Rogue in Red Velvet (7 page)

He shrugged, making light of the matter that weighed his heart down worse every day. “It was a passing flirtation.” If he said it often enough, perhaps he’d eventually believe it. “I don’t want to see her married to someone who’ll treat her with less than respect.”

Julius fixed him with a look far too perceptive, his blue gaze glittering with speculation. He turned back to the scene in front of him. “Alex, what do you see?”

“A man disporting himself before tying the knot.” Alex curled his lip at the sight of the booth opposite.

Dankworth had his hand down the bodice of the nearest woman, who was undoubtedly a tart, although dressed in the highest kick of fashion and not cheaply either. He was laughing uproariously at something one of his friends was saying,

“I see desperation.” Julius was right. Dankworth was celebrating too hard, too feverishly, as if he had little time left. Despite his determination to keep his distance, Alex had learned some depressing facts about Dankworth. He had no right to interfere, but he wished he had.

Alex grimaced, acknowledging the truth and reached for his wineglass. He took a sip and replaced it carefully. “He’s been playing too deep. He’s a regular player at Hell in Whites, and God knows how many more places. He’ll have to work hard to right his losses. He’s living on expectation. He’s a man of modest means, but as Downholland’s heir he can call on new lines of credit.”

“I’ll investigate, shall I? Ask a few questions?” Julius leaned back and crossed his legs, the picture of elegance.

“I already have. I asked Fox, who only leaves White’s to go to the House. Dankworth is consorting with the kind of man who’ll wager on anything, including if Lady Barrett’s next child is finally a boy.”

“I had fifty on that one myself,” Julius shot his cousin a shamefaced grin. “After five girls, I doubt her ability to produce a son. I saw some bets of upwards of a thousand in the book.”

“One of them might be his.” Alex jerked his chin in Dankworth’s direction. “He’s down far too much for a man of modest fortune. One more night and he’ll have lost most of what he has left then he’ll be punting on the expectation. He will gain Mrs. Rattigan’s estate on their marriage and no doubt he’ll receive some kind of allowance as Downholland’s heir.”

“I see.” Julius poured himself another glass, his movements leisurely. “If I were you, I’d write a warning to Mrs. Rattigan. Tell her how matters lie. Then she can make her own decision.”

Dankworth abandoned his booth and strode toward another. In the other booth, new entrants were settling, namely Miss Louisa Stobart and her family. Tonight was turning into the kind of evening Alex preferred to forget.

Miss Stobart appeared to advantage, her gown a confection of white and pink designed to make her appear sweet. More like candied roses than a real living, breathing woman. But a voracious chaser, as Alex had reason to know. She’d returned to town as game as ever.

Unbidden, a picture of Connie came to his mind, her hair tousled, cobwebs hanging from the sleeve of a severely practical gown. The only adornment she needed was the smile that melted his heart.

She’d spoiled him for other women. Not even the most practiced courtesan would be able to raise Alex’s attention right now. His father favored Louisa Stobart but Alex couldn’t bear marrying a woman with no conversation outside the latest fashions and the people she knew, moreover, one with such a spiteful streak. Louisa wasn’t kind to anyone, least of all her friends. Her fortune gave her the leeway to say more than others, and at present society considered her a wit.

Dankworth offered Miss Stobart his arm. She took it and stepped through the small opening separating her box from the dance floor. Now the picture of propriety, he promenaded around the edge of the area, stopping to chat with the various occupants.

“He’s distancing himself from the raffish crowd he was with.” Alex watched the scene with distaste. What was Dankworth doing with Miss Stobart? He couldn’t court her. He was already betrothed.

“He’s coming this way,” Julius murmured. “I suggest you make yourself scarce for ten minutes, Alex. Give me the field. Besides, he’ll know you’re angry with him. You’re not good at hiding that particular emotion.”

Good advice. Alex slipped out of the door at the back of the booth. After a pleasant stroll around the gardens that helped to calm his wayward mood, Alex returned in better spirits.

