The Kiss of a Viscount (The Daughters of the Aristocracy) (5 page)

Reaching for the calling card, George gave his friend a wary glance. “Debutante? Do you know her?” At Teddy’s quick shake of his head, he added, “Then how ..?” He looked down and read the card, his brows furrowing at the information. “How did you find out about this ‘Lady E’?” he wondered. Instead of handing the card back to his friend, George slipped it into his waistcoat pocket and continued dressing.

Teddy shrugged, a movement made awkward by the lack of a right arm. “She found
me
. I’ve seen her before, though. In fact, I think I know who she is. But she sought me out. Left me the card. So, I met her at that address and a day later, I have my position. And, I’ll be getting a wooden arm next week. Some carpenter is carving one for me now. She saw to that, too.”

George realized he’d been staring and tore his gaze away from Teddy’s empty sleeve. “And she’s paying for that as well, I take it?” The comment wasn’t meant to sound judgmental, but somehow it came out that way.

Teddy stiffened at the tone in George’s voice. “As I said, I will pay it back. The charity exists to help us cripples get our old jobs back.” He paused when George seemed surprised at the comment, wondering then if his friend had misunderstood the name of the organization on the calling card.

“And did you ask whose blunt is behind the operation?” George wondered, his expression softening a bit. He realized at once he should be happy for Teddy, but he couldn’t help but be a bit suspicious at the same time. There were dozens of charities in London that could claim they helped widows and their children, but none he knew of that existed to help find employment for wounded soldiers.

“I think the only funding available right now is this woman’s own pin money,” Teddy replied.

Pin money? Twenty guineas wasn’t exactly pin money
! As he buttoned his breeches, George considered his friend’s explanation. So a woman had founded a charity with the sole purpose of helping wounded war veterans gain employment.
What was in it for her?
“You say you know who she is?”

Shrugging again in that way that seemed just a bit awkward, Teddy replied, “Yes. I think she’s Lady Elizabeth Carlington.”

George’s head snapped up. “Lord Morganfield’s daughter?” Not too long ago, Josie had talked about the chit – thought he should marry her! He had never even met Lady Elizabeth, but overheard comments made at White’s led him to believe the young lady was unmarried, quite spoiled and very beautiful.

The money to fund her little venture was probably coming from her father.

“Yes. In fact, I am quite sure of it,” Teddy went on. “I once saw her at the theatre before I left for France. I wouldn’t have given her a second glance except that my older brother was quite taken with her and thought to court her. And then, a few months ago, she was at Lady Worthington’s musicale. She seemed to want an introduction, but some old biddy from Almack’s refused to allow it.”

Frowning, George considered Teddy’s words. “Your brother thought to court the daughter of a
marquess
? Aiming a bit above his station, wasn’t he?” he asked rhetorically as he folded his uniform. An attendant would see to its storage on his behalf.

“I suppose, but why not? Her dowry is probably in the thousands. Who’s to say her father wouldn’t allow her a love match if that’s what she wanted?”

Daddy’s only daughter would not be allowed to marry for love
, George thought to himself. Not if David Carlington was the father. The man was one of the most powerful lords in Parliament. Despite the scandal that had nearly knocked him out of power all those years ago, the man was quite resilient and well-respected by his peers. He would no doubt be the architect of an arranged marriage for political gain. “Because you’re speaking of David Carlington,” George countered, his grin returning. “And unless your brother had some way to become a member of the
ton
, it’s rather doubtful he would have a chance in hell at becoming a Carlington son-in-law.”

Teddy was forced to agree. And then his grin widened. “
You’re
a member of the
ton
now, George,” he commented with a cocked eyebrow. “Perhaps you should consider courting Lady Elizabeth. You’d like her,” he added as his elbow found its way into George’s ribs.

“Ouch,” the viscount replied as he stepped to the side. Trying hard to hide his sudden grimace, he regarded his friend. “And why would I be interested in a chit who runs a charity that is no doubt funded by her father? A
spoiled
chit, no less.”

As they took their leave of the changing room and headed toward the academy’s front doors, Teddy said something that stayed with George for the rest of the night. “I do not believe the marquess is funding Lady E’s venture. At least, not directly.”

A footman held open the doors for the two gentlemen as they left Angelo’s. “What makes you say that?” George wondered as he led Teddy down the street toward White’s.

