Chapter Two

 

It is a sad fact that not all journeys to London go as smoothly as that of the Duke of Winterton and Sir Polly Grey.

Henrietta, with Megan along to lend her consequence, set out from home on a sunny, if cold, March day. There was no one to see them off except Cook. Mrs. Lanford was already down at the stables with the Squire, feeling her part in her daughter’s removal to Town was complete after writing to Lady Fuddlesby.

In keeping with the fickle English weather, on the second day of their travels the skies clouded and snow began to fall. At first it fell in thick white flakes that melted as they reached the ground. By late afternoon the wind picked up and the snow changed to a swirling mass that obscured the view from the windows of the squire’s traveling coach.

“Do but look, miss.” Megan’s eyes were round with fright. “I wonder how Ben can see where he’s drivin’ us.”

Henrietta wondered the same thing but was not about to voice her fears in front of the maid. “I am certain we shall be perfectly safe, Megan.”

Henrietta could see her breath in front of her when she spoke, the cold having claimed the interior of the coach. Both girls were dressed warmly and wrapped in carriage rugs. Henrietta wore a dark blue wool pelisse over an old-fashioned gown of paler blue. Her hair was tucked up under a matching bonnet that framed her face.

As the women stared out at the storm, the coach pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Henrietta saw Ben’s ruddy face at the window and she lowered the glass, letting in a gust of snow.

“I can’t go on much further, miss. The snow’s not  deep on the roads yet, but I can barely see as far as the horses’ heads. I know of an inn up ahead and that’s where we’re goin’, with your permission,” he said, tugging a forelock.

“I shall be grateful if you can get us there, Ben,” Henrietta said, shivering.

The coach set off again, and a short time later Megan exclaimed, “I can make out some lights. I’m that glad, miss, as I can hardly feel my feet from the cold.”

They pulled up in front of an establishment that proclaimed itself to be the Pig and Thistle. Several carriages were in the yard, other travelers lured by the promise of relief from the elements. When Ben came back to help her down, Henrietta made note of an especially fine coach with a crest on its door. Ben went to see to the horses and avail himself of some gin and hot food while Henrietta, Megan behind her, went inside.

The warmth of the inn was almost painful to Henrietta’s numb hands and feet. Looking inside to the crowded coffee room, she could see a large, welcoming fire burning brightly. The atmosphere was as festive as the gathering of people under a common adversity can be. The fact that everyone was drinking heavily added to the air of gaiety.

She stepped up to the counter and briskly addressed the wiry landlord. “Good afternoon. I require a room for myself and my maid for the night.”

“I’ve no rooms left ’cause of the storm,” he said sternly, looking at her provincial pelisse with disdain.

Henrietta could scarcely believe her ears. What on earth were they to do?

Across the coffee room, Viscount Baddick sat with Mr. Andrew Snively. Mr. Snively was one of those creatures just on the fringe of Society. His acceptance came chiefly from the fact he was cheerfully willing to sit down at the green baize with anyone. As he was an addicted gamester, winning or losing was rarely of consequence to him. He was not above stealing to support his pleasures when his funds were low; the lure of an elderly aunt’s jewel box had precipitated his journey to her country house.

“What brings you to the country, Baddick?” he asked, idly toying with his brandy glass. “Surely all the women in Town haven’t closed their legs to you?”

Viscount Baddick amused himself with Mr. Snively’s company because they were both stuck at the inn. In Town, while he would never give Snively the cut direct, he sought his company infrequently since the viscount rarely gambled on cards. Women were the viscount’s vice.

“Indeed not,” Lord Baddick replied with a half grin. “I simply felt the need for some country air and have been at my estate.”

“Rusticating? Now, which lady could have sent you out of Town?” Mr. Snively wondered aloud. “The demireps or even those bored widows you favor wouldn’t kick up any dust over a broken promise or an abrupt leave-taking.”

