Lady Libertine (2 page)

Rand glanced at the sleeping figure beside him and grinned. Disheveled, with his dark hair half hanging over his face and the shadow of stubble on his chin, he looked more like a feckless gypsy than a nobleman, but, Edward reflected sourly, he
acted
more like a feckless gypsy so perhaps it was apt. Rand did not behave like a man with any maturity. In fact, he went out of his way to shock Polite Society with his careless ways.

He was a Hamersley, after all. That was what they did. Shock. Cajole. Appall. Beguile.

His lordship shot Edward a look. Dark as he was, the light green eyes were a little startling in that they were such a contrast. He blew out a breath. ‘You are not going to go away, are you?’

‘No.’

‘Well at least go and wait for me in the dining room. And tell Markham that I am ready for breakfast.’ He glanced at the girl sleeping next to him and grinned. ‘More than ready!’

Edward rolled his eyes and left the room.

Thirty minutes later, Rand joined him. He was dressed, although more casually than Edward considered proper for a man in Hamersley’s position. The black trousers and waistcoat were acceptable, but the white shirt was worn open, with no neckcloth, and he had omitted a jacket completely. He had washed, apparently, but his hair was still free of any restraints and hung, a shaggy black mass, a little past his shoulders. To his neat, impeccably tailored brother-in-law, he looked like a disreputable rogue.
Or like a privateer
, he thought sourly. The image was not helped by the knowledge that Rand would probably thoroughly enjoy the life of a privateer. A little thievery on the high seas would suit him admirably.

Breakfast had been laid out on the table in silver warming dishes. Edward had already helped himself to coffee. Rand sat and began to pile food on a plate, but eschewed the coffee, instead pouring himself a glass of ale, something the fastidious Edward winced at. As far as he was concerned, no man should drink before noon.

‘I’m starving.’

‘Late night?’

His lordship shrugged. ‘Early morning. What the devil do you mean, waking me at this time? If you were not married to my favorite sister, then I would have had Chance throw you out.’ The earl’s valet was a large and useful man whose first career had been in the boxing ring.

Edward was unimpressed. ‘Eleven is not exactly the crack of dawn.’

‘It feels like the crack of dawn. Why are you here, anyway? Is Julia all right?’

As ever, when his wife’s name was mentioned, Edward Challoner’s face softened. ‘She is very well. A little more tired than usual, but that is only to be expected.’

Julia was expecting their first baby in November.

‘Then, much as I delight in your company…’ Rand arched an interrogative eyebrow.

Edward slipped the paper he had brought across to Rand, open at the relevant page. The duke glanced at it without interest. ‘What is it?’

‘That column that has everybody so perturbed.’

‘What column?’

‘It is called
On Dit
. It’s nonsense, really, but has proved to be extraordinarily popular. It features tidbits about who was seen where with whom. Unfortunately, it has enough truth in it to make a great many people very nervous.’

Rand frowned. ‘Sounds like so much twaddle. And I should care because?’

‘Read it. About half way down the page.’ His lordship stared at Edward for a few moments longer then impatiently pulled the newspaper towards him. There was a small silence and then he raised a thunderous face and stared at Edward, who met his look blandly. ‘That is correct. You. With Lady Astor. In the conservatory. Can we expect a posting of the banns any time soon? Oh no, I suppose not. As she is already affianced to the Duke of Gatton.’

Rand was reading the piece again. Really, despite the fact that the author had named no names, it could not be anybody
but
him and Caroline Astor. Damn.

‘How is this rubbish allowed to be published?' The earl demanded, throwing down the offending article. ‘Why do we allow it?’

Edward shrugged. ‘No names are named. The paper allows it for that very reason. And because it sells. I believe their circulation has risen considerably.’

Rand scowled down at his eggs. Damn it all, Gatton was going to be furious. He was already irked, thanks to the fact that Rand had beaten him in that race they had set up between the Cranford-Maidenhead turnpikes, Rand beating Gatton’s prized chestnuts with the new pair of grey’s he’d bought at Newmarket. Now, if he thought for a moment that Rand was making free with his fiancé…

‘I don’t suppose it matters. Who reads that rubbish, anyway?’

‘Why, all of London reads it. It appears in the Tuesday and Friday editions. What on earth possessed you to make love to Caroline Astor?’

‘What do you think? The girl is a stunner and she was rather keen that I
did
make love to her.’

‘Right back to the fiancé issue, Rand.’

The earl grimaced. ‘Believe me, I was not the one doing the chasing and it was just a little harmless flirtation. It is not as if I sullied the girl.’ He had not sullied her
much
. Her maidenhead was still waiting to be taken by poor old Gatton.

Edward studied his brother-in-law for a moment, then shook his head. ‘When are you going to settle down with a wife? These hedonistic ways are going to keep landing you into trouble.’

His lordship leaned back in his chair, loose limbed, but with the peculiar grace that characterized all of the Hamersley’s. They were an attractive lot, with their dark, almost exotic looks and a casual
joie de vivre
about life that was at once appealing and yet immensely frustrating. ‘My dear Edward, why should marriage necessarily equate with settling down? Just because you and Julia are besotted does not mean that is the usual way of things. In my experience, marriage spices up ones love life, not the other way around.’

He was, of course, talking about the women who married well, produced an heir (along with a spare) and then discreetly – most of the time – took lovers to compensate for their worthy husbands’ lack of attractions. To Edward, who had been lucky enough to marry for love, it seemed utterly mad, but then, his loving wife had assured him that his views on the topic were quite ridiculous. Adorable, but ridiculous. It had been the ‘adorable’ part that had stung the most.

‘Just the same, even by your rules, Caroline Astor should have been out of bounds. I just came from White’s where they were discussing the matter at length.’

