My Lady Mischief (2 page)

"Is that all you have to say? His father, the Duke of Devonshrop, wrote me. We were great friends at Oxford, you know."

Thea blinked. Until now, she couldn't recall her father ever mentioning the duke. "I had no idea."

"No." He signed and ran a palm over his balding head as his eyes took on a distracted, saddened appearance. "I don't suppose you did, especially with the quiet way we live here at Steyne. But that will all be changing soon."

If she'd been surprised before, her father's last statement was a total shock. Papa hadn't left Steyne since the death of her mother, years before. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean, of course, your upcoming London Season. It's time and past you were presented at court." A gleam of calculation now lit his eyes. "The duke wrote that his health is failing and his heir, Lord Hartingfield, will now be seeking a suitable alliance. It is my belief that you'd make a charming duchess, Thea."

She gasped. "You want me to marry the Duke of Devonshrop, Papa? Isn't he a little—old?"

He gave her a look of pure aggravation. "Not the duke, child, the son. Hartingfield."

"Lord Hartingfield?" He wanted her to marry a veritable libertine? She was scandalized to the pit of her being. "Why, Papa, he's much too free with the ladies."

"Too free with the ladies?" Papa's eyes narrowed. "What
have
you been up to?"

Heat suffused her face. "Me, Papa? Nothing. I haven't been up to anything. I merely refer to rumor."

"Humph," he growled, shooting her a keen glance. "I suspect there's more to this than you're letting on."

She did her best to look demure. It must have proved successful because after a moment, he turned back to his books. Not one to let a chance pass, she took a seat in the chair directly before him. It was the perfect moment to bring up the man she had chosen as an ideal spouse. "Papa, if you wish to discuss prospective marriage partners, I would have thought you'd find Charles Fossbinder imminently suitable."

She watched for a reaction, but was disappointed none appeared. He continued to pore over his accounts.

"If you think on it, I'm sure you'll find the advantages in such a match."

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "Enough of this folderol. The very idea of an earl's daughter, who could look as high as she liked within the
ton,
marrying a farmer's son is preposterous. At any rate, you know Fossbinder will soon be offering for Emma Rawlings and a good alliance it is for both of them."

Thea looked at him in dismay. The conversation was not progressing as she'd hoped. Why couldn't he just accept her choice and leave her to it? Even though her station was far above Charles', she wanted this match. Few gentlemen resided in the area and she longed to remain near Papa, who couldn't look after an insect, let alone himself. Charles would make a perfectly biddable husband. She'd have no trouble from him about what an earl's daughter might or might not do. Papa must come to see the beauty of such an arrangement.

Besides, Emma wasn't in love with Charles. Thea was certain no man had yet claimed her dearest friend's affections. Emma, though, would do as her family bade her, even if that meant marrying the man Thea had set her sights upon. Emma was never one to stand up to anyone.

Something had to be done—finding the means of convincing the earl that his daughter knew her own heart. "Papa, I'm certain if you indicated to Charles that you favored his suit, he'd offer for me."

She bit her lower lip, awaiting his reply.

The earl looked up, considering. As he took in her attire, she realized she looked more like a schoolgirl, or even a servant, than a young woman ready for the responsibilities of matrimony.

He smiled. "I've spoilt you, child. You've had your way too often. You remind me so very much of your lovely mama. I never feel quite so lonely when I see Caroline's eyes beguiling me from your sweet face."

"We both miss her. I'd think that would be all the more reason for you to favor my alliance with Charles, since it would mean I'd remain here at Steyne."

How could she argue with her father when he so obviously loved her and wanted only the best for her? She stood, then walked behind him and curled her arms about his shoulders. "I'm not sure I can bear to leave you."

"Just allow your papa to know best, Thea. It's in the nature of things that a girl should leave her family." He gently swung her to face him. "A London Season will give you the opportunity to meet young men in your own class. In a few short months, you'll forget all about young Charles and be mooning over some pink of the
ton
like Lord Hartingfield."

He brushed back a stray lock of hair from her face. "And though I'll miss you, I'm certain it will be for the best. For both of us."

