The Notorious Lord Havergal (13 page)

“I won’t have you annoying the lady, Jacob. You must
promise
me you will not be pestering her for interest before it is due.”

“I have no intention of pestering her.”

“I shall ask her to notify me if you do."

Havergal gave an angry glare, but as the meal progressed, he decided that cut was well deserved. He had failed to live up to his promises before now. A fine state of affairs when a man’s own father couldn’t believe him!

“Have you decided about Almack’s, Papa?”

“Yes, I shall accompany you. If you are serious about marriage, we must have a look at the market. Lord Dunstan’s daughter is making her bows. A good dowry there. Thirty-five thousand, I hear.”

Havergal knew as soon as the name was out that he was not interested in marrying Lady Anne, not if she had thirty-five million pounds.

They proceeded to Almack’s after dinner, suitably attired in knee breeches, white cravats, and chapeau bras. Havergal feared he was going to be barred from entering. Mrs. Drummond Burrell’s face froze implacably and did not defrost until Lord Cauleigh stepped forward. Havergal skated in on his father’s coattails.

“You are aware, Lord Havergal, that gambling is held at a minimum, and only orgeat is served,” she said coldly.

“I have an excellent memory, ma’am,” he assured her.

“It is not your
memory
that concerns me,” she said, and glided away.

A few other ladies besides Lady Anne were brought forward for inspection. Miss Heatherington had a prettier face, but a smaller dot and an annoying habit of agreeing with every word uttered, no matter how inane. Havergal thought of Glaucon and inevitably of Miss Beddoes. No excess of agreement in that quarter! How the shrew liked to argue. The only two ladies Havergal really found interesting were a dashing widow encumbered with two children and a heavy burden of debt, and Lady Selden, who possessed great conversational skills, a lively countenance, and a perfectly healthy young husband. He had always preferred the conversation of older ladies. Miss Beddoes had been conversable....

“What brings you here, Havergal?” Lady Selden asked archly. “Has Papa lowered the ax? Marry, or you are cut off?”

“You mistake the matter, ma’am. It is I who have brought Papa.”

She laughed merrily. “Yes, and it is the heat that brings the sun. Come now, confess. What heinous impropriety have you indulged in that your father is riding herd on you, rogue? I am not easily shocked. It must be something really hot if the journals are afraid to touch it.”

“I am not involved in any heinous impropriety! I don’t think I care for your choice of words, Countess.”

She looked offended. “This is something new, to see Havergal on his high horse! I had not realized you were capable of being shocked.”

“You make me sound like a—a rake, or a wastrel!”

“Only because you usually behave like one.” She laughed. “Come now, don’t go sanctimonious on us. You were used to be more amusing.”

Is that what he had sunk to, something to amuse the
ton?
Like a monkey, or the village innocent, or a freak. Every lady he spoke to expressed astonishment to see him at this sedate do. When had his reputation become so scarlet? He undertook to repair it by dancing with all the antidotes and two of the patronesses, and had a dreadful evening.

But he felt he deserved it and took a sort of painful pleasure in paying for his crimes. Let society see he was no longer their toy, someone to set them laughing and pointing. Like any reformed rake, he became quite censorious in his outlook and glared at those who left early to go on to livelier dos.

“We’re off to Brook’s, Havergal. Interested in joining us?” a friend asked. Mr. Barton was one of the year’s leading Corinthians.

“No, I am staying till the end.”

“We’ll make your apologies. I daresay you will not be making a long visit in town,” Barton commiserated.

Fools! Going to squander their money. He knew that Barton was playing on tick at Brook’s, and how did he hope to pay up without selling his estate? The man was mad.

He was up early in the morning for a ride in the park, and when he returned, his father was just leaving for the House.

“Is something important being discussed that you have come to town to attend?” Havergal asked.

His father said, “I know you do not see fit to exercise the privilege of attending the sessions at the House, Jacob, but I had hoped you at least
read
what is afoot in your own country. Mills and factories shutting down because of tariff restrictions on our goods, hundreds of thousands of discharged soldiers looking for work, and the heavy taxes levied to pay for Napoleon’s war making investment difficult—yes, I would say something important will be discussed. How to keep our population from starving to death! I ought to be attending full time, but one of us must keep an eye on affairs at home. I hope you enjoyed your ride in the park.”

