Читать книгу The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia - Raven McAllan - Страница 10

Chapter One

‘You see, my lord, it was imperative I told you what has been brought to my notice. Your heir has some very unsavoury acquaintances.’ The neat-suited, tall, unassuming man, with his grey hair plastered to his skull and his brown eyes unfathomable, dipped his head apologetically. ‘I had the information checked out as best I could before I presented the facts to you.’ He shifted uneasily on the ladder-back chair he had been invited to sit on. ‘I didn’t press too far as I assumed you wouldn’t want any more rumours to abound, especially if they were without foundation.’

Harry, who had a few other names – including Lord Birnham – but was known as Harry to his friends, nodded as his mind raced furiously. Jeremy was involved in what? ‘Are they?’ he asked quietly, determined to show none of the trepidation and fury he held back with difficulty. ‘Without foundation?’

‘It seems there is perhaps a germ of truth in it all, somewhere,’ Pugh, his agent for all his business interests, continued apologetically, ‘Several germs. I have also been given to understand he has been, shall we say, boasting in the hells that he is due to come into money. A lot of money. He dipped deeply at Mrs O’Connor’s last week, to the tune of several thousand, and she’s pressing him. That in itself is unusual; she is generally more accommodating.’

Harry nodded and smiled to himself. ‘Indeed.’ He knew how accommodating the lady could be if she liked you.

‘Hence, I assume, the announcement with regards to money,’ Pugh said. ‘Now, unless he’s about to kill you, and I don’t think he has the stomach to come to that yet, he’s either involved in something illegal or about to be married.’

Harry had heard nothing to indicate either state, but, he ruminated, he had been out of town for a few weeks on other concerns. Firstly to his estate, to sort out extra barns for the harvest, then to speak to his agent in Devon concerning a new ship he had commissioned, and after that on to Wales. For business of the ‘end of a romance’ kind. That was now well over and, really, Lady Shelbourne should have been forgotten long before. However, an earnest plea for his attention had sent him hotfoot to Wales. It hadn’t turned out as the lady expected. Harry told her in no uncertain terms that, now she was betrothed once more, their brief sojourn was over. As a widow he would dally with her, as a wife he would not. Harry’s morals might not conform to rakish rules but they were his and he abided by them. Virgins and wives – or even wives-to-be – were not on his agenda. The lady had not been best pleased and the resultant altercation had spoiled any agreeable memories regarding what had been a rather pleasant dalliance.

‘See what you can find to indicate either state, if you would, Pugh,’ Harry said calmly. Damn Helen Shelbourne. If I had been around, we might have been able to scotch this earlier. ‘Report back to me on Friday, please. I, meanwhile, will keep my ears open in my circles.’

He remembered something Merryworth, his Devon agent, had said. The totals for the cargoes on his last three ships that had berthed in Teignmouth seemed to be down. ‘Check with Merryworth as well,’ he added as Pugh took his leave. As he also would.

He waited until Pugh had left and swore long and hard. Why couldn’t Helen have accepted it when he told her enough was enough and not concocted the story that he was needed to solve a problem? For that matter, why had he been so stupid as to believe her? He was usually too up to snuff to fall for such a ruse. It had been a long drive to Wales, involving several changes of cattle, some of which weren’t fit to pull a dogcart, let alone a curricle. Then an uncomfortable few hours of confrontation, tears and pleading from Helen, and in his mind an even longer drive back to town. Plus the unpleasant thought that, for a brief moment, he had been tempted to take what was on offer for one last time.

Logically, Helen should have accepted what she knew instead of assuming she would be the one to change his morals. Then they could have remained friends as she faded into marital bliss and left him alone. Instead of that, now they were not on the best of terms. Harry had prided himself that he and his ex-lovers always stayed friendly. This was a first. Ah, well. He turned his thoughts away from his ex-mistress and to the situation he now found himself in. To wit, that he was at a disadvantage over a situation he assumed was about to become incredibly important, not to say time-consuming.

Harry tossed off a glass of brandy, and stared moodily at the coal-less grate. Damn, he’d better start sooner rather than later.

White’s and Watier’s first. Then see what followed.

He stood up, stretched, and paused with his arms above his head. ‘Hell.’ What a time to remember he had a prior engagement – one he couldn’t miss. His godmother’s ball. Harry sighed and headed upstairs to change. Debs and mothers, traps and trappings. Inane conversations and inferior wine. What a way to pass several hours that could never be regained. Actually, he mused, fairly, as he took the stairs two at a time with his long-legged stride, the inferior wine wasn’t true. His godmother would never be so crass as to not have the finest food and drink served. Even so, the rest was a certainty. Sadly, the clubs would have to wait. Purgatory came first.

He better not let his godmother know he thought of her balls in such a way.

****

If only life were simple, he would now be on his second or even third glass of wine and ready to escape to the card tables. Instead, Harry stared at the glowering man in front of him, and wished he’d instructed Hill, his major domo, to tell this unwanted visitor he was not at home. Of course, Hill, on seeing Harry’s heir, would have thought nothing of admitting him, and now Harry’s head ached.

‘Get on with it, I have a ball to attend,’ he said to Jeremy sharply. Not that Harry was enamoured with the idea of the ball, but he was even less enamoured with his heir, especially in light of the recent revelations.

The hapless Jeremy Mumford had a harridan for a mother who, along with Harry, was Jeremy’s trustee, and jointly held the purse strings. With this in mind, Jeremy had just begged Harry to add weight to his plea that he be allowed to offer for a lady Harry now knew to be the stunning beauty he had aided at the recent ball. A lady several years older than Jeremy, who Jeremy declared was the only woman he would ever want.

Want, not love. Harry hadn’t thought that a stumbling block until suddenly Jeremy changed his tune and declared it was love. Love at first sight, not to be denied. Something was more than fishy, especially as Jeremy became more taciturn, as Harry pressed for answers.

