“Cherchez la femme, unless I miss my guess!” Alex chortled.
Rupert colored. He had learned from Harry Harding that his sister, Olivia, was definitely in the marriage market and her family would welcome a viscount with open arms. Harry had told him confidentially that the entire family would be at Almack’s tonight, and Rupert was determined to put his best foot forward. The only thing that bothered Rupert was the fact that Kit had shown a marked interest in Olivia, and he knew he could make no definite plans regarding the heiress if Kit was still interested.
“Good night, and good hunting!” Alex called after her brother as she watched him descend the stairs and pick up his hat and cane. Then she slipped into his chamber and took his black formal clothes from his wardrobe. For good measure she also took his black evening cape.
Sara helped her into her brother’s starched white shirt and assisted her in arranging the neckcloth. Alex was almost ready when they heard the carriage. “Sara please go down and tell Hart Cavendish not to come in, but to await me in the carriage.”
Sara blinked. “I will go down and ask the duke if he would be so kind as to await you in the carriage.”
Alex laughed. “Don’t worry, Sara. He will be so kind.” She draped the cape over her male attire, hid Rupert’s best wig beneath it, and grabbed a hand mirror. She passed Sara on the front steps as she was coming back into the house. “I left Dottie a note, filled with evasions of course. Thank heaven she is late.”
Hart opened the carriage door from the inside and helped her up. “Where am I taking you?” he asked with a grin.
“Hold this,” she said, thrusting the hand mirror at him. “I’ll tell you in a moment.” She positioned the mirror he was holding, whipped out the tie-wig, pulled it over her hair, and tucked in the straying curls and wisps. Then she threw the cape from her shoulders to reveal her formal male attire and answered his question. “You are taking me to White’s.”
Hart’s mouth fell open. “Alexandra, you cannot be serious!”
“I have never been more serious in my life.”
“I cannot take you to White’s; it is a club for males only.”
“Hence the male attire. Oh, Hart, don’t turn all prudish; please go along with this mad lark.”
His glance traveled over her from head to toe, then back up again. “If I wasn’t honoring a wager, I would refuse you, Alex.”
She began to laugh. She was well aware he would have refused if she’d asked him to take her. That’s why she’d made the wager. Making good on a bet was a point of honor for gentlemen of the ton.
Hart Cavendish held his head high as he and his companion strolled into White’s, but he could not prevent the two spots of color on his cheekbones. He took Alex into the dining room, not because he was ravenously hungry but because it would delay the hour when he must take her into one of the gaming rooms.
Alexandra immediately noticed that the deference rendered to a Duke of the Realm was above and beyond that which ordinary mortals received. Everyone from doormen to porters and waiters bowed and scraped the moment they departed the carriage with the Devonshire ducal crest on its door. Even the other members who were at White’s tonight went out of their way to greet Hart, revealing that they were both eager and flattered to be acknowledged by a duke.
Alex perused the menu, trying to decide what to eat for dinner. The waiter gave all his attention to Hart, who ordered rump of beef with shallots and mushrooms and was about to order for her when he caught the warning look in her eye. “I shall have roast duck stuffed with oysters and walnuts.” The waiter took her order without even looking at her. When Hart ordered a bottle of Burgundy, Alex added, “I’ll have rum shrub.” This was a popular drink she had never tasted, made with rum, lemon, sugar, and almond.
When Hart saw that none paid particular attention to Alexandra, he began to relax and enjoy their conspiracy, though he was still nervous about taking her into the gaming rooms. They both declined dessert; Hart was about to reach for his cigar case and order a brandy when he thought better of it, knowing that Alex likely believed what was good for the gander was also good for the goose.
Alex leaned closer across the table. “I want to read the infamous betting book.”
Hart rolled his eyes and moaned in mock resignation. “Is there no depth of male folly to which you will not sink?”
“I’m not sure; I’m not yet familiar with all your follies.”
