The Willful Widow (17 page)
Ah, St. Clair, now you are in the basket, he muttered. Not only is Reginald head over heels, but even Alan is in a fair way to being bewitched. No, that was not being precisely fair to the marquess. Alan might not have spent much time on the town, but he was not precisely green either, being far too intelligent to be taken in by a pretty face or a coming 155
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manner. If Alan liked and trusted Lady Diana, why then, she was someone worthy of it, and Justin St. Clair, difficult as it was to fathom, might just possibly have been incorrect in his reading of the lady's character.
Certainly during his visit in Brook Street a few days earlier Lady Walden had done her best to prove to him that her niece was someone who should command his respect. Having dealt summarily with the slight deception she had practiced on her visitor, she had gotten right down to the matter at hand. "Sit down, St. Clair," she had reiterated, pointing to a chair with an air that brooked no refusal. "I am glad that we have this opportunity to speak privately, for I have a favor to ask of you."
"Your servant, ma'am." Justin bowed before disposing his well-knit frame in the chair indicated.
"You may get away with that with your opera dancers or your foreign coquettes, sirrah, but you should know better than to accede to my wishes without first discovering what they are," she chided severely, but her eyes danced.
"Why ma'am, it is precisely because you are not one of my
opera dancers or foreign coquettes
that I offer my services without reservation. You are far more likely to make a practical suggestion than exact an extravagant demand."
"Touché! I quite see why you are such a favorite with my sex, but it will do you little good with me, for I've both a bone to pick and a favor to ask, and as I am a great believer in getting to the unpleasant business first, I shall start with my quarrel with you."
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"Very well ma'am," Justin replied meekly, wondering just what precisely this surprising lady had in store for him.
"To begin with, you must stop hovering over Diana."
"Hovering?" Justin sat bolt upright. "Hovering? I do not..."
"Calm down, man. To someone as independent as Diana, it looks like hovering, the way you constantly appear the moment Reginald escorts us anywhere. And if Reginald weren't such a milksop, he ... well, never mind that. You mislike my words, but you
do
hover and Diana is an adult, as is your nephew, I might add. No, don't poker up at me. I don't for a moment believe that you are doing this of your own accord." Again Justin made as if to speak, but Aunt Seraphina cut him short. "Let me say my piece, and then I shall allow you to say yours.
"As I was saying, I detect the fell hand of the Earl of Winterbourne. You, for all your faults, are not a busybody, and if Alfred continues to press you, you may tell him for me that I shall never make that son of his my heir—more fool he for thinking it. The only way Reginald could in any way approach what I shall leave behind is by marrying Diana, though I shall will all of it to her in her own right. He could do worse than to marry her. She has more than enough brains for the pair of them."
Lady Walden paused for a moment, never taking her eyes off her visitor who sat transfixed, unable to respond in any way. "And now that I have ridden roughshod over you, I shall have the unmitigated gall to ask for your help."
"I am all ears," Justin retorted dryly, but there was a glint of humor in his eyes.
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"I am sure you are. But in truth, I would be exceedingly grateful if you could share any information you might glean down at the 'Change. Diana simply will not accept assistance of any kind from me, with the exception of advice that is, and she is struggling so hard to keep her head above water. Geoffrey, brilliant as he was, simply had no head for business. To be perfectly frank, he never had a head for anything, but antiquity."
A reminiscent expression clouded the alert dark eyes.
"Poor Diana. He hardly paid the least attention to his daughter until she was old enough to read Greek and Latin and speak about those things
he
wished to discuss. She has been looking after Buckland practically from the moment she could do sums, and a difficult time she has had of it, too. Geoffrey had been making mice-feet of the estate since he inherited it. It was a wonder it wasn't all to pieces. Then when Ferdie came along, I had hoped ... well, you know what Ferdie was, a charming spendthrift with not enough sense to keep out of the River Tick. And now she's trying to salvage a small pittance left her by both men and won't accept help from anyone."
Lady Walden allowed herself a sigh of exasperation. "Diana is as proud as the devil and stubborn as a cart horse. However, she has profited handsomely from the little knowledge I have been able to share with her concerning the workings of the financial markets. But my experience is limited by what Thomas knew, which was mostly trade and that was mostly in India. You, sir, are a man of affairs familiar with the goings-on on the Continent. You move among men 158
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who are in the thick of it. All I ask is that you make good on your offer to share with her any insights you might glean. She's a good girl, but she won't brook interference or assistance from anyone as I well know. However, I am sure you can manage to help her in a way she can accept. Thank you for listening to an old woman. And now I am sure you are longing to be gone." With that she had rung the bell, and Finchley had shown him out.
First Lady Walden and now Alan. Neither of them was anybody's fool and both of them believed in Lady Diana. Whose fool was he for doubting her? Justin resolved to banish his suspicions for the moment and accept the lady at her word.
Breaking out of his reverie, he began to saunter toward Gentleman Jackson's, as it was abundantly apparent he was in need of much vigorous exercise to clear the fog from his brain.
Justin had not proceeded more than a few steps before he was accosted by his nephew. "Uncle Justin!" The surprise in Reginald's voice at discovering his relative on the doorstep of Hatchard's was not particularly flattering.
"Hello, Reginald." A sudden though struck Justin. Perhaps instead of
hovering
over Diana and his nephew, he should throw them together to watch what would happen if he did not put Diana on her guard. Perhaps if she didn't feel challenged or threatened by Justin, the lady would reveal her true motives. With this laudable intention, he extended an invitation for Reginald and Diana to join him in viewing the
Judgment of Brutus,
now being displayed at the Egyptian Hall 159
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along with mosaic floors from Rome, the Louvre, and Malmaison.
