The Gentleman's Daughter Page 3

  Henry nudged his godmother. “I do hope at least one of them is on my list.”

  Lady Greyson smirked behind her fan as she watched the two beauties float down the stairs. “They both are, my boy. Miss Tubbs was a late debutante due to her mother’s death two years ago. She was declared a diamond of the first water last season, but fell in love with a penniless viscount her father objected to. She’s reportedly still nursing a broken heart, but her cousin and best friend, Lady Caroline, persuaded her to come back for her second season. Lady Caroline is in her third season and, as you can see, a beauty in her own right. However, she’s been very vocal about her wish to wed a rich, as well as titled, gentleman. Since titles have been a little thin on the ground over the last few seasons and rich titles are downright rare, she hasn’t yet caught one.”

  Henry shook his head in resignation and laughed. “How on earth do you expect me to consider anyone for my wife, and Emily’s mother, after you just informed me she is as calculating as a Covent Garden strumpet?”

  Lady Greyson rapped his knuckles with her fan but laughed right along with him. “Well, Henry, you of all people should know knowledge is power. I’m just helping you make an informed decision.”

  Henry’s laugh held genuine mirth now. He rose and held out his hand to help his companion to her feet. “I do appreciate the information and your concern, Ann. Let’s explore the refreshment table before it gets too crowded, and you can introduce me to the English rose so I may waste one of the waltzes on her. I do believe her viscount is one of my neighbors in Lincolnshire, and he has made great strides toward restoring his lands to their former productivity, so perhaps she should hold out for him.”

  Lady Greyson stood and smiled up at him. “Why, Henry! You’ve turned into a bona fide romantic! And you’re right, Chelmsly is indeed her viscount.”

  She paused for a moment, then turned them so Henry faced the stairs again. “Coming down the stairs, the lady in blue, that’s Lady Jane Castleright.”

  The receiving line had gotten busier, but Henry had no trouble identifying Lady Jane. The young woman’s features were too sharp to be called pretty, and her hair was a rather lackluster dark blond, but her green eyes held intelligence and her figure was pleasing. Henry had never met her, but had heard the name. “Isn’t she the one said to be able to cut a man in half with her tongue?”

  Lady Greyson chuckled. “Yes, well, she can be rather cutting. But I think it may have more to do with the fact she just can’t abide fools rather than that she is mean-spirited. She is very bright, extremely well read, and loves the theatre.”

  Henry smiled down at his godmother. “That certainly warrants a waltz. If that cutting tongue is used with enough wit, I might enjoy it.”

  AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT, they were intercepted by Lady Jane’s mother on the way back from the refreshment table. Lady Castleright rushed toward Lady Greyson, lavender skirts fluttering behind her, purple turban swaying dangerously, bringing a cloud of floral scent with her.

  “Dearest Ann, so wonderful to see you here.” She grabbed Lady Greyson’s hands and air-kissed her cheeks, then sent a coy smile toward Henry, who surveyed the scene with bemusement. He knew for a fact Lady Castleright did not belong to his godmother’s inner circle, so why the display of affection?

  “And this must be the charming Sir Henry!” Lady Castleright exclaimed.

  With an amused smile and a surreptitious wink at Henry, Lady Greyson gestured toward each in turn. “Lady Castleright, the Countess of Weld. Sir Henry March.”

  Henry kissed the air just above the countess’s hand. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Castleright.”

  “The pleasure is all mine!” The lady preened for a moment at Henry’s attention, then pulled her daughter forward. “Allow me to introduce my daughter, Lady Jane.”

  The young woman, for there was nothing of a girl in her, sank into a polite curtsy and extended her hand. Henry bent over it and allowed his lips to actually connect with her gloved fingertips. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Lady Jane. Would you honor me with a waltz?”

  The quizzical look Lady Jane sent him indicated she was aware of her reputation, but her reply made it clear she didn’t intend to curb her tongue. “As long as you can string a sentence together without tripping over your tongue or your feet, I have no objections.”

