THE INFAMOUS ARRANDALES

Scandal is their destiny!

Meet the Arrandale family—dissolute, disreputable and defiant! This infamous family have scandal in their blood, and wherever they go their reputation will always precede them!

Don’t miss any of the fabulous books in Sarah Mallory’s dazzling new quartet!

First out, follow notorious rake Richard Arrandale’s story as he embarks upon

The Chaperon’s Seduction

and look for three more sinfully scandalous stories, coming soon!

AUTHOR NOTE

For The Chaperon’s Seduction I have returned to one of my favourite historical places: the beautiful city of Bath. My story is set in 1802, when Bath was no longer the centre of the fashionable world but was still a popular location, and its shops were the very best to be found outside London. There were still a great many prosperous people living in Bath, and it is the perfect setting for a story that includes two rakish pastimes: gambling (the scourge of the era) and seduction.

Phyllida might be a widow, but she is still an innocent when it comes to dealing with rakish gentlemen—and there are few more infamous than Richard Arrandale, who is embroiled in a wager to seduce an heiress. The problem is the heiress just happens to be Phyllida’s stepdaughter …

Richard is increasingly attracted to Phyllida, and he becomes intent on protecting the heiress rather than seducing her. But as Phyllida is determined not to allow him anywhere near her precious stepdaughter this is not easy. As Richard himself says at one point, ‘I never thought turning respectable could be so exhausting.’

The Chaperon’s Seduction is a sparkling romance that simply flew onto the page. It was a joy to write and I do hope it gives you as much pleasure to read it.

The Chaperon’s Seduction

Sarah Mallory

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SARAH MALLORY was born in the West Country and now lives on the beautiful Yorkshire moors. She has been writing for more than three decades—mainly historical romances set in the Georgian and Regency period. She has won several awards for her writing, most recently the Romantic Novelists’ Association RoNA Rose Award in 2012 (The Dangerous Lord Darrington) and 2013 (Beneath the Major’s Scars).

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To my wonderful family, who make life so much fun.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

AUTHOR NOTE

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Richard Arrandale had been in Bath for less than two weeks and was already regretting his promise to stay. It was not just that Bath in August was hot and dusty, it was exceedingly dull for one used to a hectic social round. He thought of the numerous invitations lining the mantelshelf of his rooms in London, including one from a dashing matron who had been putting out lures for some time. She wanted him to spend September with her at a house party in Leicestershire, where she promised him the hunting would be excellent and the evening entertainments more to his taste than anything he would find in staid and respectable Bath.

He did not doubt it, but he had given his word to his great-aunt Sophia, the Dowager Marchioness Hune, that he would remain in Bath until she was feeling better, even if that took him into the autumn, and he would not break his promise. Sophia had been the only one to support him in his darkest hour, when the rest of the world had seemed to be against him, and now that she needed him he would not walk away.

And it was not as if she expected him to dance attendance upon her at all times; she was quite content to see him every morning before she went off to the hot baths with her nurse, and for the occasional dinner at Royal Crescent. Apart from that he was free to amuse himself. Which was why he was now whiling away the evening playing hazard in a small and select gaming hell. From the outside, there was nothing to distinguish the narrow house in Union Street from its fellows. The ground floor was a tobacconist’s shop but the curtains on the upper floors were rarely drawn back, the proprietor, one Mr Elias Burton, being determined not to distract his clientele by giving them any clue of the time of day.

Richard finished his wine before casting the dice on to the green baize.

‘Seven,’ called Henry Fullingham, leaning closer to peer short-sightedly at the ivory cubes. ‘Trust Arrandale to cast a main with his first throw.’

‘Well, I am not going to wager against him matching it,’ laughed George Cromby. ‘His luck’s in tonight.’

Richard said nothing, merely picked up his glass, which had been replenished by a hovering waiter the moment he had put it down.

‘I won’t bet against him either,’ grumbled a thin, sour-faced gentleman in a green coat. ‘Luck, d’ye call it? His throwing is too consistent by half.’

At his words a tense silence fell over the table. Richard scooped up the dice and weighed them in his hand, fixing his gaze upon the speaker.

‘What are you trying to say, Tesford?’ he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Fullingham gave a nervous laugh. ‘Oh, he doesn’t mean anything, Arrandale. It’s just the drink talking.’

Richard glanced around. They had been playing for some hours with the wine flowing freely. Tesford’s face was flushed and his eyes fever-bright. He was glaring belligerently across the table and for a moment Richard considered pressing the man, forcing a confrontation. After all, the fellow was questioning his honour. And a duel might alleviate his current ennui.

‘Well, I ain’t afraid to place a bet,’ declared Fullingham cheerfully. ‘Come along, Arrandale, throw again, we’re all waiting!’

The murmur of assent went around the table. Wagers were being placed and Richard shrugged. Everyone was drinking heavily and it would be bad form to call out Tesford when it was clear he was in his cups. He cast the dice again.

‘Deuce!’ Fullingham laughed, a measure of relief in his voice. ‘He’s thrown out.’

Richard smiled and signalled to the hovering servant to fill his glass once more. Hazard was a game for those who could calculate the odds and he was good at that, but it was inevitable that sometimes the dice would fall against him. He did not like losing, but he was philosophical about it.

* * *

However, after another hour’s play he was considerably richer than when he had arrived.

He was a gambler, but he knew when to stop and he was just gathering up his winnings when a noisy group of young bucks burst into the room. At their centre was a fashionably dressed gentleman, slightly older than his companions, whom Richard recognised as Sir Charles Urmston.

‘They’ll have come from the Assembly Rooms,’ observed Cromby, looking round. He raised his hand and hailed the party. ‘What news, my lads? I see young Peterson isn’t with you, has he breached the defences of the fair Lady Heston?’

‘Aye,’ replied Sir Charles. ‘He is escorting her home.’

‘We won’t be seeing him again before dawn then.’ Cromby chuckled.

‘And there’s more news,’ declared a red-faced young man coming closer to the table. ‘A new heiress is coming to Bath!’

‘And are you looking to this heiress to restore your fortunes, Naismith?’ drawled Sir Charles. ‘I doubt she would even look at you.’

Young Mr Naismith’s face flushed an even deeper crimson.

‘At least I’d make her an honest husband, Urmston,’ he retorted. ‘Everyone knows you played your late wife false.’

There was general laughter at that, but Richard saw the shadow of annoyance flicker across the older man’s face.

‘So who is this new heiress?’ demanded Fullingham. ‘Is she young, old, a beauty?’

‘Young, definitely, but as for looks no one knows,’ responded Mr Naismith. ‘She is the daughter of the late Sir Evelyn Tatham and she is coming to live with her stepmama, Lady Phyllida Tatham, until her come-out next year.’

‘A virgin, fresh from the schoolroom,’ murmured Sir Charles. ‘A plum, ripe for the plucking.’

Cromby frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. ‘I remember old Tatham,’ he said. ‘He was a nabob, bought his knighthood after he made his fortune in India.’

Mr Naismith waved one hand dismissively. ‘No one cares about that now. The thing is, Miss Tatham is his only child and she inherits everything!’

‘Then she may look like old Tom’s prize sow and she would still attract suitors,’ put in Tesford, draining his glass.

Sir Charles called to the waiter to bring them more wine.

‘It seems a pity to have such a prize in Bath without making some attempt to win it,’ he drawled.

Cromby grinned. ‘Aye, by Gad. If I were not a married man I think I’d be making a push myself.’

‘If the girl is so rich she will be well protected,’ said Fullingham. ‘Her guardians will be looking out for fortune-hunters.’

‘There are ways to persuade a guardian,’ put in Sir Charles, polishing his eyeglass. ‘If the heiress was to lose her virtue, for example...’

‘Of course,’ exclaimed young Naismith. ‘They’d want her married with all speed if that were to happen.’

‘So shall we have a little wager as to which one of us will marry the heiress?’

Cromby banged on the table, looking up with a bleary eye. ‘No, no, Urmston, that is unfair on those of us who are already leg-shackled.’

Sir Charles spread his hands.

‘Very well, if you all want to have a touch, let us say instead, who will be first to seduce her.’

‘Much better,’ agreed Cromby, laughing immoderately. ‘Then we can all have a pop at the heiress.’

Fullingham raised his hand. ‘There must be witnesses, mind—a trustworthy servant or some such to confirm the prize is won.’

‘Naturally.’ Urmston smiled. ‘Waiter, tell Burton to bring the betting book and we will write this down.’ His hooded eyes surveyed the company. ‘But there is one here who has not yet agreed to join us, one whose reputation as a devil with the ladies is well known in London. What say you, Arrandale? I should have thought you eager for this little adventure.’

Richard did not allow his distaste to show.

‘Seducing innocents has never appealed to me. I prefer women of experience.’

‘Ha, other men’s wives.’

‘Not necessarily, just as long as they don’t expect me to marry ’em.’

There was general laughter at his careless response.

‘What, man?’ exclaimed George Cromby. ‘Do you mean you have not left a string of broken hearts behind you in London?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Best leave him out of it,’ cried Fullingham gaily. ‘He is such a handsome dog the ladies can’t resist him. The rest of us would stand no chance!’

‘Certainly I have not heard of Arrandale being involved in any liaisons since he has been in Bath,’ murmured Sir Charles, swinging his eyeglass back and forth. ‘Mayhap you are a reformed character, Arrandale,’

‘Mayhap I am,’ returned Richard, unperturbed.

