A Most Unsuitable Match
A Most Unsuitable Match
Julia Justiss
Shunned by the tonHow will she find a husband?Part of Sisters of Scandal: After her mother’s latest outrageous affair, innocent Prudence Lattimar has fled to Bath. With her dubious background, she must marry a man of impeccable reputation. A clergyman with a title would be perfect. And she must steer clear of Lieutenant Johnnie Trethwell—his family is as notorious as hers, no matter how funny, charming and unfailingly honourable he is!
Shunned by the ton
How would she find a husband?
Part of Sisters of Scandal: After her mother’s latest outrageous affair, innocent Prudence Lattimar has fled to Bath.
With her dubious background, she must marry a man of impeccable reputation. A clergyman with a title and a considerable income would be perfect.
She must steer clear of Lieutenant Johnnie Trethwell—his family is as notorious as hers, no matter how funny, charming and unfailingly honorable he is!
Sisters of Scandal duet
Book 1—A Most Unsuitable Match
Look out for the second story, coming soon!
“Justiss provides her fans with heart-stealing characters.”
—RT Book Reviews on Secret Lessons with the Rake
“Secret Lessons with the Rake is a deeply romantic and satisfying end to these tales of Hadley’s Hellions and it’s a book I’m happy to recommend.”
—RT Book Reviews on Secret Lessons with the Rake
JULIA JUSTISS wrote her ideas for Nancy Drew stories in her third-grade notebook, and has been writing ever since. After publishing poetry in college she turned to novels. Her Regency historical romances have won or been placed in contests by the Romance Writers of America, Romantic Times magazine, National Readers’ Choice and the Daphne du Maurier Award. She lives with her husband in Texas. For news and contests visit juliajustiss.com (http://www.juliajustiss.com).
Also by Julia Justiss (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
Ransleigh Rogues miniseries
The Rake to Ruin Her
The Rake to Redeem Her
The Rake to Rescue Her
The Rake to Reveal Her
Hadley’s Hellions miniseries
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount
Stolen Encounters with the Duchess
Convenient Proposal to the Lady
Secret Lessons with the Rake
Sisters of Scandal miniseries
A Most Unsuitable Match
And look out for the next book
Coming soon
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
A Most Unsuitable Match
Julia Justiss
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07414-8
A MOST UNSUITABLE MATCH
© 2018 Janet Justiss
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Eve and Lenora.
Words aren’t adequate to express my gratitude for
your love and support since the accident—especially
when finding time to write becomes so difficult. Every
time I’m about to give up in despair you pulled me
back from the edge. I love you guys!
Contents
Cover (#ueba80fc2-dbbf-5427-9d91-d4ba2302646b)
Back Cover Text (#uc69b214c-22a0-56cc-a3e0-954f2054a42c)
About the Author (#uda70985f-4d48-5dc6-befe-c57dd5df4df6)
Booklist (#u809b3418-5831-5207-bf19-5205648117e4)
Title Page (#u55a75ce6-f54c-5bb6-8d70-cea935e9539a)
Copyright (#ud3739695-c214-54a6-a731-3bcdf230db26)
Dedication (#u4120f827-26a2-5e27-90bd-0052339b0a6b)
Prologue (#u2ff7c455-a212-569f-bdef-88826ce95a59)
Chapter One (#u672770f2-fe11-5a39-afa4-4270d8df7367)
Chapter Two (#u1ea20cf5-8fc7-54d2-ba05-5cf5c8dd7f6c)
Chapter Three (#uc0d99543-6fa8-522c-ae02-665b1ccb3535)
Chapter Four (#ub287d393-5139-549b-bb78-415c98978c9c)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
London—late March 1833
‘She’s done it again,’ Gregory Lattimar, oldest son and heir of Lord Vraux, said as he ushered his twin sisters, Temperance and Prudence, into the small salon of their Brook Street town house, where their aunt, Lady Stoneway, awaited them.
The vague foreboding she’d felt when her brother pulled Pru from happy contemplation of the latest fashions in Godfrey’sLady’s Magazine intensified into outright alarm. ‘What’s happened, Gregory? Whatever it is, surely we won’t have to delay our Season yet again!’
That pronouncement was met with a groan from her aunt, who came over to give Prudence a hug. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear! I thought for sure we’d be able to launch you girls this spring!’
‘So it’s no Season for us, eh?’ Temperance asked, crossing her arms as she regarded her brother grimly. ‘What’s the latest event to besmirch our reputations?’
‘Your brother heard about it over breakfast at the Club and summoned me for a strategy session straight away.’
‘A strategy session about what?’ Temperance cried.
‘Easy, Temper,’ Gregory said, putting a hand on her arm. ‘I’m about to tell you.’
Though, as usual, she suppressed the emotions her more volatile twin was expressing, Pru could hardly refrain from raising her own voice. ‘What happened, Gregory?’
‘Farnham. Well, not being officially out, you won’t have met him, but he’s recently down from Oxford and followed the usual convention of appearing enamoured of our mother. He and another young admirer, Lord Hallsworthy, have been snarling at each other around her like two dogs over a choice bone. Apparently last night, with both of them well in their cups, Farnham claimed Hallsworthy had insulted Mama’s virtue and challenged him to a duel. Which Hallsworthy accepted, the two of them dispensing with the usual protocol and going off at once to Hounslow Heath.’
‘At night?’ Temperance said incredulously. ‘Besides, I thought duelling was illegal—and out of fashion.’
‘There was a full moon and it is,’ Gregory said. ‘I don’t know what got into them. The upshot was, before anyone realised what was going on, Farnham put a ball into Hallsworthy. The friends who caught up with them took Hallsworthy to a surgeon, but he isn’t doing well. Farnham has fled to the Continent and, by now, the news of the duel, and over whom it was fought, is all over London.’
‘Well, I say “bravo, Mama!” if she’s still bewitching young men at her age,’ Temperance said defiantly.
‘If she only would consider how much her actions reflect upon us!’ Pru cried, beset by the familiar mix of admiration and resentment for her dazzling mother.
‘To be fair, it’s not her fault, Pru,’ Aunt Gussie said. ‘Paying court to London’s longest-reigning Beauty has been a rite of passage for young men coming down from university since the Season your mama debuted. You know she does nothing to encourage them. Quite the opposite.’
‘Which only intensifies their rivalry,’ Gregory observed with a sigh.
‘Mama has been trying to shield us, Pru,’ Temperance added. ‘Though she’s certainly had offers, she hasn’t taken any new lovers these last five years.’ At her aunt’s gasp, she snapped, ‘Oh, please, Aunt Gussie, there are no innocent maidens here. Not after what we’ve seen going on in this house.’
Though her sister didn’t blush, Pru felt her own cheeks heat at the reminder. They’d barely been out of leading strings when, even relegated to the nursery, they’d started noticing the parade of handsome men paying calls on their mother. They were hardly in their teens when they’d pieced together the whispers among the staff and come to understand exactly why.
‘The Vraux Miscellany,’ society called them. Knowing that only Gregory was truly the son of her legal father, while her brother Christopher and she and Temperance were acknowledged to be the offspring of other men.
Keenly as she felt this latest scandal, which might well delay once again her chance to find the love and family she yearned for, fairness compelled her to agree with her sister. ‘I know Mama has been trying to live less...flamboyantly, just as she promised us. For all the good that’s done,’ she added bleakly.
‘It’s not her fault society conveniently forgives a man the errors of his past—but never a woman,’ Temperance retorted.
‘I haven’t always agreed with her...wandering tendencies,’ Aunt Gussie admitted, ‘but married to my brother, I could certainly sympathise. He’d already begun to show passion only for the beautiful objects he collected before I made my come-out. I remember one morning in the breakfast room, I tripped over his latest acquisition, some sort of ceremonial sword. He rushed over when I cried out—it gave me a nasty cut! And completely ignored me, all his concern for whether the sword had been damaged!’
‘If only he hadn’t chosen Mama to add to his collections,’ Temperance muttered.
‘Well, that’s past lamenting,’ Gregory said briskly. ‘We need to decide what we shall do now, which is why I asked Aunt Gussie to join us. Do you think the hubbub will die down soon enough for the girls to have their Season this year?’
Aunt Gussie shook her head. ‘I received two notes from acquaintances before I’d even arisen from bed this morning, wanting to know what was truth, what rumour. With the Season beginning in just two weeks, Hallsworthy so badly injured he may hover on the cusp between life and death for some time, and Farnworth having quit England, it’s likely to remain the on dit for months.’
‘We could just brazen it out,’ Temperance said. ‘Really, Aunt Gussie, do you truly think we will ever escape being tainted by Mama’s reputation? Since we are her blonde, blue-eyed images, we must naturally possess the same reckless, passionate character. As far as society is concerned, we’re the “Scandal Sisters”, and always will be.’
‘I know it’s unfair, child,’ Aunt Augusta said, patting Temperance’s arm. ‘I understand your bitterness, but there’s no need—yet—to give up on the goal of seeing both of you well settled—eventually. It’s what your mama desires, as much as I do! Not this Season, alas. But soon.’
‘That’s what you’ve been saying for the last four years,’ Pru said, trying to stave off her desolation over this new delay. ‘First, you ended up having to assist at your daughter’s lying-in the year we turned eighteen, then you were ill yourself the next year, then Aunt Sophia died, and last year, Christopher married Ellie. An absolute darling, whom I love dearly, but trying to overcome the infamy of your mother’s reputation right after your brother marries a notorious former courtesan is clearly impossible. If we have to wait much longer, we will be too old for any man to wish to marry us!’
‘You should rather pity the girls who did debut and marry,’ Temperance told her flippantly. ‘Stuck home now with a husband to please and a babe on the way.’
‘Perhaps you would!’ Prudence flung back, raw disappointment goading her out of her customary restraint. ‘But having a husband who cares for me and a normal household filled with our children is all I’ve ever wished for.’
Looking contrite, Temperance gave her a hug. ‘No female under Heaven is sweeter, lovelier or more deserving of a happy family. I’m sorry for speaking slightingly of your hopes. Forgive me?’
Feeling guilty—for she knew if she didn’t keep such a tight control over herself, her reactions might be just as explosive as her sister’s, Prudence said gruffly, ‘I’m no angel. I know you were teasing. Forgive me, for being so tetchy.’
‘If squelching the rumours is impossible, what should we do, Aunt Gussie?’ Gregory asked.
‘I think it would be best if I took the girls out of London for a while.’
‘Not to Entremer!’ Temperance cried. ‘With nothing but empty moors and coal mines for miles, I’d expire of boredom in a month!’
‘I should know, I was raised there,’ Aunt Gussie said with a shudder. ‘No, I propose taking you somewhere much more pleasant. Granted, with the Season beginning, it will be thinner of company than I’d like, but my dear friend Helena lauds its excellent shopping and the lending libraries. There will be subscription dances and musicales, as well as the activities around the Pump Room—’
‘You mean Bath?’ Temperance interrupted, looking aghast. ‘Activities, yes—like assisting septuagenarians to sip the vile waters! That’s almost as bad as Northumberland!’
‘The city may not be as fashionable as it once was, but anything would be better than rusticating in the country,’ Gregory pointed out.
‘It’s not as large a stage as London, to be sure. But for a lady more interested in a congenial partner than in snagging wealth and a title, it might do. At the very least, you girls would be able to mingle in society and perhaps meet some amiable gentlemen, without whispers of this affair following you everywhere. You’ll gain some town bronze and if you find no one to your liking, there’s still next year in London.’
‘Sounds like an excellent idea,’ Gregory said. ‘And one that seems more likely to get my spinster sisters off my hands than inviting the censure of the ton this Season, as our intemperate Temper proposes.’
‘But most of the ton hostesses know we were supposed to be presented this year,’ Temperance argued. ‘I don’t want them to think I’m a coward—or that I’m ashamed of Mama! It’s not her bad behaviour that precipitated this.’
‘Do you want to make it worse for your mother?’ Aunt Gussie asked sharply. ‘Then, by all means, confront society and aggravate a scandal not of her making into such infamy that you can never be respectably settled!’
When Temperance looked away, her defiant words subsiding in a dull flush, she continued more gently, ‘Your mama would be the first to urge you to be prudent.’
‘Dear Aunt Gussie, always offering sound counsel to keep me from doing something rash,’ Temperance said with a laugh, her anger disappearing as quickly as it had arisen. ‘Very well, I may not attempt to breach the hostile walls of the ton this Season. But neither do I intend to languish in Bath. I’ll stay in London—discreetly showing my support for Mama. Since I have no intention of ever marrying, what difference does it make to me? In the interim, if I promise to send him any treasures I uncover, perhaps I can persuade Papa to release some of the blunt he’s put away for the dowry I won’t need and let me go adventuring in Europe.’
‘But you, darling Sis,’ she said, turning back to Prudence, ‘should go to Bath. And I hope with all my heart you will find there what you are seeking.’
‘You are adamant about remaining in London?’ Aunt Gussie asked Temperance.
‘Much as I will miss Pru, yes, I am.’
‘I’d prefer if you could get Temper out of my hair, too, until this fracas dies down,’ Gregory said to Aunt Gussie, ignoring the face Temperance made at him. ‘But if you can at least take Prudence out of harm’s way, I’ll appreciate it. So the two of you will pack up and leave for Bath as soon as possible?’
‘We will. And hope to find her that agreeable gentleman,’ Lady Stoneway said, with a fond look at Pru.
The very possibility helping her crushed hopes revive, Prudence said, ‘That would be wonderful!’
‘Be careful what you wish for, dear Sis,’ Temperance warned.
With the family conference ended and their aunt returning to her own home, Prudence and Temperance walked arm in arm back up to their chamber. ‘Are you sure I can’t coax you to come with us? We’ve never been apart! I shall feel so lost without you,’ Pru said, the reality of being without her twin beginning to sink in with dismaying clarity.
She soothed herself with the thought that, painful as their parting would be, at the end of a sojourn in Bath might be new love and support—from a husband. And unlike the twin, who despite her protests to the contrary, must some day marry and leave her, he would love and support her for ever.
‘I shall miss your cautious voice warning me against taking some impulsive and usually rash action,’ Temper was saying, smiling at her. ‘I do think it’s a good idea for Aunt Gussie to take you away, though. Leave London, where, after this latest contretemps, we’re bound to be pointed out and stared at wherever we go.’
Prudence groaned, the truth of that statement bringing a surge of the resentment and prickly discomfort she always felt when going out into public view. ‘Thank you for the reminder. I shall avoid the modiste and finish obtaining any necessary gowns in Bath. It was bad enough last week.’
Temperance laughed caustically. ‘Ah, yes, last week, at Madame Emilie’s. When that whey-faced little heiress kept staring at us?’
‘Very subtle, wasn’t she?’ Pru said, sarcasm lacing her voice. ‘She could hardly wait for us to disappear behind the curtains for our fitting before asking in a horrified “whisper” that could be heard by every shopper in the establishment, “so those are the Scandal Sisters”!’
‘If I hadn’t been clad only in my chemise at that moment, I would have popped out, bowed like an opera dancer taking an encore and cried, “Voila, c’est nous!”’
‘Whereas I would rather have left by the back door.’
‘Only to sneak into the chit’s bedchamber that night and strangle her in her sleep?’ Temper suggested with a grin.
Pru laughed. ‘The notion does appeal. Oh, Temper, I wish I could face it with humour, like you do. But it just grates on me like nails on a slate and all I want is to be rid of it! The scandal, the notoriety, the whispers behind the hands whenever we walk into a room. Oh, to become Mrs Somebody Else, wife of a well-respected man and resident of some small estate far, far from London! Where I can stroll through a nearby village whose residents have never heard of “the Scandal Sisters”, able to hold my head high and be talked about only for my...my lovely babies and my garden!’
‘With a husband who dotes on you, who never tires of hugging you and kissing you and cuddling you on his knee...instead of a father who barely tolerates a handshake.’
Both girls sighed, wordlessly sharing the same bitter memory of years of trying and failing to win the affection of a man who preferred keeping them—and, to be fair, everyone else, including his wife—at a distance. Though Temper persisted in approaching Papa, Pru had given up the attempt.
‘I don’t expect to find the kind of radiant joy Christopher has with his Ellie,’ Pru said softly. ‘All I long for is a quiet gentleman who has affection for me, as a woman and his wife, not a...a relic of infamy and scandal. Who wants to create a family that treats each member with tenderness.’
‘A family like we’ve never had,’ Temper said wryly.
That observation needing no response, Pru continued, ‘To a man like that, I could give all my love and devotion.’
‘Then he would be the luckiest man in England!’ Opening the chamber door, she waved Pru into the room. ‘I shall pray that you discover in Bath the eminently respectable country gentlemen you long for. That he’ll ask you to marry him, settle on his remote estate and give you a flock of beautiful children for me to spoil. Now, we’d better look through your wardrobe and see how many more gowns you’ll need to commission in Bath so you can dazzle this paragon.’
Chapter One (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
Three weeks later, Lieutenant Lord John Trethwell, youngest son of the late Marquess of Barkley and recently returned from the 2nd (Queen’s Royal) Regiment of Foot in India, limped beside his great-aunt, Lady Woodlings, down a path in Bath’s Sidney Gardens. ‘Ah,’ he said after drawing in a deep breath, ‘Bath in the spring!’
‘It is lovely,’ his aunt said as he helped her to a seat on a convenient bench. ‘Though it doesn’t offer quite the fleshly amusements a jaded adventurer like you might prefer,’ she added, punctuating her reproof with a whack of her cane against his knee.
Surprised into a grunt, he rubbed the affected leg. ‘How unsporting, to strike an injured man.’
For a moment, his aunt looked concerned. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘Just teasing, Aunt Pen,’ he reassured her. ‘No harm done. But you malign me, assuming I mock the beauty of April in Bath. After blistering tropical heat, and jungle fevers, and pursuit by hostile natives, it is a soothing balm to return to the cool, tranquil beauty of England.’
His aunt studied his face, probably searching for the lines of pain he tried to conceal. ‘Are you recovering, Johnnie? You still have that dashed limp.’
‘I’ll be rid of it in good time,’ he replied, hoping he spoke the truth.
‘As you’re going to be rid of the army? You know I hope to coax you into remaining in England, don’t you?’
Johnnie shrugged, ignoring her last comment to reply, ‘I’m done with the army, for sure. After seven years, I’ve had enough of restrictive rules not to my liking and kowtowing to some jumped-up Cit whose father paid to have him made a Company official.’
‘Jumped-up Cits, eh?’ His aunt chuckled. ‘Blood will tell and yours is the bluest! Much as you’ve tried to distance yourself from your family! Not that I blame you. Idiots, most of them.’
‘I never set out to distance myself,’ he corrected, grinning. ‘But with all his building projects, trying to make Barkley’s Hundred the equal of Blenheim, Papa had virtually bankrupted the estate even before Robert inherited. With dowries for the girls—’
‘And the profligate habits of your other three brothers.’
‘There was left little enough for the youngest son. I didn’t want to be a further drain on Robert’s slender resources—then or now. Once I leave the army, I must have another way to earn my bread.’
‘You know the best way to do it.’
‘You’d have me to find a rich woman to marry. ‘
‘Marrying a rich woman has been the alternative of choice for well-born but indigent younger sons for centuries—and a much safer alternative than trekking off to barter for treasure in foreign lands, as you propose to do! You might not possess a title, but your breeding can’t be faulted.’
‘The breeding you just disparaged?’ he pointed out.
‘Nothing wrong with the blood,’ she flashed back. ‘Just with several recent possessors of it.’
Declining to point out the lack of logic in that statement, he said, ‘I happen to believe setting up a trading operation is a better route to wealth than sacrificing myself on the altar of some India nabob hoping to marry his daughter into the aristocracy. Or confirming the whispers already swirling around Bath that I’m a fortune hunter, intent on seducing a rich lady of quality. The “parson’s mousetrap”, they call marriage. Whereas I’d describe being tied to just one woman as more like...fitting myself for a garrotte,’ he teased.
‘A garrotte, indeed!’ she scolded, whacking him on the arm. ‘Those who disparage marrying money never seem to object when someone in their own family manages it. Since you claim to be unable to tolerate wedding an heiress, I suppose you think if you dance attendance on me, I’ll leave you my fortune to invest in that trading empire?’ she asked tartly.
Johnnie merely chuckled. ‘If I were totty-headed enough to entertain that hope, I’d better be prepared to wait a long time! I expect you’ll outlive us all. Besides, I would think your own sons stood in line before me in that regard.’
‘They inherited wealth enough from Woodlings not to need mine.’
‘Your grandchildren, then.’
‘Both my boys had sense enough to marry girls with large dowries. Their brats won’t need my money either.’
‘In any event, I visit you—as you well know—because you’re the most interesting relative I possess. You may leave that fortune to your dog, for all I care.’
‘Hmmph!’ his aunt said, looking pleased at his response. ‘It would serve you right if I left it to some improving school for the instruction of indigent girls.’
As she spoke, the periphery of his gaze caught on a flutter of movement. Turning in that direction, he realised what he’d seen was the ripple of pale fabric against the green verge beyond the path.
Two ladies walked towards them down the central alley. He’d just begun to turn back towards his aunt when his gaze, scanning lazily upwards, landed on the faces of the ladies and stopped dead.
