Debauchery and the Earl, page 3
If he had met her before, he couldn’t recall it. Nor could he conjure up anyone who looked enough like her to be her sister, and presumably he must have at least danced with the sister for his visitor to believe he was the father of the unborn child.
Someone had treated the sister ill. Despite the natural relief any man might feel at discovering he was not responsible for such a situation, he felt bad for the family. And perhaps he owed the sister something for his demonstration on the wine-stained bed. Had he been a younger and more foolish man…
Well, he needn’t go there. Everyone was young and foolish at some point, but it was the women who paid the price. Alone. And that was not right. In fact, his visitor would pay the price for her sister’s folly, too. Scandal brought down the victim’s entire family. Unless it was all hushed up. Which took money and connections. He wondered if they had those.
He finished his wine with a vague idea of finding out who the devil the family was and maybe even making use of his own connections if he had to. Then, although it was ridiculously early by his standards, he prepared for bed.
*
There was a certain novel charm in being up with the birds, breakfasted, and driving back into Town at a time before he was normally even awake. Arrived back at Calton House, his Town residence, he shut himself in his library with his correspondence. Unusually, he examined his invitation cards before anything else. There were not so many of those as during the spring Season, but enough people were in London while Parliament sat to make parties worthwhile. Where, he wondered, would he be most likely to run into his enterprising visitor?
Having dashed off a couple of quick acceptance notes, he turned his attention to the weightier business of estate correspondence and upcoming parliamentary debates. The vote he cared about most should be done in time for him to get to Lady Wenning’s party at Harcourt before returning to his own estate.
He was deep into his reading on parliamentary reform when James, his butler, informed him that he had visitors.
“Lady Calton, my lord. And Miss Branforth.”
Calton groaned. The Dowager Lady Calton was his grandmother, and therefore not to be fobbed off. Which was a pity, for though he was fond of the redoubtable old lady, he knew damned well she had brought along another debutante to persuade him to the altar.
Nevertheless, he put his coat back on and stepped round to the blue salon where he normally received his visitors. There he found his grandmother seated on the sofa beside a pale beauty with downcast eyes, wearing white, sprigged muslin—a very young lady, who appeared to be listening avidly to his grandmother’s conversation. Or instruction.
“Grandmama.” He crossed the room to take her compellingly outstretched hand, then bent and kissed her cheek. “What an unexpected honor.”
“Ha,” uttered his grandmother. “You’re looking well, Calton. My dear,” she added to the young lady, “this graceless scamp is my grandson, the Earl of Calton. Calton, Miss Branforth, Eversleigh’s daughter, who has been kind enough to accompany me to the dressmaker’s this morning.”
The limpid blue eyes raised to his looked curious, also hopeful. He bowed correctly over her hand and murmured welcoming inanities.
“Can I offer you tea, Grandmama?” he said.
“Lord, no, I have to get this child home. I just brought her to meet you because she knows no one in Town as yet. Mourning meant she did not come out in the spring as was originally planned. So, I thought it would be more pleasant for her to recognize at least one face at Lady Darling’s ball tonight.”
“Sadly, I shall not be at Lady Darling’s.”
His grandmother’s eyes narrowed. “But she told me in particular she had sent you a card.”
“Then I sent my apologies.” If he had remembered.
“Well, she won’t mind. I told her you would be there.”
There were times when Calton wondered how it was his grandmother had lived so long. She met his gaze with her own, which contained a wealth of understanding as well as determination. He could win this fight, of course, but why bother? In any case, it was just possible that the girl from Maida would be at the ball.
“You are incorrigible, Grandmama,” he observed. “If Lady Darling does not throw me out, I shall be there. And I hope you will save me a dance, Miss Branforth.”
“I should enjoy that very much,” she said with a grateful smile that irritated him. Why anyone should be grateful to dance with a man clearly only doing his ungracious duty to his grandmother was beyond him.
Because he was an earl, of course.
His grandmother rose to her feet. “Come, then, my dear, let me return you to your mama.”
Civilly, Calton accompanied them to the waiting carriage. His grandmother stood back, leaving him to hand Miss Branforth into the carriage first, while the old lady exchanged words with the butler, who had once been her own servant.
“Well, what do you think?” she demanded as soon as Calton sauntered over to the step.
Calton gestured with his eyes and the butler duly backed off inside. “I think she is very pretty, and you are an interfering old woman.”
“You’ll find she grows on you.”
“So do warts.”
“Insolent boy. Seriously, you are eight-and-twenty, and the earldom must have an heir.”
“Cousin Anthony will make a perfect heir. He even has ten sons to succeed him.”
“He has two sons and a daughter, and Anthony was not born to be the earl.” She lowered her voice. “Seriously, Calton, you cannot let Francis deflect you from your duty. He has been dead for twelve years.”
Calton smiled, to prove the jibe neither hurt nor bothered him. “My dear ma’am, only wickedness deflects me from my duty.”
“Hmmph,” uttered his grandmother, holding out one commanding hand. “It needn’t. Many wicked men are married.”
