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‘You have a resilient ticker, then, my love,’ Walter remarked wryly. How many times now has it been broken in two by some fellow?’
Beatrice knew her father was referring to her past romances that had foundered—usually because the gentleman involved had no money and could not afford to get married. How ironic that this time she must remain a spinster because the reverse were true. Her fiancé had recently received his inheritance and with it a demand to jilt her.
‘Had this confounded Sir Donald not died when he did, leaving his odious terms and conditions, you would shortly have been Mrs Burnett.’
Walter gazed levelly at his daughter’s upturned face. Beatrice had always been a beauty; some said she was fairer than her younger sister, who had bagged herself a nobleman three years ago. Walter thought them equally wonderful, in their own ways, although he wished Beatrice resembled her younger sister in one aspect: Elise had chosen to give her heart just the once, and very wisely.
Two previous rogues—besotted by Beatrice’s golden-haired loveliness, Walter was sure—had encouraged his elder girl to think they would propose, then bitten their tongues at the last minute. In both cases it had transpired that they must fortune-hunt for a bride, being penniless.
Out in the sticks and cut off from the cream of polite society he might be, but Walter was cognizant with marriage mart standards: Beatrice’s chances of finding a spouse diminished with every failed romance and every year that passed.
In Walter’s opinion Beatrice was as lovely at twenty-five as she’d been when half a decade younger. Her creamy complexion was smooth and unblemished and her blonde hair appeared as shiny and abundant as it had been when she was a teenager. Her figure was enviably slender, yet curvaceous enough to catch a man’s eye, and her vivacity made people take to her instantly. Yet still his elder girl remained at home with him because he’d never had the means to provide either of his daughters with a dowry.
Elise had married a millionaire who’d stated bluntly that the privilege of marrying Walter’s daughter was payment enough. Unfortunately a similar good and generous fellow had never crossed Beatrice’s path, catching her eye.
Colin Burnett had come closest to walking her down the aisle, and thus Walter despised him the most.
‘Do you think Burnett truthfully had no idea of the clause in his uncle’s will?’
Beatrice gave a little nod. ‘I believe him sincere on that; as for greatly adoring me and never forgetting me, that I now find harder to swallow.’ Her father’s thin fingers closed comfortingly on hers. ‘Did Colin offer to pay back the cash you spent on wedding preparations?’ Bea asked huskily.
‘He did,’ Walter confirmed, bringing his daughter’s hand to his cool lips.
‘It is only fair you are not left out of pocket because of him. You will take what is due to you, won’t you, Papa?’ Beatrice used the heel of her hand on her cheek to remove a trickle of tears.
‘Indeed I shall!’ Walter forcefully concurred. ‘I admit there was a moment when I felt like telling him to take himself and his money off to rot in hell...but I didn’t.’ He rumbled a chuckle. ‘He might be getting off scot-free from a breach of promise suit but he won’t wriggle out of my expenses so easily. Mark my words, my dear, Burnett will get his comeuppance for treating you so shabbily.’
* * *
‘Letters for me?’ Elise Blackthorne jumped up from her dressing table stool as her maid approached, proffering a silver salver.
Excitedly the viscountess rifled through the post, ignoring elegant cards inviting her to society parties, to find what she was looking for. She frowned; it was from Hertfordshire but bore her father’s spidery script rather than her sister’s neat slanting hand.
‘I shall not need you for an hour or so, Maria.’ Before the maid left her bedchamber Elise asked, ‘Is the viscount eating breakfast?’
‘He has gone to the stables, my lady. Shall I send one of the boys to give him a message?’
Elise shook her head, satisfied she would see Alex before he went about his business for the day. She still felt sated from his lovemaking that morning and knew she should get dressed. If he came back to find her in a lacy negligee they might once more tumble onto the silk sheets, limbs entwined. Elise wanted to get to Pall Mall early today because the dressmaker there had recently given her a fitting and she was impatient to see the beautiful blue satin gown she would wear when matron of honour at Bea’s wedding.
Elise corresponded regularly with her sister and relished reading about all the wedding preparations. A local seamstress was making Bea’s gown, although the bride to be was keeping the style of it a secret. Mrs Garner had a workshop based in St Albans and had served the Dewey family for over a decade. Walter had never had the means to provide his daughters with many new clothes when growing up and their debuts had thus been modest affairs.
‘What have you got there?’
Else twisted about at the sound of her husband’s husky baritone.
Alex came closer and dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. His fingers continued to caress his wife’s satiny skin as he glanced at the parchment in her hand, recognising the writing.
‘Your father has sent you a letter.’