A bolt of pure physical attraction immobilised him, spiking his pulse, suspending breath. He’d bedazzled dark-eyed maharanis, beguiled matrons famed as the Diamond of their cantonment, but he didn’t think he’d ever beheld a woman more breathtakingly beautiful than the one now approaching them.
Realising, if the walkers continued straight ahead rather than taking the nearby cross-path, they would soon draw too near for him to make any discreet enquiries, he bent to whisper in his aunt’s ear. ‘Good L—Heavens, Aunt! Who is that divine creature?’
Lady Woodlings peered down the path before straightening with a snort. ‘Precisely the sort of female you need to avoid!’
Surprised by her vehemence, he gave the girl another quick glance. ‘Avoid—why? I know fashions have changed since I’ve been away, but she doesn’t look like a high flyer to me.’
‘She might as well be,’ Lady Woodlings retorted scornfully.
‘Aunt Pen, I’m only a simple male,’ Johnnie said with some exasperation. ‘A clearer explanation, please.’
Sadly for a body eager to have the seductive Beauty pass more closely, but fortunately for his compulsion to find out more about her, the lady and her older companion did in fact turn on to the cross-path and proceed away from him. In partial compensation, though, he was able to stare openly at her enticingly rounded figure as she glided away, the gold curls beneath her elaborate bonnet shining brightly in the afternoon sunshine.
‘Very well, Aunt Pen,’ he said, once he was sure they were out of earshot. ‘Who is she and why must I avoid her?’
‘One of the Scandal Sisters. The twin daughters of infamous Lady Vraux.’
No more enlightened by that information, he said, ‘Meaning, she was embroiled in some scandal in London? Remember, Aunt, I left university straight for the army and haven’t been near the city in years.’
With considerable relish, his aunt launched into the tale of a beautiful but immoral, high-born lady who, after presenting her long-suffering husband with a son and heir, proceeded to scandalise the ton by blatantly flouting her many lovers, one of whom sired her second son, another giving her twin daughters. ‘Why the devil Lord Vraux allowed her to name the chits Prudence and Temperance, I can’t imagine! As if transgressing moral boundaries weren’t enough—she must mock them, too.’
‘So the daughter has shown herself as profligate as her mother?’ he probed.
‘Not yet. She’s not even out, officially, though she must be approaching the age where most young ladies would be at their last prayers! The on dit was the girls were to be presented in London this Season—but then, a few weeks ago, two imbeciles just down from Oxford fought a duel over their mother. Of course, a presentation in the face of that would have been impossible. I’m surprised her aunt—that was her father’s sister, Lady Stoneway, walking with her—dares to let the creature show her face, even in Bath! Though one must pity the poor woman, trying to find husbands for such a pair. It won’t be easy, their fat dowries notwithstanding!’
‘But you know nothing to the detriment of the daughter?’
‘How could I, when she’s not out yet?’
‘Precisely my point, Aunt,’ Johnnie said drily.
‘Never you mind, she’ll embroil herself in some scandal soon enough. As I’ve been saying, blood will tell. And you may get that look out of your eye, Johnnie Trethwell!’
‘What look, Aunt?’
‘The look of a hound who’s just scented a fox! Why is it that, whenever one tries to warn some rascal with more energy than sense to steer clear of danger, he’s immediately compelled to charge after it?’
‘Probably because he’s a rascal,’ Johnnie replied with a grin. ‘Come along now, Aunt Pen. Introduce me.’
His aunt drew back, a horrified expression on her face. ‘I will never! I know I’ve been urging you to marry an heiress, but the poor looby who marries that girl? He may be able to spend her money, but he’ll never stop worrying over who he’ll find in her bed.’
‘A pity. I shall have to contrive some other way to make her acquaintance.’
‘Mark my words, John Stewart William Trethwell,’ his aunt said indignantly. ‘Take up with that creature and you’ll never see a penny of my money!’
Johnnie leaned down to kiss his aunt’s hand. ‘There’s nothing for it, then,’ he said as he straightened. ‘You’ll have to leave it to the dog.’
With a hint of a limp, he set off down the pathway, determined to wangle an introduction to the divine Miss Lattimar.
Keeping a discreet distance, he trailed the young lady and her aunt as they left the gardens and proceeded towards the Pump Room. Once there, he was able to station himself across the room from her, where he could observe her without his scrutiny being obvious.
Her beauty certainly did not pale upon closer examination. Eyes of the deepest cerulean blue set in an oval face graced with flawless porcelain skin, full, apricot lips, those glorious golden curls and a figure that approached the voluptuous... He’d never seen a lady so breathtaking. But having seen—and possessed—a great number of ladies, as he observed her behaviour, his scepticism about the validity of his great-aunt’s claims about her character increased.
It wasn’t just the ethereal beauty of her face, which brought to mind the image of angels singing in heavenly chorus. There was a sweet gentleness and deference in her manner towards the lady who’d been identified as her aunt—and a wary caution when they were approached by anyone else. The blush that tinged her cheeks and the slight stiffness in her manner when a gentleman stopped to greet them—even the old retired soldiers there to take the waters—was so at variance to the sort of flagrantly seductive behaviour of which her mother was accused, he couldn’t believe she was cut from the same cloth.
Unless she were the best actress in the history of the English stage, he concluded that she was exactly what she appeared to be: a beautiful, well-bred, pretty-behaved virgin.
Not, to be frank, the type of female with whom he had previously had any desire to further an acquaintance. But something about the unfairness of having this woman, who in his observation was exactly the lady she purported to be, accused and convicted virtually sight unseen of being a wanton, even by someone normally as non-judgemental as his great-aunt, roused his fighting spirit. And when a crony of his aunt’s, one of the old beldames who ruled Bath society, gave her an obvious snub when her chaperon attempted to call the lady over, he found himself on his feet before he knew what he intended.
Limping quickly over, he seized the beldame’s hand before she could walk away. ‘Lady Arbuthnot, what a pleasure to see you again and looking so fine!’ he said, bowing. ‘That’s a charming bonnet!’
Pinking with pleasure, the lady replied, ‘I’d heard you were visiting Lady Woodlings, Lieutenant Trethwell! Welcome back to England. What a relief it must be to be home again! I do hope you are making a good recovery from your injury.’
‘How could I not, back in the salubrious climate and genteel company of my home country? Speaking of that—’ Leaving a hand on her arm, he subtly steered her around. ‘Would you do the honour of introducing me to these charming ladies?’
Too late, the woman realised that Johnnie had manoeuvred her into facing the women she’d just attempted to cut. The charm of the smile he fixed on her at odds with the tension in his gut, he waited to see whether the embarrassment of making a scene by refusing his request would outweigh her righteous indignation at having to acknowledge a girl of whom she disapproved.
Deciding to throw his last weapon into the fray, he said sotto voce, ‘If you could do so at once, ma’am? Standing’s not good for my bad leg.’
Apparently, that was enough to tip the balance. ‘I suppose I can’t refuse the request of one of his Majesty’s brave soldiers,’ she said with ill grace. ‘Lady Stoneway, a pleasure to see you in Bath. May I present to you Lieutenant Lord John Trethwell, the great-nephew of my good friend Lady Woodlings and brother to the new Marquess of Barkley?’
The Beauty was even more beautiful at close range, Johnnie thought, everything masculine in him leaping to the alert. Though she stood serenely unmoved while the introductions were made, the flush on Lady Stoneway’s cheek and that lady’s tremulous smile showed at least her aunt recognised the significance of his intervention. ‘Delighted to make the acquaintance of one of our brave soldiers, Lady Arbuthnot,’ she replied. ‘As is my niece, Miss Lattimar. Aren’t you, my dear?’
He’d thought her shy, but the Beauty who dipped him a graceful curtsy was quietly self-contained, he thought, rather than nervous or uncertain. ‘Almost past her last prayers,’ his aunt had described her. Though a female possessing such youthful beauty could never be considered a spinster, she was no blushing ingénue, even if she hadn’t been formally presented. And small wonder she was self-possessed, if ever since she’d budded into womanhood, she’d been facing down innuendo that equated her to her infamous mother.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant.’
Her voice was as lovely as her face. He’d intended only to force Lady Arbuthnot to recognise her and then remove himself—not having, despite his aunt’s urging, any interest in trying to entice a wealthy young female to wed him. But he found he simply couldn’t walk away.
Instead, he held out his hand. ‘With your permission, Lady Stoneway, may I make a turn about the room with your niece?’ And before her chaperon had a chance to reply, he clapped a hand on Miss Lattimar’s arm and bore her off.
Chapter Two (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
Not sure whether to be amused or indignant, Prudence obliquely studied her escort from the corner of her eye as she walked beside him. ‘Was that an introduction, or a kidnapping?’
‘You really couldn’t refuse to stroll with me. Not after the signal service I just performed.’
He had her there. Truly, she wasn’t sure what to make of him.
The image of a pirate had flashed through her mind when she’d first observed him in Sidney Gardens, leaning his tall, raw-boned frame down to murmur in his aunt’s ear, dark golden hair curling over the collar of his regimentals. And the gaze he’d given her! Admiration and interest shining in grey-green eyes with a look so penetrating, it seemed he was trying to see right into her soul.
She felt another stir of...something, in the pit of her stomach, just recalling it.
Viewed up close, his lean, tanned face was even more compelling, with its high cheekbones, thin, blunt mouth, purposeful nose and arresting eyes. His regimentals hung rather loosely on him, as if he’d been ill. A fact his slight limp and Aunt Gussie had confirmed, when her aunt, alas, had steered them on to a side path back at the Sidney Gardens, warning Pru she should avoid this youngest son of a notoriously rakehell family.
Rakehell or not, he’d boldly coerced that disapproving matron into recognising her. A move that, had it failed, would have embarrassed him as much as her. Was he compassionate, clever—or just reckless, indifferent whether the gamble would work or not? Uncaring, if it failed, that he had brought humiliating and unwelcome attention to her?
But it had worked and would give a definite push to her campaign for acceptance.
‘In fairness, I do owe you thanks,’ she acknowledged at last. ‘Lady Stoneway’s credit and that of her friend Mrs Marsden are sufficient that most of Bath society deigns to receive me, but there have been...recalcitrants, Lady Arbuthnot chief among them.’ She laughed. ‘Now that you’ve so cleverly manoeuvred her into recognising me, I can breathe a sigh of relief. Although, ungrateful as it may seem, I’m afraid I can’t afford to show my thanks by associating with you once this stroll is concluded.’
‘What, have you been warned against me?’ he asked with a smile. ‘Didn’t think I’d been in Bath long enough for that.’
‘I saw you at Sidney Gardens earlier today with your aunt. I don’t mean to be uncivil, but Aunt Gussie said you have the reputation of being a...a reckless adventurer. And with it presumed that you’re about to leave the army, it’s also said you are...’ She hesitated, her own experience with rumour and innuendo making her loath to repeat further ill of him without knowing the truth.
‘A fortune hunter?’ he supplied, seeming not at all offended. ‘Or have you heard the other version, the one in which I’m in Bath trying to turn my aunt up sweet, so she’ll settle funds on me? You mustn’t feel uncomfortable, repeating the rumours, Miss Lattimar. After all, I’ve been warned against you, too.’
She stiffened, a feeling almost of...betrayal escaping. So her scepticism had been warranted. He hadn’t helped her out of kindness, just on a whim, too devil-may-care to worry about the consequences. ‘I wonder then that you bothered to rescue me,’ she said, unable to keep the anger from her voice.
He halted, forcing her to look up at him. ‘I should think you, of all people, would understand. I dislike seeing someone branded for something only rumour alleges—me, or anyone else. A sentiment I suspect you share. I shall judge you as I find you, not for who your mother was. Everyone in Bath ought to do the same.’
So he had acted out of compassion. Anger faded, replaced by chagrin that such a gesture had been necessary—and that she’d initially judged him more harshly than he had her. Following on that was something else more unexpected—a deep sense of...kinship at his empathy. As if they understood each other.
She had no business feeling either chagrin or connection for a penniless soldier of dubious reputation. Calling on years of practice, she suppressed the volatile emotions before they could show on her face.
She’d be wise to escape the company of a man who had, in the space of a few moments, called up feelings strong enough to compromise the tranquil façade she must present to the world. And whose escort would do nothing to further her aim of attracting an eminently respectable man to marry.
Once she was sure her voice wouldn’t tremble, she said, ‘Much as I honour you for those sentiments, you must realise that with my reputation, I can’t afford to be seen on easy terms with a man usually regarded as a careless adventurer.’ She gave him a deprecating smile. ‘The fortune-hunter part is less of a problem, since it’s widely believed that only my large dowry would ever induce a man to risk marrying me.’
‘Then he would be a very great fool.’
Surprised, she lifted her gaze back up to those grey-green eyes—and was mesmerised. Something flashed between them, some wordless connection accompanied by an attraction as fiery as it was unexpected. Her stomach swooped, her breathing grew unsteady and she could almost feel his arm burning her fingertips through the layers of her gloves and his sleeve. A sudden, inexplicable desire filled her to move closer, feel his arms around her, his lips...
With a start, she looked away, ending the fraught moment. Merciful heavens, what had come over her? This man is even more dangerous than I thought.
Jerking her hand free, she said, ‘I had best return to my aunt.’
He caught up to her in a step. ‘At least, let me walk with you. Otherwise, it will be said that you found my conversation so improper, you felt it necessary to abandon me in the middle of the Pump Room. Which will do my reputation no good.’
‘Very well,’ she said, not looking at him—and very careful not to take his arm. ‘But as I already told you, I won’t be able to walk with you again.’
‘Do you always do what propriety dictates?’ he asked.
She looked at him then. ‘I haven’t a choice,’ she said bleakly.
‘We always have a choice, Miss Lattimar. I’ll say “goodbye”, not “farewell”,’ he murmured as they reached her aunt. ‘Lady Stoneway, Miss Lattimar, a pleasure,’ he said more loudly, bowing as he turned her over to her chaperon.
And then left them. She couldn’t help watching as, his soldier’s bearing erect despite his injury, he limped away across the room.
Her aunt’s fan tapping at her wrist recalled her attention. ‘That was handsomely done,’ she said, inclining her head towards the departing soldier. ‘I hope you thanked him as you walked with him, because you mustn’t do so again. It would do your chances no good for you to become more closely acquainted.’ Aunt Gussie sighed. ‘A shame, for he is a handsome devil, isn’t he?’
‘Is he a womaniser? Or is his reputation just rumour?’ As mine is.
‘His reputation is more that of an adventurer. He went out to join the army in India right after university. Not that he had much choice, with the family already done up and no source of income for him here in England. Got himself wounded in some clash with the natives. His oldest brother inherited while he was away—a mountain of debt. With three other brothers who never met a lightskirt they didn’t try to seduce, a horse they wouldn’t wager on, or a Captain Sharp they didn’t try—and fail—to best in a game of chance, it’s no wonder he stayed away. Or is considering wedding himself to a fortune, if he’s decided his wandering days are done. His pedigree is elevated enough that, despite his lack of funds, he might very well accomplish that—though he hasn’t thus far shown any interest in doing so.’
‘Has he never met a lightskirt he didn’t try to seduce, a horse he wouldn’t wager on, or a Captain Sharp he didn’t want to best?’
‘Whether he’s as profligate as his brothers, no one knows. As I said, he’s been away from England practically since he was a schoolboy. Another rumour claims that he has no wish to marry and is hanging about Lady Woodlings’s skirts instead, hoping she’ll leave her money to him. That one may be more credible, given the tittle-tattle about him cutting a swathe through the faster matrons at the cantonments in India. There are even rumours of a Eurasian paramour—a maharani, if I recall correctly.’
With her upbringing, Pru was hardly scandalised. Instead, she realised ruefully, she felt a little envious, that a man could go anywhere in the world and do anything he wanted. While she had to watch every word she said and every action she took.
His reputation as an adventurer might make him unsuitable husband material for her—but it certainly enhanced his fascination.
‘People love to gossip about the strange and foreign.’
Aunt Gussie chuckled. ‘When they aren’t gossiping about the present and familiar! In any event, I doubt he’s lived as a saint—not a man adventurous enough to leave hearth and kin at such an early age with scarcely a penny to his name and make his way in a continent halfway around the world.’
What would it be like to have such adventures? Pru wondered. To boldly go wherever the whim took you, pit your wits and courage against whatever obstacles you encountered?
Something she would never discover, she thought wistfully. She’d count herself fortunate to land a respectable husband and settle in a quiet, conventional village.
Suppressing the envy as she did every other disturbing emotion, she said, ‘With his birth and that handsome countenance, I doubt it would take him long to charm some susceptible lady of fortune into marrying him. Charming his aunt, I’m not so sure.’
‘I’m sure of neither, despite that handsome face. He’d do better to cozen up to a rich widow. Although, with his lineage, he’d be considered a good catch by most society families, the highest sticklers might not favour having a man with an adventurer’s reputation marry their daughter.’ Her aunt gave her a look. ‘A young lady of...fragile reputation should never let an adventurer approach her at all.’
‘You needn’t preach, Aunt Gussie. I understand my limitations quite well.’ Even if she had to squelch a ridiculous little pang of loss at the idea of never speaking again to the intriguing Lieutenant Trethwell. Never being able to coax him to tell her about his adventures in lands she and Temper had only read about in travel journals and memoirs—what a Hindustani village really looked like, what it was like to hunt a tiger, what sort of jewels a maharani wore.
Even if her fortune interested him, she couldn’t redeem her reputation by marrying a man almost as infamous as she was. Those few heated glances, that unexpected rush of attraction, were all she’d ever have of him.
What they wanted for their futures was completely different.
She tried to picture him in civilian dress in some small country manor, talking about crops and dandling a baby on his knee, and laughed out loud.
Impossible!
As was any foolish desire for more of his company. She needed to keep her mind fixed on her goal: to marry a man with a reputation impeccable enough to rehabilitate her own, live with him and raise their children in a quiet village, creating a warm, happy family far away from the gossip and casual cruelty of society. She should lose no time scouring Bath for such a man—and then charming him into marrying her.
Feeling somehow dispirited, despite that firm conviction, she said, ‘Shall we return to the Circus, Aunt Gussie?’
‘Perhaps we shall. I am feeling a bit weary after all our walking.’
But as she took her aunt’s arm to lead her to reclaim their cloaks, Lady Stoneway suddenly halted. ‘Not quite yet, my dear! There’s someone over there I should very much like you to meet.’
The tone of her aunt’s voice could only mean the ‘someone’ was an eligible young man. A spurt of excitement pulling her from her melancholy, hoping the brisk walk in the gardens that had put roses in her cheeks hadn’t disordered her curls too much, Pru clutched her aunt’s arm more tightly and allowed herself to be led to the opposite side of the floor.
‘Lady Wentworth, Mrs Dalwoody! How nice to see you both!’
The two ladies turned...their movement then copied by the tall man who stood beside them and Pru caught her breath.
She needed no introduction to know that this swoon-worthy gentleman was as wealthy and nobly born as he was handsome. He wore his exquisitely tailored clothing with the unconscious sense of superiority found only in those with old money and important connections.
Or at least, he appeared wealthy. The distinguished family name, she could count on. The two society matrons her aunt had just called out would never have allowed a nouveau-riche Cit with social aspirations in their midst. And no man of lesser breeding would emanate such an aura of self-confidence, as if both accustomed to and taking for granted the notice he attracted.
For in truth, she realised, hers weren’t the only eyes focused on him. He was the object of the interested gaze of every female in the vicinity—and most of the gentlemen.
‘Lady Stoneway, I’d heard you were visiting Bath,’ Lady Wentworth said warmly, giving her aunt—a friend of long-standing, Pru knew—a hug. ‘With your charming niece, too!’
‘Augusta, how good to see you again,’ Mrs Dalwoody said. ‘And, my dear, how lovely you’ve grown! Already budding fair to become a Beauty last time I met you, though I’m sure you don’t remember. You couldn’t have been more than fourteen, that summer I visited dear Augusta at Chemberton Park.’
With an amused smile, the young man cleared his throat. ‘Please, ladies, in your enthusiasm for greeting one another, you’ve quite left me out! Won’t you introduce me to these charming newcomers?’
‘How impolite of me!’ Lady Wentworth exclaimed. ‘Lady Stoneway, Miss Lattimar, may I present Lord Halden Fitzroy-Price, youngest son of my good friend, the Duchess of Maidstone? Newly come down from university, and waiting to be appointed to an ecclesiastical post!’
He made them a bow as impeccably tailored as his coat—which was cut in the latest style, tightly nipped in at the waist with flaring tails. ‘Ladies, honoured to make your acquaintance.’
The glance he gave them was politely brief—until, to Pru’s gratification, it returned to linger on her. ‘Miss Lattimar, Mrs Dalwoody is quite right. You are an Incomparable! Why have I not encountered you in London? I believe my friends must have been deliberately keeping you from me, to hoard this treasure for themselves!’
Pru knew her cheeks must be pinking at his gallantry, but she replied calmly, ‘You must not think so slightingly of your friends, Lord Halden. I’ve not yet been presented in London.’
‘Ah, that explains it, for I should never have forgotten so enchanting a face. Won’t you stroll with me, so we might repair Fortune’s lapse?’