Reginald blushed with pleasure at this unlooked for condescension on the part of his fashionable uncle. Despite his father's frequent and vociferous animadversions on the numerous defects of Justin's character, chief among them being a lack of proper reverence toward the Earl of Winterbourne and all he stood for, Reginald secretly admired his dashing relative. It was with real regret that he declined the offer. "I am going into the country for a few days," he apologized.
"Well, then, some other time perhaps," his uncle replied casually. "No doubt your father will be pleased to welcome you home and see you safely away from all the temptations of the town." Justin had merely been offering the usual expected remarks, but he was astounded to see the blush that suffused his nephew's face and a conscious look that Reginald did his best to banish. It was almost as if the lad had something to hide.
"Yes, I suppose he would do so except that, I'm going ... that is, I don't expect to see father as I am going to visit a ... a friend." Reginald shut his mouth with a snap, as though betrayed into revealing more than he wished to. Justin fixed his nephew with a piercing gaze while Reginald shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. No doubt about it, there was something havey-cavey here, though it was very unlike the viscount to concoct a Banbury story. The Earls of Winterbourne and their heirs might be pompous windbags, but they were a truthful lot. Nor did they possess 160
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either the originality or the stomach to do anything deceitful, shocking, outrageous, or even mildly amusing. Reginald ran a nervous finger around the inside of his neck cloth, as though it were choking him. "Thank you anyway, sir. Now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with Mr. Mawe in the Strand. He has an outstanding collection of mineral specimens, which he has cataloged and is desirous of showing me. Good day. Uncle Justin." And he hurried off down the street as quickly as he could without losing his dignity, leaving Justin again to stare blankly down Piccadilly. Damn! Once more he was forced to collect himself, as he muttered angrily under his breath, "I am beginning to look as though my wits have gone wandering. If I'm not gaping after one person, I'm gawking after another. I can't get to Gentlemen Jackson's too soon. At least there if I am tipped a doubler, it will be by a worthy opponent."
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But there was a nagging uneasiness that lurked at the back of Justin's mind all the time he was sparring. Even a bout with the champion himself could not distract him entirely from reflections on his nephew's uncharacteristic and puzzling demeanor. Reginald was the very soul of rectitude, to the point of sanctimoniousness. He couldn't help it, such was the destiny of all the Earls of Winterbourne, but it most certainly did appear that he was up to something. An ugly and highly unwelcome suspicion began to form in Justin's mind, and he could not help but have his misgivings as to Lady Diana's whereabouts.
Justin tried unsuccessfully to put the entire episode from his thoughts by returning home to pore over newspapers and correspondence. Finally, flinging down a surprisingly lengthy letter from Charles Stewart, which only made him long for Vienna and the days of the Congress, he sauntered off to Brooks's in search of diversion. He had toyed briefly with the idea of calling on Suzette, but he knew, devoted artist that she was, she would most likely be practicing with her dancing master. Besides, as a woman, she was bound to remind him of Lady Diana, which was counter to the whole purpose of his visit to Brooks's.
"Justin," a jovial voice called out the moment he entered the gaming room.
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"Hello Sally," he greeted Lord Humphrey Salcombe who was lingering by the faro table relishing the deep play of other more hardy or foolhardy souls than himself.
"Haven't seen you this age, old fellow. Been rusticating?" Sally cocked a waggish eyebrow.
"Rusticating? Justin? You're all about in the head," the Honorable Nigel Clutterbuck scoffed. "He's been lying low with a particularly lovely ladybird, eh, Justin?" He winked lasciviously before returning to the game in front of him. Leave it to St. Clair to win the most delicious woman to appear onstage for many a Season. It was positively and most certainly unfair the way beautiful women seemed to fall at his feet. There was no denying the charm of his clever wit, the glint of humor deep in the gray eyes that missed nothing, the lazy smile, and the languid grace, but there were plenty of well-enough-looking fellows on the town, many of whom had far more to offer in terms of wealth and title.
"If that's what they're saying in the clubs, then it must be so, eh, Nigel?" If anything, Justin appeared to be bored to the extreme by a subject that had everyone else at the table agog to hear the latest detail.
Nigel shook his head smiling. He was a cool customer was Justin St. Clair, casually dismissing his conquest of La Charenton as though all of the male population in London hadn't been courting her for months with singular lack of success. St. Clair merely had to appear on the scene, and she was his. Life was certainly inequitable at times. Justin strolled around the room looking for play deep enough and opponents challenging enough to test his skill 163
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and to distract him, but after a brief hand of whist and winning a tidy sum at faro, he gave it up as a bad job and returned home for a few hours before dressing for Lady Upton's ball.
To be sure, Justin had no real interest in attending the ball. In fact, he had nearly tossed the gilt-edged invitation into the fire after his bout of disgust over the Countess of Axbridge's rout, but he felt certain that it was a large enough and an important enough affair that Lady Diana was certain to attend it. He took his time getting ready, debating with himself all the while as to his real reasons for doing such a thing. He had a distinct abhorrence of such crushes and why the whereabouts of another member of the
ton,
and a female of doubtful motives at that, should preoccupy him so much that he subjected himself to it, he could not say. Even worse, he preferred not to hazard a guess as to the meaning of his obsession with it all.
He must be slipping, he thought to himself as he mounted the red-carpeted stairway leading to the brilliantly lit doorway of Lady Upton's magnificent residence. In his youth, he would never have allowed Alfred to saddle him with his silly old womanish worries, let alone embroil him in them. He should have washed his hands of Reginald's entanglement at the outset. After all, if the lad weren't allowed to make mistakes, how could he possibly learn from them? He must be dicked in the nob to have given in to his brother's overwrought fears for his son and heir. It was boredom that had done it Justin decided as he handed his cape to a hovering footman. After the challenge and excitement of Vienna, where conversations 164
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