It was difficult to argue with his logic. Her entire life had centered around Steyne and Steyne Hall. Local assemblies and dances had provided few chances to meet suitable young men. However, only Charles had caught her interest. Although he wasn't her social equal, he was the squire's son and definitely a gentleman. "But Papa—"

The earl silenced her with a kiss on her forehead. "Be off with you to dress for dinner. One of my guests has already mistaken you for a servant. I'd prefer it not happen again."

"Oh, my. I quite forgot."
 

"What?"

"Lord Hartingfield. He's awaiting you in the hall."
 

"Heavens. What will he think of us? Show him in." With a sigh, she walked to the door, giving up on their discussion for the time.

Thea reclined upon an elegant Sheraton rosewood daybed, reflecting on the conversation with her father and her meeting with Lord Hartingfield. The brass fittings of the daybed reflected the late afternoon sun beaming through the sitting room windows.

She sighed. There had been no way she could concentrate on stitches with so much to consider. Miss Mimms, a distant cousin of her father's, stood before a chiffonier, replacing their needlework in one of its many drawers.

Why couldn't she convince her father of the suitability of the match between her and Charles? And why had Lord Hartingfield journeyed to Steyne? What sort of business could Papa have with a man like the marquess?

When Hartingfield had tried to give her a kiss, she'd been tempted to allow it. For a ladies' man to be successful, he had to be devastatingly charming. Hartingfield was that and more. Since Papa seemed set upon sending her to London for a season, she should learn as much as possible about rakes, as Miss Mimms had often told her that the city was full of them.

It was rather fun that he'd mistaken her for a servant. She giggled aloud. "I'm looking forward to dinner this evening, Mimsie."

"Whatever do you find so amusing?" asked the older woman, who had done her best to instill in Thea a modicum of decorum and manners. Miss Mimms' dithery ways engendered in both Thea and her father a mixture of affection and exasperation. However, there were times when she could be quite canny about what motivated Thea. It paid to be cautious when telling the woman about her schemes.

This time, though, Thea decided her intentions were relatively harmless. "Lord Hartingfield is one of our guests. Mimsie, can you imagine? He mistook me for a servant. He'll receive his just reward over dinner this evening when I'm presented to him as the daughter of the house."

"I'm not the least surprised he mistook you for a maid, thanks to the way you carry on, Althea." Miss Mimms fluttered to a comfortable settee adjacent to her. "Hart, here at Steyne? How simply—divine."

Now this was not the reaction she'd expected. "You know him?" Perhaps she could begin her education about men now. "Papa says he will remain with us for a few days."

"We have been introduced, although it has been quite a few years." Miss Mimms rose from the settee and wandered vaguely about the room. "Now, was it at the Billington rout or could it have been at Lady Dillmarsh's ball?"

She bent to plump a cushion. "As I recollect, she was the one who attempted to fire off a silly horse-faced chit, quite sad really, several years ago. A toad eater. That's what the
ton
called her."

"Dear Miss Mimms, it matters not where you were introduced." Miss Mimms had a tendency to wander off on tangents and Thea had to forcibly prevent herself from tagging along with her, although she would have liked to know whether it was the horse-faced chit or her mother who was the toad eater. "Please, tell me what you know about the marquess. Are all London rakes as large as he?"

"Well," Mimms hesitated. "Not to say large. Hart is taller than most, yet I wouldn't think he was the tallest by any means. His manner is most charming and respectable, and he's a thorough-going rapscallion."

She gave a low laugh and Thea could almost picture the woman in her youth. The very idea of her dear cousin possibly being the female version of a rapscallion herself quite alarmed her. It could not be.

"Your Aunt Prunella wrote that his father, the duke, has been ailing for some time. Lady Prunella suspects Hart will soon be looking about for a wife, which may account for his recent popularity with the
ton.
You see, Thea, he has most assiduously avoided matrimony thus far. And you know how every woman adores a challenge."

