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He smiled. ‘I think I have. To stand on the floor of the House and realise that what you do there, calling for an end to slavery or for restricting the employment of children in factories, will better the lives of thousands, here and across England’s possessions! It’s both humbling and thrilling. Even if change doesn’t go as far or happen as quickly as we’d like.’
‘Yes, Christopher tells me that it will be difficult enough to hammer through the right of all men to vote, that I shouldn’t look to see suffrage extended to women any time soon. Unless “women” are added as a class in the bill to end slavery,’ she quipped.
He laughed, as he knew she intended him to. ‘I’ll grant you that married women are...economically disadvantaged. Although their circumstances are not nearly as dire, men with no control over fortune are restricted, too.’
‘Your mama has been harassing you about money again?’
Surprised, he forgot his caution and looked at her. Luscious, lovely—and so perceptive. Looking quickly away, before her beauty could wind its seductive tendrils around his susceptible body, he quoted wryly, ‘“I thought a younger son debauching himself in the capital was expensive enough, but having one in Parliament has turned out to be even more costly”.’
‘Surely your mama realises you cannot sway the opinions of the brokers of power in a twice-turned coat and cracked boots. And from Christopher’s experience, I know even bachelor members of Parliament must sometimes play host to entertainments at the inns or clubs where so many of the compromises are hammered out.’
Damping down his embarrassment that Temper had noticed how shabby his attire had sometimes become, when his quarter-day allowance came late—or not at all—Giff said, ‘Quite true. Being a member of Lyndlington’s “Hadley’s Hellions” group, Christopher had the benefit of being included in the dinners Giles and Maggie gave. Alas, I have no such close connections to a political hostess.’
‘Which is why your mama keeps pestering you to marry one. Or at least a girl with money.’ His surprise must have shown on his face, for Temper said, ‘She’s bound to be wanting you to marry wealth—if only to remove the strain of your upkeep from the family purse. Although she may also want some grandchildren to dandle on her knee.’
Gifford tried to imagine such a picture and couldn’t. Mama might be interested in the heir’s children—but never his. ‘I doubt that. She’d rather be rid of my expense so she can hang new reticules on her wrist and put more expensive gowns on her back!’
‘I may occasionally be angry with Mama, but at least I know, infamous as she is, she loves us.’
Lady Vraux might be a fond mama, but the scandalous behaviour of her earlier years had caused irrevocable harm to her daughters. Gifford had trouble forgiving her for that sin.
‘Even if I’m plagued with a Season,’ Temper had continued, ‘it’s unlikely I’ll become bosom friends with any pure young maidens. Watchful mamas will probably warn their girls to avoid me like a medieval scourge, lest a daughter’s reputation become contaminated by mine. Are there any rich young ladies who have caught your eye?’
‘Since, despite Mama’s continual urging, I’m not yet ready to make the plunge into matrimony, I avoid gatherings where females of that ilk may be lurking.’ He laughed. ‘Not that I would be accounted a prime catch by any means.’
‘Oh, I don’t know! You’re handsome, intelligent, well spoken, principled and from an excellent old family. All you lack is fortune and, for a girl with a large dowry, that would hardly be an impediment. If you’re not ready to marry, you’re probably wise to avoid places where some determined young miss might try to entrap you.’ She grinned. ‘Besides, though you may not be as...flagrant about your pursuits as in years past, I know for certain that when it comes to feminine company, you and Gregory still prefer ladies of easy virtue.’
‘You really do have no maidenly modesty, do you?’ he asked, half-amused, half-exasperated by her plain speaking.
‘Growing up in this household? I would have to be blind and dumb to have attained my advanced age still retaining any. So, no gently born young ladies of interest at the moment. Should you like me to be on the lookout for likely prospects, if I manage to get invited to entertainments where virtuous young maidens gather?’
‘Are you going to join my mother in haranguing? Not very sporting, when you profess yourself so opposed to marriage.’
