My Wayward Lady (20 page)
by Evelyn Richardson
brow, but her partner was now too preoccupied with his own unsettling reflections to notice.
Having restored Harriet to the Farehams and paid his respects to the rest of the family, Adrian strolled in a leisurely manner back to his own group to lead Alicia on to the floor for a second dance. She hesitated for a fraction of a moment as he offered her his arm. "I am not accustomed to dancing more than once with a gentleman, but now, as we are betrothed, I suppose I need not worry about any gossip," she explained.
Lord Chalfont raised his eyebrows in faint surprise. "And what if we were not betrothed, Alicia? Might you not stand up with me a second time simply because you enjoyed it?" Alicia stared at her fiancé, or at least she looked at him as long and hard as it was possible for a young lady who had been taught since infancy that it was rude to stare. "Of course not. You would not want me so lost to all sense of propriety as to do that."
One corner of Lord Chalfont's mouth twisted into an ironic smile. "Believe me, I should never expect such a thing, Alicia."
Even Alicia, literal-minded as she was, was not quite certain of how to take his last remark and she hastily changed the subject. "We have seen very little of you these past few days, my lord. I trust you have been happily occupied." Adrian, refusing to take this as any reflection on his lack of attentiveness, replied equably, "Why yes. I have decided to make myself useful by going into politics, and to that end I have been calling upon various people." 184
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"Politics," Alicia echoed blankly, looking for all the world as though he had proposed a journey to India or something equally as absurd.
"Yes. Now that the war is over, there is a great deal of unrest and something must be done."
Alicia wrinkled her nose delicately as though she had just caught a whiff of something most unpleasant. "Yes. Papa was saying not long ago that things were getting quite out of hand, what with the demands of the lower classes, but he is hopeful that the efforts of his friend Lord Sidmouth will go a long way toward keeping these unruly elements in order." She paused to shudder delicately and then continued. "I suppose if you must involve yourself in such things. Papa could speak to Lord Sidmouth and Lord Liverpool on your behalf."
"That is kind of you, Alicia, but you need not trouble your father on my behalf," Adrian responded quickly, forbearing to add that it was precisely the narrow vision and repressive actions of Lord Sidmouth and his cronies that were prompting him to go into politics in the first place. He could immediately see that Alicia did not look favorably upon his new interest and it behooved him to tread carefully—not that she could prohibit him from following the course he had set for himself, but she could certainly make his life uncomfortable. The less she knew the better.
It was a great pity for he would have liked to share his ideas with someone, but Alicia was certainly not that person. She never had wanted to know anything about his life except when it had to do with her. Otherwise she preferred to remain 185
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ignorant of everything, from his experiences during the war to his opinions on just about any subject. In fact, she would quickly change the topic if they happened to stray into a discussion that was not somehow connected to the world of the Upper Ten Thousand or her position in it. Adrian stifled a sigh as he pasted an expression of polite interest on his face and finished out the set in silence. Alicia was not, and never would be, a kindred spirit, but at least she was well-bred enough not to meddle in his affairs. About the best he could hope for was that they could coexist peacefully, going their separate ways. It was a bleak enough picture, but a supportable one, and he could have been much worse off, married to a wealthy shrew as was poor Lord Wharton, or continually embarrassed by his wife's vulgar antics as was Sir Roland Foxworth. No, Alicia would never be a companion, but she would always be a credit to him.
Fortifying himself with this cold comfort, Lord Chalfont spent the rest of the evening smiling mechanically and nodding at his betrothed's observations on the various members of the
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present at the ball who were worthy of comment He waited with as much patience as he could muster until he could deposit Alicia and her mother at home before going in search of the erratic Lord Harry Markham who, absent from Lady Morecambe's, must have sought amusement at a place more congenial to his jaded tastes.