  She said it with a completely straight face, handing him her dance card while her mother gasped with mortification, and that was Henry’s undoing. He burst into laughter, and Lady Jane’s eyes snapped up to his, challenge written clearly in them.

  “Well, my lady, that sounds like a challenge to me. Shall we make it the supper waltz so you can flay strips off my back with your tongue whilst I cut your meat for you?” Henry cocked a brow at her and she raised one of her own, but he detected a twinkle in her eyes.

  “I do enjoy delivering a good set-down. The question is: are you a worthy opponent?”

  Henry wrote his name into the space before supper, his eyes dancing with merriment. “Keep that up, my dear, and I shall have to call you Kate.”

  That got him a little chuckle and a clipped “Touché!”

  ON THE OTHER SIDE OF the ballroom, a young man, dark haired, blue eyed, and average in every way, stepped up next to the Earl of Weld, a corpulent man in his sixties. They both watched Henry being introduced to Lady Jane.

  “What possessed the countess to introduce Lady Jane to Sir Henry March?”

  The earl sighed heavily. “Lady Jane needs to get married, and Sir Henry is looking.” The earl turned to the young man. “What are you doing in a London ballroom, Bradshore?”

  The young man drew back his shoulders, looking affronted. “I’m Viscount Ridgeworth now.”

  Completely oblivious to his companion’s delicate feelings on the matter, the earl returned to the observation of his daughter. “Oh, right you are, I heard about the accident. My condolences.”

  The new viscount lowered his head, trying to tamp down his annoyance. “Thank you.”

  Henry’s laugh carried over to them, prompting a sigh from Lady Jane’s put-upon father and a headshake from Viscount Ridgeworth. “Warthon won’t like this. He is still planning to avenge Astor.”

  The Earl of Weld sighed again. “Not to worry, nothing will come of it. And if, by some miracle, Jane doesn’t put him off, it will be easier to get to March once they are married, don’t you think?”

  The newly minted viscount raised a superior eyebrow. “I doubt Warthon will see it that way, but I concede your point.”

  The Earl of Weld was obviously not very interested in his companion’s opinion on the matter and changed the subject. “So do you still hold the living in Hove?”

  The young man colored with annoyance. “Indeed not! The title comes with rather extensive lands and responsibilities.”

  The hapless earl waved his hand in apology. “Oh, right, right. I suppose Warthon is looking for a replacement?”

  Remembering the earl had a son in the church and smelling a threat to his position with the powerful Earl of Warthon, the viscount hastened to correct him, but not before a furtive look around to make sure he was not overheard. “I remain ordained and am a full member of the organization now. I will be on hand to officiate at ceremonies.”

  Weld looked at him quizzically. “I thought you already were a full member since your cousin never joined.”

  The viscount colored again at the correction. “The title lends more weight.” He obviously had more to say on the subject, but managed to control himself and bowed with feigned respect. “I better ask one of the young ladies to dance. I find myself in need of a wife.”

  The Earl of Weld only grunted and turned his attention back to where Sir Henry was now leading the younger Brockhurst girl out for the opening quadrille. The bugger was putting his best foot forward, and Jane hadn’t handed him one of her famous set-downs yet. It was just like her to pick the one man with whom a connection would put a strain on his frien
dship with old Warthon.

  BY THE TIME HENRY ESCORTED his godmother home at one o’clock in the morning, he had danced with seven of the nine candidates on his list of debutantes and four of the possible widows. He had liked three of the debutantes, one of his favorites being Miss Tubbs, in whom he inspired hope that she might achieve her heart’s desire after all. He was summarily dismissed by one virtuous widow, and less than half an hour later propositioned by another.

  It seemed high society wasted no time embracing Sir Henry March, but only Lady Jane made a lasting impression, with her sharp wit and ability to converse intelligently on many a subject. She did appear a little cold, but Henry thought her attractive enough, and she surely would always be an interesting dinner partner.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE SEASON RUSHED BY IN A WHIRLWIND OF AC-tivity. Henry danced with every wellborn woman of marriageable age attending the London ballrooms that year. Miss Brockhurst was indeed sweet natured, and the nightly dancing did her figure a world of good, but she had eyes only for Avon’s oldest son, Julian. Miss Tubbs was lovely in every way, but Henry couldn’t bring himself to pursue a woman who was so thoroughly in love with another.

