Gayle Buck (12 page)

He grimaced and raised his glass. “Here’s to a fortunate escape, Sinjin.”

Lord St. John dropped carelessly into a chair. His rakish smile was grim. “That is an utterly laughable sentiment, Carey.”

Mr. Underwood stood quite still, uncomfortably staring into his wineglass. He abruptly set the wine aside with a sudden show of repulsion. “It was a tasteless bit of nonsense.”

“Pray do not castigate yourself, Carey. The entire business is tasteless and I am sick to death of it,” said Lord St. John with suppressed violence.

Lord Edward Heatherton, hitherto silent, cleared his throat. “One doesn’t like to tell one’s friends their business, of course.”

“Pray feel free to unburden yourself, Nana,” said Lord St. John, turning a glittering gaze on his lordship. “I assure you that I shan’t take undue affront.”

Mr. Underwood glanced sharply at the viscount. He did not like the way that Lord St. John lazed in the chair, yet still managed to convey the impression of a tightly coiled spring.

“A delicate matter and all that,” said Lord Heatherton anxiously.

“For God’s sake, Nana!” exclaimed Lord St. John impatiently.

Lord Heatherton fingered his fob. “What I mean to say is, wedlock is not so bad a notion. A wealthy wife, the problem is solved.”

Taken by surprise, Lord St. John forced a laugh. “That’s rich, by God!”

Lord Heatherton looked at once relieved and bewildered by the viscount’s reaction. His soulful brown eyes turned from the viscount to Mr. Underwood and back again. “I do not understand.”

Lord St. John merely put his head back against the chair squabs and closed his eyes in a weary fashion.

It was left to Mr. Underwood to point out the obvious objection. “There isn’t an heiress in society who does not know how things stand with Sinjin. He’s not likely to be accepted as a serious suitor, Nana.”

Realizing that his suggestion had not been completely understood, Lord Heatherton coughed again. “Not society. The trades.”

At Lord Heatherton’s elaboration, Lord St. John opened his eyes and lifted his head to stare at him, while Mr. Underwood’s expression could only have been described as openmouthed.

Lord Heatherton’s countenance fell. “I see that the notion doesn’t strike your fancy. Well, we must think of something else, then.”

“A bride from the trades,” Mr. Underwood repeated slowly. His eyes met Lord St. John’s. The viscount gestured abruptly, negatively, and Mr. Underwood leaned forward. “No, but consider, Sinjin. You were fixed to be leg-shackled in any event. You were not enamored of Lady Althea. It was purely duty in expectation of the title that made you offer for her. You told me so at the time. What matter now another woman, as long as she is rich as Croesus?”

“Aye, we mustn’t forget that,” said Lord Heatherton, gratified that his idea had actually become worthy of discussion. “No point in it unless the lady is rich.”

Lord St. John suddenly erupted from the chair to his feet. He strode to the mantel to stare fixedly down into the fire. With tight control, he said, “I dislike this discussion intensely.”

There was a moment of silence, before Mr. Underwood drummed up the courage to fly in the face of all civility. He said quietly, “Sinjin, it is a sound solution. The alternatives are not pleasant.”

Lord St. John looked round. His mouth was twisted in self-derision. “No, the alternatives are not pleasant. If I remain in England, I can go to the sharks or let myself be carted away to prison.”

Lord Heatherton frowned heavily. “It is my opinion that you shouldn’t choose either of those, Sinjin. You’d not like prison. Murderers and cutpurses and lice. A distressing experience altogether. And as for dealing with the sharks, I daresay you would kill the first bloodsucker that demanded payment on his loan. That would be a hanging offense, even though I’ve never heard that anyone cares for those fellows in the least. Quite the contrary, in fact. You would not care for the scandal, of course.”

“No, I prefer not to have my neck stretched on the gallows,” said Lord St. John, his expression lightening at the trace of black humor.

“There you are, then,” said Lord Heatherton.

“There is one other alternative. You could accept a loan from your friends,” said Mr. Underwood quietly, his glance intent on the viscount’s face.

Lord St. John threw up his head as though struck. Revulsion prominent in his eyes, he said with loathing, “I thank you, but no. I am not a leech.”

Lord Heatherton looked astonished. “No such thing. Carey has made a very proper suggestion. It would be an agreement between gentlemen—a debt of honor.” He gave a discreet cough. “Be happy to oblige you in any way, Sinjin.”

