The Beautiful Stranger (2 page)

Portias eyes widened; she caught a small cry of indignation in her throat. There is no need to be hateful!

Arthur grinned indolently. Portia pressed her lips together in a thin line, turned abruptly, and marched toward the double mahogany doors leading into the ballroom, cutting him in a way only a thoroughbred aristocratic woman could do. A footman just barely reached the door and opened it before she sailed through, her gold skirts swinging against the mans legs with her strut.

Smiling lazily, Arthur adjusted his neckcloth and smoothed back a thick, unruly wave of golden-brown hair. Portia was still a beauty, he would give her that. Red hair, alabaster skin but a viper all the same, and no one knew it better than he. After she had crushed his foolish young heart when they were eighteen, she had married Lampley, given him a daughter a few years later, then had watched him die from some fever. She was still in her widow weeds when she had sent for Arthur, artfully dredging up sentiments he had thought long buried. She had been persistentwhen at last he relented, she had tearfully confessed it was him she had loved all those years. Although she was a fool to think it would affect him now, those words had moved him then, and well she knew it. Nonetheless, he was resistant, eager to avoid having his heart dashed to little pieces a second time.

And he might have actually spared himself the humiliating sting of her claws had Phillip not died when he did.

It was immediately following the events of Dunwoody that he had found himself drifting, quite unable to find his stride. It was when the dreams had begun, dreams of Phillip walking about with the gaping black hole in his chest, mocking Arthur with his death. It was during those long, black hours that he had turned to Portia, seeking a comfort he recalled from summers long since faded. Portia had eagerly given herself to him, had whispered sweet promises in his ear, made him believe that she truly had pined for him all those years. Sorry fool, he wasit was a great shock to read in the Times one morning that Lord Roth was to marry Portia that spring.

Oh, Portia had wailed prettily when Arthur confronted herwhat, she had cried, was a poor widow to do? Worse yet, he discovered that she was toying with not one, but two other suitors, each titled in their own right. But not him, not Arthur Christian, not the son who probably should have bowed to the familys wishes years ago and joined the clergy in some quiet little parish.

With a sigh, he shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled to the ballroom entrance, pausing there to look around the room crowded with the elite of the British aristocracy.

The room fairly sparkledthe light of dozens of candles suspended on crystal chandeliers glittered against the ornate jewels on the hands and necks of the silk-clad ladies. Everywhere he looked there was opulence heavy crystal flutes of champagne engraved with the Sutherland seal, gold-filled fixtures, fine bone china, hand-carved furnishings, great works of art.

In addition to the two hundred or more guests whom Arthur knew would give their firstborn to be in attendance tonight, there were also those dearest to himhis mother and lady Aunt Paddington, or Paddy as they affectionately called her. His brother Alex and his wife Lauren. Kettering and his wife Claudia.

Only Adrian and Lilliana were missing, kept in the country with the birth of their son. This was, he thought indifferently, a Sutherland home, there was no doubt of it. This was a scene that was played out many times throughout the year. This was the haute ton at its highest caliber.

Arthur wished he were anywhere but here.

There was nothing for him here, nothing that held his interest or inspired him to greater things. He felt as if life was slowly marching past him while he hosted one grand fete after another, taking his youth with it and any sense of purpose he might have had as a young man. He had no idea where he belonged anymore.

His gaze inadvertently fell on Portia, who was now smiling prettily at Lord Whitehurst. The look on her face made him want to turn and walk out the door of his home and keep walking until he escaped the reverie and reached the Tarn OShanter, the Rogues old haunt, but his brother Alex caught his eye and started toward him. Arthur dutifully waited, trying very hard to maintain an expressionless facade.

Alex paused to take a flute of champagne from a heavy silver tray a footman extended to him as he reached the door. Need to warn you, old chap, he said, glancing behind him, my darling wife has a maggot in her head to introduce you to Warrentons daughterhe gave Arthur a lookshes a bit on the plain side.

Marvelous, Arthur drawled.

Ah, and here she comes now, Alex muttered before beaming a smile over Arthurs shoulder. Arthur turned, smiling, too, as Lauren neared them, extending her hand.