  The voluptuous and widowed Lady Chalmsford seemed a distinct possibility, until she revealed she loved the freedom of being a widow and had no intention of ever marrying again. She softened the blow by taking Henry to her bed for a night and then wished him luck in his search for a wife.

  Convinced he had exhausted all other possibilities, Henry focused on wooing Lady Jane. He danced two waltzes with her at every ball and led her in to supper so he could converse with her. Lady Jane was intelligent, well informed, and opinionated. Some of these opinions bordered on harsh, but Henry considered that to be a symptom of her youth rather than a sign of malice. So they danced and conversed and rode in the park, and before long everybody in society, including Lady Jane and Henry himself, assumed he would offer for her before the end of the season.

  ON A BALMY WEDNESDAY IN early June, Henry’s grandmother summoned him to inform him of a measles outbreak at the ducal estate. The duchess was already on her way to see to things at Avon, but Henry decided to rush to Emily’s side.

  He penned a note to Lady Jane, explaining his absence from the Duke of Wentworth’s ball that night, and got on the road. He was halfway to Reading when he was intercepted by a letter from his daughter. Emily confirmed the measles outbreak, but reminded him she’d had the measles already, and therefore there was no need for him to come and join the ranks of the infected. Having no recollection of having had the disease, Henry thought it best to heed Emily’s advice and turned his curricle around.

  Arriving back in town in time to attend the Wentworth ball, he decided to surprise Lady Jane. Wentworth House on Grosvenor Square was famous for its terrace spanning the length of the building and overlooking the gardens below. There was to be a full moon that night, and Henry planned to ask Lady Jane to be his wife right there, under the stars.

  He dressed with extra care in a brand new plum-colored tailcoat and a gray-and-silver striped vest. Brilliant white diamonds winked from his neckcloth and cufflinks, and his mother’s heart-shaped diamond ring rested in a little pocket close to his heart. Henry hadn’t spoken to Lady Jane’s father yet, but perhaps that, too, could be arranged over the course of the evening.

  Arriving late, he slipped into the ballroom and located his lady on the other side of the dance floor, sitting on a sofa close to one of the open windows leading out onto the terrace. She was flanked by her mother and her aunt. People were milling in and out of the open French doors not far away, but her corner was shielded by the palm fronds grouped in the area. The dance floor was crowded with couples swirling and swaying to the rhythm of a waltz, so Henry headed to the library and used the French doors there to get out onto the terrace. A few steps took him to the open window behind his prospective bride. He felt a moderate measure of excitement at the prospect of proposing to Lady Jane, but as he drew nearer, his ears were assaulted by the aunt’s shrill voice.

  “Well done, Jane! Sir Henry, eh? Who would have thought you would get to marry all that lovely money.”

  Henry heard Lady Jane laugh and realized he had never heard her laugh before. He had heard her chuckle, titter, and make a rather affected noise he had assumed was her laugh, but never an honest, spontaneous laugh. Unfortunately, Lady Jane’s laugh had an unsettling harshness to it.

  “Yes, I will be able to travel as I wish, and he is no fool, which has to be considered a bonus.”

  The aunt gushed, “Has he proposed then?”

  “Not yet,” Lady Castleright chimed in, “but we are in expectation of his visit any day now.”

  “Where is the good man today? I haven’t seen him all night.”

  Lady Jane answered dismissively, “Apparently there is a measles outbreak at his cousin’s estate where his bastard lives, and he felt the need to rush to her side.”

  Henry was quite sure the woman who had just spoken so derisively about his daughter was the same lady he had danced and conversed with over the past three months, but he could not recognize her. So he remained just outside the window, watching her, needing to know how she truly felt, especially about Emily.

  The aunt leaned in as if to reveal some great secret. “Isn’t the girl being educated at Avon with the duke’s children? I cannot imagine Hortense Redwick being thrilled about that.”