‘Love, want, need?’

There was no reply. ‘Jeremy, you came to talk, to beg, so bloody well talk to me. Tell me what this is all about.’

‘I am going to marry her. She will marry me. Love cannot be denied.’

‘It can if I deny it.’ Grief, he would rather Jeremy try to emulate him, Harry decided grimly, and become a rake, than this.

If it were not so serious, it would be amusing. ‘Your life reads like one of those nasty romances women read,’ Harry said to the disgruntled young buck slouched in the chair next to him. In some people the stance would look elegant; in Jeremy it looked gauche. ‘Lost loves, unrequited love, languishing, tears and tantrums. And that’s just the males. Lord, Jeremy, you’re only one and twenty, well set up and, not to put too fine a point on it, a bloody idiot. How on earth do you have to marry this woman? Is she a harpy who entrapped you? Have you given her a slip on the shoulder? Is that it? Do you even know what love is?’

‘No, how dare you?’ Jeremy said indignantly. ‘It’s because…’ he scowled, his face turning the colour of the hall runner he’d so recently walked over, and mumbled something Harry didn’t catch.

‘You want your inheritance. To squander as you do your allowance? Gambling debts? Make arrangements like everyone else. Or do not gamble over your head.’

‘It’s not that, they are paltry.’

‘Is that why Mrs O’Connor is pressing you?’ Harry asked and sighed. ‘You’d best come clean.’

‘I’ve paid them, and it’s got nothing to do with you,’ Jeremy said. ‘I want to marry, that is all there is to it. I’ve chosen her. There are no debts. None.’

‘Make sure it stays that way,’ Harry advised. He ignored the marrying bit. He needed to think more about that before he made any further comments. Sadly, Jeremy was like a dog with a bone with regards to his future state.

‘Well, once I marry, nothing will have anything to do with you, so I will marry, and then you can… can go hang.’

‘Grow up.’ Harry sighed as he went over in his mind the rambling tale he’d just been given. It all smelled mighty fishy and far-fetched, especially with regards to the information he’d received earlier. ‘Then, when you have shown me you are indeed mature enough to manage it all, ask me once more.’ He didn’t mention Mrs O’Connor again. Some things were best left for a later date – after he’d spoken to her perhaps? To have ammunition was always useful.

‘It’s mine and I need it. Well, if I marry, you have to give it to me.’ So there, Jeremy’s tone indicated.

‘Not necessarily,’ Harry said pleasantly, albeit with a hint of menace in his tone. ‘I can stall, and unless you give me a clear and concise reason why this lady is the one for you, and she agrees, stall I will.’

Jeremy pouted. ‘You can’t,’ he said in an unsure voice. ‘I can make sure I have her. I need the money and her. She will be the…’ His voice faltered to a stop. ‘You can’t.’

‘Watch me,’ Harry advised, as he absorbed Jeremy’s somewhat ominous words. He’d definitely need to look into them. ‘Now is there anything else?’ His heir was spoiled by a doting mother and grandmother, but deep down, up until then, Harry had always been certain a decent and sensible young man lurked, so why on earth had he pitched the story of need, greed and must do? Harry was at a loss. Who, or what, on earth could send his heir into such a deep and imploring mood? Surely young men were supposed to sow their wild oats and not be thinking of marriage. He, of course, should be the opposite.

He wasn’t. Harry went over all the conversation in his mind. As much as he needed to get on, something in the tenor of it all worried him. He’d have to challenge Jeremy, and see how he wriggled out of explaining.

‘Hold on a minute. If my ears do not deceive me, and they never have before, I think you said you wanted her and changed that to love.’ Harry stared at Jeremy long and hard. ‘Which is it? And why? How do you think you can make sure you will have the lady? That strikes me as ominous.’

Jeremy mumbled something Harry didn’t catch. He thought it was ‘how do I know anything about how a woman’s mind works but I need to marry soon’; however, he couldn’t be certain. Harry reined in his ire. ‘What does the lady say?’ Harry asked mildly. Losing his temper at that moment wouldn’t help. ‘Where did you meet her?’

‘I saw her at Lady Finlay’s,’ Jeremy muttered. ‘She is almost on the shelf and needs to marry. Why not me?’

‘Saw her? That is not a very satisfactory reply. And then?’ Harry pressed on and ignored the negative attitude of his heir. Jeremy had the look on his face that intimated he was uncomfortable with the route the questions were taking. The one which, if his mama were around, she would immediately make haste to dispel. Not so Harry.

Jeremy looked mulish. ‘One look was all it took. Once I knew who she was, I knew she was the only one for me. I danced with her and knew. She would do.’

Harry raised his eyebrow. Do? What was behind all this? ‘One look across a crowded room, one twirl around the dance floor, and you decided that how?’ he asked sardonically. ‘What else comes into it?’

‘Nothing and I just did. We’re not all like you, you know. I love her and that is enough. If you persuade mama.’

Harry now understood for certain that his nephew and heir was a fool. Not that he believed Jeremy was in love for one second, but who on earth married for love, anyway? Such a fleeting sensation, soon lost and buried in the annals of time. Was she ill and about to die in the near future? Did Jeremy know how much she was worth? Harry knew to the last pound, for he kept his ear close to the ground where money was concerned, but he didn’t think Jeremy so wise. Over the years the information about Lady Lydia Field’s wealth had, to his mind, been severely downplayed. Most people now thought she had a comfortable fortune, no more. He thought different, but did Jeremy?

‘Do not mistake lust for love,’ he advised Jeremy. ‘And do not think to slake your lust with a lady. There are others more suited for that.’

I bet my fortune, that love has nothing to do with it. Now, to discover why Jeremy needs her.