Patrica Rice (10 page)

Carolyn carelessly set the beautiful lace heart aside. "George would not know what to do with it. For whom are you making a valentine?" Hoping to encourage her sister's confidences, she lingered to help fold the paper correctly and to pencil in cutting lines. Blanche had come out during the Little Season last fall, but she had shown no preference among the many suitors who swarmed around her.

"Why, for the first bachelor to appear at my door on St. Valentine's Day, just like the magazine says!" Laughing eyes lifted to meet her older sister's. "Why don't you make one too? Wouldn't fussy old George have a proper fit if you gave a card to someone else?"

"He is Lord Hampton to you, child. He would swallow a maggot if he ever heard you talk so. And one does not play childish tricks on her suitors. The marquess would have every right to be peeved should I start handing out love notes to someone else."

Instead of being chastised, Blanche laughed gaily at her sister's admonitions. Five years her senior, Carolyn still managed to combine her motherly advice with just enough humor to keep the camaraderie of their sisterhood lively. "I think you should have married when you were my age, Lynley. You have grown as crusty and dull as old Lord Hampton. You deserve each other. I can see the two of you on your wedding night. He will bow stiffly at the waist and offer you his arm to take you to bed, and you will make a deep curtsy and ask, `Are you certain this is proper, my lord?’ and the two of you will debate it until dawn."

"Blanche!" Equally mortified and amused at her eighteen-year-old sister's unruly imagination, Carolyn bit her tongue and began improving the lacy confection she had created earlier. "You should not be thinking such things. Besides, Lord Hampton and I are not officially betrothed. If you are going to do that properly, you must learn to make smaller cuts." She pointed the tip of her pen at the offending design in her sister's hand.

Blanche shrugged and reached for a new sheet of paper. "Everyone knows you will be as soon as his curmudgeon mother comes back from the Continent. And it's about time. You are twenty-three, Carolyn. Gossips will have you on the shelf. And just think what grand balls you can have when you are Lady Hampton! I think I shall have another Season just so I might meet all the noble gentlemen I have missed this year. Then, when I have found a duke or a marquess, we will both be able to bring out Alice and Jane. Why, with such high connections, we should find them princes, at least. Then they can introduce Penny to society, and she shall have to marry a king."

Carolyn smiled at these high-flying flights of fancy. "I cannot think of a prince I would allow in the same room with Alice and Jane, and while I will admit not having consorted with many kings, I daresay they will all be a trifle derelict for Penny. At the tender age of seven, she may have difficulty finding a king who will play at patty-cake and hobbyhorse with her."

Blanche made a rude noise that one of her suitors would find quite startling from so demure and innocent a miss. "You didn't used to be so prim, Lynley. I remember when you first came out and you and that fellow with the broken nose made up the most horrendous tales to tell when you knew I was listening. Whatever happened to that gentleman? He was quite fun. Much more the thing than stuffy old George."

Proud of her hard-won self-control, Carolyn smiled and laid aside her pen and valentine. "We both grew up. Now, if you need no further—"

A gentle rap at the door signaled an intruder, and Carolyn swung around to greet the footman bearing a card.

"The gentleman's come to see Mr. Thorogood, Miss Carolyn." He held out the card for her inspection. "He asks that he be made known to the ladies while he waits."

When Carolyn's expected reply did not come, Blanche looked up in time to see her sister's face turn pale and her lips compress in a manner she had not seen in years as she stared at the card in her hand. Before Blanche could inquire as to their visitor's name, Carolyn regained her composure. "Tell the gentleman we are not at home," she announced firmly.

Blanche gave her sister an odd look. Carolyn very seldom stood on ceremony with their visitors. She was friendly to young and old alike. Who could this be that she would refuse him? Smitten with curiosity, Blanche waited for Carolyn to return to her reading, then excused herself to disappear down the hallway after the footman.

Garbed in a heavy sable-lined cloak against the January cold, the gentleman waited in the salon doorway. As the servant repeated his message, the man bent his top-hatted head in acknowledgment and removed himself to the privacy of the salon until the master of the house could see him.

