Читать книгу The Bridal Quest - Candace Camp, Candace Camp - Страница 7

THERE WAS A MOMENT of stunned silence in the room after the formidable old woman’s announcement. Francesca gaped at the woman, and her eyes slid involuntarily toward Rochford.

“I…um…” she stammered, feeling a blush rising in her cheeks.

“No, not him!” Lady Odelia exclaimed, and let out a crow of laughter. “Been trying for the best part of fifteen years with this one. Even I have given up hope. No, the Lilles line will have to go down through that foolish Bertrand, if it is to continue at all.” She heaved a sigh at this prospect.

“I’m sorry.” Francesca’s cheeks were thoroughly aflame now. “I didn’t—I am not sure I understand.”

“I’m talking about my sister’s grandson.”

“Oh! I see. I’m not—um, I don’t believe I know your sister, my lady.”

“Pansy,” Lady Odelia said, and sighed. It was clear from her expression that Lady Odelia found her sister lacking. “There were four of us—besides the three children that died in childhood, of course. I was the eldest, and then there was my brother, who, of course, grew up to be the duke. He was Rochford’s grandfather. After him was our sister Mary, and finally, the youngest, Pansy. Pansy married Lord Radbourne. Gladius, his name was. Damned silly name. His mother chose it, and a more foolish woman never lived. But that’s neither here nor there. The problem is Pansy’s grandson, Gideon. Lord Cecil’s son.”

“Oh.” Francesca recognized the name. “Lord Radbourne.”

Lady Odelia nodded. “Aye, you understand me now, I warrant. You’ll have heard the gossip.”

“Well…” Francesca demurred.

“No point trying to deny it. It was all over the ton the last few months.”

Francesca nodded. “Of course.”

Lady Odelia was right. Francesca—along with all the ton and, indeed, much of the rest of London—had heard the gossip. Many years ago, when he was only a lad of four, Gideon Bankes, the heir to the Radbourne title and estate, had been kidnapped, along with his mother. Neither the boy nor his mother was ever seen again. Then, years after he had been long-presumed dead, Gideon Bankes had reappeared.

His reappearance, and his inheritance of the title and estate of the Earl of Radbourne, had been the talk of the town for several weeks. Everyone Francesca knew had had an opinion on the matter—what the suddenly reclaimed heir was like, where he had been all these years and whether he was, in actuality, an imposter. There had been more questions than there were facts, for few people had actually met the new earl, and very few of those had offered any gossip.

Francesca looked again at the duke. She had seen him here and there, at various parties, over the past few months, but never had he said a word about the recovery of the lost heir. Indeed, she had not even realized that Rochford was in any way connected to the Bankes family. This fact only served to confirm her opinion that the Duke of Rochford was the most tight-lipped gentleman she knew. It was, she thought with a little flash of irritation, quite typical of the man.

“I am sure that what you have heard is mostly wrong,” Lady Odelia remarked. “I might as well tell you the whole of it.”

“Oh, no, I am sure that is not necessary,” Francesca began, torn between curiosity and the strong desire to get Lady Odelia out of her house.

“Nonsense. You need to hear the truth of it.”

“You may as well let her tell it,” Rochford advised Francesca. “You know it will be easier.”

“Don’t be impertinent, Sinclair,” his great-aunt admonished him.

Francesca noted somewhat sourly that Rochford, of course, did not seem at all in awe of the intimidating woman.

“Now,” Lady Odelia went on, “I am sure you don’t remember it, as you were just a child then yourself, but my nephew Cecil’s wife and son were abducted twenty-seven years ago. Frightful business. They received a letter demanding a ransom—a necklace of rubies and diamonds, dreadfully ugly thing, but worth a fortune, of course. It had been in the family for generations. Legend said it was given to them by a grateful Queen Elizabeth when she came to the throne. Cecil gave them what they asked for, but they did not give him back his wife and child. We all assumed both had been killed. Cecil was grief-stricken, but he held out hope that they would somehow, someday, return. Years went by before he remarried. Of course, when he did, he had to go through legal proceedings to have Selene—that was the first countess—declared dead. She had been missing for almost twenty years by then. But still, he did nothing about the boy. I presume he could not bring himself to admit that his child was dead.”

She shrugged and went on. “But then, a year ago, when Cecil himself died, something had to be done. If Gideon was still alive somewhere, then he would be the heir. However, Cecil’s second wife, Teresa, had given him a son, so if Gideon was dead, then Timothy would be the heir. Before we started legal proceedings, I set Rochford to see if he could turn up anything about Gideon.”

