Duel of Hearts Read online

  “There’s girls aplenty, Tony. Why, Maria Cosgrove told me that she’d never seen so many Incomparables as are out this year. And as for that farradiddle about me, well, be done with you. I ain’t the sort to be turned up sweet by nonsense.”

  “You want to hear about the girls out this year?” he asked wickedly. “I went to the Marchbanks chit’s come out to look ’em over, and do you wish to know what I found? They are so afraid of not taking that they have no thoughts of their own, Aunt Hester! The first one would not even allow as it was hot in the place until she discovered if I thought it so. Do you think I want to spend my life having my opinions prated back to me? ’Tis no wonder that full half the ton keeps mistresses!”

  “Well, they cannot all be like that, Tony. Maria’s—”

  “Ah, the Cosgrove chit! She does not even read so much as a scandal sheet—and God forbid she should look at a book!”

  “Bluestockings are unfashionable,” the old woman reminded him.

  “I accept that, but do you know what the chit said to me? I asked if she liked the classics, and she stared blankly through three full measures of the dance before she said, ‘Oh, I collect you mean my dress—yes, ’tis fashioned after the Empress Josephine’s favorite one.’ ”

  “Well, at least you are looking.”

  “No. Renfield persuaded me to go to the Marchbanks thing so that he could dangle after one of Lord Larchmont’s spotted girls, but nothing came of it when he discovered she did not know a bay from a chestnut.”

  “Perhaps you should try Almack’s. I have heard—”

  “Thank you, but at least the Marchbankses offered a creditable supper at their little affair. Almack’s, on the other hand, has absolutely nothing but stale cakes and weak lemonade to recommend it.”

  “Well, you will have to do something if you are to come about,” she reasoned. “Don’t suppose you have thought to go to Bath to look over the heiresses?”

  “I have no desire for a provincial bride.”

  “All right,” she conceded. “I wash my hands of the matter. But if you should ever happen to discover the chit you’d have, I hope you have sense enough to come up to scratch. And ’tis hoped also that she has money.”

  He set his glass down and reached across to cover her bony fingers with his own. “Do not worry about me, Aunt Hester. I promise you that I am not without resources. And if I ever discover a female who does not bore me beyond belief within a fortnight, I will wed her.”

  She looked down at his strong, warm hand before answering. “I hope I live long enough to meet her, Tony.”

  3

  Having delivered her still-irate abigail to the solicitous ministrations of Mrs. Crome, the Coles’ elderly housekeeper, Leah Cole was in the process of stripping her kid gloves from her hands while still in the wide marble-floored foyer when she noted the door ajar to her father’s study. A quick glance at the ornate clock on the mantel of the entry fireplace revealed it to be but a few minutes past three o’clock, a highly suspect time for Jeptha Cole to be at home. But then he’d been a trifle pulled lately, something he chose to deny vehemently when taxed with it. He worked hard to earn her bread, he’d retorted, and was therefore entitled to be tired on occasion. She knew instinctively he was hiding something beneath that gruff exterior he affected, and it worried her.

  “Papa?” she inquired tentatively as she pushed the door wider. “Is anything amiss?”

  “Here now,” he growled from the depths of his large leather chair, “can a man not take his ease one afternoon without having to answer for it? Damme, Leah, but if you think to coddle me, you are wide of the mark, girl!” His expression softened almost immediately even if his voice did not. “Do not be standing there with that injured look—it won’t fadge, for one thing—and come tell your papa what you have been doing.” As she moved forward, he patted a chair beside him, nodding. “That’s the ticket, my love.”

  “Do not be thinking to fob me off by changing the subject, Papa,” she murmured, leaning to plant a kiss on his balding head. “My day is like any other, unlike yours, for you are so seldom at home before ’tis dark.”

  “Cannot a man come home to see his dearest treasure?” he demanded.

  “Since you are known to terrorize every female in this house but me, Papa, I collect you are attempting to turn me up sweet. It will not happen, you know,” she added with a wry twist to her mouth. “I have not forgotten that just this morning I was the bane of your life.”