Lord Cauleigh clamped his curled beaver on his head and left. Havergal went to the saloon and sank into a comfortable sofa. There was no pleasing Papa! And at the back of his mind, he felt there was no pleasing Miss Lettie either. Just so would she have ripped up at him. Damn, he was leaving off all his old bad habits. What did they expect?

His father obviously expected he should waste these beautiful spring days sitting on a hard chair at Whitehall. Or had there been a hint in there that he ought to be at the Willows, handling their own estate? Papa was getting a bit old for it, of course. It was a large estate. Damn, what use would he be at home? He knew nothing of farming. And nothing of politics either. He hadn’t seen any signs of this poverty his father spoke of.

He lifted the journal his father had been reading and glanced through it. It all seemed to be true. He read harrowing tales of thousands of ex-soldiers starving. There were stories of riotous meetings in the provinces—Manchester, Littleport, Nottingham. It was bound to spread to London. Visions of a revolution along the lines of the recent French Revolution reeled in his head. When had all this begun? Why had no one told him? He dashed to the door and called for his carriage. His father was astonished and gratified to see Havergal enter the House an hour later.

Something had awakened the lad’s conscience. Nothing was as likely to have done it as a lady. Cauleigh tugged at his chin, wondering who the lady could be. Perhaps Miss Beddoes knew something about this. He would drop by Laurel Hall on his way home and have a word with her.

In Ashford, there was a fire at the vicarage, which cast the memory of Havergal and the duke into limbo. Like everyone else, Lettie and Violet drove into the village the next day to offer help and see the ruins, not necessarily in that order. When they returned, they were told a gentleman was waiting to see them.

Lettie found it hard to believe that the quiet, well-bred, harried, and really not at all handsome lord sitting in her saloon could be Havergal’s papa. How had this austere gentleman given birth to such a comet as Havergal? It surpassed all understanding.

“Was there any particular reason why you wish to be rid of the trust, Miss Beddoes?” he inquired, after he had been given a glass of wine, and the purpose of his visit was revealed.

“The idea came from your son. It struck me as a good one.”

“But why? I cannot think the quarterly writing of a check is what distresses you. Come now, tell the truth. I am the lad’s father. What has he done?”

Loath as she was to reveal Havergal’s sins, Lettie knew some excuse must be given. She said vaguely, “Our correspondence was more frequent than that, Lord Cauleigh. Havergal often requests advances that are not in keeping with your cousin Horace’s intentions. He can be quite insistent.”

“I know it well,” he admitted. “He was used to harass me in the same way, till I put my foot down. You have only to give him a categorical no, and that will be the end of it.”

“I believe I did that the last time.”

“Has he bothered you since?”

“No, but that was only ten days ago. I have no doubt--”

“I believe you may be mistaken. Jacob—Havergal—has turned over a new leaf. He has left off seeing a certain set of wild bucks and taken his seat in the House. That will keep him out of mischief while he is in town, and at the Season’s close, he tells me he plans to come to Willow Hall.”

“Do you believe this improvement will last?” she asked bluntly.

“I do, for I believe there is a lady at the bottom of it. He mentioned marriage, yet each lady I brought forth was rejected. It is my belief that he has already made up his mind, and it is for her that he is reforming. Jacob was always more easily led by a lady than anyone else. His mama’s influence— they were close. The same warm, excitable temper and good looks, but she knew how to handle him. It was when she died that he went to the bad. Pity. If the match he has in his eye is a lady of character, I expect she turned him off, and he is out to show her he can be as upstanding as the next fellow. Why else would he go to Almack’s? It is my intention to encourage this liaison if the lady is even so much as genteel.”

Lettie listened with keen interest and just a little heaviness of the heart. So Havergal was reforming to please a lady. Who could she be? She must be some Incomparable to tame that rake. “What has that to do with my keeping the trust?” she asked.

“Only that I do not think Havergal will bother you much in the future. I am pretty busy, between Willow Hall and the House, and the change would involve meetings with lawyers and a deal of paperwork. It will only be for two and a half years more.”

Lettie considered it a moment and took her decision. It seemed hard to refuse this tired old man. “Very well, if you wish it, Lord Cauleigh, I’ll give it another try.”