Francesca looked over at the duke. “Then…you are the one who found him?”

Rochford shrugged. “I can scarcely claim credit for it. All I did was hire a Runner to investigate the matter. He found Gideon in London. He was going by the name Gideon Cooper, and he had made something of a fortune for himself. Had no idea who he really was.”

“He didn’t remember anything?” Francesca asked in surprise.

“Apparently not—other than his given name, of course. He was only four when he was taken. He can remember nothing before the time when he was a street urchin in London.”

“But someone must have taken him in, cared for him,” Francesca protested. “Did they know nothing about how they came to have him? Where he came from?”

“Nothing,” Lady Odelia declared with disgust. “He says he never had any parents, that he grew up with a bunch of disreputable children in the stews of the East End. Imagine, the son of an earl, a boy with Lilles and Bankes blood flowing through his veins, living hand to mouth in some hovel, consorting with God-knows-what sort of riffraff!” She shook her head, the purple plumes that curled over her unfashionably high hairstyle bobbing wildly with her movements.

“But how did you know that it was Gideon?” Francesca asked curiously. “If he could not even remember, and there is no one around who raised him…”

“Oh, it was he, all right,” Lady Odelia’s tone suggested that she was less than pleased about the fact. “He had the birthmark—a little raspberry-colored blotch beside his left shoulder blade. Gideon had exactly the same mark from the time he was born. Pansy and I both remembered it. Of course, it looks smaller on an adult, but there is no mistaking it. A bit like a lopsided diamond. And, of course, he has the look of the Bankses. The Lilles jaw and hair, as well.”

“I see,” Francesca said somewhat untruthfully. The truth was that while Lady Odelia’s story was certainly interesting, she did not really understand why the woman had told it to her. She hesitated, then said, “I am sure you are quite happy to have him back after all this time.” She looked from Lady Odelia to the duke, but there was nothing in his carefully schooled face that offered any enlightenment to her. She turned back to the older woman. “I’m not sure…that is…well, why do you need my help—or anyone else’s, for that matter—to find a suitable wife for Lord Radbourne? You know everyone. Indeed, you know them better than I.”

“It is not finding a suitable woman. It is finding someone who is willing,” Lady Pencully replied.

Francesca stared. “But surely, with his title and property…”

“Lord Radbourne has not been out much in society. No doubt it has been remarked upon,” Lady Odelia said, fixing Francesca with her penetrating gaze.

“Well, um…” Francesca tried to think of a suitable reply.

The truth was, gossip had been rampant regarding the newly found earl’s absence from Society’s rounds. Though he had turned up several months ago, he had not appeared at any parties this Season. Rumors had run the gamut from his suffering from some hideous deformity to his being a criminal to his being utterly mad.

“Don’t knit your brow over how to tell me,” Lady Odelia went on brusquely. “Believe me, I have heard all the stories. He isn’t crook-backed or stunted or covered in boils. Nor is he stark-staring mad. But the truth is…well, he is…quite common.”

Lady Odelia uttered the words in a hushed voice, as though admitting the darkest of secrets, and she squared her shoulders as she gazed at Francesca, waiting for her retort.

“Aunt Odelia, aren’t you being a trifle hard on the man?” Rochford remonstrated. “I think Radbourne’s done quite well for himself, particularly given the circumstances.”

“Yes, if you are talking about making money,” Lady Odelia sniffed. “He has done a good deal of that.” Clearly her great-nephew’s financial success had not met with her approval.

“Scarcely the mark of a gentleman,” she went on flatly. “The truth is, his past is, well, unsavory. I am not aware of the particulars—and, frankly, I do not care to be.” She turned her fierce gaze on Rochford again, then swung back to Francesca. “He lived among the worst sort of people, far from the influence of his family and peers. The result is that he is lacking in the qualities that make up a gentleman. His speech and manners are quite unrefined, and his education is woefully short.”

“Gideon is very well-read, Aunt.” Rochford came to the man’s defense again, but his great-aunt waved away his words.

“Pshaw!” she exclaimed contemptuously. “I am not talking about books, Sinclair. I am talking about his education in the things that count—he cannot dance, and he has no idea how to make polite conversation. The man can barely sit a horse.” She paused to let that horror sink in. “He is much too familiar with the servants and the tenants, yet he scarcely says a word to his family or even the local gentry. Fortunately, we have managed to get him to stay at the Hall most of the time, but now he insists on returning to London.”

