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Richard’s lip curled. ‘Hardly that.’
‘So why won’t you join us?’ demanded Fullingham. ‘You are single, if the chit took a fancy to you there is no reason why you shouldn’t marry her. Don’t tell me a rich bride wouldn’t be an advantage to you.’
Richard sat back in his chair, saying nothing. As a second son he had been expected to find a rich bride, but his brother’s disastrous marriage had made him shy away from wedlock and he was determined to remain a bachelor as long as possible.
He was fortunate to have inherited Brookthorn Manor from his godfather. It was a neat property in Hampshire that included a home farm and substantial estate. Without its income he would have been obliged to seek some form of employment by now. As it was, Brookthorn gave him independence, but he knew it could not support his lifestyle for much longer. It needed careful management, but when had the Arrandales ever been good at that? Their name was synonymous with scandal and disaster.
Sir Charles was standing over Richard, a faint, sneering smile on his face. He said quietly, ‘A thousand pounds says I can secure the heiress before you, Arrandale.’
Surprised, Richard looked up. ‘A private wager, Urmston? I think not.’
‘Very well.’ Sir Charles looked at the men gathered around the table. ‘There are eleven of us here.’ He gestured to the hovering proprietor to put the betting book, pen and ink down on the table. ‘How much shall we say? A monkey from each of us?’
‘What had you in mind, Urmston?’ demanded Tesford.
‘We will each stake five hundred pounds that we will be the first to seduce Miss Tatham. Burton shall hold the money until one of us is successful.’
‘Capital! But we should set a date on it, Urmston,’ cried Henry Fullingham, his words slurring a little. ‘Can’t have this going on indef—indefinitely.’
‘Very well,’ Urmston looked around the room. ‘Shall we say the next Quarter Day?’
‘Michaelmas,’ nodded George Cromby. ‘Just over a month. That should be sufficient time for one of us to succeed.’
‘Very well. Five thousand pounds to whoever can seduce the heiress by September the twenty-ninth. And of course the added prize, the possibility of marriage for those of us who are single.’
Cromby laughed. ‘And if I should be successful...’
‘The way would be open for one of us bachelors to snap her up,’ Tesford finished for him. ‘And her family would be grateful for it, too. By Jove that is an excellent suggestion. I’m not averse to spoiled goods, if they come with a fortune.’
‘Quite.’ Urmston placed the book upon the table and quickly wrote down the terms.
‘Well, Arrandale, what do you say, does five thousand pounds hold no appeal? Or perhaps you prefer to run away, like your brother.’
A sudden hush fell over the table. Not by the flicker of an eyelid did Richard show how that remark angered him. There was a mocking smile around Urmston’s mouth, challenging him to refuse. Richard looked at the pile of coins before him on the table. A thousand pounds. He had been planning to use some of it for vital maintenance on Brookthorn Manor, but now, dash it, he would show Urmston who was the better man! He pushed his winnings back to the centre of the table.
‘Let’s double it.’
The tense silence was broken by gasps and smothered exclamations. One or two men shook their heads, but no one walked away.
‘Very well, a thousand pounds each.’ Urmston corrected the terms and held the pen out to Richard. ‘That’s a prize of ten thousand pounds, Arrandale.’
Richard took the pen, dipped it in the ink and added his name to the others.
‘Ten thousand,’ he repeated. ‘Winner takes it all.’
* * *
‘There.’
Lady Phyllida Tatham placed the little vase of flowers on the mantelshelf and stepped back to look around the room. She had only signed the lease on the house at the beginning of the month and had been busy decorating it to her liking ever since, finally ending with this bedroom overlooking the street. Despite the open window there was still a faint smell of paint in the air but she hoped it would not be too noticeable. The room had been transformed from a rather austere chamber to a very pretty apartment by using cream paint on the panelling and ceiling and adding fresh hangings in a yellow floral chintz around the bed and the window. The dressing table and its mirror had been draped with cream muslin and new rugs covered the floor. Phyllida dusted her hands and smiled, pleased with the results of her handiwork.