“You are very obliging, ma’am. Before I leave, there is just one other thing that mystifies me. This hypothetical lady, would you have any idea who she might be? Jacob does not visit her in London. I thought the trip to Almack’s must be to see her, but if so, she was not there. I know he visited you recently. Did he meet some lady hereabouts? Naturally, I am curious to learn what I can of her background.”

“He met no ladies here except myself and my companion, Miss FitzSimmons,” she replied, nodding to Violet, who listened with wide eyes to the whole.

“You do not think it could be Miss Hardy, Miss Devereau’s friend!” Violet exclaimed. “Oh dear. That would never do.”

“Is there something amiss with the lady?” Lord Cauleigh asked eagerly.

“The women Miss FitzSimmons speaks of are not ladies, milord,” Lettie said, pink with embarrassment.

“Ah! Then we can rule them out. Jacob’s character is not all one could wish, but he is not an utter fool. He would never offer for a lightskirt. Perhaps I am mistaken in thinking a lady is involved.”

“The only ladies he met were Miss Beddoes and myself,” Violet repeated.

Cauleigh examined them, Violet first, then Miss Beddoes. A question formed in his mind. Miss Bed-does? A little old, but then Jacob had never really cared for debs. And why had Jacob not wanted Miss Beddoes to give up the trust? That was odd. She was not a bad-looking woman. A little stiff-rumped for Jacob, but there was no saying.

“Perhaps it is one of you ladies he has in his eye,” he said, making it a joke, but watching Lettie closely. He saw the color flood her cheeks, and his interest soared.

“He did not care in the least for me,” Lettie said firmly. “I’m afraid I was required to read him a lecture before he left. It must be you, Violet,” she said, smiling at her friend, to ease her way out of the embarrassing situation.

Violet laughed uneasily and said, “Mr. Norton invited him to Norton Knoll. Perhaps he met someone there, Lettie.”

“I don’t believe Havergal ever paid the visit. Mr. Norton would have told us so if that were the case,” Lettie pointed out. She turned to Cauleigh and added, “Mr. Norton raises hops and pigs. It was the pigs that your son had some interest in.”

“Indeed! That is odd, for we don’t raise pigs at home. We keep cattle.”

Lettie said not a word about pig racing.

Before long Lord Cauleigh took his departure. So Jacob had come to cuffs with Miss Beddoes. That was a promising sign. He would not have lost his temper if he had not been emotionally involved. He would have poured on the charm and oiled his way around her. She must be a remarkably strong lady to have withstood his begging for money all these months. This romance, if romance it was, must be encouraged in some manner. He went home to Willow Hall to think out a scheme.

* * * *

“What do you make of that?” Violet asked when the ladies were alone.

“I hope Lord Cauleigh knows what he is talking about, for the only woman Havergal had in his eye when he was here was that redhead lightskirt."

“Her name was Iona Hardy,” Violet supplied quite unnecessarily. The name was etched in Lettie’s mind.

“If he is thinking of marrying her—”

“His papa said he would not.”

“I doubt his father knows anything about Havergal. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” Lettie declared.

“Such a shame! It would have been so much more romantic if he could have fallen in love with you, Lettie.”

Lettie turned a scalding eye on her companion. “Much good it would have done him.”

“You cannot be entirely immune to him! So handsome, and rich, and a title.”

“I was never one to hanker after wealth and a title. Now, to business. What is to be done about Mr. Norton’s public day? He wants you and me to give him a hand.” Lettie allowed herself one small pang of regret that Havergal had not been interested in her. He did have such a charming smile and such liveliness. It seemed he was capable of reforming for the right woman.

* * * *

In the middle of May, Lord Havergal was requested to pay a visit to Willow Hall, and to his father’s surprise, he agreed without argument. After a few weeks of reading newspapers, listening to alarming reports of poverty and riots in the House, and touring the less affluent parts of London to check out matters for himself, Havergal was struck as never before by the opulence of his ancestral home. A winding road led through acres of cultivated park to a noble heap of stone, arranged in the style of Queen Anne, that covered an acre. How lovely it looked with the windows gleaming gold in the setting sun. How fortunate a creature he was, and he had never given a moment’s thought to it, except to waste the wealth he had been given.