Rescued by the Viscount
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* * *
It was barely three in the morning when the friends parted at the club, three of them going to their homes and leaving only Jack and Phipps to consider where to go next.
‘The night is young,’ Jack murmured. ‘We should find a gambling hell and indulge ourselves for an hour or so.’
‘Not for me, old fellow,’ Phipps declined. ‘I’ve sworn off gambling for the next month at least, otherwise I shall be in hot water with my father. I’ll come home with you for a drink if you like, otherwise I think I’ll call a cab and go home.’
‘I think I’ll pay Lucy a visit,’ Jack decided and laughed. ‘I’ll see you at Markham’s affair tomorrow?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ his friend agreed. ‘You will be certain to meet Miss Langton there.’
‘Oh, I’ll leave her for you, my friend,’ Jack said and gave him a friendly punch in the arm.
They parted on the best of terms, Jack sauntering through the streets as if he had not a care in the world, while Phipps summoned a cab to take him home. A smile touched Jack’s sensuous mouth, for if he were not mistaken Phipps was a little the worse for wear, while he had drunk only enough to feel mildly pleased with the world. A visit to his mistress would round the evening off nicely and stop him falling into the melancholy that more serious thoughts of marriage looked likely to bring about.
* * *
He had been walking for perhaps five minutes when he heard the screams. Someone—a girl, he thought—was screaming for help. Jack’s chivalrous instincts were instantly aroused and he looked for the source of the sound, which seemed to come from the park across the street. Even as he hesitated, he saw a small figure run from that direction followed by two very drunken gentlemen, who lurched unsteadily in the youth’s wake.
‘Hounds, hounds to me,’ one of them called and made a loud noise that was supposed to sound like a hunting cry. ‘We’ll catch the little vixen yet!’
The second gentleman lurched after his comrade even as the diminutive figure bolted across the road. Jack moved like lightning, grabbing the figure and noting it was a young gentleman with delicate, rather female features, before pushing him behind him against the wall and turning to confront the pursuing gentlemen.
‘That’s the spirit, old fellow,’ the first cried gleefully. ‘Hand the vixen over and we’ll finish our business with her.’
‘And what might that be?’ Jack asked in a pleasant but cool voice. ‘I believe you are a little the worse for wear, sir. Pray let me recommend you to the comfort of your bed.’
‘Damn you, sir! What business is it of yours what I choose to do? Pray stand aside and let us at the—’
‘I asked you to take yourselves off nicely.’ Jack’s voice carried a hint of steel. ‘Now I’m telling you. Get off where you belong before I teach you some manners.’
‘Think you’ll have the bitch for yourself, do you?’ the man snarled. ‘I’ll show you!’ He threw a wild swing at Jack and found himself on the receiving end of a heavy punch. It floored him and he lay moaning on the ground. ‘She’s a whore and a thief,’ he muttered.
‘Come on, Patterson.’ His friend, in slightly steadier condition, bent down to help him rise. ‘You don’t know she’s a thief, even if we did see her climb out of that window.’
Patterson muttered something vile, but accepted his friend’s help. He glared at Jack, holding his friend’s arm as they reeled away.
‘Good riddance to her,’ he muttered and then laughed and pointed a finger. ‘Look at her go. She’s got away from us all.’
Glancing over his shoulder, Jack saw the diminutive figure disappearing round the corner. He was conscious of regret for he would have liked to discover whether the young person was a youth or the girl in disguise that the drunken gentlemen seemed to imagine. He had not even had a chance to discover if she—or he—was harmed, but at least he had prevented further harm.
He stood his ground, watching as the two men lurched off down the street in the opposite direction to the one the fugitive was heading. Only when he was certain that the young escapee must be out of sight did he resume his journey. He was vaguely aware that the knuckles of his right hand were bruised, but he dismissed that as a worthwhile consequence of his interference in what might have been a very unfortunate outcome for the young person.
Jack found that his mood had changed. He was amused by what he’d seen of the fugitive’s behaviour, catching the merest glimpse of an elfin face in the streetlights. If the inebriated men were to be believed, the young person was a thief and a whore—but the clothes the fugitive had been wearing were good quality, the property of a young gentleman of perhaps thirteen or so. That did not bring the words thief or whore to Jack’s mind, but something more innocent like a very young gentleman escaping from his home for a lark. Unless it had been a girl in borrowed clothing, which was an intriguing idea.