“I could be mistaken, but I am almost positive she used her allowance to pay the bribe at the bank,” Teddy answered with a cocked eyebrow. “And when I looked at Lady E, I did not get the impression she was spoiled in the least.”

George cocked an eyebrow. “When you
looked
at her, were you looking at her ... face? Or some other parts of her?” he asked in feigned disgust. “And was she looking down her nose at you? With her chin somewhere in the next layer of atmosphere?”

It was Teddy’s turn to huff. “I appreciate a pretty face when I see one, George, and hers is more than pretty. As to her other parts, I can’t say for certain since she was wearing one of those ...” He waved his arm in the air as he tried to find the correct word. “Pelisses, that’s it,” he announced proudly. “She was wearing it over her gown. But I can imagine she’s a good figure. And she never treated me like a commoner, George. She’s got pluck, I tell you. And she is
beautiful
.”

Suitably dressed down, George considered his friend’s words. And he was surprised at the reverence he heard in his friend’s words. Obviously, this ‘Lady E’ had made quite an impression on Teddy. “It sounds as if you were saved by an angel, my friend.”

Teddy raised an eyebrow. “I do think of her as an angel. But I have a feeling she will be unable to share the good news of her charity with any of her own titled people.”

George gave his friend a sharp glance.
Titled people
now included him. And why shouldn’t he look kindly upon Lady E’s charity? He voiced the question and heard Teddy snort in reply.

“I would think it’s not seemly for an unmarried lady of the
ton
to be involved with cripples,” he replied in a matter-of-fact manner. “At least, not directly. Could be quite scandalous, in fact. She didn’t even have a chaperone with her when she met with the banker today.”

George stymied the surprise he nearly displayed at hearing the awful truth. Considering his friend’s words for the rest of the night as they played whist at White’s, George wondered how Lady E was funding her charity. Did she have to keep it secret from her family as he had kept secret the funding of the Chichester orphanage from his uncle all those years? Or had her father allowed her the privilege? Perhaps he would ask Lord Morganfield about his daughter’s charity in such a way as to discover if the marquess was providing funds for it. And, if it became clear the marquess knew nothing of the charity, then George decided Lady E should have some help with her charity.

Monetary help.

She would need a good deal of blunt if the enterprise wasn’t being funded by her family’s money. There were far too many wounded soldiers looking for employment these days, and once news of the charity spread, there would be a number of men lining up in Oxford Street seeking Lady E’s help. An army of them, in fact.

Later that night, Elizabeth Carlington climbed into bed feeling an immense sense of satisfaction. Despite having given a banker twenty guineas that afternoon, money she would have otherwise used to buy gowns, bonnets, ribbons or perhaps gifts for her dearest friends, she realized it had been far better to use it for a man’s welfare.

She thought back to that week after the last ball of the Season. With most of the
ton
summering at their estates outside of London and very few social occasions at which to spend time with eligible bachelors, Elizabeth’s thoughts of marriage were put on hold until the Little Season began in the fall. It was the need for diversion during those summer months that led to her thoughts on starting her own charity. The memory of
almost
meeting Theodore Streater at Lady Worthington’s musicale had stayed with her, haunted her for all those weeks before she determined she should offer some kind of assistance to the man.

For when she had voiced her desire for an introduction to the wounded ex-soldier, she’d been told quite firmly by an older lady of the
ton
that she simply could not meet him. It would be unseemly, the old biddy had said, her nose raised in such a fashion as to suggest there could be no argument to change that fact. Stunned, Lady Elizabeth had acquiesced, not expecting to think of the episode later that night or again and again for the rest of the summer. By late August, she had arranged to let the office from the solicitor whose advertisement she’d seen in the window whilst shopping, visited a print shop for calling cards and stationery, and discreetly distributed cards to those she recognized as needing assistance. Now, she took great pride in the fact that Theodore Streater was gainfully employed. He would one day be able to pay back some of the money it had cost for his bribe.

Then she would have those funds to help another.

And once more men were gainfully employed, they might help fund the charity, too. With a steady stream of money, she could afford to send applicants to tailors for suits of clothes, to pay bribes, and to hire help in the office. She would need assistance in searching the newspapers for job openings and in interviewing soldiers to determine what positions they might be best suited to work.

Yes, there was a good deal of work to be done if this charity was going to be successful. But in the end, funding from those who had already been helped would be the key to its success.