It was just such a room as she would have liked when she had been on the verge of her come-out, and she hoped it would appeal in the same way to her stepdaughter. Ellen was even now on her way from the exclusive seminary in Kent to live in Bath with Phyllida. Doubts on the wisdom of this arrangement had been expressed by relatives on both sides of the family. Phyllida’s sister had merely mentioned her concern in a letter, questioning if Phyllida had considered fully the work involved in being chaperon to a lively girl only seven years her junior. Her late husband’s brother, Walter, was much more forthright and had even posted to Bath to remonstrate with Phyllida.
‘My dear sister, you have no idea what you are taking on,’ he had told her in his pompous way. ‘My niece has always been flighty, but now at seventeen she is far too hot at hand. The tales Bridget and I have heard of her behaviour at the seminary are quite shocking!’
‘She is spirited, certainly—’
‘Spirited!’ he interrupted her, his thin face almost contorting with disapproval. ‘She even ran away!’
‘No, no, you have been misinformed,’ she corrected him soothingly. ‘Ellen and her friends slipped off to see the May fair and they were back before midnight.’
‘But it is well known who instigated the adventure! Surely you do not condone her gallivanting around town in the middle of the night?’
‘Not at all, but thankfully she came to no harm, as Mrs Ackroyd was quick to point out.’
‘She was also quick to inform you that she could no longer allow Ellen to remain in her establishment.’
‘Only because the squire had developed an...an unquenchable passion for Ellen and had taken to calling at the most unreasonable hours.’
‘And Ellen encouraged him!’
‘No, she wrote to assure me she had done no more than allow him to escort her back from church.’
‘From Evensong. At dusk, without even a servant in attendance.’
Phyllida frowned. ‘How on earth can you know all this? Ah, of course,’ she said, her brow clearing. ‘Bridget’s bosom bow, Lady Lingford, has a daughter at Mrs Ackroyd’s Academy, does she not? Bernice.’ She nodded. ‘I recall Ellen telling me about her when she came home to Tatham Park for Christmas. An odious tale-bearer, she called her.’
‘How I came by the information is neither here nor there,’ replied Walter stiffly. ‘The truth is that if Mrs Ackroyd, an experienced schoolmistress, cannot keep the girl safely contained then what chance do you have? I am sorry to speak bluntly, my dear sister, but my brother kept you too protected from the real world. You are far too innocent and naïve to be my niece’s guardian.’
‘I am very sorry you think that, Walter, but Sir Evelyn left Ellen in my sole charge and I am going to have her live with me until next year, when she will make her come-out under my sister’s aegis. You need not worry, I am quite capable of looking after her.’
When she had spoken those words to her brother-in-law Phyllida had felt quite confident but now, with Ellen’s arrival so imminent, she felt a moment’s doubt. Had she been foolish in bringing Ellen to live with her? Since Sir Evelyn’s death a year ago Phyllida had been very lonely, living retired and out of the way with only an aged relative for company. More than that, she had been bored. She had not realised how much she would miss the life she had enjoyed as the wife of Sir Evelyn Tatham. She had entered the marriage with some trepidation and few expectations, but Sir Evelyn had shown her a kindness and consideration she had never known at home. She had enjoyed running his household and there was even some comfort to be found in his bed, although there was never the heart-searing elation she had read about in novels or poetry. That, she knew, needed love and she had come to think that such love, the sort that sent one into ecstasy or deep despair, must be very rare indeed. But it did not matter, she filled her days with her new family and friends. It had been enough, and she had felt its lack during those twelve long months of mourning. She also knew from her stepdaughter’s letters that Ellen was growing increasingly frustrated at her school. She wanted to be out in the world, to try her wings. When Mrs Ackroyd had written, saying that it was with the utmost reluctance she must request Lady Phyllida to remove her stepdaughter from her establishment, hiring a house in Bath for herself and Ellen had seemed the perfect solution.
The sounds of a carriage below the window recalled her wandering attention. She looked out to see her own elegant travelling chaise at the door and her smile widened. She said to the empty room, ‘She’s here!’
Phyllida hurried down the stairs, removing her linen apron as she went. By the time she reached the hall it was bustling with activity as the footmen carried in trunks and portmanteaux under the direction of a stern-faced woman in an iron-grey pelisse and matching bonnet. Her appearance was in stark contrast to the other female in the hall, a lively young lady of seventeen with an excellent figure displayed to advantage by a walking dress of the palest-blue velvet and with a frivolous cap upon her fair head. Phyllida’s heart swelled with pride and affection as she regarded her pretty stepdaughter. Ellen was chatting merrily to Hirst, the elderly butler whom Phyllida had brought with her to Bath, but when she saw Phyllida she broke off and rushed across to throw herself into her stepmother’s open arms.