Still a little dazed by his magnificence, at her aunt’s encouraging nod, Pru placed her hand on his sleeve. ‘You are newly come from university, you said. Which one?’
‘Cambridge. I’m not the most downy of scholars,’ he acknowledged with a deprecating glance designed to be disarming, ‘but I did well enough that, as Lady Wentworth said, my cousin, the Earl of Riding, has promised me one of the livings in his gift.’
‘Younger sons must make their own way,’ she acknowledged, firmly yanking her thoughts away from another more scandalous and all-too-attractive younger son who’d been making his own way in the world. ‘You had no taste for the army, I take it.’
He grimaced. ‘With the wars ended, there’d be no way to distinguish oneself by bravery, and who would want to be posted in some colonial backwater, enduring the heat of India, or the storms and humidity of the Indies? No, I fear I’m just a solid Englishman, perfectly content to never leave these shores.’
She curbed the impulse to reply that she would love to explore beyond England’s shores. And squelched the whisper of scepticism that said he was telling her what he thought she’d prefer to hear.
Why wouldn’t he? He’d probably been raised from his nurse’s knee to make himself agreeable in company.
Instead, she smiled and said, ‘Why would a true Englishman want to be anywhere else?’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
‘A political career didn’t interest you, either?’
He wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘Pandering to a lot of rabble in a clutch of grubby villages to win yourself a seat in Parliament? Decidedly not. And as for the government—well, a career in the diplomatic service is likely to land you at some point in the heat of India or the humidity and storms of the tropics! I’ll keep my feet firmly planted in English soil. What about you? Testing your wings in the placid pool of Bath before venturing into the treacherous waters of London?’
‘Something like that.’ Knowing there could never be any successful union without complete honesty, she added, ‘If you know anything of my...family situation, you would know that being in Bath is...more suitable now.’
He frowned and her heart sank. Rather than honestly acknowledging her circumstances, if he truly was unaware of them, had she blundered into making him suspicious that she was not as blameless a young maiden as she appeared before they’d hardly begun to get acquainted?
Then his face cleared and he smiled. ‘I suppose we all have skeletons in the cupboard. Let’s speak of something more pleasant. I take it from the ladies’ greetings that you are only recently arrived. Has your aunt subscribed you to the balls at the Assembly Rooms? Quite refined, although of course nothing to rival London.’
‘I believe she has.’
‘Excellent. I shall count upon the pleasure of leading you into a dance at the next cotillion ball, then.’
The sound of boisterous voices ahead drew their attention. They both looked over to see a group of soldiers entering, one of whom, scanning the room, spotted them and gave a wave. ‘Fitzroy-Price, old fellow,’ he cried, leading the group over. ‘Just knew there had to be someone among all these octogenarians with red blood in his veins.’
‘And the prettiest girl in the room on his arm,’ one of his companions observed.
‘Well, don’t just stand there!’ the first one said. ‘Introduce us!’
‘I’m not sure your chaperon would thank me for making these rascals known to you,’ Lord Halden said, looking uncertainly at the newcomers. But after several raised their voices, protesting his unfairness, he capitulated. ‘Miss Lattimar, may I present Lieutenant Lord Chalmondy Dawson, a friend from childhood, and Lieutenants Trevor Broadmere and Austen Truro, whom I know from university. One could hardly find a more capital group of fellows—for rousting about. But how do you come to be here?’
While Dawson explained the unit containing the former college mates had set up an encampment to conduct training exercises west of the city, and had come into town in search of some jollity, Pru’s eye was caught by a moving flash of scarlet as another soldier entered the Pump Room. He, too, looked around and then beckoned for a uniformed man already in the room to come join him.
Lieutenant Johnnie Trethwell.
After a short exchange, the newcomer plucked Trethwell by the sleeve and led him towards their group.
Pru drew in a sharp breath. Would Trethwell greet her by name—revealing she was already acquainted with just the sort of experienced adventurer society would assume a girl of scandalous reputation would seek out, reinforcing the image she was trying so hard to dispel?
While she waited, almost dizzy with anxiety, looking away as the two men approached, another soldier called out to the approaching men, greetings and genial insults being exchanged after the newcomers arrived. Even though she’d been deliberately ignoring him, the wave of awareness Trethwell generated when he grew near telegraphed his presence.
While she struggled with that, Trethwell’s companion said, ‘Lord Halden! Heard you’d landed here after bouncing out of Cambridge. Persona non grata with the pater in London now, are you?’ he added with a laugh—which her escort acknowledged with a thin smile.
‘Lieutenant Markingham, Miss Lattimar,’ Lord Halden said. ‘Always did have an acid tongue. And...’ He paused, his eyes scanning the Lieutenant.
‘You’re not acquainted with Trethwell?’ Markingham asked.
‘Trethwell?’ Lord Halden repeated—while the adventurer, whose amused expression, after a glance at her face, faded to a mask of politeness, stood by silently. ‘Sounds familiar. Ah, yes! Isn’t that the family name of the Marquess of Barkley?’
‘It is,’ Trethwell replied.
‘Then I was at Cambridge with your brother, James. Lord Halden Fitzroy-Price,’ he said, according the soldier the slightest of bows. ‘You are the scapegrace youngest brother who ended up in the army, I take it?’
Did Pru see or only imagine the flicker of anger in Trethwell’s eyes before his lips quirked in amusement? ‘At your service,’ he drawled, returning a much more elaborate bow.
‘I sincerely hope not,’ Lord Halden said. ‘Miss Lattimar, if I may escort you back to your aunt? I fear she would consider these rowdy comrades less than suitable companions for an innocent young lady.’
Ignoring the boos and laughter his dismissive comment created, the Duke’s son clasped her arm and led her off.
‘Sorry to be so presumptuous, Miss Lattimar,’ he said. ‘Most of that group were questionable enough. But your aunt would likely chastise me soundly were she to learn that I’d had the bad judgement to introduce you to a Trethwell. With the Lieutenant’s eldest brother holding so elevated a title, the family is still received, even though rumour says their estate is mortgaged to the hilt. But the younger brothers are penniless rakes to a man, with the Lieutenant reputed to be the most infamous of the lot.’
On the one hand, as a member of an infamous family herself, Pru could sympathise with the anger she glimpsed beneath Trethwell’s mocking tone and exaggerated bow. She knew all too well what it was like to be tarred with the same brush for a relative’s transgressions. On the other, she could hardly fault Lord Halden for trying to protect her reputation.
Would he be so concerned, once he learned about her circumstances? Or would he conclude that she no longer deserved such consideration?
She hoped he would end up being as fair as Lieutenant Trethwell. She didn’t yet know enough about Lord Halden’s character to accurately judge whether or not they would suit. But if he should decide to pursue her, she couldn’t fail to recognise that he didn’t just fulfil, but wildly exceeded, every requirement on her list.
He wasn’t only a respectable gentleman, but one of high degree, from an ancient family.
He wasn’t going to pursue a career in the rough and tumble of politics, which would require residing for months in the gossip hotbed of London, or interested in the army, which would take him from home for months or years at a time. No, he, like many a younger son, appeared to be destined for the church.
Waiting to receive an appointment, probably in some charming village far removed from the stench and bustle of the capital. Where as part of his living, he’d receive a fine manor house, doubtless with a large garden and enough income from grand and lesser tithes to employ a small staff of servants and live a comfortable life.
What more effective way to polish a tarnished reputation to gleaming brightness than to become a clergyman’s wife? Making rounds of the parish, calling on the sick, taking care of the lost and needy, and performing other good works?
Of course, it was a very large leap from a simple introduction and a man’s far-too-common admiration for her pretty face to mutual esteem, love and marriage.
But he had liked her pretty face. She intended to use that attraction to lure him into getting to know her better.
A vicar’s wife, respected, honoured and beloved by the community, she thought again, a glow warming her heart. For the first time since hearing of her mother’s latest scandal, Pru began to hope she might free herself from the shackles of her past after all.
Chapter Three (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
Two days later, Prudence Lattimar strolled with her aunt through Sidney Gardens in the pleasant morning sunshine. Though a few of the highest sticklers refused to receive her, Lady Stoneway and her friend Mrs Marsden had done their work well. By now, she’d been presented to pretty much everyone currently residing in Bath with any pretentions to gentility.
Unfortunately, her sister’s dismissive remark about the calibre of the resident bachelors had been all too correct. Even Aunt Gussie had admitted herself rather disappointed at how thin on the ground eligible bachelors were, comparing the current landscape unfavourably with what the city had been like thirty years ago, when she’d been a single young miss.
‘You could find almost as many eligible partis walking in the gardens here as you might find strolling in Hyde Park,’ Aunt Gussie murmured, shaking her head as they passed yet another old gentleman being wheeled around in a chair. ‘There were, to be sure, a contingent of the elderly and infirm come to drink the waters, but a large number of the Upper Ten Thousand also chose to spend the Season here! Well, we shall just have to do the best we can with what’s available.’
‘Speaking of which,’ Pru replied, her voice lowered to a murmur, ‘isn’t that Lord Halden, walking with the older woman over there?’
‘It is indeed!’ Aunt Gussie said, her face brightening. ‘That’s his mother’s cousin, Lady Isabelle Dudley. Keeps a house here as well as in London, generally residing at one or the other for most of the year. Apparently she doesn’t much like the country, even though her husband’s estate, Cliffacres, reputedly rivals Blenheim Palace. An earl’s daughter who married a commoner, but one from an old and fabulously wealthy family, it’s said she makes all her extended family dance to her tune.’
Pru’s hopes in Lord Halden’s direction took a plunge. Just what she needed—someone else who would probably dismiss her without a glance because of her mother. ‘A high stickler?’
Aunt Gussie chuckled. ‘No, just a tyrant. She caused her share of on dits in her day! A Beauty who had half the men of the ton dangling after her before she settled on Dudley.’
Prudence cut a covert glance towards the woman, noting the high cheekbones and tall, elegant figure that testified to how lovely Lady Isabelle must have been in her prime. She looked exactly as Aunt Gussie had described her: rich, handsome—and reigning regally over her family.
‘Reformed sinners are usually more disapproving than most of those they consider to have fallen off the straight and narrow,’ Pru observed.
‘Perhaps. But it’s also said her primary qualification when evaluating possible wives for “her boys” is fortune,’ Aunt Gussie said. ‘Shall we go greet them, my dear? If Lady Isabelle is determined to blight your chances with the most attractive marriage prospect currently in Bath, better to discover that early rather than late, so we may shift our focus elsewhere.’
The image of a certain tawny-haired lieutenant flashed into her head before she dismissed it. Even with Lord Halden eliminated from consideration, the globe-trekking Johnnie Trethwell wouldn’t make her list of desirable prospects. Better to concentrate her efforts on the sort of respectable country gentlemen she sought.
‘True enough.’ Bracing herself for what might be a humiliating set-down, Pru laid her hand on her aunt’s arm, summoned a smile, and prepared to brave the lion.
‘Lady Isabelle, Lord Halden, good morning,’ Aunt Gussie said as they caught up to the couple. After exchanging bows and curtsies, Aunt Gussie continued, ‘Lady Isabelle, may I present to you my niece, Miss Prudence Lattimar?’
After her scanning her so thoroughly, Pru felt like a prize cow whose worth was being assessed by an auctioneer, the older woman gave her a nod. ‘Miss Lattimar. My young cousin, Lord Halden, was just telling me how he’d met you in the Pump Room yesterday, and been charmed. Now I see why.’
Pru exhaled a shaky breath. Though Lady Isabelle most assuredly knew her history, evidently she’d passed muster anyway. Even better, Lord Halden’s relation would have fully acquainted him with her circumstances. If he knew them, and still found her ‘charming’, the biggest obstacle to developing a relationship with him had just been hurdled.
For perhaps the first time in her life, she silently thanked her father for being such a careful curator of his vast wealth.
‘You’ve just come from London, haven’t you?’ Lady Isabelle said. ‘Walk with me, Lady Stoneway. You can acquaint me with all the latest happenings while these young people become better acquainted.’
That was so bald, Prudence had a hard time not blushing. The auctioneer, turning the prime merchandise over to the potential buyer. Dutifully taking the arm Lord Halden offered, she tried to settle her nerves.
Once they were a short distance down the pathway, she said, ‘I hope you don’t feel coerced into escorting me.’
The Duke’s son laughed. ‘My cousin isn’t very subtle, is she? Completely accustomed to getting her own way, too, so there’s little use trying to resist her. However, I don’t need any coercion to walk with the most beautiful lady in Bath.’
Gratified, she smiled. ‘You are very kind. I understand Lady Isabelle has a house here. Are you staying with her?’
‘No. Not that she wouldn’t have me,’ he added. After that curious statement, he continued, ‘It would be rather...restricting to live under the roof of someone bound to observe every detail of your comings and goings. A man needs a little freedom, after all.’
Prudence suppressed another pang of envy. If he considered living in his cousin’s house chafing, he should try being an unmarried young woman of suspect character, whose every word and movement were scrutinised. Trying to summon up some sympathy, she said, ‘Yes, a young man should be able to stay out late playing a hand of cards or finishing a fine ale, without having someone waiting on him, watching a clock.’
‘Exactly!’ he exclaimed, looking on her with approval. ‘I’m so glad you’re not one of those missish girls, who thinks I should stay at home with my cousin, holding her yarn while she knits, or something equally rubbishy.’
He stiffened when Pru, after trying to suppress a giggle, finally laughed. ‘Sorry, I simply can’t envision you dutifully hefting a skein of yarn! Does she knit?’
Relaxing, Lord Halden grinned. ‘Heavens, I don’t know. If she does, the stitches had better do what she tells them.’
Prudence shook her head. ‘Alas, mine never do.’
‘Not a needlewoman?’
A potential clergyman’s wife would be expected to knit and sew for the unfortunate, she realised in a flash. ‘I confess I’m not the most talented, but I am committed to doing better.’ She bit her tongue to avoid adding, Despite the fact that I detest needlework and would much prefer to be outside, riding or mucking about in the garden.
‘What amusements do you favour?’ she asked instead, preferring to bring the focus back to him and avoid any potentially damaging questions about her other interests—or her too interesting, scandalous family.
‘Besides drinking and cards?’ he riposted, still smiling. ‘I’m quite enthusiastic about horseflesh. There’s nothing finer than a prime beast in full gallop, outstripping all the others on some track! Or on the hunting field. I generally spend the entire hunting season following one or another of the best hunts. Lady Isabelle rents a box at Melton Mowbray, and we get to the Belvoir as well.’
‘You must be a capital rider, then.’
‘Oh, yes. Sat my first pony when I was only three. Evaluate and purchase all my own mounts, too. Wouldn’t leave so important a task to some groom!’
‘Have you acquired any new horses lately?’
That simple question was enough to set him off on an enthusiastic recital of the merits and fine points of the perfectly matched pair of blacks he’d just purchased for his new high-perch phaeton, several hunters he was currently training for the upcoming season, and the flashy, high-stepping chestnut he kept for riding in Hyde Park.
Her contributions to the conversation limited to an occasional ‘Oh, my!’ or ‘How excellent!’ they’d made almost a complete circuit of the main pathway before he paused for breath.
‘I dare say, it’s capital to discover a young lady who appreciates horseflesh,’ he said at last, giving her hand a hearty squeeze.
Before she could think of an appropriate response that wouldn’t set him off again, the group of soldiers they’d seen in the Pump Room the day she met him rounded a corner.
‘Lord Halden, well met!’ Lieutenant Lord Chalmondy cried. ‘And Miss Lattimar. How lovely you look.’
After giving Pru an inspection that lingered on her bosom so long she felt her face colouring, he murmured to his companions, ‘What a hot little charmer she is, eh, boys?’
A flash of anger deepened the heat. Evidently Lord Chalmondy thought that, in the open air of the park, surrounded by his companions, he could get away with a crude remark he would never have chanced having overheard within the proper confines of the Pump Room.
Either not hearing or not realising how insulting the comment was, Lord Halden said, ‘With this pack of half-wits about you, no wonder you were looking for some clever company.’
Lord Chalmondy laughed. ‘There is that. But there’s also some capital sport going on this afternoon.’ He lowered his voice, although not so low that he wasn’t perfectly aware she could still hear him. ‘A cockfight down at the Mare’s Tail and then a sparring match between the local champion and a man from Liverpool. Supposedly he used to work the looms in some factory. A regular bruiser! Should be a prime dust-up.’
‘No gentleman with red blood still running in his veins would want to miss it,’ Lieutenant Broadmere said.
‘Sounds like just the thing for you soldiers to while away a dull afternoon,’ Lord Halden said.
‘Zounds, man, we’re on our way now. Why not come with us?’ Lord Chalmondy gave Pru another leering glance. ‘You’ll have all evening to charm the ladies. Or do you feel you may need a glass of Pump Room water to make it through the day?’
Lord Halden hesitated, obviously drawn by the prospect of sport—and unwilling to be thought less virile than his former university mates. ‘Very well,’ he conceded after a moment. ‘Just let me escort this lady back to her aunt.’
There was a snigger and Pru was certain she heard one of them mutter ‘lady?’ in a contemptuous undertone.
Giving her another appraising glance that said exactly what he thought about her character, Lord Chalmondy said, ‘Good heavens, it’s mid-morning in a public park. I think Miss Lattimar is clever enough to find her way back without your help. Aren’t you, Miss Lattimar?’
Resisting the strong urge to slap the mocking smile off his face, Pru hesitated. No gentleman, having received permission to take a young lady for a stroll, would go off to do something else until he’d returned her safely to her chaperon. Lord Chalmondy was making it quite clear that, though her fortune might have rendered her acceptable to Lord Halden’s cousin, this duke’s son did not consider her deserving of being treated as a gently born maiden should be.
He was obviously fully aware of her reputation, and would treat her—at least where there was no one from society to reprove him—as one of the Scandal Sisters.
Furious, but determined not to let it show, she said, ‘Clever enough to need no further encouragement to quit the company of gentlemen such as yourself.’
‘Excellent,’ Lord Chalmondy replied, appearing not at all disturbed by her thinly veiled rebuke. ‘You see, Lord Halden, the lady has released you.’
‘You are sure you don’t mind, Miss Lattimar? I’ll see you somewhere later, then. You’ll tender my farewells to your aunt and Lady Isabelle, yes?’
At her curt nod, he dropped her arm, left her there on the pathway and set off with the soldiers.
Fuming...and humiliated, for a few long minutes, Prudence simply stood, watching them lope down the path and out of the park, their loud laughter and jesting trailing after them. Lord Halden never gave her a backward glance.
Still angry, worried her debut in Bath might turn out to be as disastrous as a foray in London would have proved, with dragging steps, Prudence turned around and set off to find her aunt.
Meanwhile, Johnnie Trethwell was limping through his second circuit of the paths at Sidney Gardens. He’d been happy to drop his aunt off to visit one of her cronies rather than have her accompany him, which allowed him to walk at a faster pace. Pushing himself and his knee to the limits of its endurance was the only way he was going to regain its full strength—no matter how much he was going to regret that determination come evening, when it would likely pain him in earnest.
He’d just turned the corner of the outer pathway when he spied Miss Lattimar, walking alone a dozen yards in front of him.
Johnnie halted, stifling his immediate impulse to go to her. He’d felt only too keenly the anxiety on her face in the Pump Room when Markingham had pulled him into the group of soldiers conversing with her and her evident escort, Lord Halden. Not that he’d been insulted by her obvious reluctance to have the Duke’s son know they were acquainted. Though his attentions had been keenly sought the world over by bored matrons with more lust than morals—an arrangement that suited him perfectly well—he was only too aware that keeping company with a man of his reputation would do nothing to help her efforts to entice a proper suitor. Not burdened as she was with her questionable reputation.
He remembered the bleak resignation in her eyes when she stated she had no choice but to adhere to every rule of propriety. For a lady whose extraordinary beauty would normally have given her licence to be as capricious as she chose, that was the saddest comment yet.
He should remain silent and let her go her own way.
But the pathway ahead of her was deserted. There was no one about to see or disapprove. With that treacherous fact to encourage him, he couldn’t quite defeat the desire to talk with her.
Still debating, he quickened his pace, closing the distance between them. Then, as he got nearer, he noticed how dawdling her steps were, how her head drooped and her arms trailed loosely at her sides, her reticule dangling by twisted cords, unnoticed. She looked the picture of—dejection?
Concerned in spite of himself, over his bad leg’s protest, Johnnie pushed harder, until he was within hailing distance. ‘Miss Lattimar!’ he called. ‘What’s this, walking alone? Has a press gang rounded up every man in Bath, or have they all gone blind?’
Under his keenly observing eye, she first stiffened, then straightened, then slowly turned towards him. Hurt and mortification in her expression, she opened her lips to speak, must have thought better of it and forced a smile instead. ‘It’s such a lovely morning, I thought I’d have a stroll while Aunt Gussie rested on a bench.’
He was fairly certain, according to his vaguely remembered standards of conduct for single young females, that walking alone in a respectable garden in a genteel city like Bath with her chaperon nearby wouldn’t be considered precisely fast. But he did clearly recall his more adventurous sister being roundly scolded for leaving her maid behind on such a foray, her governess emphasising that ‘a well-bred young lady never walks anywhere unaccompanied. Never!’