“As would I or would Miles, I am certain,” said Mr. Underwood. “We are your friends, Sinjin. There is nothing more to be said than that.”

Lord St. John hit the hard mantel with his fist. There was a moment of tense silence during which he made a visible effort to control himself. Then with a hard-won crooked smile, he said, “The offers are appreciated. I shall not... easily forget them.”

Mr. Underwood chuckled sympathetically. He understood perfectly the viscount’s aversion, as it would be much the same feeling he would himself have had if their positions had been reversed. While it was acceptable to accept funds from one’s peers for betting purposes, one did not ask loans of one’s friends for such things as the expense of maintaining one’s town house. “Oh, very well, Sinjin. We shall not press you further on that head. It was ill-considered, but I promise you not ill-meant.”

Lord St. John allowed his smile to ease. “My damnable pride, Carey.”

Mr. Underwood nodded, accepting the oblique apology. “Aye. I am fortunate that you have not called me out for such temerity.”

The expression in Lord St. John’s eyes hardened briefly. “That is not so farfetched, Carey.”

Mr. Underwood smiled faintly. “I know it. But I gambled that you have so few true friends at this hour that I stood a fair chance of escaping that particular terror.”

“Damn your eyes, Carey.” said Lord St. John, quite mildly.

Mr. Underwood laughed.

Lord Heatherton had not paid attention to the conversation, having been caught up in his own deep reflections, but now he abruptly rejoined it. “It will have to be a bride from the trades. But the lady must be genteel and thus worthy of Sinjin’s consequence. He won’t stand for a vulgar woman.”

“Spare me altogether,” said Lord St. John.

“Nor a squint-eyed, harelipped harpy with thick ankles,” quipped Mr. Underwood, grinning at the viscount.

Lord St. John grimaced.

Even as Mr. Underwood acknowledged Lord St. John’s dislike of the topic, however, his connoisseur instincts rose with the exercise. He dropped into a chair and crossed his ankles. “The lady must be passable, at the very least, so as not to give the man a fright. One does not like to face an ugly woman across the breakfast table.”

Lord Heatherton considered the point and nodded gravely. “She must be pretty. Sinjin ain’t the skirtchaser you are, of course, Carey, but one’s wife should be pleasant to look at, and to listen to, as well.”

“Too right. Nothing is more disillusioning than when a lovely ladybird opens her mouth and shrill twitters issue forth,” agreed Mr. Underwood feelingly.

“You have between you described an ideal lady of breeding, distinction, and beauty. Now all that must be done is to discover this paragon of the trades,” said Lord St. John sardonically. He had turned his back to the mantel and stood leaning against it with his arms crossed over his broad chest so that he could better regard his friends, a mocking smile touching his lips.

Mr. Underwood appeared to be somewhat abashed at the viscount’s observation, but Lord Heatherton merely gave a somber nod. “I shall ask my mother,” he said.

“Your mother!” exclaimed Mr. Underwood, starting upright in his seat. “Good God! What madness has snagged your brain?”

“My mother is very respectable,” Lord Heatherton pointed out.

Lord St. John laughed. “None more so, Nana.”

Lord Heatherton bowed solemnly at the compliment.

Mr. Underwood put his head in his hands. “Nana, Lady Heatherton is arguably one of the starchiest ladies of my acquaintance.” Dropping his hands, he raised his head. “Pray explain what possible use she could be to Sinjin?”

“M’mother’s respectable. She knows any number of respectable people. Stands to reason she’d know respectable tradespeople, too,” said Lord Heatherton patiently. “In fact, m’mother refuses to have dealings with anyone who isn’t respectable.”

“Quite true, Carey. You and I have been barred from her house these two seasons, past,” said Lord St. John with the glint of a mocking smile.

Mr. Underwood was unheeding of the viscount’s irreverent contribution. Instead, he regarded Lord Heatherton with the expression of one who has seen a revelation. “Very true, Nana. I had not thought it completely out, but of course you are right. Quite, quite, right.”

“Carey, this ludicrousness has gone on long enough,” said Lord St. John sharply. He had straightened abruptly. “It does not amuse me to think of my affairs displayed to Lady Heather-ton’s disapproving gaze.”

“She doesn’t like Sinjin above half,” agreed Lord Heatherton. He sighed with regret. “It’s a rare pity, but m’mother doesn’t like you much either, Carey. She says that you are both bad influences upon my character.”