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At last Alicia declared the evening to be a dreadful squeeze. Lord Chalfont had escorted the De Villiers' women back to Hanover Square and, after bidding them good night, had gone in search of his quarry whom he quickly tracked down in Jermyn Street at the gaming hell mentioned by Richards. His lordship was pretty well to live by the time Adrian managed to drag him away from the hazard table, but not so far gone as to look about uneasily at the mention of Sir Neville's name. "Relax, man, he is nowhere in sight." The marquess laid a reassuring hand on the young lord's shoulder. "I am not asking you to do anything at the moment beyond signing your name to this paper here, but should it become necessary I shall make it worth your while to repeat your story. You can rest assured that I can produce witnesses who will support you."
Lord Harry continued to look distinctly uncomfortable and Adrian, making a quick, but accurate assessment of the state of affairs continued blandly. "I have no small experience with this sort of thing as a number of young men under my command in the Peninsula found themselves in, er, similarly unfortunate circumstances. I can be extremely persuasive and I have no doubt that I can convince the person in question to give up what ever hold he has upon you. If you but sign your name to the description I have written out of what occurred, you need trouble yourself no more and I shall advance you a sum to win back what you lost; however, I 187
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suggest you do it somewhere else as the play here is notoriously unfair."
Lord Harry opened his mouth to protest. He was not a bad young man, only a very weak one who had been largely ignored by his parents and his tutors and had thus grown up without restraint of any kind. He quickly gave in to the look of steely determination in Lord Chalfont's eyes, not to mention the wad of notes he thrust into his lordship's limp hand. "Very well," he replied sulkily, "but it will do you no good. No one ever bests Fletcher."
"Perhaps not," the marquess calmly conceded, "but then, you see, he has never dealt with me before. No one ever bests me either, and I fancy that far more dangerous opponents have challenged me than have challenged Sir Neville."
Glancing sullenly at the marquess' implacable countenance and powerful build. Lord Harry had no difficulty in believing this and he was not eager to continue a conversation that had such unpleasant overtones. With an effort, he shrugged in as careless a manner as he could muster, scrawled his name at the bottom of the paper and, stuffing the notes in his pockets, replied with a nonchalance he was far from feeling, "That is your affair. Well, I am off to greener pastures." Doing his best not to stagger, he made it to the door without a backward glance, leaving the marquess to smile ironically as he folded the paper containing the evidence against Sir Neville and thrust it in his pocket.
Well satisfied with his evening's work, he returned home to dash off a quick note to Sir Neville informing him that if he 188
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had made the mistake of believing Lord Chalfont's threats to be groundless, he had best reconsider as that gentleman now had in his possession a sworn affidavit of Sir Neville's villainy from Lord Harry Markham himself, who was also enjoying the Marquess of Kidderham's protection. "That should stop him, for the moment," Adrian muttered as he gulped down a final glass of brandy and prepared himself for bed. Unfortunately, Lord Chalfont had laid his plans without taking into account the state of mind of a desperate man. Born into a family of dubious reputation that had been slowly eroded by generations of wastrels who had barely avoided open censure. Sir Neville had pledged himself to restore not only his family's finances, but its former social standing. Fate, however, was against him. The last of the Fletchers was blessed with neither wit nor grace; he had no personal charms and such was his upbringing that he only knew how to advance himself at the expense of others, through guile and cunning rather than openly, honestly, and in a manner destined to win him true friends and admirers instead of mere hangers-on in search of the money he could lend them. As Sir Neville's winnings had increased, so had his list of enemies—
men whose lives he had ruined in order to advance himself. The more his fortune grew, the more he longed to establish himself among the society that continued to shun him. The more his goal receded, the more determined he became to win it until acceptance in the
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had become an obsession with him.