Curiosity thoroughly whetted now, Blanche slipped into the small family parlor behind the salon. The connecting door between the rooms had not been recently used and creaked as she pulled it ajar, but a quick glance told her the stranger had not been disturbed from his pondering by the noise. He evidently did not mean to linger long, for he had not surrendered cloak or hat but held them on one arm as he stared at a porcelain figurine on the mantel. She could see by the dim light that his hair was sun-streaked and his complexion weathered, as if he were one of her father's ship's captains, but his richly tailored clothes were of the finest cut and not those of a poor seaman. The sable cloak alone bespoke his lack of commonplaceness. When he finally turned at the entrance of a servant, Blanche barely concealed her gasp of surprise. The man with the broken nose!

She had no opportunity to learn more. The visitor followed the servant out and up the stairs to the master's private study.

* * * * 

Five years older, Henry Thorogood still retained his slender build, although there was now a hint of a stoop to his shoulders and threads of gray in his dark hair. Lord Edward John Chatham observed these alterations as he entered the book-lined study. Little else had changed in these last years, in this room, at least. He wondered at the refusal of the ladies of the house to see him, but his had been a whimsical gesture at best. Thorogood could have remarried by now; his new wife would not know his name. Carolyn's younger sisters were not likely to remember him. He could not expect to find Carolyn unmarried and still in her father's home after all these years. He may have hoped desperately, and been tempted to find out what he could, but business came first.

With the self-assurance of an older, more experienced man, Jack seated himself without his host's permission. He noted the older man's brief look of surprise and the trace of amusement in the lift of his brow, but he had only one purpose here and he was eager to get on with it. He waited for Thorogood to take a seat before he spoke.

"I have come to repay my debts, sir. I have brought the sum of the loan, plus interest. You will need to name me the amount due on the vouchers you bought."

Thorogood appraised the sun-darkened stranger seated across from him. In the years since their last encounter he had not forgotten the arrogant young lordling; in fact, he had had good reason to remember him. The changes wrought by the years were dramatic, but he would have recognized those stony gray eyes and that arrogance anywhere. Lord John had come into his own, it seemed. The question remained, had his character improved with time?

Ignoring his visitor's demands, Henry responded with coldness. "I will not accept tainted money. I have not heard of your brother's estates improving or of any of your family dying and leaving you a fortune. I would know from whence your payment comes."

Jack made an elegant sneer and withdrew a large purse. "Thank you for your confidence, but my money is honestly earned. You may speak with my superiors in the East India Company. It is not tainted, that is, unless you consider trade a taint. I don't believe you are in any position to quibble about that. Name me the sum I owe you."

Thorogood weighed the bag of coins thoughtfully in his hand as he contemplated the young lord. Lord John would be nearing thirty now, not young any longer, actually. Whatever he had been doing, it had taught him a new authority and assurance that the callow spendthrift had not possessed. He propped his fingers together in an arch and named a sum that would have made royalty flinch.

Jack gave him a look of disgust. "That would more than cover the full sum of the original markers plus interest at a rate to make the shylocks cringe. If you think that is what I owe you for five years of my life, you are sadly mistaken. I will pay it, but I will have every marker I ever wrote in return. Should any more turn up at some future date, I will return them to you for payment."

Henry concealed his surprise with a brief nod. "I did not anticipate immediate payment. You may pay it as you are able."

Chatham rose abruptly. "I will give you a draft on my bank today if you can present the vouchers. I will not have your threats hanging over my head any longer than is necessary."

Fully astounded, Henry hurried to the drawer where the markers had been kept all these years. Something in the way Lord Jack had phrased that sentence gave food for thought, but he would savor it later. He would step cautiously for now. He wondered if the careless name the young man had gone by in his youth still applied. "Lord Jack" no longer suited this imposing stranger.

The transaction completed, Jack threw the sheaf of papers in the fire and watched them burn before striding out without a polite word of courtesy to his host. Five years of waiting for this moment had left him expecting an elation he could no longer feel. The deadness inside remained even with the burden of all those old debts lifted.

