Wicked and Wonderful (3 page)

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Laurence sat on a sofa in the billiard room, squinting his eyes at Kelthorne. “Was she very beautiful?” he asked. His speech was slurred, his eyes red-rimmed and he waved a brandy snifter about as though it were a flag. “And I wish you would stop moving about. You’re making me dizzy.”

Aubrey Watchfield, fourth Earl of Kelthorne, had been standing in one spot the entire time he revealed his most recent encounter with his
Judith
. He pointed his cue at his friend. “Just how foxed are you?”

“Excessively, but not so very much that I should be disinclined to hear about this apple-lady of yours.”

Kelthorne sighed leaning the cue on the edge of the pool table, preparing for his first shot. “She was exquisite. I have never seen the like in all my days.”

“That is saying something, indeed.” He weaved and squinted his eyes anew.

Laurence Doulting, had been Kelthorne’s closest friend since time out of mind. He was a man of intelligence, a great deal of humor, and in possession of an interesting face. He was broad in the cheek, upon which a few freckles had chosen to make their home, had a somewhat pointed chin, and an excellent smile. He also had a great deal of curly brown hair which, it appeared to Kelthorne, he had been pulling at for his locks looked like a cloud about his head. His shirt points had wilted and his coat had been removed as well as his shoes. The big toe on his left foot stuck out of a hole in his black stocking.

Pulling at his hair again, he asked, “Did you kiss her?”

Kelthorne chuckled and moved about the table in search of a better position from which to break up the neatly grouped balls. “That is none of your concern,” he stated firmly.

“How is this?” his friend inquired, clearly surprised. “You always tell me of your conquests.”

“Well, not on this occasion.”

“That is quite sin…gu…lar,” he said, leaning back and stretching out his legs. “Good God, I must be foxed. Could hardly get that word out. And you. Why must you be moving about in that manner? And why are there two of you?”

“Good God, Laurence, I have only been absent an hour or two. How much brandy have you imbibed since I left?”

Before Laurence could answer, Rufus appeared in the doorway then bounded over to him. Kelthorne rubbed his ears. “Was your trip to the kitchens successful?”

Rufus sat back on his haunches and panted happily, staring up at him in his adoring manner. The presence of his dog put him forcibly in mind of Judith sitting on the ground and rubbing his ears.

Yes,
Judith.
He liked knowing her name and hearing it in his head. He liked that she had treated Rufus so sweetly when he had so disobligingly knocked her to the ground.

“I have only had a bottle,” Laurence finally responded. “Well, not the entire bottle but a great deal of it. I hope you do not mean to complain. For, if you must know, I find I am quite miserable tonight. Wretchedly so. The lowest wretch on earth.” He sighed heavily and sipped his brandy once more.

Kelthorne patted Rufus on the head and attended once more to the pool table. He bent over slightly, aligned his shot, and scattered the balls. “You do this every summer, you know, despite how attentive I am to you. I had thought we would finally escape your melancholia this year.”

“But you do not understand. You never did. Fanny was my entire world.”

“That was fifteen years ago,” Kelthorne stated reasonably. “You cannot possibly still be in love with her. Besides, she has no doubt given birth to a dozen brats, orders her husband about like a slave, and I am convinced she speaks in a shrill voice even when tending her babes.”

Laurence reclined carefully on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling, balancing the snifter on his chest. “You are probably right and perhaps my love is not so passionate as it once was. I can’t even remember the precise shade of her hair though I believe it was a very light brown, though sometimes blond in the summer months.” His words were still abominably lazy. “But her marriage serves to remind me of my lot, that I am still, and forever shall be, the eldest son of an impoverished vicar—no property, no prospects, no profession, no chance at love. Fanny loved me, but she married the squire’s son. He had prospects.” He frowned. “But the devil of a temper. I have always wondered how my poor Fanny fared.”

“Undoubtedly very well since I am persuaded she is become a fishwife.”

“You are horridly cruel to my memories. I refuse to listen to you anymore.”

“Have you written an ode in her honor yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“How many do you have in your possession now? You must have enough for a volume. Perhaps you should see them published.”

“I do not have sufficient genius to be in print. I have always known it.”

Kelthorne moved around the table, ordering his shots once more. “But I hope you do not mean to despair of love.”

