The Virtuous Ward (Sweet Deception Regency #5) (2 page)

Max leaned against the mantel, his back to his friend. In frustration he kicked out at the andirons. A shower of ashes covered the toe of his polished Hessians and he bent to restore order with the aid of a snowy white handkerchief. He buffed the boot until it shone with a mirrored patina. It was this familiar reminder of Max's fastidiousness which broke the spell of tension for Dev.

"You have the right of it, old man," he said, getting to his feet and placing a steady hand on his friend's shoulder. "We have both done some incredibly stupid things so it is of little advantage for either to act the judge. To make amends I promise to listen without comment."

"No need for such sacrifice," Max said, grinning in relief. "If I wanted a sycophant, I would call in my butler. No need to spare your sharp tongue. I have been berating myself all day and it will be a relief to hear another voice."

After pouring more brandy, they retired to their chairs in greater charity with each other. Max sipped the liquor, rolling it over his tongue and relishing the sharp bite. He was delighted that Dev was here to listen to his plans. He had not organized much as yet but his friend's quick eye for detail should catch any glaring errors of omission in his stratagem.

"Have you made plans for the girl?" Dev asked.

"To be honest, I have just begun to formulate some sort of campaign. Endurance is twenty-one. It seems to me the proper thing would be to give the chit a season in London and hope that I can locate some poor sod to marry her and take over the responsibility for the girl. She has been well educated and is well dowered so I should have no trouble finding a suitable parti. I have sent my coach to retrieve her...."

"Really, Max," Dev interrupted. "She's not a hunting dog."

"You have not seen her to make that assumption."

"Neither have you in eleven years," Dev drawled. "Girls have a tendancy to change in that span of years."

"If you are hoping for some pink and white simpering chit to spring up before your eyes, you are doomed to disappointment. The most I can expect is that she will not set London ablaze by knocking over every candelabra she comes in contact with before I can get her married."

Dev chuckled at the description. "If you are taking her up to London, you will have to arrange for a chaperone."

"I have given that some thought," Max said, grimacing to indicate his enthusiasm for the project. "My cousin lives nearby and when I approached her, she agreed to act in that capacity. You remember Lady Hester Grassmere?"

"The Ghost of Grassmere?"

Max smiled at the childhood nickname for his cousin Hester. Dev and he had dubbed her thus for her ability to sit unnoticed in a room, swathed in grey dresses of a sameness to make her almost invisible. She spoke in a whisper and for the most part was ignored by most of the family.

"Unless your ward is a tiger, your cousin Hester will make the perfect chaperone. Lord knows she is the soul of propriety. I must confess, Max, that I am impressed with how quickly you have moved to make amends for your, if you will pardon my plain speaking, your neglect of Miss Fraser." Dev tipped an imaginary hat to his friend. "There is of course one problem. Who will sponsor the girl for the season?"

Max hesitated before he responded. A grin split his face, erasing some of the arrogance from his countenance. "I will."

Dev threw his head back, giving in to a great shout of laughter. "By gad, sir. I almost expect to hear the walls of the gambling hells tumbling down with the conversion of one of their favorite rakes to the ranks of the respectable. I wish I were going to be in London to see you bear leading the chit."

"You won't be in London?" Max asked in some surprise. "I was rather counting on you to stand as friend."

"I am always that," Dev responded. "However I shall be moldering at the stud farm at Dunton House."

"Not a repairing lease, I trust."

"No. All's well in that quarter. It is a much happier reason. To the everlasting despair of my cousin Ponsonby, my darling Jena is going to present me with an heir."

"What ho, Dev! That's splendid news indeed." Max raised his snifter in salutation. "And just how long were you going to wait to inform me of such felicitous news?"

"I was trying to find a peaceful moment in our long reminiscing."

"And Jena? Is she well?"

"Disgustingly healthy. And quite typical, the bold baggage has informed me that it is a natural process and there is no need to cosset her. To be honest she's much more worried about the brood mares on her confounded stud farm. She is busy as ever with that pet project and refuses to consider curtailing any of her activities. The exasperating minx even resists my entreaty to give up riding. If things progress as usual, I suspect my son or daughter will be born on horseback."

