The Rake's Rebellious Lady Page 3

  ‘A gaming debt is a debt of honour,’ George agreed immediately. ‘Why do you not put the poor fellow out of his misery, Freddie? Send the notes back to him if you mean to do it.’

  ‘He needs a lesson,’ Freddie said. ‘Had he lost to Markham or Lazenby, they would have demanded payment within the month. If I give him his notes, he may be tempted to play again with someone less lenient than I.’

  ‘Well, yes, there is that to it,’ George said. ‘But he will hate you if you show him leniency—it will damage his pride.’

  ‘Then he must hate me,’ Freddie said. ‘The man is not ruined yet—not while I do not press my claim. No, no, Farringdon must come to me, and then we may settle this thing like gentlemen.’

  ‘Well, I dare say you are right, though you may make an enemy,’ George said, and then grinned at his friend. ‘Tell me, what did you think of her?’

  ‘I am not certain what you mean?’ Freddie said with a lift of his mobile brows, though he was perfectly aware of George’s meaning. Caroline Holbrook had made her mark with him, even if he was not prepared to admit it. There was something very appealing about her, which had drawn him to her despite her youth.

  ‘Miss Holbrook, of course,’ George said. ‘Do you not think she is everything we spoke of the other day, Freddie? She has beauty, a liveliness of spirit that one cannot but admire, and when she smiles the room seems to light up. Enchanting would not be too strong a word.’

  ‘Ah, I see you have been smitten. When am I to wish you happy, my dear fellow?’ Freddie raised his brows

  ‘Oh, as to that…I am set in my ways, you know. I am not certain that I should be comfortable married to any lady…but I must admit that, if I were tempted to change my ways, I might ask Miss Holbrook if she would do me the honour. Not that I expect she would accept me. I am too old for her—and she may take her pick of a dozen or more gentlemen, I dare say.’

  ‘All this on the strength of one ball?’ Freddie looked incredulous. ‘She is not quite in the usual style for one so young, I give you that, George—but you have met lively young ladies before.’ He refused to allow that Miss Holbrook was anything out of the ordinary, even though she had unaccountably lingered in his thoughts these past few days. He had not yet decided if that ingenuous manner was genuine or whether it hid something rather less pleasant. The girl had been frank about her lack of fortune—but was she a fortune hunter herself? For the moment he was inclined to stand back and watch as others fluttered about the flame.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ George said. ‘I am not sure what it is, Freddie—but does she not strike you as being remarkable?’

  ‘She has an amusing turn of phrase,’ Freddie conceded. ‘But is that artlessness real or assumed? I am reserving judgement for the moment. You will not see me at Almack’s just yet, George.’

  ‘I shall certainly attend,’ George said. ‘Sally Jersey has been giving me hints for ages. She thinks I should bestir myself to find a wife before I sink into the murky waters of old age.’

  ‘Good grief,’ Freddie said, revolted. ‘You are in your prime, George. But if you fancy the little Holbrook filly, I shall not stand in your way—though I warn you she has scant fortune.’ Now why had he added that piece of information? It could make no difference to George, who had fortune enough not to need a rich wife.

  ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘She told me herself.’

  ‘Well, you may be right, though…’ George shook his head. ‘It matters not a jot either way. I am not on the catch for a fortune. I may not have your luck at the tables, but I am not done up yet.’

  ‘I never imagined you were, my dear fellow,’ Freddie said, amused as much by his own feeling of pique as George’s enthusiasm. ‘Do you care to walk with me?’

  ‘I have my carriage,’ George said. ‘Let me take you up, Freddie. It has started to rain.’

  ‘Has it? I had not noticed,’ Freddie said. ‘Very well, then. I had thought to stretch my legs, blow the cobwebs away, but I do not care for a soaking.’

  The two men smiled at each other, in perfect accord as always as they went out of the club and into the waiting carriage. Neither of them noticed the shadowy figure watching as they were driven away.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Damn it, Jenkins—’ the Marquis of Bollingbrook glared at his valet ‘—I am not yet in my dotage. When I ask for brandy, I do not wish it to be mixed with water!’