  Lady Castleright shook her head in dismay. “I’m certain the duchess is not, but it appears the dowager dotes on the girl.”

  Lady Jane’s aunt gasped in shock at the very idea and shuddered with the thrill of the delicious wickedness of it all. “I heard Sir Henry has decided to marry so his wife can bring out his daughter when she is old enough.” She was breathless with excitement. “What on earth will you do when he demands you parade his bastard around society?”

  Lady Castleright patted her daughter’s hand reassuringly. “We will cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we, dear?”

  Lady Jane laughed again, and to Henry’s ears it was downright ugly. “Oh, fiddlesticks, Mother. I’ll just make sure I fill his nursery in the next few years so he is too busy to worry about the girl, and when the time comes we will quietly find somebody who needs her dowry. He has more than enough money to bury that little problem.”

  The ice in Henry’s veins quickly turned into hot, pulsing lava, and before he could think better of it he climbed through the window and rounded the palm trees to face the conceited woman he’d been stupid enough to think worthy of becoming his wife.

  The moment Henry stepped in front of them, the storm clouds clearly visible on his face, the color drained out of the faces of all three ladies. He ignored the other two and addressed himself to Lady Jane only, barely containing the fury coursing through him. “My daughter’s birth may be less than desirable, but she is neither cruel nor calculating, and nothing will ever displace her in my affections. You, however, are a lady in name only.”

  Staring down the woman he had almost proposed to, Henry ignored the attention their little scene was beginning to draw. Lady Jane, in turn, gaped at him in openmouthed astonishment, perhaps for the first time in her life lost for words.

  Before she could find her voice, Henry bowed curtly. “Goodbye!”

  As he turned away from her he added a clearly audible “Good riddance!” before he stormed out of the ballroom.

  BEHIND A CHARMING DORIC COLUMN, up on the mezzanine, the Baron Ostley stood. The prominent lines on his forehead deepened into a frown as he tried to work out what was going on between Sir Henry and Lady Jane. According to Bob, Sir Henry’s bastard daughter had finally matured into a young woman, and anticipating the hour of his revenge, Ostley had come to town to see what his nemesis was up to. The last thing he’d expected to find was the man courting a respectable plain Jane.

  Ostley nudged his companion. “What do you make of this fracas, Ridgeworth?”

  George Bradshore, Viscount Ridg
eworth, former Reverend of Hove, watched Sir Henry cross the ballroom. The man’s whole being radiated rage, the storm cloud on his face prompting the crowd to part before him.

  “Trouble in paradise,” Ridgeworth quipped brightly. “Looks like Lady Jane’s cutting tongue finally drove Sir Henry off.”

  The older man’s face twisted into a sneer. “What possessed Weld to let that man anywhere near his daughter?”

  Ridgeworth shrugged. “He needs to marry her off, of course, Ostley. Sir Henry is eligible, wealthy, and generally well respected, despite the live-in mistress.”

  Ostley hissed at his companion, “Not in our circle, he isn’t, you numbskull.”

  The new viscount looked like he might take exception to the name-calling, but then a sly smile crept over his face. After all, the good baron wasn’t exactly the brightest light on the chandelier. George never could fathom why his former employer gave Ostley the time of day; he was volatile and rude. “Not to worry. It seems the courtship is at an end.”

  Ostley’s eyes were hard and cold as he watched Sir Henry walk out the front door without acknowledging a single person. A deep satisfaction settled over him to know Sir Henry suffered. Not as much as he had suffered when Sir Henry made off with his pretty young wife, though, and no one would ever know the depth of despair he had felt knowing her belly was full of the cretin’s bastard. He grimly promised himself things would soon get much, much worse for Sir Henry. It was time to find out where and when he could get to the girl.

  He shook back his hair, which caused a sprinkling of dandruff to settle on his shoulders, and announced, “I will return home on the morrow. Give Warthon my regards.”

  Viscount Ridgeworth declined his head in farewell, but didn’t offer his hand. “We shall expect you for the meeting in July.”