‘Or perhaps, in this instance, you are afraid of losing out to the better man.’

Richard’s lip curled. ‘Hardly that.’

‘So why won’t you join us?’ demanded Fullingham. ‘You are single, if the chit took a fancy to you there is no reason why you shouldn’t marry her. Don’t tell me a rich bride wouldn’t be an advantage to you.’

Richard sat back in his chair, saying nothing. As a second son he had been expected to find a rich bride, but his brother’s disastrous marriage had made him shy away from wedlock and he was determined to remain a bachelor as long as possible.

He was fortunate to have inherited Brookthorn Manor from his godfather. It was a neat property in Hampshire that included a home farm and substantial estate. Without its income he would have been obliged to seek some form of employment by now. As it was, Brookthorn gave him independence, but he knew it could not support his lifestyle for much longer. It needed careful management, but when had the Arrandales ever been good at that? Their name was synonymous with scandal and disaster.

Sir Charles was standing over Richard, a faint, sneering smile on his face. He said quietly, ‘A thousand pounds says I can secure the heiress before you, Arrandale.’

Surprised, Richard looked up. ‘A private wager, Urmston? I think not.’

‘Very well.’ Sir Charles looked at the men gathered around the table. ‘There are eleven of us here.’ He gestured to the hovering proprietor to put the betting book, pen and ink down on the table. ‘How much shall we say? A monkey from each of us?’

‘What had you in mind, Urmston?’ demanded Tesford.

‘We will each stake five hundred pounds that we will be the first to seduce Miss Tatham. Burton shall hold the money until one of us is successful.’

‘Capital! But we should set a date on it, Urmston,’ cried Henry Fullingham, his words slurring a little. ‘Can’t have this going on indef—indefinitely.’

‘Very well,’ Urmston looked around the room. ‘Shall we say the next Quarter Day?’

‘Michaelmas,’ nodded George Cromby. ‘Just over a month. That should be sufficient time for one of us to succeed.’

‘Very well. Five thousand pounds to whoever can seduce the heiress by September the twenty-ninth. And of course the added prize, the possibility of marriage for those of us who are single.’

Cromby laughed. ‘And if I should be successful...’

‘The way would be open for one of us bachelors to snap her up,’ Tesford finished for him. ‘And her family would be grateful for it, too. By Jove that is an excellent suggestion. I’m not averse to spoiled goods, if they come with a fortune.’

‘Quite.’ Urmston placed the book upon the table and quickly wrote down the terms.

‘Well, Arrandale, what do you say, does five thousand pounds hold no appeal? Or perhaps you prefer to run away, like your brother.’

A sudden hush fell over the table. Not by the flicker of an eyelid did Richard show how that remark angered him. There was a mocking smile around Urmston’s mouth, challenging him to refuse. Richard looked at the pile of coins before him on the table. A thousand pounds. He had been planning to use some of it for vital maintenance on Brookthorn Manor, but now, dash it, he would show Urmston who was the better man! He pushed his winnings back to the centre of the table.

‘Let’s double it.’

The tense silence was broken by gasps and smothered exclamations. One or two men shook their heads, but no one walked away.

‘Very well, a thousand pounds each.’ Urmston corrected the terms and held the pen out to Richard. ‘That’s a prize of ten thousand pounds, Arrandale.’

Richard took the pen, dipped it in the ink and added his name to the others.

‘Ten thousand,’ he repeated. ‘Winner takes it all.’

* * *

‘There.’

Lady Phyllida Tatham placed the little vase of flowers on the mantelshelf and stepped back to look around the room. She had only signed the lease on the house at the beginning of the month and had been busy decorating it to her liking ever since, finally ending with this bedroom overlooking the street. Despite the open window there was still a faint smell of paint in the air but she hoped it would not be too noticeable. The room had been transformed from a rather austere chamber to a very pretty apartment by using cream paint on the panelling and ceiling and adding fresh hangings in a yellow floral chintz around the bed and the window. The dressing table and its mirror had been draped with cream muslin and new rugs covered the floor. Phyllida dusted her hands and smiled, pleased with the results of her handiwork.

It was just such a room as she would have liked when she had been on the verge of her come-out, and she hoped it would appeal in the same way to her stepdaughter. Ellen was even now on her way from the exclusive seminary in Kent to live in Bath with Phyllida. Doubts on the wisdom of this arrangement had been expressed by relatives on both sides of the family. Phyllida’s sister had merely mentioned her concern in a letter, questioning if Phyllida had considered fully the work involved in being chaperon to a lively girl only seven years her junior. Her late husband’s brother, Walter, was much more forthright and had even posted to Bath to remonstrate with Phyllida.

‘My dear sister, you have no idea what you are taking on,’ he had told her in his pompous way. ‘My niece has always been flighty, but now at seventeen she is far too hot at hand. The tales Bridget and I have heard of her behaviour at the seminary are quite shocking!’

‘She is spirited, certainly—’

‘Spirited!’ he interrupted her, his thin face almost contorting with disapproval. ‘She even ran away!’

‘No, no, you have been misinformed,’ she corrected him soothingly. ‘Ellen and her friends slipped off to see the May fair and they were back before midnight.’

‘But it is well known who instigated the adventure! Surely you do not condone her gallivanting around town in the middle of the night?’

‘Not at all, but thankfully she came to no harm, as Mrs Ackroyd was quick to point out.’

‘She was also quick to inform you that she could no longer allow Ellen to remain in her establishment.’

‘Only because the squire had developed an...an unquenchable passion for Ellen and had taken to calling at the most unreasonable hours.’

‘And Ellen encouraged him!’

‘No, she wrote to assure me she had done no more than allow him to escort her back from church.’

‘From Evensong. At dusk, without even a servant in attendance.’

Phyllida frowned. ‘How on earth can you know all this? Ah, of course,’ she said, her brow clearing. ‘Bridget’s bosom bow, Lady Lingford, has a daughter at Mrs Ackroyd’s Academy, does she not? Bernice.’ She nodded. ‘I recall Ellen telling me about her when she came home to Tatham Park for Christmas. An odious tale-bearer, she called her.’

‘How I came by the information is neither here nor there,’ replied Walter stiffly. ‘The truth is that if Mrs Ackroyd, an experienced schoolmistress, cannot keep the girl safely contained then what chance do you have? I am sorry to speak bluntly, my dear sister, but my brother kept you too protected from the real world. You are far too innocent and naïve to be my niece’s guardian.’

‘I am very sorry you think that, Walter, but Sir Evelyn left Ellen in my sole charge and I am going to have her live with me until next year, when she will make her come-out under my sister’s aegis. You need not worry, I am quite capable of looking after her.’

When she had spoken those words to her brother-in-law Phyllida had felt quite confident but now, with Ellen’s arrival so imminent, she felt a moment’s doubt. Had she been foolish in bringing Ellen to live with her? Since Sir Evelyn’s death a year ago Phyllida had been very lonely, living retired and out of the way with only an aged relative for company. More than that, she had been bored. She had not realised how much she would miss the life she had enjoyed as the wife of Sir Evelyn Tatham. She had entered the marriage with some trepidation and few expectations, but Sir Evelyn had shown her a kindness and consideration she had never known at home. She had enjoyed running his household and there was even some comfort to be found in his bed, although there was never the heart-searing elation she had read about in novels or poetry. That, she knew, needed love and she had come to think that such love, the sort that sent one into ecstasy or deep despair, must be very rare indeed. But it did not matter, she filled her days with her new family and friends. It had been enough, and she had felt its lack during those twelve long months of mourning. She also knew from her stepdaughter’s letters that Ellen was growing increasingly frustrated at her school. She wanted to be out in the world, to try her wings. When Mrs Ackroyd had written, saying that it was with the utmost reluctance she must request Lady Phyllida to remove her stepdaughter from her establishment, hiring a house in Bath for herself and Ellen had seemed the perfect solution.

The sounds of a carriage below the window recalled her wandering attention. She looked out to see her own elegant travelling chaise at the door and her smile widened. She said to the empty room, ‘She’s here!’

Phyllida hurried down the stairs, removing her linen apron as she went. By the time she reached the hall it was bustling with activity as the footmen carried in trunks and portmanteaux under the direction of a stern-faced woman in an iron-grey pelisse and matching bonnet. Her appearance was in stark contrast to the other female in the hall, a lively young lady of seventeen with an excellent figure displayed to advantage by a walking dress of the palest-blue velvet and with a frivolous cap upon her fair head. Phyllida’s heart swelled with pride and affection as she regarded her pretty stepdaughter. Ellen was chatting merrily to Hirst, the elderly butler whom Phyllida had brought with her to Bath, but when she saw Phyllida she broke off and rushed across to throw herself into her stepmother’s open arms.

‘Philly! At last.’ Ellen hugged her ruthlessly. ‘I am so pleased to be with you!’

‘And I am pleased to have you here, my love. Goodness, how you have grown, I would hardly have recognised you,’ declared Phyllida, laughing as she returned the girl’s eager embrace. ‘Was it a horrid journey?’

‘Not at all, your carriage is so comfortable and everyone we met on the journey was very kind. When we stopped for the night at the Stag we thought we should have to eat in the coffee room because a large party had taken over most of the inn, but when they heard of our predicament they were generous enough to vacate one of their parlours for us, and then last night, at the Red Lion, a very kind gentleman gave up his room to us, because ours overlooked the main highway and was terribly noisy.’