Jack arrived outside the small but exclusive house he had purchased for his mistress’s use. The windows were in darkness, as he might have supposed, had he given a thought to the hour. He considered climbing over the gate and going round to the back of the house; he could throw stones at the window and get Lucy to come down and let him in without waking the servants.
Suddenly, he realised that the desire to see his mistress had left him. He laughed ruefully and turned away just as a light came on in the hall upstairs. Hesitating, Jack was still wondering whether to call on Lucy just for a drink and a chat when the door opened and a gentleman came out.
He recognised the man as Lord Harding—a man he particularly disliked as a hardened gambler, and, if Jack were right, a particularly nasty cheat. He was the kind of man who fastened on young men just out on the town, introducing them to sleazy gambling hells and all kinds of dissolute activities.
There could be only one reason why he would be leaving Lucy’s house at this hour of night and the realisation turned Jack’s stomach. Any desire he’d had to see his mistress was banished. He would finish the affair tomorrow by sending a farewell gift and a letter that would leave her in no doubt of his disgust at her behaviour. He had no desire to follow Harding in her bed!
Had it been almost any other gentleman, Jack would have taken the discovery with a laugh, for he’d guessed she was not the sort to be faithful for long—but Harding was a man he really disliked.
Jack walked the length of the street before hailing a cab to take him home. He had a bad taste in his mouth and was angry that he’d allowed himself to be duped so long. Well, he would make sure that when he next took a lover she was at least honest enough to entertain only one protector at a time. Why was it that so many women thought it necessary to lie to get their own way? If there was one thing Jack could not stand, it was a liar or a cheat.
Having arrived in the pleasant square where he lived, he was just paying the cab driver his fare when he looked across the pleasant gardens to his left and saw a diminutive figure clamber over a wrought-iron railing and disappear down the steps leading to the servants’ quarters.
Jack hesitated, because although he was friendly with Lord Bathurst, the owner of the house, he knew that it had recently been let to a family, with whom he was not yet acquainted. He did not feel able to knock on the door at this hour in the morning and tell them they might have an intruder—especially as he could not be sure the youth he’d seen earlier and the figure climbing the gate were one and the same.
Indeed, he was not sure of anything. However, he could not allow a neighbour to be robbed—if the girl was a thief, if she was even a girl...
Cursing, Jack sprinted across the square himself and tried the gate, which was locked, as he might have known. He climbed the railing easily, feeling guilty though his intention was quite innocent. Peering down the narrow stone steps, he was just in time to see the flicker of a candle as a door opened and his quarry disappeared inside.
It shut before he could reach it, but not before he’d seen a taller young man come and look about, as if to make sure that no one was there.
Jack stood uncertainly. The taller youth was also wearing the clothes of a gentleman. Whoever he was, Jack did not think that he was in collusion with his quarry to rob an unsuspecting family. No, his first impression was probably correct and the diminutive youth was just kicking up a lark, aided and abetted, it seemed, by an older brother.
Laughing softly to himself, Jack climbed back over the railing and stood on the pavement, glancing about before re-crossing the square and knocking on his own front door. His man answered almost immediately and Jack nodded as he was admitted.
‘A good evening, sir?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ Jack said. ‘Go to bed now, Cummings. I’ll see to myself this evening.’
‘I’ll just lock up, my lord,’ his valet answered with quiet dignity. ‘Mr Jenkins has only just retired. I took it upon myself to sit up this evening—and I should be failing in my duty if I didn’t attend you, sir.’
‘I do not imagine the world will end if I remove my own boots for once, Cummings.’
Jack sauntered past him and up the stairs, lost in thoughts that were mildly intriguing. Just who was the young imp who had got himself into trouble that evening?
Well, he had been remiss in making the acquaintance of his new neighbours, so he would give himself the pleasure of remedying that later in the day.
Chapter Two
‘Charlie!’ Mr Matthew Stevens cried and grabbed his sister’s shoulders, giving her a little shake. ‘Thank goodness you’re back. You’ve been so long and I was terrified that you’d been caught!’