Arthur! You are a dreadful host! Ive been looking all over for you, she playfully scolded him as he took her hand in his.

I humbly beg your forgiveness, he said gallantly, bowing low over her hand. I was unavoidably detained with a small housekeeping matter.

Oh, Lauren said uncertainly, then suddenly grinned again. Well now that Ive found you, I am so very eager to make an introduction

Ah, Kettering! Arthur quickly interrupted, nodding in the general direction of the hearth. You will excuse me, but Ive an important matter that really cant wait, he said, and inclining his head politely, stepped aside before Lauren could object.

Liar! he heard her mutter cheerfully under her breath, followed by Alexs throaty chuckle.

Arthur flashed a grin at her before disappearing into the crowd. He made his way deeper into the room, pausing only to greet his mother and aunt. The dowager duchess smiled warmly. You look devilishly handsome, she whispered to him. Arthur idly glanced down at the black superfine coat, the heavily embroidered silk waistcoat. He thought he rather looked as he did every daytrussed up like a Christmas goose.

Never mind that, Paddy said excitedly, and clapped her hands like a girl, making the fat white sausage curls dance around her cherubic face. Miss Amelia, the daughter of the very important Lord Warrenton, is in attendance tonight!

Aha. So Lauren had already gathered her troops for the attack. Arthur loved his sister-in-law dearly, but she seemed absolutely determined to see him shackled to a debutante from here to eternity. I am certain Miss Amelia will have a grand time of it. He patted his mothers hand then carefully extracted his arm.

Ladies, you will excuse me? Ignoring Paddys blustering protest, he continued on until he reached the sideboard where his butler, Barnaby, had laid out an impressive array of liqueurs and brandies. Shooing a footman away, Arthur poured champagne into a heavy engraved crystal flute.

Rather thought you were going to abandon me to the conspirators in Miss Amelias new courtship.

Arthur chuckled and turned toward the familiar voice of Julian Dane, the earl of Kettering. What then, are they all quite afraid I shall be put on the shelf before the years end?

Julian laughed. You and Miss Amelia both, apparently, he said, and signaled the hovering footman to pour him a brandy.

It appears I shall be forced to have another frank discussion with my sister-in-law. Speaking of impossible women, what have you done with your wife?

Julian chuckled as he accepted the imported French brandy from the footman, then nodded lazily to where a small string orchestra was resting for a brief interval. Claudia was perched on the edge of a French settee, her elbows on her knees as she pressed home what was an undoubtedly very important point to the rather vapid Lord Perry. I predict Perry will hand over everything hes got in the three-percents before he even realizes what has happened, Julian said, hiding a proud smile behind his snifter. Arthur had no doubt that was true. If there was a force in London who could raise funds for worthy causes, it was Lady Kettering. She had the ability to charm a man right out of his stockingsliterally, in Julians case. He was about to comment as much when Barnaby suddenly appeared at his elbow. Beggin your pardon, my lord, but Lord Rothembow insists upon a word.

Rothembow. The name evoked a flash of his dream last nighta ballroom just like this, glimpses of Phillip, trying to catch him to demand an explanation, a reason.

Bloody hell.

Arthur exchanged a look with Julian as he set aside his champagne flute. Show him to the morning room, he instructed Barnaby, and turned only to see Rothembow pushing through the crowd, bearing down on them. The crowd seemed to turn as one toward the three men as Rothembow came to an exaggerated stop in front of them. It was exceedingly awkward; Rothembow had not been invited; his dress clearly indicated as much. But regardless of what anyone thought, Arthur would not deny the man entrance, he would not deny him anything, really, and simply nodded his head in greeting, My lord.

Rothembows thick gray eyebrows shot together in one long frown. A full head shorter than Arthur, the rotund man snapped his head back to better glare at them. Christian, I would have a word if you please, he said gruffly, and reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a folded paper. I have in my hand a matter of some consequence. It would seem that the Christian solicitation offices have failed me once again.

