Sally James

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LORD FORDINGTON'S OFFER

Sally James

Chapter One

Pausing at the top of St James's Street Justin Bembridge, Lord Fordington, waited for a recklessly driven chaise to pass along Piccadilly and at the last moment flung out a hand to prevent his companion, happily oblivious of the danger, from stepping straight under the hooves of the sweating horses.

'Eh? What? Oh, thank ye, my boy! Demmee, but it'sh fortunate you're coming my way,' the portly Sir Roderick Sharman ejaculated, attempting to give his rescuer a friendly clap on the shoulder, but succeeding merely in clutching wildly at his arm as he overbalanced, and almost fell at the feet of a disdainful link boy guiding a luxuriously appointed private sedan-chair along the road.

'Our ways lie together,' Lord Fordington replied coolly and a trifle regretfully as, taking his companion's arm, he steered him carefully across Piccadilly and towards Berkeley Street.

'Aye. Neighboursh in town ash well ash in Shushesh,' he pronounced triumphantly. 'We mush shee more of one another. Good fellow, sho I'm told!'

Lord Fordington shuddered slightly and wondered, not for the first time, why he had permitted himself to accompany the decidedly tipsy baronet home from Anthony's Club – a new, fashionable, but, in Lord Fordington's opinion, to-be shortlived establishment – where he had spent a most tedious evening.

'Musht meet me daughter! Enticing little puss,' Sir Roderick said confidingly, then laughed in delight as Lord Fordington foiled his attempt to wander back to the south side of Piccadilly. Lord Fordington, reluctantly coming to the conclusion that he would deliver the baronet successfully to his doorstep only with constant guidance, linked his arm through Sir Roderick's and directed him firmly into Berkeley Street.

The man must have imbibed deeply earlier in the evening, he was thinking, for he had drunk little enough in the few minutes he had spent at Anthony's, waiting for the game of faro to end so that he could attract Lord Fordington's attention. Sir Roderick was a crony of the Prince Regent, and his chosen companions had to possess exceedingly hard heads to keep pace with him. The night was comparatively young, only a couple of hours after midnight, but for Sir Roderick to be castaway already indicated excessive indulgence.

Dispassionately Lord Fordington considered his situation. He was not himself disguised, but he had consumed enough wine and brandy to make it imperative for him to think slowly and move with a certain care and deliberation. That in itself was unusual, he reflected in surprise, and the result of his mingled annoyance and indecision over the antics of his half-brother and the reproaches of his stepmother.

Ninian was twenty, fifteen years his junior, but like him until the previous year a soldier. After Waterloo they had both sold out, Lord Fordington to return to his estates and begin to pick up the reins from his devoted but ancient steward, and Ninian to fall into every scrape a high-spirited boy of his age could devise. It was Lord Fordington's refusal as his guardian to advance him any of the capital left him by their father for settlement of his racing debts that had led to the tears and recriminations of Ninian's mother that evening. The scene had ended with Lord Fordington's edict that Ninian should return to the country until his debts had been paid out of his allowance. Faced with his resentful brother and a complaining, tearful stepmother, wanting to come to Ninian's aid and yet knowing that if he did so too often the boy would not acquire the responsibility and sense he needed, Lord Fordington had left his house and gone to Anthony's, where he had attempted to take his mind off his problems by drinking deeply and plunging recklessly. The brandy had only mildly dulled his perceptions, and perversely he had risen from the table a considerable winner on the evening.

It was partly his reluctance to return to his house in Berkeley Square, as well as the fact he had to pass Sir Roderick's own house on the way there, that had made him accede to the older man's request for a business talk. Sir Roderick, whom Lord Fordington suspected of being heavily in debt, had proposed selling him a couple of farms. Not in need of more land, Lord Fordington was nevertheless interested because possession of these particular farms would extend his boundaries to the river, where it might be possible at some time in the future to construct a sheltered anchorage.

As they approached Sir Roderick's house, towards the northern end of Berkeley Street, the baronet appeared to recover his sobriety. His speech became less slurred and he expatiated on the benefits Lord Fordington might expect if he bought the two farms.