‘Thank goodness you were only two nights on the road, then, or heaven knows what might have happened next,’ exclaimed Phyllida. ‘Perhaps I should have come to fetch you, only I wanted to make sure the house was ready.’

‘And you knew I would be perfectly safe with dear Matty to look after me.’

Hearing her name, the woman in the grey pelisse looked up.

‘Aye, but who has looked after my lady while I’ve been away?’ she demanded.

‘The new girl we hired, Jane, has done very well,’ responded Phyllida calmly. ‘I think she will suit me perfectly.’

‘Do you mean Matty will no longer be your maid?’ asked Ellen, wide-eyed.

‘No, love, Miss Matlock would much prefer to look after you. After all, she was your nurse until you went off to school.’

‘What my lady means is that I am aware of all your hoydenish tricks, Miss Ellen,’ put in Matlock, not mincing matters.

‘I have no hoydenish tricks,’ exclaimed Ellen indignantly.

‘No of course not,’ Phyllida replied, hiding a smile and recognising a little of the old Ellen beneath that new and stylish exterior. ‘Now let us leave Matlock to see to all your bags and we will go into the morning room. I have lemonade and cakes waiting for you.’

Thus distracted, Ellen followed Phyllida across the hall.

‘Oh, it is so good to be with you again, Philly,’ she said as soon as they were alone. ‘Apart from those two weeks at Christmas I have not seen you for a whole year.’

‘You know we agreed it was important that you finish your schooling, and you would have found it very dull at Tatham Park this past twelve months.’

‘I suppose you are right. But I was afraid, with Papa gone, I should have to live with Uncle Walter and his family until my come-out.’

‘Now why should you think that, when you know your father made me your guardian?’

‘Because I know how much you dislike fuss, and with everyone saying you were far too young to be my stepmama—’

‘When I first married your father, perhaps, but I am four-and-twenty now!’ protested Phyllida, laughing.

‘I know that, but you look far younger and I thought they would bully you into submission.’

Phyllida put her hands on Ellen’s shoulders and looked into her face.

‘I know I was very shy and, and compliant when I married your papa,’ she said seriously, ‘But I have changed a great deal since then, my love. I made my come-out fresh from the schoolroom and I knew nothing of society, which is a great disadvantage. I was determined you should not suffer the same way, which is why I thought a few months in Bath would be most beneficial to you.’

‘And so it will be.’ Ellen enveloped Phyllida in another embrace. ‘We shall have such fun together, you and I.’

‘Well, yes, I hope so,’ said Phyllida. ‘The past year, living on my own, has made me heartily sick of my own company. Now,’ she said, leading Ellen to the table. ‘Come and try some of the lemonade Mrs Hirst has made especially for you.’

* * *

The evening passed in non-stop chatter and by the time she went to bed Phyllida realised how much she had missed her stepdaughter’s company. Phyllida had been just eighteen when she had married Sir Evelyn and she had made great efforts to befriend his eleven-year-old daughter. Even though Ellen had been packed off to school soon after the marriage they had remained close, much more like sisters than mother and daughter. Phyllida had always felt that to be an advantage, but as she blew out her candle she was aware that the tiny worm of anxiety was still gnawing away at her comfort.

At seventeen Phyllida had been painfully shy. She had been educated at home with her sister and had experienced nothing beyond the confines of the small village where they lived. Ellen was not shy. The select seminary in Kent where she had spent the past five years might have given her an excellent education but from her artless conversation it was clear that she had enjoyed far more licence than Phyllida had known at her age. It was doubtful she would feel any of the mortification Phyllida had experienced during her one London Season.

Phyllida had stood firm against every argument the family had put forward but now she wondered if she had been selfish to insist upon bringing Ellen to Bath. The recent elopement of the late Marquess of Hune’s daughter with a penniless adventurer showed that danger lurked, even in Bath. What did she, Phyllida, know about playing chaperon to a young girl, and an heiress at that? With a sigh of exasperation she punched her pillow to make it more comfortable.

‘Ellen will have me and Matty to look after her, she cannot possibly come to any harm,’ she told herself as she settled down again. ‘I shall not let doubts and anxieties spoil my pleasure at having Ellen with me. We shall have a wonderful time!’

Chapter Two

‘Good morning, sir. Her ladyship’s compliments, she hopes you will be able to break your fast with her this morning.’

Richard groaned at his valet’s determinedly cheerful greeting. It was not that Fritt had woken him, nor a sore head that caused him to mutter an invective as he sat up in bed, but the memory of last night’s events. Had he really signed his name to that foolish wager? He had obviously been more drunk than he realised because he had allowed his dislike of Sir Charles Urmston to get the better of him. It was too late to cry off now, it was against his code of honour to renege on a bet. Damn the man, even the memory of Urmston’s self-satisfied smile had Richard fuming. The valet gave a little cough.

‘As time is pressing, sir, I have brought your shaving water. I thought we might make a start...’

‘Surely it can’t be that pressing,’ retorted Richard. ‘Where is my coffee?’

‘Beside your bed, sir, but her ladyship is always in the breakfast room by nine and it is nearly eight o’clock now...’

‘For Gad this is an unholy hour,’ grumbled Richard. ‘What time did I get to bed?’

‘I think it must have been about four, sir. Would you like me to inform her ladyship that you are indisposed?’

‘You know that’s impossible. She doesn’t ask much of me, so I must do this for her.’ Richard swallowed his coffee in one gulp. ‘Very well, let us get on with it.’

He jumped out of bed, yawning but determined. He owed this much to Sophia. She had stood by him when the rest of the family had wanted him to disown his brother and he would never forget it.

‘Hypocrites, the lot of ’em,’ she had told him when the scandal broke. ‘The Arrandales have always had skeletons in their cupboards. Why should they object so much to yours? My door is always open to you Richard. Remember that.’

He had been just seventeen at the time and grateful for her support. She had neither judged nor censured his conduct, even when he left Oxford and took London by storm, embarking upon a frantic round of drinking, gambling and women. No, she had not tried to stem his outrageous behaviour; it was in his blood, his father had told him as much. Everyone knew the Arrandales spread scandal and mayhem wherever they went. He plunged his head into the bowl of warm water on the washstand. He would stay in Bath just as long as Sophia needed him.

* * *

An hour later Richard walked into the breakfast room, washed, shaved and dressed in his morning coat of blue superfine. His great-aunt was already sitting at the table.

‘Good morning, Sophia.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘You are looking very well this morning.’

‘Which is more than can be said for you,’ she retorted. ‘I’m surprised that man of yours let you out of your room dressed in that fashion.’

Richard laughed.

‘Are my shirt points not high enough for you?’

The Dowager Marchioness of Hune gave an unladylike snort.

‘They are more than high enough. I can’t abide the fashion for collars so high and stiff men can’t move their heads, they look like blinkered horses! No, ’tis your neckcloth. Too plain. Not a scrap of lace. Your father wore nothing but the finest Mechlin at his neck and wrists.’

Richard sat down at the table.

‘Well, you will have to put up with me as I am,’ he replied, unperturbed by her strictures. ‘It shows my affection for you that I am out of bed at this dashed unfashionable hour.’

‘If you did not stay up so late you would find this a very reasonable hour to be up and about.’

‘If you say so, ma’am.’

She gave him a darkling look. ‘Don’t think I don’t know how you spend your evenings.’

‘Gambling, I admit it.’ He grinned. ‘It could be worse. I am avoiding the muslin company.’

‘I should think so, after that latest scandal in town. From what I hear you were not only involved with the wife of a government minister, but with his mistress, too.’

‘Yes, that was a little complicated, I admit. So, in Bath I will stick to the gaming tables. But you may be easy, ma’am, I never gamble more than I can afford.’

He decided not to mention last night’s little wager. A mistake, that. He had no intention of joining the pack; they would be sniffing around the heiress like dogs around a bitch on heat. He hid a little grimace of distaste. He would rather lose his thousand pounds, write it off to experience. An expensive lesson and one he could ill afford, but he would not sink to that level.

‘And what are your plans for today?’

Lady Hune’s question surprised him. Generally she left him to his own devices until dinner time.

‘Why, I have none.’

‘Good. Duffy has the toothache and I am packing her off to the dentist this morning. I shall forgo my visit to the hot baths but I hoped you would accompany me to the Pump Room.’

‘With pleasure, ma’am. Shall you take the carriage?’

‘Damn your eyes, boy, I am not an invalid yet! If you give me your arm I shall manage, thank you.’

Richard quickly begged pardon, pleased that his great-aunt had recovered much of her old spirit in the two weeks he had been staying with her. When she had sent for him the tone of her letter had caused him concern and he had set out for Bath immediately. He had found the dowager marchioness prostrate on a day-bed, smelling salts clutched in one hand, but his arrival had greatly relieved her distress and she had soon been able to explain to him the cause of it. She had handed him a letter.

‘Read this,’ she commanded him. ‘It is from that ungrateful baggage, my granddaughter.’

‘Cassandra?’

‘The very same. She has turned out to be a viper in my bosom. I took her in when her parents died, gave her the best education, petted and spoiled her and this is how she repays me, by running away with a nobody.’

Richard scanned the letter quickly.

‘The signature is blotched,’ he observed, ‘As if tears were shed in the writing. Oh, damn the girl, I never thought Cassie would treat you in this way.’