Lord Baddick ignored the question and heaved a bored sigh. “I have developed the most awful ennui, Snively. Challenge is what I crave.” He leaned forward confidingly, a gleam coming into his hazel eyes. “I find a fresh conquest more exhilarating.”

A frown appeared between Mr. Snively’s brows. “You can’t mean a young virgin.” At the viscount’s answering smile, Mr. Snively warned, “You’d best have a care. Else an avenging father or brother will come after you with a set of dueling pistols.”

Lord Baddick tossed off his brandy. “I am accounted an excellent shot,” he lied. Quite the coward, he took the greatest of pains to be certain no woman he bedded had anyone to call him to account.

“Do you remember a quiet little thing named Lady Honoria Farrow?” the viscount asked in the manner of one about to impart some titillating information.

“Vaguely.” Mr. Snively paused, then said, “Yes, in Town with her widowed mama for her second Season.” Mr. Snively’s eyes widened as the truth struck him. “Never say you ...”

Lord Baddick’s eyes shone with an unholy light. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You would be amazed, Andrew, at how very simple it was. I was careful with my pursuit under the watchful eyes of the tabbies of the ton. I managed to inveigle an invitation to her home in the country for the holidays. A few promises—girls are so stupid, you know—and she gave me a delectable present on Christmas Eve.” Lord Baddick concluded this lurid tale with an evil grin.

Mr. Snively laughed appreciatively, but even one with morals as low as his inwardly shuddered for the ruined girl.

Lord Baddick failed to mention how wide he had been forced to open his purse to quiet the crying girl and her outraged mama. Being extremely rich, this was no hardship. But it had been a near thing. He did not like the look in Lady Farrow’s eye as he took his leave, hence his prudent stay in the country. He was only now returning to London.

As he glanced up, Lord Baddick’s attention was caught by a young girl in apparent distress, exchanging words with the landlord. “See you in Town, Snively,” he said dismissively before rising and walking across the room to investigate how he might turn the situation to his advantage.

Henrietta stood before the counter glaring at the landlord in outrage. “You are going to turn us out into this weather and you say there is no other hostelry nearby?” she demanded, anger bringing color to her cheeks.

The landlord appeared unmoved, but before he could reply, a gentleman placed a number of gold coins in front of him, saying, “A room for the lady.”

Suddenly the landlord was all-obliging. “No, miss, I would never do such a thing. I have just the room for ye and yer maid. I’ll have the missus make it ready.”

“Do go to the kitchens, Megan, and get yourself something hot to drink and eat. I will see you upstairs,” Henrietta instructed in a low voice. She waited until Megan bobbed a curtsy and hurried away, before turning to her rescuer.

This fashionably dressed gentleman was surely the owner of the coach with the crest she had seen outside. He was tall and golden-haired, and his hazel eyes studied her with a frank and open look. He wore a bottle-green coat with gold buttons over doeskin breeches and glossy black Hessian boots.

Before she could say a word, he held up a hand in a forestalling gesture. “I beg your indulgence for a moment, my lady. I am aware that we have yet to be introduced and I have been, one might say, presumptuous. Observing your plight from the warmth of the coffee room, I could not, in good conscience, have allowed you and your maid to be put out in such horrid weather. You would not have my reputation as a gentleman called into question over so paltry a matter as an exchange of names. I am Baddick, by the way.” A disarming smile ended this gallant speech.

Henrietta did not know where to look. He had called her “my lady,” mistaking her station in life.

For once, the Practical Henrietta and the Fantasy Henrietta were in complete agreement. Lord Baddick was most attractive and had indeed behaved as a gentleman. His easy manner persuaded her there was no harm in him. It was true he had saved her from an unthinkable situation and deserved her gratitude.

She dropped a curtsy. “You are most kind, my lord. I am Miss Henrietta Lanford of Hamilton Cross. I am on my way to London and this dreadful storm halted my progress.”

