His Wayward Ward - A Regency Novella (Risque Regency) (3 page)

Eliza, Edward and Flora watched him leave with varying degrees of emotion. Flora was profoundly offended and deeply annoyed by his lordship’s highhanded attitude; Edward was unrepentantly jubilant and as for Eliza... she drew in a long, ragged breath. This was a disaster! As much as her aunt was angry, Eliza was speechless with rage. How
dare
Carlton suddenly turn up and disrupt their lives on what was clearly a whim! She suspected he had had no intention of doing anything more than pay an obligatory social call and yet now… now they were going to London with him? She wanted to stamp her foot with fury.

He would ruin
everything
with his highhanded arrogance.

And Grayson… what of Grayson? She would have to leave her love behind unless he could somehow come to London with her. It was all utterly insupportable.

‘Well!’ Aunt Flora exploded, breaking the stunned silence, ‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; that man is impossible!’

‘Yes, but this is excellent,’ Edward said happily. ‘London! What a turn up. And here I was thinking Carlton wouldn’t want to trouble himself with us at all.’

‘I wish that he hadn’t. I do not want to go. I
won’t
go!’ Eliza snapped. ‘This is some sort of mad fancy. He’s just being… being perverse.’ Eliza turned to her aunt, desperation clouding her face. ‘I don’t want to go to London and neither do you, do you Aunt Flora?’

‘I certainly do not.’ Abruptly, Flora Fitzwilliams sank into a chair
,
. ‘But what
I
want won’t count a jot with Carlton. The man is insufferable. If he wants you both to go up to London, I daresay we will all have to go. Unless I can think of a way around it…’

‘Oh,
do
think of a way around it! Please, Aunt Flora
.
,’ Eliza begged, ‘you know that Grayson and I want to be married. And if I’m dragged off to London it will make matters so very difficult.’

‘Hoo, Grayson!’ Edward said dismissively. ‘Why worry about him when you can enjoy yourself in London? He’s not going anywhere is he? Besides, you can’t marry your precious Grayson without Carlton’s permission. Best you put a good face on it Sis, or he might just decided your Mr. Henry is unsuitable.’

Eliza winced. ‘Why should he? Grayson is a most unexceptional man.’

‘Well I for one don’t care for him. Too pretty by half, if you ask me.’

Eliza gave her brother a dark look. ‘I did not ask you.’ How had things turned about so quickly, all within the space of an hour? ‘And I’ll thank you not to say anything of the sort to Lord Carlton. Oh,
why
did he have to turn up now? He’s never paid the slightest attention to us until today.’

‘It’s true,’ Flora agreed, ‘I have no idea what he’s up to, but you can be sure it’s all fustian. I daresay he’s doing it to shock, knowing full well how inappropriate it is to present the two of you into London Society. A rake, escorting two babes in the wood? It’s ridiculous.’

‘But can’t we just ignore him?’ Eliza pleaded.

‘Perhaps we can divert him at dinner. Now Eliza, I want you on your best behavior. We don’t want to antagonize the man, not if he is to see things our way.’

‘Very well,’ Eliza agreed reluctantly, but she thought it was a lot to ask.

There was something about Lord Carlton that got under her skin; a prickle so bad she ached to itch it. Deep down, she knew that his arrival had presented her with a challenge she was unwilling to face and as for being nice to him…

There were some things a female of any sensibility should not have to contemplate. And being civil to a man like Lord Julius Carlton was one of them!

‘Now what inspired that small piece of insanity?’ Carlton mused, standing before the window of his bedchamber thirty minutes later.

What, indeed. Something had certainly prompted him to offer his home and his services to the Percival brats, an action so uncharacteristic he had been almost as shocked as little Eliza Percival when the words had come out of his mouth. He certainly had not planned on putting himself out when he had paid a visit to Flora Fitzwilliams. The truth was that he rarely troubled himself with other peoples’ problems. As far as he was concerned, the dreary niceties of society could take care of themselves and that surely included the progress of his two wards through the social murk. But some imp of mischief had prompted him to take a hand in their affairs.

