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‘We had a friendly game of hazard, after...after...when we were on our way back to Clevedon’s box. And we were all to go on to a gaming club together, only then I remembered Olivia and I came back for her. It’s not my fault she took it into her head to wander off alone, is it?’
‘You stupid young pup,’ Hugo growled. ‘Stay away from that pair and from Marie Shelton. They’ll fleece you for all—’
‘What is it to you?’ Alex’s eyes blazed as he thrust his face close to Hugo’s. ‘It’s none of your concern what I do and who I do it with. I can take care of myself. C’mon, Nev.’
He pivoted on his heel and stalked away through the crowd. Neville, with an apologetic shrug, followed. Hugo heaved a sigh.
‘That,’ he said, ‘is an unhappy young man.’
Freddie’s brows rose and he gave a rueful smile. ‘He is. He is...difficult, far too ready to fly up in the boughs. Even his father struggles to get through to him at times. He heeds his aunt, Lady Cecily, and sometimes his uncle, but seems to harbour some deep-rooted hostility towards the Duke. The trouble is... I was asked to keep an eye on him while the Duke and my sister are away, but I simply cannot go to all the places he can.
‘That is why I feel I must tell the Duke about tonight, despite what Olivia wants. Someone must keep watch over Alex.’
‘What about Avon? Surely he is better placed than you.’
Freddie huffed a laugh. ‘They’re brothers. They get on well enough, but if Dominic tries to tell Alex what to do, Alex is just as likely to do the opposite. He can be like it with his father, too, only not so overtly—he has no choice but to accept his authority most of the time, especially now with the carrot of Foxbourne dangling in front of him.’
‘I’ll help you to keep an eye out for him,’ Hugo said, before he could censor his words.
‘You?’ Freddie eyed him with suspicion. ‘Why would you want to do that?’
Why indeed?
Hugo had made it his business in life never to put himself out for anyone and yet here he was...
‘He reminds me of myself at his age.’ That much was true, at least. ‘And it offends me that a man such as Tadlow would use a young man to punish his father. I should like to at least protect him from that. Only until his father returns, of course.’
‘In that case, I shall accept your offer with pleasure. The Duke should be back by midweek so it will be a weight off my mind if you can help me watch over him until then. Thank you. You will alert me if there is anything you feel I should know?’
‘Of course.’
Freddie bowed and then limped away, leaving Hugo to return to Clevedon’s birthday celebrations, which were still in full swing, but without the guest of honour. Nobody could tell Hugo where Clevedon had gone, or how long ago he had left, leaving Hugo with no choice but to resolve to speak to him the next day.
Tadlow and Marie were both there and Hugo joined their conversation. They already trusted him and he hoped to discover their plans for Alex, but Tadlow was too foxed to make much sense and, when his head sank to the table and his eyes closed, Hugo admitted defeat. He would have to try again when the man was sober. He tried to recapture the party spirit, but within half an hour he was stifling yawns and casting a jaded eye over the rest of the company as he wondered idly what the devil he was doing still there. His wandering gaze paused on Marie as her full lips stretched in a come-hither smile, one brow arching in invitation and her blue eyes aglow with promise. Hugo, however, felt not the smallest urge to respond. Instead, a pair of wide, black-fringed silver eyes materialised in his mind’s eye.
This time it was a curse he stifled. He drained his glass and stood up. Marie reached out, slipped her hand beneath his coat, and curved her hand around his buttock, squeezing, but Hugo sidestepped, out of her reach. Unsettled, and with a quiet anger humming through him, he could not wait to get away. He was in no mood for more of these people. They could go to hell as far as he was concerned.
‘Goodnight,’ he said abruptly and walked away.
Chapter Five (#uc9e1bfdc-1609-5f4d-8f22-c6a750234f7d)
Olivia awoke the next morning with a woozy head and a vile taste in her mouth. She grimaced and cranked open her eyes. The maid had been in to open her curtains—she must have slept right through that—and the bright sunlight stabbed at her eyes. She screwed them tight and groaned. Then, as memories of the previous evening filtered into her consciousness, a feeling of sick dread settled in her stomach.
Mama’s necklace.
She rolled on to her side and curled into a ball, her head in her hands, fingers rubbing her temples as she tried to think of a solution.
All she could think was: Thank goodness Papa is away.
