure you. Harry?”

“I’ll be along in a bit,” he replied, refilling his glass
from the now nearly empty bottle. “Sounds like we might have an amusing evening ahead.”

“A productive one, as well,” Jack promised them both. “Mark my words, I’ll have Lady Haughton betrothed to me before the month is out.”

Lord Peter regarded him with surprise, but Harry grimaced. “Hope for your sake you’re wrong, Jack.”

Leaving with Peter, Jack wondered whether he didn’t hope the same thing—and if not, why not.

“Nessa, we simply
must
go!” Prudence insisted in a whisper, fluttering anxiously at her sister’s elbow. “Lord Plumfield is a good friend of Lord Creamcroft’s, and I have more than a passing acquaintance with Lady Plumfield. It simply won’t do for us to be any later to their ball.”

Nessa looked up from the cards in her hand. “But I’m having a marvelous run of luck, Prudence,” she whispered back. “Why don’t you and Lord Creamcroft go on and I’ll join you there later?”

Prudence fanned herself vigorously. “Leave you here
alone?
” Her hiss nearly became a squeak. She glanced apprehensively around the table lest the others were attending to their words, but the two gentlemen and other lady appeared intent on their own cards. “You know we cannot do that.”

Instead of responding, Nessa played her next card. She’d had only a very few chances to play whist since learning, as Lord Haughton had disapproved of cards except with the vicar and his wife. She was pleased to discover she had a flair for the game.

“I’m not a schoolgirl, you know.” She continued the whispered conversation, “At four-and-twenty, I scarcely need a chaperone.”

Prudence’s fan waved more frantically. “Nessa, you know as well as I what would be said, were you to stay here without us. Do you wish to be thought
fast?
”

Secretly Nessa confessed that she did, but realized that it was unfair to distress her sister so, after all of her kindness. “Very well. Let me finish this hand, and then we will go.”

For a moment, she thought Prudence might faint from relief. “Thank you, Nessa. I’ll go inform Lord Creamcroft.”

Nessa knew she should feel guilty, but decided to defer that until later. Just now, she preferred to savor the brief remainder of her game.

“That gives us the rubber, Mr. Galloway,” she said five minutes later, laying down her last card. “I have enjoyed this immensely. Thank you all for allowing me to make your foursome.”

Miss Cheevers smiled a bit sourly, either at having lost or because Nessa had claimed more attention than herself from the two gentlemen present. “We must do this again sometime, Lady Haughton.”

The gentlemen echoed the sentiment with more sincerity, and Nessa favored them all with a bright smile, just as Prudence returned to her elbow, Lord Creamcroft in tow. Saying her farewells, she accompanied them to the door.

“I’m glad to see you making friends, sister,” com
mented Lord Creamcroft amiably as they waited for their carriage.

“I thank you and Prudence for the opportunity, Philip,” she replied, conscious of her sister’s faint gasp. Prudence had only once or twice used her husband’s Christian name in Nessa’s hearing. Nessa rather hoped, by example, to change that.

Her brother-in-law did not appear scandalized in the least. In fact, Nessa caught a twinkle in his eyes that indicated he suspected what she was about—and approved. More and more, Nessa was certain that Philip would prefer a much less formal relationship with his wife. If only Prudence could be persuaded to unbend a little…

“I pray you two will not allow concern for me to interfere with your own enjoyments,” Nessa continued, with a meaning glance at her sister. “I find myself quite able to take care of myself. In fact, I hope that I’ll not have to impose upon your hospitality for much longer. I believe it is high time I set up my own Town establishment.”

Prudence’s strangled protest was cut short by the arrival of the carriage. Once they were all ensconced inside, however, she turned horrified eyes upon her sister.

“You cannot be serious about living alone in Town, can you, Nessa? Only think of the talk that would ensue. Propriety demands—”

“Oh, you needn’t worry, Prudence. I will engage a suitable companion when the time comes. And it is not
as though I intend to move out in the morning!”

In fact, the idea of setting up her own household in London had only just occurred to her—but it suddenly seemed an excellent one.