He thought about the large, expressive dark eyes of Miss. Eliza and gave a wry smile; that
imp
undoubtedly had a name. Sometimes he did not know when to stay silent but the truth was, a pair of pretty eyes could sway the most sensible of men. Not that she had been impressed with his unusual burst of generosity. While Edward Percival might yearn for the fashionable climes of London, his young sister most assuredly did not.

Which, of course, had made him even more determined to press her.

‘What a fool I am.’

Very much a fool, for he had just saddled himself with what would undoubtedly prove to be a very uncomfortable month of squiring two – and quite possibly – tedious charges around; so much for his ruffled ego. But there had been something about the little Eliza that he had tickled his sense of devilment and, despite his reservations, he found that he was looking forward to dinner, although he suspected his interest might pall when they reached London. Eliza Percival was as pretty as a picture, but she was young and naïve and that must surely prove tedious after a time.

Yes, he would surely live to regret this visit. He had been returning from a race meet in Trowbridge when a perverse reminder of his responsibilities had struck in the form of a signpost to Bath. As it lay only fifteen miles away, he had decided that he may as well check that all was well in his townhouse and, while he was at it, that Flora Fitzwilliams was coping with her young charge. He had not expected Edward to be there, but the lad’s presence had saved him a trip to Eton.

Correspondence had been infrequent between his ward’s aunt and himself, although he had given instructions to his secretary to make sure the woman was in funds. Still, as the months had passed, he had begun to feel a vague stirring somewhere in the region of his conscience.

Carlton had been as astonished as anyone to discover that he had become a guardian. Percival had been his father’s crony; Carlton himself had rarely encountered the man. At the time, he had consigned the entire matter to ridiculous whimsy and had dismissed it from his mind. However, in the past few weeks it had struck him that he might have been remiss; perhaps a quick social call, so he could forget about the matter for another four months.

So he had made his way to Mrs. Fitzwilliams’ house in Queen Street and had paid his respects. She had been less than delighted to see him, but then, he often made matronly women in possession of young, impressionable females nervous. He had been amused both when they had been unable to discover Miss. Percival’s whereabouts, as well as by the enthusiasm with which young Edward had regarded his wardrobe.

Then when Eliza had walked into the room and he had met those large, pansy dark eyes, the world had suddenly shifted, just a little, in the most unexpected way…

He stirred restlessly, staring out the window.

The world had shifted?

‘My dear fellow, you are getting old!’ But for a brief time, in that overstuffed parlor, he had to admit that he hadn’t been bored; the Percival children were entertaining.

‘Did you say something, M’lord?’ Jenson, his valet, spoke from behind.

‘Ignore me. I am talking to myself.’

‘Yes, M’lord. What would you like to wear tonight? Several invitations have arrived this afternoon. I was wondering what you fancied.’ Jenson was an ex-boxer who had started life on the dubious streets in the Bowery. He had turned out to be the best valet Carlton had ever had.

‘The claret velvet should suffice; it’s just an intimate dinner.’

‘Right you are, M’lord.’

While his valet prepared his clothing, Carlton returned his attention to the window. Below him, Nile Street was busy; nursery maids with perambulators chatting together in the late afternoon sunshine, young ladies accompanied by chaperones, older women keeping a firm eye on the younger ones as if they might break free at any moment and run amok. Life, continuing on, just as it always did.

Nothing had changed. Nothing
would
be likely to change for Carlton until he made a decision, one way or another, if he should keep the direct succession in his line and marry, or let it slip away to a hopeful cousin. There had always been time enough for such decisions and in the interim, he indulged himself as he saw fit. There was still time. He was only two and thirty, hardly in his dotage.

No, nothing had changed.

So why did he feel that it had? His thoughts turned to the night ahead.

‘You can still get out of this, you fool,’ he murmured. ‘It’s not too late. Just tell them at dinner you’ve had a change of heart. The chit will be delighted. It was nothing more than a whim, after all.’

But he knew he would not cry off. He would escort his charges up to London directly, taking Flora Fitzwilliams with him to give the whole affair the respectability it required.

And who knew? Perhaps it would be entertaining after all.