“He does have business here,” the duke pointed out mildly.

“And what if someone we know sees him conducting his…business?” Lady Odelia gave a theatrical shudder at the thought.

“Aunt Odelia, I think there is little for anyone to remark upon on seeing a man going into a bank or meeting with his clerks,” Rochford protested, his voice edging into irritation. “Come now, you will make Lady Haughston think that he should be locked up in the attic.”

“Would that I could lock him away,” Lady Odelia retorted.

The duke’s dark brows drew together, and he took a breath before answering her. It occurred to Francesca that she might soon have a battle between these two right here in her sitting room.

“But, Lady Odelia,” she intervened hastily, “I am afraid I still do not quite see what I have to do with all this. How can I introduce him to anyone if he has no interest in Society?”

“She wants you to help her arrange the poor chap’s life for him,” Rochford responded in a biting tone.

Francesca’s eyebrows sailed upward, and she said coolly, “I beg your pardon.”

“Don’t be difficult, Sinclair,” Lady Odelia admonished. “There is no need to snap at Francesca just because you are annoyed with me.”

Rochford’s mouth tightened, and he flashed a hot glance at Francesca, but he bowed his head in polite acquiescence and said, “Of course. Forgive me, Lady Haughston. I meant you no disrespect.”

“Do not worry,” Francesca murmured in a silky tone. “I have learned not to put overmuch importance on what you say.”

She was rewarded by a sardonic look from beneath his brows, but the duke said nothing more.

“It isn’t that I dislike the boy,” Lady Odelia went on, ignoring their exchange. “He is my great-nephew, after all, and I hope it never will be said that I denigrated any of my own blood—although God knows, Bertrand has tested my limits often enough. However, Gideon is a Lilles, at least in part, and it is scarcely his fault that he does not know how to act. So I put my mind to it and came up with a solution.” She paused and looked at Francesca, then announced, “Gideon must marry. And you are just the woman we need.”

“Oh.” Was the woman suggesting that she herself marry the man, Francesca wondered with horror.

“We must attach him to a thoroughly respectable, quite proper woman. One of unquestionable breeding and taste. It is to be hoped that she will be able to influence him, direct him into better behavior. Smooth some of his rough edges and cover up his flaws. And if she cannot, well, at least she will insure that his children will be suitably well-bred.”

Lady Odelia paused, then went on didactically. “A proper marriage goes far in overcoming the taint of scandal. If a woman of impeccable lineage is willing to ally herself to him, then everyone else will prove more amenable to overlooking his various…problems.”

“Well,” Francesca began carefully, “As I said, I should think you would have no problem finding a suitable candidate. Surely there are a number of women of good name who would be quite happy to marry a man who has both Bankes and Lilles blood flowing through his veins, as well, no doubt, as that of several other prominent families.”

“Of course there are,” Lady Odelia said impatiently. “I’ve brought at least five girls to Radbourne Hall and made introductions. The problem is, in more than half those instances, they or their families cry off once they’ve met him. And the rest of them, Gideon has rejected. Imagine…girls I personally vetted, and he disapproves of them.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Francesca offered lamely.

“The Bennington girl does have a squint,” Rochford pointed out. “Miss Farnley is a goose, and Lady Helen is dull as ditchwater.”

“Well, what does that matter?” Lady Odelia queried. “He doesn’t have to talk to them.”

Rochford’s mouth quirked up on one side, but he said only, “Yes. Well, I suspect he would have to at some point.”

“I suppose I should have expected it of him,” his great-aunt opined, ignoring his remark. “The Lord only knows what sort of woman he would prefer. That is another reason why it is so imperative that we find a proper wife for him, and soon. When I think of who he might bring home if left to his own devices…” She shook her head. “Of course, we cannot force him to marry anyone,” she continued, looking quite annoyed at the thought. “So we decided to turn to you.”

She looked at Francesca.

“Everyone says you have had such success in this area. Well, look at the way you matched up that Woodley girl with your brother—though I cannot think but that you could have found someone with a bit more funds to her name. Still, she seems a very pleasant girl.”

“You want me to help find a wife for Lord Radbourne?” Francesca exclaimed, flooded with relief that Lady Odelia was not trying to persuade Francesca herself to marry the man.

“Of course, girl. What have we been talking about this past half hour?” Odelia retorted. “Really, Francesca, you must pay more attention.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Francesca replied quickly.