Chapter 6
A Mistress Pays a Call on a Marquess

August 1815

The butler opened one of the front double doors of Carlington House. He might have been a bit surprised by the identity of the visitor; if he was, he did not reveal it when he greeted Josephine Wentworth – once he figured out it was her beneath the black veil, black bombazine gown and black mantle she wore. “Miss Wentworth,” he acknowledged with a nod. He stepped aside as Josephine entered the vestibule and held out her calling card.

“Alfred,” she said brightly. “If his lordship is in residence, would you be so kind as to ask him if I might have a few minutes of his time? It’s about politics, of course,” she added, wanting to be sure the butler didn’t get the wrong idea about her infrequent visits. The last thing she wanted was for the household staff of Carlington House to think she was there in any other capacity than as a visitor. Wearing widow’s weeds was merely a way of hiding her identity from nosy neighbors. Although it was unlikely, should someone recognize her as a mistress, the gossip would last at least a week and put David Carlington in a very precarious position with his wife. The very last thing Josephine Wentworth wanted was to be the
on-dit
in London. She’d spent more than eight years ensuring she was unknown among the
ton
.

Alfred hurried off to the Marquess of Morganfield’s study and was back before Josephine could complete her perusal of the vestibule. A few things had changed since her last visit – the color of the satin on the walls was a dark forest green, and the addition of an oil painting on the west wall seemed to warm up the room considerably. Adeline Carlington was obviously having a positive affect on the household, even if it was several years too late.

“Lord Morganfield will see you in his study,” Alfred said with a nod as he turned to lead her there. Josephine followed at a respectful distance, allowing the butler to set the speed at which they walked down the wide hall. It gave her time to study the slight changes in decor in the hallway. A new painting here and there, a dais displaying a suit of armor from what looked liked the age of the Crusades, a marble bust of a Greek god – Apollo, she thought from her quick glance – and myriad objets d’art atop pedestals. No matter how many new things might be added, she decided that Carlington House would always seem
old
, somehow, as if the place had taken on the feel of a museum.

Even before they reached the door to David Carlington’s study, Josephine detected the scent of an expensive cheroot recently extinguished. She hoped the marquess hadn’t stubbed it out on her account. Alfred stepped to one side and motioned for her to enter. “Thank you, Alfred,” she said with a nod as she crossed the threshold. Once inside the marquess’s study, Josephine curtsied before reaching up to push back the black veil off the front of her hat. “Hello, Morganfield,” she said with a nod in his direction. “Thank you for seeing me.”

David Carlington stood up from behind his massive desk, the surface of which was covered in papers and a few books. The remains of his cheroot were still giving off tendrils of smoke from the crystal ashtray in the center of the desk blotter. “As if I would not,” he replied warily. “Should I ask who died?” he wondered with a nod toward her gown.

Josephine gave him a wan smile. The expression helped to soften the effect of the severe coloring of her gown against her pale skin and light auburn hair. “I would hope you have heard about the Wainwrights,” she answered, her smile suddenly gone.

The marquess sobered, motioning her to a chair. She took the seat that was offered, carefully arranging her skirts as she did so. “The
on-dit
has it that the entire family was lost to a fire,” he finally offered, wondering why Josephine would see fit to wear widow’s weeds for a ducal family based in Sussex.

Josephine shook her head. “Then you have not heard of Lady Charlotte’s involvement.”

David straightened in his chair, leaning his elbows on his desk as he did so. “What has my daughter’s best friend done now?” he asked, his brows becoming one.

“Joshua Wainwright survived. But he was badly burned and is in hospital. St. Bart’s. Lady Charlotte saw to it he was transported from Kirdford yesterday. Apparently the village doctor who was seeing to his care used all of his stock of morphine in the first few days following the fire.”

Sucking air through his teeth, the marquess eyed Josephine with a bit of suspicion. He was having a hard time believing Lady Charlotte would have enough pluck to get herself down to Kirdford and arrange for a badly wounded man to be brought back to London. But her father would have been useless, and her mother suffered from vapours when anyone looked the least bit askance at her. Someone had to have helped. Since Charlotte Bingham’s charity was to assist in the children’s ward at St. Bartholomew’s, it didn’t surprise him that she would have Joshua placed there for his medical care. “Will he live?”