‘Not haranguing and our cases are quite different. As long as I can convince Papa to allow me some wealth of my own, marriage offers me no advantages. Whereas, for you, gaining a wealthy bride whose funds would free you from depending on the pittance your family grudgingly doles out would make your job in Parliament easier. Obtaining a hostess like Maggie, who is intelligent, charming and interested in politics, would be even more beneficial.’
The wives of Christopher and his friends were admirable, the couples did seem happy in their unions, and everything she said about ending his money worries and having a capable hostess was true. ‘Perhaps,’ he admitted. ‘But I’m not ready to acquire the advantages of marriage yet.’
‘Not ready to give up your ladies, you mean.’
‘Let’s return to your situation,’ he said, having heard enough remarks about his predilection for the muslin company. ‘I meant what I said about asking Lady Sayleford if she would sponsor you. She’s truly as redoubtable as her reputation claims. If you must have a Season to bring your father around, she would be the best candidate to sponsor you. Anything I can do to help, you know I will, Temper.’
The amusement fled from her face, replaced by a sad little smile that touched his heart. ‘I know, Giff. You’ve been good friend to all of us for as long as I can remember and I do thank you for it,’ she said, reaching over to pat his hand.
It was meant to be a casual, friendly gesture. But her light touch resonated through his body with the impact of a passionate kiss. And produced the same result.
He froze, fighting the reaction. Unfortunately, Temper stilled as well, staring at her hand resting on his, her expression startled and uncertain.
And then, rosy colour suffusing her face, she snatched her hand back. ‘Yes, ah, that would be, um, quite... I mean, if I must have a Season, I would appreciate your approaching Lady Sayleford.’
Her voice sounded as odd as her disjointed words. Which must mean that the touch that paralysed him had affected her, too. He wasn’t sure whether to be satisfied or alarmed by the fact.
Maybe it was time to leave, before the randy part of him urged him to further explore that intriguing possibility. Setting down his teacup with a clatter, he said, ‘I must be off. Shall I call on my godmother and see what I can arrange?’
If the moment had been as intense for her, it had passed, for the look she angled up at him was all laughing, mischievous child again. ‘Yes, I suppose you must. Imagine—Temperance Lattimar gowned in white, making her debut among the virtuous maidens! That would set the cat among the pigeons, don’t you think?’
‘It should certainly be...interesting,’ he allowed. ‘I’ll call again later after I’ve had a chance to chat with her. Thank you for tea and goodbye, Temper.’
‘Goodbye, Giff.’ She held out her hand to shake goodbye—as they had countless times before—and must have thought better of it, for she hastily retracted it. Not that he would have been foolish enough, after his disturbingly strong reaction to her previous touch, to offer her his hand.
No matter how much he’d like to touch that...and more.
Irritated by the simmer of attraction he was having such a hard time suppressing, Gifford strode out of the room. Trotting down the entry steps of Vraux House after the butler closed the door behind him, he blew out a breath.
He’d been sincere when he assured Temperance that he’d do whatever he could to help her. He truly wanted the best for her. But the attraction she exerted on him seemed to only be growing and doing this service meant he’d likely be seeing her more often than the occasional meeting when he dropped by to visit Gregory.
The prospect of seeing more of Temperance Lattimar was both alluring...and alarming.
Chapter Three (#u99a27dcf-481b-5ead-8d49-e037598bf7bf)
After watching Gifford Newell walk out, Temperance sat back on the sofa and poured herself another cup of tea.
Was she wise to let Giff help her? All she’d done was pat his hand and—oh, my! The bolt of attraction was so strong she’d been immobilised by it. So much that she forgot where she was and what she was doing, her brain wiped free of every thought except the wonder of what it might feel like to kiss him.
She didn’t seem to be doing a very good job of ignoring the attraction. Perhaps she ought to regretfully acknowledge that a complication had arisen in what had previously been a carefree, straightforward friendship, and be on guard against it.
The last thing she should do was allow curiosity to lure her into exploring where those impulses might lead.
