The Unscrupulous Uncle, page 10
Chapter Eight
“Bloody sharp!” swore Sidney Braxton, adding several more-colorful expletives as his fists clenched.
A ball of paper bounced off the grate and landed on the hearth, where it slowly unfurled. Why had Skinner demanded repayment of his loan? It was not in arrears, and the moneylender must know he could not lay hands on any cash until next quarter day. He was already living on tick.
His mood worsened when he picked up the morning Post to discover that Catherine had married the Earl of Devlin. His mother’s last letter had raved about the earl’s attachment to Hortense and their expected announcement. A well-breached brother-in-law would have been perfect, but Catherine must have interfered. How had she cut out his sister? She was an impoverished ape-leader with one of the sharpest tongues he had ever encountered. But the connection might still do.
An hour later Sidney’s determination hardened when a note arrived from his solicitor. Due to unexpected financial reverses, your quarterly allowance has been canceled. He again swore. That explained Skinner’s demand. How did those plagued cent-per-cents know of losses even before the principals?
“Good! You are wearing the sprig muslin,” Louisa exclaimed from the breakfast room doorway. “But your hair will never do.” Allowing no protest, she summoned her own maid from the hall and swept Catherine up to her room.
“This is ridiculous,” Catherine muttered as Angelique attacked her head.
“Not at all,” countered Louisa. “Appearance is everything. If you look like a dowd, your credit will suffer.”
“Patience, Louisa. Brigit lacks experience, but she is intelligent and talented. Tucker is teaching her about fabric care, she is learning about fashion as quickly as I am, and she has been experimenting with hair. In another month she will do as well as your own maid.”
“You haven’t got a month,” stated Louisa brutally, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “You have two hours. Hire a hairdresser to teach her. I cannot risk my own reputation by sponsoring someone who will embarrass me. And I cannot believe you want to hurt Damon. If you wish, I can make arrangements for immediate instruction.”
“All right. And thank you.” She cringed at the notion that her mistakes would reflect badly on Damon, though she knew it was true. One of the lessons hammered home during her school days was the importance of appearance. First impressions were difficult to change. Already the day loomed as a terrifying challenge.
“Is your cook prepared for callers?” asked Louisa when Cat’s hair was nearly finished. “There will be dozens.”
Would her marriage really cause such an uproar? But she did not argue again. Normally she was too insignificant to elicit a second thought from society’s denizens, but that very characteristic worked against her now that she had married a wealthy earl. It was the first time she had considered Damon in that light, and she found the label oddly intimidating.
“Damon told Simms last night,” she reported. She had wondered at the time why he had bothered.
“Good. He will have everything in order then.”
Dear Lord, she was unprepared for society. How could she hope to avoid censure? “A school friend is calling soon,” she said, praying that she had not committed some dreadful solecism by issuing the invitation.
“Who?”
“Lady Peverell, wife of Sir Isaac. We attended Miss Grimsby’s Academy for Young Ladies together.”
Louisa nodded. “An unexceptionable lady. And I am delighted that you attended so prestigious a school. I believe Lady Ingleside and Lady Sommersby were also graduates of Miss Grimsby’s.”
Catherine frowned. “Lady Ingleside was born Sarah Havenworth, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, her father was Viscount Havenworth of Kensington, heir to the Earl of Marwood.”
“She was two years ahead of me. I cannot place Lady Sommersby. Perhaps she married since my father died. I lost track of society after that.”
“She was formerly Lady Elizabeth Drakeford, second daughter of the Marquess of Crossbridge – his principal seat is Renfrew Castle in Nottinghamshire, but he owns at least a dozen other estates. Her mother was his second wife, youngest daughter of the Earl of Crewes. Lady Elizabeth wed Lord Sommersby in July of 1810 in spite of her parents’ ambivalence to the match. He is merely a viscount with only one estate, though it is lucrative enough. There were rumors about bad blood between the families, but no specifics. Speculation over the wedding did not cease until their daughter was born ten months later.”