'I've a good map to show you,' he promised. 'You'll see from it how your estate will be rounded out with this land. If my own land were nearer to the sea I'd be more reluctant to sell, but this part don't border the rest of my estate apart from a stretch a couple of hundred yards long, and there's no sense in keeping it!'

He stopped and fumbled in his pocket for a key, then stepped up to his front door.

'No doubt they're all abed,' he said over his shoulder. 'I don't keep the servants up normally, for when I'm in attendance on Prinny there's no knowing when I'll be home!'

Not often as early as this, Lord Fordington thought wryly, and then flung out his hands. He was too late to catch aught but the flying tail of the baronet's coat as, with an oath, Sir Roderick leant upon a door which gave way unexpectedly under his weight, swinging inwards and depositing him unceremoniously upon a tiled floor in a narrow dark hall illuminated by the light of a single candle set upon a side table.

'The door was on the latch!' Sir Roderick gasped, having recovered the breath knocked out of him by his fall, his tone a mixture of surprise and indignation. 'The devil! What's goin' on? Here, help me up, my boy!'

He struggled to his feet and Lord Fordington assisted him to a chair where he sat puffing and exclaiming while Lord Fordington, discovering a taper beside the solitary candle, busied himself lighting the candles in the wall brackets.

'Baxter! Where are you, man?' suddenly bellowed Sir Roderick, and staggering to his feet crossed to where a large gong stood upon a table. He beat a defiant tattoo upon it. 'That'll bring 'em!' he muttered in satisfaction, subsiding onto the chair again.

Lord Fordington grinned, beginning to enjoy the bizarre situation he found himself in. Idly he wondered which of Sir Roderick's family or servants would be the first to obey such a peremptory summons, and reflected that he knew very little about his host, if such Sir Roderick could be termed. He had bought his estate only a few years earlier to be within easy reach of Brighthelmstone, and apart from vague comments from Lady Fordington about an ailing wife and a pair of schoolchildren his lordship knew nothing of the family.

* * * *

The first person to appear was a surprise to Lord Fordington, for it was a girl. In his experience he expected females to remain out of sight until reassured they were not being attacked by robbers. He knew full well his stepmother would not have emerged from her room in similar circumstances until certain all danger was totally banished.

The girl had thrown a brightly coloured wrap about her shoulders which imperfectly concealed her snowy-white nightgown. She held a candle above her head as she paused on the half landing, and the light revealed to Lord Fordington's appreciative gaze a tall slender figure, a lace-edged sleeve falling back from a shapely arm, and a pretty ankle and delicate bare foot stretched from beneath her gown as she hesitated before descending further.

Her eyes, large, and of a colour between green and blue, were set wide in an oval face. She had a determined, straight little nose, and red lips which curled into a smile of amusement as her gaze lit upon Sir Roderick. She wore a fetching lace cap, but it was loosely tied and had slipped askew. Several curls of a light-brown hue had escaped its confines and lay on her shoulder.

This could not be a schoolgirl daughter, Lord Fordington thought in some confusion, for the girl looked to be at least twenty years of age, and immediately, as she spoke in a low but clear voice, he found his judgement confirmed.

'Cousin Roderick! The house is not ablaze! How could you wake us all up in such an inconsiderate fashion?' she scolded, and then, as Lord Fordington moved into her line of vision, blushed slightly and hesitated again halfway down the last flight of stairs.

'The door was on the latch, Isabella!' Sir Roderick shouted. 'Why? That's what I want to know! Some rascally servant has crept out, or left it so for an accomplice to rob us and murder us all in our beds! Who is it?'

'Hush, now,' Isabella said coolly. 'Take comfort from the fact that you at least were not in your bed to be murdered! I've no doubt we'll find it was a mistake, but do, I pray you, be quiet, for Georgiana has a bad headache.'

'I locked it as usual, Sir Roderick,' a quavering voice said, and they all turned to see two men, with breeches pulled over their nightshirts, and somewhat sheepishly carrying pokers, standing by the baize door which led to the kitchen quarters.