And then she had to laugh. It was highly unlikely that handsome, commanding, virile Gifford Newell, who probably had never seen her as anything but his best friend’s troublesome little sister, would be interested in pursuing such feelings with her—even though she was quite certain he had felt the explosive force of that touch.Not when he already had long-standing and mutually satisfactory relations with ladies far more practised and alluring than she was.
Which was just as well. It would be unfair to invite him down a pathway she already knew she could never follow to its ultimate end. The mere thought of what that would entail sent a shudder of distaste through her.
Still, despite the uncomfortable, edgy feelings he roused in her, she enjoyed his company and counted him as one of the few people whose honesty and dependability she could count on. Though in the past he’d often exasperated her with his teasing, as she grew older, he’d begun to listen to her with an appreciation and understanding exceeded only by her sister’s. She simply refused to give in and let this...irrational attraction she didn’t seem able to suppress spoil a friendship she valued so dearly.
If she were forced to have a Season—and she didn’t see how she was going to avoid it, however unpleasant the prospect—she really would prefer to get it over with. She’d vowed, when she turned fifteen and first discovered the implications of her close resemblance to her mother, never to let anyone see how much the censure and unearned criticism hurt. No, she intended to meet society’s scorn with a public show of defiance—and weather it privately with fortitude. Though occasionally—if anger got the better of her, which it well might—she might be goaded into doing something truly outrageous, just to live down to society’s expectations of her.
The delight of doing that wouldn’t make enduring the rest of the ordeal any less unpleasant.
It really would be helpful to have Lady Sayleford guarding her back. Assuming, after meeting her and listening to Temper’s frank avowal of how she intended to behave, that lady was willing to take her on.
Doing so, though, would mean having Gifford Newell act as her intermediary.
It wouldn’t necessarily mean they’d see each other much more often than they did now, aside from the initial interview with Lady Sayleford, she reasoned. He’d just emphatically reaffirmed what she already knew—that, as he wasn’t ready to take a wife, he had no intention of frequenting the sort of Marriage Mart entertainments she would be forced to endure. He would simply turn her over to his godmother and go back to his own pursuits.
She couldn’t suppress a little sigh of regret. Despite the recent complication in their relationship, she knew with Gifford nearby, she would be safe—protected from the worst of the insults and scorn of those who disapproved of her and from any men who might seek to take advantage. And she truly would enjoy witnessing his reaction to all the Marriage Mart manoeuvring.
But since it was highly unlikely he would attend any of the entertainments she would be dragged to, she’d better work up the courage to face all those threats alone. After all, when Pru married, as she certainly would—what intelligent man could resist her darling sister?—Temper truly would be alone. Permanently.
For the first time, Temper faced that bleak prospect, not as some distant spectre, but as an event that would likely happen soon. She had to put a hand to her stomach to still the wave of bleakness and dismay that swept through her.
Wasn’t gaining her independence what she wanted, though? She tried to rally herself. She’d still have Gregory and Christopher, Gifford’s special friendship and could look forward to playing the proud aunt to Pru’s eventual children. Doubtless somewhere in her family tree she could find some indigent female relation who would prove both congenial and willing to live with her.
As an independent woman, she’d be able to attend the lectures that interested her, visit the shops and galleries, and—her greatest ambition—work towards equipping herself to travel to the fascinating foreign places she’d read so much about. Foreign places where she could immerse herself in history and culture while she sought out treasures for her father. Where she could be herself, free of the stifling restrictions society imposed over women of her class. And, most important, having escaped the threating spectre of marriage, she might even manage some day to free herself from the dark shadows of her past.
All she need do to attain those goals was make it through one Season.
* * *
After ringing for the footman to collect the tea tray, she’d been about to go upstairs when a commotion at the front door announced the arrival of Aunt Gussie.
‘Darling Temperance!’ Lady Stoneway cried, handing her cloak over to a footman and coming over to hug her. ‘How lovely you look!’
‘You are looking in fine fettle, too, Aunt Gussie! The prospect of a sojourn in Bath obviously agrees with you.’
‘I am looking forward to it,’ her aunt allowed, joining Temperance to mount the stairs. ‘Are you sure you won’t come with us? Pru is going to miss your company—and your support—so very much! And I will, too.’