‘Oh, do stop fussing, Matt.’ Charlotte dimpled mischievously up at her brother. ‘I told you I could do it. It was a simple climb up the wisteria into his bedchamber. He’d left the window open, as we knew he always does, and the stupid thing was lying on his dressing chest. I grabbed it and climbed down again, in no more than a few minutes. He will never guess it was I—no one could possibly know. I shall just have to make sure never to wear the necklace in town, because if he saw it he might recognise it.’
‘I was sick with worry the whole time. You were so long. If it was as simple as that, why were you so long?’
‘Getting the necklace back was easy enough,’ Charlotte said and bit her bottom lip. ‘It was when I climbed out of the window and then over the railings into the street that I got into a bit of bother...’
‘What happened? Damn it, Charlie. Mother will kill me if I’ve ruined your chances. I should never have let you talk me into letting you risk yourself.’
‘You didn’t, you just stood there and lectured me about my morals—which is more than rich when it was you who stole the damned thing in the first place.’
‘I didn’t intend to steal from you, Charlie,’ Matt said, torn between remorse and reproach. ‘He is just such a brute...to be honest, I’m scared of him. He said if I didn’t pay the gambling debt he would approach Father and I couldn’t let that happen.’
‘No, it would have been dreadful,’ his fond sister said and smiled her forgiveness. ‘I don’t care about the wretched necklace, but if you’d asked I would have given you what is left of my allowance, and I could have told you that those diamonds were fakes.’
‘How was I to know? They’re damned good, Charlie. I thought they were real.’
‘Uncle Ben left me all his wife’s jewellery in good faith. I’m sure he didn’t know that Aunt Isobel had replaced most of it with fakes.’
‘Why do you think she did it?’ Matt asked, puzzled. ‘Surely her allowance was enough without doing such a thing to family heirlooms?’
‘I think she was a secret gambler,’ Charlotte said, wrinkling her smooth brow. She sighed and shook out her long dark hair, which had been jammed under one of her brother’s old school caps with the badge removed. They were in her private sitting room, which led into her bedchamber, and she was tired, the shock of having narrowly escaped being roughly abused coming home to her now that she was safe. ‘Mama said something about it when we had the jewels valued and realised some were fake.’
‘I feel awful about having Uncle Ben’s money now. He might have left some of it to you if he’d guessed about the jewels.’
‘That money is to buy you a commission in the army and to keep you as a gentleman should be able to live. Besides, you won’t come into it for another year and it isn’t so very much after all.’
‘No.’ He looked rueful. ‘Harding thought I was the heir to a large fortune, which is why he fastened his claws into me—but ten thousand and a small country estate is hardly a huge fortune, Charlie, and I can’t touch a penny for ages. If I’d had my own money I wouldn’t have taken your necklace. I was going to pay you back when I could afford it, and I knew you didn’t like that necklace anyway.’
‘It is old-fashioned,’ Charlotte replied. ‘Had it been real I should have had it remodelled for me, but Mama says it isn’t worth it. She says I can wear her diamonds if I have occasion.’
‘Why did you go to all that trouble to get it back then?’
‘Because if Lord Harding realised you’d given him a fake necklace to settle your debt to him, he would have labelled you a cheat and a thief—can you imagine what the gossips would make of that? My chances of making a good marriage would be lost, as would yours of joining a decent regiment.’
‘Yes...’ Matt looked gloomy. ‘I’ve been such a damned fool, Charlie. If it hadn’t been for you...’
‘It’s over and no one ever needs to know anything about it,’ Charlotte said. She thought about the man who had grabbed at her as she was passing through the park. His hands had soon discovered her secret and the thought of him touching her breasts made her feel sick, but it had been dark there in the park and she was fairly certain that he would not recognise her if they met in society. Both he and his companion had been drunk—but the man who had saved her was another matter. Charlotte knew him by sight, for she’d seen him leaving his house across the square earlier that evening, and a couple of times he’d driven by her as she was returning to their house, but they had never met in a formal way. She knew that for a moment he’d had the opportunity to look at her face in the streetlight—but had he seen enough to know her when she was dressed as a young lady of fashion? She could only hope that he had not taken much notice.