Lord Baddick bowed. “Your servant, Miss Lanford. What a happy coincidence! I, too, am on my way to Town after taking care of estate business. But please, allow me to escort you into the coffee room. I am persuaded you must be hungry after your ordeal, and I would see you comfortable by the fire.”

She hesitated only a moment before permitting him to lead her to a small table. He had them served with a game pie, vegetables, potatoes, apricot tartlets, and wine.

Henrietta removed her gloves and began to eat. She was famished, having eaten nothing since breakfast. Soon, feeling relaxed from food, wine, and Lord Baddick’s polite conversation, she dropped her guard, and the two continued talking easily on a variety of subjects.

While smoothly keeping up his end of the conversation, the viscount’s mind raced. This gullible dab of a little thing was exactly the sort he craved. Furthermore, he recalled purchasing a racehorse from Squire Lanford some three years past. Although the viscount would never acknowledge it, his own ill management of the horse resulted in the animal’s poor performance at the racetrack. Lord Baddick had returned the horse to the squire, who’d given him a jaw-me-dead over the horse’s condition. The angry squire had gone so far as to declare Lord Baddick was the sort of man who would shoot a fox.

Twirling the brandy in his glass, the viscount decided the seduction of Miss Lanford would have the added bonus of serving as a small measure of revenge against the squire. “Are you to make your come-out this Season, Miss Lanford? If so, I must have your promise to save a dance for me. Otherwise, with your fresh beauty and becoming manners, I fear I shall be quite cut out.”

This piece of flattery was offered in such a good-natured, friendly way, it could not possibly offend. It was a heady experience for Henrietta to command the sole attention of an exquisitely dressed and well-bred man of the world.

“Yes, I am to stay with my aunt, Lady Fuddlesby. And after your service to me today, my lord, you may have your pick of dances.” She giggled at him sleepily as she had drunk more wine than she was accustomed to taking.

Lord Baddick smiled tenderly into her eyes. “I own myself the luckiest of men.”

Better and better, he thought. Really, this was a temptation he could not let pass him by. Lady Fuddlesby was of the bon ton, but a scatterbrain and an Original. She drove in the park with her cat on the seat beside her! His pulses quickened as a picture flashed in his mind of Miss Lanford underneath him in bed.

As the hour was late, Henrietta could not conceal a yawn.

Lord Baddick struck his chest with his hand. “I am the worst of men, Miss Lanford. Here I am keeping you to myself when you must be exhausted and only wishing for your bed. Should traveling be possible tomorrow and I not have the pleasure of seeing you before you leave, may I call on you in Town?”

“I should like it above all things,” Henrietta assured him demurely.

They parted on the best of terms and Henrietta went upstairs to find her room. She opened the door on a comfortable chamber with chintz hangings on the bed and at the window. Megan was nearly asleep in a trundle bed, but rose to help her mistress out of her gown and into her nightdress before stoking the fire and going to sleep.

Henrietta pushed aside the curtains at the frosty window to look out. The storm was over and stars shone on the white landscape. It did not look as if a great deal of snow was on the ground, and it was likely they would get away tomorrow after all.

She thought about meeting Lord Baddick and smiled. Perhaps it had been fate. He was proper,

but less austere than the rather intimidating Duke of Winterton. Lord Baddick seemed to think she would have many suitors in Town. Oh, she could not wait to reach London!

Hugging herself, she turned from the window to go to bed. Snuggling under the bedclothes, she fell into dreams in which the hero was alternately Lord Baddick and the Duke of Winterton.

Downstairs in the taproom, Lord Baddick drank heavily. It was all he could do to keep from climbing the stairs and trying his luck with the chit right then. But experience taught him not to rush his fences. He would enjoy the chase in Town.

Lord Baddick snickered to himself while endless possibilities for the young girl’s seduction floated through his brandy-soaked brain.

At the moment, a serving maid was winking broadly at him as she leaned forward to refill his glass. Lord Baddick’s lips curved into a grin.