“Though I scarcely see how you can manage to marry him off, when all our best efforts have failed,” Lady Odelia went on. “But Rochford assured me that you were best person for the task,” the older woman added.

“Really?” Francesca glanced with some surprise at Lord Rochford.

“Yes,” he answered, and he leaned forward, his face serious. “I hope that you will be able to find the right person for Gideon. The man has suffered quite enough already in his life. He deserves some happiness.”

His black eyes were intent upon her face. Francesca had wondered how Lady Odelia had trapped Rochford into accompanying her on this errand, but she saw now that the duke was here out of a real concern for Lord Radbourne. Unlike his great-aunt, he seemed to hope that Francesca would come up with a wife for Gideon not to please the family, but to help the man.

“If you could come to Radbourne Hall and meet Gideon, see what he is really like, I think that you could find the right woman for him,” the duke went on.

“I see.” Francesca felt strangely touched. Before this, she would have said that he thought her matchmaking efforts were at best harmless foolishness.

“That is precisely the thing,” Lady Odelia agreed. “You must come to the Hall and meet him. Then you’ll understand. And perhaps you might be able to polish him up a bit before he actually meets any of the girls you choose. Whatever else anyone might say about you, your manners are always impeccable.”

“Why, thank you,” Francesca responded drily. “But I am not sure whether I should do this. Whether I can…”

She looked at Lady Odelia, imposing in her outdated purple satin dress and towering hair. Francesca did not relish the idea of dealing with Lady Odelia on a daily basis. She had little doubt but that the woman would poke her nose into everything that Francesca did, questioning and quibbling at every turn. Moreover, Lord Radbourne did not sound like a very pleasant person to deal with, either. And what if she would have to deal with the duke, as well?

Francesca stole a glance at him. Things never went smoothly with Rochford.

Her instinct was to refuse to do what Lady Odelia asked. But on the other hand, Francesca could not help but think that it would be foolish to do so. After all, had she not just been wondering how she would survive until next spring? This seemed the answer to her problems. Lady Odelia, she knew, would reward her with a handsome gift if she managed to pull off the feat of marrying her great-nephew to an acceptable woman. And if she were living at the Hall, her own expenses would be decreased quite considerably.

Besides, there was the way the duke had asked for her help with finding Gideon a wife. How could she refuse?

“Very well,” she said. “I will do what I can.”

“Excellent!” Lady Odelia nodded her head sharply. “Rochford said we could count on you.”

“He did?” Francesca glanced at the duke in surprise.

“Of course,” he responded with that slow, sardonic smile that rarely failed to irritate her. “I knew you could not resist something so clearly doomed to failure.”

“Now,” Lady Odelia said, “we can get down to details. She must be a biddable girl, of course, who is aware of her responsibilities to her family. It will not do to find one who will get her back up at the slightest suggestion.”

In other words, Francesca thought, someone whom Lady Odelia could bend to her will.

“She must be able to wield a beneficial influence over Gideon.”

Meaning that she must be able to bend her husband to her will, Francesca interpreted.

“And well-educated, though not, of course, a bluestocking.”

“Naturally,” Francesca murmured.

Lady Odelia continued to list the many qualities she sought in a wife for her great-nephew, a large number of which were contradictory, and Francesca smiled and nodded politely, though her mind was busy elsewhere. She was more interested in reviewing the unmarried women of the ton in the hopes of finding a few who would be suitable—and willing—to attach themselves to the new Earl of Radbourne than she was in hearing Lady Odelia’s opinions on the matter. Clearly Lady Odelia had been unable to come up with the right lady, so Francesca saw little point in being guided by her wishes.

Having finally ground to a halt regarding the qualities she felt necessary in the future Countess of Radbourne, Lady Odelia launched into a list of possible candidates. “You might start with Lord Hurley’s daughter. Good name. And a steady sort. Not one to get up in the boughs over every little thing.”

A pained look crossed the duke’s face. “Aunt Odelia,” he remonstrated, “the woman’s horse mad.”

Lady Odelia turned a blank look on him. “Of course. She’s Hurley’s offspring.”

“But Gideon scarcely rides.”

Lady Odelia rolled her eyes. “Well, he scarcely needs a wife who’ll be forever in his pocket, does he? It isn’t as if we are talking about a love match.”

“Of course. What was I thinking?” the duke murmured.