But would Freddie notice the necklace was missing?
She shot up into a sitting position, ignoring the nauseous roil of her stomach, and forced her eyes open. There, on her dressing table, were the bracelet and eardrops. She hadn’t even had the sense to put them in a drawer last night when she took them off. Had the maid noticed them? If she had, hopefully she would not realise their significance.
Olivia swung her legs out of the bed and levered herself to her feet, wincing as pain speared her temple.
How much punch did I drink last night?
And she had Lord Hugo Alastair to thank for that. Lord Hugo Alastair...legendary for his exploits, according to Alex and to the gossip of her friends. There had been much giggling and whispering behind their hands on the few occasions his path had crossed that of the young innocents out in society for the first time. And the most recent on dit—that his older brother, Lucas, was due back in town for the first time in six years—had stirred not only much excitement among some of their older sisters, but also the retelling of the most lurid tales of the infamous Alastair brothers—tales intended to act as a dire warning to beware of Lord Hugo and his ilk, but that instead merely intrigued.
No woman was safe, they had been told.
Hmmph. No woman is safe...except me.
She had been ready to fight him off in the hackney, but he had shown no inclination to even flirt with her, let alone kiss her.
I prefer my ladies willing. And experienced.
She supposed he had acted the gentleman, but it still rankled. She had become accustomed to young men courting her and paying her compliments, not ignoring the charms that others praised. He had scolded her and treated her like his sister. All her life she had striven to prove she was good enough for her brothers, only to be dismissed, time and time again, as a mere female and, even worse, a child. But Alex was only two years older than her, and Dominic three—that wasn’t so big a difference. Not like Papa and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Cecily, who was a full ten years younger than Papa.
Olivia went to the dressing table and scooped up the jewellery, a sharp memory of her mother rising from the past as she stared down at the rubies and diamonds.
Mama...seated at her dressing table as her maid clasped the necklace around her neck. The rubies had looked like drops of blood and the diamonds like chips of ice as they sparkled in the candlelight.
It was Olivia’s last clear memory of her mother—being pushed impatiently aside as she tried to touch the jewels...her mother snapping, ‘Oh, do get the child away from me. She will crease my dress...’ The maid scurrying to the door and calling for Nurse...being bundled from the room in tears at yet another rejection from her mama.
No matter how hard Olivia had tried to be the perfect daughter, Mama had been...uninterested. That was the word. She had been proud of her boys, as she had called them—although Olivia couldn’t recall her spending much time with her sons—but the only love and approval Olivia could remember from her childhood had come from her father, her uncle and her aunt.
Her throat thickened and she swallowed past the painful lump that had formed. Not long after that memory, she had been told her mother was dead. She had been just five years old...she barely understood at the time but, as she had grown, she had finally understood that she would never now have the chance to make her mother proud of her.
The sound of her door opening shook her from her memories and she quickly opened the drawer in front of her and flung the jewellery inside. She would put them back in the safe later.
‘How are you this morning?’ Nell’s violet eyes were wide with sympathy.
‘I am very well.’ Olivia ignored the pounding of her head. She did not deserve sympathy. She crossed to Nell and took her hands. ‘I am sorry for disturbing you last night, Nell.’
‘I do not mind, although I should have preferred it if you had told me your plans. Mayhap I could have persuaded you not to go...that it was a mistake.’
The mischief in Nell’s smile suggested she was well aware that Olivia would not have listened to her and, despite the guilt and worry causing Olivia’s stomach to alternately clench and roil, she laughed. They had been firm friends ever since their first meeting at the start of the Season, even before Nell’s stepsister and Olivia’s father had met and fallen in love.
‘Have you thought about how to get the necklace back?’
‘No.’ Olivia rang the bell for Hetty, her maid. ‘But I am sure I shall find a solution.’
‘And Freddie definitely does not know about the necklace?’
‘No. You have not told him, have you?’
‘No, not about the necklace, but I did tell him we spoke last night because he looked so worried I was almost afraid he would speak to Lady Cecily about it and she, of course, would be duty bound to tell your papa when he returns.’
‘Did Freddie find Alex?’
‘Yes, although he stormed off when Lord Hugo scolded him for putting you at risk. Freddie was quite impressed by his lordship... He has promised to help Freddie watch out for Alex until your papa comes home.’
