Susan Carroll (4 page)

The more Nick warmed to his subject, the more
heated his voice became. “Now perhaps the good citizens of Mayfair
will understand some of the terrors the West End poor have faced
for years. Parliament will understand the need to do away with our
outmoded police force. The time has come to organize one efficient
central unit—”

“My dear Nick,” Mandell interrupted as soon
as he could get a word in. “If you are going to start addressing me
as though I were a public meeting, I fear I will be obliged to
eschew the pleasure of your company.”

“But—”

“And besides, you know I am the last person
likely to sympathize with your notion of an efficient police.”

Their eyes locked and Nick apparently took
his meaning, for he spoke in milder tones. “What happened to your
mother in Paris took place a very long time ago, Mandell, and it
was a different thing altogether.”

“Was it?” Mandell said, his voice going cold
and hard. He was on the verge of leaving when Nick flung up one
hand.

“No, I am sorry. Come back. I promise I have
done with my speeches about the police. This was not what I wanted
to talk to you about anyway.”

Mandell returned, but he eyed his cousin with
wariness, wondering about the nature of the favor Nick required.
Nick was not often beforehand with the world, yet he seldom asked
to borrow money, at least not for himself.

Mandell had a dread that Nick's forthcoming
request must have something to do with one of his infernal
causes.

Nick cleared his throat, a bad sign. “Of
course, you know John Hastings.”

“No, I cannot say that I do.”

“He is my footman, the one who usually
answers the front door.”

Mandell's brows rose a fraction. “I have a
vague recollection of some burly youth, but I have not as yet had
opportunity to strike up an intimacy with him.”

“Don't go all haughty on me, Mandell,” Nick
implored. “The thing is, John wants to marry Emily.”

Mandell regarded him blankly.

“Emily, your downstairs maid.”

“I was not aware that I had a downstairs
maid, let alone one named Emily, but I will take your word for it,”
Mandell said. “Now what is all of this to do with me? I am not the
girl's father to be giving my blessing.”

“No, but it would be much more convenient for
John to be part of the same household as his bride. Alas, I am not
in a financial position to take on any more servants. So I thought,
that is I hoped, you might be persuaded to employ John.”

Mandell frowned. “Sometimes, Nicholas, the
interest you take in the affairs of your servants borders on
madness.”

“Then you refuse?”

Mandell knew he certainly should. He kept
only a small staff at his London house. Nor did he think that
Nick's tendency to meddle with the lower orders should be
encouraged. This incident was a minor one, but as a member of the
House of Commons, Nick was forever pressing for reforms to
alleviate what he deemed the misery of the working class.

“What the boy does not understand,” Mandell's
grandfather would frequently growl, “is that reform only leads to
idleness and dissatisfaction amongst the poor. From there it is but
a step away to revolution.”

The danger of revolution was one of the few
points that Mandell and the Duke of Windermere agreed upon, born of
a shared pain. The old man grieved for the loss of a beloved
daughter, Mandell for the mother he had barely known.

Mandell started to refuse Nick's request, but
his cousin looked so hopeful. It seemed churlish to disappoint Nick
over such a trivial thing. The fate of the nation could hardly be
affected by permitting the marriage of one insignificant
servant.

Mandell vented an exasperated sigh. “Oh, the
devil! What is another footman more or less?”

Nick brightened. He leapt up to shake
Mandell's hand. “Damme, Mandell. You're a capital fellow.”

“Now is there anything else you think I
should do?” Mandell grumbled. “Perhaps arrange a wedding breakfast
for the happy couple?”

“You needn't go as far as that, but a small
gift might be nice.”

At Mandell's dark look, Nick grinned. “Only
jesting,” he said.

Their business concluded, Mandell and he
stepped past the curtain, returning to the ballroom. If anything,
the gallery seemed more crowded than before.

“What a damned crush this is,” Mandell said.
“Is there anyone interesting present tonight?'

'The Prince Regent is here, and your
grandfather.”

“I said interesting.”

“Oh, you mean ladies,” Nick chuckled. “Well,
the Beaufort heiress is here and the Countess Sumner's sister is
back in town, having set aside her mourning at last,”

“And who might she be?”