‘Philly! At last.’ Ellen hugged her ruthlessly. ‘I am so pleased to be with you!’
‘And I am pleased to have you here, my love. Goodness, how you have grown, I would hardly have recognised you,’ declared Phyllida, laughing as she returned the girl’s eager embrace. ‘Was it a horrid journey?’
‘Not at all, your carriage is so comfortable and everyone we met on the journey was very kind. When we stopped for the night at the Stag we thought we should have to eat in the coffee room because a large party had taken over most of the inn, but when they heard of our predicament they were generous enough to vacate one of their parlours for us, and then last night, at the Red Lion, a very kind gentleman gave up his room to us, because ours overlooked the main highway and was terribly noisy.’
‘Thank goodness you were only two nights on the road, then, or heaven knows what might have happened next,’ exclaimed Phyllida. ‘Perhaps I should have come to fetch you, only I wanted to make sure the house was ready.’
‘And you knew I would be perfectly safe with dear Matty to look after me.’
Hearing her name, the woman in the grey pelisse looked up.
‘Aye, but who has looked after my lady while I’ve been away?’ she demanded.
‘The new girl we hired, Jane, has done very well,’ responded Phyllida calmly. ‘I think she will suit me perfectly.’
‘Do you mean Matty will no longer be your maid?’ asked Ellen, wide-eyed.
‘No, love, Miss Matlock would much prefer to look after you. After all, she was your nurse until you went off to school.’
‘What my lady means is that I am aware of all your hoydenish tricks, Miss Ellen,’ put in Matlock, not mincing matters.
‘I have no hoydenish tricks,’ exclaimed Ellen indignantly.
‘No of course not,’ Phyllida replied, hiding a smile and recognising a little of the old Ellen beneath that new and stylish exterior. ‘Now let us leave Matlock to see to all your bags and we will go into the morning room. I have lemonade and cakes waiting for you.’
Thus distracted, Ellen followed Phyllida across the hall.
‘Oh, it is so good to be with you again, Philly,’ she said as soon as they were alone. ‘Apart from those two weeks at Christmas I have not seen you for a whole year.’
‘You know we agreed it was important that you finish your schooling, and you would have found it very dull at Tatham Park this past twelve months.’
‘I suppose you are right. But I was afraid, with Papa gone, I should have to live with Uncle Walter and his family until my come-out.’
‘Now why should you think that, when you know your father made me your guardian?’
‘Because I know how much you dislike fuss, and with everyone saying you were far too young to be my stepmama—’
‘When I first married your father, perhaps, but I am four-and-twenty now!’ protested Phyllida, laughing.
‘I know that, but you look far younger and I thought they would bully you into submission.’
Phyllida put her hands on Ellen’s shoulders and looked into her face.
‘I know I was very shy and, and compliant when I married your papa,’ she said seriously, ‘But I have changed a great deal since then, my love. I made my come-out fresh from the schoolroom and I knew nothing of society, which is a great disadvantage. I was determined you should not suffer the same way, which is why I thought a few months in Bath would be most beneficial to you.’
‘And so it will be.’ Ellen enveloped Phyllida in another embrace. ‘We shall have such fun together, you and I.’
‘Well, yes, I hope so,’ said Phyllida. ‘The past year, living on my own, has made me heartily sick of my own company. Now,’ she said, leading Ellen to the table. ‘Come and try some of the lemonade Mrs Hirst has made especially for you.’
* * *
The evening passed in non-stop chatter and by the time she went to bed Phyllida realised how much she had missed her stepdaughter’s company. Phyllida had been just eighteen when she had married Sir Evelyn and she had made great efforts to befriend his eleven-year-old daughter. Even though Ellen had been packed off to school soon after the marriage they had remained close, much more like sisters than mother and daughter. Phyllida had always felt that to be an advantage, but as she blew out her candle she was aware that the tiny worm of anxiety was still gnawing away at her comfort.