Eliza glared at her reflection in the mirror while a maid added the finishing touches to her hair. Her mood had not improved a jot since Carlton had taken his leave and nor was it likely to. After leaving the drawing room, she had hurried up to her room to dash off a note to Grayson, informing him of the disaster that had befallen them and asking if he could not
do
something. Her world was about to come tumbling down around her ears, all because of one unbearable man.

Aunt Flora seemed to think she might be able to dissuade Carlton, but if she failed, they would all be travelling up to London on Saturday, the day of the Fiskham’s ball. An event she had been looking forward to for a fortnight. Ugh!

Perhaps
, she thought with a sudden flush,
Grayson will suggest that we elope.

The idea sent equally mingled thrills of both anticipation and panic flooding through her. Elopement was a scandalous thing, done by feckless females who were no better than they should be; or so Eliza had always been told. But she now understood how people could be forced to undertake such a drastic act, for what else was there to do when unforeseen circumstances forced apart two people who were in love?

So…
would
Grayson suggest that they elope? And if he did… what would she say?

They needed to talk, that much was certain. But first she must suffer through this tedious dinner with the man who had ruined her happiness; Lord Julius Carlton.

Never mind that he was sinfully good looking. Although Grayson was every bit as good looking as Carlton, Grayson’s appearance was more classical, whereas Carlton tended to smolder, even as he regarded you with that cool, mocking amusement.

Drat the man!

Standing up, she glanced down at the ivory satin gown with its panel of lilac lace. It was, she reflected, far too pretty to waste on the likes of Carlton, but she supposed she must wear something suitable.

She had not been easy in her mind since he had left. Carlton was different and she sensed instinctively that difference might make him very dangerous indeed. His easy air of assurance teased some part of her into reluctant wakefulness. He was, she realized with a little shiver,
truly
a man; one who could not be trusted to abide by the rules that governed polite Society. For all of his fine clothes and air of languor, Carlton was a perilous specimen, to be handled with caution.

She went downstairs, uncertain what the night ahead would hold.

While Flora had waspishly predicted that Carlton would be fashionably late, he arrived exactly on time and seemed, from the outset, to be in an amiable frame of mind, something that raised the hopes of both Flora and her anxious niece.

‘I’ve been considering the matter,’ Flora said, between the removal of the soup and the placement of the fish, ‘and it seems to me that it will be very expensive to go up to London. Eliza’s gowns are perfectly well suited to Bath, but London… well, they just won’t do. She will need new gowns if she is to be presented at Almacks. It will,’ Flora observed airily, ‘be a very costly exercise, the more so because we would have to rush any orders we place.’

‘Of course,’ Carlton agreed, taking a serve of the boiled turkey. ‘She must have whatever she needs.’

Flora pursed her lips. ‘Unfortunately, we’ve spent this quarters’ monies, and I would hate to be beholden to you.’

His lordship smiled, conscious of Eliza’s regard of him from across the table. She had been perfectly civil, even painfully so. Obviously, her aunt had suggested that one caught more flies with honey than vinegar, which was very sensible advice. Still, there was no suppressing the girl’s natural spirit. As expected, it had been a very enjoyable meal so far, for he had taken pains to stir up her smoldering resentment whenever the opportunity presented itself, discussing gentlemen’s fashion with Edward and generally despising the parochial ways of Bath Society. Eliza’s sweetness – eroded by Edward Percival’s frequent interjections on how he intended to spend his time in the capital - had been vastly entertaining. Clearly, Edward’s aunt and sister wished that he had not joined them tonight, for his enthusiasm regarding the proposed journey to London was interfering with their plans.

‘But dresses,’ Flora pursed now with quiet desperation, ‘so
many
dresses would be ruinously expensive!’

‘It would take a great deal to ruin me. Rest assured, dear lady, I will not begrudge a guinea. Do not hesitate to get whatever you need.’

‘Can I, as well, Sir?’ Edward demanded eagerly.

Carlton nodded. For some reason, the boy reminded him of a hopeful puppy. ‘Certainly. I might even be able to help you with that.’ The look of astonished gratitude on Edward’s face was almost comical. He saw Flora and Eliza share a look of mutual frustration.