‘I hope no one will find out, for both our sakes,’ Matt said. ‘If Harding guessed it was my sister that took the necklace...he might kill me. Yet, you’re right, Charlie. He can’t know. No one can if we keep it to ourselves.’
‘I’m not about to tell anyone.’ She dimpled wickedly up at him, her eyes wide and innocent, but filled with mischief. ‘It’s over now, Matt. Go to bed and let me get some sleep. It’s that big ball tomorrow and I want to look my best. Unless I can find a husband poor Papa is going to lose everything.’
‘Why did he have to invest his money unwisely?’ Matt bemoaned the situation. ‘We were happy enough with what we had—but he thought that venture in the East would bring in a fortune for silks and spices, only the ship sank and all its cargo with it.’
‘And he didn’t think to insure it,’ Charlotte said. ‘Thankfully, Mama had some funds put by for my come out—and if I can find a rich husband he will settle Papa’s debts and all will be well.’
‘What about you?’ her brother asked, looking at her with dark brown eyes that were very like her own, except that hers were flecked with gold and his were simply dark. ‘Will you be happy taking a man just for his money? He may be years older and not at all handsome.’
‘Beggars cannot always choose,’ Charlotte said, sighing despite herself, because she had once dreamed of being swept off her feet by a tall dark prince who would carry her off to his castle and lavish her with love and gifts. ‘I shall hope for the best. And not all rich men are old and fat.’
‘No, I suppose there are a few eligible young men around, if you can find one. A man would be a fool not to marry you if he were rich and single.’
‘You are my brother and prejudiced in my favour.’ She gave a gurgle of laughter and then darted at him, giving him a peck on the cheek before pushing him towards the door. ‘Go, before we wake everyone and they come to see what’s going on. I want to get out of these things before anyone but you has the chance to see me.’
Locking the door behind him, Charlotte went into her bedroom and glanced at herself in the long cheval mirror. A mischievous grin curved her mouth as she saw that she made a fetching youth. No one would know she was a girl unless they happened to touch her in the wrong places, which one of those horrid men had done. They hadn’t seemed to care whether she was a girl or a youth, but were intent on having their way with her in the park either way. And would have done had she not kneed one of them in his privates, leaving him yelling in anger and pain as she made it as far as the gates. However, they would probably have caught her again had it not been for the viscount—Captain Jack Delsey.
Charlotte had known the name of the gentleman who came to her rescue almost from the first day they took up residence in the pleasant garden square. Her mama had been given a list of the residents of the square so that she might leave calling cards, however, she could not do so until they called on her for she was the newcomer. Papa might call if he so wished on the single gentlemen, of which there were two in residence at the moment. One was a widower with three children on a rare visit to town, the children left in the country with their maternal grandmother, and the other was the viscount. Papa had not yet called on either, though the widower had left his card and therefore Mama was preparing to invite him to a small card party she was arranging with her acquaintance in town. The viscount, meanwhile, was the grandson of the Marquis of Ellington and one of the best prizes on the matrimonial market. However, Mama had warned Charlotte not to set her hopes too high.
‘Captain Viscount Delsey is rather too far above us, dearest,’ she’d told Charlotte when they’d seen him drive up in a spanking rig of the first order. ‘Quite charming I understand—but elusive. Some of the most beautiful girls in society have cast their lures at him, but he ignores them all. He is a rake, my love, and flirts with all the pretty girls, but never forms an attachment—or only clandestine ones. He would merely break your heart. Now Mr Harold Cavendish is another matter. He is in his early forties, still attractive and wealthy—and Mrs Featherstone told me that he is looking for a wife to care for his poor motherless children.’
‘A widower with three children, Mama?’ Charlotte pulled a face. ‘I think I would prefer someone who had not been previously married—we are not desperate just yet, are we?’
‘No, dearest, of course not. I do not wish to push you into anything that distresses you. Indeed, I wish this had not been necessary at all—but poor Papa is at his wits’ end, and if you do not marry to oblige us...’