Before Lady Odelia could continue her roster of available girls, the parlor maid once again appeared at the doorway, bobbing a curtsey.

“The Earl of Radbourne, my lady,” she announced.

Even Lady Odelia fell silent at her words. As the three occupants of the room turned to stare, a man strode past the maid into the room.

“Gideon!” Lady Odelia exclaimed, looking astonished.

Francesca studied her visitor with interest. She did not know what she had expected the lost heir to look like, but this man was not it. She supposed that she had assumed he would be rather bumbling and ill at ease, an obvious fish out of water.

This man appeared about as ill at ease as a slab of marble. Though less tall than the lean and elegant duke, Lord Radbourne gave the impression of being a larger man. He was powerfully built, with a wide chest and muscular arms. His solid body was packed into a well-cut but plain black suit and mirror-polished boots, and he gave off an aura of wealth and strength.

Yet despite the expensive clothes and his air of confidence, there was some indefinable quality about him that hinted that he was not a gentleman. It was perhaps his thick black hair, worn a trifle longer than was fashionable and carelessly combed back. Or the hard set of his handsome face, tanner than that of most gentlemen. But no, Francesca thought, the difference lay in his eyes—cold and slightly wary, looking out on the world with the hard readiness that bespoke a life spent on the streets rather than in the lap of luxury.

When he opened his mouth, the impression that he did not belong among the aristocracy was confirmed. His grammar was correct, and only the merest tinge of an East End accent clung to his words, but there was some quality in his speech that would have hinted to any astute listener that he was not “to the manor born.”

“Lady Odelia.” Gideon nodded shortly to his great-aunt; then his gaze swept dispassionately across to the duke. “Rochford.”

“Radbourne,” Rochford replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “What an unexpected surprise.”

“No doubt.” Gideon’s voice was dry. He turned next to Francesca, executing a brief but serviceable bow. “My lady.”

Francesca rose, holding out her hand to him. “My lord. Please, join us.”

He nodded to her and walked across the room to take a chair just past where Lady Odelia sat. “Well, Aunt,” he began in a flat voice. “I presume you are once again engaged in arranging my life for me.”

Lady Odelia’s chin went up, and she looked back at Gideon somewhat defiantly. Francesca realized, with some amazement, that the intimidating Lady Pencully was actually a trifle afraid of this man.

“I hope to find an appropriate wife for you,” Lady Odelia replied. “I trust you realize that your position requires it.”

He gave her a long look from his bottle-green eyes, then said, “I am well aware of what my position requires.”

Gideon turned once again to Francesca. His gaze was cool and assessing, and Francesca reflected that his face was as unreadable as Rochford’s, but unlike the politely veiled expression the duke turned to the world, the Earl of Radbourne’s face was like stone.

Now, she thought, he would tell her that he did not require her assistance in finding a wife.

“I know that my grandmother and great-aunt are seeking a bride in an attempt to tame me. To make me more presentable—I cannot imagine that I will ever be ‘acceptable.’”

Odelia made a soft noise of protest, but when his gaze flickered her way, she fell silent.

Gideon turned back to Francesca. “I, of course, realize that it is a necessity that I marry. I am agreeable to it. Doubtless you will be as able to find a spouse for me as my grandmother and Lady Pencully have been. I do not think you could be less successful at it. I will rely on the duke’s assurance that you know what you are doing.”

“You told Gideon we were coming here?” Lady Odelia asked Rochford in some amazement.

“It seemed to me only fair, as it involves him,” Rochford replied calmly.

“Pray proceed, Lady Haughston, in your search for a suitable bride for me,” Lord Radbourne went on. “However, I feel I should point out that the woman in question will have to meet my approval, not Lady Pencully’s.” He paused, then added, “I prefer, you see, not to be saddled with a fool.”

“Of course,” Francesca replied. “I understand.”

“Very good. Now, if you will excuse me, I must take my leave.” He rose to his feet. “There are a number of matters regarding the business my family so disapproves of that require my notice.”

“Of course, my lord. No doubt we will talk again.”

He gave her a short nod, and bade goodbye to his cousin and great-aunt. He strode to the door, then turned and looked back at Francesca. “Lady Haughston…may I suggest one woman whom I would like to consider?”

Francesca caught Lady Odelia’s expression of amazement out of the corner of her eye, but she kept her gaze on Gideon, saying only, “Of course, my lord. Whom would you suggest?”

“Lady Irene Wyngate,” he replied.