Chapter Three
“Where on earth were you?” Helena hissed as soon as their father had departed the breakfast parlor. “I had to cover for you the entire evening, and then you wouldn’t speak to me this morning in your bedchamber.”
“I was asleep this morning in my bedchamber.”
“Seriously, Jo, what are you up to? Where did you go?”
Fortunately, they did not have so many servants that any hovered to serve breakfast. Even so, Josephine rose and closed the door before coming back to the table.
“I went to Maida Gardens.”
Helena blanched. “With whom?”
“No one. I met Lord Calton there.”
Helena closed her eyes. “Dear God. Did you know he was going to be there? Is that why you went?”
“Of course. I heard his servants talking on the area steps when I went to call on him.”
“Josephine! You cannot go calling on an unmarried man, who does not even have a mother to play hostess for him!”
“Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t enter the monster’s lair. According to the servants I overheard, he had already gone off to Maida Gardens for a night of debauchery, beginning with the masked ball.”
“Please tell me you did not speak to him.”
“Why?” Josephine retorted. “Afraid I learned the truth? That you lied to me? That I accused an innocent man?” Not that she believed him to be innocent of very much but being the father of Helena’s child seemed to be the one crime he had not committed.
Helena sprang to her feet, then held onto the table for support. “You are making everything worse, Jo. By now, there will be rumors all over Town. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Josephine stared at her. “Because you’re not doing anything. Are you waiting to be rescued by your handsome prince? You only have me.”
“You can’t fix it, Jo,” Helena whispered. “Not this.” And she fled from the room, leaving Josephine with no appetite.
It was more than possible that Helena was right. That in her efforts to make Lord Calton face up to responsibilities that were not—probably—his, she had merely precipitated the moment of Helena’s fall. She should have found some way to ensure Calton would keep his mouth shut. Although, of course, he did not know her name, and she was determined to keep it that way.
After her aunt’s party tonight, from which, sadly, she could not cry off, she would just have to find ways to avoid society. And when she could not, it should not be too difficult to avoid Lord Calton, for he was both difficult to miss and generally surrounded by friends and beautiful women. He would never even notice her. He certainly never had before. So, he need never know her identity, she thought optimistically.
He noticed me at Maida, she reminded herself ruefully, though only for her novelty, since she had had the temerity to ask him to dance. And it was true he had kissed her on the bed, while…aroused. Well, men were aroused all the time. It meant nothing, and his kiss had been more in the nature of a lesson that she could easily hate him for.
Except that now she knew what a real kiss felt like. And it was rather wonderful.
Frowning as she nibbled half-heartedly on a piece of toast, she wondered if the kiss was why she imagined he was too honorable to tell tales. No doubt Helena had thought the same thing of her errant swain.
Her Aunt Darling—or Darling Aunt as Josephine and Helena had always called her—drifted into the room in a cloud of diaphanous shawls. “Oh, good, Josephine!” She beamed. “Come and tell me what you think of the ballroom. Since you have danced all over Europe, you will have excellent taste.”
“I’m not sure the two necessarily go together,” Josephine murmured, “but I would love to see it.”
After she had duly admired the potted palms and swathes of decorative silk and heard all about the hothouse roses that would be delivered en masse late this afternoon, it struck her that she could do worse than pick her aunt’s brains.
“I suppose everyone who is anyone will be coming tonight,” she said.
“Well, everyone who is in Town. It won’t be the shocking squeeze one hopes for in the Season.” She rattled off several names, all of which passed over Josephine’s head, though she gathered they were leaders of London society.
In truth, Josephine knew very few people in Town. They had only come home to England from Paris in June and gone straight to their grandmother’s house in Bath. From there, they had gone to stay with Lady Darling, Papa’s widowed sister, in Brighton and only returned with her to London because Josephine’s father, a respected diplomat, had been summoned by the Foreign Secretary.
“What of Lord Calton?” she asked casually. “We met him in Brighton. He danced with Helena.”
Aunt Darling waved one dismissive hand. “Oh, he won’t come. Old Lady Calton told me he would, but that’s wishful thinking. He sent me his apologies weeks ago. I think he’s off to the continent. Or will be soon. He’s the despair of the matchmaking mamas—and grandmamas!”
His absence was not quite the relief she had imagined it would be. Which was odd because it certainly meant one less thing to worry about.
When she was dressed for the ball that evening, she went in search of Helena, whom she found anxiously smoothing her gown over her stomach.
“There is nothing to see,” Josephine assured her, leaning against the closed door. “But I would not examine yourself like that too often around the maids.”
Helena grimaced. “I won’t need to in another few weeks because it will be obvious.”
“Calton is not coming,” Josephine told her. “According to Aunt. And even if he were, he does not know who I am. You have danced with him, talked to him. Do you think he is a decent man?”
“He is an amusing man, happy to flirt or be friends, though only on a superficial level. I doubt anyone knows him.”
Josephine blinked. “Well, you discovered that much.”
“I thought about him. After you told me what you did last night.” Their eyes met in the glass. “I know you were trying to help me, Jo, and I do thank you for it. But please promise me you won’t take any more risks? God knows what could have happened to you at that place, and it would help neither of us for you to be…in any kind of trouble.” She turned away from the glass to face her. “Calton was…kind to you, wasn’t he?”
