Raven McAllan - The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia

‘It seems there is perhaps a germ of truth in it all, somewhere,’ Pugh, his agent for all his business interests, continued apologetically, ‘Several germs. I have also been given to understand he has been, shall we say, boasting in the hells that he is due to come into money. A lot of money. He dipped deeply at Mrs O’Connor’s last week, to the tune of several thousand, and she’s pressing him. That in itself is unusual; she is generally more accommodating.’

Harry nodded and smiled to himself. ‘Indeed.’ He knew how accommodating the lady could be if she liked you.

‘Hence, I assume, the announcement with regards to money,’ Pugh said. ‘Now, unless he’s about to kill you, and I don’t think he has the stomach to come to that yet, he’s either involved in something illegal or about to be married.’

Harry had heard nothing to indicate either state, but, he ruminated, he had been out of town for a few weeks on other concerns. Firstly to his estate, to sort out extra barns for the harvest, then to speak to his agent in Devon concerning a new ship he had commissioned, and after that on to Wales. For business of the ‘end of a romance’ kind. That was now well over and, really, Lady Shelbourne should have been forgotten long before. However, an earnest plea for his attention had sent him hotfoot to Wales. It hadn’t turned out as the lady expected. Harry told her in no uncertain terms that, now she was betrothed once more, their brief sojourn was over. As a widow he would dally with her, as a wife he would not. Harry’s morals might not conform to rakish rules but they were his and he abided by them. Virgins and wives – or even wives-to-be – were not on his agenda. The lady had not been best pleased and the resultant altercation had spoiled any agreeable memories regarding what had been a rather pleasant dalliance.

‘See what you can find to indicate either state, if you would, Pugh,’ Harry said calmly. Damn Helen Shelbourne. If I had been around, we might have been able to scotch this earlier. ‘Report back to me on Friday, please. I, meanwhile, will keep my ears open in my circles.’

He remembered something Merryworth, his Devon agent, had said. The totals for the cargoes on his last three ships that had berthed in Teignmouth seemed to be down. ‘Check with Merryworth as well,’ he added as Pugh took his leave. As he also would.

He waited until Pugh had left and swore long and hard. Why couldn’t Helen have accepted it when he told her enough was enough and not concocted the story that he was needed to solve a problem? For that matter, why had he been so stupid as to believe her? He was usually too up to snuff to fall for such a ruse. It had been a long drive to Wales, involving several changes of cattle, some of which weren’t fit to pull a dogcart, let alone a curricle. Then an uncomfortable few hours of confrontation, tears and pleading from Helen, and in his mind an even longer drive back to town. Plus the unpleasant thought that, for a brief moment, he had been tempted to take what was on offer for one last time.

Logically, Helen should have accepted what she knew instead of assuming she would be the one to change his morals. Then they could have remained friends as she faded into marital bliss and left him alone. Instead of that, now they were not on the best of terms. Harry had prided himself that he and his ex-lovers always stayed friendly. This was a first. Ah, well . He turned his thoughts away from his ex-mistress and to the situation he now found himself in. To wit, that he was at a disadvantage over a situation he assumed was about to become incredibly important, not to say time-consuming.

Harry tossed off a glass of brandy, and stared moodily at the coal-less grate. Damn, he’d better start sooner rather than later.

White’s and Watier’s first. Then see what followed.

He stood up, stretched, and paused with his arms above his head. ‘Hell.’ What a time to remember he had a prior engagement – one he couldn’t miss. His godmother’s ball. Harry sighed and headed upstairs to change. Debs and mothers, traps and trappings. Inane conversations and inferior wine. What a way to pass several hours that could never be regained. Actually, he mused, fairly, as he took the stairs two at a time with his long-legged stride, the inferior wine wasn’t true. His godmother would never be so crass as to not have the finest food and drink served. Even so, the rest was a certainty. Sadly, the clubs would have to wait. Purgatory came first.

He better not let his godmother know he thought of her balls in such a way.

****

If only life were simple, he would now be on his second or even third glass of wine and ready to escape to the card tables. Instead, Harry stared at the glowering man in front of him, and wished he’d instructed Hill, his major domo, to tell this unwanted visitor he was not at home. Of course, Hill, on seeing Harry’s heir, would have thought nothing of admitting him, and now Harry’s head ached.

‘Get on with it, I have a ball to attend,’ he said to Jeremy sharply. Not that Harry was enamoured with the idea of the ball, but he was even less enamoured with his heir, especially in light of the recent revelations.

The hapless Jeremy Mumford had a harridan for a mother who, along with Harry, was Jeremy’s trustee, and jointly held the purse strings. With this in mind, Jeremy had just begged Harry to add weight to his plea that he be allowed to offer for a lady Harry now knew to be the stunning beauty he had aided at the recent ball. A lady several years older than Jeremy, who Jeremy declared was the only woman he would ever want.

Want, not love. Harry hadn’t thought that a stumbling block until suddenly Jeremy changed his tune and declared it was love. Love at first sight, not to be denied. Something was more than fishy, especially as Jeremy became more taciturn, as Harry pressed for answers.

‘Love, want, need?’

There was no reply. ‘Jeremy, you came to talk, to beg, so bloody well talk to me. Tell me what this is all about.’

‘I am going to marry her. She will marry me. Love cannot be denied.’

‘It can if I deny it.’ Grief, he would rather Jeremy try to emulate him, Harry decided grimly, and become a rake, than this.

If it were not so serious, it would be amusing. ‘Your life reads like one of those nasty romances women read,’ Harry said to the disgruntled young buck slouched in the chair next to him. In some people the stance would look elegant; in Jeremy it looked gauche. ‘Lost loves, unrequited love, languishing, tears and tantrums. And that’s just the males. Lord, Jeremy, you’re only one and twenty, well set up and, not to put too fine a point on it, a bloody idiot. How on earth do you have to marry this woman? Is she a harpy who entrapped you? Have you given her a slip on the shoulder? Is that it? Do you even know what love is?’

‘No, how dare you?’ Jeremy said indignantly. ‘It’s because…’ he scowled, his face turning the colour of the hall runner he’d so recently walked over, and mumbled something Harry didn’t catch.

‘You want your inheritance. To squander as you do your allowance? Gambling debts? Make arrangements like everyone else. Or do not gamble over your head.’

‘It’s not that, they are paltry.’

‘Is that why Mrs O’Connor is pressing you?’ Harry asked and sighed. ‘You’d best come clean.’

‘I’ve paid them, and it’s got nothing to do with you,’ Jeremy said. ‘I want to marry, that is all there is to it. I’ve chosen her. There are no debts. None.’

‘Make sure it stays that way,’ Harry advised. He ignored the marrying bit. He needed to think more about that before he made any further comments. Sadly, Jeremy was like a dog with a bone with regards to his future state.