Elise twisted about in the circle of her husband’s arms. ‘I’m just about to read it, Alex, so don’t...’ Her breathy plea was cut off as his mouth slanted over hers and he drew her closer.
‘Oh...Alex...’ Elise giggled, but her protest was half-hearted as she melted against him.
‘It’s your own fault,’ he growled. ‘What’s a man to do when his gorgeous wife parades about half naked?’
‘Whatever he likes, I suppose,’ Elise breathed against his preying mouth.
‘Right answer, sweetheart...’ Alex purred and, swinging her up in his arms, headed for the bed.
Chapter Two (#uf1865651-26c4-5264-befc-4525a57dd051)
‘There was a time when it was hard to shake you off my shoulder; now I need to make an appointment to see you?’ Alex Blackthorne’s ironic comment drew an apologetic grin from his best friend. However, the fellow’s narrowed gaze remained fixed on the razor sweeping a path through stubble towards a lean cheekbone.
Hugh Kendrick swirled the implement in a china bowl filled with soap-floating water before turning to face the viscount. ‘You know I’d sooner come to watch the fight with you, but I’ve promised Gwen a trip to Epsom races this afternoon.’
Alex sank into a hide chair in his friend’s bedchamber. Obligingly he shifted to one side, allowing Hugh’s startled valet to rescue an elegant jacket that his master had discarded over the back of the upholstery.
‘Besides, if your wife wasn’t out of town you wouldn’t want my company, would you?’ Over the top of the towel mopping his face Hugh hiked a dark eyebrow at Alex.
‘True...’ Alex sighed, flicking a speck from a thigh breeched in fawn cloth.
He was feeling at a loose end since Elise had gone to Hertfordshire to visit her family. It was puzzling that Walter Dewey had written a letter containing a coded message that he would like Elise to visit as soon as she was able.
Alex felt rather guilty now for distracting his wife from immediately reading her note on the morning it had arrived. It had been some hours after the post was delivered that Elise had finally retrieved the paper from amongst their warm, crumpled bed sheets. Mere moments after breaking the seal she’d thrust the letter beneath Alex’s nose, announcing that she’d deciphered her father’s few odd sentences and was certain that a crisis had occurred. Elise could never bear to be parted from her infant son, so Adam had gone to Hertfordshire too, and at Alex’s insistence Maria had accompanied mother and child in one of the luxurious Blackthorne travelling coaches.
‘You look browned off,’ Hugh remarked, shrugging into his shirt. For several minutes he had been contemplating Alex’s frowning expression as he stared into space with his chin resting atop fingers forming a steeple. Hugh guessed his friend was already missing his beloved wife and son.
The two men had been friends for decades, despite the fact that for most of that time their statuses had been poles apart. Hugh had been the underdog, with nothing much to claim to his credit other than his popularity and his family connections. His late father had been an upstanding fellow, a minor peer of the realm who had seen the best in everybody. Unfortunately that blind faith had been particularly strong where his heir was concerned. Others, however, could see what a corrupt, calculating character was Toby Kendrick. On taking his birthright following his father’s demise, Hugh’s brother had become even more of an unbearable wretch.
But Hugh no longer had reason to feel resentful over the bad hand life had dealt him as the second son of a gentleman who believed in primogeniture. Neither had he reason to feel lucky that Viscount Blackthorne had chosen him as a life-long comrade. Hugh might not have a title to polish, but he now had every other advantage that his illustrious friend enjoyed, including a fortune that his acquaintances coveted and that dukes would like their debutante daughters to share in through marriage.
‘It’s odd for my father-in-law to call Elise home.’ Alex finally stirred himself to answer while standing up. The last time his wife had been summoned in such a way Beatrice had sent word because their father had fractured his collarbone in a fall. Naturally Walter had wanted to have both his beloved daughters by his side...just in case the injury had proved fatal.
‘Do you think some harm might have again befallen him?’
‘Walter wrote the letter himself, so I doubt he’s bedridden.’ Alex shrugged. ‘It’s probably all about Beatrice’s wedding day. Elise is matron of honour...’ He grimaced bewilderment at the workings of the female mind.
Hugh glanced up to find his friend’s eyes on him. ‘Yes...perhaps it’s just about the wedding,’ he muttered, resuming buttoning his cuffs.
‘You don’t ask about Beatrice any more.’ Alex began adjusting his cravat in the mantel glass now Hugh had left the space free.
‘Does she ask about me?’ Hugh countered, picking up his jacket and pegging it on a finger over a muscular shoulder. He preceded his friend towards the door.
They were heading towards the top of the stairs before Alex answered. ‘You can’t blame Beatrice for wanting to forget all about you after the way you behaved.’