She felt herself flushing. “In his way. Though I am in no hurry to meet him again. Come, we had best go down or Aunt will send a search party for us.”
Aunt Darling was their father’s sister, and since she was a widow, he played host for the evening. As a result, Josephine discovered several of the guests were her father’s fellow diplomats. Sir Joseph and Lady Sayle were among the first to arrive, followed by Prince and Princess Esterhazy, thus ensuring the success of Darling Aunt’s party. For Josephine, it was very pleasant to find such old friends here, especially, perhaps, Andre de Talley, whom they had first met in Vienna as part of the French delegation to the peace congress. He had been a particular friend over the years, hungry enough to do difficult work well for his defeated country, and young enough to enjoy himself when opportunity offered.
“What a pleasant surprise!” Josephine greeted him, offering both her hands. “We did not even know you were in London!”
“I have been here since the summer. But I ran into Mr. Blackwell last week and he invited me, so here I am. And you look ravishing as always! But where is… Ah.”
Helena was already on the arm of someone Josephine didn’t recognize, strolling toward the dance floor.
“I must wait until later so speak to Miss Blackwell,” Talley observed. “But you will dance with me, Miss Jo?”
“I would be delighted,” Josephine agreed, relieved to have so amiable a partner, for the gift of easy conversation cultivated by diplomatic families seemed to have largely passed her by. Talley, however, had taken her and Helena riding in the Vienna Woods and mischief-making at several masked balls. So that whenever they had run into each other across Europe, she had been glad.
“So, will your posting to London be a long one?” she asked as the opening waltz began.
“Perhaps. Mr. Blackwell tells me he will be here for the foreseeable future. Are you pleased?”
Josephine wrinkled her nose. “It all seems very staid, to be honest, though it is good to be with my aunt, who is very tolerant of us all.”
“Perhaps you and Miss Blackwell will ride with me in the park one morning?”
“We would love to,” Josephine said without hesitation before she remembered her sister’s condition. Helena was not at her best in the early mornings. And then she remembered another waltz with another man and her insides tightened all over again. Well, at least he is not here.
And that was when, just as if she had conjured him from her thoughts, she saw him over Talley’s shoulder, sauntering into the ballroom.
Her heart performed a violent somersault, and she immediately jerked her gaze away. But somehow, his image seemed to be printed on her eyelids, for she could still see him overlaying the man she danced with.
Despite the very different surroundings, in perfect evening dress, Lord Calton contrived somehow to look just as jaded and dashing as last night. And, of course, just as spectacularly handsome.
“Josephine?” Talley’s concerned voice broke into her shock. “Are you quite well?”
“Mmm? Oh. Yes, of course.” She smiled at him. “I beg your pardon—a sudden slip of memory. How do you like living in London?”
*
Calton had seen her almost as soon as he had entered the ballroom, waltzing with the same grace she had shown last night, but laughing up at her partner in an open way she never had with him. Gone was the mysterious seductress and in her place a friendly and probably charming young woman.
Two sides of the same coin. He didn’t doubt there were others. But who the devil was she?
Lady Darling was a goddaughter of his grandmother’s, so the old lady, sitting with her cronies among the dowagers, was a good place to begin. He made his way toward her, pausing to greet old friends and acquaintances en route.
“Dear me, can it possibly be Lord Calton himself?” drawled an amused voice he knew only too well. “I thought your lordship had quite given us up for the blandishments of Paris.”
Calton kept the faint smile on his lips as he turned toward the lady who had been, up until last week, his mistress. Mrs. Selina Reddington was lovely, languid, and not without thorns. He was well aware of the barbs in her greeting, since his upcoming trip to the continent had been the main reason he had given her for their parting.
In fact, his journey had been an excuse, for in truth, he was as bored with her as with the rest of his life. He could not help believing there should be more attraction to one’s lover than experience in the bedchamber and a complaisant husband, which were the only qualities she had exhibited or that he had chosen to see. They were not good for each other. He had told her that, too, though he had the feeling the remark had gone straight over her head.
He took her elegantly offered hand and bowed over it. “Your servant, Mrs. Reddington. As you see, arrangements are taking longer than I expected.” He glanced at her companion, whom he did not know—a young, handsome man, who looked quite the Corinthian with his short hair and severely smart style. And a wary expression. Did he imagine Calton was here to reclaim Selina?
“Are you gentlemen not acquainted?” Selina asked in apparent surprise. “Calton, allow me to present Mr. Gough, Lord Denzil’s heir. George, my old friend, the Earl of Calton.”
By which, Calton realized, faintly amused, that they were both supposed to recognize that Gough was his replacement in her bed. Perhaps there was something wrong with Calton that he should care so little. God, he needed to get away from Town, from the sordid little pleasures that had somehow become his life.
He and the Corinthian sprig exchanged slight bows, and Calton excused himself with the bizarre feeling that he needed to brush off his hands.
The waltz was coming to an end, so he put on a burst of speed to reach his grandmother before it did.