Impressed?
Olivia pictured those lazy, mocking eyes and that hard edge to his smile as he goaded her into agreeing to a guinea a point. Now her head was no longer fuddled with the effects of punch, she realised Lord Hugo had seemed like two completely different men the night before. She had no trouble reconciling the Lord Hugo Alastair of notoriety with the bored, cynical man in the supper box, but the man who had come to her rescue, and who had escorted her home...safely...and who had, according to Nell, agreed to help Freddie watch over Alex...he was less easy to define. Which was the real man? She trusted Freddie’s judgement, but...what if it was an act and, somehow, Lord Hugo meant Alex harm? She’d told him things last night she would never normally reveal to anyone outside her family. Was he the sort of man who might use those revelations against Alex? One thing was for sure. Somehow, she must contrive to speak to Lord Hugo and try to make sure Alex was at no risk.
It is a pity I cannot so easily deal with Lord Clevedon—unless I reveal all and throw myself upon his mercy.
At the moment, that was her only hope. She had been scared last night by his insistence that she dine with him when she redeemed her necklace but now, having thought it through, she realised her disguise as a female of lax morals had prompted his treatment of her. Clevedon was a respectable and well-respected nobleman—if he knew Beatrice’s real identity, he surely would not still insist on her dining with him. Would he?
But...if I reveal to him that Beatrice was me, will he keep my secret? Or will he tell Papa?
Maybe, if she prayed most devoutly at church later, God might show her another way.
The door opened and Hetty came in with a jug of water. Nell squeezed Olivia’s hand.
‘I shall see you later.’
* * *
Reluctance slowed Hugo’s steps as he neared the Bruton Street town house where his mother resided with his new stepfather, Sir Horace Todmorden. His lack of enthusiasm did not stem from any disinclination to see his mother—he loved his mother and, despite his initial doubts about their whirlwind courtship and marriage last year, he had to admit Mama and Sir Horace were happy together. And having Mama living closer to hand—instead of at the far end of the country at Rothley—had proved more agreeable than he had anticipated.
No. His reluctance was entirely due to the fact that Mama was nobody’s fool. He inhaled deeply and then released that breath with some force. He must do this. He could not leave things as they stood. It was his fault Olivia had ended up playing to such high stakes and had been forced to pledge that necklace and it behoved him to set her mind at rest. He walked on with renewed purpose and rapped on the front door.
‘Good morning, Stape,’ he said as the door opened. ‘I’ve come to escort my mother to church.’
The butler’s eyes widened slightly, then he stepped back and bowed as Hugo strode past him into the house.
‘I shall inform her ladyship of your arrival, my lord, if you would care to wait in the salon?’
Not ten minutes later the door opened and Mama swept in, already dressed for church in a dark blue pelisse and matching hat.
‘Hugo?’ She crossed the room in her normal brisk fashion and placed both hands to his chest. ‘You are real.’ Her dark eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. ‘I felt certain Stape had made a mistake. I almost accused him of helping himself to the brandy while dear Horace is away.’
‘Mama. Looking as beautiful as ever, I see.’
Hugo kissed her cheek, then gave her a hug, feeling his heart lift.
‘But what is this nonsense? You? Escort me to church? Stape must be mistaken about that.’
‘There is no mistake, Mama. With Sir Horace away, I thought to offer my services, that is all.’
His stepfather had been called back to his estate near Brighton and was not expected to return until Tuesday. Mama tilted her head to one side, making her look more than ever like a bright-eyed, inquisitive bird.
‘Well, I am delighted to accept, my dear. In fact, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to walk into St George’s upon your arm, but...’ her eyes narrowed ‘...I know you. You are up to something. And I shall be watching you.’
She smiled, wagging her forefinger at him, and Hugo—who was already wondering how on earth he might contrive a private word with Lady Olivia Beauchamp without setting the gossips of the ton on fire—knew that his own mother, with the sharpest eyes of anyone in his acquaintance, would be the first to notice any particular attention. And, worse, she was the only person with enough nerve to interrogate him about it.
‘Watch all you like, Mama. If a son cannot do his mother a service without an ulterior motive, then what is the world coming to?’
Mama smiled serenely as she pulled on her gloves. ‘As you say, my dear. Come then. Shall we walk, as it is such a lovely day?’