Hart led the way toward the front bow window, where the betting book was kept on a nearby high desk. Alex ran her fingertips over the great leather-bound volume, wondering if she was the first female to ever open and read it. She saw that many of the entries were mundane bets on horse races at Epsom or Newmarket, cricket games or boxing matches, but every so often there was an entry that seemed utterly preposterous. On a rainy April day, Lord Alington had bet a friend a thousand pounds on which of two drops of rain would first get to the bottom of the glass in the bow window!
There were pages of bets regarding various battles in the Peninsular War, and Alex closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer to keep Nick Hatton safe. When she opened her eyes she saw a bet that His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, had made. “Good God, even Prinny records his wagers in this book!”
Hart laughed. “The most outrageous bet he ever made was with the late Charles James Fox. They wagered on which side of Bond Street the most cats would be found. The wily Fox, knowing how felines liked sunshine, took the sunny side and won thirteen to naught!”
Alex imagined the ridiculous picture the pair must have made, searching for cats up and down Bond Street. “You will be relieved to know that I do not wish to place a wager in the book; there is a limit to my folly. However, I am avid to go into a gaming room.”
When Hart adamantly refused to allow Alex to buy her own counters, she did not argue, for all she had was the ten pounds pin money that Dottie had given her. They walked around the room, and when Hart saw that Alex was paid no particular attention, he relaxed his vigil and sat down to play baccarat, while Alex stood to watch. In a short time she wandered off, curious about the other games of chance in the smoke-filled room.
Alex stopped to watch a game of vingt-et-un, or twenty-one. Just as she decided to sit down to try her luck, she felt someone pinch her bottom! She turned around quickly to find two gentlemen behind her but could not decipher which one was guilty. One was Lord Brougham, and Alex blushed furiously, thinking he may have recognized her. She turned back to the game and waited apprehensively for Lord Brougham to say something. She heard nothing, but all at once she certainly felt something. It was Brougham’s hand caressing her buttock. She mastered the urge to slap his face and slipped away, back to the safety of the duke.
Hart was raking in his winnings. When he stood up from the table, Alex confessed in an urgent whisper, “I’m afraid I have been recognized. Lord Brougham pinched my bottom!”
Hart Cavendish looked angry. “I don’t think he recognized you, Alex, but for pity’s sake stay away from the old rue.”
“But he must know I’m a female, Hart, or why would he touch me there?”
Her companion stared down at her with a perplexed look on his face. “How the devil am I to explain such behavior to you?” He ran his hand through his blond hair a couple of times, then said carefully, “There are some men who are attracted to boys, Alex.”
She thought that over for a moment, then for clarification asked, “You don’t mean sexually attracted?”
“I’m afraid I do, shocking as that must seem to you.”
Alex found it more puzzling than shocking, but the thing that filled her with chagrin was that young males in society were well-informed about the facts of life, while females were kept in virtual ignorance. “Lord Brougham has a wife,” she said tentatively. “Do you suppose she knows?”
“Good God, no. Such a vice is not bandied about, Alex,” he said repressively. “It would cause a horrendous scandal.”
Alex tucked th
e information away, delighted that she was becoming privy to the salacious peccadilloes of the beau monde. She had enjoyed herself excessively, and as they drove back to Berkeley Square, she told Hart and thanked him for being such a good sport. She covered her male attire with the long evening cape and removed her brother’s tie-wig. “My grandmother may still be up.” She ran her fingers through her hair to ruffle the flattened-down curls.
“Let me do that,” Hart said huskily.
Before she knew it, he was beside her with his long fingers threaded through her hair. “You have a natural audacity that calls out to me.” He held her captive for his kiss.
Alex took a deep breath and knew she must tell him how she felt. It was unfair to let him think she wanted him to romance her. “Hart, you are going too quickly. I just want us to be friends; I have no interest in marriage.”
He looked into her eyes and smiled. “I have no interest in marriage either, my sweet.”