‘But you
were
in the conservatory with Lady Astor.’

The duke glared at Edward. ‘Yes, but the entire world need not know it!’

‘Well, it’s likely that Gatton will,’ Edward said, rising to his feet, ‘and you need to work out how you are going to manage it. Unless you really are going to cut him out with Lady Astor?’

Rand looked horrified at the very thought. ‘Good God, no!’

‘I thought not.’

‘Are you
ever
going to come back to bed, Duckie?’ The light, feminine voice brought both men’s heads around. The girl who had been sharing Rand’s bed had woken and was now standing in the doorway, more or less covered in a bed sheet. A little less than more, actually, as there was a deal of flesh exposed. She spied the food on the table and her face lit up. ‘Oooo, grub. I’m starved!’ And she hurried forward, almost tripping on her sheet, which fell to reveal one round, creamy breast.

Edward averted his eyes hastily. ‘I will see you tomorrow night. You
are
coming?’

For a moment Rand looked completely blank, then he nodded quickly. ‘Julia’s party. Of course. I had not forgotten.’

Edward nodded dryly. ‘Until tomorrow then.’

‘I am perfectly serious about that damned newspaper nonsense, Edward. What was the name? Lady Libertine? I am going to stop her. If it really
is
a her. I find it hard to believe that a female would think of something like that.’ He paused, considered that, then shook his head. ‘Strike that last comment. That column is
exactly
the kind of thing a female would come up with!’

‘You may try, but you might also try acting with some restraint for a change. Then you would not be the subject of some scandalmonger’s pen.’

Rand stared at his brother-in-law in exasperation. ‘Oh, go to the devil you cloth-headed, beef-brained idiot! How Julia can stand your preaching ways I will never know.’

To which Edward was left with no reply, but a dignified retreat.

Thomas Beaufort sat at his desk in the offices of the London Times and eyed Lucy Landon with amusement.

‘Do you sometimes think you go a step to far?’

Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘You have
met
my mama, have you not?’

He did not flinch at the memory, but it was a close thing. Lady Landon was what was commonly known as a termagant. Thomas had been Lord Landon’s secretary and he had not had cause to see a great deal of the gentleman’s wife, but from the occasions when their paths crossed, Thomas had reason to be grateful that their contact was minimal. Even so…

‘Oh, we’re doing very well. Circulation has more than tripled since your column became the rage. Take it, Lucy. It’s all down to you, after all.’

Lucy put the bag into her reticule. She smiled at him. ‘Thank-you!’

‘It must be adding up by now.’

‘Oh it is, but I need more if I am going to survive for any length of time. I do believe I can be quite comfortable on around one hundred pounds a year. But one never knows. It is costly to run a household, even a small one. Dreary things like eating come into it and, while I aim to be frugal, there are some things that I cannot do without.’

‘You are still determined to retire to Cornwall, then?’

‘More determined than ever. I am sure Mama will marry Lord Billingsworth, although he is a most unappealing man. Looks rather like a frog. Judith is married and I daresay Phoebe will make an eligible match of it this Season. Which just leaves me. I have no wish to join Lord Billingsworth's household and end up as some kind of unpaid housekeeper. My dear Thomas, the tales I could tell you about the life of a spinster! They would make your toes curl.’

Thomas shook his head. In many ways it really was a man’s world, which seemed a little unfair under the circumstances, especially when right good ‘uns like Lucy were in danger of being crushed by life and circumstance. They had been good friends since their first meeting four years ago in her father’s library. Having come down with a first in economics from Oxford, he had spent seven months in Lord Landon’s service before his untimely death. Thomas had always liked Lucy, who was smart and had a wicked sense of humor. It was a pity there was not a skerrick of attraction between them, for she would have made an excellent wife. And Thomas knew that, even if he asked her, she would say no.

Lucy Landon had always known her own mind.

‘It sounds ghastly, but perhaps she will say no if he proposes?’

‘Oh, she will say yes, you can be sure of that. She will say yes because Billingsworth has a large house on Vine Street and an impressive family seat in Dorset and our cousin has been waiting for his inheritance forever, or so it must seem to him. He would have had it by now if Father had not had the foresight to put something in his will.’

It had been providential that William Landon had placed a condition on his estate that would allow his wife and daughters the use of their house in London for five years. With no male heir, the title had gone to a cousin, but that cousin could not yet take their house in Smith Street. Not for another three years, at least. Fortunately, Lucy’s circumstances were not as grim as they could have been. She had been left a small cottage in Cornwall by her grandmother (on her father’s side), which would come to her at the age of five and twenty; four months away. Her mother – incensed that her daughter had been left such a prize while her other two daughters had been ignored - had determined that it be sold and Lucy had not argued about it. But she had no intention of selling up.

Life in a small, rustic cottage might not be everybody’s choice, but having spent all her life in her mother’s household, it was certainly Lucy’s!

Rising to her feet, she smiled at her friend. ‘I will be perfectly happy in my little house in Cornwall, and all the more so because it is a long way from Dorset. And you, you have been very good to me, Thomas.’

‘I am just sorry I cannot do more.’

‘Oh nonsense.’ It had been a providential chance meeting that had seen her form her new – if temporary - career. After leaving the Landon household, Thomas had fallen into the newspaper business. After a year, he had taken on the job as editor to the
London Times
. Over ices one day some months before, they had been discussing various things, not least of which was the scandalous goings on of the
ton
, in particular, the affairs of Lady Cardwell, who had been discovered in a compromising position with one of her lovers. Gossip had run around town like wildfire. Thomas had made a casual comment about how such snippets would be very popular in a newspaper and, suddenly, Lucy had had the most marvelous flash of inspiration. Having been wracking her brain for weeks on how best to make money, suddenly it had seemed stunningly clear.