"Mimms, I greatly fear Papa invited him here because of me," she whispered. The thought made her feel quite unlike herself. If she were the type to become peckish, which she most assuredly was not, she'd be clamoring for a scented handkerchief right now. She took a deep breath. "According to Papa, Hart is indeed looking for a suitable mate. Papa said he's here to discuss business. Yet what sort of business would a London rake have with Papa?"

Mimms looked at her consideringly.

"You don't think Papa would plan an alliance between us without first consulting me, do you?"

"That would not be so odd. Although your parents made a love match, it would not be surprising to find that he planned a match for you." Mimms stared down at her nails. "The marquess is very handsome, comes from a good family, and will soon be the Duke of Devonshrop. Quite a brilliant match for you if your father can bring it off."

"If my father can bring it off? Don't you mean, I?" Thea swung upright and clenched her fists. "And what of Charles? Oh, Mimms. Would Papa completely disregard my feelings?"

"Now that is something best left to your Papa, Althea. Besides, Hart may simply be here to find if you will suit."

Thea felt a strong urge to growl. "If I will suit? What of he? And my father! Selecting a husband for me, as if I haven't sense enough to choose my own?" She hopped from the daybed and began pacing. "I would never have believed it of him."

Mimms looked at her with growing alarm but that didn't deter Thea nor the tantrum she'd worked herself into.

"If I will suit? Why that...rake! Kissing a servant without so much as a by-your-leave, while he inspects an earl's daughter as he might a team of grays at Tattersall's!"

Miss Mimms looked at her with growing alarm. "Althea, pray be still. Ringing yourself about this way alarms me. Your papa most likely has other business to transact with Lord Hartingfield. Please recall, our entire conversation is based on conjecture." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Even if it is true, you must believe the earl would not compel you to marry against your wishes."

"I had not believed he would arrange a marriage for me without my knowledge, either. Oh, if I am found suitable, perhaps he would force me to marry that loathsome marquess even though he knows I prefer another."

Miss Mimms looked away but her words were meaningful. "Perhaps Lord Hartingfield will find that you do not suit."

Thea stared at Miss Mimms' profile for a long moment, and then seated herself in an armchair near the fire.

When Miss Mimms returned her gaze, Thea wondered if the older woman could guess what was on her mind. She schooled her face to reveal nothing. "Perhaps I will not suit."

"Pray, Althea. You will behave yourself with dignity and restraint."

"Certainly, Mimsie." Her thoughts raced. There must be a way to ensure that Hart would find her most unsuitable. "Certainly."

From the look Miss Mimms gave her, Thea knew the woman had not been reassured.

Chapter Two

In the darkened room, the earl slid the account books away and leaned back in his chair. Rising, he walked over to the large windows looking out on the west lawn. Fiddling with the shutters, he allowed in some light from the late afternoon sun.

Why did Thea want to marry that young whelp, Fossbinder? He was totally unsuitable and even if he were from one of the finest families in all of England, Steyne would object to any match between them.

He walked back to his desk and pulled out a drawer. From beneath several tablets of writing paper, he removed a letter to reread a portion of it.

And so my dear Beamer, I am sending my son to you under the auspices of discussing land. If he and your girl, Lady Althea, do not hit if off, I
suppose I shall be forced into arranging a marriage for him. However, I believe any daughter of Caroline's must be sublime, even if you are her father!

So throw them together, old sport. Let's see if Caroline's daughter can do what no other belle of the ton has yet been able to do
—
entice my son into marriage. Throw them together and let's see if the sparks fly!

Well, the earl thought, sparks were certainly flying but he wasn't certain they were the right sort. What was it she'd called Hart? A rake? And hadn't she claimed he was too free with the ladies?

When he and Squigy, the duke, had been young men together, he felt certain all the matrons in London had warned their daughters against them. Steyne laughed in recollection of the larks and sprees they'd been up to together. But it had all ended upon their marriages.

His marriage to Caroline and Steyne's to Lady Anne. The two men-about-town had been speedily reformed by their spouses. Where once they'd been wild, now they were both quite sedate and conceivably boring. For himself, he'd discovered the joy of country living and the simple pleasures of breeding prize winning pigs. Squigy had become dry to the point of being brittle.