Mr. Underwood dismissed this dismal observation with the indifference it deserved and continued with the point of the matter. He turned to the viscount. “We shan’t tell Lady Heatherton what we are about, of course. Nana shall tell her simply that someone he knows is looking for a solid investment in trade. Yes, that is it. The acquaintance in question will deal only with a respectable, wealthy family man, as those qualities signify sound judgment and proper moral values.”

Lord St. John glanced toward Lord Heatherton and observed the effects of Mr. Underwood’s discourse on him. What he gathered from Lord Heatherton’s expression greatly amused him.

“I congratulate you upon your fertile imagination, Carey. It is an excellent ploy. Lady Heatherton will undoubtedly be hooked like a large trout by such a challenge,” he drawled. “I am not so certain that the hook can be set, however.”

“What do you mean? Why, it is very nearly foolproof,” said Mr. Underwood indignantly. “All Nana has to do—”

“That is precisely the point,” said Lord St. John softly as he gestured toward their companion.

As Lord Heatherton had listened to the unfolding of Mr. Underwood’s plan his eyes had begun to bulge. Now he pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his sweating brow. “I can’t lie to m’mother, Carey,” he said apologetically. “She always knows somehow. She’ll pull out of me just what I don’t want to tell her. Always does, I don’t know how.”

Mr. Underwood’s jaw hardened and his brown eyes glinted with determination. “Well, she shan’t get anything out of me.
I
shall lie to her, Nana.”

“Oh, will you indeed? I would be more grateful than I can say, Carey,” said Lord Heatherton, a huge relief in his face.

“Is Lady Heatherton in town, Nana?” asked Lord St. John idly.

There was a short silence as it was realized that Lady Heatherton was not then enjoying one of her rare sojourns in the city.

“Curse you, Sinjin. You are determined to play devil’s advocate,” said Mr. Underwood, understandably put out.

“I am so very good at it, you see,” said Lord St. John in mock apology.

“I shall write m’mother. I shall tell her that Carey has introduced me to an actress,” said Lord Heatherton as though setting himself to face a hideous ordeal.

Lord Heatherton’s brave announcement did not go unappreciated. Mr. Underwood looked at him in surprise and approval. “Oh, well done, Nana! That will bring her ladyship to town like a shot.”

“Aye,” agreed Lord Heatherton, very gloomy. “And then I shall have to make up some farradiddle about this actress that I don’t know and don’t want to know and before I know it I shall truly be in the basket.”

Surprising himself, Lord St. John said, “You will not have to go to such strenuous lengths on my account, Nana. Instead write to Lady Heatherton that I have taken you to a gaming hell. It will have one and the same effect on her ladyship; but at least you shall derive some pleasure from it as well for I mean to introduce you to a certain establishment that will curl your conservative locks.”

“That is damned decent of you, Sinjin,” said Lord Heatherton gratefully, much cheered at the faintly alarming prospect of stepping foot into a notorious hell.

“I take it that you are willing to tread this road, Sinjin?” asked Mr. Underwood.

Lord St. John shrugged irritably. He had not realized that he was actually giving the ridiculous notion real consideration until he had made his offer to Lord Heatherton, but now that he had done so, he might as well play out the hand. He was a drowning man in any event. “This road or another—what matter?”

“Then it is settled. We shall find Sinjin a worthy—but more importantly—a wealthy bride,” said Mr. Underwood.

He looked thoughtfully across at the viscount’s deep-carven face. Lord St. John had turned again to contemplate the flames. The fire’s flickering light caught the bleakness in his lordship’s eyes. Hesitantly, Mr. Underwood asked, “Unless you dislike the notion, Sinjin?”

Lord St. John made a weary gesture.

For a moment he toyed with the notion of actually taking sail the very next evening for parts unknown. Then, unbidden, he recalled the honest countenances of his retainers, Jessup and Mrs. Jessup; the calm determination of Mr. Todd and the favorable report he had had from the man; and the visible signs of improvement in his tenants’ lots. If he left England behind, it would be a betrayal of all that he had tried to accomplish and of the unexpected trust of those who depended upon him for their living.

His expression altered and became so hard that it was unreadable. “What true choice have I, if I am to remain in England? I am not precisely enamored of the notion of exile. The other alternatives open to me are bleaker still.”

“I am sorry,” said Mr. Underwood quietly.