  “Never said it.”

  “You did. And if you will not send for Dr. Fournier, I shall.”

  “Damned Frenchie!” he snorted.

  “Well, he did improve your gout,” she reminded him.

  “And starved me to death to do it! No mutton or pork or beef, he says! Humph! A man cannot live on birds, I tell you, Leah,” he muttered with feeling. “And he took away my port.”

  “Not entirely, Papa.”

  “One glass—only this full.” Indicating less than two inches with his thumb and forefinger, he shook his head. “Scarce enough to wet m’ throat, and not enough to bother with.”

  “Fiddle. Do not think I do not know you have been cheating on it.” She confronted him with a glint of amusement in her gray eyes, adding, “Your secret is out, I fear, for when I offered poor Mr. Crofton a glass, he nearly choked on it. It was but colored water, Papa.”

  “I suppose you found the other.”

  “And poured it out.”

  “Managing female,” he growled.

  “Now, do you send for Dr. Fournier, or do I?”

  He eyed her with disfavor for a moment and then looked away. “I have already consulted him, if you must pry,” he admitted grudgingly.

  She stared for a moment, scarcely crediting her ears, for she could not remember his ever willingly seeking out a physician. His gout had taken him to such a pass that he could scarce support his ample frame with a cane to walk, and yet it had fallen to her to summon a doctor, and it had taken threats and tears to make him civil to the little Frenchman. Hiding her shock as best she could, she managed, “And?”

  “And he told me to rest an hour or two each afternoon, if you must know everything. I ain’t as young as I once was. There—you have the tale now, so leave me be on the matter.” His eyes suddenly noted the dirt on her walking dress and the tear in the skirt. “Seems to me, miss, that it should be me taking you to task—what the devil happened to you?”

  “A young paperskull thought himself a great whip and lost control of his horses,” she answered blithely. “Had it not been for the handsome but somewhat odious Lord Lyndon, Annie and I should have been run down on the street—an ignominious end for two females gone to look for a novel, don’t you think?”

  “Your levity ill becomes you,” he grumbled testily, and then his manner changed abruptly. “Lyndon? Lyndon—where have I heard the name before?” he mused. “Young fellow?”

  “Yes, and he is possessed of the most abominable manners, if the truth were told, Papa. Just when I was about to thank him profusely for saving our lives, he …well, there is no delicate way to put it, I suppose—he inspected me! He looked at me as though I were some sort of Cyprian!”

  “Daresay you mistook the matter then,” her father said. “Can’t have—you don’t look like one. Not that I know any,” he added hastily, “but I know there ain’t a man living as would mistake you for one of them—there ain’t.”

  “But he did. He was positively bold, Papa,” she said indignantly. “Most men when you meet them look at your face first, but not Lord Lyndon.”

  “Lyndon.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and tried to place the name. “Viscount Lyndon, you say?”

  “To be precise, I did not mention it, but yes, I believe he said he was a viscount.”

  “Ah, I remember now—poor fellow lost his fortune last week when the Windward sank, as I heard it. Old family, too—a pity. Well, if he was behavin’ peculiar-like, who cou
ld blame him, I ask you? Mind’s still probably befuddled by the loss.”

  “He did not appear befuddled in the least,” she retorted. “His manners were offensive.”

  “But you were civil to him?”

  “Of course I was civil to him! I was all that was polite.”

  “Related to the Davenham dukes, I think.”

  “I should not doubt it—he appeared arrogant enough to be related to Prinny himself.”

  But Jeptha Cole was no longer listening as he continued to muse aloud, “Aye, the fellow tried his hand at cargo speculation, as I remember, and was in a fair way to turning a handsome profit until this. Can’t be a bad lad if he’s got a good head on his shoulders. What’d you say he looked like?”

  “Actually, I did not really note him,” she said, hoping to end the discussion.

  “Thought you said he was handsome,” he persisted.

  “Well, I suppose he is, but his manner of looking at me can only be described as offensive in the extreme.”