Dismissing a pang of longing, Temperance said firmly, ‘No, I shall stay here. Not that I’m not grateful for your offer, but...I simply won’t turn tail and flee, just because some idiots created a scandal that was not in any way Mama’s fault.’ Nor am I interested in going where I might encounter a gentleman admirable enough that you and Pru would try to persuade me to marry him.
Her aunt sighed. ‘It is unfair, I admit. To your mama, as well as to you and Pru. But truly, my dear, in Bath we will have a fair chance of avoiding most of the scandal, finally allowing the two of you an opportunity to be courted, find a worthy gentleman to marry and settle down happily in your own households!’
‘That’s Pru’s hope, not mine,’ Temper reminded her aunt.
Lady Stoneway shook her head. ‘Still dreaming of travel to some faraway place? I thought you would outgrow that foolish wish.’
‘I haven’t, for all that the wish might be foolish. However, though I couldn’t convince Papa to allow me my dowry without having a Season, perhaps after it turns disastrous and he realises marriage to anyone save a fortune-hunting scoundrel is impossible, he will relent.’ For I’m highly unlikely, Papa, to encounter a true gentleman who wants to ‘protect’ me. Not if he knew the whole truth...
‘I’m not at all convinced it need be disastrous,’ Lady Stoneway protested. ‘So, you’re going to wait for London next year after all?’
‘Oh, no. As I told you when the scandal first broke, if I must debut, I intend to do so here, in London, just as we planned.’
Lady Stoneway stopped short, turning to look at Temper in astonishment. ‘You intend to attempt a Season this year? In London?’
‘Yes—if I can find a sponsor. But you mustn’t even think of changing your plans! Pru is eager to marry and I fully agree her chances of finding a respectable partner will be far better in Bath. Whereas, since I don’t wish to marry, it makes no difference to me that having a London Season now will likely produce...disappointing results. In fact, if it’s truly bad, I might be able to convince Papa to let me abandon the effort after a month or so. But please, no more talk of that now. I haven’t told Pru—she might feel obligated to change her plans and stay here to support me, which is the very last thing I want. She’s been waiting so long for the kind husband and happy family she’s always dreamed of! I don’t want to delay her finding that even a day longer.’
‘But who will sponsor you—?’ her aunt began, before, at Temper’s warning look, she cut the sentence short as Prudence ran out into the hallway to meet them.
‘Welcome, Aunt Gussie! I’m all packed, so we may to leave as soon as you’ve rested and refreshed yourself.’
Giving Temperance a speaking glance, Lady Stoneway said, ‘Ring for some tea and after that, I’ll be ready. I’ve already instructed Overton to send some footmen up to collect your trunks. I suppose I should look in on my brother—though if he’s in one of his collecting moods, he may not notice I’m in the room.’
‘You could stop by, but he just got a new shipment of weapons and is fully engaged in cataloguing them,’ Temper warned.
Lady Stoneway shook her head. ‘I won’t bother, then. Shall we have tea with your mother?’
Her smile fading, Pru shook her head. ‘Knowing you would arrive at any moment, I’ve already bid her goodbye. Let’s have tea in my room.’
‘I’ll fetch Gregory,’ Temper said. ‘We can have a pleasant family coze before you two head on your way.’
‘I should like that!’ Prudence said, coming over to link her arm with Temper’s. ‘I am going to miss you very much, dear sister.’
‘And I, you,’ Temper acknowledged with another pang. Especially since, after your sojourn in Bath, I shall probably lose for ever my best and closest friend. Shaking off that melancholy thought, she said, ‘But how exciting, to send you off into the future! I hope this Season will end with you finding the man of your dreams.’
‘I second that happy wish—for you both,’ Lady Stoneway said, giving Temper a pointed glance as she ushered both girls into their bedchamber.
* * *
An hour later, after bidding the travellers goodbye, Temper walked back upstairs. Already the house seemed echoing and empty, now that the serene, optimistic spirit of her sister had left it.