Max chuckled at the doting tone of his friend's voice. A smile tugged at his mouth as he recalled the turbulent beginning of the Grey Fox's marriage. "How goes your grandfather?"

"The Duke of Wayfield is ever on our doorstep. The old curmudgeon loved Jena from the first moment he saw her. If you recall it was he who set seal on the marriage and now he is content to crow over how well everything has turned out."

"I see Dickon on occasion. His girth is monumental and his taste for the ladies has not abated. Seems to cater to both appetites with continued gusto. Reggie has been little in evidence. Do you have news of him?" Max asked.

"Ah, my dear," Dev sighed but his blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "There is nothing more threatening to a man's bachelor friends than a happily married woman. My docile Jena," he held up a hand at Max's snort of derision, "has turned into an indefatigable matchmaker. She is capitalizing on Reggie's penchant for blondes. It is just a matter of time before the man joins the ranks of the eternally damned breed of hag-ridden husbands. Jena will accept nothing less."

Max noted the softness on Dev's face as he spoke of his wife of two years. He seemed revoltingly contented with his lot in life. In fact it was this very contentment that had forced Max to wonder if one could marry and still maintain a modicum of happiness.

For years Max had fought the idea of marriage. At a very early age he had realized that all was not well with his parents' relationship. There were continual arguments between the two and soon it became apparent that the source of contention was his mother's lack of fidelity. When he was ten, Max had awakened from a severe nightmare and fled to his parents' bedroom for comfort, only to discover his mother in bed with one of the underfootmen. His brother Philip had been born that same year and although Max loved the child he wondered who had fathered the child. Max's father was never convinced of the boy's paternity because he ignored the existence of the lad.

Max grew to manhood and watched as his father took to drink and his mother continued her affairs. She was always surrounded by a coterie of men, the flame to their mothlike eagerness. He had done what he could to protect his brother's illusions but his own were scattered in the dust. When Max was twenty-one, his father, tired of playing the cuckold, shot his mother and then turned the gun on himself. Although the story was put about that they had died of a putrid fever, there were many who knew or at least suspected the actual facts.

Responsibility was the keyword of Max's existence. He had given much thought to the responsibility that he owed to the line. He considered it time that he set up his nursery but he was loath to take the first step on the road to parson's mousetrap. In some respects he felt that the reminder of the existence of his ward was the goad he needed to move forward in his own life.

"From your appearance this evening, Max, it would appear that you have given up setting the hearts of the Macaroni set aflutter," Dev drawled, black eyebrow cocked in question. He had not seen much of Max in the past year and he could not fail to notice the change. A year earlier his friend had cultivated the appearance of a dandy, wearing outlandish clothes and giving the impression that he had more hair than wit. Now he was dressed with an understated elegance that almost verged on the austere. "Does this mean that we shall never see the Pomona green satin ensemble that so offended my eyes?"

"It was just the waistcoat you were so disdainful of," Max declared in defense.

"Ah, yes. It was monstrous wonderful. Peacocks on the strut, was it?"

"Or some such. Much to my dismay, the younger set began to copy my every outfit and they did not have the panache to carry off the conceit." Max drew himself up, staring down his sculpted nose at his grinning friend. "Now I have adopted a new style. Like the Beau, simplicity is my watchword."

"Better not let Jena catch sight of your new distinguished looks. She will be trotting out the local maidens for your approval and before you know it you will be leg shackled."

Max cleared his throat, hesitating before he spoke. "In actual fact, I have decided to seek a wife."

"I say, Max. Don't tell me you have fallen prey to a pair of
beaux yeux
?"

"I am far too cynical to be taken in by mere beauty," Max sneered. "I am considering marriage because I think it is the proper thing to do. For the line, don't you know. Besides a wife would be helpful in bringing out my ward."

Save for one arched eyebrow, Dev's face showed little change of expression. " 'Pon rep, old man, that does seem extreme measures just to fire off the chit."