“Beth Drakeford.” Catherine choked back a laugh. It sounded as though Louisa had memorized Debrett’s. “She was always determined to get her own way – and often in trouble because of it. Again, I did not know her well, for she was two years younger than I, but we usually got along.”
“Excellent. Angelique will speak to Monsieur Henri about training Brigit. He is an outstanding coiffeur. I do not expect him to take her in hand himself, of course, but I am sure he can recommend someone. I will return before the first callers arrive. At least if you attended Miss Grimsby’s, I needn’t fret over your training.” Without waiting for a response, she whisked her maid out of the room. Catherine stared at the mirror. Her glossy black hair had been twisted into a knot atop her head, from which curls escaped to frame her face. For the first time in years she looked fashionable. Smiling, she sought out the butler to issue instructions for refreshments.
* * * *
“You look marvelous,” exclaimed Edith a few minutes later. “Of course, you always were the prettiest girl in our class.”
“Hardly. You cannot have forgot Serena.”
“Her cutting tongue destroys her beauty the moment she opens her mouth. She would still be a spinster if her parents had not arranged a marriage. I heard she did not exchange a single word with him until after the settlements were signed. But tell me what happened. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard you were the Countess of Devlin. Not that you won’t make him the perfect wife – I always hoped you would wed him, to be honest; you seem so well suited, but he was in town until recently with nary a hint of his plans.”
“It was rather sudden,” admitted Catherine. “Though we have been friends forever, I had always considered him a brother.”
“Your brother’s best friend,” agreed Edith.
“And a neighbor and part of our family.”
“So tell all!”
“I don’t know the details, but the timing has to do with my uncle. He has been scheming for years, though I cannot imagine why. You already know that he censored my mail, cutting me off from all acquaintances. I have lived very secluded since my parents died.”
“There was something else rather odd,” said Edith. “I only remembered it this morning. Miss Grimsby read me part of the letter in which your uncle announced that you would finish your last term at Miss Marian’s School for Girls so that you could enjoy your cousins’ support during so sad a period.”
“That is preposterous!”
“I swear it. She showed me the page.”
“My cousins never attended Miss Marian’s or anywhere else. In any case, they are years younger than I. Uncle Henry canceled my last term because there was no money for tuition.”
“But it had already been paid,” pointed out Edith. “And you know Grimsby never ever refunds tuition. I doubt she would do so even for a royal.”
“Another way to cut me off from the world,” murmured Catherine. “The only reason I can imagine is that he absconded with my dowry. Heaven knows the estate is in dire enough straits that he probably needed it.”
“Or perhaps he was jealous of your looks or breeding,” suggested Edith. “I have met young Mr. Braxton and cannot like the fellow. Are his sisters any better?”
“Worse.” She described them as positively as possible. “So one cannot help but feel sorry for them. If only they would not try so hard. But their mother goads them into overstepping propriety, and Uncle Henry’s pinchpenny ways make them frantic to leave home.”
“You are too softhearted, Cat, and always have been. I suppose you go out of your way waiting on them. They undoubtedly take horrid advantage of you.”
“Somebody has to do the work, and my aunt is unwell.”
“Or lazy. Or terrified that you would outshine her own girls, which sounds inevitable.”
“She can hardly worry about such fustian now. Besides, I did not really mind. I had nothing better to do with my time. But enough of me. Tell me about yourself. Is Sir Isaac the man of your dreams?”
Edith laughed. “Actually, he is, though I hardly knew him when we wed. It was a match my parents pushed. But I have come to love him dearly and we have three delightful little girls.” She described her family at length, eliciting a great deal of laughter over her children’s antics, for Edith unfashionably spent considerable time with her offspring each day. “But what are your plans? I will be attending the opera tonight with Isaac’s grandparents, but perhaps we will meet tomorrow.”