Her troubled expression revealed the same distress he’d read on her face in the Pump Room. As he stood, watching her, something flashed between them, some wordless connection, spurring in him the urge to move closer. He had the absurd wish that he could take her in his arms and somehow ease her burden.
‘Is something wrong? How can I help?’
Her eyes widened with alarm before, shaking her head, she said, ‘How did you know I was upset? I’ve worked so hard on the ability to appear serene, regardless of the circumstances!’
That response was so unexpected—and delightful—he had to laugh. ‘Well, I did come upon you from behind, when your guard was down.’
‘Then you couldn’t have seen my face.’ Her exasperation deepened. ‘Or did I give myself away when I greeted you? Please, let me know! In my circumstances, I must be able to control my demeanour, or the wolves truly will devour me alive.’
That truth was enough to extinguish his amusement. ‘I suppose you’re right. But don’t worry too much. Most people see only what they expect to see. Half the time, they are too occupied with their own needs and desires to notice much of anything around them. If I’m a keener judge, it’s because I’ve had to be. Travelling among various native groups in India, most of them hostile to one another and often to the English, one had to be a keen observer. Able to evaluate a man’s stance and expression to fill in the many gaps in my comprehension of the local dialect, so I might accurately assess whether I was being invited to join a hunt—or was the object being hunted.’
As he’d hoped, that teased out a genuine smile—and he had to suck in a breath. The effect was like coming out of a dark cave into brilliant noon sunshine.
Basking in it, he said, ‘May I escort you back to your aunt? Perhaps we can scandalise and confound a few disapproving matrons on the way?’
But she hadn’t completely recovered, for his joking suggestion brought an immediate, alarmed widening of those enchanting blue eyes. Hastily he added, ‘Excuse me, I was just funning. As you can see, the gardens are deserted. I should be able to return you safely to your aunt without endangering your reputation.’
She looked at him, the wry smile on her lovely lips making him wish she were as scandalous as society branded her, so he might kiss that luscious mouth, right here in the park.
While he beat back the desire, she said, ‘You’re right and I apologise. I’ve been suspicious of you at every turn, while you’ve done nothing but seek to protect me.’ She sighed. ‘If only my reputation were less...tarnished. I wish it were sterling enough to allow me to associate openly with the only man I’ve ever met, outside my own family, who hasn’t judged—and dismissed—my character without meeting me or having me utter a word. How I wish we could be friends!’
Somewhat to his surprise, Johnnie had to acknowledge he shared that wish. Outside his own sisters, he had next to no experience of gently bred maidens, having left England right after university and having carefully avoided newcomers from the Fishing Fleet during his time in India.
Not that avoiding them required much effort. With the dearth of single English females in India, the ladies venturing out in search of husbands on the yearly voyages from England had no trouble finding partners. Even those with little beauty and few charms had numerous suitors, clearing the field for him to turn his attentions to the more dashing married matrons.
True, he found Prudence Lattimar’s beauty arresting. He sensed a fire beneath her carefully controlled façade, no matter how stringently she was trying to mask it, that couldn’t help but draw him like the proverbial moth to her flame. He had the tempting suspicion he might be just the man to coax that flame into a very satisfying conflagration.
More surprising, though, he was discovering himself equally captivated by Miss Lattimar’s lack of artifice, her directness and honesty—traits he suspected were in short supply among females looking to attract a husband. Not just husband-hunters, he amended. He’d found those qualities lacking in virtually every female he’d ever known.
‘I would enjoy your friendship,’ he acknowledged—though what he’d do with the friendship of a woman he could neither bed nor wished to marry, he didn’t know. Dismissing that qualm, he said, ‘We must consider ways to make that happen. But not at this moment. Now, let us just enjoy as much conversation as we can squeeze in before I must surrender you to your aunt. So, how goes it with your Duke’s son?’
She tilted her head at him. ‘You truly want to know? I got the impression you didn’t like him very much.’
‘Just because he looked at me in my regimentals as though I were a slug that had just crawled on his shoe, before dismissing me as a nonentity? Excuse me, not just a nonentity, but scapegrace rakehell who shouldn’t be allowed within speaking distance of his—or your—pristine person?’
While chuckling at his description, she shook her head. ‘He did treat you badly, which was not at all well done of him.’
Johnnie shrugged. ‘One can’t expect wisdom or discernment from a university dandy—or a bunch of play soldiers who’ve never been within a musket-sound’s distance of a real battle.’
‘Unlike you, who are a real soldier?’
Grief and pain twisted in his gut. Fortunately, she could have no idea the cost of being a ‘real’ soldier, he thought before he shut down the memories and summoned a smile. ‘Now you’ve caught me being as dismissive of them as they were of me! I admit, I have something of a distaste for Fitzroy-Price’s ilk. I served under too many colonial officials whose chief qualification for the job was their papa’s elevated title or connections. However, though I may have spent most of my adult life outside England, even I am not too dim to recognise that wedding the son of a duke must top even “wealthy”, “young” and “charming” on every fond mama’s list of the sort of husband she’d choose for her daughter.’
She nodded. ‘He would be accounted a prime catch. Especially for someone like me.’
He frowned. ‘Someone like you?’
‘Yes. He’s to receive a living from his uncle, Aunt Gussie tells me. How better to redeem my reputation, than to become the blameless wife of a clergyman?’ Her enthusiasm faded a bit. ‘Though I would hope he would learn not to be drawn in by rough companions and to treat all people with more respect. But he’s young. His solemn role as a spiritual advisor will mature him and endow him with wisdom and compassion, I’m sure.’
With an effort, Johnnie restrained himself from rolling his eyes. In his experience, pampered, wealthy young men went on to become self-important, pompous older men, supremely confident in their superiority and disdainful of the rabble—which included most everyone else in society—beneath them.
But, as young and sheltered from the world as unmarried maidens were, Miss Lattimar had probably not yet learned that lesson. It wasn’t really his place to teach her.
While he worked hard to keep from expressing his opinion, Miss Lattimar said, ‘Enough of Lord Halden. Might I ask you a question?’
Primed now to expect almost anything, he immediately replied, ‘Of course! Although if it deals with society, I can’t promise to have the expertise to accurately answer it.’
‘You absolutely have expertise about this society! I’ve never seen more of the world than our estate in Northumberland, the town house in London and the little I’ve experienced so far of Bath. I’m so envious of the travels and the adventures you’ve had! Please, can you tell me what it was like, living in India?’
‘Tell you about India?’ he echoed, surprised. ‘Ladies usually beg to hear about storms at sea, or pirates. Generally, only men ask me about India.’ And then, mostly for tales about the women.
‘I’m sure you’re a marvellous storyteller. And I truly would like to hear about your life there.’
‘Very well, India. Let me see if I can pick out the bits best suited for a maiden of your tender years.’
She giggled. ‘Oh, no! I want to hear all the spicy bits, too!’
Did she have any idea how irresistible she was? he thought, totally charmed. ‘All right, then. Let me see if I can find bits spicy enough to titillate you without losing whatever credit I might have with your aunt for protecting you on your walk back.’
Quickly searching through memory to select a story that might entertain her without veering into the salacious, he launched into a description of the grand procession in the State of the Nawab of Surat in which troops from his regiment had participated. ‘After the termination of the fast of Ramadan, one of the holiest events in the Muslim year, the Nawab ordered a grand parade from his durbar to the principal mosque. A select few of us British regulars marched after him, followed by elephants and camels carrying kettle-drummers and musicians, local men on horseback, their mounts as richly dressed as they were, and finally a state palankeen bearing representatives of the East India Company, members of the ruling British council, the Governor of the castle and the Admiral of the Mogul’s fleet, all in dress uniform. Ah, the noise of the excited crowds calling and hooting, the women ululating, the tramp of boots, hooves and elephant feet! The sound of the drums and the strange melodies of the native lutes, the scent of marigolds, incense, perfume—and dung. And clouds of dust, enveloping us and coating our mouths and uniforms.’
She laughed, her eyes shining. ‘You describe it so vividly I can almost hear it—and smell it! You are a marvellous storyteller! My twin sister, Temperance, who has a great desire to explore foreign places, has collected all the travel journals and memoirs she can find, but hearing such episodes described by someone who actually lived them is so much more fascinating than merely reading about them. Tell me more!’
So he did, secretly delighted when she begged him to continue his tales through one more circuit around the park before he returned her to her aunt.
When they finally turned down the pathway and saw Lady Stoneway and another matron sitting on a bench, her rapt expression faded. ‘I hate it that it isn’t wise for me to associate with you. It was so...energising to talk about something truly interesting, rather than having to confine my remarks to innocuous observations on the weather, or monosyllabic murmurs of appreciation for whatever a gentleman is prosing on about!’
‘Good heavens! Is that what you have to do to look respectable?’ When she nodded, he shook his head. ‘How...stifling. And how much I admire you!’
She gave him a sharp look. ‘It isn’t polite to mock.’
‘No, I’m entirely serious! It’s fortunate I have no desire to mingle in polite society, for I probably wouldn’t last half an hour before I got thrown out on my ear. I’m far too prone to ignore convention and say exactly what I think, hang the consequences.’ He chuckled. ‘Which, probably, is why I was never a success at school and the Army in India looked askance on me. I ask too many questions and probe into too many areas they would prefer left unexplored.’
Miss Lattimar smiled—and she really was temptation incarnate when she smiled, he thought. A soldier ought to get a medal for bravery or restraint for resisting the completely understandable urge to kiss her senseless on the spot.
‘My governess was for ever warning me and Temperance against doing that,’ she was saying. ‘Although Temper is so much braver and bolder than I am. She does tell people what she thinks. Defies them about casting us in the image of our mother, too, instead of trying to deflect them and please everyone, like I do.’
‘It takes self-control and admirable discipline to limit what one says. Particularly when the comment one struggles to suppress is bang on the mark. I’d say that makes you the one who is strong and brave.’
She looked startled, as if she’d never thought that of herself. ‘How kind of you to say so! I only wish I could believe it. Much as I try to be perfectly behaved, so that society will come to believe I am not my mother, I must confess, sometimes I feel like giving up the effort. Abandoning prudence and caution, raising my skirts and running through Sidney Gardens shrieking, just to see the look on some censorious matron’s face. Or stripping off my stockings and wading in the fountain—like Temper and I used to wade in the river at home.’
‘Probably best to suppress such impulses,’ he said—even as it pained him to think she felt compelled to restrain that bright, exuberant spirit. ‘I doubt they would be considered very suitable in a vicar’s wife.’
He regretted the words immediately, for they extinguished the merriment on her face in an instant. ‘I might be able to wade in a fountain, in the privacy of my own garden, with my children accompanying me,’ she said after a moment.
‘I hope you will.’ Yet, he couldn’t help a probably futile wish that somehow, she would avoid a fate that, to him, seemed destined to lock her for ever in a role where her natural charm and zest for life would be straitjacketed.
Just beyond speaking distance from her aunt, she stopped, as if she needed to armour herself to return to the world of rules and subterfuge. Lips parted, she gazed over at him, regret at having to part and longing on her face.
A wave of desire swept through him to carry her away from the propriety-bound world she was about to re-enter, off somewhere they could be alone. Where he might succumb to the urge to kiss her that had dogged him from the moment he saw her again.
From the widening of her eyes and the little intake of breath, he knew she felt that sensual pull as strongly as he did. And he was as helpless to resist it as a cobra hypnotised by a mongoose.
Giving him a tiny negative shake of her head, as if wordlessly acknowledging both the desire and the impossibility of indulging it, she said, ‘I have to go back.’
‘To the world of society and its rules.’
‘Yes. But I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed our walk. Maybe...maybe we can find a way to walk together again in future. I imagine my aunt will be fatigued and want to return home at once, so I’ll say good day to you now, Lieutenant.’
He bowed. ‘And to you, Miss Lattimar.’
They had nearly reached the bench on which both women sat before their approach was noticed. ‘Prudence—and Lieutenant Trethwell?’ Lady Stoneway said, looking both surprised and confused.
‘Miss Lattimar!’ the other woman exclaimed. ‘Where is my cousin?’
‘Lord Halden...encountered a group of friends, who pressed him to accompany him immediately on a...a mission of some importance.’
‘But—he just left you, unaccompanied?’ Lady Stoneway cried.
‘Fortunately, Lieutenant Trethwell was at hand to make sure I returned safely,’ Miss Lattimar said, giving him a quick, silent plea that he not contradict her slight alteration of events.
His lips tightening, he understood all too well. He’d already overheard some salacious remarks made about her by several of the soldiers joking with Fitzroy-Price that day in the Pump Room. Men who spoke of her like that would have no compulsion about insulting her by carrying off her escort and leaving her to fend for herself.
But it didn’t say much for her escort that he’d agreed.
No wonder she’d been looking so dejected when he came upon her!
‘Well, Lord Halden shouldn’t have left me here, without proper escort back to my house!’ the other matron said angrily. ‘And so I shall tell him, when next I see him. Careless boy!’
Johnnie’s cynicism deepened. He had no idea of the identity of the overdressed, self-important woman with Miss Lattimar’s aunt, but she conducted herself just like the wives of the high-ranking men he’d known in India. Concerned only with her own consequence and well-being, sparing not a thought for the beautiful young woman her cousin had left alone, vulnerable to attack by any ruffian who might have come upon her. No matter how unlikely it was that a ruffian would be roaming about Sidney Gardens on a sunny morning.
‘Shall we all walk together to engage a sedan chair, Lady Isabelle?’ Lady Stoneway suggested. ‘I’m sure that’s what Lord Halden expected we would do.’
The matron visibly brightened. ‘You are right, Lady Stoneway. Of course that’s what my cousin must have thought. No need of him to keep his friends waiting, when we might escort each other.’
‘Before we go, Aunt Gussie, don’t you want to thank Lieutenant Trethwell for making sure I came to no harm?’ Miss Lattimar said, her voice calm, but something steely in her eyes. ‘And present him to Lady Isabelle?’
Lady Stoneway looked uncertain for a moment before nodding assent. ‘You are quite right, Prudence. I do thank you for safeguarding my niece, Lieutenant. Lady Isabelle, may I make you acquainted with Lieutenant Lord John Trethwell? His elder brother, as you may know, is now Marquess of Barkley.’
Lady Isabelle’s cool expression indicated she knew exactly who he was and, for a moment, Johnnie wondered if she were debating whether or not to give him the cut direct. Which wouldn’t bother him in the slightest, except for the embarrassment it would certainly cause Lady Stoneway and Miss Lattimar.
The latter, he noted with no little amusement, despite her self-professed craven submission to society and its dictates, was staring almost defiantly at Lady Isabelle, as if daring her to refuse the introduction.
Not at all to his surprise, the older woman capitulated—barely. ‘Lieutenant,’ she acknowledged with the slightest incline of her head.
‘Lady Isabelle,’ he replied, offering a bow considerably more polite than the one he’d given Lord Halden.
‘Shall we be off?’ Lady Stoneway said, obviously reluctant to press her luck any further with the matron. Her aunt’s kindness—and concern for Miss Lattimar’s status—were the only reasons Johnnie resisted the urge to further tweak Lady Isabelle by insisting he accompany them.
‘I should be going myself,’ he said, with an ironic quirk of his lip. ‘Good day to you all. Miss Lattimar,’ he added, unable to stop himself as they turned. ‘Safeguarding you was a pleasure.’
Her eyes lit up and the smile she gave him was pure enchantment. ‘I very much appreciated it,’ she replied, before taking her aunt’s arm and walking off, Lady Isabelle beside them.
Johnnie stood and watched them until her lovely figure disappeared from view.
Reviewing his impressions after their second meeting, Johnnie found Miss Lattimar’s appeal had only increased. Along with the physical attraction he would expect her beauty to evoke in any red-blooded male, he’d felt an unexpected and disturbingly powerful connection on some deeper level. Having had a glimpse of the exuberant, uninhibited character she was trying to suppress—he chuckled, envisioning her, skirts held up, wading in the Sidney Garden fountain—he felt a strong urge to prompt her to be herself, without restraint. Even though the woman she became when she did so was not just more natural, she was even more devilishly attractive.
He sighed. He very much wished he could pursue her openly—in spite of the fact that he had never previously pursued, nor had any use for, a well-bred virgin. Following that trail led to marriage, something he had always avoided. Not just because he wasn’t sure, with the vast floral garden of the feminine beauty and charm the world had to offer, he’d be able to limit himself for a lifetime to plucking just one bloom.
He also knew his wanderlust nature too well and the chances that he’d ever want to stay for long in one place were slim. A good English wife would probably prefer a settled countryside home with a husband in it to look after her and any children. To offer marriage without being able to pledge that wouldn’t be fair to any lady, no matter how much she attracted him.
And when he travelled, he travelled alone. He’d witnessed first-hand the agony of someone who’d lost a beloved. He might sometimes be lonely enough to wish for a heart’s companion, but loneliness was an old friend, something he’d grown accustomed to enduring. Better to suffer a quiet flame than to open oneself to an all-consuming conflagration.
How unfortunate the enchanting Miss Lattimar wasn’t the worldly-wise Mrs Lattimar! Were she a dashing widow, he would have free rein to indulge in the delightful dance of desire. Sadly, seducing and then abandoning a well-born innocent was out of the question.
To experience the charm of Miss Lattimar’s intriguing personality, he was pretty sure he could settle for friendship—novel as the notion was of being merely a friend to a desirable woman. But if he respected her desire to change society’s perception of her from a scandalous young woman to a well-behaved, conventional Beauty, he couldn’t lure her into solitary rendezvous. No matter how attractive the prospect of amusing her with further tales of his exploits or exchanging philosophical observations on the world.
For the first time, he regretted spending his adulthood roaming the world, collecting the stories and lovers that made him unsuitable company for a girl trying to redeem her reputation.
Never one to dismiss a desired goal as impossible, he put aside for the moment the problem of how to become her friend without compromising that quest and shifted his focus to the next issue.
What about Lord Halden Fitzroy-Price?
He’d heard that the Duke’s son—handsome, well born, and behaving like he knew it—was languishing in Bath, supported by the beneficence of his rich cousin while he awaited a desirable sinecure as a cleric.
Johnnie might not be intimately acquainted with the inside of a church, but based on his few exchanges with the man, Lord Halden appeared to be less well suited than any individual he’d recently met to become a clergyman. Unless a parish wanted as pastor of their flock a self-important, arrogant man faintly contemptuous of those he believed were beneath him.
If that were truly his character, Johnnie wouldn’t want to see a lady as lovely, charming, and innocent of the ways of vice as Miss Lattimar wasting herself on him.
He stopped short, surprised at the ferocity of that feeling. Why should he feel so protective of a girl he barely knew?
He might have only met her twice, but her unique personality intrigued him. He genuinely liked her. Almost immediately, there had sprung up a sort of...kinship between them.
Maybe he felt so strongly because he understood all too well what it was like to be a member of a disreputable family, to be accused of the same faults and vices by people who knew nothing about one but the family name—Lord Halden’s dismissive remarks recurring to irritate him again.
He had no doubt whatsoever about his ability to best the Duke’s son and any of his toy-soldier compatriots, but a gently born female like Miss Lattimar had few weapons with which to counter their malice. The warrior in him naturally felt compelled to defend someone smaller and weaker.
For all those reasons—admiration, desire, anger on her behalf about how she was treated—he felt linked to Miss Lattimar by the same sort of bonds a soldier develops for his fellows, a loyalty that propels him to watch out for and protect others in battle, even at the risk of his own life.
Dismissing the ‘why’, his officer’s brain shifted to the ‘how’, mulling over the best strategy for his next move. He had to admit, having suffered slights and insults in the past from men of Fitzroy-Price’s rank and birth, the man’s position as a duke’s son automatically prejudiced Johnnie against him. He really ought to reserve judgement until he had observed him long enough to make a dispassionate assessment of the man’s character.
After a bit more reflection, he came up with a plan. It might, he thought with a grin, astonish his aunt, but it would also accomplish both the goal of keeping an eye on Fitzroy-Price and allowing Johnnie to satisfy his pressing desire to see more of the delectable Miss Lattimar, without risk to her reputation.
After all, even his aunt would have to admit that staying near enough to make sure Miss Lattimar came to no harm would be the noble act of a selfless friend.
Chapter Four (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
Returning to his aunt’s town house in Queen Square, Johnnie tracked down Aunt Pen in her private salon, where she was dozing, some needlework abandoned in her lap.
He paused on the threshold, his fond glance tracing over a figure that radiated confidence and independence even in sleep. Penelope Woodlings wasn’t just the most interesting of his relations, she was also the one who’d been least interested in society—and the sole encourager of an energetic young boy, youngest of a large brood and left to his own devices. The happiest memories of his childhood had been created while visiting her and her reclusive scholarly husband at their rambling country estate, joining her and her two sons in collecting rocks and bugs, chasing butterflies, climbing up trees after bird nests and crawling into dens to inspect the homes of badgers and foxes.
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Julia Justiss
Shunned by the tonHow will she find a husband?Part of Sisters of Scandal: After her mother’s latest outrageous affair, innocent Prudence Lattimar has fled to Bath. With her dubious background, she must marry a man of impeccable reputation. A clergyman with a title would be perfect. And she must steer clear of Lieutenant Johnnie Trethwell—his family is as notorious as hers, no matter how funny, charming and unfailingly honourable he is!