  His valet’s face wore a martyred air, for, having served his master, man and boy, he was not like to resent his outbursts of temper. Especially since he, above anyone at Bollingbrook Place, understood the pain behind the anger.

  ‘Begging your pardon, milord,’ Jenkins said, ‘but it was Dr Heron as told me your lordship ought not to drink so much.’

  ‘Damn his impertinence and yours,’ the Marquis said with a grunt of displeasure. ‘Pour a smaller measure if you will, but do not ruin the damned stuff!’

  ‘No, your lordship.’ Jenkins retained his impassive stare. The Marquis was prone to severe bouts of painful gout, which another, more critical man might have considered a judgement for his sinful past—sins that had haunted the older man for too long. Jenkins, however, was devoted to his master, besides being privy to secrets that others did not share. ‘It shall not happen again.’

  ‘See that it doesn’t.’

  ‘I am sorry, milord.’

  ‘No need to be sorry.’ A weary smile settled over the old man’s features. He knew that of late he had become almost impossible to live with. There had been a time when he was a very different man, but he had lived too long trapped in the pain of his memories. ‘Damned if I know how you put up with me, Jenkins. It’s a wonder you haven’t walked out before this. I’ve driven my family away. None of them visit me these days.’

  The Marquis had fathered three sons, all of them by different wives. He had been unfortunate in losing the last of them, a beautiful young lady many years his junior. She too had died shortly after childbirth from a putrid chill. The Marquis had not been the same since her death. However, the loss of his youngest son had almost finished him.

  ‘Wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I retired, sir,’ Jenkins answered in the same flat tone as before. ‘Can’t blame your family for not visiting. You lost your temper and banned them from the estate the last time.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Bollingbrook growled. His foot was causing him excruciating pain and there was nothing to be done about it. ‘But I didn’t mean her, damn it!’ A look of regret came into his eyes. ‘Caroline is the best of them all. She is very like her, do you not think?’

  Jenkins understood perfectly. ‘Yes, very like, my lord. You could write and invite her to stay…’

  ‘Her mother and aunt have taken her to London,’ the Marquis muttered. ‘Had a letter from that wilting lily last week. Damned if I know what Holbrook ever saw in her. I blame her for his death, you know. Another woman might have steered him to a safer path instead of weeping buckets in her bedchamber! Still, water under the bridge now.’ He glared at his valet. ‘I won’t have Caroline forced into a marriage she doesn’t care for. I suppose her mother is feeling the pinch. That is my fault, of course. Should have done something for her. I ought to have done something for Tom before this.’

  ‘Why not invite him here?’ Jenkins suggested, braving his master’s fierce stare. He knew him too well to quail in his boots, though others had been known to flee before such a look. ‘If I may take the liberty, milord? Send him to town to look after his sister. He can keep you informed on her situation.’

  ‘Excellent notion,’ the Marquis agreed. ‘He’s not as weak as his mother, though I prefer Nicolas. Full of spunk, that lad! However, Tom is Holbrook’s heir, so I must do something for him. Bring me pen and ink, if you will. I shall write the letter now.’

  Jenkins obeyed, setting the well-used, mahogany writing slope on the Marquis’ lap, as he sat in his high-backed chair before the fire.

  ‘
Is there anything else, milord?’

  ‘Not for the moment. I shall ring for you later.’

  Left to himself, Bollingbrook opened the secret drawer of his writing slope and took out the miniature of his third wife. Angelica was the only one he had loved, though there had been many women before her, some of them acknowledged beauties, but none at all had followed her. He had loved her dearly, and believed that she would survive him for she had been so much younger. She had been the delight of his life, and when he’d lost her he had wanted to die and to be buried in her grave with her. Only her dying wish had prevented him from taking his own life.

  ‘Look after our son; look after Anthony,’ she had whispered as she lay slowly wasting of the putrid fever. ‘Love him for my sake, I beg you.’

  He had loved Holbrook for her sake and his own—and he loved Caroline too because she was so like his lost wife; she had the same vitality, the same brave heart. For the rest of his family he had scarcely any affection. He disliked his eldest son, Sebastian. He thought it a damned silly name, and would have disinherited him if he could, but would find it difficult to break the entail. He liked Claude slightly better, but not enough to want him to visit.