“Louisa is taking me to Lady Bristol’s rout tonight, but we have not discussed other invitations. Frankly, I am terrified. After living secluded for eight years, I fear my manners will prove sadly lacking. And I know nothing of current on-dits.”
“That is easy to rectify. Brummell lost an enormous sum at Brooks’s last night, this following an even bigger loss at Watier’s last week. Everyone is speculating about how long his current losing streak will last. He has won and lost several fortunes over the years, but his luck has never been as consistently bad as this Season… The Duchess of Woburton – she is the haughtiest high-stickler I have ever met aside from certain Almack’s patronesses – publicly cut Lady Barnes yesterday for daring to suggest that her spoiled brat of a son deserved his recent expulsion from Eton. The lad is now bedeviling the tutors at Harrow, though bets favor him being sent down before long break. The last time he was in London, he released a monkey in Astley’s that sent one of the horses plunging out of control and caused a near-riot in the theater… Jeremy Crenshaw maneuvered Letitia Armstrong into the garden at Lady Debenham’s ball last night, keeping her there for half an hour. She returned looking thoroughly kissed. If there is no betrothal by tomorrow, she will have to rusticate awhile and pray a juicier scandal draws society’s attention before her reputation is irretrievably shattered.”
“How did you learn about Brummell so early in the morning?” demanded Catherine. “I thought gentlemen remained at the tables until dawn.”
“My maid, of course. One of her duties is keeping me apprised of gossip.”
“Brigit knows no one.”
“She will. Servants derive their consequence from their masters, so they have a vested interest in keeping you au courant. But your first job is to learn the position of everyone in society. There are some that you must never contradict. The Almack’s patronesses form the core of that group. Despite being wed, you need their good will and a voucher to maintain your status. Two others who can make lethal enemies are Lady Beatrice and Lady Debenham. Both are insatiable gossips. Though Lady Beatrice is the more spiteful of the two, either can destroy you. They know everything and hide nothing, for they are locked in a longstanding struggle for power. Lady Beatrice has been the most feared gossip in London for at least thirty years, but she is getting old, and Lady Debenham is determined to dethrone her.”
“What ever happened to judge not that ye be not judged and the Golden Rule?”
“Never in the polite world,” Edith reminded her. “The rules here were created by sterner folk. Breaking them invites instant, and often permanent, censure – which can ostracize you completely. Another person you cannot afford to antagonize is Brummell. Whatever his financial problems, he is still a powerful arbiter of fashion whose disdain could ruin you. And of course, you must always watch what you say about the Regent. With travel reestablished to France, the government fears that radical ideas will take hold here, so Prinny is even touchier than usual of criticism. Unfortunately, he invites all too much of it with his growing girth, continued flirtations, extravagant spending, and hatred of his wife.”
Louisa returned, followed by Simms bearing a more elaborate tea tray than Catherine had used for herself and Edith. Two footmen carried in cakes and biscuits. Within moments, Simms was announcing the first callers. Edith departed soon afterward. By the end of the first hour, Catherine’s head was throbbing, with so many names and faces swirling inside that she despaired of ever sorting them out. Often she thanked Miss Grimsby for her much-criticized insistence on practicing social skills long after everyone seemed proficient. Though Catherine had not touched a tea tray in eight years, she automatically moved through the ritual. Even conversation was not difficult this day. She had only to repeat that she and Damon had known each other all their lives, then agree that the dear boy was hopelessly impetuous to have married her out of hand. So romantic—
Conversation buzzed as the crowd broke into small groups. She heard further speculation of Brummell’s losses, the duchess’s cut, and Miss Armstrong’s indiscretion. Others wagered on expected betrothals, condemned a group of pranksters for introducing a very dead sheep into Lady Horseley’s drawing room just before a card party, welcomed the opening of a new modiste shop, and offered a dozen reasons for Lady Montgomery’s sudden retirement to the country.
“Colonel John Caldwell,” announced Simms.