  “He cannot be above twenty-five or so, I’d think.”

  “Papa, I have no wish to discuss Lord Lyndon.”

  “Tut—can’t a man be curious when his daughter tells him she met a fine buck of the ton? It ain’t as if you was still a chit in the schoolroom, after all.”

  “Papa …” she said warningly. “If you want the truth of it, I also met the Earl of Rotherfield, and he did not look at me in such a way. Indeed, I liked him the better of the two,” she added, knowing full well she would probably never see either of them again.

  “Rotherfield!” he snorted. “Now I know you do not know what you are about, for even I know he ain’t good ton, missy!” For a moment he appeared distracted, and then his expression brightened. “Oh, as you was saying, you went to Hookham’s. Yes, yes, well …uh, anything else of note happen to you today?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

  “Nothing.”

  “Madame Cecile come today?”

  “Yes, though I cannot think how you managed it,” she admitted. “After all, ’tis her busiest season, and I can scarce be a credit to her.”

  “ ’Twas money, Leah—money will gain you anything. I had but to dangle my purse in front of her to discover she is as greedy as anyone and more greedy than most. ‘Rig out m’girl like a lady,’ I told her, and when she allowed as how she was busy, I said I expected to pay the pretty for her services.”

  Leah sighed, seeing where he was leading her again. “Papa, ’tis foolish to think clothes will make me a lady. No matter how much you wish it, I shall never grace the reception rooms at Almack’s, nor will I ever be presented at court. And you must not think I mind it, for I do not. I am not of that world, Papa,” she added gently.

  “Because I am a Cit.” He sighed heavily and nodded. “Aye, I can buy and sell most of the bucks in London, and I am still naught but a Cit to ’em, I suppose.” His eyes traveled to the portrait of a lovely blond woman who seemed to be looking down on them with love in her eyes. “But I promised her—I promised Marianna you would have your due, puss—and so I shall.”

  “But I don’t want to be a lady! Can you not understand that? Papa, I am what I was born—I am a Cit. Do you think I aspire to routs and balls and masquerades and … and whatever else they do?” Her voice gained an impassioned intensity as she paced before him. “It is an empty life, Papa. I watch the ladies come and go from Hookham’s almost every week, and as far as I can tell, they are but decorations for rich men’s houses.” Pausing to collect her argument, she sought the means to explain how she felt about the Quality. “Just yesterday I saw the most pitiful climbing boy—his master was whipping him because he would not climb a chimney that was on fire. Do you think any of the fine ladies stopped? Of course they did not! Do you think they even felt sorry for the child? Well, they passed him as though he did not exist! And if I were to even attempt to enter such a world, they would ignore my existence also.”

  “Where is the boy now?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Monsieur Lebeau is teaching him to work in the kitchen, and he appears to be a clever child. Perhaps you would see he is apprenticed in an easier trade.” And in the face of his resigned sigh, she defended what she’d done. “Well, he could not stay with that awful man, after all, and I bought him.”

  “Leah … Leah. Your heart’s too soft, girl.”

  “Papa, there ought to be laws against such things! How can a country that bans slavery allow indentures for small children?”

  “There is a law, but it is seldom enforced,” he retorted. “Too many fancy lords have narrow chimneys themselves, and without the boys, how would they clean ’em?” Catching her thoroughly disgusted expression, he relented enough to mollify her. “All right, all right—mayhap I can find a place for the boy at the dock, but do not expect me to do it until the India Company’s ships come in.”

  “Thank you, Papa,” she murmured demurely.

  “Sly puss, ain’t you? Ought to bend down and let me box your ears, you know. You are just like your mother, God rest her soul. But I’ll tell you what I used to tell her: it ain’t the gentle fellows who make fortunes in this world. Old Jeptha didn’t get rich by being weak, and don’t you forget it.”

  “Yes, Papa,” she responded dutifully, despite having heard the speech more times than she dared count.