Shunned by the ton
How would she find a husband?
Part of Sisters of Scandal: After her mother’s latest outrageous affair, innocent Prudence Lattimar has fled to Bath.
With her dubious background, she must marry a man of impeccable reputation. A clergyman with a title and a considerable income would be perfect.
She must steer clear of Lieutenant Johnnie Trethwell—his family is as notorious as hers, no matter how funny, charming and unfailingly honorable he is!
Sisters of Scandal duet
Book 1—A Most Unsuitable Match
Look out for the second story, coming soon!
“Justiss provides her fans with heart-stealing characters.”
—RT Book Reviews on Secret Lessons with the Rake
“Secret Lessons with the Rake is a deeply romantic and satisfying end to these tales of Hadley’s Hellions and it’s a book I’m happy to recommend.”
—RT Book Reviews on Secret Lessons with the Rake
JULIA JUSTISS wrote her ideas for Nancy Drew stories in her third-grade notebook, and has been writing ever since. After publishing poetry in college she turned to novels. Her Regency historical romances have won or been placed in contests by the Romance Writers of America, Romantic Times magazine, National Readers’ Choice and the Daphne du Maurier Award. She lives with her husband in Texas. For news and contests visit juliajustiss.com (http://www.juliajustiss.com).
Also by Julia Justiss (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
Ransleigh Rogues miniseries
The Rake to Ruin Her
The Rake to Redeem Her
The Rake to Rescue Her
The Rake to Reveal Her
Hadley’s Hellions miniseries
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount
Stolen Encounters with the Duchess
Convenient Proposal to the Lady
Secret Lessons with the Rake
Sisters of Scandal miniseries
A Most Unsuitable Match
And look out for the next book
Coming soon
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
A Most Unsuitable Match
Julia Justiss
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07414-8
A MOST UNSUITABLE MATCH
© 2018 Janet Justiss
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Eve and Lenora.
Words aren’t adequate to express my gratitude for
your love and support since the accident—especially
when finding time to write becomes so difficult. Every
time I’m about to give up in despair you pulled me
back from the edge. I love you guys!
Contents
Cover (#ueba80fc2-dbbf-5427-9d91-d4ba2302646b)
Back Cover Text (#uc69b214c-22a0-56cc-a3e0-954f2054a42c)
About the Author (#uda70985f-4d48-5dc6-befe-c57dd5df4df6)
Booklist (#u809b3418-5831-5207-bf19-5205648117e4)
Title Page (#u55a75ce6-f54c-5bb6-8d70-cea935e9539a)
Copyright (#ud3739695-c214-54a6-a731-3bcdf230db26)
Dedication (#u4120f827-26a2-5e27-90bd-0052339b0a6b)
Prologue (#u2ff7c455-a212-569f-bdef-88826ce95a59)
Chapter One (#u672770f2-fe11-5a39-afa4-4270d8df7367)
Chapter Two (#u1ea20cf5-8fc7-54d2-ba05-5cf5c8dd7f6c)
Chapter Three (#uc0d99543-6fa8-522c-ae02-665b1ccb3535)
Chapter Four (#ub287d393-5139-549b-bb78-415c98978c9c)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
London—late March 1833
‘She’s done it again,’ Gregory Lattimar, oldest son and heir of Lord Vraux, said as he ushered his twin sisters, Temperance and Prudence, into the small salon of their Brook Street town house, where their aunt, Lady Stoneway, awaited them.
The vague foreboding she’d felt when her brother pulled Pru from happy contemplation of the latest fashions in Godfrey’sLady’s Magazine intensified into outright alarm. ‘What’s happened, Gregory? Whatever it is, surely we won’t have to delay our Season yet again!’
That pronouncement was met with a groan from her aunt, who came over to give Prudence a hug. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear! I thought for sure we’d be able to launch you girls this spring!’
‘So it’s no Season for us, eh?’ Temperance asked, crossing her arms as she regarded her brother grimly. ‘What’s the latest event to besmirch our reputations?’
‘Your brother heard about it over breakfast at the Club and summoned me for a strategy session straight away.’
‘A strategy session about what?’ Temperance cried.
‘Easy, Temper,’ Gregory said, putting a hand on her arm. ‘I’m about to tell you.’
Though, as usual, she suppressed the emotions her more volatile twin was expressing, Pru could hardly refrain from raising her own voice. ‘What happened, Gregory?’
‘Farnham. Well, not being officially out, you won’t have met him, but he’s recently down from Oxford and followed the usual convention of appearing enamoured of our mother. He and another young admirer, Lord Hallsworthy, have been snarling at each other around her like two dogs over a choice bone. Apparently last night, with both of them well in their cups, Farnham claimed Hallsworthy had insulted Mama’s virtue and challenged him to a duel. Which Hallsworthy accepted, the two of them dispensing with the usual protocol and going off at once to Hounslow Heath.’
‘At night?’ Temperance said incredulously. ‘Besides, I thought duelling was illegal—and out of fashion.’
‘There was a full moon and it is,’ Gregory said. ‘I don’t know what got into them. The upshot was, before anyone realised what was going on, Farnham put a ball into Hallsworthy. The friends who caught up with them took Hallsworthy to a surgeon, but he isn’t doing well. Farnham has fled to the Continent and, by now, the news of the duel, and over whom it was fought, is all over London.’
‘Well, I say “bravo, Mama!” if she’s still bewitching young men at her age,’ Temperance said defiantly.
‘If she only would consider how much her actions reflect upon us!’ Pru cried, beset by the familiar mix of admiration and resentment for her dazzling mother.
‘To be fair, it’s not her fault, Pru,’ Aunt Gussie said. ‘Paying court to London’s longest-reigning Beauty has been a rite of passage for young men coming down from university since the Season your mama debuted. You know she does nothing to encourage them. Quite the opposite.’
‘Which only intensifies their rivalry,’ Gregory observed with a sigh.
‘Mama has been trying to shield us, Pru,’ Temperance added. ‘Though she’s certainly had offers, she hasn’t taken any new lovers these last five years.’ At her aunt’s gasp, she snapped, ‘Oh, please, Aunt Gussie, there are no innocent maidens here. Not after what we’ve seen going on in this house.’
Though her sister didn’t blush, Pru felt her own cheeks heat at the reminder. They’d barely been out of leading strings when, even relegated to the nursery, they’d started noticing the parade of handsome men paying calls on their mother. They were hardly in their teens when they’d pieced together the whispers among the staff and come to understand exactly why.
‘The Vraux Miscellany,’ society called them. Knowing that only Gregory was truly the son of her legal father, while her brother Christopher and she and Temperance were acknowledged to be the offspring of other men.
Keenly as she felt this latest scandal, which might well delay once again her chance to find the love and family she yearned for, fairness compelled her to agree with her sister. ‘I know Mama has been trying to live less...flamboyantly, just as she promised us. For all the good that’s done,’ she added bleakly.
‘It’s not her fault society conveniently forgives a man the errors of his past—but never a woman,’ Temperance retorted.
‘I haven’t always agreed with her...wandering tendencies,’ Aunt Gussie admitted, ‘but married to my brother, I could certainly sympathise. He’d already begun to show passion only for the beautiful objects he collected before I made my come-out. I remember one morning in the breakfast room, I tripped over his latest acquisition, some sort of ceremonial sword. He rushed over when I cried out—it gave me a nasty cut! And completely ignored me, all his concern for whether the sword had been damaged!’
‘If only he hadn’t chosen Mama to add to his collections,’ Temperance muttered.
‘Well, that’s past lamenting,’ Gregory said briskly. ‘We need to decide what we shall do now, which is why I asked Aunt Gussie to join us. Do you think the hubbub will die down soon enough for the girls to have their Season this year?’
Aunt Gussie shook her head. ‘I received two notes from acquaintances before I’d even arisen from bed this morning, wanting to know what was truth, what rumour. With the Season beginning in just two weeks, Hallsworthy so badly injured he may hover on the cusp between life and death for some time, and Farnworth having quit England, it’s likely to remain the on dit for months.’
‘We could just brazen it out,’ Temperance said. ‘Really, Aunt Gussie, do you truly think we will ever escape being tainted by Mama’s reputation? Since we are her blonde, blue-eyed images, we must naturally possess the same reckless, passionate character. As far as society is concerned, we’re the “Scandal Sisters”, and always will be.’
‘I know it’s unfair, child,’ Aunt Augusta said, patting Temperance’s arm. ‘I understand your bitterness, but there’s no need—yet—to give up on the goal of seeing both of you well settled—eventually. It’s what your mama desires, as much as I do! Not this Season, alas. But soon.’
‘That’s what you’ve been saying for the last four years,’ Pru said, trying to stave off her desolation over this new delay. ‘First, you ended up having to assist at your daughter’s lying-in the year we turned eighteen, then you were ill yourself the next year, then Aunt Sophia died, and last year, Christopher married Ellie. An absolute darling, whom I love dearly, but trying to overcome the infamy of your mother’s reputation right after your brother marries a notorious former courtesan is clearly impossible. If we have to wait much longer, we will be too old for any man to wish to marry us!’
‘You should rather pity the girls who did debut and marry,’ Temperance told her flippantly. ‘Stuck home now with a husband to please and a babe on the way.’
‘Perhaps you would!’ Prudence flung back, raw disappointment goading her out of her customary restraint. ‘But having a husband who cares for me and a normal household filled with our children is all I’ve ever wished for.’
Looking contrite, Temperance gave her a hug. ‘No female under Heaven is sweeter, lovelier or more deserving of a happy family. I’m sorry for speaking slightingly of your hopes. Forgive me?’
Feeling guilty—for she knew if she didn’t keep such a tight control over herself, her reactions might be just as explosive as her sister’s, Prudence said gruffly, ‘I’m no angel. I know you were teasing. Forgive me, for being so tetchy.’
‘If squelching the rumours is impossible, what should we do, Aunt Gussie?’ Gregory asked.
‘I think it would be best if I took the girls out of London for a while.’
‘Not to Entremer!’ Temperance cried. ‘With nothing but empty moors and coal mines for miles, I’d expire of boredom in a month!’
‘I should know, I was raised there,’ Aunt Gussie said with a shudder. ‘No, I propose taking you somewhere much more pleasant. Granted, with the Season beginning, it will be thinner of company than I’d like, but my dear friend Helena lauds its excellent shopping and the lending libraries. There will be subscription dances and musicales, as well as the activities around the Pump Room—’
‘You mean Bath?’ Temperance interrupted, looking aghast. ‘Activities, yes—like assisting septuagenarians to sip the vile waters! That’s almost as bad as Northumberland!’
‘The city may not be as fashionable as it once was, but anything would be better than rusticating in the country,’ Gregory pointed out.
‘It’s not as large a stage as London, to be sure. But for a lady more interested in a congenial partner than in snagging wealth and a title, it might do. At the very least, you girls would be able to mingle in society and perhaps meet some amiable gentlemen, without whispers of this affair following you everywhere. You’ll gain some town bronze and if you find no one to your liking, there’s still next year in London.’
‘Sounds like an excellent idea,’ Gregory said. ‘And one that seems more likely to get my spinster sisters off my hands than inviting the censure of the ton this Season, as our intemperate Temper proposes.’
‘But most of the ton hostesses know we were supposed to be presented this year,’ Temperance argued. ‘I don’t want them to think I’m a coward—or that I’m ashamed of Mama! It’s not her bad behaviour that precipitated this.’
‘Do you want to make it worse for your mother?’ Aunt Gussie asked sharply. ‘Then, by all means, confront society and aggravate a scandal not of her making into such infamy that you can never be respectably settled!’
When Temperance looked away, her defiant words subsiding in a dull flush, she continued more gently, ‘Your mama would be the first to urge you to be prudent.’
‘Dear Aunt Gussie, always offering sound counsel to keep me from doing something rash,’ Temperance said with a laugh, her anger disappearing as quickly as it had arisen. ‘Very well, I may not attempt to breach the hostile walls of the ton this Season. But neither do I intend to languish in Bath. I’ll stay in London—discreetly showing my support for Mama. Since I have no intention of ever marrying, what difference does it make to me? In the interim, if I promise to send him any treasures I uncover, perhaps I can persuade Papa to release some of the blunt he’s put away for the dowry I won’t need and let me go adventuring in Europe.’
‘But you, darling Sis,’ she said, turning back to Prudence, ‘should go to Bath. And I hope with all my heart you will find there what you are seeking.’
‘You are adamant about remaining in London?’ Aunt Gussie asked Temperance.
‘Much as I will miss Pru, yes, I am.’
‘I’d prefer if you could get Temper out of my hair, too, until this fracas dies down,’ Gregory said to Aunt Gussie, ignoring the face Temperance made at him. ‘But if you can at least take Prudence out of harm’s way, I’ll appreciate it. So the two of you will pack up and leave for Bath as soon as possible?’
‘We will. And hope to find her that agreeable gentleman,’ Lady Stoneway said, with a fond look at Pru.
The very possibility helping her crushed hopes revive, Prudence said, ‘That would be wonderful!’
‘Be careful what you wish for, dear Sis,’ Temperance warned.
With the family conference ended and their aunt returning to her own home, Prudence and Temperance walked arm in arm back up to their chamber. ‘Are you sure I can’t coax you to come with us? We’ve never been apart! I shall feel so lost without you,’ Pru said, the reality of being without her twin beginning to sink in with dismaying clarity.
She soothed herself with the thought that, painful as their parting would be, at the end of a sojourn in Bath might be new love and support—from a husband. And unlike the twin, who despite her protests to the contrary, must some day marry and leave her, he would love and support her for ever.
‘I shall miss your cautious voice warning me against taking some impulsive and usually rash action,’ Temper was saying, smiling at her. ‘I do think it’s a good idea for Aunt Gussie to take you away, though. Leave London, where, after this latest contretemps, we’re bound to be pointed out and stared at wherever we go.’
Prudence groaned, the truth of that statement bringing a surge of the resentment and prickly discomfort she always felt when going out into public view. ‘Thank you for the reminder. I shall avoid the modiste and finish obtaining any necessary gowns in Bath. It was bad enough last week.’
Temperance laughed caustically. ‘Ah, yes, last week, at Madame Emilie’s. When that whey-faced little heiress kept staring at us?’
‘Very subtle, wasn’t she?’ Pru said, sarcasm lacing her voice. ‘She could hardly wait for us to disappear behind the curtains for our fitting before asking in a horrified “whisper” that could be heard by every shopper in the establishment, “so those are the Scandal Sisters”!’
‘If I hadn’t been clad only in my chemise at that moment, I would have popped out, bowed like an opera dancer taking an encore and cried, “Voila, c’est nous!”’
‘Whereas I would rather have left by the back door.’
‘Only to sneak into the chit’s bedchamber that night and strangle her in her sleep?’ Temper suggested with a grin.
Pru laughed. ‘The notion does appeal. Oh, Temper, I wish I could face it with humour, like you do. But it just grates on me like nails on a slate and all I want is to be rid of it! The scandal, the notoriety, the whispers behind the hands whenever we walk into a room. Oh, to become Mrs Somebody Else, wife of a well-respected man and resident of some small estate far, far from London! Where I can stroll through a nearby village whose residents have never heard of “the Scandal Sisters”, able to hold my head high and be talked about only for my...my lovely babies and my garden!’
‘With a husband who dotes on you, who never tires of hugging you and kissing you and cuddling you on his knee...instead of a father who barely tolerates a handshake.’
Both girls sighed, wordlessly sharing the same bitter memory of years of trying and failing to win the affection of a man who preferred keeping them—and, to be fair, everyone else, including his wife—at a distance. Though Temper persisted in approaching Papa, Pru had given up the attempt.
‘I don’t expect to find the kind of radiant joy Christopher has with his Ellie,’ Pru said softly. ‘All I long for is a quiet gentleman who has affection for me, as a woman and his wife, not a...a relic of infamy and scandal. Who wants to create a family that treats each member with tenderness.’
‘A family like we’ve never had,’ Temper said wryly.
That observation needing no response, Pru continued, ‘To a man like that, I could give all my love and devotion.’
‘Then he would be the luckiest man in England!’ Opening the chamber door, she waved Pru into the room. ‘I shall pray that you discover in Bath the eminently respectable country gentlemen you long for. That he’ll ask you to marry him, settle on his remote estate and give you a flock of beautiful children for me to spoil. Now, we’d better look through your wardrobe and see how many more gowns you’ll need to commission in Bath so you can dazzle this paragon.’
Chapter One (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
Three weeks later, Lieutenant Lord John Trethwell, youngest son of the late Marquess of Barkley and recently returned from the 2nd (Queen’s Royal) Regiment of Foot in India, limped beside his great-aunt, Lady Woodlings, down a path in Bath’s Sidney Gardens. ‘Ah,’ he said after drawing in a deep breath, ‘Bath in the spring!’
‘It is lovely,’ his aunt said as he helped her to a seat on a convenient bench. ‘Though it doesn’t offer quite the fleshly amusements a jaded adventurer like you might prefer,’ she added, punctuating her reproof with a whack of her cane against his knee.
Surprised into a grunt, he rubbed the affected leg. ‘How unsporting, to strike an injured man.’
For a moment, his aunt looked concerned. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘Just teasing, Aunt Pen,’ he reassured her. ‘No harm done. But you malign me, assuming I mock the beauty of April in Bath. After blistering tropical heat, and jungle fevers, and pursuit by hostile natives, it is a soothing balm to return to the cool, tranquil beauty of England.’
His aunt studied his face, probably searching for the lines of pain he tried to conceal. ‘Are you recovering, Johnnie? You still have that dashed limp.’
‘I’ll be rid of it in good time,’ he replied, hoping he spoke the truth.
‘As you’re going to be rid of the army? You know I hope to coax you into remaining in England, don’t you?’
Johnnie shrugged, ignoring her last comment to reply, ‘I’m done with the army, for sure. After seven years, I’ve had enough of restrictive rules not to my liking and kowtowing to some jumped-up Cit whose father paid to have him made a Company official.’
‘Jumped-up Cits, eh?’ His aunt chuckled. ‘Blood will tell and yours is the bluest! Much as you’ve tried to distance yourself from your family! Not that I blame you. Idiots, most of them.’
‘I never set out to distance myself,’ he corrected, grinning. ‘But with all his building projects, trying to make Barkley’s Hundred the equal of Blenheim, Papa had virtually bankrupted the estate even before Robert inherited. With dowries for the girls—’
‘And the profligate habits of your other three brothers.’
‘There was left little enough for the youngest son. I didn’t want to be a further drain on Robert’s slender resources—then or now. Once I leave the army, I must have another way to earn my bread.’
‘You know the best way to do it.’
‘You’d have me to find a rich woman to marry. ‘
‘Marrying a rich woman has been the alternative of choice for well-born but indigent younger sons for centuries—and a much safer alternative than trekking off to barter for treasure in foreign lands, as you propose to do! You might not possess a title, but your breeding can’t be faulted.’
‘The breeding you just disparaged?’ he pointed out.
‘Nothing wrong with the blood,’ she flashed back. ‘Just with several recent possessors of it.’
Declining to point out the lack of logic in that statement, he said, ‘I happen to believe setting up a trading operation is a better route to wealth than sacrificing myself on the altar of some India nabob hoping to marry his daughter into the aristocracy. Or confirming the whispers already swirling around Bath that I’m a fortune hunter, intent on seducing a rich lady of quality. The “parson’s mousetrap”, they call marriage. Whereas I’d describe being tied to just one woman as more like...fitting myself for a garrotte,’ he teased.
‘A garrotte, indeed!’ she scolded, whacking him on the arm. ‘Those who disparage marrying money never seem to object when someone in their own family manages it. Since you claim to be unable to tolerate wedding an heiress, I suppose you think if you dance attendance on me, I’ll leave you my fortune to invest in that trading empire?’ she asked tartly.
Johnnie merely chuckled. ‘If I were totty-headed enough to entertain that hope, I’d better be prepared to wait a long time! I expect you’ll outlive us all. Besides, I would think your own sons stood in line before me in that regard.’
‘They inherited wealth enough from Woodlings not to need mine.’
‘Your grandchildren, then.’
‘Both my boys had sense enough to marry girls with large dowries. Their brats won’t need my money either.’
‘In any event, I visit you—as you well know—because you’re the most interesting relative I possess. You may leave that fortune to your dog, for all I care.’
‘Hmmph!’ his aunt said, looking pleased at his response. ‘It would serve you right if I left it to some improving school for the instruction of indigent girls.’
As she spoke, the periphery of his gaze caught on a flutter of movement. Turning in that direction, he realised what he’d seen was the ripple of pale fabric against the green verge beyond the path.
Two ladies walked towards them down the central alley. He’d just begun to turn back towards his aunt when his gaze, scanning lazily upwards, landed on the faces of the ladies and stopped dead.
A bolt of pure physical attraction immobilised him, spiking his pulse, suspending breath. He’d bedazzled dark-eyed maharanis, beguiled matrons famed as the Diamond of their cantonment, but he didn’t think he’d ever beheld a woman more breathtakingly beautiful than the one now approaching them.
