Regency Mistresses: A Practical Mistress / The Wanton Bride. Mary Brendan
to know that I have done so in order that Charlotte’s future is secure.’
‘A lawyer?’ George exploded. ‘Is my word on it not good enough?’
‘Indeed it is not,’ Helen said equably. ‘Were you true to your word, we would not be having this conversation.’
‘It is our sister’s duty to find a man who can adequately provide for her. If she would socialise properly, she would attract gentlemen like bees to a honey pot.’
‘She would also attract many cruel remarks. You know full well that she needs new clothes if she is to socialise in the circles you mean.’
‘I’d get her gowns … if I didn’t already owe a fortune to every blasted dressmaker in town.’ George’s features tightened in bitterness. ‘None of those damnable things were bought to please me. Iris is attempting to impress Hunter with her new finery.’
Helen rose from her chair and approached George to comfortingly take one of his hands. It was the first time he had openly spoken of Iris’s infatuation with Sir Jason Hunter. ‘You must put a stop to her avarice. We are all suffering because of it.’
George snatched back his fingers. ‘I don’t need your pity, or your counsel. We must find a way of clearing my debts or Westlea House is to be sold. I have received some interest in it and cannot prevaricate for long.’ George dragged a hand through his hair and snapped, ‘For two pins I’d present Hunter with Iris’s dressmakers’ bills.’
Helen looked shocked, then a hysterical giggle erupted. ‘Indeed, so would I if I thought he might pay them. But I’ve heard that he seems little interested in Iris.’
‘Well, you’ve heard wrong, I tell you! He was flirting with her at Almack’s earlier in the week. Anybody can tell that they’re lovers.’ George’s face mottled with mortification for the untruth had easily burst out. He had noticed, as had every other person present that evening, that Jason Hunter barely acknowledged Iris. It had been oddly humiliating for him to witness his wife being shunned in favour of a demi-rep.
‘Well, you ought to challenge him over it and take your dressmakers’ bills with you!’ Helen exclaimed in exasperation.
‘I would not give him the satisfaction! I’m sure he flaunts their relationship simply to rile me. Why don’t you speak to the arrogant bas—?’ George snapped together his teeth before the abuse was fully out.
‘Me?’ Helen choked a shocked laugh.
George dismissed the subject with a terse flick of a hand and stalked off to glare through the window.
Helen was aware that her brother and Jason Hunter had fallen out many years ago. She had been about fifteen at the time of the estrangement and shielded by her papa from knowing the sordid details. But she had heard whispers that they had fought over a woman. At the time she had felt sad that Jason no longer visited, for she had liked him. More honestly she had harboured a juvenile tendresse for him. But now all that was inconsequential. Over a decade had passed and there were far more vital matters at stake than two grown men sulking over past slights.
‘This is quite ridiculous.’ Helen sighed. ‘It is reprehensible of you not to have done your duty by us.’
‘And it is reprehensible of you not to have done your duty by me!’ George thundered. ‘Do you think that I would have promised our father to support you had I known that seven years later you would still be a burden on me? Father was under the impression that, after a decent mourning for Marlowe, you would remarry, and so was I.’
Helen’s face grew pallid. ‘Papa didn’t say that …’
‘Indeed he did.’ This time not a hint of shame betrayed the untruth that flew from George’s mouth. ‘He thought that by the time Charlotte had left the schoolroom, and was ready to make her début, you would have done the decent thing and removed yourself elsewhere. You accuse me of selfishness! You ought to look to your own behaviour.’
Helen stared, stricken, at her brother. ‘Papa never mentioned anything of the sort to me,’ she cried. ‘I was always welcome in his house …’
‘He probably thought he did not need to be blunt. He probably thought your conscience would guide you on it.’
George eyed his sister with calculation. ‘Hunter wants Westlea House, he told me so at Almack’s. I detest the man, but I shall sell it to him. I need cash quickly and he has a plentiful supply of the stuff.’
‘You can’t!’ Helen emphatically shook her brother’s arm.
‘Indeed I can! Philip Goode ought to swallow his damnable pride and beg his cousin for assistance. Hunter has connections in the city. There are lucrative positions to be had in banking and so on.’
Helen stared at her brother, silently entreating him to reconsider.
‘I can tell you think Goode too spineless a fellow to act. Believe me when I say Hunter is a different kettle of fish. He is a ruthless man and, once the deal is done, he would not hesitate in sending the bailiffs to evict you.’
Chapter Three
‘What?’
Jason Hunter turned his grey eyes on his aged servant. He wasn’t certain that he had correctly heard the message, for his visitors were creating a din that had smothered Cedric’s croak.
The old fellow whispered again, ‘A lady is here to see you, sir.’
‘Yes, that much I gathered. What name did you say?’
Mark Hunter’s second ribald anecdote caused the gentlemen congregating in Jason’s library to resume guffawing.
‘Mrs Kingston.’
Jason heard the husky sibilance through the noise and his mouth thinned before a low oath exploded through touching teeth. Enraged by the damnable audacity of the Kingston woman to bother him at home, he gave Cedric a curt nod and snapped, ‘Put her in a side room and tell her to wait.’
Cedric dipped his wispy head, understanding exactly why his master was so put out. His weary bones might not allow him to venture far from the house these days, and his deaf ear might prevent him getting all the gossip, but he knew that a woman named Kingston was making a fool of herself over Sir Jason. Brazen hussy she was, too, with her haughty look. All airs and graces! He’d known her station straight away. Ask her to wait, indeed! It wouldn’t have happened in the old master’s days. Cedric wagged his head to himself. Oh, he’d find the baggage a place to wait!
‘What was that all about?’ Mark demanded as he watched Cedric slowly amble from the room.
‘None of your business,’ his brother rebuffed bluntly. He refilled his glass from the decanter and asked Peter Wenham what price he wanted for his hunting lodge. The Wenham estate edged his own land at Thorne Park and the lodge and surrounding fields would be a fine addition to his Surrey acreage. A quizzical smile met the ambitious price his friend cited, but Jason gave that more charitable consideration than the accursed female waiting for him below.
He would see Iris … eventually. But he’d let her kick her heels. Perhaps a little blatant incivility would finally penetrate her vanity; she might come to understand that, far from finding her attractive, her behaviour disgusted him. If she could not take the hint, he would have to clearly tell her some truths. He was sick of being stalked and spied on when out; he certainly did not intend having her hound him at home. If she repeated to George what must, of necessity, be an unpleasant incident between them this afternoon, so be it.
One hour and five minutes later, when his brother and their friends had noisily departed, Jason descended the stairs of his opulent mansion in Grosvenor Square. He quite hoped his unwelcome visitor had tired of waiting for him and had removed herself. However, that would leave matters unresolved. He swore beneath his breath in exasperation. It would be as well if Mrs Kingston were still loitering about the place somewhere. Not by nature inhospitable,