  “Yes … well, did that man-milliner of a dance master come today?” he asked, remembering where they’d been before he’d heard of the chimney sweep. “And can you waltz yet, or am I paying him for nothing?”

  “Master Jennings tells me that I am quite his best pupil.”

  “Do not be using that tone with me, miss! I know you think it an old man’s fancy, but I’ll see you a fine lady yet—I will. It stands to reason that if every fellow you meet makes a cake of himself, then there’s a fancy lord somewheres as would want you.” He met her eyes defiantly and nodded emphatically. “There ain’t a man alive that don’t admire you if he knows you, Leah.”

  “I’d sooner be a spinster, Papa, than be married for my money,” she declared flatly. “And I warn you that you will not persuade me to marry any old fool just because he has a title.”

  “No, no—of course not. Did I say I wished for an old fool?” he retorted. “Silly chit! I am looking for a real out-and-outer for my girl, I can tell you!”

  “You relieve my mind then,” she answered sweetly.

  “There is no out-and-outer who would have a Cit. No, we shall go on as we have always done, I think, and I will be a comfort to you in your dotage.” Reaching to pat his head affectionately, she relented enough to allow, “But it is a harmless enough amusement for you, I suppose.”

  He sat quiet still for a long time after she left him, wondering where it all would end. He could leave her rich beyond her furthest imaginings, but somehow that was not enough. No, he had to see her settled very soon for his peace of mind. Finally he sighed heavily and raised his head to stare at his dead wife’s portrait again, and the girl looked down, smiling at him as she had in his youth. If only Leah could have known her mother, then she would understand how much it meant to him to make her a lady in title as well as manners. Idly he wondered if Marianna would look the same when he saw her again—if somehow they would be as young lovers once more in eternity. It seemed to him that her portrait beckoned him even now.

  “Well, Marianna,” he said softly, “what say you—shall I inquire as to what sort of man this Lyndon is?” For a moment he thought he could read her answer in her painted eyes. “Aye, damme if I won’t do it.”

  4

  The glowing rows of yellow gaslights illuminated St. James Street, inviting Tony to enjoy a gentleman’s evening of social entertainment. Having missed his friends Gil and Hugh earlier, he set his glossy top hat at a rakish angle, retrieved his brass-handled walking stick from the floorboard of his curricle, and waved his groom on with the admonition to return precisely at three in the morning, before he set off
whistling softly in the direction of White’s. Already the windows of the gaming establishments that lined St. James were warm with light, beckoning the elite who had money in their pockets.

  After exchanging a few words of greeting with Raggett, the proprietor of White’s, Tony handed his hat and stick to Piggles (Mr. Pigg, actually) and made his way through the carpeted salons toward the games in back. As he passed, fellow members of the club looked up from baize-covered tables to hail him.

  “Hallo—thought to see you earlier, Tony,” Gil Renfield greeted him without looking up. “Got the devil’s own luck tonight,” he murmured as he cast the dice again, to the appreciative whistle of Hugh Rivington. Raking in the pile of notes, he straightened and nodded. “Gentlemen, I leave you to Hugh—may he be kinder on your purses.”

  “Not me,” Rivington responded. “My pockets are to let until quarter day, and even if they were not, my stomach rumbles for food. Hallo, Tony,” he added, rising. “Missed you at Boodle’s earlier. Do you sup or play tonight?”

  “Both.”

  “Did you give my regards to the duchess?” Hugh asked curiously. “Can’t think why you humor the old girl myself—she don’t like me above half. Daresay it’s because she’s your great-aunt by blood and mine only by marriage. Got no expectations of her, you know.”

  “Aunt Hester will take her blunt to perdition with her before she parts with it,” Tony responded, grinning. “But as long as she keeps her oars out of my water, I rub along tolerably with her.”

  “Called you to book, eh?” Gil cut in. “Thought she would when I read the Gazette—told Hugh there’d be the devil to pay when she saw it.”

  “She cannot abide anything that loses money,” Rivington observed dryly. “I’ve not a doubt but she read a rare peal over you.”