Realising, if the walkers continued straight ahead rather than taking the nearby cross-path, they would soon draw too near for him to make any discreet enquiries, he bent to whisper in his aunt’s ear. ‘Good L—Heavens, Aunt! Who is that divine creature?’
Lady Woodlings peered down the path before straightening with a snort. ‘Precisely the sort of female you need to avoid!’
Surprised by her vehemence, he gave the girl another quick glance. ‘Avoid—why? I know fashions have changed since I’ve been away, but she doesn’t look like a high flyer to me.’
‘She might as well be,’ Lady Woodlings retorted scornfully.
‘Aunt Pen, I’m only a simple male,’ Johnnie said with some exasperation. ‘A clearer explanation, please.’
Sadly for a body eager to have the seductive Beauty pass more closely, but fortunately for his compulsion to find out more about her, the lady and her older companion did in fact turn on to the cross-path and proceed away from him. In partial compensation, though, he was able to stare openly at her enticingly rounded figure as she glided away, the gold curls beneath her elaborate bonnet shining brightly in the afternoon sunshine.
‘Very well, Aunt Pen,’ he said, once he was sure they were out of earshot. ‘Who is she and why must I avoid her?’
‘One of the Scandal Sisters. The twin daughters of infamous Lady Vraux.’
No more enlightened by that information, he said, ‘Meaning, she was embroiled in some scandal in London? Remember, Aunt, I left university straight for the army and haven’t been near the city in years.’
With considerable relish, his aunt launched into the tale of a beautiful but immoral, high-born lady who, after presenting her long-suffering husband with a son and heir, proceeded to scandalise the ton by blatantly flouting her many lovers, one of whom sired her second son, another giving her twin daughters. ‘Why the devil Lord Vraux allowed her to name the chits Prudence and Temperance, I can’t imagine! As if transgressing moral boundaries weren’t enough—she must mock them, too.’
‘So the daughter has shown herself as profligate as her mother?’ he probed.
‘Not yet. She’s not even out, officially, though she must be approaching the age where most young ladies would be at their last prayers! The on dit was the girls were to be presented in London this Season—but then, a few weeks ago, two imbeciles just down from Oxford fought a duel over their mother. Of course, a presentation in the face of that would have been impossible. I’m surprised her aunt—that was her father’s sister, Lady Stoneway, walking with her—dares to let the creature show her face, even in Bath! Though one must pity the poor woman, trying to find husbands for such a pair. It won’t be easy, their fat dowries notwithstanding!’
‘But you know nothing to the detriment of the daughter?’
‘How could I, when she’s not out yet?’
‘Precisely my point, Aunt,’ Johnnie said drily.
‘Never you mind, she’ll embroil herself in some scandal soon enough. As I’ve been saying, blood will tell. And you may get that look out of your eye, Johnnie Trethwell!’
‘What look, Aunt?’
‘The look of a hound who’s just scented a fox! Why is it that, whenever one tries to warn some rascal with more energy than sense to steer clear of danger, he’s immediately compelled to charge after it?’
‘Probably because he’s a rascal,’ Johnnie replied with a grin. ‘Come along now, Aunt Pen. Introduce me.’
His aunt drew back, a horrified expression on her face. ‘I will never! I know I’ve been urging you to marry an heiress, but the poor looby who marries that girl? He may be able to spend her money, but he’ll never stop worrying over who he’ll find in her bed.’
‘A pity. I shall have to contrive some other way to make her acquaintance.’
‘Mark my words, John Stewart William Trethwell,’ his aunt said indignantly. ‘Take up with that creature and you’ll never see a penny of my money!’
Johnnie leaned down to kiss his aunt’s hand. ‘There’s nothing for it, then,’ he said as he straightened. ‘You’ll have to leave it to the dog.’
With a hint of a limp, he set off down the pathway, determined to wangle an introduction to the divine Miss Lattimar.
Keeping a discreet distance, he trailed the young lady and her aunt as they left the gardens and proceeded towards the Pump Room. Once there, he was able to station himself across the room from her, where he could observe her without his scrutiny being obvious.
Her beauty certainly did not pale upon closer examination. Eyes of the deepest cerulean blue set in an oval face graced with flawless porcelain skin, full, apricot lips, those glorious golden curls and a figure that approached the voluptuous... He’d never seen a lady so breathtaking. But having seen—and possessed—a great number of ladies, as he observed her behaviour, his scepticism about the validity of his great-aunt’s claims about her character increased.
It wasn’t just the ethereal beauty of her face, which brought to mind the image of angels singing in heavenly chorus. There was a sweet gentleness and deference in her manner towards the lady who’d been identified as her aunt—and a wary caution when they were approached by anyone else. The blush that tinged her cheeks and the slight stiffness in her manner when a gentleman stopped to greet them—even the old retired soldiers there to take the waters—was so at variance to the sort of flagrantly seductive behaviour of which her mother was accused, he couldn’t believe she was cut from the same cloth.
Unless she were the best actress in the history of the English stage, he concluded that she was exactly what she appeared to be: a beautiful, well-bred, pretty-behaved virgin.
Not, to be frank, the type of female with whom he had previously had any desire to further an acquaintance. But something about the unfairness of having this woman, who in his observation was exactly the lady she purported to be, accused and convicted virtually sight unseen of being a wanton, even by someone normally as non-judgemental as his great-aunt, roused his fighting spirit. And when a crony of his aunt’s, one of the old beldames who ruled Bath society, gave her an obvious snub when her chaperon attempted to call the lady over, he found himself on his feet before he knew what he intended.
Limping quickly over, he seized the beldame’s hand before she could walk away. ‘Lady Arbuthnot, what a pleasure to see you again and looking so fine!’ he said, bowing. ‘That’s a charming bonnet!’
Pinking with pleasure, the lady replied, ‘I’d heard you were visiting Lady Woodlings, Lieutenant Trethwell! Welcome back to England. What a relief it must be to be home again! I do hope you are making a good recovery from your injury.’
‘How could I not, back in the salubrious climate and genteel company of my home country? Speaking of that—’ Leaving a hand on her arm, he subtly steered her around. ‘Would you do the honour of introducing me to these charming ladies?’
Too late, the woman realised that Johnnie had manoeuvred her into facing the women she’d just attempted to cut. The charm of the smile he fixed on her at odds with the tension in his gut, he waited to see whether the embarrassment of making a scene by refusing his request would outweigh her righteous indignation at having to acknowledge a girl of whom she disapproved.
Deciding to throw his last weapon into the fray, he said sotto voce, ‘If you could do so at once, ma’am? Standing’s not good for my bad leg.’
Apparently, that was enough to tip the balance. ‘I suppose I can’t refuse the request of one of his Majesty’s brave soldiers,’ she said with ill grace. ‘Lady Stoneway, a pleasure to see you in Bath. May I present to you Lieutenant Lord John Trethwell, the great-nephew of my good friend Lady Woodlings and brother to the new Marquess of Barkley?’
The Beauty was even more beautiful at close range, Johnnie thought, everything masculine in him leaping to the alert. Though she stood serenely unmoved while the introductions were made, the flush on Lady Stoneway’s cheek and that lady’s tremulous smile showed at least her aunt recognised the significance of his intervention. ‘Delighted to make the acquaintance of one of our brave soldiers, Lady Arbuthnot,’ she replied. ‘As is my niece, Miss Lattimar. Aren’t you, my dear?’
He’d thought her shy, but the Beauty who dipped him a graceful curtsy was quietly self-contained, he thought, rather than nervous or uncertain. ‘Almost past her last prayers,’ his aunt had described her. Though a female possessing such youthful beauty could never be considered a spinster, she was no blushing ingénue, even if she hadn’t been formally presented. And small wonder she was self-possessed, if ever since she’d budded into womanhood, she’d been facing down innuendo that equated her to her infamous mother.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant.’
Her voice was as lovely as her face. He’d intended only to force Lady Arbuthnot to recognise her and then remove himself—not having, despite his aunt’s urging, any interest in trying to entice a wealthy young female to wed him. But he found he simply couldn’t walk away.
Instead, he held out his hand. ‘With your permission, Lady Stoneway, may I make a turn about the room with your niece?’ And before her chaperon had a chance to reply, he clapped a hand on Miss Lattimar’s arm and bore her off.
Chapter Two (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
Not sure whether to be amused or indignant, Prudence obliquely studied her escort from the corner of her eye as she walked beside him. ‘Was that an introduction, or a kidnapping?’
‘You really couldn’t refuse to stroll with me. Not after the signal service I just performed.’
He had her there. Truly, she wasn’t sure what to make of him.
The image of a pirate had flashed through her mind when she’d first observed him in Sidney Gardens, leaning his tall, raw-boned frame down to murmur in his aunt’s ear, dark golden hair curling over the collar of his regimentals. And the gaze he’d given her! Admiration and interest shining in grey-green eyes with a look so penetrating, it seemed he was trying to see right into her soul.
She felt another stir of...something, in the pit of her stomach, just recalling it.
Viewed up close, his lean, tanned face was even more compelling, with its high cheekbones, thin, blunt mouth, purposeful nose and arresting eyes. His regimentals hung rather loosely on him, as if he’d been ill. A fact his slight limp and Aunt Gussie had confirmed, when her aunt, alas, had steered them on to a side path back at the Sidney Gardens, warning Pru she should avoid this youngest son of a notoriously rakehell family.
Rakehell or not, he’d boldly coerced that disapproving matron into recognising her. A move that, had it failed, would have embarrassed him as much as her. Was he compassionate, clever—or just reckless, indifferent whether the gamble would work or not? Uncaring, if it failed, that he had brought humiliating and unwelcome attention to her?
But it had worked and would give a definite push to her campaign for acceptance.
‘In fairness, I do owe you thanks,’ she acknowledged at last. ‘Lady Stoneway’s credit and that of her friend Mrs Marsden are sufficient that most of Bath society deigns to receive me, but there have been...recalcitrants, Lady Arbuthnot chief among them.’ She laughed. ‘Now that you’ve so cleverly manoeuvred her into recognising me, I can breathe a sigh of relief. Although, ungrateful as it may seem, I’m afraid I can’t afford to show my thanks by associating with you once this stroll is concluded.’
‘What, have you been warned against me?’ he asked with a smile. ‘Didn’t think I’d been in Bath long enough for that.’
‘I saw you at Sidney Gardens earlier today with your aunt. I don’t mean to be uncivil, but Aunt Gussie said you have the reputation of being a...a reckless adventurer. And with it presumed that you’re about to leave the army, it’s also said you are...’ She hesitated, her own experience with rumour and innuendo making her loath to repeat further ill of him without knowing the truth.
‘A fortune hunter?’ he supplied, seeming not at all offended. ‘Or have you heard the other version, the one in which I’m in Bath trying to turn my aunt up sweet, so she’ll settle funds on me? You mustn’t feel uncomfortable, repeating the rumours, Miss Lattimar. After all, I’ve been warned against you, too.’
She stiffened, a feeling almost of...betrayal escaping. So her scepticism had been warranted. He hadn’t helped her out of kindness, just on a whim, too devil-may-care to worry about the consequences. ‘I wonder then that you bothered to rescue me,’ she said, unable to keep the anger from her voice.
He halted, forcing her to look up at him. ‘I should think you, of all people, would understand. I dislike seeing someone branded for something only rumour alleges—me, or anyone else. A sentiment I suspect you share. I shall judge you as I find you, not for who your mother was. Everyone in Bath ought to do the same.’
So he had acted out of compassion. Anger faded, replaced by chagrin that such a gesture had been necessary—and that she’d initially judged him more harshly than he had her. Following on that was something else more unexpected—a deep sense of...kinship at his empathy. As if they understood each other.
She had no business feeling either chagrin or connection for a penniless soldier of dubious reputation. Calling on years of practice, she suppressed the volatile emotions before they could show on her face.
She’d be wise to escape the company of a man who had, in the space of a few moments, called up feelings strong enough to compromise the tranquil façade she must present to the world. And whose escort would do nothing to further her aim of attracting an eminently respectable man to marry.
Once she was sure her voice wouldn’t tremble, she said, ‘Much as I honour you for those sentiments, you must realise that with my reputation, I can’t afford to be seen on easy terms with a man usually regarded as a careless adventurer.’ She gave him a deprecating smile. ‘The fortune-hunter part is less of a problem, since it’s widely believed that only my large dowry would ever induce a man to risk marrying me.’
‘Then he would be a very great fool.’
Surprised, she lifted her gaze back up to those grey-green eyes—and was mesmerised. Something flashed between them, some wordless connection accompanied by an attraction as fiery as it was unexpected. Her stomach swooped, her breathing grew unsteady and she could almost feel his arm burning her fingertips through the layers of her gloves and his sleeve. A sudden, inexplicable desire filled her to move closer, feel his arms around her, his lips...
With a start, she looked away, ending the fraught moment. Merciful heavens, what had come over her? This man is even more dangerous than I thought.
Jerking her hand free, she said, ‘I had best return to my aunt.’
He caught up to her in a step. ‘At least, let me walk with you. Otherwise, it will be said that you found my conversation so improper, you felt it necessary to abandon me in the middle of the Pump Room. Which will do my reputation no good.’
‘Very well,’ she said, not looking at him—and very careful not to take his arm. ‘But as I already told you, I won’t be able to walk with you again.’
‘Do you always do what propriety dictates?’ he asked.
She looked at him then. ‘I haven’t a choice,’ she said bleakly.
‘We always have a choice, Miss Lattimar. I’ll say “goodbye”, not “farewell”,’ he murmured as they reached her aunt. ‘Lady Stoneway, Miss Lattimar, a pleasure,’ he said more loudly, bowing as he turned her over to her chaperon.
And then left them. She couldn’t help watching as, his soldier’s bearing erect despite his injury, he limped away across the room.
Her aunt’s fan tapping at her wrist recalled her attention. ‘That was handsomely done,’ she said, inclining her head towards the departing soldier. ‘I hope you thanked him as you walked with him, because you mustn’t do so again. It would do your chances no good for you to become more closely acquainted.’ Aunt Gussie sighed. ‘A shame, for he is a handsome devil, isn’t he?’
‘Is he a womaniser? Or is his reputation just rumour?’ As mine is.
‘His reputation is more that of an adventurer. He went out to join the army in India right after university. Not that he had much choice, with the family already done up and no source of income for him here in England. Got himself wounded in some clash with the natives. His oldest brother inherited while he was away—a mountain of debt. With three other brothers who never met a lightskirt they didn’t try to seduce, a horse they wouldn’t wager on, or a Captain Sharp they didn’t try—and fail—to best in a game of chance, it’s no wonder he stayed away. Or is considering wedding himself to a fortune, if he’s decided his wandering days are done. His pedigree is elevated enough that, despite his lack of funds, he might very well accomplish that—though he hasn’t thus far shown any interest in doing so.’
‘Has he never met a lightskirt he didn’t try to seduce, a horse he wouldn’t wager on, or a Captain Sharp he didn’t want to best?’
‘Whether he’s as profligate as his brothers, no one knows. As I said, he’s been away from England practically since he was a schoolboy. Another rumour claims that he has no wish to marry and is hanging about Lady Woodlings’s skirts instead, hoping she’ll leave her money to him. That one may be more credible, given the tittle-tattle about him cutting a swathe through the faster matrons at the cantonments in India. There are even rumours of a Eurasian paramour—a maharani, if I recall correctly.’
With her upbringing, Pru was hardly scandalised. Instead, she realised ruefully, she felt a little envious, that a man could go anywhere in the world and do anything he wanted. While she had to watch every word she said and every action she took.
His reputation as an adventurer might make him unsuitable husband material for her—but it certainly enhanced his fascination.
‘People love to gossip about the strange and foreign.’
Aunt Gussie chuckled. ‘When they aren’t gossiping about the present and familiar! In any event, I doubt he’s lived as a saint—not a man adventurous enough to leave hearth and kin at such an early age with scarcely a penny to his name and make his way in a continent halfway around the world.’
What would it be like to have such adventures? Pru wondered. To boldly go wherever the whim took you, pit your wits and courage against whatever obstacles you encountered?
Something she would never discover, she thought wistfully. She’d count herself fortunate to land a respectable husband and settle in a quiet, conventional village.
Suppressing the envy as she did every other disturbing emotion, she said, ‘With his birth and that handsome countenance, I doubt it would take him long to charm some susceptible lady of fortune into marrying him. Charming his aunt, I’m not so sure.’
‘I’m sure of neither, despite that handsome face. He’d do better to cozen up to a rich widow. Although, with his lineage, he’d be considered a good catch by most society families, the highest sticklers might not favour having a man with an adventurer’s reputation marry their daughter.’ Her aunt gave her a look. ‘A young lady of...fragile reputation should never let an adventurer approach her at all.’
‘You needn’t preach, Aunt Gussie. I understand my limitations quite well.’ Even if she had to squelch a ridiculous little pang of loss at the idea of never speaking again to the intriguing Lieutenant Trethwell. Never being able to coax him to tell her about his adventures in lands she and Temper had only read about in travel journals and memoirs—what a Hindustani village really looked like, what it was like to hunt a tiger, what sort of jewels a maharani wore.
Even if her fortune interested him, she couldn’t redeem her reputation by marrying a man almost as infamous as she was. Those few heated glances, that unexpected rush of attraction, were all she’d ever have of him.
What they wanted for their futures was completely different.
She tried to picture him in civilian dress in some small country manor, talking about crops and dandling a baby on his knee, and laughed out loud.
Impossible!
As was any foolish desire for more of his company. She needed to keep her mind fixed on her goal: to marry a man with a reputation impeccable enough to rehabilitate her own, live with him and raise their children in a quiet village, creating a warm, happy family far away from the gossip and casual cruelty of society. She should lose no time scouring Bath for such a man—and then charming him into marrying her.
Feeling somehow dispirited, despite that firm conviction, she said, ‘Shall we return to the Circus, Aunt Gussie?’
‘Perhaps we shall. I am feeling a bit weary after all our walking.’
But as she took her aunt’s arm to lead her to reclaim their cloaks, Lady Stoneway suddenly halted. ‘Not quite yet, my dear! There’s someone over there I should very much like you to meet.’
The tone of her aunt’s voice could only mean the ‘someone’ was an eligible young man. A spurt of excitement pulling her from her melancholy, hoping the brisk walk in the gardens that had put roses in her cheeks hadn’t disordered her curls too much, Pru clutched her aunt’s arm more tightly and allowed herself to be led to the opposite side of the floor.
‘Lady Wentworth, Mrs Dalwoody! How nice to see you both!’
The two ladies turned...their movement then copied by the tall man who stood beside them and Pru caught her breath.
She needed no introduction to know that this swoon-worthy gentleman was as wealthy and nobly born as he was handsome. He wore his exquisitely tailored clothing with the unconscious sense of superiority found only in those with old money and important connections.
Or at least, he appeared wealthy. The distinguished family name, she could count on. The two society matrons her aunt had just called out would never have allowed a nouveau-riche Cit with social aspirations in their midst. And no man of lesser breeding would emanate such an aura of self-confidence, as if both accustomed to and taking for granted the notice he attracted.
For in truth, she realised, hers weren’t the only eyes focused on him. He was the object of the interested gaze of every female in the vicinity—and most of the gentlemen.
‘Lady Stoneway, I’d heard you were visiting Bath,’ Lady Wentworth said warmly, giving her aunt—a friend of long-standing, Pru knew—a hug. ‘With your charming niece, too!’
‘Augusta, how good to see you again,’ Mrs Dalwoody said. ‘And, my dear, how lovely you’ve grown! Already budding fair to become a Beauty last time I met you, though I’m sure you don’t remember. You couldn’t have been more than fourteen, that summer I visited dear Augusta at Chemberton Park.’
With an amused smile, the young man cleared his throat. ‘Please, ladies, in your enthusiasm for greeting one another, you’ve quite left me out! Won’t you introduce me to these charming newcomers?’
‘How impolite of me!’ Lady Wentworth exclaimed. ‘Lady Stoneway, Miss Lattimar, may I present Lord Halden Fitzroy-Price, youngest son of my good friend, the Duchess of Maidstone? Newly come down from university, and waiting to be appointed to an ecclesiastical post!’
He made them a bow as impeccably tailored as his coat—which was cut in the latest style, tightly nipped in at the waist with flaring tails. ‘Ladies, honoured to make your acquaintance.’
The glance he gave them was politely brief—until, to Pru’s gratification, it returned to linger on her. ‘Miss Lattimar, Mrs Dalwoody is quite right. You are an Incomparable! Why have I not encountered you in London? I believe my friends must have been deliberately keeping you from me, to hoard this treasure for themselves!’
Pru knew her cheeks must be pinking at his gallantry, but she replied calmly, ‘You must not think so slightingly of your friends, Lord Halden. I’ve not yet been presented in London.’
‘Ah, that explains it, for I should never have forgotten so enchanting a face. Won’t you stroll with me, so we might repair Fortune’s lapse?’
Still a little dazed by his magnificence, at her aunt’s encouraging nod, Pru placed her hand on his sleeve. ‘You are newly come from university, you said. Which one?’