“You remember. Lady Anne Fairhaven, Sir
Gerald's widow.”

“Oh, yes, the deadly proper Sir Gerald
Fairhaven. I did not even know that he was dead, but given how dull
he was, it would have been difficult to tell.”

“You knew his brother Lucien had inherited
the baronetcy. How did you think he got it if Sir Gerald was still
alive?”

“I did not give the matter much
consideration. Sir Lucien is not exactly one of my bosom
companions. None of the Fairhavens have ever interested me much. As
I recall, the lady Anne seemed not much livelier than her late
husband.”

“Lady Fairhaven is certainly quiet, but I
never thought her dull,” Nick said. “In fact there is something
quite appealing about her. She has the most remarkable sad
eyes.”

“I wouldn't know. The lady never let me get
close enough to her to find out. I rather think she has a strong
disapproval of men with libertine propensities.”

“Certainly Lady Fairhaven is a woman of great
virtue.”

“Indeed? I suppose that could be an amusing
way to spend an evening, trying to discover exactly how
unassailable that virtue might be.”

“Leave Lady Fairhaven alone, Mandell. She
does not need you tormenting her. I hear she has come through a bad
time of it since her husband died.”

“All the more reason she might welcome a
little diversion,” Mandell said. “Perhaps I shall seek her out,
unless, of course, you've a mind to try your own luck with the
lady.”

“No! You know I am not in the market for a
wife.”

“Neither am I.”

“That is exactly my objection,” Nick said
hotly. “Lady Fairhaven may no longer be a debutante, but I don't
think she knows much of the world, certainly nothing of the sort of
sport you seek. There is still an innocence about her.”

“Ah, but that is the trouble with innocence,”
Mandell mocked. “For most of us, it is such a temporary state.”

Not giving his cousin a chance to retort,
Mandell sauntered off, leaving Nick glowering after him. But far
from harboring any thoughts of seduction, Mandell intended only to
pay his respects to his hostess, then escape this den of heat and
noise as soon as possible.

Skirting the edge of the gallery in his
search for the countess, Mandell collided with the corpulent form
of the Prince Regent. His Majesty's frock coat glittered,
overdecorated with the jeweled ribbons of far too many orders. He
stared at Mandell, the prince's florid features turning even
redder.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Mandell
murmured. He stepped back a pace and sketched a bow that was
correct but still lacking in deference.

The prince's jowls quivered and he stared
straight through Mandell. He ambled past without a word of
acknowledgment. The cut was unmistakable, but Mandell's lips
creased into a smile. He knew that he had never been a favorite
with the Prince of Wales, not since the time George had been named
regent due to his father's madness. So many others had crowded
around the vain prince, flattering and offering their
congratulations, that Mandell had been unable to resist expressing
his condolences instead, along with a wish for the old king's
speedy recovery. In the midst of his triumph, George had been
obliged to look a little ashamed at rejoicing over his father's
misfortune. The prince had never forgiven Mandell for that.

The greeting Mandell received from Lily, the
Countess Sumner, was far warmer. Traversing the length of the room,
Mandell spotted her, hovering over some young woman seated on a
silk-covered chair.

At the sight of Mandell, Lily closed the
distance between them with outstretched hands. A fading beauty, she
made far too free use of the paint pots, but her figure retained a
voluptuous charm.

“Mandell,” she cried. “You came after all. I
vow you are a most welcome sight”

“Am I? I had begun to wonder.” He carried her
fingertips to his lips.

She laughed. “Oh, you mean your reception
from the Prince Regent. Aye, I saw it all. You must not mind His
Grace. The poor man is sadly put out. He was the focus of attention
amongst the ladies until you walked in. You must have a dance with
me later. I have all manner of interesting gossip to share with
you.”

“Not about Bert Glossop, I trust. I have
heard more than enough on that score.”

“Oh, no, something far more interesting.” She
leaned forward to whisper behind her painted chicken-skin fan. “The
Prince Regent has left off wearing his stays.”

“And just how would you be knowing that, my
lady?” Mandell asked.