Hugh’s mouth tilted sardonically. ‘Indeed...so it seems a bit pointless asking about her, doesn’t it?’ He plunged his hands into his pockets. ‘A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then...’
‘And for you...most of it flowed in India...’ Alex remarked dryly.
‘So it did...’ Hugh said in a similar vein. ‘I hope everything goes well on the big day.’
He moved ahead of Alex, descending the stairs at quite a speed.
On reaching the cool marble vestibule of Hugh’s grand town house the friends waited for the butler to announce that the curricle had been brought round. A moment later they clattered down the stone steps, then stopped to exchange a few words before going their separate ways.
‘Come along to Epsom with us if you’re kicking your heels. You might back a few winners and cheer yourself up by raising your bank balance.’ Hugh was speaking ironically; he knew very well that his friend’s accounts were in no need of a boost. It was his spirits that were flagging.
The startling change in his own fortunes still gave Hugh cause to smile inwardly. Just two years ago he’d had reason to watch carefully every penny he spent. Now he could purchase a stable of prized Arabs and watch them race at Epsom—or anywhere else—if that was his whim. Yet Hugh realised that his enthusiasm for a day out with his favourite mistress was waning and he felt oddly deflated.
‘You expect me to play gooseberry to you and the lovely Gwen?’ Alex scowled. ‘I don’t think I will, but thanks for asking.’ He clapped a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. ‘See you in White’s later in the week, I expect.’
‘It’s a bit late to let Gwen down with an excuse.’ Hugh sounded irritated by his conscience.
‘Quite right...keep the lady happy,’ Alex mocked.
Gwen Sharpe was a celebrated Cyprian known to select as lovers affluent gentlemen who could provide her with the finer things in life. Hugh certainly fitted the bill, following a bizarre stroke of luck that had made him one of the wealthiest men in the country.
‘I’ll be back before ten tonight. Do you fancy a visit to the Palm House to cure your boredom?’ Hugh called over a shoulder as he approached the kerb to take the curricle’s reins from his tiger.
Alex snorted a laugh. ‘I’m a married man...are you trying to get me hung?’
Hugh shook his head in mock disgust. ‘You’re under the thumb...that’s what you are.’
‘And I’ll willingly remain there...’ Alex returned, grinning.
The Palm House was a notorious den of iniquity where gambling and whoring went hand in hand. Men of all classes—from criminals to aristocracy—could be found mingling in its smoky environment from midnight till gone daybreak. At early light the club would spew forth its clientele, the majority of whom would stagger off with sore heads and empty purses.
Hugh set the greys to a trot, wishing he could shake off the feeling that he’d sooner return home than go to Epsom with Gwen. His mistress was beautiful and beguiling, if gratingly possessive at times. Any man would want to spend time with her... And yet Hugh, for a reason that escaped him, wanted solitude to reflect on a romance that had long been dead and buried. The woman he’d loved three years ago was now about to become another man’s bride, so what purpose would be served by brooding on what might have been?
With a curse exploding through his gritted teeth Hugh set the horses to a faster pace, exasperated by his maudlin thoughts and the fact that his friend had chosen this morning to remind him that his sister-in-law’s marriage was imminent. Beatrice Dewey was firmly in his past, and Gwen and Sophia, the courtesans he kept in high style, would serve very well for the present. If in need of deeper emotion he could head out to India and spend some time with somebody he’d grown to love...
* * *
‘What do you want?’
‘That’s a nice greeting, I must say.’
‘Are we to pretend I’m pleased to see you?’ Hugh folded the newspaper he’d been reading whilst breakfasting and skimmed it over the crisp damask tablecloth. He lounged into a mahogany chair-back, crossing his arms over the ruffles on his shirt. Sardonically, he surveyed his older brother.
Uninvited, Sir Toby Kendrick pulled out the chair opposite Hugh, seating himself with a flourish of coat-tails. He then stared obstinately at a footman until the fellow darted forward.
‘Coffee—and fill a plate with whatever is over there.’ Toby flicked a finger at the domed silver platters lining the sideboard whilst giving his order. He turned sly eyes on his brother, daring Hugh to object.
The servant withdrew with a jerky bow, a fleeting glance flying at his master from beneath his powdered wig. Hugh gave an imperceptible nod, sanctioning his brother’s boorish demand to be fed.
All of the servants knew—in common with the ton—that Hugh Kendrick and his older brother did not get on.