* * * *

Late the following afternoon, Lady Fuddlesby, attired in a rose-pink gown with only a few cat hairs on it, sat in the drawing room of her Grosvenor Square town house. Knight prowled about the room restlessly as if sensing his mistress’s mood.

“Where can the girl be?” Lady Fuddlesby asked, her fingers twisting a lace handkerchief. “She should have been here yesterday. I cannot imagine what could have caused a delay.”

The black and white cat wandered over to the tall windows and observed a light snow falling. He turned to look at Lady Fuddlesby, his tail tapping the windowpane.

“Oh! My dear boy. Of course, you have the right of it. Why, it might have been snowing quite dreadfully out in the country. Perhaps Henrietta was obliged to put up overnight at some damp inn.”

Her ladyship’s butler, Chuffley, appeared in the doorway. “His Grace, the Duke of Winterton, has called, my lady. Shall I show him in?”

Fiddlesticks! Lady Fuddlesby pressed her fingers to her temples, thoughts whirling in her head. “Yes... and bring tea, please, Chuffley,” she managed.

“Oh dear, oh dear, Knight. What could bring him here now? He was not to come until after Henrietta arrived and I had her properly gowned,” Lady Fuddlesby went on quite irrationally, forgetting the duke could not possibly be aware of the plans made for him, no less be prepared to fall in with them.

Knight had no answer but jumped to the fireplace mantel where he could observe his mistress and come to her aid if necessary.

The Duke of Winterton entered the room. He carried his hat and stick, indicating he would stay but a few minutes. His burgundy coat sat on his shoulders without a wrinkle. Fawn-colored pantaloons molded to his form, advising Lady Fuddlesby their owner possessed the best of legs. Black Hessian boots shone from a concoction about which other gentlemen’s valets could only speculate.

“Lady Fuddlesby,” he said, and bowed. Cool grey eyes looked at her questioningly.

“Your Grace, how kind of you to call,” Lady Fuddlesby said, and curtsied. “Do sit beside me,” she insisted, seating herself and patting a place next to her on the comfortable-looking brocade sofa. She had caught that icy look. While they frequented the same ton parties and had exchanged pleasantries, they were not precisely on calling terms. What was she going to offer as an excuse for asking him to call?

The duke sat down. Chuffley returned with a serving girl who settled a heavy silver tray on the table. Lady Fuddlesby busied herself with the tea things until the servants had gone.

She passed the duke a cup. “I know you must be wondering why I asked you to come,” she said with charming frankness. “You must understand, after I saw you last week at the Alistairs’ musicale, I felt most dreadful.”

The duke looked at Lady Fuddlesby. A puzzled expression crossed his face.

Then, momentarily distracted, his attention was caught by two green eyes, belonging to a rather fat-about-the-middle cat, staring at him menacingly from the fireplace mantel.

“You see,” Lady Fuddlesby went on improvising, “I knew your dear father when we were both young. And I realized that since his untimely death last year, I have been remiss in offering you my deepest condolences. I could not rest until I received your forgiveness for my shockingly bad manners,” she ended, feeling well pleased with herself at this farrago of lies. Not that Lady Fuddlesby made a practice of dissembling. It was just that on this occasion a stretching of the truth was necessary.

Giles felt amused. He had heard her ladyship was jinglebrained, and it followed she would fall prey to contrition for imagined slights at this late date.

He chastised himself for being on his guard against this innocent lady when he arrived. But deuce take it! Hardly a moment’s peace had been awarded him since he set up residence at his town house in Park Lane two weeks ago. Mamas and their marriageable daughters called on the flimsiest of excuses until he instructed his butler he was not at home to anyone. As ladies jockeyed ruthlessly for position, riding in the park at the fashionable hour resulted in several near carriage collisions. It seemed everywhere he went young misses were thrown at him like oranges at a bad actor at the playhouse. After a week of this, he was driven to the end of his tether by the antics of a Lady Betina Peabody.