At seventeen Phyllida had been painfully shy. She had been educated at home with her sister and had experienced nothing beyond the confines of the small village where they lived. Ellen was not shy. The select seminary in Kent where she had spent the past five years might have given her an excellent education but from her artless conversation it was clear that she had enjoyed far more licence than Phyllida had known at her age. It was doubtful she would feel any of the mortification Phyllida had experienced during her one London Season.
Phyllida had stood firm against every argument the family had put forward but now she wondered if she had been selfish to insist upon bringing Ellen to Bath. The recent elopement of the late Marquess of Hune’s daughter with a penniless adventurer showed that danger lurked, even in Bath. What did she, Phyllida, know about playing chaperon to a young girl, and an heiress at that? With a sigh of exasperation she punched her pillow to make it more comfortable.
‘Ellen will have me and Matty to look after her, she cannot possibly come to any harm,’ she told herself as she settled down again. ‘I shall not let doubts and anxieties spoil my pleasure at having Ellen with me. We shall have a wonderful time!’
Chapter Two (#ulink_5e9bb458-e6fd-52f9-acfc-5641b08f38f5)
‘Good morning, sir. Her ladyship’s compliments, she hopes you will be able to break your fast with her this morning.’
Richard groaned at his valet’s determinedly cheerful greeting. It was not that Fritt had woken him, nor a sore head that caused him to mutter an invective as he sat up in bed, but the memory of last night’s events. Had he really signed his name to that foolish wager? He had obviously been more drunk than he realised because he had allowed his dislike of Sir Charles Urmston to get the better of him. It was too late to cry off now, it was against his code of honour to renege on a bet. Damn the man, even the memory of Urmston’s self-satisfied smile had Richard fuming. The valet gave a little cough.
‘As time is pressing, sir, I have brought your shaving water. I thought we might make a start...’
‘Surely it can’t be that pressing,’ retorted Richard. ‘Where is my coffee?’
‘Beside your bed, sir, but her ladyship is always in the breakfast room by nine and it is nearly eight o’clock now...’
‘For Gad this is an unholy hour,’ grumbled Richard. ‘What time did I get to bed?’
‘I think it must have been about four, sir. Would you like me to inform her ladyship that you are indisposed?’
‘You know that’s impossible. She doesn’t ask much of me, so I must do this for her.’ Richard swallowed his coffee in one gulp. ‘Very well, let us get on with it.’
He jumped out of bed, yawning but determined. He owed this much to Sophia. She had stood by him when the rest of the family had wanted him to disown his brother and he would never forget it.
‘Hypocrites, the lot of ’em,’ she had told him when the scandal broke. ‘The Arrandales have always had skeletons in their cupboards. Why should they object so much to yours? My door is always open to you Richard. Remember that.’
He had been just seventeen at the time and grateful for her support. She had neither judged nor censured his conduct, even when he left Oxford and took London by storm, embarking upon a frantic round of drinking, gambling and women. No, she had not tried to stem his outrageous behaviour; it was in his blood, his father had told him as much. Everyone knew the Arrandales spread scandal and mayhem wherever they went. He plunged his head into the bowl of warm water on the washstand. He would stay in Bath just as long as Sophia needed him.
* * *
An hour later Richard walked into the breakfast room, washed, shaved and dressed in his morning coat of blue superfine. His great-aunt was already sitting at the table.
‘Good morning, Sophia.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘You are looking very well this morning.’
‘Which is more than can be said for you,’ she retorted. ‘I’m surprised that man of yours let you out of your room dressed in that fashion.’
Richard laughed.
‘Are my shirt points not high enough for you?’
The Dowager Marchioness of Hune gave an unladylike snort.
‘They are more than high enough. I can’t abide the fashion for collars so high and stiff men can’t move their heads, they look like blinkered horses! No, ’tis your neckcloth. Too plain. Not a scrap of lace. Your father wore nothing but the finest Mechlin at his neck and wrists.’
Richard sat down at the table.
‘Well, you will have to put up with me as I am,’ he replied, unperturbed by her strictures. ‘It shows my affection for you that I am out of bed at this dashed unfashionable hour.’
‘If you did not stay up so late you would find this a very reasonable hour to be up and about.’
‘If you say so, ma’am.’
She gave him a darkling look. ‘Don’t think I don’t know how you spend your evenings.’
‘Gambling, I admit it.’ He grinned. ‘It could be worse. I am avoiding the muslin company.’