Sir Toby’s dislike of his younger brother had increased since Hugh’s wealth and standing had eclipsed his own. Toby had relished what he deemed to be his rightful place as loftiest Kendrick. Now he’d been toppled, and in such a teeth-grindingly, shocking stroke of luck for his brother that Toby had been apoplectic when first hearing about it. Knowing that he wasn’t alone in being bitter was no consolation to Toby. His brother was popular, and more people had been pleased than jealous of Hugh’s success.
Their mother and their sister had been overjoyed—no doubt because they’d both benefited from Hugh’s generosity. Toby had received nothing from Hugh other than a bottle of champagne with which to toast his luck. In the event Toby had refrained from smashing the magnum to smithereens on the step and downed the prime vintage at record speed, drowning his sorrows.
‘No broiled kidneys?’ Toby used a silver fork to push the food about on the plate that had just been set before him.
‘I don’t like kidneys,’ Hugh replied. He sat forward in his chair. ‘Neither do I like being disturbed by visitors at his ungodly hour of the day.’ He got to his feet. ‘Are you going to tell me what you want? Or have you just turned up for a free breakfast and the opportunity to try my patience?’
Toby shoved away the plate of untasted splendid food, a curl to his lip. ‘All that cash and you can’t find yourself a decent cook?’ he chortled.
‘As you’ve no appetite, and nothing of moment to say, it’s time you went on your way.’ He addressed the footman. ‘My brother is leaving. Show him out.’ Turning his back on Toby he strolled to the huge windows that overlooked Grosvenor Square, idly surveying the busy street scene.
The servant attempted to conceal his satisfied smirk on springing forward to do his master’s bidding.
‘You’re getting a bit too high and mighty, aren’t you?’ Toby barked, his cheeks florid.
‘Perhaps I spent too long studying you when growing up,’ Hugh drawled over a shoulder.
Toby whacked away the footman’s ushering arm, stomping closer to Hugh. ‘Very well...I have something to discuss,’ he snarled in an undertone.
‘Go ahead; but be brief. I have an appointment with my tailor.’
‘Might we repair to your library and be private?’ Toby suggested sarcastically.
Hugh glanced back at the servants clearing the breakfast things. He sighed. ‘If we must...’ He strode for the door without another word and once in the corridor approached the library at the same exasperated speed.
Toby trudged behind, his footsteps muffled by the luxurious carpet. Inwardly he squirmed at having to come here, cap in hand, and beg his brother for a loan. Not so long ago he had been the one the others in the family came to when in need of cash. It had given Toby immense pleasure to make them dance to his tune for their coins; even his mother had had to humble herself to extract her allowance from him. But now she had no need to because Hugh had provided her with a generous pension—something her dear late husband had omitted to do.
Sir Kenneth Kendrick had relied on his son and heir to provide fairly for his successors, proving that he might have doted on Toby but he had never come to know his eldest son’s true nature.
‘I need two hundred pounds urgently,’ Toby blurted as soon as the door was closed behind him.
‘Is that a request for a loan?’
‘You know damn well it is,’ Toby spat. He swiped a hand about his mouth, aware he’d need to control his temper if he was to get the cash and keep the duns at bay. Hugh might be open-handed where his mother and sister were concerned, but his generosity to Toby was a different matter.
Hugh leaned on the library table that almost spanned from one end of the oak-panelled room to the other. He drummed his long fingers in slow rhythm on the leather-topped furniture. ‘I’ve already handed over a thousand pounds in less than six months.’ Hugh watched his brother’s lips whiten in anger at that reminder.
‘I didn’t realise you were keeping a tally of the paltry sums.’ Toby flung himself down in a chair, affecting ennui.
‘As I recall, one thousand pounds wasn’t a paltry amount when I came to you many years ago and begged for your help in securing Sarah’s future.’
Then Toby’s meanness had run so deep that he’d denied his only sister the cash she desperately needed after she’d been compromised during her debut. With their father gone it had fallen to Hugh, impecunious at that time, to rescue Sarah’s reputation. He’d managed to scrape together a dowry—the majority of the cash borrowed from Alex Blackthorne—thus tempting a decent chap, lacking prospects, to put a ring on his disgraced sister’s finger.
Inwardly Toby railed at himself; he’d laid himself wide open to that barb. ‘The little madam deserved to be taught a lesson for acting like a strumpet.’
‘Our sister did nothing wrong other than to trust one of your friends to act as a gentleman. She was seventeen and not worldly-wise,’ Hugh coldly reminded him.
Toby snorted derision. ‘Well, she was worldly-wise after her folly...so a lesson well learned about promenading after dark with randy men. You—and she—should thank me rather than criticising.’
Hugh moved his head in disgust. ‘I wonder sometimes if we are related. You really are the most obnoxious character.’