Alex was startled. “Oh” was all she could think of to say, then his lips claimed hers in a lingering good night kiss. On the spot she decided it was lovely. It was not, however, as cataclysmic or heart-stopping as Nick Hatton’s. “Good night, Hart.” She slipped from the carriage and ran into the house before he had a chance to do anything more.
At Almack’s, Rupert danced with Olivia Harding three times; not in succession, of course, but it was enough to alert her mother, Annabelle, that the solution to their family’s delicate and pressing problem could be at hand. She made her way to the gaming room and made a furtive sign, beckoning her husband and son.
“Lady Longford’s grandson is showing a marked interest in Olivia,” Annabelle said with great urgency.
“I was the one who dropped a hint to Rupert that Olivia was on the marriage block,” Harry Harding murmured, “and assured him our family would be here tonight.”
His mother bestowed a look of approval upon him and said to Lord Harding, “Rupert inherited his grandfather’s title years ago, and I believe he turned twenty-one a few months back. Do you think we might consider a viscount for Olivia?”
“If we don’t act with alacrity, we will be lucky to get a commoner to offer for the little wanton!”
“Hush, for pity’s sake, my lord. It is only innocent girls who can be seduced and brought to the brink of ruin.” Her voice held a note of accusation that plainly said she spoke from experience.
“Hhmmph,” Harding replied, remembering well just how fecund a debutante Annabelle had been. “Better get back down to the ballroom and seize upon any opportunity that presents itself. Viscount Longford would be a gift from the gods.”
Annabelle Harding found Olivia in the supper room, with an attentive Rupert fetching her ratafia.
Rupert bowed gallantly. “May I bring you some refreshment, Lady Harding? A glass of ratafia, perhaps?”
“My lord,” Annabelle addressed him formally, “it does my heart good to see a young man with such fine manners. Might I be so bold as to ask for a small sherry and a slice of seed cake?” When he left to do her bidding, she turned to Olivia. “Do you think you can bring him up to scratch?”
Olivia blushed. “I’m trying, Mamma.”
“Hint that you often take a carriage ride in the park in the afternoons.” Her mother plucked the lace fichu from Olivia’s décolletage to display her daughter’s ample cleavage. “If he takes the bait and meets you, you must have him escort you home and invite him in for tea. Just get him into the parlor and your father and I will do the rest.”
Chapter Fourteen
In Pamplona, Spain, summer weather spilled over into September, keeping conditions hot, dry, and dusty. Military food supplies were scarce, and Wellington had made it plain that soldiers would have to forage and live off the land. Lieutenant Nicholas Hatton taught every man under his command to hunt for food, then turned a blind eye as Sergeant O’Neil taught them to filch poultry, eggs, and vegetables, as well as fodder for their animals, from the farms in the vicinity. At the same time Hatton and O’Neil taught the men to be ever vigilant for ambush as they scouted the countryside and to be on guard every moment when they patrolled around the walls of the seiged town.
Hatton set his own rules for his own men. Drunkenness was forbidden, and he commanded that they form bonded pairs and foursomes so that they never hunted or patrolled alone. After one of his men caught a bullet in the shoulder from the ramparts of the seiged fortress, he taught them to be one another’s eyes and ears. “You must watch one another’s backs. We all have strengths and weaknesses. The stronger must watch out for the weaker; for all to survive, you must be your brothers’ keepers.” It was a concept Nick had practiced all his life. The men learned the wisdom of this when one of Captain Stanhope’s lieutenants was killed by an enemy bullet from those same ramparts. Stanhope immediately put the dead lieutenant’s men under Hatton’s command, doubling the size of Nick’s troop less than a fortnight after he arrived at Pamplona.
* * *
In London, Christopher felt the weight of his responsibilities as Lord Hatton. Invariably, he found that a double whiskey in the morning lightened his spirit. Kit was feeling no pain when John Eaton, the Corkscrew, paid him a visit in Curzon Street.
“I trust when you received the accounting I sent last month, Lord Hatton, that you found it to your complete satisfaction?”