Hugo bowed and proffered his arm.
As they crossed Hanover Square on their way to St George’s he saw her, alighting from Cheriton’s town coach. She was with her aunt, Lady Cecily, as well as her eldest brother, Avon, Freddie Allen—the Duchess’s brother—and the Allens’ stepsister, Lady Helena Caldicot. She and Olivia made a striking pair, both tall and willowy, but as different in colouring as it was possible to be, with Lady Helena’s silver-blonde locks contrasting with Olivia’s raven-black hair. No sooner had the pair set foot on the pavement than a pack of eager young pups clustered around them: bowing, proffering their arms, clearly striving to be the favoured one. Hugo bit back a derisive snort at the sight. At least he had never made a complete cake of himself over a woman like that.
No. You have made very certain never to risk your heart.
He dismissed that snide inner voice as he watched Olivia laughingly refuse all offers, instead linking arms with...Nell, she had called the other girl last night. They sashayed up the few steps to the church door—two young ladies with the world at their feet: beautiful, well connected and no doubt with generous dowries. It was what the ton...the Season...society...was all about. He stared at the pups dogging their footsteps. At least they were a better match for her than a cynical, world-weary man about town such as Clevedon. Or himself.
Which of them will she favour?
He wrenched his attention from the group, irritated by his random thoughts, the last of which he mentally amended to Which of them will they favour?
Last to emerge from the town coach was Lady Glenlochrie, handed down by Avon. She leaned heavily on her stick as the remainder of the party made their way slowly into church.
‘Hugo?’
Startled, he looked down at his mother. Saw the interest in her small, dark eyes. And cursed his inattentiveness that had slowed their pace to a near crawl as he had become absorbed in watching the Beauchamps’ arrival.
‘My apologies, Mama,’ he said smoothly. ‘I found myself wondering why Lady Glenlochrie was with the Beauchamps, but then I remembered her connection with the Caldicot chit.’
Mama’s lips thinned. ‘Chit? Really, Hugo, I do wish you would not use such words. It is most ungentlemanly.’
At his nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, he saw the interest in his mother’s expression fade into one of disappointment. She had made her ambition very clear. Since his brother, Lucas’s, nuptials at the end of last year, her one wish was that Hugo would meet a nice young lady and settle down. He huffed a silent laugh. Never. He wasn’t the marrying kind and, besides, no nice young lady would ever consider him as suitable husband material. But their exchange had reminded him...
‘I came across young Alex Beauchamp last night at Vauxhall. He struck me as being an unhappy man. Any idea why?’
His mother’s eyes twinkled. ‘It amuses me to hear you describe him as such, my son. He is not so very different from you at that age.’
‘I am aware of that. I, however, had good reason with the father I had.’
Guilt and pain fused in Mama’s expression. ‘You did and I am more sorry than you know for not protecting you and Lucas more.’
‘Mama.’ He put his arm around her shoulders for a quick hug. ‘You did everything you could to protect us and we’re both more than grateful for that.’ The memory of his mother taking the blows intended for her sons reared up and impotent rage raked his gut. His father had been dead three years and was way beyond any revenge or retribution. Hugo hauled his thoughts back to the Beauchamps. ‘Someone hinted at something in the past that affected young Beauchamp. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the story.’
‘It was his mother. She was murdered and Alex discovered her body. He was only seven years of age and it affected him really badly. And for some reason—no one quite knows why—he seems to blame his father.’ Mama shot a quick look around, then lowered her voice. ‘Far be it from me to speak ill of the dead, but it was a release for both the Duke and his children. Their mother had no time for them...they were far better off being raised by Lady Cecily. She is like a mother to the three of them and has devoted her entire life to them. They are very fortunate to have her.’
So that was what Olivia had alluded to in her jumbled tale of the night before. To know your mother had been murdered—even if she wasn’t the perfect mother—must have affected Olivia as much as Alex.
They continued on into the cool interior of St George’s.
* * *
Olivia squeezed her eyes tight shut as soon as they settled into the Beauchamp family pew at St George’s and prayed for a flash of inspiration. She waited, but none came and, finally, she opened her eyes to find her aunt frowning at her.
‘Are you unwell, Livvy?’ Aunt Cecily took her hand. ‘You are very pale. Are you in pain?’