“Move out!” Prudence was plying her fan again, leaning weakly back against the squabs. “But you have nowhere to go! Promise me you will not even think of such a thing, Nessa.”

“I can scarcely impose upon your hospitality for the rest of my life, Prudence. Surely you must see that.”

But Prudence shook her head. “I see no such thing. You may stay with us until you decide to return to the dower house at Haughton—or remarry. There will no doubt be several eligible and respectable gentlemen at the Plumfields’—far more respectable than that card-player, Mr. Galloway. I will endeavor to introduce you.”

Nessa smiled at her sister, but said firmly, “I have no plans to return to the country in the near future. That dower house is positively grim, I assure you. And I do
not
intend to remarry, in even the distant future. I simply wish to settle in Town for the present.”
And live on my own terms
, she added silently.

“While I understand your feelings, sister, remember that your cousin would have to authorize the release of your funds for such a move,” Lord Creamcroft reminded her. “In any event, I hope you will let no thought of inconveniencing
us
cause you to hasten such a decision. We are more than happy to have you with us for as long as you will stay.”

Thank you, Philip,” Nessa replied warmly, though
she cringed at the thought of what Cousin Filmore’s response to such a request would likely be. She’d quite forgotten that her small fortune was under his control, as he’d been generous with her allowance. “I’m sure I can convince my cousin—” She broke off, noticing that her sister appeared to be on the verge of a faint. “I, er, believe Prudence requires your attention.”

Turning, Lord Creamcroft perceived his wife’s distress and took both her hands most tenderly in his own. “There, there, my dear. It’ll all work out for the best, you’ll see.” As she was unresisting, he dared a quick kiss on her cheek.

That brought Prudence to her senses immediately. “Philip! I mean, my lord! I mean—”

Nessa began to chuckle, earning a reproachful glance from her sister. “Oh, never mind me. I’ll just watch Mayfair go by.” She directed her gaze resolutely to the carriage window and was gratified to hear her sister’s indignant exclamation suddenly muffled by what could only be a kiss. Yes, there was hope for true happiness there yet!

But what of her own?

“Where to next, Jack?”

Lord Peter still sounded remarkably chipper, but Jack favored him with a sour look. They’d gone first to the Plumfield ball, but the Creamcroft party had not arrived, though they were generally expected—a fact that took some forty-five minutes to ascertain. Then they’d gone to the Trumball card party, only to discover
that Lady Haughton, her sister, and brother-in-law had left twenty minutes earlier.

Next they’d stopped in at a ridotto at the Peckerings, which Peter had suddenly recalled, but with no luck. The Creamcrofts had neither been nor were they particularly expected, though they had been invited.

Miranda Dempsey, the vivacious, redheaded widow with whom Jack had dallied in Paris, had been there, however. She was clearly more than eager to rekindle their brief, torrid romance, and he had only extricated himself with some difficulty.

“Let’s go back to Plumfields’,” suggested Jack, once he and Peter had made their escape. At the moment, he was far more inclined to head back to the club, or even home, but it was not in him to give up—not yet.

“Just what I was going to suggest myself,” agreed Peter cheerily. “Off we go, then!”

Jack settled back into the carriage for the fourth time that evening, reflecting, as they clattered along the streets of Mayfair, that his friend was enjoying this mad search far too much. Blast it, did Peter
want
him leg-shackled for life? His own enthusiasm for the plan was waning rapidly.

Lord and Lady Plumfield had abandoned their posts at the head of the stairs by the time Jack and Peter returned, so at least they were spared immediate comment upon their odd schedule for the evening. Harry, however, had arrived in their absence, and spotted them at once.

He accosted them reproachfully when they were
but a few steps inside the ballroom. “Devil take it, Jack, I thought you meant to come here first. I’ve been cooling my heels here for half an hour, at least.”

“It appears you’ve been well rewarded for your time.” Jack nodded toward the glass of fine champagne in Harry’s hand. “Do you never purchase your own spirits?” The cut was beneath him, he knew, but the evening’s fruitless hunt had set his temper on edge.