‘Cambridge. I’m not the most downy of scholars,’ he acknowledged with a deprecating glance designed to be disarming, ‘but I did well enough that, as Lady Wentworth said, my cousin, the Earl of Riding, has promised me one of the livings in his gift.’
‘Younger sons must make their own way,’ she acknowledged, firmly yanking her thoughts away from another more scandalous and all-too-attractive younger son who’d been making his own way in the world. ‘You had no taste for the army, I take it.’
He grimaced. ‘With the wars ended, there’d be no way to distinguish oneself by bravery, and who would want to be posted in some colonial backwater, enduring the heat of India, or the storms and humidity of the Indies? No, I fear I’m just a solid Englishman, perfectly content to never leave these shores.’
She curbed the impulse to reply that she would love to explore beyond England’s shores. And squelched the whisper of scepticism that said he was telling her what he thought she’d prefer to hear.
Why wouldn’t he? He’d probably been raised from his nurse’s knee to make himself agreeable in company.
Instead, she smiled and said, ‘Why would a true Englishman want to be anywhere else?’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
‘A political career didn’t interest you, either?’
He wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘Pandering to a lot of rabble in a clutch of grubby villages to win yourself a seat in Parliament? Decidedly not. And as for the government—well, a career in the diplomatic service is likely to land you at some point in the heat of India or the humidity and storms of the tropics! I’ll keep my feet firmly planted in English soil. What about you? Testing your wings in the placid pool of Bath before venturing into the treacherous waters of London?’
‘Something like that.’ Knowing there could never be any successful union without complete honesty, she added, ‘If you know anything of my...family situation, you would know that being in Bath is...more suitable now.’
He frowned and her heart sank. Rather than honestly acknowledging her circumstances, if he truly was unaware of them, had she blundered into making him suspicious that she was not as blameless a young maiden as she appeared before they’d hardly begun to get acquainted?
Then his face cleared and he smiled. ‘I suppose we all have skeletons in the cupboard. Let’s speak of something more pleasant. I take it from the ladies’ greetings that you are only recently arrived. Has your aunt subscribed you to the balls at the Assembly Rooms? Quite refined, although of course nothing to rival London.’
‘I believe she has.’
‘Excellent. I shall count upon the pleasure of leading you into a dance at the next cotillion ball, then.’
The sound of boisterous voices ahead drew their attention. They both looked over to see a group of soldiers entering, one of whom, scanning the room, spotted them and gave a wave. ‘Fitzroy-Price, old fellow,’ he cried, leading the group over. ‘Just knew there had to be someone among all these octogenarians with red blood in his veins.’
‘And the prettiest girl in the room on his arm,’ one of his companions observed.
‘Well, don’t just stand there!’ the first one said. ‘Introduce us!’
‘I’m not sure your chaperon would thank me for making these rascals known to you,’ Lord Halden said, looking uncertainly at the newcomers. But after several raised their voices, protesting his unfairness, he capitulated. ‘Miss Lattimar, may I present Lieutenant Lord Chalmondy Dawson, a friend from childhood, and Lieutenants Trevor Broadmere and Austen Truro, whom I know from university. One could hardly find a more capital group of fellows—for rousting about. But how do you come to be here?’
While Dawson explained the unit containing the former college mates had set up an encampment to conduct training exercises west of the city, and had come into town in search of some jollity, Pru’s eye was caught by a moving flash of scarlet as another soldier entered the Pump Room. He, too, looked around and then beckoned for a uniformed man already in the room to come join him.
Lieutenant Johnnie Trethwell.
After a short exchange, the newcomer plucked Trethwell by the sleeve and led him towards their group.
Pru drew in a sharp breath. Would Trethwell greet her by name—revealing she was already acquainted with just the sort of experienced adventurer society would assume a girl of scandalous reputation would seek out, reinforcing the image she was trying so hard to dispel?
While she waited, almost dizzy with anxiety, looking away as the two men approached, another soldier called out to the approaching men, greetings and genial insults being exchanged after the newcomers arrived. Even though she’d been deliberately ignoring him, the wave of awareness Trethwell generated when he grew near telegraphed his presence.
While she struggled with that, Trethwell’s companion said, ‘Lord Halden! Heard you’d landed here after bouncing out of Cambridge. Persona non grata with the pater in London now, are you?’ he added with a laugh—which her escort acknowledged with a thin smile.
‘Lieutenant Markingham, Miss Lattimar,’ Lord Halden said. ‘Always did have an acid tongue. And...’ He paused, his eyes scanning the Lieutenant.
‘You’re not acquainted with Trethwell?’ Markingham asked.
‘Trethwell?’ Lord Halden repeated—while the adventurer, whose amused expression, after a glance at her face, faded to a mask of politeness, stood by silently. ‘Sounds familiar. Ah, yes! Isn’t that the family name of the Marquess of Barkley?’
‘It is,’ Trethwell replied.
‘Then I was at Cambridge with your brother, James. Lord Halden Fitzroy-Price,’ he said, according the soldier the slightest of bows. ‘You are the scapegrace youngest brother who ended up in the army, I take it?’
Did Pru see or only imagine the flicker of anger in Trethwell’s eyes before his lips quirked in amusement? ‘At your service,’ he drawled, returning a much more elaborate bow.
‘I sincerely hope not,’ Lord Halden said. ‘Miss Lattimar, if I may escort you back to your aunt? I fear she would consider these rowdy comrades less than suitable companions for an innocent young lady.’
Ignoring the boos and laughter his dismissive comment created, the Duke’s son clasped her arm and led her off.
‘Sorry to be so presumptuous, Miss Lattimar,’ he said. ‘Most of that group were questionable enough. But your aunt would likely chastise me soundly were she to learn that I’d had the bad judgement to introduce you to a Trethwell. With the Lieutenant’s eldest brother holding so elevated a title, the family is still received, even though rumour says their estate is mortgaged to the hilt. But the younger brothers are penniless rakes to a man, with the Lieutenant reputed to be the most infamous of the lot.’
On the one hand, as a member of an infamous family herself, Pru could sympathise with the anger she glimpsed beneath Trethwell’s mocking tone and exaggerated bow. She knew all too well what it was like to be tarred with the same brush for a relative’s transgressions. On the other, she could hardly fault Lord Halden for trying to protect her reputation.
Would he be so concerned, once he learned about her circumstances? Or would he conclude that she no longer deserved such consideration?
She hoped he would end up being as fair as Lieutenant Trethwell. She didn’t yet know enough about Lord Halden’s character to accurately judge whether or not they would suit. But if he should decide to pursue her, she couldn’t fail to recognise that he didn’t just fulfil, but wildly exceeded, every requirement on her list.
He wasn’t only a respectable gentleman, but one of high degree, from an ancient family.
He wasn’t going to pursue a career in the rough and tumble of politics, which would require residing for months in the gossip hotbed of London, or interested in the army, which would take him from home for months or years at a time. No, he, like many a younger son, appeared to be destined for the church.
Waiting to receive an appointment, probably in some charming village far removed from the stench and bustle of the capital. Where as part of his living, he’d receive a fine manor house, doubtless with a large garden and enough income from grand and lesser tithes to employ a small staff of servants and live a comfortable life.
What more effective way to polish a tarnished reputation to gleaming brightness than to become a clergyman’s wife? Making rounds of the parish, calling on the sick, taking care of the lost and needy, and performing other good works?
Of course, it was a very large leap from a simple introduction and a man’s far-too-common admiration for her pretty face to mutual esteem, love and marriage.
But he had liked her pretty face. She intended to use that attraction to lure him into getting to know her better.
A vicar’s wife, respected, honoured and beloved by the community, she thought again, a glow warming her heart. For the first time since hearing of her mother’s latest scandal, Pru began to hope she might free herself from the shackles of her past after all.
Chapter Three (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
Two days later, Prudence Lattimar strolled with her aunt through Sidney Gardens in the pleasant morning sunshine. Though a few of the highest sticklers refused to receive her, Lady Stoneway and her friend Mrs Marsden had done their work well. By now, she’d been presented to pretty much everyone currently residing in Bath with any pretentions to gentility.
Unfortunately, her sister’s dismissive remark about the calibre of the resident bachelors had been all too correct. Even Aunt Gussie had admitted herself rather disappointed at how thin on the ground eligible bachelors were, comparing the current landscape unfavourably with what the city had been like thirty years ago, when she’d been a single young miss.
‘You could find almost as many eligible partis walking in the gardens here as you might find strolling in Hyde Park,’ Aunt Gussie murmured, shaking her head as they passed yet another old gentleman being wheeled around in a chair. ‘There were, to be sure, a contingent of the elderly and infirm come to drink the waters, but a large number of the Upper Ten Thousand also chose to spend the Season here! Well, we shall just have to do the best we can with what’s available.’
‘Speaking of which,’ Pru replied, her voice lowered to a murmur, ‘isn’t that Lord Halden, walking with the older woman over there?’
‘It is indeed!’ Aunt Gussie said, her face brightening. ‘That’s his mother’s cousin, Lady Isabelle Dudley. Keeps a house here as well as in London, generally residing at one or the other for most of the year. Apparently she doesn’t much like the country, even though her husband’s estate, Cliffacres, reputedly rivals Blenheim Palace. An earl’s daughter who married a commoner, but one from an old and fabulously wealthy family, it’s said she makes all her extended family dance to her tune.’
Pru’s hopes in Lord Halden’s direction took a plunge. Just what she needed—someone else who would probably dismiss her without a glance because of her mother. ‘A high stickler?’
Aunt Gussie chuckled. ‘No, just a tyrant. She caused her share of on dits in her day! A Beauty who had half the men of the ton dangling after her before she settled on Dudley.’
Prudence cut a covert glance towards the woman, noting the high cheekbones and tall, elegant figure that testified to how lovely Lady Isabelle must have been in her prime. She looked exactly as Aunt Gussie had described her: rich, handsome—and reigning regally over her family.
‘Reformed sinners are usually more disapproving than most of those they consider to have fallen off the straight and narrow,’ Pru observed.
‘Perhaps. But it’s also said her primary qualification when evaluating possible wives for “her boys” is fortune,’ Aunt Gussie said. ‘Shall we go greet them, my dear? If Lady Isabelle is determined to blight your chances with the most attractive marriage prospect currently in Bath, better to discover that early rather than late, so we may shift our focus elsewhere.’
The image of a certain tawny-haired lieutenant flashed into her head before she dismissed it. Even with Lord Halden eliminated from consideration, the globe-trekking Johnnie Trethwell wouldn’t make her list of desirable prospects. Better to concentrate her efforts on the sort of respectable country gentlemen she sought.
‘True enough.’ Bracing herself for what might be a humiliating set-down, Pru laid her hand on her aunt’s arm, summoned a smile, and prepared to brave the lion.
‘Lady Isabelle, Lord Halden, good morning,’ Aunt Gussie said as they caught up to the couple. After exchanging bows and curtsies, Aunt Gussie continued, ‘Lady Isabelle, may I present to you my niece, Miss Prudence Lattimar?’
After her scanning her so thoroughly, Pru felt like a prize cow whose worth was being assessed by an auctioneer, the older woman gave her a nod. ‘Miss Lattimar. My young cousin, Lord Halden, was just telling me how he’d met you in the Pump Room yesterday, and been charmed. Now I see why.’
Pru exhaled a shaky breath. Though Lady Isabelle most assuredly knew her history, evidently she’d passed muster anyway. Even better, Lord Halden’s relation would have fully acquainted him with her circumstances. If he knew them, and still found her ‘charming’, the biggest obstacle to developing a relationship with him had just been hurdled.
For perhaps the first time in her life, she silently thanked her father for being such a careful curator of his vast wealth.
‘You’ve just come from London, haven’t you?’ Lady Isabelle said. ‘Walk with me, Lady Stoneway. You can acquaint me with all the latest happenings while these young people become better acquainted.’
That was so bald, Prudence had a hard time not blushing. The auctioneer, turning the prime merchandise over to the potential buyer. Dutifully taking the arm Lord Halden offered, she tried to settle her nerves.
Once they were a short distance down the pathway, she said, ‘I hope you don’t feel coerced into escorting me.’
The Duke’s son laughed. ‘My cousin isn’t very subtle, is she? Completely accustomed to getting her own way, too, so there’s little use trying to resist her. However, I don’t need any coercion to walk with the most beautiful lady in Bath.’
Gratified, she smiled. ‘You are very kind. I understand Lady Isabelle has a house here. Are you staying with her?’
‘No. Not that she wouldn’t have me,’ he added. After that curious statement, he continued, ‘It would be rather...restricting to live under the roof of someone bound to observe every detail of your comings and goings. A man needs a little freedom, after all.’
Prudence suppressed another pang of envy. If he considered living in his cousin’s house chafing, he should try being an unmarried young woman of suspect character, whose every word and movement were scrutinised. Trying to summon up some sympathy, she said, ‘Yes, a young man should be able to stay out late playing a hand of cards or finishing a fine ale, without having someone waiting on him, watching a clock.’
‘Exactly!’ he exclaimed, looking on her with approval. ‘I’m so glad you’re not one of those missish girls, who thinks I should stay at home with my cousin, holding her yarn while she knits, or something equally rubbishy.’
He stiffened when Pru, after trying to suppress a giggle, finally laughed. ‘Sorry, I simply can’t envision you dutifully hefting a skein of yarn! Does she knit?’
Relaxing, Lord Halden grinned. ‘Heavens, I don’t know. If she does, the stitches had better do what she tells them.’
Prudence shook her head. ‘Alas, mine never do.’
‘Not a needlewoman?’
A potential clergyman’s wife would be expected to knit and sew for the unfortunate, she realised in a flash. ‘I confess I’m not the most talented, but I am committed to doing better.’ She bit her tongue to avoid adding, Despite the fact that I detest needlework and would much prefer to be outside, riding or mucking about in the garden.
‘What amusements do you favour?’ she asked instead, preferring to bring the focus back to him and avoid any potentially damaging questions about her other interests—or her too interesting, scandalous family.
‘Besides drinking and cards?’ he riposted, still smiling. ‘I’m quite enthusiastic about horseflesh. There’s nothing finer than a prime beast in full gallop, outstripping all the others on some track! Or on the hunting field. I generally spend the entire hunting season following one or another of the best hunts. Lady Isabelle rents a box at Melton Mowbray, and we get to the Belvoir as well.’
‘You must be a capital rider, then.’
‘Oh, yes. Sat my first pony when I was only three. Evaluate and purchase all my own mounts, too. Wouldn’t leave so important a task to some groom!’
‘Have you acquired any new horses lately?’
That simple question was enough to set him off on an enthusiastic recital of the merits and fine points of the perfectly matched pair of blacks he’d just purchased for his new high-perch phaeton, several hunters he was currently training for the upcoming season, and the flashy, high-stepping chestnut he kept for riding in Hyde Park.
Her contributions to the conversation limited to an occasional ‘Oh, my!’ or ‘How excellent!’ they’d made almost a complete circuit of the main pathway before he paused for breath.
‘I dare say, it’s capital to discover a young lady who appreciates horseflesh,’ he said at last, giving her hand a hearty squeeze.
Before she could think of an appropriate response that wouldn’t set him off again, the group of soldiers they’d seen in the Pump Room the day she met him rounded a corner.
‘Lord Halden, well met!’ Lieutenant Lord Chalmondy cried. ‘And Miss Lattimar. How lovely you look.’
After giving Pru an inspection that lingered on her bosom so long she felt her face colouring, he murmured to his companions, ‘What a hot little charmer she is, eh, boys?’
A flash of anger deepened the heat. Evidently Lord Chalmondy thought that, in the open air of the park, surrounded by his companions, he could get away with a crude remark he would never have chanced having overheard within the proper confines of the Pump Room.
Either not hearing or not realising how insulting the comment was, Lord Halden said, ‘With this pack of half-wits about you, no wonder you were looking for some clever company.’
Lord Chalmondy laughed. ‘There is that. But there’s also some capital sport going on this afternoon.’ He lowered his voice, although not so low that he wasn’t perfectly aware she could still hear him. ‘A cockfight down at the Mare’s Tail and then a sparring match between the local champion and a man from Liverpool. Supposedly he used to work the looms in some factory. A regular bruiser! Should be a prime dust-up.’
‘No gentleman with red blood still running in his veins would want to miss it,’ Lieutenant Broadmere said.
‘Sounds like just the thing for you soldiers to while away a dull afternoon,’ Lord Halden said.
‘Zounds, man, we’re on our way now. Why not come with us?’ Lord Chalmondy gave Pru another leering glance. ‘You’ll have all evening to charm the ladies. Or do you feel you may need a glass of Pump Room water to make it through the day?’
Lord Halden hesitated, obviously drawn by the prospect of sport—and unwilling to be thought less virile than his former university mates. ‘Very well,’ he conceded after a moment. ‘Just let me escort this lady back to her aunt.’
There was a snigger and Pru was certain she heard one of them mutter ‘lady?’ in a contemptuous undertone.
Giving her another appraising glance that said exactly what he thought about her character, Lord Chalmondy said, ‘Good heavens, it’s mid-morning in a public park. I think Miss Lattimar is clever enough to find her way back without your help. Aren’t you, Miss Lattimar?’
Resisting the strong urge to slap the mocking smile off his face, Pru hesitated. No gentleman, having received permission to take a young lady for a stroll, would go off to do something else until he’d returned her safely to her chaperon. Lord Chalmondy was making it quite clear that, though her fortune might have rendered her acceptable to Lord Halden’s cousin, this duke’s son did not consider her deserving of being treated as a gently born maiden should be.
He was obviously fully aware of her reputation, and would treat her—at least where there was no one from society to reprove him—as one of the Scandal Sisters.
Furious, but determined not to let it show, she said, ‘Clever enough to need no further encouragement to quit the company of gentlemen such as yourself.’
‘Excellent,’ Lord Chalmondy replied, appearing not at all disturbed by her thinly veiled rebuke. ‘You see, Lord Halden, the lady has released you.’
‘You are sure you don’t mind, Miss Lattimar? I’ll see you somewhere later, then. You’ll tender my farewells to your aunt and Lady Isabelle, yes?’
At her curt nod, he dropped her arm, left her there on the pathway and set off with the soldiers.
Fuming...and humiliated, for a few long minutes, Prudence simply stood, watching them lope down the path and out of the park, their loud laughter and jesting trailing after them. Lord Halden never gave her a backward glance.
Still angry, worried her debut in Bath might turn out to be as disastrous as a foray in London would have proved, with dragging steps, Prudence turned around and set off to find her aunt.
Meanwhile, Johnnie Trethwell was limping through his second circuit of the paths at Sidney Gardens. He’d been happy to drop his aunt off to visit one of her cronies rather than have her accompany him, which allowed him to walk at a faster pace. Pushing himself and his knee to the limits of its endurance was the only way he was going to regain its full strength—no matter how much he was going to regret that determination come evening, when it would likely pain him in earnest.
He’d just turned the corner of the outer pathway when he spied Miss Lattimar, walking alone a dozen yards in front of him.
Johnnie halted, stifling his immediate impulse to go to her. He’d felt only too keenly the anxiety on her face in the Pump Room when Markingham had pulled him into the group of soldiers conversing with her and her evident escort, Lord Halden. Not that he’d been insulted by her obvious reluctance to have the Duke’s son know they were acquainted. Though his attentions had been keenly sought the world over by bored matrons with more lust than morals—an arrangement that suited him perfectly well—he was only too aware that keeping company with a man of his reputation would do nothing to help her efforts to entice a proper suitor. Not burdened as she was with her questionable reputation.
He remembered the bleak resignation in her eyes when she stated she had no choice but to adhere to every rule of propriety. For a lady whose extraordinary beauty would normally have given her licence to be as capricious as she chose, that was the saddest comment yet.
He should remain silent and let her go her own way.
But the pathway ahead of her was deserted. There was no one about to see or disapprove. With that treacherous fact to encourage him, he couldn’t quite defeat the desire to talk with her.
Still debating, he quickened his pace, closing the distance between them. Then, as he got nearer, he noticed how dawdling her steps were, how her head drooped and her arms trailed loosely at her sides, her reticule dangling by twisted cords, unnoticed. She looked the picture of—dejection?
Concerned in spite of himself, over his bad leg’s protest, Johnnie pushed harder, until he was within hailing distance. ‘Miss Lattimar!’ he called. ‘What’s this, walking alone? Has a press gang rounded up every man in Bath, or have they all gone blind?’
Under his keenly observing eye, she first stiffened, then straightened, then slowly turned towards him. Hurt and mortification in her expression, she opened her lips to speak, must have thought better of it and forced a smile instead. ‘It’s such a lovely morning, I thought I’d have a stroll while Aunt Gussie rested on a bench.’
He was fairly certain, according to his vaguely remembered standards of conduct for single young females, that walking alone in a respectable garden in a genteel city like Bath with her chaperon nearby wouldn’t be considered precisely fast. But he did clearly recall his more adventurous sister being roundly scolded for leaving her maid behind on such a foray, her governess emphasising that ‘a well-bred young lady never walks anywhere unaccompanied. Never!’
Her troubled expression revealed the same distress he’d read on her face in the Pump Room. As he stood, watching her, something flashed between them, some wordless connection, spurring in him the urge to move closer. He had the absurd wish that he could take her in his arms and somehow ease her burden.