This plain young miss had the silly idea she could compromise herself and force him to marry her. Her plans no doubt included arranging her scrawny body across his bed. She’d tried to gain access to his town house by bribing a servant. The duke’s servants were loyal and she failed. Persistent, if foolish, she attempted to get in by climbing up a trellis to a window. When her gown caught, she fell, breaking her arm.

Disgusted, the duke considered going back to his estate, but Sir Polly Grey knew his duty, and the old duke’s voice brought Giles back to his mission.

Despite the fact he was in Town looking over suitable marriage prospects, he dropped a word in Lady Alistair’s ear at her musicale that he was content in his bachelor state. She could be counted on to spread this gossip through the ton, much good as it would do. Meanwhile, he adopted an even more unapproachable demeanor.

Certainly though, caution was not called for with Lady Fuddlesby, a sweet, if hubble-bubbled, creature. “Thank you, my lady. Please be assured I would forgive you if there was anything to forgive.”

The duke smiled at her, and Lady Fuddlesby found herself thinking how like his father he was in looks. In character, though, the old duke was always the hardened aristocrat, while this man seemed to possess an understanding beneath his arrogant exterior that his father had never developed.

Winterton raised his teacup, preparing to drink. He saw a cat hair floating in the liquid and put the cup down. He said, “I recall my father speaking of you in affectionate terms, my lady. Yes, do not look surprised. It seems in his youth he enjoyed your company immeasurably.”

At these words, Lady Fuddlesby’s resolve strengthened, and she was more determined than ever to promote a match between the duke and her niece.

For his part, the duke was simply enjoying a pleasant conversation away from marriageable females with one of his father’s old friends.

It was unfortunate, when the duke and Lady Fuddlesby were feeling much in charity with one another, that a commotion could be heard coming from the hall below. The sound of voices grew louder. Lady Fuddlesby rose and the duke followed suit as they looked expectantly toward the doorway.

Coming up the stairs, Chuffley, normally the epitome of the English butler, wore an expression of discomfort about his puffy features.

An excited Henrietta followed on his heels. London had enthralled her from her first glimpse out the glass of the squire’s traveling coach. Snow was falling, making the city seem a magical place where anything could happen to a young girl on her first visit from the country. The noise, the press of carriages, the lights glowing from windows of tall, thin town houses, were all so different from the country. A giddy anticipation of the treats in store infected her.

She entered Lady Fuddlesby’s house in awe of its

size. She didn’t know what she expected, but nothing this grand, to be sure.

The butler and Henrietta reached the entrance to the drawing room. Chuffley announced, “Miss Henrietta Lanford, my lady. She would come right up,” he added by way of explanation for this disturbance.

Henrietta walked into the room and shied like a colt at the sight of the Duke of Winterton. Biting her lip in vexation, for the second time in as many weeks she was sorry she had not taken care of her appearance before rushing into a room. A telltale blush heated her cheeks.

At Henrietta’s hurly-burly entrance, a look of dismay crossed Lady Fuddlesby’s face. In an audible undertone she said to herself, “Oh dear, and I did want him to see her looking her best.”

Winterton turned sharply to look at Lady Fuddlesby, but the lady’s attention was on her niece.

“My dear girl, I am so glad you are here,” her ladyship said nervously as she stared at Henrietta’s disheveled appearance. “I wondered what could have kept you since I expected you yesterday, but I thought the snow...” Lady Fuddlesby’s voice trailed off feebly, and she twisted her hands together in agitation.

The duke’s face was a study in frozen hauteur.

Gazing at him wide-eyed, Henrietta failed to notice his chilly demeanor.

Lady Fuddlesby, looking from Henrietta’s infatuated expression to the duke’s stiff countenance, sputtered a question. “Have you met before, perhaps?”

Not bothering to answer, Winterton abruptly seized his hat and stick and said, “Lady Fuddlesby, Miss Lanford, I see I must leave you to one another.” He bowed and left before either of the two ladies could utter a word.