Arthur exchanged a quick, wary look with Julian. I beg your pardon, sir, but if this is a matter of business perhaps it best would be discussed

I will not be put off, my lord! he angrily interjected. I received this letter just today, and while the contents of it were quite disturbing, let me assure you it came as no surprise to me to learn that at least one of you was involved

Shall we adjourn to the morning room? Julian asked sharply. Rothembow paused, mouth open, then thought better of what he would say and quickly shut it. With a curt nod of his head, he stepped aside so

Arthur could lead the way.

Arthur could hardly fault the man for despising the Rogues as he did; he supposed it was quite natural for a man to assign blame when he lost a son, particularly in the manner Rothembow lost his. But the same Lord Rothembow who had once taught four young boys to play cricket now made his disdain for them known at every opportunity, and even publicly refused to be in the same room with Adrian. As Arthur stepped into the crowd, his thoughts and old despair carefully masked, he felt the old but familiar sense of anger with Phillip he had harbored these three long years now.

They moved silently down the thickly carpeted corridor with Barnaby hurrying ahead, and paused as one just across the threshold of the morning room, waiting patiently for Barnaby to light several candelabrum. As the door shut silently behind Barnaby, Arthur turned and looked at Rothembow. My lord? he asked coolly.

Rothembows small blue eyes turned to ice. You wouldnt stop him, would you? Not as long as you stood to gain a pound or two, he spat and tossed the folded paper onto the desk. It slid across the highly polished oak until Arthur caught it. I am quite certain you were aware of this of this lunacy!

Julian cast a questioning glance at Arthur as he quickly unfolded the paper. It was a letter addressed to the Christian Brothers offices, signed by a Mr. Jamie Regis, Esquire, of Stirling, Scotland, dated July 1, 1835 almost two years past. Scanning the words neatly penned on the thick vellum, words like debt and arrears and taxes leapt out at Arthur, and slowly, he began to understand what he was reading.

Phillips cattle.

This had to do with the land and cattle in the central highlands of Scotland in which Phillip had invested only weeks before his death. Arthur had forgotten about it, but he saw now that his instincts at the time had been correctit was, apparently, a very foolish investment. He shoved the letter toward Julian, turned away from Rothembow, and walked to the hearth, his mind whirling with sober memories. Oh he had known of it, all right, and had thought it a terribly ill-advised thing to do, sight unseen, particularly when, over the last several years, many cattle enterprises in Scotland had been lost to sheep farming.

But Phillip had been ecstatic, his boyish enthusiasm for the venture making him almost giddy. Apparently, a Scot farmer, up to his neck in debt, had offered part of his holdings in exchange for a cash infusion.

Phillip had been so enamored of the deal that he had offered to subsidize the purchase of cattle, believing that the cattle market would be revived and make him a rich man, provide him a means for getting out from under his own mountain of debt. Arthur had warned him that it would take years of profits to reduce his debt, during which time the interest would continue to mount. But Phillip had cavalierly waved him off as if that was no concern and proceeded to arrange the purchase through the Christian Brothers offices.

And Arthur, as he was so damn good at doing, had kept his mouth shut and thereby allowed Phillip to dig his hole a little deeper. That ridiculous purchase had been some sort of desperate grope for sanity on Phillips part, an attempt to turn his life around and make a fresh start an attempt at equilibrium.

I dont understand, Julian said behind him. This letter is two years old.

Apparently it has been misdirected for some time, Rothembow muttered.

I wasnt aware that Phillip had invested in land in Scotland, Julian said, more to himself.

Yes, my lord, he purchased a worthless herd of cattle and an even less desirable parcel of land only weeks before he was killed! Rothembow fairly shouted. And now I am to pay in excess of twenty

thousand pounds for it, but God save me if that will be all!

Arthur glanced over his shoulder; Rothembow fixed an angry glare on him and continued. You knew about this, Christian! He entered that ridiculous venture through your offices!

Yes, I knew it.

Then you knew he was throwing good money down a rat hole! My God, how in good conscience could you have allowed it? Surely you could have at least stopped him from making such a foolish purchase!

Surely he could have at least stopped Phillip from killing himself. Thats what Rothembow wanted to say, and they both knew it.

Here now, my lord, Julian quickly interjected. Phillip was a grown man, responsible for his own actions!