“Because one can no longer hear him creak
when he walks. How else should I know it, you naughty man?” She
closed up her fan and rapped his wrist.

A laugh escaped Mandell, one of genuine
amusement. The rest of London might be in an uproar over murder,
but trust Lily Rosemoor to be more interested in the regent's
stays. Mandell had always been more at ease with the countess than
with other women. He liked his mistresses younger and not quite so
giddy. She preferred her lovers blonde and more poetic. So their
relationship had never been hampered by any sexual tension.

With the ease of long acquaintance, Lily
linked her aim through his. “Come, Mandell, there is someone you
must make your leg to. You will never guess who has returned to
London. Anne, my darling little sister.”

She tugged Mandell over to the chair where
the young woman sat, staring pensively down at the floor tiles.
Mandell had never taken much notice of Anne Fairhaven, but she
appeared as he remembered her, pale and prim, her fair hair done up
in a crown of braids. The style was perhaps a little too severe,
but it drew attention to the slender column of her neck. Clad in a
high-waisted lavender gown, she was like a fine pastel lost amidst
the brightness of more garish oil paintings.

“Anne,” Lily called gaily. “Do but look who
has arrived.”

Lady Fairhaven glanced up. Mandell
experienced the shock of more recent recognition as the candleshine
played fully over her delicate features. Impossible that it should
be so, but Anne Fairhaven was the woman who had been weeping by his
gate. She had been half lost in shadow then. Her hair tumbling free
had made quite a difference from her usual prim style. But there
was no mistaking those violet-hued eyes. They were clear now, only
the shadows beneath bearing testimony to her former
unhappiness.

Before Mandell could move or speak, Anne shot
to her feet, a blush staining her cheeks.

“My lord,” Lily said. “You do remember my
sister, I trust?”

“Of course,” he said, managing to gain
possession of Anne's hand. “The virtuous Lady Fairhaven.”

“The wicked Lord Mandell,” Anne countered,
snatching her fingers free of his grasp. “Excuse me, Lily, my lord.
I was on the verge of retiring to the card room. There is someone I
must speak to.”

For the second time that night, she fled from
Mandell without a backward glance. Her gown, demure as it was,
clung to the willowy curves of her hips. She moved with a grace
that was somehow far more alluring than the exaggerated sway of
bolder women.

“I declare,” Lily exclaimed. “Whatever got
into her? Mandell, what have you done to frighten my poor
Anne?”

“Nothing.” Mandell smiled. “Yet.”

The countess wagged her finger at him. “I
dislike that gleam in your eye, my lord. You must form no designs
upon my little sister. It would do her a world of good to take a
lover. But you are far too wicked for her, I fear”

“Do you know,” Mandell said pleasantly, “I
have been warned away from the lady enough times, it is beginning
to arouse the devil in me.”

Lily clucked her tongue at him and would have
said more, but her attention was caught by the arrival of some
other latecomers. She fluttered away to greet them like the
distractible butterfly that she was.

That left Mandell free to wonder about Anne
Fairhaven's strange behavior. What had induced such a proper lady
to roam the streets unescorted, weeping as though her heart would
break? Mandell's curiosity was aroused enough this time to pursue
her—at least as far as the next room.

She had ducked into a small adjoining parlor
set aside for those wishing for cards instead of dancing. When
Mandell crossed the threshold, he found her standing near the
hearth, observing the play at one table. Mandell saw nothing in
this particular foursome to attract her interest.

The group consisted in part of a callow youth
and Sir Lancelot Briggs. Briggs gave Mandell a hopeful smile, but
Mandell ignored him, more struck by the other two players. One was
the Lady Anne's brother-in-law, Sir Lucien Fairhaven. A large man
with sun-streaked blond hair, his face was deeply carved with lines
of dissipation.

But most surprising was the fourth man at the
table, Mandell's grandfather, the august duke of Windermere. His
Grace rarely tolerated the company of fools, so it was a mystery to
Mandell why he would play at whist with any of these men. His white
hair swept back in a queue, his close-set eyes were shadowed
beneath bushy brows. He acknowledged Mandell's presence with a curt
nod.