"Give over, do. I have given this serious consideration, Dev." Max stood up and, with his hands behind his back, began to pace the floor much like a harried professor. "With brother Philip away with the army, I must make certain to secure the line."

"How is the young scamp?" Dev asked.

"Much as usual. He has discovered other officers of similar vein and they are bent on wreaking havoc on the female population of foreign lands. His letters mention little of battle but the home office has kept me apprised of his actions. Been mentioned in dispatches several times," Max said with pardonable pride.

"I hear the corps de ballet wore black armbands for a week when you bought him his colors."

"Shouldn't doubt it for a moment," Max said. He faced Devereaux, his face a picture of arrogant disdain. "Surely, Dev, we were not such ramshackle fellows."

When Max's face split into a wide grin and laughter filled the room, Dev was reminded of his friend in their more youthful days. Of late, Max had become more sarcastic and arrogant; there was little of the carefree boy he had originally known. And now this latest start.

"Do not keep me on the edge of my chair, old man. What is all this about a bride?"

Max executed a military turn on the carpet and stood still, facing his friend. His face was grave; his mouth pulled into sober lines. "I lead a very well ordered life, Dev. It is my heritage from a rather ragtag existence as a child. I have learned that logical planning is the key to success in any venture and I have applied it in every avenue of my life."

"Yes, I recall rejoicing in your methodical planning of our most devilish campaigns," Dev agreed.

Max ignored the interruption, so involved was he in his own thoughts. "Marriage is a business arrangement for the mutual benefit of both parties. The groom gains the possibility of an heir while the bride, in most cases, receives financial security. Therefore it is only a matter of keeping one’s wits about one in making a choice." Max began to pace again, turning to Dev to punctuate a point with a deliberate jerk of his head. "I have considered the qualities I require in a wife and all I need do is locate a young lady with the proper credentials and I will have discovered the perfect wife."

Dev shook his head in dismay. His friend seemed to think one should enter into marriage in a most logical method. Dev's marriage had been most illogical and he had never been happier. He too had been a cynic but he knew very well the joy to be had in being in love with the woman one married. Max was due for great disappointment if he planned to conduct a courtship with methodical precision.

"Then while you are shepherding your ward to the social functions of the season, you will be on the look out for a suitable wife?" Dev asked.

"Spot on," Max answered, grinning in the face of his friend's apparent skepticism. "Truly, Dev, finding a wife is no different than purchasing a horse. There are bloodlines to consider, spirit, manners and of course health. Of late I have given some thought to the sterling qualities of a young lady of my acquaintance. Although there is nothing settled as yet."

"Good Lord," Dev muttered. "And did you check her teeth?"

"I consider my responsibilities to the family line quite serious," Max said. "I do not choose to make the same mistake my father did."

"At the rate you're going, Max, you will make a far graver one," Dev snapped. "All right, I shall not twit you for such pomposity. Hopefully you will find happiness with this businesslike attitude. Who is this delightful paragon of virtue?"

"Honoria Waterston." Max rolled the name off his tongue as though testing the air with the sound. His eyes were distant as he tried to see into the future with the bride of his choice so he missed the start of dismay on his friend's face at the mention of the name. "I have found her to be a proficient hostess, a well mannered young lady and a quite attractive one to boot."

"I would have to agree," Dev said aloud, although there was little agreement in his mind. Several years ago it had been apparent to everyone in society that Honoria had set her cap for Max and had been waging a nonstop campaign ever since. Dev had never liked the young woman with her cold blue eyes and false modesty and found it hard to believe that Max had not seen her for the manipulative schemer she was.

"This situation should not effect my commitment to Endurance," Max added before Dev could speak. "I have already enlisted Honoria's help in her behalf. I am sure Endurance will appreciate a knowledgeable woman her own age as a friend and confidante."

Dev had difficulty containing a snort of derision at the blindness of his friend. Honoria never permitted friendships with other women who might compete for a share of her spotlight. She had most likely agreed to play Lady Bountiful in order to further convince Max of her suitability as a wife.