Diane Gaston - Rumours in the Regency Ballroom - Scandalising the Ton / Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady

Lord Levenhorne reported that August 16 was the crucial date. If Lady Wexin’s baby was not born at the stroke of midnight, separating August 15 from August 16, it would prove that the father was another man. The story would remain alive at least that long, and Samuel would have reason to keep seeing Mary. She would keep thinking he was Samuel Charles who worked for a printer, but this idyll could not last for ever.

Frowning, Samuel pulled out a sheet of paper and trimmed a quill pen before dipping it into a pot of ink. He scratched out several lines about Lord C, the Irish Viscount who claimed to be the father of Lady W’s child.

Ironic that Chasey possessed the same initial as the man Samuel had first suspected to have been Lady Wexin’s lover. Beyond the one brief encounter of which Samuel had been a part, Samuel could not discover from Mary or anyone else that Lord Cavanley had ever set foot in Lady Wexin’s house. Mary did not seem to know who Cavanley was.

Levenhorne said the betting book in White’s did not give Cavanley any odds of being the father. Odds favoured Lord Crayden, who had been known to court Lady Wexin before her betrothal to her murderous husband, but Samuel could not discover that Crayden had called upon the lady either. There were other men who had boasted of being Lady W’s secret lover, but none proved more than idle boasting.

The child’s paternity remained a mystery. Samuel did not mind using the mystery to keep speculation alive, but the newsman in him pined to beat the other papers to the real story.

He finished the short but tantalising column and poured blotting sand on it, carefully shaking the excess sand back into its container.

Chasey would have to do for the moment, one small step in Samuel’s quest to make The New Observer number one above The Morning Post, The Morning Chronicle, The Times and all the other papers vying for the position.

Adrian walked into his parents’ library. His father was seated behind the desk attending to his correspondence; his mother reclined on a chaise reading.

She closed her book. “Adrian, we were so worried about you!” Her white hair made her look every inch the countess she now was. She’d always been a beautiful woman and remained so in her maturity.

Adrian crossed the room and kissed her on the cheek. “Forgive me. I did not mean to distress you.”

His father looked at him over spectacles perched on his nose. “I wrote to you two days ago.”

Adrian had received his father’s missive, but had stuffed it in his pocket and headed off to Madame Bisou’s, where he’d engaged in a marathon of card playing and drinking, something that had become a pattern for him of late. When he’d woken up this morning at Madame Bisou’s, he’d had no clear memory of how he’d spent the entire previous day. His father’s letter and one from Tanner were still in the pocket of the coat he had slept in.

Adrian answered his father. “I came as soon as I read it.” Which was true enough. “I confess, I feared bad news, but you both look the picture of health.” Better to shift the attention to their health than to dwell on his own.

“There is nothing amiss with us,” his mother said. “Would you like a sherry, love?”

Adrian’s stomach roiled. “Later, perhaps.”

His father ceremoniously took off his spectacles and folded them, placing them on the desk. “I summoned you because of concern about you.”

“Me?” Adrian was genuinely surprised.

“This dissipated life you are leading—” his father began.

“—is not healthy for you, dear,” his mother finished.

He looked from one to the other. “Dissipated life?”

His father leaned forwards. “This drinking. Spending all your time in gaming hells. Coming home looking as if you slept in your clothes.”

Obviously someone from Adrian’s household had been reporting on his behaviour. Adrian’s bets were on Bilson, the loyal butler. Loyal to Adrian’s father, that is.

“Father, my behaviour is not much altered from what it has always been.” Except perhaps for the drinking to excess and finding himself in a bed with no memory of how he had arrived there.

“You are drinking entirely too much.” His father rose and walked from behind the desk.

His mother cupped her hand against his face. “You will lose your handsome good looks if you drink too much. You’ll get a red nose and have blotches on your cheeks.”

“Where have you heard such things about me?” Adrian gaped at them.

His father looked chagrined. “Well, people talk, you know.”

Former servants obviously did.

Adrian lifted a hand to his forehead. The headache from the previous night’s drinking lingered there, no longer a sledgehammer, but a dull thudding. He shook his head. “A few months ago when I asked for something to do, take over one of the estates, perhaps, you all but told me to go drink, gamble and otherwise cavort. Now you are outraged that I am doing what you said I should?”

“I would never have told you to get a red nose, dear,” his mother said.

His father huffed. “You wanted to take over one of the estates? How can you expect me to trust you with such a task when you are being so reckless with drink?”

What else was he supposed to do? Adrian wanted to ask.

“I think it is high time Adrian went searching for a wife.” His mother nodded decisively. “The Season is over, but he might go to Brighton. There were plenty of eligible young ladies in Brighton when we were there, were there not? It is something to consider.”

“I did not mean to put the boy in shackles, Irene,” his father retorted.

His mother stiffened. “Marriage is akin to being shackled?”

“I did not say that.” His father hastened to his wife’s side and put his arm around her. “I merely meant he ought to enjoy life while he can, without duty dictating to him.”

His mother pouted. “You implied a man cannot enjoy life if he is married.”

“I did not say that,” his father murmured.

“You did say it,” his mother persisted.

Adrian held up a hand. “Do not argue over this.”

His mother pressed her mouth closed, but his father lifted her chin and gave her a light kiss on the lips.

She reluctantly smiled.

His father kissed her again and strode over to a side cupboard, removing a decanter of sherry and three glasses. “Marriage is a great responsibility,” he said to Adrian. “I do not encourage you to marry now, while you are engaged in such dissipation. I urge you to show more restraint. Stop the drinking.” As he spoke Adrian’s father poured sherry into the glasses and handed one to his wife and one to Adrian.

Adrian almost laughed. Only his father could chastise him for drinking at the same moment as handing him a drink.

His mother took her glass. “Well, I do urge you to look about for a wife. There is no hurry for it, I agree, but you might as well discover who will be out next Season.”

Adrian set his glass down on the table.

All he could think was that had Lydia accepted his proposal all those months ago, he’d have no reason to become dissipated.

But Lydia had not accepted him.

Adrian picked up the glass of sherry and drained it of its contents.

As soon as he was able, he extricated himself from the insane asylum that was his parents’ townhouse and headed back home, vowing to be more discreet in his activities so the details did not get whispered in his father’s ear.

Adrian winced at the brightness of the day. The sky was a milky white and hurt his aching eyes if he looked up. He tilted his head just enough to keep his eyes shaded by the brim of his hat. He neared Hill Street, depressing his spirits even more. All of London was depressing him.