Regency Reputation: A Reputation for Notoriety / A Marriage of Notoriety. Diane Gaston
the set of rooms in which he and his mother had lived. Or how he had lived after her death.
Gazing at it all, Rhys realised this was not what he wanted in life. Yes, he wanted comfort, but comfort would be enough. More than anything, he wanted to build something. A business. A factory. Something useful. He wanted not to be like his father, who had wasted his life and squandered his fortune.
He did not give a fig about being acknowledged as Westleigh’s bastard son. In fact, he’d just as soon not be known to have the connection. He’d go through with it, though, only because it was his revenge against Westleigh. He would make the man do what he would detest the most, what he ought to have done when Rhys was born—to declare openly that Rhys was his son.
This bargain with the Westleighs had become like a game of cards. Westleigh behaved as if he held all the trumps, but he was bluffing. It was time to up the ante and win the hand.
It was a gamble. Everything in life was a gamble. Westleigh could choose poverty over admitting Rhys was his son, but how likely was that? Rhys knew a good bet when he saw one.
A servant who could only have been the butler entered the hall. He lifted his nose at Rhys. ‘Do you have an appointment with his lordship?’
Rhys glared at the man and used the voice he’d once used to command men in his regiment. ‘I do not need an appointment. Announce me to Lord Westleigh.’
The butler shrank back and quickly ascended the stairs. Rhys’s eyes followed him. Westleigh would show himself promptly or Rhys would go in search of him.
A huge allegorical painting hung in the hall. Rhys turned to examine it. The painting depicted Minerva, representing wisdom, pushing Mars, the god of war, away from the goddess of peace. He chuckled to himself. Would Minerva prevail with Westleigh? Or would he and Westleigh engage in battle?
A woman’s voice said, ‘Ned! I thought you had gone.’
He turned to see a finely dressed woman descending the stairs.
She looked startled. ‘I beg your pardon. I thought you were my son.’
He recognised her from the times he’d glimpsed her in his old village, an older but still beautiful Lady Westleigh.
He bowed. ‘Allow me to present myself, my lady. I am Mr Rhysdale, here to speak with your husband.’
Her eyes flickered at the mention of his name. Did she know of him? Did she remember that poor woman who’d once been in her service so many years ago?
‘Mr Rhysdale.’ Her voice tightened. ‘Perhaps you can tell me why you call upon my husband.’
‘I have no objection to doing so, ma’am, although perhaps Lord Westleigh ought to be present.’ He inclined his head. ‘As a courtesy.’
She swept across the hall. ‘Come into the drawing room. I will ring for tea.’
It was the same room where he had spoken to Ned and Hugh. She pulled a bell cord and the butler appeared.
‘Some tea, Mason,’ Lady Westleigh ordered. ‘Do sit, Mr Rhysdale.’
He waited for her to lower herself into a chair and chose one a distance from her that she might consider comfortable.
She could not look at him.
Rhys took pity on her. She was merely one more person who had been ill-used by Lord Westleigh. ‘I surmise you know who I am, my lady.’
She glanced at him and gathered some pluck. ‘Why would you show your face here, after all this time?’
He spoke gently. ‘Your sons involved me …’ he paused, trying to think how to say it ‘… in a business matter.’
Her mouth opened in surprise. ‘Ned and Hugh?’
‘Yes.’
Lord Westleigh thundered in. ‘See here, Rhysdale. You were told to wait in the hall.’ He came to a sudden halt. ‘Honoria!’
‘Charles.’ Her lips thinned.
Rhys rose. ‘Lady Westleigh happened upon me and was gracious enough to invite me into the drawing room.’
‘Yes, well.’ Westleigh wiped his brow. ‘Thank you, Honoria. You may leave. This does not concern you.’
She remained in her seat. ‘Mr Rhysdale has no objection to my presence.’
Westleigh tossed him a scathing look. ‘It is a matter of business, Honoria. You would find it tedious.’
She smiled at him. ‘Oh, since it also involves Ned and Hugh, as I understand, I doubt I should find it tedious. You know that nothing about my sons is trivial to me.’
‘Did you think you could conceal the whole from Lady Westleigh?’ Rhys asked him. ‘I do not see how, unless you decided to go back on your word. Which is why I am here. To determine once and for all if you intend to keep to the bargain your sons made on your behalf.’
The butler brought in the tea tray, halting the conversation at that point. He placed the tray on the table in front of Lady Westleigh. ‘Thank you, Mason,’ she said.
The butler bowed and turned to leave, but she called him back. ‘Mason? If Hugh is about, tell him to join us, please.’
The man bowed again. ‘As you wish, my lady.’
When he left the room and closed the door behind him, Lord Westleigh spoke again. ‘We do not need Hugh here.’
‘I would not talk behind his back,’ his wife countered. ‘I would invite Ned, as well, but he went out a little while ago.’
Rhys realised his revenge upon his father was certainly going to hurt his wife, which suddenly gave Rhys no pleasure. Still, it was better than the complete financial ruin of the family.
‘Shall we wait for Hugh?’ Rhys asked the lady.
‘I would prefer it,’ she said. ‘Do sit, Mr Rhysdale. How do you take your tea?’
‘No cream. No sugar.’
Ned was surprised at the modest accommodations Miss Gale had on Half Moon Street. He’d expected something grander—not that it mattered to him. She just looked as if she belonged in luxury, protected from any discomfort or stress.
Not that he could provide her such a setting at the moment. He really had no business courting her, except that he could not bear it if her heart went to another.
He sounded the knocker and was admitted by the butler who announced him.
He entered the drawing room where Miss Gale sat with her stepmother and grandmother.
Also present was Luther Parminter, the new Baron Gale.
He bowed to the ladies.
The grandmother frowned in an unwelcoming manner, but Lady Gale extended her hand. ‘How nice of you to call, Neddington.’
He glanced to where Miss Gale was seated with the baron. ‘Am I interrupting a family visit? Do forgive me.’
‘Nonsense,’ the young Lady Gale said. ‘You are welcome here. Join us.’ She gestured to a chair near Miss Gale. ‘Shall I pour you some tea?’
‘I’ll not trouble you.’ He bowed to Miss Gale.
She sat in a pool of sunlight from the window, her hair shining like spun gold. Her skin was flawless and her eyes sparkling and clear as a cloudless sky.
She robbed him of speech.
He glanced from her to Luther, whom he’d known in school. ‘Gale.’
‘Neddington,’ Luther said without expression.
Ned was distressed to see him here. Was he courting Miss Gale? Most people liked to keep their wealth and property in the family. Lady Cowdlin said Miss Gale’s dowry was a generous