Mary Brendan - A Date with Dishonour

‘Have some more tea, sir.’ Verity had grabbed up the pot and hurried towards him to hinder him from pursuing the conversation, or Elise for that matter. He had seemed to dog her friend’s footsteps as she moved from bookcase to bookcase, attempting to shake him off her shoulder. ‘I tried to give a hint about him when I last wrote to you,’ she murmured, refilling Elise’s cup.

‘I fear no hint could do justice to Mr Whittiker,’ Elise returned ruefully, stirring her tea and watching Fiona shyly conversing with her beau. Elise had always considered Fiona to be a bit too nice, but nobody’s fool. She certainly still thought her over-obliging, but was beginning, sadly, to suspect perhaps she might be a fool to be encouraging an oafish fellow to court her.

‘I’m baffled, too, by what Fiona thinks she is about.’ Verity had correctly read Elise’s concerns as they settled down together on a sofa. ‘But I know what’s drawn him in.’ She glowered sideways at James. ‘Our grandmother has recently passed on and left Fiona a little nest egg.’ Despite their distance from the room’s other occupants Verity continued concealing her lips with her teacup. ‘She has left me the same amount, but in trust until I reach twenty-one. On reflection I’m quite glad of that as Mr Whittiker might have turned his attention to me instead.’

Verity was six months younger than her, thus Elise knew her friend must wait another year and a half to lay claim to her cash. ‘You think Mr Whittiker has found out about the inheritance and is a fortune hunter?’

‘I’m almost certain of it. It is three thousand pounds, not a fabulous sum, but I overheard Papa telling Mama that the fund is enough of a lure for a man like James Whittiker who has his pockets permanently to let. Papa seems very suspicious of his motives, but Mama is simply relieved that one of us might soon be sporting a ring.’ Verity sighed. ‘She has been chivvying Fiona to get herself off the shelf. Whittiker can claim good connections—and believe me, he does constantly boast about his uncle who is a baronet.’

‘Perhaps there is a genuine fondness between them.’ Elise glanced at the couple, noticing they appeared to be chatting amiably.

‘Hah!’ Verity snorted quietly. ‘He has a habit of ogling me that makes me think he is not as besotted with my sister as he’d like us all to believe.’

Elise knew the fellow had an unsettling habit of sidling up and standing far too close for comfort while ogling her bosom.

On their arrival earlier Verity had immediately whispered an apology to Elise because they were to be burdened with Mr Whittiker’s presence. She’d explained that he’d called on Fiona yesterday and, discovering that young ladies were expected on the morrow, had prised an invitation from Mrs Chapman to join them at teatime to welcome the Dewey sisters to London.

‘Mr Whittiker has offered to accompany us to Vauxhall on Friday. We’ll have a nice time, won’t we?’ Having noticed her younger daughter and Elise were deep in private conversation, Maude Chapman had loudly addressed the pair in an attempt to draw them into discussing the week’s social agenda.

Maude was always glad to offer hospitality to her daughters’ friends. Her husband was not a tight-fist, but he was careful with his money. Yet Maude had noticed that when the Dewey sisters came to stay Anthony’s generosity seemed to improve. She took no offence at her portly spouse’s silly attempts to impress the pretty girls, for everybody benefited from it.

‘But Elise and I have something else planned for Friday.’ It was the only excuse Verity could dream up on the spur of the moment.

Elise didn’t relish spending an evening with James Whittiker either. But a trip to such a popular venue might turn up introductions to a suitable gentleman who might take a fancy to Beatrice. Her sister had also pounced on the opportunity and she gave Elise an energetic nod.

‘It would be nice to go, Verity. I’ve heard Vauxhall is an enchanting place,’ Elise enthused, appeasing her friend with a subtle wink that promised a private explanation would soon be forthcoming.

* * *

‘Please do a recce for me, Alex. It won’t take you more than a few minutes. I’ll take care of Celia while you’re gone.’ Hugh’s eyes darted from his friend’s dark profile to settle apprehensively on the petite brunette dangling from one of his arms. He knew every fellow in the vicinity had her lush body under covert observation and would gladly swap places with him. But Hugh was under no illusions as to what he was taking on. Keeping such a fiery temptress entertained whilst his charismatic friend was running his errand was going to be no easy task. The prospect of fending off her gallants until Alex returned to claim her was alarming.

Celia Chase’s full red lips were aslant, displaying her boredom, because her lover was dividing his time between her and Hugh. One of her slender white fingers began twirling an ebony ringlet, then her exaggerated sighing could be heard as she glanced about.

Viscount Blackthorne turned from his mistress to his friend, a low curse in his throat. Hugh had been hovering at his shoulder and muttering in his ear for some five minutes.

‘There’s no time to lose,’ Hugh insisted, noticing he finally had Alex’s full attention.

Suddenly Alex propelled him away from their group so they might speak privately.

‘I’m due to meet Lady Lonesome at nine o’clock and it’s almost that now.’ Hugh plucked out his watch to check the time.

‘For God’s sake, you’ve got eyes in your head,’ Alex ground out in irritation. ‘If you’re determined to carry on with this lunacy, you can see for yourself if she’s a fright.’

‘Well, yes, I can do that,’ Hugh admitted readily. ‘But I’m not a good judge of character where women are concerned...as you well know.’ The corners of his mouth drooped in self-mockery. ‘Lady Lonesome might be a bewitching beauty, up to no good. I’ll get taken in as I did with Sophia and end up in a worse mess than I am in already. If she’s got a sob story prepared, I’m done for. You know I have a soft heart.’

‘Soft head, more like,’ Alex snapped, jerking his eyes heavenward. But he couldn’t argue with his friend’s self-confessed incompetence with the fairer sex. A good few gentleman who’d had previous dealings with Sophia Sweetman had told Hugh that she was a mercenary madam out for all she could get. He’d not heeded warnings and had acceded to her demand to set her up in style, not casting her off until he’d been almost down to his last shilling.

‘Whereas you...you are pretty clued up about the petticoat set and I’d trust you to spot a fraud a mile off.’

A sour smile acknowledged Hugh’s compliment. Alex pivoted on a heel to glance back towards his mistress and gauge her mood.

Celia was watching them, in between chatting to Sidney Roper. The young Hussar, resplendent in his brocaded uniform, was one of her admirers and had dared to approach her first before Alex had moved far from her side. Aware he was under observation, the young officer jerked him a nod. Alex leisurely returned the salute with a quirk of the lips intended to allay the boy’s fears and stop his Adam’s apple bobbing so violently. Alex’s smile strengthened as he transferred his attention to Celia. He wanted her to know her flirting didn’t bother him.

And it didn’t. He just wished she would allow him similar licence. Their relationship was only six months’ old, yet Alex was already thinking it had run its course. She’d irritated him several times by being too possessive and flouncing over to find out what he was up to if he left her side for too long.

‘I’ll take care of Celia for you,’ Hugh again promised, having noted the direction of Alex’s gaze. He imagined his friend to be, understandably, enthralled by the sultry lovely. Celia was known to be very selective about the gentlemen she allowed to woo her and liked rich influential lovers. She’d be hard pressed to improve on Alex Blackthorne on either count in Hugh’s opinion. Added to which his friend had the broad physique and rugged dark looks that made females flutter and fawn as soon as he entered a room.