“Colonel Caldwell.” Catherine greeted him with a smile and handed him a glass of wine. He was taller than Damon, his red uniform jacket a perfect foil for dark hair and gray eyes. And he had the same slender build as Peter, which gave her a pang.
“Lady Devlin.” He bowed over her hand. “As one of Damon’s closest friends, I must berate him for keeping you a secret.”
“He was a bit precipitate,” she agreed. “However, we have known each other forever.”
“So I understand. You were Peter Braxton’s sister, were you not?”
“Yes.” She thought she had controlled her voice, but he must have seen something in her face, for his own suddenly twisted in remorse.
“Forgive me for reminding you, my lady. He was a good man and one of my better officers.”
“Do you command his regiment now?” she asked, making the connection to a name in one of Peter’s letters. Caldwell had been a captain when Peter and Damon bought their own commissions.
“No. I have spent the past four years on Wellington’s staff and now split my time between my estate and London. If the duke turns his hand to politics, I may leave the army to join him.”
“Interesting. I would love to hear more of it some time when we can actually talk.”
“I look forward to it. Damon has chosen well,” he concluded as Simms appeared in the doorway. Smiling, he joined a group of gentlemen near the window.
“The Marchioness of Tardale and Lady Hermione Smythe,” announced Simms, escorting the ladies into the room.
Catherine poured tea, wondering why Simms’s wooden voice had sounded even more so and why the buzz of voices was suddenly muted. Though she exchanged conventional greetings, she felt very much at a disadvantage. Lady Hermione was at least seven years her junior, yet appeared far more poised. Even her looks were intimidating – green eyes in an oval face framed by blonde curls. Every movement was graceful, from her seductive walk to the way she handled a teacup, so it was no surprise that she attracted every male eye. But the impression of elegant perfection was shattered when the girl opened her mouth, for she was unpleasantly arrogant.
“Such a sudden marriage,” she said contemptuously, with a pointed look at Catherine’s waistline. Her mother had already moved on to converse with Lady Sefton.
“Hardly. We have known each other all our lives,” Catherine explained yet again.
“I’m sure you have.”
Catherine was shocked into silence by the hard, suggestive tone and the unexpected attack. Several gentlemen drifted closer, staring avidly at Lady Hermione. The girl’s eyes glinted with triumph before she turned a pitying look on her hostess.
“I wonder why he married you,” she murmured so softly that no one else could hear. “It certainly wasn’t out of affection.” With that brazen thrust, she sauntered to the far corner of the drawing room, a procession of young dandies trailing in her wake.
But not everyone approved of her performance. The group by the window pointedly ignored her. Lady Sefton’s eyes narrowed. And the dowager Lady Castleton ushered her goddaughter away fully three minutes early.
* * * *
Damon strode down St. James’s, enjoying the cool air after an hour of sparring in Jackson’s overheated rooms. The exercise had been welcome, but his problems again clamored for attention. His solicitor’s latest report exposed more irregularities in the Braxton affairs. The baron had steadily diverted funds, though whether they went for his own vices or Sidney’s was hard to tell. And it was irrelevant. Either way, the money was gone.
“Good day, my lord.”
Damon stared at the young dandy who had addressed him. “Mr. Braxton.”
“Welcome to the family,” the cub said outrageously. “Though it would have been more seemly to inform me before announcing the event to the world.”
“I would have expected your father to tell you,” commented Damon, sidestepping to continue on his way.
Sidney shrugged. “The past is unimportant, but we have business to discuss.”
“Indeed?” Had young Braxton known of the codicil? Not until Sidney paled under his glare did the earl lead the way into Brooks’s to search out an empty room.
“My father recently suffered a temporary reverse of fortune,” began Sidney baldly, skipping the usual polite chatter. “Unfortunately, he did not tell me about it until I had incurred obligations beyond this quarter’s allowance. You cannot wish to see your wife’s cousin immured in prison, so I trust you will make me a small loan – only enough to tide me over until quarter day. I have investments paying dividends in July that will more than cover the amount.”