‘Is something wrong? How can I help?’
Her eyes widened with alarm before, shaking her head, she said, ‘How did you know I was upset? I’ve worked so hard on the ability to appear serene, regardless of the circumstances!’
That response was so unexpected—and delightful—he had to laugh. ‘Well, I did come upon you from behind, when your guard was down.’
‘Then you couldn’t have seen my face.’ Her exasperation deepened. ‘Or did I give myself away when I greeted you? Please, let me know! In my circumstances, I must be able to control my demeanour, or the wolves truly will devour me alive.’
That truth was enough to extinguish his amusement. ‘I suppose you’re right. But don’t worry too much. Most people see only what they expect to see. Half the time, they are too occupied with their own needs and desires to notice much of anything around them. If I’m a keener judge, it’s because I’ve had to be. Travelling among various native groups in India, most of them hostile to one another and often to the English, one had to be a keen observer. Able to evaluate a man’s stance and expression to fill in the many gaps in my comprehension of the local dialect, so I might accurately assess whether I was being invited to join a hunt—or was the object being hunted.’
As he’d hoped, that teased out a genuine smile—and he had to suck in a breath. The effect was like coming out of a dark cave into brilliant noon sunshine.
Basking in it, he said, ‘May I escort you back to your aunt? Perhaps we can scandalise and confound a few disapproving matrons on the way?’
But she hadn’t completely recovered, for his joking suggestion brought an immediate, alarmed widening of those enchanting blue eyes. Hastily he added, ‘Excuse me, I was just funning. As you can see, the gardens are deserted. I should be able to return you safely to your aunt without endangering your reputation.’
She looked at him, the wry smile on her lovely lips making him wish she were as scandalous as society branded her, so he might kiss that luscious mouth, right here in the park.
While he beat back the desire, she said, ‘You’re right and I apologise. I’ve been suspicious of you at every turn, while you’ve done nothing but seek to protect me.’ She sighed. ‘If only my reputation were less...tarnished. I wish it were sterling enough to allow me to associate openly with the only man I’ve ever met, outside my own family, who hasn’t judged—and dismissed—my character without meeting me or having me utter a word. How I wish we could be friends!’
Somewhat to his surprise, Johnnie had to acknowledge he shared that wish. Outside his own sisters, he had next to no experience of gently bred maidens, having left England right after university and having carefully avoided newcomers from the Fishing Fleet during his time in India.
Not that avoiding them required much effort. With the dearth of single English females in India, the ladies venturing out in search of husbands on the yearly voyages from England had no trouble finding partners. Even those with little beauty and few charms had numerous suitors, clearing the field for him to turn his attentions to the more dashing married matrons.
True, he found Prudence Lattimar’s beauty arresting. He sensed a fire beneath her carefully controlled façade, no matter how stringently she was trying to mask it, that couldn’t help but draw him like the proverbial moth to her flame. He had the tempting suspicion he might be just the man to coax that flame into a very satisfying conflagration.
More surprising, though, he was discovering himself equally captivated by Miss Lattimar’s lack of artifice, her directness and honesty—traits he suspected were in short supply among females looking to attract a husband. Not just husband-hunters, he amended. He’d found those qualities lacking in virtually every female he’d ever known.
‘I would enjoy your friendship,’ he acknowledged—though what he’d do with the friendship of a woman he could neither bed nor wished to marry, he didn’t know. Dismissing that qualm, he said, ‘We must consider ways to make that happen. But not at this moment. Now, let us just enjoy as much conversation as we can squeeze in before I must surrender you to your aunt. So, how goes it with your Duke’s son?’
She tilted her head at him. ‘You truly want to know? I got the impression you didn’t like him very much.’
‘Just because he looked at me in my regimentals as though I were a slug that had just crawled on his shoe, before dismissing me as a nonentity? Excuse me, not just a nonentity, but scapegrace rakehell who shouldn’t be allowed within speaking distance of his—or your—pristine person?’
While chuckling at his description, she shook her head. ‘He did treat you badly, which was not at all well done of him.’
Johnnie shrugged. ‘One can’t expect wisdom or discernment from a university dandy—or a bunch of play soldiers who’ve never been within a musket-sound’s distance of a real battle.’
‘Unlike you, who are a real soldier?’
Grief and pain twisted in his gut. Fortunately, she could have no idea the cost of being a ‘real’ soldier, he thought before he shut down the memories and summoned a smile. ‘Now you’ve caught me being as dismissive of them as they were of me! I admit, I have something of a distaste for Fitzroy-Price’s ilk. I served under too many colonial officials whose chief qualification for the job was their papa’s elevated title or connections. However, though I may have spent most of my adult life outside England, even I am not too dim to recognise that wedding the son of a duke must top even “wealthy”, “young” and “charming” on every fond mama’s list of the sort of husband she’d choose for her daughter.’
She nodded. ‘He would be accounted a prime catch. Especially for someone like me.’
He frowned. ‘Someone like you?’
‘Yes. He’s to receive a living from his uncle, Aunt Gussie tells me. How better to redeem my reputation, than to become the blameless wife of a clergyman?’ Her enthusiasm faded a bit. ‘Though I would hope he would learn not to be drawn in by rough companions and to treat all people with more respect. But he’s young. His solemn role as a spiritual advisor will mature him and endow him with wisdom and compassion, I’m sure.’
With an effort, Johnnie restrained himself from rolling his eyes. In his experience, pampered, wealthy young men went on to become self-important, pompous older men, supremely confident in their superiority and disdainful of the rabble—which included most everyone else in society—beneath them.
But, as young and sheltered from the world as unmarried maidens were, Miss Lattimar had probably not yet learned that lesson. It wasn’t really his place to teach her.
While he worked hard to keep from expressing his opinion, Miss Lattimar said, ‘Enough of Lord Halden. Might I ask you a question?’
Primed now to expect almost anything, he immediately replied, ‘Of course! Although if it deals with society, I can’t promise to have the expertise to accurately answer it.’
‘You absolutely have expertise about this society! I’ve never seen more of the world than our estate in Northumberland, the town house in London and the little I’ve experienced so far of Bath. I’m so envious of the travels and the adventures you’ve had! Please, can you tell me what it was like, living in India?’
‘Tell you about India?’ he echoed, surprised. ‘Ladies usually beg to hear about storms at sea, or pirates. Generally, only men ask me about India.’ And then, mostly for tales about the women.
‘I’m sure you’re a marvellous storyteller. And I truly would like to hear about your life there.’
‘Very well, India. Let me see if I can pick out the bits best suited for a maiden of your tender years.’
She giggled. ‘Oh, no! I want to hear all the spicy bits, too!’
Did she have any idea how irresistible she was? he thought, totally charmed. ‘All right, then. Let me see if I can find bits spicy enough to titillate you without losing whatever credit I might have with your aunt for protecting you on your walk back.’
Quickly searching through memory to select a story that might entertain her without veering into the salacious, he launched into a description of the grand procession in the State of the Nawab of Surat in which troops from his regiment had participated. ‘After the termination of the fast of Ramadan, one of the holiest events in the Muslim year, the Nawab ordered a grand parade from his durbar to the principal mosque. A select few of us British regulars marched after him, followed by elephants and camels carrying kettle-drummers and musicians, local men on horseback, their mounts as richly dressed as they were, and finally a state palankeen bearing representatives of the East India Company, members of the ruling British council, the Governor of the castle and the Admiral of the Mogul’s fleet, all in dress uniform. Ah, the noise of the excited crowds calling and hooting, the women ululating, the tramp of boots, hooves and elephant feet! The sound of the drums and the strange melodies of the native lutes, the scent of marigolds, incense, perfume—and dung. And clouds of dust, enveloping us and coating our mouths and uniforms.’
She laughed, her eyes shining. ‘You describe it so vividly I can almost hear it—and smell it! You are a marvellous storyteller! My twin sister, Temperance, who has a great desire to explore foreign places, has collected all the travel journals and memoirs she can find, but hearing such episodes described by someone who actually lived them is so much more fascinating than merely reading about them. Tell me more!’
So he did, secretly delighted when she begged him to continue his tales through one more circuit around the park before he returned her to her aunt.
When they finally turned down the pathway and saw Lady Stoneway and another matron sitting on a bench, her rapt expression faded. ‘I hate it that it isn’t wise for me to associate with you. It was so...energising to talk about something truly interesting, rather than having to confine my remarks to innocuous observations on the weather, or monosyllabic murmurs of appreciation for whatever a gentleman is prosing on about!’
‘Good heavens! Is that what you have to do to look respectable?’ When she nodded, he shook his head. ‘How...stifling. And how much I admire you!’
She gave him a sharp look. ‘It isn’t polite to mock.’
‘No, I’m entirely serious! It’s fortunate I have no desire to mingle in polite society, for I probably wouldn’t last half an hour before I got thrown out on my ear. I’m far too prone to ignore convention and say exactly what I think, hang the consequences.’ He chuckled. ‘Which, probably, is why I was never a success at school and the Army in India looked askance on me. I ask too many questions and probe into too many areas they would prefer left unexplored.’
Miss Lattimar smiled—and she really was temptation incarnate when she smiled, he thought. A soldier ought to get a medal for bravery or restraint for resisting the completely understandable urge to kiss her senseless on the spot.
‘My governess was for ever warning me and Temperance against doing that,’ she was saying. ‘Although Temper is so much braver and bolder than I am. She does tell people what she thinks. Defies them about casting us in the image of our mother, too, instead of trying to deflect them and please everyone, like I do.’
‘It takes self-control and admirable discipline to limit what one says. Particularly when the comment one struggles to suppress is bang on the mark. I’d say that makes you the one who is strong and brave.’
She looked startled, as if she’d never thought that of herself. ‘How kind of you to say so! I only wish I could believe it. Much as I try to be perfectly behaved, so that society will come to believe I am not my mother, I must confess, sometimes I feel like giving up the effort. Abandoning prudence and caution, raising my skirts and running through Sidney Gardens shrieking, just to see the look on some censorious matron’s face. Or stripping off my stockings and wading in the fountain—like Temper and I used to wade in the river at home.’
‘Probably best to suppress such impulses,’ he said—even as it pained him to think she felt compelled to restrain that bright, exuberant spirit. ‘I doubt they would be considered very suitable in a vicar’s wife.’
He regretted the words immediately, for they extinguished the merriment on her face in an instant. ‘I might be able to wade in a fountain, in the privacy of my own garden, with my children accompanying me,’ she said after a moment.
‘I hope you will.’ Yet, he couldn’t help a probably futile wish that somehow, she would avoid a fate that, to him, seemed destined to lock her for ever in a role where her natural charm and zest for life would be straitjacketed.
Just beyond speaking distance from her aunt, she stopped, as if she needed to armour herself to return to the world of rules and subterfuge. Lips parted, she gazed over at him, regret at having to part and longing on her face.
A wave of desire swept through him to carry her away from the propriety-bound world she was about to re-enter, off somewhere they could be alone. Where he might succumb to the urge to kiss her that had dogged him from the moment he saw her again.
From the widening of her eyes and the little intake of breath, he knew she felt that sensual pull as strongly as he did. And he was as helpless to resist it as a cobra hypnotised by a mongoose.
Giving him a tiny negative shake of her head, as if wordlessly acknowledging both the desire and the impossibility of indulging it, she said, ‘I have to go back.’
‘To the world of society and its rules.’
‘Yes. But I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed our walk. Maybe...maybe we can find a way to walk together again in future. I imagine my aunt will be fatigued and want to return home at once, so I’ll say good day to you now, Lieutenant.’
He bowed. ‘And to you, Miss Lattimar.’
They had nearly reached the bench on which both women sat before their approach was noticed. ‘Prudence—and Lieutenant Trethwell?’ Lady Stoneway said, looking both surprised and confused.
‘Miss Lattimar!’ the other woman exclaimed. ‘Where is my cousin?’
‘Lord Halden...encountered a group of friends, who pressed him to accompany him immediately on a...a mission of some importance.’
‘But—he just left you, unaccompanied?’ Lady Stoneway cried.
‘Fortunately, Lieutenant Trethwell was at hand to make sure I returned safely,’ Miss Lattimar said, giving him a quick, silent plea that he not contradict her slight alteration of events.
His lips tightening, he understood all too well. He’d already overheard some salacious remarks made about her by several of the soldiers joking with Fitzroy-Price that day in the Pump Room. Men who spoke of her like that would have no compulsion about insulting her by carrying off her escort and leaving her to fend for herself.
But it didn’t say much for her escort that he’d agreed.
No wonder she’d been looking so dejected when he came upon her!
‘Well, Lord Halden shouldn’t have left me here, without proper escort back to my house!’ the other matron said angrily. ‘And so I shall tell him, when next I see him. Careless boy!’
Johnnie’s cynicism deepened. He had no idea of the identity of the overdressed, self-important woman with Miss Lattimar’s aunt, but she conducted herself just like the wives of the high-ranking men he’d known in India. Concerned only with her own consequence and well-being, sparing not a thought for the beautiful young woman her cousin had left alone, vulnerable to attack by any ruffian who might have come upon her. No matter how unlikely it was that a ruffian would be roaming about Sidney Gardens on a sunny morning.
‘Shall we all walk together to engage a sedan chair, Lady Isabelle?’ Lady Stoneway suggested. ‘I’m sure that’s what Lord Halden expected we would do.’
The matron visibly brightened. ‘You are right, Lady Stoneway. Of course that’s what my cousin must have thought. No need of him to keep his friends waiting, when we might escort each other.’
‘Before we go, Aunt Gussie, don’t you want to thank Lieutenant Trethwell for making sure I came to no harm?’ Miss Lattimar said, her voice calm, but something steely in her eyes. ‘And present him to Lady Isabelle?’
Lady Stoneway looked uncertain for a moment before nodding assent. ‘You are quite right, Prudence. I do thank you for safeguarding my niece, Lieutenant. Lady Isabelle, may I make you acquainted with Lieutenant Lord John Trethwell? His elder brother, as you may know, is now Marquess of Barkley.’
Lady Isabelle’s cool expression indicated she knew exactly who he was and, for a moment, Johnnie wondered if she were debating whether or not to give him the cut direct. Which wouldn’t bother him in the slightest, except for the embarrassment it would certainly cause Lady Stoneway and Miss Lattimar.
The latter, he noted with no little amusement, despite her self-professed craven submission to society and its dictates, was staring almost defiantly at Lady Isabelle, as if daring her to refuse the introduction.
Not at all to his surprise, the older woman capitulated—barely. ‘Lieutenant,’ she acknowledged with the slightest incline of her head.
‘Lady Isabelle,’ he replied, offering a bow considerably more polite than the one he’d given Lord Halden.
‘Shall we be off?’ Lady Stoneway said, obviously reluctant to press her luck any further with the matron. Her aunt’s kindness—and concern for Miss Lattimar’s status—were the only reasons Johnnie resisted the urge to further tweak Lady Isabelle by insisting he accompany them.
‘I should be going myself,’ he said, with an ironic quirk of his lip. ‘Good day to you all. Miss Lattimar,’ he added, unable to stop himself as they turned. ‘Safeguarding you was a pleasure.’
Her eyes lit up and the smile she gave him was pure enchantment. ‘I very much appreciated it,’ she replied, before taking her aunt’s arm and walking off, Lady Isabelle beside them.
Johnnie stood and watched them until her lovely figure disappeared from view.
Reviewing his impressions after their second meeting, Johnnie found Miss Lattimar’s appeal had only increased. Along with the physical attraction he would expect her beauty to evoke in any red-blooded male, he’d felt an unexpected and disturbingly powerful connection on some deeper level. Having had a glimpse of the exuberant, uninhibited character she was trying to suppress—he chuckled, envisioning her, skirts held up, wading in the Sidney Garden fountain—he felt a strong urge to prompt her to be herself, without restraint. Even though the woman she became when she did so was not just more natural, she was even more devilishly attractive.
He sighed. He very much wished he could pursue her openly—in spite of the fact that he had never previously pursued, nor had any use for, a well-bred virgin. Following that trail led to marriage, something he had always avoided. Not just because he wasn’t sure, with the vast floral garden of the feminine beauty and charm the world had to offer, he’d be able to limit himself for a lifetime to plucking just one bloom.
He also knew his wanderlust nature too well and the chances that he’d ever want to stay for long in one place were slim. A good English wife would probably prefer a settled countryside home with a husband in it to look after her and any children. To offer marriage without being able to pledge that wouldn’t be fair to any lady, no matter how much she attracted him.
And when he travelled, he travelled alone. He’d witnessed first-hand the agony of someone who’d lost a beloved. He might sometimes be lonely enough to wish for a heart’s companion, but loneliness was an old friend, something he’d grown accustomed to enduring. Better to suffer a quiet flame than to open oneself to an all-consuming conflagration.
How unfortunate the enchanting Miss Lattimar wasn’t the worldly-wise Mrs Lattimar! Were she a dashing widow, he would have free rein to indulge in the delightful dance of desire. Sadly, seducing and then abandoning a well-born innocent was out of the question.
To experience the charm of Miss Lattimar’s intriguing personality, he was pretty sure he could settle for friendship—novel as the notion was of being merely a friend to a desirable woman. But if he respected her desire to change society’s perception of her from a scandalous young woman to a well-behaved, conventional Beauty, he couldn’t lure her into solitary rendezvous. No matter how attractive the prospect of amusing her with further tales of his exploits or exchanging philosophical observations on the world.
For the first time, he regretted spending his adulthood roaming the world, collecting the stories and lovers that made him unsuitable company for a girl trying to redeem her reputation.
Never one to dismiss a desired goal as impossible, he put aside for the moment the problem of how to become her friend without compromising that quest and shifted his focus to the next issue.
What about Lord Halden Fitzroy-Price?
He’d heard that the Duke’s son—handsome, well born, and behaving like he knew it—was languishing in Bath, supported by the beneficence of his rich cousin while he awaited a desirable sinecure as a cleric.
Johnnie might not be intimately acquainted with the inside of a church, but based on his few exchanges with the man, Lord Halden appeared to be less well suited than any individual he’d recently met to become a clergyman. Unless a parish wanted as pastor of their flock a self-important, arrogant man faintly contemptuous of those he believed were beneath him.
If that were truly his character, Johnnie wouldn’t want to see a lady as lovely, charming, and innocent of the ways of vice as Miss Lattimar wasting herself on him.
He stopped short, surprised at the ferocity of that feeling. Why should he feel so protective of a girl he barely knew?
He might have only met her twice, but her unique personality intrigued him. He genuinely liked her. Almost immediately, there had sprung up a sort of...kinship between them.
Maybe he felt so strongly because he understood all too well what it was like to be a member of a disreputable family, to be accused of the same faults and vices by people who knew nothing about one but the family name—Lord Halden’s dismissive remarks recurring to irritate him again.
He had no doubt whatsoever about his ability to best the Duke’s son and any of his toy-soldier compatriots, but a gently born female like Miss Lattimar had few weapons with which to counter their malice. The warrior in him naturally felt compelled to defend someone smaller and weaker.
For all those reasons—admiration, desire, anger on her behalf about how she was treated—he felt linked to Miss Lattimar by the same sort of bonds a soldier develops for his fellows, a loyalty that propels him to watch out for and protect others in battle, even at the risk of his own life.
Dismissing the ‘why’, his officer’s brain shifted to the ‘how’, mulling over the best strategy for his next move. He had to admit, having suffered slights and insults in the past from men of Fitzroy-Price’s rank and birth, the man’s position as a duke’s son automatically prejudiced Johnnie against him. He really ought to reserve judgement until he had observed him long enough to make a dispassionate assessment of the man’s character.
After a bit more reflection, he came up with a plan. It might, he thought with a grin, astonish his aunt, but it would also accomplish both the goal of keeping an eye on Fitzroy-Price and allowing Johnnie to satisfy his pressing desire to see more of the delectable Miss Lattimar, without risk to her reputation.
After all, even his aunt would have to admit that staying near enough to make sure Miss Lattimar came to no harm would be the noble act of a selfless friend.
Chapter Four (#ub4740402-0535-5439-a1a6-1996a0340431)
Returning to his aunt’s town house in Queen Square, Johnnie tracked down Aunt Pen in her private salon, where she was dozing, some needlework abandoned in her lap.
He paused on the threshold, his fond glance tracing over a figure that radiated confidence and independence even in sleep. Penelope Woodlings wasn’t just the most interesting of his relations, she was also the one who’d been least interested in society—and the sole encourager of an energetic young boy, youngest of a large brood and left to his own devices. The happiest memories of his childhood had been created while visiting her and her reclusive scholarly husband at their rambling country estate, joining her and her two sons in collecting rocks and bugs, chasing butterflies, climbing up trees after bird nests and crawling into dens to inspect the homes of badgers and foxes.
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Julia Justiss
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Shunned by the tonHow will she find a husband?Part of Sisters of Scandal: After her mother’s latest outrageous affair, innocent Prudence Lattimar has fled to Bath. With her dubious background, she must marry a man of impeccable reputation. A clergyman with a title would be perfect. And she must steer clear of Lieutenant Johnnie Trethwell—his family is as notorious as hers, no matter how funny, charming and unfailingly honourable he is!