Kit, who had not exactly scrutinized the lists of stocks and investments he had inherited, waved a negligent hand and urged, “Please call me Christopher, just as you used to call my father Henry. You were cousins, after all, John.”
“Not only cousins but good friends too, Christopher. He relied upon me to keep him advised about fail-safe investments when they presented themselves, and I shall do the same for you, my boy. That is the reason I am here today. This war is a golden opportunity for those who seek to make a killing. If you will study the market and choose the right investments, they will return your money a hundredfold. You must make your money work for you.”
“John, my responsibilities as Lord Hatton will make it almost impossible for me to spend my days studying the market. My twin has deserted me for the glory of fighting in the war, which doubles my burden. You are in a far better position to know where to invest my money. I shall trust your judgment implicitly.”
“Rather than take ready cash from the bank, I suggest you take out a loan against Hatton property and sink it into new investments.”
“Who do I see about securing a loan? And what would be a fair amount of interest the bank should charge?” Kit asked vaguely.
“No need to bother with the bank, my boy. I shall be more than pleased to lend you the money—at a lower interest rate than the bank would charge—and put it straight into solid investments. There is the bonus here too of doing your part for the war effort. Winning a war takes more than playing soldier, you know.”
“So I imagine, John. Actually, I’ve had some large expenses lately. My bank account seems rather depleted.”
“No need to worry about money. I shall deposit funds into your account as you need them.” Eaton pulled a paper from his leather case. “Just sign this authorization, giving me power to act on your behalf in all your financial business affairs, and I shall take care of everything, just as I did for your father.”
“I appreciate this very much.”
Eaton held up his hand. “I am merely doing my job. My London office is on Jermyn if you need me for anything, Christopher.”
Before matters became serious between himself and Olivia Harding, Rupert called round to see Kit at Curzon Street. “I’ve seen precious little of you the last couple of days. What have you been doing with yourself?”
“Actually, I’ve been scouting the galleries and art shops for paintings that appeal to me. Father never had much use for art—thought my hobby unmanly—and it occurred to me that I am now free to indulge my tastes. Spending his money on paintings gives me perverse delight, Rupert. What have you been up to?”
“Don’t laugh, b
ut I’ve decided to enter the marriage market.”
Kit looked horrified. “Has a maggot eaten your brain?”
Rupert could not bring himself to confess to his best friend that he was penniless and must marry for money, especially not now that Kit was Lord Hatton and had just come into his fortune. Therefore, he lied, “I inherited my grandfather’s title, Viscount Longford, but the bulk of his money doesn’t come to me until I am twenty-five. Actually, Kit, I’ve been on a pretty short string lately, and I am sick and tired of being in queer street.”
“Why the devil didn’t you tell me you were temporarily short of funds? You know I have plenty! No need to commit suicide and marry. You haven’t pledged yourself yet, have you?”
“Well, no, that’s the thing, you see. I wanted to be sure you had no proprietary feelings for Olivia Harding before I committed.”
Kit Hatton paused before he replied. Here is a perfect solution to a problem that is not rightfully mine. Damn, now I will have to do an about-face. “Rupert, I had no idea you had Olivia in mind. That puts a different complexion on things! I have no proprietary feelings for her, but Nicholas certainly had. Their relationship was becoming so serious, I thought they’d make a match of it. Heiresses as attractive as Olivia don’t cross our path every day, you know. If I were you, old man, I’d snap her up while my twin is off playing soldier.”
“Do you think Olivia was in love with Nick?”
“More than likely she was, Rupert. Tall, dark, dangerously virile men play havoc with women’s hearts, but look on the bright side: If she’s on the rebound, she will fall into your arms.”
“Well, truth to tell, Olivia seems to be quite receptive, but I don’t look forward to presenting myself to Harding. You know what an officious air of authority he has.”
“Rupert, you are Viscount Longford; your grandmother is rich as Croesus. You are one of the most eligible bachelors in England, let alone London. Harding should grovel at your feet! I would advise you not to appear too eager. I warrant Harding will double her dowry, especially if you are reluctant to wed immediately.”