  The Bollingbrook estate must go to his eldest son by law, and Claude must have the London property. He had lived there for years and it would not do to put him out. Yet he had some money and property that had not come to him through the estate and was his to dispose of as he pleased. He would divide it equally between Caroline and her brothers. He should have done it before, but it was still not too late. Despite the constant pain, he was sound of mind and there were a few years left to him yet.

  * * *

  Caroline dressed in a green-striped carriage gown. At least she had been allowed to choose this for herself, she thought with some satisfaction. She knew the colour suited her and she was pleased with her appearance as she went downstairs.

  Louisa Taunton was still in her room, but she knew of and approved Caroline’s engagement to go driving with Mr Bellingham that morning. She had given her permission without hesitation.

  ‘He will no doubt bring his groom with him. However, it is quite respectable to drive out unaccompanied with a gentleman of Mr Bellingham’s reputation. I have known him for some years, and a more likeable gentleman could not be found, I am sure.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt. I thought you could have no objection to the outing. He is a gentleman of good taste, would you not say?’

  ‘Indeed,’ her aunt replied and looked thoughtful. ‘But he has no immediate prospects of a title. It is unlikely it will happen—there are several cousins before him—whereas Sir Frederick will undoubtedly inherit his uncle’s title, as the present marquis has no living sons or grandchildren and he is not likely to marry again at his time of life.’

  ‘I think I prefer Mr Bellingham,’ Caroline replied, ‘should he take an interest—but I do not think we should count on it just yet, do you?’

  She spoke innocently, yet with a look in her eyes that her aunt suspected. Lady Taunton was no slowtop and she was well aware that her niece resented her interference.

  ‘I am only reminding you of possible options,’ Louisa said tartly. ‘I believe that Sir Frederick might be on the catch for a wife, whereas Mr Bellingham is unlikely to marry. Everyone knows that he is too set in his ways.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Caroline asked sweetly. ‘Well, I dare say there may be others, Aunt. We must be patient, must we not?’

  ‘You are impertinent, miss,’ Lady Taunton said with a sour twist of her mouth. She thought that if Caroline were her daughter, she would have beaten some of that sauciness out of her long ago. ‘Do not ruin your chances to spite me, Caroline. You may get less than you imagine, despite your success so far.’

  ‘Oh, I do not let such foolishness weigh with me,’ Caroline replied. ‘I dare say I shall be fortunate to receive any offers at all.’

  ‘Well, you will make a push for Sir Frederick if you have any sense,’ her aunt said and dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

  Caroline was not sure why it should make her so out-of-reason cross that her aunt was trying to influence her decision. As yet, of course, there was no decision to be made, for she was barely acquainted with any of the gentlemen she had met. Perhaps it was her aunt’s eagerness to rush her into marriage for the sake of a fortune that she found so distasteful. It had soured what might be simply a pleasant acquaintance. She shook her head, thrusting the irritating thoughts to the back of her mind as she heard someone arrive at the door.

  The footman opened the door to admit Mr Bellingham into the elegant hallway. He was looking extremely fine in his blue coat and pale grey breeches, a beaver hat now removed from his fair curling locks. His face lit up as he saw her descending the stairs, clearly ready to accompany him.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Holbrook. May I say how charming you look?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. We have a beautiful day for our drive, do we not?’

  ‘Very pleasant. There is a slight breeze but it is quite warm.’

  They went outside to where his curricle stood waiting, his groom at the horses’ heads. Drawn by a pair of fine greys, it was a smart affair with yellow-painted spokes to its wheels, and Caroline felt privileged to be taken up by him. He handed her up himself and then took the reins, the groom jumping up behind.

  During the drive to Hyde Park, they made polite social conversation, but once they were within the park, they turned to poetry and books they had both read. From there it was an easy matter to progress to other pursuits they enjoyed.

  ‘Do you ride much at home, Miss Holbrook?’