‘She thinks she is in love.’

He looked up. ‘This is dated the end of July. Two weeks since!’

‘I thought at first Cassie might think better of it and come back. When she did not and my health deteriorated, Dr Whingate suggested I should have someone to bear me company, which is why I wrote to you.’ She gave a sharp crack of laughter. ‘Whingate expected me to summon poor Cousin Julia, but she is such a lachrymose female I couldn’t face the thought of having her with me.’

‘I can think of nothing worse,’ he agreed, with feeling. ‘Well, Sophia, what do you want me to do?’ he asked her. ‘Shall I go after them? I drove to Bath in my curricle but doubtless you have a travelling chaise I might use.’

The old lady shook her head.

‘No, they fled to the border, you know, and were married there. She is now Mrs Gerald Witney.’

His breath hissed out. ‘If you had sent for me immediately I might have caught up with them.’ He lifted one brow. ‘I could still find them, if you wish it, and bring her back a widow.’

‘And have her hate me for ever more? Not to mention the additional scandal. No, no, if she loves him let her go. Witney is a fool but I do not believe there is any harm in him. To bring her back would only cause more gossip. It was a seven-day wonder here in Bath of course, everyone was talking of it at first, but that has died down now.’ She sighed. ‘Her last letter said they were taking advantage of the peace to go to Paris. Cassie always wanted to travel, so I hope she is happy with her nobody.’

‘I take it you forbade the banns?’

‘Of course I did. As soon as I saw which way the wind was blowing I made enquiries, told her Witney was a penniless wastrel but she would not listen, she had already lost her heart. I did my best to confound them, with Duffy’s help, but she slipped away in the night. Laid a false trail, too, sent us careering in the wrong direction. By the time we discovered the truth they had already reached Gretna and were married.’ She scowled. ‘I have no doubt that was all Cassie’s idea, too. She is by far the more intelligent of the pair and not afraid to cause outrage!’

‘She is a true Arrandale, then.’ Richard gave a wry smile. ‘It’s in the blood, ma’am. There ain’t one of us that hasn’t caused a scandal of some sort. Why, if what they say is true, you yourself ran off with Hune.’

‘But at least he was a marquess, and rich, to boot! No, I told Cassie I would not countenance her marriage to Witney. His birth is acceptable but he has no fortune, no expectations. Not that that bothered Cassie, she fell for his handsome face. Oh, he is pretty enough, I’ll grant you, and amiable, too, but he has not a feather to fly with.’

‘Then how will they manage?’

‘She took all her jewels. She must sell them and live on that until she gains her majority next year. Then she will have a pretty penny to her name, enough to dispel any lingering gossip. They will be rich enough to be accepted everywhere. ’Tis the way of the world.’

The dowager had shed a few uncharacteristic tears then, and Richard had made his promise to stay.

Cassandra’s elopement had not been mentioned since, but it was clear that Sophia had been badly shaken by the incident and Richard was too fond of his great-aunt to abandon her until her health and spirits were fully returned. Thus it was that shortly after noon on a sunny day in late August Richard escorted Lady Hune to the famous Pump Room.

Their progress was slow, for Lady Hune was well known in Bath and they encountered many of her acquaintances, all of whom wished to stop and enquire after her health. They were distantly polite to Richard, making it very clear that he was only tolerated because of his connection to the dowager marchioness. He expected nothing else, given his reputation. After all, he was an Arrandale: they lived hard, played hard and devil take the hindmost.

* * *

The Pump Room was busy and noisy, echoing with chattering voices.

‘I know now why I have not been here since I arrived in Bath,’ muttered Richard as he led his great-aunt through the crowd. ‘The great and the good—and the not so good—gather here to gossip about and pass judgement upon their acquaintances. By George how they stare!’

‘Most likely they are wondering who my handsome escort can be.’ Sophia chuckled.

‘Oh, I know most of ’em,’ he replied bitterly. ‘It is more likely they think no son of the shamed house of Arrandale should be allowed to sully these hallowed portals, especially one whose brother was branded a murderer.’

Sophia tapped his arm with her fan. ‘Enough of that nonsense, Richard. You forget that I, too, am an Arrandale.’

‘But you married your wealthy marquess, ma’am. That lifts you out of the mire surrounding the family’s name. Look at them all. They smile now, but when trouble descends they will not hesitate to tear one apart, like hounds scenting blood, as I know only too well.’

‘Not all of them. The Wakefields, for example, are charming people. I see Lady Wakefield is here today, would you like me to introduce you?’

‘No need, I am acquainted with the son and I agree, they set no store by my wicked reputation. But they are the exception. The rest live for gossip. You told me how they all gloated over Cassie’s elopement, how can you bear to be polite to them now?’

‘Easily,’ she replied. ‘We nod and smile and return each other’s greetings with equal insincerity. Hush now, Lady Catespin is approaching.’

‘My dear Lady Hune!’ A gushing matron bore down upon them, her generous proportions swathed in yellow sarcenet and a feathered bonnet perched on her improbably black curls. Richard was forcibly reminded of a galleon in full sail and was obliged to hide a grin as his great-aunt responded to the lady’s fulsome greeting.

‘And Mr Arrandale, too, what a pleasure to see you here, sir. I heard you were in Bath, but our paths have not crossed since we met in town—when was it—Lady Whitton’s rout, I believe?’

He bowed. ‘I believe you are right, ma’am.’

The matron turned back to Lady Hune, saying with blatant insincerity, ‘It must be such a comfort to you, ma’am, to have Mr Arrandale staying with you in Royal Crescent. The house must feel so empty with poor Lady Cassandra gone.’

Sophia’s claw-like fingers dug into Richard’s arm and he covered her hand with his own, giving it a little squeeze of support.

‘Yes, Lady Cassandra has married her beau,’ he said easily. ‘We received a letter from her only the other day, did we not, Aunt? She is ecstatically happy.’

Lady Catespin blinked, her look of spurious sympathy replaced by one of surprise.

‘Oh. You...you approve of the match?’

‘We do not challenge it,’ put in Lady Hune, every inch a marchioness. ‘I might have preferred a different husband for her, but one cannot always regulate one’s affections. My granddaughter is lawfully married now, there is nothing more to be said.’

‘Ah, of course. I see.’ The wind might have been taken out of Lady Catespin’s sails, but she was not yet becalmed. ‘And you are here to support your great-aunt, Mr Arrandale. Your family is no stranger to tribulation, is it, sir, what with your brother...?’ She gave a gusty sigh and turned her eyes back to Lady Hune. ‘I am sure your great-nephew will know just how best to comfort you, my lady.’

‘He would, if I needed comfort,’ retorted Sophia, losing patience. ‘What I do need is his arm to push through the crush of gossiping busybodies one finds in the Pump Room these days!’

Lady Catespin drew back at that, flushing beetroot.

‘That’s spiked her guns,’ murmured Richard as they walked away from the speechless matron. ‘I thought you said we should merely smile and ignore their barbs?’

‘I forgot myself. Bad enough that she should goad me about Cassie, but to bring up something that happened years ago was more than flesh and blood can bear!’

Richard shrugged. ‘You have no need to rush to my defence. I have grown used to the censure, even from my own family. Everyone except you thought I was wrong to stand by my brother, ma’am.’

‘I really do not know why they were all so quick to condemn Wolfgang. Nothing was ever proved.’

‘But Father was convinced he murdered his wife. Convinced enough to try to break the entail.’

Lady Hune waved one dismissive hand. ‘Whatever Wolfgang has done he is still your brother. The world is too quick to censure, in my opinion, and in Bath they are more self-righteous than anywhere else.’

‘Dash it, Sophia, if that is the case why do you stay?’

‘For my health.’ She added with a wicked glance, ‘And the fact that I enjoy gossip as much as anyone. There is very little else to do when one is my age!’

They had reached the pump and waited silently while a bewigged-and-liveried footman dispensed a beaker of the warm water to Lady Sophia. She sipped it with obvious distaste while Richard stood patiently beside her. Glancing around the crowded room, he nodded to a few acquaintances, including a couple of gentlemen from the gambling hell. He was just wondering how much longer his great-aunt would want to remain when he heard her exclaim.

‘Ah, I was wondering if she would make an appearance today.’

‘Who, ma’am?’ He was at that moment observing a rather handsome brunette who was casting roguish looks in his direction and so did not look round.

‘Phyllida Tatham. And she has brought her stepdaughter with her.’

The heiress. Richard’s interest sharpened immediately. The dashing brunette was forgotten and his eyes moved to the door, where two ladies were hesitating on the threshold. They were both fashionably attired but his eyes were immediately drawn to the dainty blonde dressed in a cream-muslin gown with a blue spencer fastened over it. A straw bonnet rested on her golden curls, held in place by a blue ribbon, tied at a jaunty angle beneath one ear. This enhanced the startling perfection of her heart-shaped face with its straight little nose and huge, cornflower-blue eyes. Her companion was slightly taller and far less striking in a simple walking dress the colour of rose leaves with a matching cap pinned to her neat brown hair. At least, he considered her less striking until she spotted Lady Hune and a sudden, wide smile transformed her countenance. He was reminded of the sun breaking through on a cloudy day.

‘Ah, good. She’s seen me and is coming over.’

Richard stifled an exclamation. ‘That is Lady Phyllida? Why, she is scarcely older than her stepdaughter.’

