Mary Brendan - A Kind And Decent Man

‘Perhaps he is,’ Victoria remarked lightly, as though, truth or not, it concerned her little.

‘Indeed, he’s not!’ Matilda scoffed. ‘Last time I sat down to a hand of brag with Colonel Whiting and his lady, I overheard the gentlemen tattling about Viscount Courtenay. Never mind.’ She drily anticipated and answered Victoria’s unspoken inquisitiveness. ‘They sounded quite green with envy and were no doubt vastly embellishing it all. They must have been! The few snippets I caught would have shocked the devil himself!’

‘How can you intrigue me so then refuse to say more? You have to tell me now,’ Victoria petitioned with a brittle little laugh.

‘Indeed, I shall not! It’s not fit for these old ears.’ Matilda batted at them in emphasis. ‘I’ll certainly not repeat such lewd, shameless behaviour to a genteel young female.’

‘It concerned his lady friends, then?’ Victoria probed, dipping her head and brushing her hair.

‘Friends, maybe…ladies, never!’ Matilda snorted. ‘And you’ll prise no more from me, my girl. You’ve tricked me into saying too much as it is. Now I’m off to find my bed. These old bones need some rest.’ She halted with her hand on the doorknob. ‘What you have to bear in mind, Victoria, is that there are far worse things than marrying a libertine for his money and his title. After all, once you were prepared to marry him when he had neither,’ she added wryly, closing the bedroom door.

‘I thought I ought to bring this to your immediate attention, my lord. Albert Gibbons had it hand-delivered. As you and the lady are almost related, he probably guessed you’d be concerned at the news.’

David Hardinge frowned at this cryptic comment and immediately took the proffered note. It had to be news of some import from his solicitor, he supposed, breaking the seal, that had brought Jacob out in the sleety rain to seek him at his club. A frown and narrowing of incredulous blue eyes were swiftly followed by an exceedingly contented smile. As David relaxed back into his chair, leisurely rereading the note, he gave a throaty, satisfied laugh, thereby prompting Jacob to sigh and give an imperceptible shake of his head. He had anticipated a mood of shock and sorrow at the calamitous information contained in the missive, but his master was merely surprised…and pleased.

He had always believed he knew this Lord Courtenay well. He would have held him up as a charitable man; not one apt to crow over others’ misfortune. It was true he was ruthless in his business dealings, especially with any foolish enough to attempt trickery. Nevertheless, he could be outstandingly generous. William Branch, not even one of his closest chums, had fallen foul of the dice once too often, yet had been saved from the Fleet by the Viscount’s funds forwarded at a paltry percentage. Was not his lordship also invariably generous to his women, past and present? Redundant paramours were amply compensated. In fact, Jacob was prone to tut and mutter about economies every time he dealt with such pension funds.

Yet Lord Courtenay learned of disasters affecting his late cousin’s family and it gave him cause to chuckle. Jacob had heard about the inferno that had decimated a warehouse on the East India Dock and knew, unofficially, that Mrs Hart was now destitute because of it. Well, perhaps the hard-hearted devil wouldn’t find it quite so amusing if his kinsman’s widow decided to petition for his charity. Jacob glared through his spectacles at his master’s hard face. Yes, that might just test his generosity and his humour, for he’d heard her losses were colossal.

Having folded his hand of poker and taken leave of Dickie Du Quesne and various other acquaintances at White’s, David Hardinge walked back through the cold drizzle towards Beauchamp Place. His thoughts would have surprised his clerk, half running beside him to keep up with his long stride, had Jacob but known them. Far from maliciously relishing Victoria’s fate, what he sardonically savoured was his own.

At one time, and not so many years ago, nothing in his life had ever gone the way he wanted. Now luck ran so persistently in his favour that it tended to rouse his sceptical amusement.

During the past two months, a plausible reason to approach Victoria Hart and offer her his protection would have had him bartering his soul. And now he had one. Not only that, but after what he’d just learned he was quite confident she would be readily amenable to his overtures. Contrarily that disappointed him: nothing and no one seemed to be a worthy challenge any more.

In the first month following their reunion he had striven daily to exclude her from his mind. Finally accepting that as utterly impossible and therefore utterly infuriating, the second month he’d given in, succumbed to self-torment and had cast about desperately for some tenable excuse to return to Hartfield.

Now he had it, and just in time: this irritating obsession he had with possessing her had vexed him long enough. Deliverance from it lay in indulging it until it palled, and that was exactly what he intended to do. So her impending bankruptcy aroused little sympathy for it suited him and need never harm her. She would be well cared for. His women always were.

Dwelling on her delicate beauty softened the hard set of his features. Despite her grief on the day of her husband’s funeral, she had clung tightly to her composure, admirably dealing with her servants and her deranged father. She had dealt admirably with him too. Yet she had wanted him to stay longer and had poignantly lacked the guile to conceal it. Pride had made her try, he allowed with a wry smile, recalling her aloof civility and how sweetly vulnerable it had made her seem.

From the moment he had walked away and into the snow he had wished himself back with her. It was only later, at the Swan tavern, that he’d grudgingly accepted he’d run for cover. No other woman had ever rattled him the way she did, or made him feel simultaneously lecherous and caring.

On hearing another low, private chuckle, Jacob muttered beneath his breath, sprinted ahead up the steps of his master’s magnificent town house and rapped impatiently on the enormous stately door. Turning back, he watched his employer stroll on through the icy mist as though promenading on a summer’s day, hands thrust deep in his pockets, a vague smile about his narrow mouth.

‘It’s fate, that’s what it is. The stars have decided the matter for us,’ Aunt Matilda announced breathlessly on entering the dining room two mornings later.

Victoria enquiringly raised dark brows, while carrying to her father his tea and toast. She placed his breakfast close by him, retrieved his napkin from the carpet, replaced it on the polished mahogany table, then gave her aunt her full attention.

Matilda held out a letter towards her niece, shaking it excitedly. ‘See what the express has just brought. There, read that!’ she ordered. ‘It’s a sign. I swear it is. Charles, if you drop it again, you remain jammy-mouthed,’ she warned her brother as he furtively lowered white linen towards the persian rug.

‘Where are the kippers?’ Charles Lorrimer demanded, through the napkin scrubbing at his mouth. ‘I don’t want this…’ He sent the plate of toast and jam skidding away across the table’s glossy surface. ‘Where is my proper breakfast?’

‘You know kippers give you indigestion, Papa, and the bones catch in your teeth,’ Victoria calmly answered, while reading the letter in her hand. It was from her aunt’s sister-inlaw, Margaret Worthington, and its purpose was to invite Matilda and a companion to Cheapside in London to attend her daughter’s birthday celebration in two weeks’ time.

‘Well, you must go, of course,’ Victoria told her gleeful aunt as she handed back her letter.