With the duke departing so soon after her arrival, Henrietta felt her spirits deflate. He was more handsome than she remembered, and she longed to talk with him as she had with Lord Baddick. There was a difference in the two men, she thought. Lord Baddick was friendly where the Duke of Winterton was reserved. He was probably just that way with people he did not know well, she reasoned.

Lady Fuddlesby came to Henrietta, taking both her hands in an affectionate squeeze. “I know I am a poor hostess, my dear, but I cannot wait another minute before I hear all about your previous meeting with the Duke of Winterton.”

Henrietta studied her aunt, liking what she saw. Lady Fuddlesby’s light brown hair was styled attractively to complement her rather round face. Pale blue eyes held a kindness and an interest her  mother’s lacked.

“Well, my lady, there is not much to tell. His grace came to inspect Papa’s horses and stayed to luncheon. I was only in his company a short while before he took his leave.”

But long enough to have her affections engaged, divined Lady Fuddlesby. What miss would not be attracted to the duke? She mused, picturing his manly legs.

Knight chose this moment to jump down from the mantel and rub against Henrietta’s skirts.

“La, you have a cat!” Henrietta exclaimed delightedly, and bent to stroke his back. “I adore cats. We have barn cats at home, but Mama would never allow them in the house. Pray, what is his name?”

“Knight in Masked Armour, my dear, but simply called Knight. He is very wise and not at all an ordinary feline.”

The cat fell down onto his side with a thud and rolled over on his back to allow Henrietta’s gentle hand access to his oversized belly. All the while he purred loudly, his eyes crossed in bliss.

“Oh, my dear, abandon that wretched fellow and come upstairs and get settled. I do hope you may be pleased with your bedchamber. And we have much to accomplish before the Denbys’ ball next week.”

“A ball,” Henrietta breathed, and lapsed into her fantasies as she prepared to follow her aunt.

Lady Fuddlesby, leading the way, took each step with a growing feeling of confidence. She was sure the girl would be a beauty once fashionably turned out. Perhaps any damage done today by the Duke of Winterton’s seeing her prematurely was not so very great after all.

* * * *

Meanwhile, the duke walked down the steps to the hall in Lady Fuddlesby’s town house, convinced he had been tricked again. Miss Lanford, a green country girl if ever he saw one, was Lady Fuddlesby’s niece. Obviously the lady was to sponsor her come-out. He would be seeing the girl frequently. They would, after all, be going about in the same circles. Since Lady Fuddlesby expected her earlier in the week, it further stood to reason the lady’s request for him to call did indeed have matchmaking implications. Her careless mumbling confirmed it.

The duke strode out the front door and down the stone steps, roughly pulling on his driving gloves.

Lord Kramer, a pretentious dandy the duke did not choose to count among his close associates, hailed him. “I’faith, duke. Stealing a march on the rest of us, eh?”

“Whatever can you mean, Kramer?”

“Well, ‘tis all over Town Lady Fuddlesby is to push off her niece this Season.”

Why did I not hear of this? The duke thought, irate. He wished Lord Kramer at the devil. “Miss Lanford is in Town for the Season,” he ground out.

“Did you meet the gel or not?” Lord Kramer persisted.

The duke’s patience was tried beyond all endurance. Through a red haze of anger he added Miss Henrietta Lanford to the list of unsuitable girls thrown at him. He remembered her horse-mad parents. He remembered she moved with a coltlike awkwardness. He remembered her long, straight hair, and some imp in his mind conjured up a resemblance to a horse’s tail. Unconfined strands, lying across her forehead, became a forelock.

“I have seen the girl, and my opinion is that Squire and Mrs. Lanford would do better to give her a Season at Newmarket rather than London.” With this crashing insult, the duke moved past an openmouthed Lord Kramer, climbed up into his phaeton, raised his whip, and drove off at a smart pace.

Lord Kramer, stunned at his good fortune, took himself gleefully off to his club to repeat the duke’s words to all his friends.