‘Tatham married her almost out of the schoolroom,’ Sophia told him. ‘Nice gel, never a hint of scandal to her name, although there was no end of talk at first, because Sir Evelyn was almost in his dotage.’

‘Lady Hune.’ The widow came up and sank into a graceful curtsy before the marchioness. ‘I am very glad to find you here, for I would like to present my stepdaughter to you.’

So this was the heiress. Richard surveyed Miss Ellen Tatham with a coolly professional eye. She was certainly a beauty, from her guinea-gold curls to the dainty feet peeping out beneath the hem of her embroidered muslin. Her figure was good, her tone lively without being strident and she bore herself well, greeting Sophia with a pretty deference that he knew would please. Great heaven, even without a fortune every red-blooded male in Bath would be falling over themselves to court her!

‘...my great-nephew, Richard Arrandale.’

Sophia was presenting him to Lady Phyllida. He dragged his attention back, summoning up a careless smile as he reached for the lady’s hand. Her eyes widened, dilating as he grasped her fingers. What the devil? Richard concealed his surprise: he had not said or done anything to frighten her. She must know of his reputation, he thought as he kissed her hand and felt it tremble, but she replied calmly enough to him and stepped back to introduce her stepdaughter.

Surely the young widow could not have sole responsibility for this piece of perfection? But it appeared to be so, for even as he addressed Miss Tatham, Lady Phyllida was explaining as much to Sophia.

‘Ellen is going to live with me in Bath until the spring,’ she was saying in her soft, musical voice. ‘Then we go to London, to my sister, Lady Olivia Hapton, who is to bring Ellen out.’

‘And will you return to Bath afterwards, Lady Phyllida?’ asked Sophia.

‘Perhaps, I have not considered. I moved here so that I might have Ellen with me. I thought we could enjoy a little society while she continued her education through the winter.’

‘Philly—that is,’ Ellen corrected herself with a mischievous look, ‘Stepmama has kindly organised lessons for me in singing, dancing and Italian. Of course I learned all those things at school, but one can always improve.’

‘Indeed, it is never too late to improve oneself,’ agreed Sophia. Richard felt rather than saw the look she cast at him. ‘No doubt you will be attending the balls and concerts, too?’

‘Oh, yes, ma’am. That is all part of my education, ready for my come-out in London next year.’

* * *

‘A very pretty-behaved child,’ opined Sophia when Lady Phyllida led her stepdaughter away a short while later. ‘Pretty face, too.’

‘Exceptional,’ agreed Richard. ‘A veritable diamond.’

‘She has everything,’ continued Sophia slowly. ‘She is handsome, of good birth and has a considerable fortune, just like—’

She broke off as an elderly gentleman approached and Richard stood back, lost in thought as they conversed. He guessed what she had been about to say.

Just like Cassandra.

Sophia was clearly on good terms with the widow and inclined to approve of her stepdaughter. Thank heaven she did not know about the wager!

* * *

‘So you have stolen the march on us already with the heiress.’

A soft, drawling voice intruded upon Richard’s reverie and he turned to find Sir Charles Urmston at his shoulder.

‘Quite a piece of perfection, isn’t she?’ Urmston continued, raising his glass to study Miss Tatham, who was now on the far side of the room talking with the Wakefields. ‘I had thought Miss Julia Wakefield the most attractive girl in the room, but her prettiness is quite eclipsed by Miss Tatham’s golden beauty. A fortune is always worth pursuing, but when it comes so deliciously packaged, how can one resist?’

Richard frowned. The idea of Urmston pursuing Ellen Tatham did not please him. Sir Charles was a cousin of Richard’s late sister-in-law and they had met upon occasion, but Richard had not felt any inclination to pursue the acquaintance following his sister-in-law’s premature demise eight years ago. Richard sensed a cruel and predatory nature behind Urmston’s ready smile and urbane manners. He had met his sort before, a charming man about town, befriending eager young bucks and helping them to spend their—or rather their family’s—fortune. He did not condemn Urmston for his way of life, after all a man must live.

It was no secret Urmston had bullied his wife, who had died in childbirth a year ago, along with their unborn baby. The idea of any innocent young girl being cruelly tricked into marriage and treated badly was not something Richard could condone, yet he had signed up to the wager, along with the others. His frown deepened as he considered the men who had put their signatures in the book. There was no doubt that any one of them would cold-bloodedly ruin the girl in order to win the prize money. That thought proved equally distasteful, though he knew seductions such as this were common practice. And it was not only Ellen Tatham who would suffer. A sudden vision of Lady Phyllida’s distress disturbed him and he quickly pushed it away. Good God, when had he become so fastidious? He must be getting old.

Suddenly the idea of making a play for the heiress himself seemed almost sensible. He would be doing the girl a kindness if he married her, not to mention the fact that her fortune would prove very useful. If reports were true it was sufficient for him to maintain Arrandale and still keep his own family in luxury. He had not come to Bath looking for a wife but it was expected that he would settle down one day, and if Wolf should not return it would clearly be his duty to carry on the line. Perhaps he should not let this chance slip by. He glanced across the room to where Lady Phyllida was presenting her stepdaughter to Lady Wakefield. From this distance they might have been sisters.

It would be an easy seduction. The stepmother was no dragon and he had no doubt he would easily gain her approval. After that, it would be a simple matter to win the hand and the heart of the beautiful Miss Tatham. It was of little consequence whether his heart was engaged. He would treat her well and she would be better off with him than any of the other men who would be vying for her attentions. He had no doubt he would win, by fair means or foul. After all he was a rake, wasn’t he? One of the infamous Arrandale family. And rake hell was what they did.

So now he smiled at Urmston. ‘As you say, Sir Charles, how can one resist such a beauty? I give you fair warning, this is one wager I mean to win!’

* * *

Phyllida kept her smile in place as she progressed around the Pump Room, making Ellen known to her many acquaintances, but inside her heart was racing, as were the chaotic thoughts that flew around her head until she felt quite giddy. Richard Arrandale was the last man she had expected to meet in Bath. Since marrying Sir Evelyn their paths had not crossed, but seeing him again had brought it all back, that night at Almack’s, seven years ago, when he had danced with her.

She remembered it all so clearly. He had been the most handsome young man she had ever seen, with his brown hair gleaming in the candlelight, and that laughing twinkle in his blue eyes. He was only a year or so older than Phyllida but already he had been a confident man about town, whereas she had been a tongue-tied young girl, fresh from the schoolroom and dressed in an unbecoming pink gown that her mother had thought the appropriate colour for a débutante. Her first and only Season had been a tortuous round of parties and dances, where she had been too shy and plain to attract the attention of any young man. She had spent long evenings sitting at the side of the room while the other young girls danced and laughed and enchanted their partners. Even those gentlemen who were persuaded to stand up with her quickly made their exit when they found that she was too shy to do more than blush and return monosyllabic answers to their attempts at conversation. She had told herself it did not matter, that she cared for none of them, and that was true, until she had danced with Richard Arrandale.

Phyllida had known his reputation—everyone in London was aware of it—but in her silly schoolgirl mind she had thought that she could tame him, that if only he could see past her rather plain looks he would be captivated by her goodness and would repent his wild ways.

How he must have despised her for her awkwardness, even though he had laughed and made light of it when she had moved the wrong way in the dance and collided with him. He had responded to her mistake by giving her his whole attention, smiling at her, putting her at her ease. He had looked at her, really looked, as if she was the only lady in the room. As if she mattered. At that point she had lost her heart completely. In her foolishness she had dreamed of him making her an offer, going down on one knee and declaring that he was reformed, for her sake.

All nonsense, of course. A handsome gentleman like Richard Arrandale would never be interested in a gauche schoolroom miss with mousy hair and nondescript grey-green eyes. As her newly married sister had said, when Phyllida had returned starry-eyed from Almack’s that night; ‘Men like Arrandale can turn on the charm whenever they wish. He will not even remember you tomorrow.’

And Olivia had been right. The next time Phyllida had seen Richard Arrandale in Bond Street he had not even noticed her. It had been a salutary lesson and when, a few days later Papa had told her she was to wed Sir Evelyn Tatham, she had buried her girlish dreams for ever.

Phyllida knew she had been right to do so. While she had concentrated on being a good wife to Sir Evelyn, Richard Arrandale had blazed a trail through London society like a shooting star, his outrageous behaviour discussed, condemned and dissected in the society pages of the newspapers. His name was linked with all the most dashing matrons, he attended the most riotous house parties and was thought to have lost more than one fortune at the gaming tables.

Everyone said it was only to be expected, for it was well known that his older brother had killed his wife and run away with the family jewels. Nothing had been proven, the matter had been hushed up as was the way with rich, powerful families, but everyone knew it all the same. Bad blood, they said, and Phyllida knew she should be grateful not to have attracted the notice of such a notorious rake as Richard Arrandale. But sometimes as she lay in her bed with her kind, worthy husband snoring beside her, Richard’s image would return and she could not help sighing for what might have been.

* * *

Too late had Phyllida recognised the tall figure standing beside Lady Hune in the Pump Room and recalled that the dowager marchioness was an Arrandale by birth. She was already committed to approaching, but when Richard had taken her hand and kissed it the years had fallen away and she was once again the awkward girl in her first Season, being saluted by a man who was the embodiment of her dreams.