The discovery of Lady Harriet's identity as being one and the same with Fanny's rescuer had been heaven-sent and Sir 189
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Neville, though not a believer in anything but his own grim determination, had taken this singular coincidence as a sign that he was to succeed after all in his quest for respectability. Never doubting that Lady Harriet would sacrifice herself to save her family's honor, he had not even been daunted by her furious rejection of him on the steps of the Temple of Venus. Sir Neville had broken women far more worldly and experienced and with a good deal less to lose than Lady Harriet Fareham stood to. He had no doubt of winning in the end.
But now this infernal meddler Chalfont insisted on sticking his damned officious nose into affairs that were none of his business. Sir Neville was not a coward, though he preferred to beat his enemies by foul means rather than fair, but he knew he was no match for the Marquess of Kidderham in whatever arena. The marquess had the enviable reputation of being top-of-the-trees, a true Corinthian who distinguished himself wherever he went. From Jackson's rooms to Manton's shooting gallery to the ballrooms of society's starchiest matrons, he was welcomed with enthusiasm as being exceedingly adept at whatever he did. Such a man would inevitably triumph no matter how clever Sir Neville was. And now that the marquess had taken it upon himself to protect Lady Harriet, he would always stand in the way of Sir Neville's hopes for advancement, if he did not out-and-out ruin him. Sir Neville scowled darkly as he read Chalfont's note. No, there was no way he was going to attain his goal now, but he was not going to let that stop him. The Marquess of Kidderham might keep him out of polite society, but he was 190
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not adroit enough to keep him from Lady Harriet. Lord Chalfont might have the
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behind him, but he did not hold all the cards. Sir Neville would act swiftly and catch him unawares. He would give it out that he had left town and then, when the marquess, his fears allayed, relaxed his vigilance. Sir Neville would strike. He chuckled grimly. He might not succeed in repairing his reputation, but at least he could utterly destroy someone else's. After this, Lady Harriet would be beseeching him to marry her. How he would enjoy seeing that little spitfire humbled and begging him. Sir Neville licked his lips in anticipation. The picture of it alone was almost worth the loss of his dreams.
Meanwhile Harriet, unaware of the plots being laid against her, or of Richards's surveillance, went about her business as usual. Fanny was now working for Madame Celeste, and Harriet congratulated herself that she had been able to help at least one of Mrs. Lovington's ladies move closer to her dream.
Encouraged by Fanny's successful relocation, Harriet was impatient to do the same for the rest of them and could hardly contain herself in between her weekly lessons at the Temple of Venus. She had gone shopping, occasionally joining Elizabeth and Aunt Almeria in their calls, and took in a visit to the Egyptian Hall with the protesting Charlie in tow to see the mosaics from Nero's baths, blithely unaware that Lord Chalfont's Richards was following her to all these things at a discreet distance.
Richards had communicated to the marquess that a stable lad generously paid for keeping an eye on Sir Neville's 191
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movements had reported that Sir Neville had departed for his estate in Hertfordshire, but the marquess was too old a campaigner to relax his vigilance. "Mark my words, Richards," he had responded to this news, "the man is a thoroughgoing villain. Scoundrels such as he do not give up so easily. No, I think it behooves us to remain on our guard."
"Very good, sir." The batman's face remained impassive, but his brain was working furiously. There was more to this than a disinterestedly chivalrous concern for a lady's reputation or the marquess' natural distaste for low characters such as Sir Neville. No, there was a note of concern in Lord Chalfont's voice that Richards had never heard before as well as an uncharacteristic air of worried preoccupation.
Richards had been with the Marquess of Kidderham through bad times and good, had seen him charge the French single-handedly and comfort dying friends, but he had never seen him this way before. To Richards who knew that under the devil-may-care exterior was a man of deep feeling and great honor, it meant that there was a conflict now raging in his lordship, and it was tearing him apart. Richards was certain that Lord Chalfont would stand by his engagement to Alicia, but he was also aware that the marquess did not give a rap for that self-centered young woman, while he was beginning to care a great deal for the lady whose welfare was now such a matter of concern. The servant wished there were something he could do to help his master, but at the moment all that came to mind was to do 192