'Baxter! What time did you lock it?' Isabella asked, forestalling Sir Roderick's angry exclamation.

'At ten, Miss, as usual, and then I went to bed,' the older of the two men replied aggrievedly.

'And you and Saddler are the only menservants to sleep in the house.'

'One of the maids!' Sir Roderick spluttered. 'I'll warrant one of the sluts has been creeping out! Find out who it is, Isabella, and send her packing as soon as she comes back!' He suddenly recalled Lord Fordington's presence and began to make a somewhat disjointed apology, calling at the same time for Baxter to kindle a fire in his study, fetch refreshments, and pour brandy for his guest. 'We'd better take a look at those maps while you're here, my lord,' he added.

* * * *

Isabella, still on the last stair, found herself looking on a level into the visitor's eyes. She blushed again, acutely aware of her inadequate and unconventional attire, but regarded him frankly and liked what she saw. He was tall, with an excellent figure that owed nothing to the superb tailoring of his evening dress. She guessed his age to be in the early thirties and noted a faint thread of grey at his temples that added, she considered, a touch of extra distinction to his dark good looks. Apart from the regularity of his features, the gleam of amusement in his eyes and the way his mobile lips twitched as he withstood her scrutiny confirmed her instant good impression, and she smiled briefly, then nodded as if in dismissal.

'I'll check whether any of the maids are missing, Cousin, but I am sure you will find it a mistake, for they are all to be trusted. Mrs Frensham would be certain to know it if any of them indulged in clandestine assignations,' she added, then turned as a discreet cough sounded behind her.

Lord Fordington looked up and beheld a stout, elderly female on the half landing. She wore a tightly belted dressing-robe and no indecorous strands of hair escaped from her closely fitting cap. Although her lips were pursed disapprovingly it was clear she was pleased with something, and the note of triumph was evident in her voice as she spoke, ignoring Isabella and addressing herself to Sir Roderick.

'I have ascertained, Sir Roderick, that none of the maids is out of her bed. I am not accustomed to permitting goings-on in establishments where I have authority. However,' and she paused portentously, 'Miss Georgiana's bed has not been slept in and I cannot find her.'

Isabella's mouth opened but no sound came. She paled and clutched the banister, and Lord Fordington instinctively took a step towards her, fearing that she was about to fall. She recovered herself speedily, however, and turned towards the woman.

'You must be mistaken! I will see for myself!'

Mrs Frensham shook her head slightly, making no move so that Isabella could pass her. She still addressed Sir Roderick, who was standing in the doorway of his study, his mouth opening and closing noiselessly.

'I assure you I am not mistaken, Sir Roderick. It is not my habit to make mistakes. I went right into Miss Georgiana's room and discovered a bolster placed so that it would appear someone slept in the bed.'

'Georgiana!' Sir Roderick eventually contrived to utter. 'She has run away!'

'Nonsense!' Isabella said briskly. 'It is some prank, doubtless. She has no cause to run away, and nowhere to run to!'

'Eloped!' Sir Roderick muttered distractedly. 'Why, just let me catch the villain and I'll tear him limb from limb!'

'Cousin, think! She is but a schoolgirl, she is not yet out and she knows no one!' Isabella protested. 'There is no elopement, I'll wager. But I wonder?'

'What? What else is there? Oh, my God! Kidnapped! My child, my darling daughter, at the mercy of kidnappers!' Sir Roderick moaned in horror at this new thought.

'No, of course not!' Isabella shook her head decidedly. 'It must be connected with Belinda Norton, for I left her there this morning. Her schoolfriend Belinda,' she added, seeing Sir Roderick looked puzzled. 'She did not wish to accompany me while I bought the things Fanny wanted, saying household shopping bored her, and begged me to permit her to visit Belinda instead. She has been so envious Belinda was making her come-out this season. She stayed with her and afterwards I took her to the dentist as arranged. Later she complained that her mouth felt sore, although the dentist had reassured her the pain she had been feeling was not due to a bad tooth and would go away of its own accord. She went to bed early saying she wished to sleep, but I suspect now she and Belinda plotted some escapade. No doubt they have merely gone to some party together.'