Only, Richard Arrandale was not the heroic figure of her girlhood fantasies. She knew that only too well and looking up into his face she had seen the faint lines of dissipation about his mouth and eyes. There hung about him a world-weariness that made him seem older than his years, for he could not possibly be more than five-or six-and-twenty. Richard Arrandale was a rake and it was only his connection with Sophia, Dowager Marchioness of Hune, that made her acknowledge him and introduce him to her stepdaughter.

Phyllida took Ellen on a full circuit of the room but afterwards she could never recall just whom they had met, nor what was said. All she could remember was Richard Arrandale’s laughing eyes and the touch of his lips against her gloved hand. As she and Ellen left the Pump Room arm in arm she risked a last look back. He was still watching them, or, more correctly, he was watching Ellen.

‘What is wrong, Philly?’ Ellen stopped in the doorway and turned an anxious gaze upon her. ‘You are shivering, but it is not at all cold. Are you unwell?’

‘What? Oh, no, my love, no, not at all.’ She shook off her uneasy thoughts and summoned up a smile. ‘We elderly ladies are prone to sudden chills, you know.’

Ellen gave a little trill of laughter.

‘Very well, my aged Stepmama! I shall take you home, tuck you up in a shawl and feed you gruel.’

‘That will certainly do the trick.’

‘I hope so, because you promised we could go shopping today.’

‘Very well, let us do so immediately. It will be infinitely preferable to eating gruel,’ said Phyllida, laughing.

The sun came out at the moment and her spirits lifted. She was foolish to allow an old memory to make her so fanciful. She squeezed Ellen’s arm, quickened her step and set off for Milsom Street to indulge in a few hours of frivolous expenditure.

Chapter Three

Having decided to pursue the heiress, Richard lost no time in making his plans. The Bath season did not start until October, but he was determined not to wait until then to advance his acquaintance with Miss Ellen Tatham. At breakfast the following morning he made his first move.

‘Do you wish me to come to the Pump Room with you again today, Sophia?’

‘Thank you, no. Duffy had the offending tooth removed yesterday and is quite recovered now. You must have more entertaining things to do than attend an old lady.’

‘It is always a pleasure to escort you, ma’am. And I was heartened to find that not all those attending the Pump Room are valetudinarians. Lady Phyllida, for example.’

‘Yes. She’s a quiet gel, but very sensible, and makes a good partner at whist. I have always liked her.’

This was very encouraging. He said, ‘You knew her before she came to Bath?’

‘We have mutual acquaintances in Derbyshire, near Tatham Park. I met her there often when Sir Evelyn was alive. Glad to see she is out of mourning now and back in the world where she belongs.’

‘What’s her background?’ Lady Hune shot him a swift, suspicious glance and he added quickly, ‘Lady Phyllida looks familiar, and I would judge her age to be similar to my own. I thought perhaps I might know her.’

‘She is possibly twelve months your junior. One of the Earl of Swanleigh’s two girls. The elder married Lord Hapton and Swanleigh wanted a similar success for Phyllida. She was presented in...let me see...’ninety-six and caught the eye of Sir Evelyn, who was then a widower and looking for a new wife to give him an heir. They were married within the year. Of course there was a lot of talk, but those who prophesied disaster were only half right. The hoped-for heir never materialised but the marriage seemed happy enough. When Tatham died last year it was assumed Lady Phyllida would go to live with her sister or with Tatham’s brother and dwindle into mediocrity as some sort of live-in companion, little more than a glorified servant. But give the girl her due, she refused to relinquish her independence. She retired to her house in Derbyshire for her period of mourning.’

‘And now she is in Bath.’

‘Yes. She has taken a house in Charles Street for herself and her stepdaughter.’ Sophia shook her head, adding darkly, ‘How that will work out I don’t know.’

‘Ninety-six.’ Richard’s brow creased in thought. ‘Hmm, seven years ago. I had left Oxford and was in town then.’

‘Aye, you were, and already kicking up a dust!’

‘I must have danced with her. Trouble is, ma’am, I danced with a deuced lot of young ladies in those days.’

‘It’s no wonder if you don’t remember her. Her looks were never out of the ordinary, nothing to attract you. Tatham, however, was desperate for an heir. I think he would have taken anyone.’ She looked up, saying sternly, ‘She is a fine young woman, Richard, and I count her a friend. I would not have you doing anything to upset her.’

He looked pained.

‘I promise you I have no intention of upsetting her.’

* * *

No, he had no intention of upsetting anyone, he thought, as he presented himself at the freshly painted front door in Charles Street later that day. He was shown into the drawing room, where Lady Phyllida received him with cool politeness.

He bowed. ‘I was pleased, yesterday, to renew my acquaintance with you, my lady.’ Her brows went up and he continued smoothly, ‘We met in town did we not, at your come-out. We danced together at Almack’s.’

This was a chance shot but he thought it had hit its mark. An added flush of colour painted her cheeks, but she spread her hands and gave him an apologetic smile.

‘I vow I cannot recall. I know my mother bullied every gentleman present to stand up with me, however reluctantly.’

‘There was no reluctance upon my part, ma’am, I assure you.’

‘But after, what is it...five years, six?...I am flattered that you should remember.’

She doesn’t believe me.

Richard kept his smile in place as he met her gaze. He had thought yesterday her eyes were grey but he saw now that they were flecked with green and her look was surprisingly direct. He had a sudden urge to tell the truth and confess that he didn’t remember her at all. Impossible, of course. He must hold his nerve.

She invited him to sit down.

‘How are you enjoying Bath?’ he asked her as he lowered himself into a chair opposite her own.

‘Very much. After the isolation of Tatham Park, Bath seems very busy.’

‘And will you put your name down in the book when the subscription opens later this month? That is necessary, I believe, if you wish to attend balls in the Upper Rooms?’

‘I shall indeed.’

‘But there is still dancing to be had, even now,’ he persisted. ‘There is a ridotto on Monday night, did you know of it?’

‘Yes, I am taking Ellen.’

‘Then we will be able to dance together again.’

The tell-tale rosiness deepened on her cheek.

‘I am going as Ellen’s chaperon, Mr Arrandale. I shall not dance.’

There was a wistful note in her voice. Faint, but he detected it.

‘Is it in the rules that widows are prohibited from dancing? I have never heard of it.’

Now why the devil had he said that? It was not the widow he wanted to dance with.

* * *

Phyllida’s nerves fluttered. Had she been mistaken? Had he really remembered standing up with her at Almack’s? She stole another look at him. He was being perfectly charming. Perhaps the lines that creased his lean cheeks might be caused by laughter rather than dissipation and wild living, despite the gossip. She did not think they detracted from his charm, either. If anything she thought him more attractive than ever, especially when he smiled at one in just that way...

She started guiltily when the door opened and Ellen came in, chattering even as she untied the ribbons of her bonnet.

‘There you are, Philly! Such fun we have had, I wish you had been there to share—oh, I beg your pardon. Hirst did not tell me you had company, but then, I did not give him time!’ She came forward, greeting their guest with her sunny smile and no hint of shyness. ‘Mr Arrandale, good day to you.’

He had jumped up when Ellen appeared and Phyllida watched him greet her, his charming smile and nicely judged bow perfectly civil. Too perfect, she thought, her earlier suspicions rising again.

‘How do you do, Miss Tatham. Have you been shopping, perhaps?’

‘No, sir, I have been to Sydney Gardens with Miss Desborough and her mama. Do you know the Desboroughs, Mr Arrandale?’

‘I’m afraid not, I have not been in Bath that long myself.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, we were introduced yesterday and Penelope and I found ourselves in such accord that Mrs Desborough invited me to join them in a walk to Sydney Gardens today. Oh, I wish you had come with us, Philly, it was quite delightful. The Ride that runs around the perimeter of the gardens is very well laid, so one can keep one’s shoes and feet dry even if the weather has been very inclement. And there is a labyrinth, too, but there was no time to go in and Mrs Desborough says we should buy a plan before we attempt it.’

‘Then we shall do so, when we visit.’ Phyllida smiled.

‘Perhaps I might escort you.’

Phyllida acknowledged Richard’s offer with a slight inclination of her head but she did not encourage him. Unperturbed he returned his attention to Ellen.

‘I understand you are attending the ridotto on Monday, Miss Tatham. I hope you will stand up with me. If your stepmama allows it, of course.’

‘I should be delighted, sir—and you will consent, will you not, Philly?’

Phyllida was tempted to refuse, but Ellen would be sure to demand the reason and she was not at all sure of the answer.

‘Of course,’ she said at last. ‘There can be no harm in you dancing with a gentleman.’ Would he notice the slight stress she put on the last word? ‘After all, the reason for bringing you to Bath was to accustom you to a larger society.’

‘And I have any number of acquaintances in Bath now,’ declared Ellen happily. ‘Not just Penelope Desborough and Julia Wakefield, who are my especial friends. Mrs Desborough was good enough to present several gentlemen to me today when we were in the gardens.’

‘Did she?’ murmured Phyllida, slightly startled by this revelation.

Ellen threw her a mischievous glance. ‘I have no doubt some of them will be seeking you out soon, Philly, for they, too, mentioned the ridotto. However I made it very clear I could not dance with any of them unless they had your approval.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’

‘And you will approve them, will you not, dearest Stepmama?’

For once Phyllida did not feel any inclination to laugh at Ellen’s sauciness. She was aware of Richard watching her and, disconcerted, she responded rather more tartly that she had intended.

‘Since I have approved Mr Arrandale, I doubt I will have any choice with the rest!’