Julius met him with grim news. His face was as still and hard as stone. “Dankworth is announcing his engagement to Miss Stobart. He introduced me to the lady he has just asked to marry him.”

“Why would he do that, when our family and his are at odds?”

Julius shrugged, his well-cut coat settling back into place without a ripple. “I was charming to them.”

Alex’s sick anger returned threefold. He’d kill the man. “He’s affianced to Mrs. Rattigan. They’ve signed the contract.”

Julius’s mouth settled into a flat line. “But nobody in town knows that. I suspect he finds himself under the hatches and he needs something more than Mrs. Rattigan can give him. Is the betrothal well known?”

“Not in London.” The Downhollands didn’t visit frequently and their estate wasn’t large enough to excite interest. Dankworth couldn’t marry two women.

“I smell danger, Alex. He’s cornered and cornered rats become dangerous. The first thing is to warn Mrs. Rattigan. Tell her that we will investigate the situation and wait on her instructions. Suggest that she contacts Lord Downholland and if she trusts him, ask him to act on her behalf.”

“I will most certainly write to her,” Alex said grimly. He would write it that night, as soon as he got home. And one to the Downhollands, too. Damn his local stint as magistrate, Lord Downholland should be attending his heir in town.

At least Alex could ensure that Connie was in possession of the facts. She needed to act. And perhaps, if she decided to break the contract, Alex could repair the mistake he made. He should never have left the field for Dankworth, and had he known what a cad Dankworth was, he wouldn’t have done.

Chapter 6

“Letter for you, Missus.”

Connie had long stopped trying to get her housemaid to stop calling her “Missus.” Saxton came from a family that had served the local gentry in these parts since records began, or so they had everyone believe. If Connie commented too strongly, they’d have called her “stuck up” and relegated her to the younger daughters and sons of the Saxton clan, the ones who needed training—a subtle kind of punishment that was just as effective as sitting in the stocks.

Connie took the letter from Saxton’s hands—no salvers here, as at the Downholland’s—and used her butter knife to break the seal, which was so blurred as to be unrecognizable. But this letter had come a long way. It was grubby, the seal chipped. Had he written to her after all? Her heart lifted stupidly. “When did it arrive?”

“But two minutes ago. I thought you might like it now, since you’re breakfasting alone.” By which Saxton meant the vicar hadn’t just popped in to discuss some triviality with her. The vicar was a greedy man and Connie’s cook made good breakfasts.

“Certainly and thank you.” She’d risen several hours ago and ridden out on estate business after consuming only a few slices of buttered bread and tea. The wind this morning was a lazy one, going right through her instead of around her and she’d looked forward to her meal, which she was now relishing in solitary splendor.

She was glad she had no audience other than Saxton. Had Alex defied her wishes and written to her after all? Fumbling a little, she folded the paper open.

My dearest Sweetheart,

I cannot wait to make you mine.

Everything is in train for your arrival. The Downhollands wish our union as soon as possible and I concur in that desire most fervently. I regret I cannot ride North to escort you to town but you will find a hearty welcome on your arrival. Please write and tell me of your plans. I will arrange to have you met and taken to the Downholland’s London residence.

I find that I miss you more than I thought I could ever miss anyone and I need your love and support. I miss your tantalizing presence, your perfume and your good sense and I want to present you at Court.

Yes, that is my main reason for asking you to come to London with all haste. I have obtained an invitation to attend St. James’s and if I were married before my visit, that would include my wife. I cannot decline such a treat on your behalf and I don’t hesitate to remind you that it would aid our fortunes, too. A honeymoon and a season of sightseeing would be conducive to your spirits, would it not?

I am fortunate to have made the acquaintance of several influential people in town and I can promise you an enjoyable time during our stay. I have several appointments with men in the City, by which I hope to increase our holdings and secure us a greater income. I have also renewed my acquaintance with my second cousin, the Duke of Northwich, and he has kindly extended an invitation to attend his house for tea after we are wed. When we are done with London we will return to our home with all due dispatch and begin our married life in complete amity.