  ‘As often as I can, before breakfast if the weather is good. My father put me up on my first pony almost as soon as I could walk—and of course I rode with Nicolas most days. I miss him greatly now that he has joined the army, but I know that it was what he wanted.’

  ‘Nicolas is the younger of your brothers, I believe?’

  ‘We are but eleven months apart in age. My elder brother Tom manages the estate, of course. I am fond of Tom, but it was Nicolas with whom I shared so much.’ She laughed as she recalled some of the naughty escapades that had landed her in hot water when she was younger.

  ‘Yes, I see,’ George said. ‘It is natural that you should feel closer to Nicolas with him being so near in age.’

  ‘It is more than that.’ A husky chuckle escaped her. ‘Nicolas was sometimes a little high-spirited, and he encouraged me to do things of which my governess did not always approve. We escaped our tutors together, and he always shouldered the blame as much as he could, though I confess that the ideas for our adventures were not always of his making.’

  George smiled inwardly. Her laughter was infectious and he thought her enchanting. She seemed to have no fear of speaking out, though some of her revelations might displease the old tabbies who considered themselves the arbiters of good taste and decorum.

  ‘You were fortunate in having such a companion, Miss Holbrook. I, on the other hand, was an only—’ He broke off as he saw who was approaching them on foot. ‘There is Freddie. I think we must pull over for a moment…’

  Caroline made no comment. She knew that he could not neglect to acknowledge his friend, but would have preferred to drive past with a polite nod. Something about Sir Frederick Rathbone unsettled her, whereas she was perfectly comfortable with Mr Bellingham.

  ‘Good morning, George—Miss Holbrook.’ Freddie’s dark eyes dwelled on her face. With that flame of hair peeping from beneath her chip-straw bonnet, which was tied with green ribbons to match her gown, she was certainly a beauty. She would not lack for suitors, he thought, and wondered why the idea of her being pursued by all the young bucks should be slightly irritating. ‘Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Holbrook?’

  ‘Very much, sir, thank you. I have seldom seen a finer pair than Mr Bellingham’s greys.’

  ‘You haven’t seen Freddie’s fine chestnuts,’ George said, generous to a fault. ‘Miss Holbrook is a great rider
, Freddie, and a judge of horseflesh. You must take her up in your phaeton one of these days. I am sure she would enjoy it.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I should,’ Caroline said without pausing for thought. ‘Nicolas let me drive his phaeton sometimes, and we once raced a friend of his around the estate…though perhaps I ought not to have said so? I believe it might be frowned upon by some?’

  ‘You have just damned yourself in the eyes of the old tabbies,’ Freddie said, amused. Her way of confiding in one was attractive, for she did it with such innocence that one could not help being charmed. ‘But fear not, Miss Holbrook. Neither George nor I shall betray you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Caroline replied, a faint blush making her look touchingly vulnerable for a moment. That was the second time he had said something of the sort. Had he taken her in dislike? She lifted her head defiantly, meeting his gaze. ‘I think my tongue will land me in trouble one of these days. I should learn to curb it, but it runs away with me.’

  ‘No, no,’ Bellingham assured her, but Sir Freddie remained silent. His silence made her feel that he disapproved of her and that made her want to challenge him. For why should he censure her? She had done nothing outrageous, and his manner had pricked her pride. ‘Though you might offend the tabbies without meaning to.’

  ‘Who are these tabbies?’ Caroline asked innocently, though she was well aware of their meaning. Her eyes were bright with mischief, bringing a laugh from George and a thoughtful look from Freddie. ‘Please do tell, for I am all at sea.’

  ‘You are a minx,’ Freddie told her and now there was a hint of amusement on his lips, which caused her heart to flutter oddly. ‘I think you mean to tease us, Miss Holbrook. George, I shall not keep you. I am certain you are wishing me to the devil.’

  ‘Not a bit of it.’ George smiled. ‘All is fair in love and war, they say. I shall see you later at White’s…’ The words died on his lips, for at that moment Caroline gave a little cry and jumped down from the carriage, lifting her skirts clear to avoid stumbling as she ran across the grass. ‘What the devil is she doing?’