‘But they are all very respectable, Philly, or Mrs Desborough would not have introduced them to me.’

Ellen was gazing at her, puzzled, and Phyllida pulled herself together.

‘No, of course she would not. I am sure they are all pillars of Bath society.’

A scratching at the door diverted her attention and she looked up as Matlock entered the room.

‘Signor Piangi has arrived, my lady. I have put him in the morning room.’

‘Oh, is it time for my Italian lesson already?’ cried Ellen. ‘I will come with you directly, Matty. If you will excuse me, Mr Arrandale.’

He bowed.

‘Until Monday, Miss Tatham.’

Phyllida watched Ellen skip out of the room. Matlock hovered by the door, as if unwilling to leave them alone, but Phyllida waved her away.

‘Go with her, Matty. You will remain in the morning room until the signor leaves.’ Richard was watching her and she added, as the door closed upon them, ‘It is important to me that no hint of impropriety should touch my stepdaughter while she is in Bath.’

He inclined his head. She thought for a moment he would resume his seat but instead he picked up his hat and gloves from the table.

‘I have an appointment I must keep.’ He hesitated. ‘If you and Miss Tatham would like to visit Sydney Gardens on Sunday, I should be very happy to escort you there.’

‘Thank you, sir, but, no. We are, um, otherwise engaged.’

It was not true, and she prayed he would not ask what that engagement might be.

‘Of course. Until Monday, then.’

He bowed and was gone.

Phyllida sank back into her chair, her spirits strangely depressed. She would like to believe that Richard Arrandale had merely come to pay his respects to her, that he had truly remembered dancing with her all those years ago, but she doubted it. After all, she had never been rich enough or pretty enough to attract much attention in her one and only Season. Who wanted a soft well-modulated voice when they could enjoy Miss Anston’s trilling laugh, or Miss Rollinson’s lively tones? The more direct of the mothers with daughters to wed had called her thin and unattractive.

Phyllida gave herself a little shake. That was all in the past. She had lost her girlish ranginess, her glass told her that her willowy form and firm, full breasts showed to advantage in the high-waisted, low-cut gowns that were so fashionable. Yet, for all that, she paled to insignificance when compared to her lovely stepdaughter and she would be a fool to think otherwise.

Richard Arrandale had clearly set his sights upon Ellen. She remembered how he had been watching her in the Pump Room. She might ask Lady Hune to warn him off, but although she was very fond of the indomitable marchioness she could not imagine that Sophia would have much influence over her rakish great-nephew.

No. Phyllida knew it would be up to her to keep Ellen safe.

* * *

Richard strode away down Charles Street, well pleased with his first day’s work. The widow was cautious, which was as it should be, but Ellen was friendly enough. Very young, of course, but a taking little thing. He frowned when he recalled how she had spoken of the fellows in Sydney Gardens clamouring for an introduction. He had no doubt that some—if not all—of them were involved in the wager, but he had the advantage and he intended that it should stay that way. However, he knew better than to rush his fences. He would dance with the chit on Monday night. None of the others were likely to steal her heart before then.

* * *

By the time Phyllida went to bed that night she had made a decision. Jane was waiting to braid her hair and help her to undress, but as soon as she had donned her nightgown Phyllida threw on her silk wrap and went to Ellen’s room.

‘May I come in?’

She peeped around the door. Ellen was already in her bed, propped up against a billowing mass of pillows, reading by the light of a branched candlestick that was burning perilously close to the bed-hangings. As the door opened she jumped and attempted to hide the book under the bedcovers, but when she saw it was Phyllida she heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Oh, it is you. I thought it was Matty.’

‘What are you reading? Is it so very bad?’

Ellen nodded, her eyes shining.

‘Ambrosia, or the Monk,’ she announced with relish. ‘It is quite shocking. When I told Matty she promised to burn it if she found it.’

‘I am not at all surprised. How did you get a copy?

‘Oh, it has been circulating at school for months, but I did not have the opportunity to read it so I brought it with me. You need not worry, Philly, it is the later version, where Mr Lewis has removed the most salacious passages. Although I would dearly like to know what they were, because the story is still quite horrid in places!’

‘Then you should not be reading it.’

Phyllida lunged for the book but Ellen was too quick and thrust it under her pillows, saying loftily, ‘You know Papa decreed that ignorance was the worst of all sins. He always said I could read whatever I wished, as long as I discussed with him or you anything I did not understand.’

With a sigh Phyllida curled up on the end of the bed, unequal to the task of physically struggling with Ellen.

‘Unfortunately I have a lowering suspicion that there is much in Mr Lewis’s Gothic tale that I would not understand,’ she admitted. ‘I am wondering if I have done you a grave disservice in bringing you to Bath, Ellen.’

‘No, how could that be?’ Ellen frowned suddenly. ‘Has Uncle Walter been complaining to you again? Aunt Bridget wrote and invited me to go and stay with them, but I know the only reason she did so is because they do not approve of my coming to live with you.’

‘No, it is nothing like that, but—’ Phyllida stopped, considering her words carefully. ‘There are...dangers in society, Ellen.’

‘What sort of dangers?’

‘Gentlemen will sometimes prey upon innocent young women, especially if they are...’

‘If they are rich,’ finished Ellen, nodding sagely. ‘I am well aware of that. Mrs Ackroyd was at pains to make sure we all knew the risks that gentlemen posed.’ Again that mischievous light twinkled in her blue eyes. ‘She prepared us very well, I think. I may even know more than you, Philly.’

‘That is very possible,’ replied Phyllida, sighing. ‘You have had a very good education and I am sure the teachers told you much about the world, but it is very easy to have one’s head turned and succumb to the attentions of a personable gentleman.’ Phyllida saw the speculative look in Ellen’s eye and added quickly, ‘At least I believe it is so, although I have never experienced it myself.’

‘Poor Philly. Did Papa snabble you up before you could fall in love with anyone?’

‘Yes—no! Ellen, that is not the point.’

Ellen laughed.

‘I think it is very much the point, my love. You were very young and innocent when you became my stepmama, were you not? Seventeen, in fact. As I am now.’

‘Quite. And I was very shy and retiring.’

‘Which I am not, so you may rest easy, my love.’

Phyllida shook her head at her. ‘You may think you know the ways of the world, Ellen, but there are gentlemen in Bath who may seem very pleasant and respectable, yet they are not to be trusted.’

‘Do you mean rakes?’ asked Ellen. ‘There were several residing near the school, hoping one of us would be foolish enough to run off with them. Mrs Ackroyd pointed them out to us.’

‘Heavens, I knew nothing of this!’

‘No, well, I could hardly write and tell you about it, you would have wanted to fetch me away immediately. In fact we had to sit on that sneak Bernice Lingford to stop her from gabbing about the whole. It’s a pity she doesn’t have a fortune, because without some incentive no one will ever want to run off with her.’

‘Ellen!’

‘Well, it is true,’ replied Ellen. ‘She is a spiteful, greedy cat, so no man could like her, even if she wasn’t buck-toothed and fusby-faced.’

‘Let us hope she will grow out of it,’ replied Phyllida, trying to be charitable. ‘However, we are straying from the point—’

‘The point is, Stepmother dear, that we were all perfectly safe at school. That was why Papa chose Mrs Ackroyd’s institution for me, because she is accustomed to having the daughters of the very rich in her care.’ Ellen drew up her knees and wrapped her arms about them. ‘She is very progressive, though, and thinks that education is the best preparation for any young lady making her come-out. She taught us what to expect from a husband, too, because she says mothers invariably make a hash of it. ‘

Phyllida blinked, momentarily silenced by her stepdaughter’s matter-of-fact statement.

‘I am very glad of it,’ she said at last. ‘But I would still urge you to be cautious. It is very easy for a young lady to lose her heart to a rake.’

‘But you said you never had done so,’ objected Ellen.

Phyllida was about to correct her but thought better of it.

Ellen continued thoughtfully, ‘It is not too late, though. We might well find you a husband in Bath.’

‘I do not want a husband! That is not why I came here.’

‘But you said yourself you were lonely at Tatham Park.’

‘That is true, Ellen, but only because I was missing your father. And you. I am very much looking forward to our time here together.’

‘But once I have made my come-out, what then? I have no intention of settling upon a husband too soon but I suppose I must marry at some point and then you will be alone again.’

Phyllida felt the conversation was getting away from her. She said crisply, ‘I am glad you do not intend to rush into marriage with the first young man who takes your fancy, so I need not contemplate my future for a long time yet.’ She slid off the bed. ‘Now, I have said what I wanted to say, although it would seem Mrs Ackroyd has already prepared you for the perils of the world, so I shall leave you to sleep.’ She leaned close to kiss Ellen’s cheek and felt the girl’s arms wind about her neck.

‘Goodnight, my darling stepmama. We shall have such fun in Bath together.’

Phyllida gave Ellen a final hug and made her way back to her own room. The discussion had not gone quite as she had imagined and she was beginning to suspect that looking after Ellen would be far more challenging that she had anticipated.

* * *

The next few days were filled with shopping and visitors. None of the gentlemen Ellen had met in the park were brave enough to call at Charles Street uninvited but when Phyllida took her stepdaughter to the morning service at the Abbey on Sunday it seemed that every one of her acquaintances wished to perform an introduction to Mr This or Sir That. Ellen behaved impeccably, but Phyllida found herself scrutinising every gentleman who came up to her, watching for signs that they might be trying to fix their interest with Ellen. There were several married gentlemen amongst their number, such as Mr Cromby whose jovial, avuncular style was not to her taste. Neither did she warm to the fashionably dressed widower, Sir Charles Urmston, although he appeared to be a favourite of Mrs Desborough, who made the introduction.