He needed to seek some new stimulation now to keep his spirit from dying entirely.

Only recently arrived in London, he'd not had time to seek out old friends. With his business accomplished, he felt ill-at-ease and restless. It was time to rejoin society and see how his reputation had fared over the cleansing solution of time.

Jack walked into White's and found little different in the decor other than a mellowing of age. Perhaps the faces behind the newspapers were slightly different or older, the youths behind the gaming tables seemed younger, he knew fewer than he had expected, but on the whole, the changes were slight. He moved easily toward the group in the corner of the back room, using his leisurely pace to identify vaguely familiar features. One of their number looked up and gave a whoop of recognition. Jack grinned at this irrepressible greeting. Peter's hair might have retreated slightly from his sloping forehead, his yellow waistcoat might be tighter over his paunch, but the cheerful beam of his round face remained unchanged.

"Chatham, as I live and breathe! Back from the dead, old boy? Have you come to haunt us in these dismal corridors?"

They drew him back into their circle without reproof, either glad of this diversion on a dull day or unaware of his fall into trade. Jack ordered drinks, joined in the genial jesting, and tested the waters. Many of their former number were not evident in this gathering place. Some younger, newer faces watched his homecoming with disinterest or an eagerness to be amused but he found no disdain. Yet.

Settling into a comfortably upholstered chair, Jack turned the conversation away from himself and encouraged gossip about those faces among the missing. His companions eagerly grasped the opportunity. In this time-honored fashion he learned how little things had changed beyond the names and the faces.

"And Beecham? Has his father stuck his spoon in the wall and left him all those barrels of gold yet?"

The slender young toff with the diamond stickpin, sitting beside Peter, waved his hand lazily. "The old Judas will never die. Last I heard, he was swearing to leave everything but the entailment to some young niece. Beecham's out courting her right now. She's a Friday-faced female if ever I saw one, not even been presented yet."

"The last lot of lovelies seem sadly lacking compared to those when we first came down, don't they, Harrison? They're all so demmed ... green, somehow," Peter completed his sentence weakly.

General laughter ensued at this assessment, but it gave Jack an opening to the topic closest to his well-concealed heart. "And the Incomparables of all these years past? Where are they now? What of our number have shackled their legs for beauty?"

This regenerated the conversation as they sought to remember the reigning toasts of other years and who had carried them away into marital bliss or discord as the case might be.

Peter summed it up best after a fevered discussion. "They're all married and surrounded by whining brats is what they're doing. Seems a demmed shame to waste all that loveliness."

The gentleman with the stickpin shook his head in disagreement. "Not all. The Tremayne wench married some ancient baronet with a pot of gold, who popped off a few months later. She's sitting in splendor over on St. James's now, entertaining lavishly. I hear Bulfinch has been dipping his pen there."

Peter brightened at a renewed memory. "And the Thorogood eldest, what was her name, Jack? You used to be smitten with her. She's leading her young sister around this Season. She ain't never been wed that I know of. I'm surprised she ain't wearing caps by now, though she's still a lovely lass."

Before Jack could respond or even untie his tongue and allow his heart to drop from his throat after the shock of this news, Harrison made a deprecating gesture. "Hampton has her claimed. She's a smart one. She hung around for a title to remove the stench of trade. Wait and see, she'll have that brood of her father's married off to the cream of the crop as they come along. Watch your legs, men, they'll be in her trap before you know you're caught."

Jack peeled his fingers from the arm of the chair and reached for his glass. "George still unwed? He's older than any of us. How did the little Thorogood snare him?"

"He ain't snared yet. There's been no announcement. I wager it waits on his mama's approval, but if he don't come up to snuff soon, the chit will have her comeuppance. The ladies are raising eyebrows at his marked attentions without a ring on her finger. I daresay that devilish father will force the matter soon enough. Hampton was a fool to dabble in those waters. Thorogood's a shark."