I understand the stage leaves for London every day from Carlisle, so it might be better if you catch that, or if you require more comfort, a post chaise should prove adequate. We should think of purchasing a good travelling carriage on our return home.

I wait impatiently for your letter,

Yours, etc.

Jasper Dankworth.

Of course, Alex wouldn’t write. She’d told him not to. But she couldn’t deny the sense of hollow disappointment filling her now.

Saxton should really have left the room but she was no doubt waiting for some juicy titbit that would enliven the Saxton household when she went home at the end of the week.

Connie schooled her features, put the letter gently face down and asked for more tea. The maid bustled out, the lappets of her cap whipping out behind her in her haste to leave the room.

Connie had some mending to do after breakfast, which left her clear to think. As her fingers flew over the sheets and the handkerchiefs, she pondered the letter. Apart from the lack of transport, it seemed a reasonable request but she was puzzled that he hadn’t sent a carriage or arranged for a post chaise, much as she disliked that form of transport.

Or at least, that the Downhollands hadn’t done so. They had arranged for one for her recent visit to their house.

If he’d obtained an invitation to a presentation at court, that was a coup, although she’d have to buy a mantua, an old-fashioned gown she’d have no use for afterwards. Or she’d wager she could hire one.

She dropped the sheet she’d darned and picked up a handkerchief that needed edging.

Jasper’s protestations of love and passion seemed a trifle overdone but gentlemen often paid extravagant compliments in the hope they would receive more in return. Hastily, Connie moved away from that thought, although she would have welcomed the attentions of someone else in her bed and concentrated on turning the corner of the handkerchief neatly. Alex was someone she must never think of again, except as a passing acquaintance.

By the end of a relatively restful afternoon, she had made her decision. She was to dine at the vicarage that night and as Saxton helped her dress, she put matters in train.

“I need a ticket to London on the stage next Wednesday. Two tickets. Inside the coach, please. I’ve written a note to Mr. Dankworth, telling him of my arrival and I want that sent as soon as possible.” She picked up the string of amethyst beads she’d inherited from her mother. Not as grand as most London ensembles, but it would do. It would certainly do for tonight. She straightened so Saxton could tighten her stays.

“I’ll require someone to accompany me. I’d prefer you, Saxton, since you’re a sensible woman and unlikely to let the sights overcome you but if you decide you cannot, Benton will do. I’ll be marrying Mr. Dankworth in London. We’ll hold a ball when we return to celebrate the event locally.” They could hire the Assembly Rooms in local Pantown. “Saxton, can you please stop tugging at my laces? That’s quite tight enough.”

Although Connie was standing with her back to Saxton she could see her in the mirror. The maid’s round face flushed beet red. “Sorry ma’am.” She must be overset, because she didn’t call her Missus. Or maybe she was excited. The untypical fumbling was a clue. “I’ll tell Harrison about the letter and I’ll send him to buy the tickets in the morning. Just wondering, ma’am but why don’t you hire a chaise?”

“I don’t see why I should pay a fortune to travel in that kind of discomfort. It’s fast, to be sure but the roads aren’t suitable, or at least the ones we took weren’t. So I might as well pay a modest amount and still be uncomfortable.”

The only way she’d travel in comfort was on a good road, preferably a turnpike, in a well-sprung, private vehicle, taking its time. Since she couldn’t afford that, she’d make do with the stage.

“Yes, missus.”

At least they were back to that.

* * * *

Could people die of boredom?

When Connie thought there was nothing new to say about the weather, one of her fellow passengers on this godforsaken vehicle thought of something else.

The occupants of the inside of the coach were so respectable they could have given her vicar a run for his money. They discussed the weather, the French, who they hated to the last man and woman, the strangeness of the Londoner and the irresponsibility of the ruling class. Especially its young men who did nothing that they didn’t want to.