A Date with Dishonour. Mary Brendan
table, he turned impatiently from his reflection to whip the offending paper out from under the fellow’s elbows. Having efficiently folded the gazette, his lordship tossed it on to a wing chair.
Hugh Kendrick huffed in indignation, lolling back in his seat with a sulky expression. ‘Well, something’s got to be done, Alex. If I don’t offer to pay Whittiker soon, the odious skinflint will dun me. Then everybody else will pitch in. Only needs one of ’em to start the ball rolling and my desk will be groaning under the weight of writs.’ His glum face again sought the support of his hands. ‘If I end in the Fleet my mother will have a fit, and Toby...’ the mention of his older brother caused his mouth to twist in a grimace ‘...no doubt Toby will demand a dawn appointment on Clapham Common because I’ve sullied the family name.’
‘Don’t be so damned melodramatic.’ Alex Blackthorne’s lack of sympathy held a hint of amusement. A moment later he was once more contemplating his appearance, long patrician fingers dusting an immaculate broad shoulder encased in charcoal superfine. ‘You’re not the first man to have let a woman make a fool of him and bring him close to ruin.’
‘You wouldn’t let it happen to you.’ A look of begrudging admiration shaped Hugh’s features.
‘No...I wouldn’t.’ Alex grinned lopsidedly at the glass, but decided not to rub salt into his old friend’s smarting wound by elaborating. He’d already given him his opinion, on numerous occasions, on the subject of idiots who allowed courtesans to fleece them.
Hugh sprung to his feet, snatching up the gazette. ‘I reckon it’s a sound idea and I’d found one that seemed just the ticket. Here, I’ll read it to you...’
A protracted muttering accompanied Alex raising his deep-brown eyes heavenwards.
Ignoring his friend’s weary cursing, Hugh began, ‘Lady Lonesome, desperate to free herself from the constraints of a cruel guardian, seeks kind gentleman to offer protection from...’
A snort of laughter curtailed Hugh’s recitation. ‘Methinks the lonesome lady is keener on a plump wallet than a kind gentleman.’ Alex quirked an eyebrow. ‘You should suit each other well. She’s after the same thing you are.’
‘Ah...ha!’ Hugh exclaimed in triumph. ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong. Had you let me finish...’ He shook the paper in emphasis, then resumed, ‘...she seeks a kind gentleman to offer protection...’ a dramatic pause preceded ‘...from fortune hunters as an income of two thousand pounds per annum is available to an applicant able to convince her he is in possession of sincerity and a desire and capability to be a caring husband and father.’ Hugh looked up with an expectant smile. ‘She sounds rather sweet and—’
‘And she sounds rather pregnant.’
Hugh’s jaw sagged. ‘You think...because she requires the fellow to be a good father...?’
Alex shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time desperate parents attempted to buy back a girl’s sullied virtue by getting a ring on her finger.’ He chuckled at the astonished look his comment had provoked. ‘Come on, Hugh,’ the Viscount ribbed gently. ‘If anyone should know that, it’s you.’ Alex watched his friend colouring miserably, but felt unremorseful. Hugh was a good friend, but it was high time he toughened up. Alex knew he might not always be around to save the fellow from his niceness and naivety.
A year ago Hugh Kendrick had been burdened with the task, and the cost, of salvaging his sister’s reputation when she’d allowed a callous charmer to compromise her. Toby, her brother and legal guardian, had refused to chip in a penny piece to protect their widowed mother from the shame that would have besmirched them all had his sister’s disgrace become common knowledge.
‘Never mind, Lady Lonesome’s cash will come in handy.’ Alex patted his friend’s shoulder. Despite his mockery, he was beginning to find it all quite intriguing. He relieved Hugh of the paper and read for himself her requirements in a mate.
‘Why in heaven’s name would she need to advertise for a husband if she’s a modest heiress?’ He shot his friend a darkly humorous glance. ‘If she’s not a fallen woman, perhaps she’s way past her prime and has ample girth and greying hair.’
‘I don’t think I care overmuch either way,’ Hugh responded mordantly. ‘She can be as fat or faded as she likes. It’s the colour of her money I’m interested in.’
‘You and a hundred other fellows with pockets to let who’ve read that.’ Alex returned the paper to his friend. ‘You know I’ve said I’ll lend you the money.’ His tone quietened, growing serious. ‘You’ve not yet come to such a sorry pass that you’ll need to rear another man’s bastard, or risk getting leg-shackled to an old crone with a few pounds in the bank.’
‘And I’ve said I won’t take your money...not again.’ Hugh turned his head to conceal his florid cheeks. Alex had paid off his debts once before. On that occasion he had been blameless for the mess he’d been in: a victim of his sister’s folly. Sarah had since settled with a husband in Cheshire and Hugh thought his money...Alex’s money, he mentally corrected himself...very well spent. But he’d sworn never again to take advantage of his friend’s wealth or generosity, and he didn’t intend to go back on his word.
Besides, he was twenty-nine, and for some while had been contemplating the benefits of settling down with a wife. He was the youngest son of a baronet and had few prospects and fewer responsibilities. For some months he had been feeling the lack and wondering whether a wife and children might fill a gap in his life.
‘She might be personable and sincere,’ Hugh insisted optimistically, having again studied the advertisement. Instead of considering a wife as a pretty appendage, he was beginning to properly value an advantageous match and a lifelong companion.
‘True...and I might be the Prince Regent...’ Viscount Blackthorne intoned repressively.
* * *
Elise Dewey’s complexion drained of blood till it resembled the colour of the parchment on which she’d been writing. She was used to her older sister’s hare-brained schemes to get rich or get wed, but so far Beatrice had put none into action. Whilst writing to her friend, Verity, Elise had been listening with scant attention to her older sibling’s chatter. But then Bea had waved at her the proof that this plot was no idle boast.
‘You are joking, of course,’ Elise finally burst out in a hushed tone. She gazed aghast at the gazette that Beatrice had been flapping in the air.
‘No, I’m not!’ Bea retorted, dropping the newspaper back to the table. ‘It’s the only way to get away from here. It’s not my fault our parents have got us in such a mess. I’m twenty-three soon and I want a husband before I get any longer in the tooth. With no portion, and no means for a social life in this dreary neck of the woods, it’s the only way to do it. How are we ever to meet gentlemen if we can’t afford to go out?’
‘And how are you to explain away the fact you’ve not got two thousand pounds or even two hundred to offer any fellow?’ Elise had jumped to her feet and marched over to Beatrice. Her eyes widened as she scanned the notice. ‘You’re mad! Utterly insane!’ Her tawny gaze sprang to her sister’s profile. ‘Have you any idea what sort of villains or perverts you might entice to our door?’
‘I’m not daft enough to give out our direction. Of course, any fellow who replies to the box number will be advised we are to meet somewhere.’ Bea avoided her sister’s angry stare and carelessly twirled a pearly ringlet about a finger in order to prove she was quite relaxed about what she’d done.
Elise could tell Beatrice wasn’t as insouciant as she’d like to appear. ‘And how does Lady Lonesome think such hardened fortune hunters will react when they find out she’s lied and has nothing to offer?’
That comment prompted Bea to rise from her chair and peer at her face in the mantelpiece mirror. ‘I wouldn’t say I’ve nothing to offer.’ She cocked her head. ‘When he sees me he might forget about the money...’ She smiled, proudly tilting her chin.