Needing to stave off those unhappy thoughts, she decided to look in on her mama, who, she suspected, might be feeling a bit low. With a loyal maid who kept her appraised of everything happening in the household, she could not help but know that her precious daughter Pru, about to leave her house, most likely never to live in it again, had declined to invite her to her farewell tea.
Temperance could understand her sister’s bitterness towards the mother whose profligate behaviour had spilled over to poison their lives. But she also understood how a woman’s mere appearance led to assumptions, attack and uninvited abuse.
And knowing her papa, she could completely understand why a woman as vivacious, outgoing and passionate as her mother, denied affection and even basic interaction with her husband, would in desperation have sought it elsewhere.
After knocking lightly on the door, she walked in—to find her mama lounging on her sofa by the window, draped in one of her favourite diaphanous, lace-trimmed negligées. Temper had never seen the inside of a bordello, but she couldn’t imagine even the loveliest denizen of such a place looking more beautiful and seductive than her mother.
Smiling at the picture Lady Vraux presented, she walked over to drop a kiss on that artful arrangement of blonde curls.
‘Temperance!’ her mother said in surprise, delight on her face as she turned from the window and saw her daughter—but not before Temper noticed the bleak expression the smile had chased away. ‘I’d call for tea, but I expect by now you’re awash in it. The travellers are off, I imagine.’
So she did know she’d been excluded, Temper thought with a wave of sympathy for her mama. Pru’s resentment might be justly earned—but that wouldn’t make the estrangement any less bitter for a mother who, Temper knew, truly loved her children.
‘Gussie couldn’t talk you into going with them?’ Lady Vraux asked as she patted the sofa, inviting Temper to take a seat beside her.
Temper gave a dramatic shudder. ‘To Bath? To drink the vile waters and be ogled by old men? I think not.’
‘So what do you intend? I very much doubt Vraux will release your dowry. Christopher, then Gregory, stopped by to visit this morning and told me you intended to approach him.’
‘I did and you are right. He won’t release it to me.’
Lady Vraux rubbed Temper’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, my darling. If I had any money of my own, you’d be welcome to it.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Unfortunately, I never had a feather to fly with, which is how I ended up married to Vraux in the first place.’
Her mother’s family had been noble but penniless, Temper knew. The wealthy Lord Vraux’s offer to settle the Portmans’ debts in exchange for their Incomparable daughter’s hand had been a bargain they would not let her refuse. No matter how cold, impersonal and unapproachable the character of the baron who’d made the offer.
‘So you’ll go forward with a Season?’ Concern, regret and sadness succeeded the smile on her face. ‘I would advise against it, my sweet. Not this year. Gussie is quite right in assessing your chances of success to be minimal after the Farnham-Hallsworthy fiasco.’
Dropping Temper’s hand, she turned away. ‘I... I am sorry about that. You do know I did nothing to encourage them! I haven’t taken a new lover for more than five years, just as I promised. And I was hopeful that Gussie, with her standing and influence, could smooth a path for the two of you despite...despite your unfortunate parentage.’
Temper gathered her mother’s hand again. ‘I know, Mama. I don’t blame you for the idiocy of men.’
‘Pru does, though.’
Temper was trying to find some palliative for that unfortunate truth when her mother continued, ‘I’ve earned whatever infamy I bear, and as Miss Austen’s Mary observes, “the loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable”. But I hate that it continues to reflect upon you.’
‘It doesn’t matter for me. Unlike Pru, I have no desire to wed. But if Papa will not allow me to do anything else until I’ve had a Season, then I intend to get it over with. I expect it will be a noteworthy failure—indeed, I hope it is, the better to convince him a good marriage is impossible and get him to release my dowry.’
‘There’s no guarantee he will do so, even if your Season is unsuccessful,’ her mother pointed out.
That was the one great flaw in her plan, she had to admit. ‘True. But if I tell him I intend to journey to whatever place offers the treasure he is currently most interested in acquiring, so I may procure for him exactly what he wants, I might persuade him. You know he thinks of nothing but obtaining the latest object that catches his fancy.’