Phyllida noticed Lady Hune coming out of the Abbey on the arm of her great-nephew. The dowager looked magnificent, as always, in black and silver but Phyllida’s eyes were drawn to Richard’s lean upright figure. She thought how well the simple lines of the dark coat and light-coloured pantaloons suited him. When he removed his hat to bow to an acquaintance, his short brown hair glinted with gold in the sunlight. He looked like the epitome of a gentleman and she stifled a sigh. How deceptive appearances could be. The marchioness was moving through the crowd towards her carriage, but when she saw Phyllida she stopped and beckoned to her. Ellen was deep in conversation with Julia Wakefield and Phyllida did not call her away, preferring not to bring her into Mr Arrandale’s orbit more than necessary.

Lady Hune greeted Phyllida cordially and invited her to take tea with her later, a singular honour that Phyllida had no hesitation in accepting on behalf of herself and her stepdaughter. Too late did she recall that she had told Richard they were not free. She saw the laughter in his eyes and felt the heat rising to her face.

‘Your previous engagement today has been cancelled, perhaps?’ he murmured.

‘You are promised elsewhere?’ said Lady Hune, overhearing. ‘My dear, you must not break your engagement on my account.’

Phyllida shook her head, saying hastily, ‘I had mistaken the day. We should be delighted to join you, ma’am.’

Richard Arrandale was in no wise discomposed by the fulminating glance she threw at him, merely casting a grin in her direction before he turned aside to greet another acquaintance.

‘I am glad you can come.’ Lady Hune nodded. ‘You will be able to tell me how your charming stepdaughter goes on in Bath. Very well, if appearances are anything to go by.’

Phyllida followed the dowager’s eyes to where Ellen was now part of a lively crowd of young people.

‘She has already made new friends of her own age, Lady Hune.’

‘Which is as it should be—’ The dowager broke off as Ellen and Julia Wakefield ran up, their faces alight with excitement that could barely be contained while they made their curtsies. The old lady’s eyes gleamed with amusement.

‘You are clearly big with news,’ she observed solemnly. ‘You had best get it out before you burst.’

Julia giggled and Ellen, after a blushing smile towards Lady Hune, turned her expressive eyes towards Phyllida.

‘Lady Wakefield says there are the most romantic Gothic ruins just a few miles from Bath at Farleigh Castle. We are on fire to see them and Lady Wakefield says she will set up a riding party, if only you will give your permission, Philly. Dearest, do say I may go. Lord and Lady Wakefield will be accompanying us and Julia has a spare pony that I may ride—’

Laughing, Phyllida put up a hand to stop her.

‘Of course you may go, and there is no need to borrow a horse, for Parfett is even now bringing our own horses from Tatham Park. I thought we might like to ride out occasionally before the weather closes in.’

‘Will you come, too, Lady Phyllida?’ asked Julia in a breathless whisper, ‘It will be delightful if you can, I am sure—’ She broke off, blushing scarlet when she realised her company. ‘And Lady Hune, of course,’ she added hurriedly.

‘My riding days are over,’ replied the dowager, choosing to be amused by Julia’s artlessness.

‘If Lady Wakefield is going with you then you do not need me to come,’ said Phyllida, not wishing to put herself forward. Besides, she had made up her mind not to be a clinging chaperon. ‘You may go off and enjoy yourself with my goodwill.’

Lady Hune turned to Julia.

‘Does your mama know the family at Farleigh House?’ When the girl shook her head the dowager continued. ‘Tell her to write to the housekeeper there, mention my name and I have no doubt she will receive you.’

‘Th-thank you, ma’am,’ stuttered Julia, wide-eyed.

‘Well, off you go and tell your mother to arrange the whole,’ Lady Hune dismissed her impatiently.

Ellen looked to Phyllida and, receiving a nod, she curtsied and ran off after her new friend.

Lady Hune tutted. ‘She will keep you busy, Phyllida.’

‘I think she will, ma’am, but I shall enjoy the distraction, after spending so long alone.’

‘I am glad you are come to Bath. You were too young to be incarcerated at Tatham Park.’ The dowager tapped Phyllida’s arm with one be-ringed finger, saying urgently, ‘Find yourself a husband, Phyllida. You are still young and Tatham left you well provided for, so you need not regard the money. This time you can marry to please yourself.’

Phyllida blushed hotly. ‘I assure you, my lady, I was perfectly happy—’

‘Aye, but no need to tell me it wasn’t a love-match.’

‘Perhaps not, but Sir Evelyn was a kind husband, and I have a duty to his daughter.’

‘Of course, and I know you well enough to be sure you will do your best for the gel, but do not sacrifice your own happiness, Phyllida.’ She looked up as her great-nephew came up.

‘There is a chill wind getting up, ma’am. Shall I escort you to your carriage?’

‘Very well, although I am not so frail that I cannot withstand a little breeze.’ She looked back at Phyllida, a decided twinkle in her faded eyes. ‘You see how I am bullied?’

‘I dare anyone to try and bully you, ma’am.’ Phyllida laughed and without thinking she looked at Richard Arrandale, knowing he would share her amusement. The noise and bustle around them ceased to exist as he drew her in with a smile of genuine warmth. The moment felt special, as if they were the only two people in the world. Phyllida’s heart leapt to her throat before settling back again, thudding so hard against her ribs that she found it difficult to breathe.

Lady Hune’s sharp voice broke the spell. ‘You can take me home now, Richard. I shall expect you later, Lady Phyllida!’

Phyllida did not move as they walked away. Suddenly the sun did not seem as bright and she became aware of the cold wind that Richard had mentioned. That was the trouble with the man, she thought, putting her hand up to make sure her spencer was buttoned up. He made her forget to be sensible. She supposed it must be so with all rakes, for how else could they wreak such havoc with ladies’ hearts?

Her thoughts went back to the dowager’s suggestion that she should find a husband. She did not know whether to be amused or indignant. Lady Hune meant well, she knew that, and perhaps she might consider marrying again at some stage, but for now her mind was fully occupied with looking after her stepdaughter and keeping her safe from men like Richard Arrandale.

* * *

Taking tea with the Dowager Marchioness of Hune was a protracted affair and full of ceremony. Richard decided he would make himself scarce until towards the end, when he would offer to escort Miss Tatham and her stepmother back to Charles Street. Sophia would approve of his civility and his absence for most of the afternoon might prevent her from guessing his intentions towards the heiress.

His plan worked perfectly. He walked in just as Sophia was refilling the tea pot. He accepted a cup from his great-aunt and since Lady Phyllida was sitting next to the dowager he took a seat beside Miss Tatham and engaged her in conversation. He had soon put her at her ease and she chatted away to him in the friendliest manner. Well aware that they were in company and every word could be overheard, Richard said nothing untoward and made no attempt to flirt with Ellen, but since she was well educated as well as quick-witted they were soon getting on famously, so much so that when Lady Phyllida rose to take her leave and he suggested he should escort them home, Ellen was quick to support him.

Lady Phyllida smiled and shook her head. ‘I am obliged to you, sir, but I think not. You have only just come in. I am sure Lady Hune would like to have you to herself for a while.’

He laughed. ‘But it is only a step. I shall be back again in a matter of minutes.’

‘As you say, Mr Arrandale. It is only a step, so Ellen and I will manage perfectly well, but I am grateful for your offer.’

Lady Phyllida smiled but her grey-green eyes held a steely look. It surprised him, for he had thought her a meek, biddable creature. However, he said nothing, merely inclined his head in acquiescence as the visitors went on their way.

* * *

‘Well, that was much more enjoyable than I anticipated,’ declared Ellen as they turned into Chapel Row on their way to Charles Street. ‘And not just because Mr Arrandale spent a good twenty minutes talking to me! I thought Lady Hune might treat me as a child but she was very pleasant, was she not?’

‘That is because she likes you,’ returned Phyllida. ‘And she is accustomed to having young people about her. Until recently she had her granddaughter living with her.’

Ellen stopped and turned her wide-eyed gaze upon Phyllida. ‘Of course. Lady Cassandra! It was in the newspapers that Lady C—had eloped from Bath, but I had not connected her with the marchioness.’

‘Yes, that was her granddaughter. The elopement took place just before I came to Bath but I know Lady Hune was distraught, and not only did she have the worry of what had happened to Lady Cassandra, she had to endure Bath’s gossipmongers. I believe it has taken a great deal of fortitude.’

‘How dreadful for her,’ said Ellen, shocked.

‘It was,’ agreed Phyllida as they began to walk on. ‘The gossip has died down now in Bath but it is still mentioned occasionally, even though Lady Cassandra is married and gone out of the country.’

‘I had not thought of it before,’ said Ellen slowly, ‘but as exciting as an elopement is for the couple involved, there must be a great deal of horrid scandal to be endured by the family left behind.’

‘I am glad you realise that, my love.’

Ellen slipped her arm through Phyllida’s and gave it a quick squeeze.

‘Do not sound so serious, Philly, I have no intention of eloping.’ She added, with a mischievous gurgle of laughter in her voice, ‘And woe betide any man who tries to persuade me to it!’

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