‘But I shall, Mama,’ Charlotte assured her. ‘Please do not worry. There will be someone who is both rich and agreeable to me. I promise you, it will all come right in the end.’
‘My poor dear child,’ her mama said. ‘Had your aunt not sold those jewels we might have avoided this. You could have sold them to pay a part of Papa’s debt.’
‘I would gladly have done so,’ Charlotte assured her. ‘But they are worth very little. I must marry to advantage. I have made up my mind to it—and I shall not let you down.’
Undressing and hiding the youth’s clothing at the bottom of one of her drawers, Charlotte reflected on that evening’s episode. Had she been caught and abused...it did not bear thinking about! If she’d been unmasked and her wicked act had been revealed, she would have been ruined and her family with her. It was no wonder that Matt had been terrified. He’d begged her not to consider such a mad escapade, but she’d overruled him, as she always had in the past. Her brother might be three years older, but she had the stronger will. It was she who ought to have been a boy for very little frightened her. Even the near-escape she’d had had not truly bothered her, only the fear of what might have happened.
But it hadn’t and she refused to worry about what might have been. She’d recovered the fake necklace. Lord Harding could only blame himself for leaving the necklace on his dressing table before going off for the evening. Besides, he deserved no sympathy. Matt was certain he’d been cheated and was determined never to play cards with the man again.
Charlotte was just going to forget all about it.
* * *
Mama had decided to leave cards at the homes of her acquaintances in town and wanted Charlotte to accompany her.
‘We shall not stay anywhere, but merely leave cards,’ Mama had told her. ‘On the way home we will visit the mantua maker and collect some rather lovely shawls I ordered from Madame Rousseau.’
However, Mama’s plans did not go entirely as she anticipated, for at the first house they called, they encountered Lady Rushmore just as she was leaving and she begged them to come in and take some refreshment with her.
‘It is such an age since we met and I was going to call on you this afternoon,’ the lady said, insisting on sending for coffee and little almond cakes in the front parlour.
They were soon joined by the lady’s son and daughter, who had come down to see why their mama had not gone shopping as she planned. Miss Amelia was a pretty, fair girl with a lisp and pouting lips, her hair hanging in ringlets about a heart-shaped face. Her brother Robert was tall, well built and dressed in the height of fashion, with shirt points so high he could scarcely turn his head. He seemed to spend most of his time preening before one of the gilt-framed mirrors, and when he did speak his conversation was of horses and his new phaeton.
Miss Amelia laughed a lot and talked endlessly of her new clothes, which she was purchasing for her trousseau. She had recently become engaged and was interested in little but her wedding and clothes. Accustomed to talking of poetry and music with her brother, and of listening to Papa speaking in an entertaining way of the gentlemen he met and dined with at his clubs, Charlotte found herself longing to go home after just half an hour.
However, just as she thought they might be ready to leave, a gentleman was announced as Sir Percival Redding. He was a man of perhaps five and thirty, brother to Lady Rushmore and of a florid complexion. His dark hair curled in a manner intended to be casual and his clothes were as elegant as his nephew’s, though slightly more wearable for his shirt points were not above average, and his coats were cut to allow for ease of movement. However, he had a pleasant manner and regaled the ladies with his tales of society.
Somehow he ousted Amelia from her seat beside Charlotte and sat down to tell her the story of how he had recently dined with the Prince Regent at Brighton in the Pavilion.
‘’Pon my word, Miss Stevens, it must have been nigh on a hundred degrees. I felt I was melting and poor dear Lady Melrose fainted twice.’
Charlotte had heard that the Regent liked his rooms over-warm, but was interested in all the details of the Pavilion, with its Chinese decoration and the towers that gave it the look of an Eastern Palace.
* * *
It was as Mama stood up to pull on her gloves some twenty minutes later, clearly intending to leave, that Sir Percival stood and bowed to Charlotte, as she too rose from the small sofa. His neck was a little pink as he bent over her hand and asked if she was going to Markham’s ball that evening.
‘Yes, we have been invited. It is my first ball in town, though I have been to the assemblies in Bath several times.’
‘I too shall be there,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘May I hope that you will save me two dances, Miss Stevens? I prefer the country dances for I am not enamoured of the waltz—though I see no harm in it for others.’