“I have never despaired of love,” Laurence responded. “But I have despaired of marrying for love, or marrying at all. You, on the other hand, will probably be wed before the year is out.”

“So it would seem.”

Kelthorne had known Laurence since schooldays at Eton. He was the eldest of seven children and wholly lacking in ambition. He was a mixture of romanticism and pragmatism and the best friend a fellow could ever have. His sole interest was in the poetry he wrote and since Kelthorne rarely had the privilege of reading Laurence’s scribblings, he had not the smallest notion whether or not he was a man of talent.

Together, they had had many adventures; all of which had come to an end in recent months when the death of Kelthorne’s uncle had forced him to take up his new life as heir to an earldom. Laurence had borne the change nobly, but he did seem more inclined of late to empty whichever bottle happened to be at his elbow. Laurence was not happy.

As Kelthorne slung his cue again and cracked as many billiard balls as he could, he smiled. “You may be easy, you know, since both Radsbury and Newnott are coming with my sister. Radsbury, at the very least, will be content to lose at least a hundred pounds at cards or even hazard. He is equally fond of both.”

“Don’t know what the deuce your sister was thinking in marrying the old goat. Good God, Radsbury must be twenty years her senior.”

“You are too severe,” Aubrey stated. “Rad dotes on Mary. He is a good husband to her.”

Laurence shuddered and his eyelids drooped. “Do you know that his teeth are made of rhinoceros tusk? I can only imagine what it must be like to kiss him. How does Mary bear it?”

“Just as a
viscountess
should, I imagine.”

“I would never marry to get a handle to my name.”

Kelthorne glanced at him and smiled. He was very foxed, indeed. “No, I do not think you would. Nor do I think you could.”

Laurence turned to squint at him again. “You know very well what I mean. I mean if I were a female.”

“Of course.”

Laurence lifted his brows. “All I know is that Mary was deuced pretty when she was young. Now she has a pinch between her brows which never goes away.”

“She has five daughters,” he said, moving around the table as he spoke, striking ball after ball with his cue. “The eldest thirteen and the youngest nine, all of whom she intends to marry off to wealthy young men. And as for her three sons—and did I tell you she is increasing again—she spends every waking moment cultivating her connections and planning for each of their futures. Stephen will inherit, of course; Marcus is for the church; Sylvester apparently shows all the proper qualities to make a most excellent solicitor though he is but four. And as for this next brat, should the darling prove to be a boy, I would expect him to be born with a sword in his hand.”

“I am grown fatigued from listening to your story. Though I must say it is no wonder she has the look of a merchant on market day. I would advise her to stop kissing Lord Goat.”

“You may tell her yourself when she arrives in a sennight’s time.”

At that, and even in his state of inebriation, Laurence sat up quickly, if unevenly, and just barely kept the snifter from rolling off his chest. “They are coming so soon? When did you learn of it?”

“A few minutes ago. My sister’s letter has been waiting on my bedside table for three days, but I could not bring myself to open it until today.” He sighed heavily. “It would seem my sisters are bringing a young lady who I believe they hope will become my bride, a Miss Currivard, a very great heiress.”

“What the deuce do you need an heiress for?” Laurence said.

“I have no need of an heiress,” he said, working his cue again. “It is as much a mystery to me as to why they have chosen this lady. Except that Amy says she is uncommonly pretty with a profusion of blonde ringlets.” Of the moment, he preferred dark hair, masses of it, but his sisters could know nothing of that since he’d just learned of it himself.

“Sounds like an angel,” Laurence observed.

Kelthorne laughed suddenly as he slung his cue once more. “Then she will hardly do for me.”

“Or for me,” Laurence said, laughing heartily. But not for long. His melancholy descended once more and he said, “So, I suppose you will be married before the winter.”

He sounded so sad that Kelthorne regarded him steadily for a moment. “I suppose I shall,” he muttered.

For several minutes he stood in this manner with his friend, each in a pitiable state and no longer a drop of brandy to be had between them by which to soothe their joint sadness.

“Well,” Kelthorne said at last. “We still have one week and there is some consolation for both of us yet.”

“And what is that?” Laurence asked.

“Have you forgotten the delights to be found in my pasture not a mile away?”

At that Laurence’s red-rimmed eyes brightened. “By God, I did forget, only…”

“What is it now?”

“Aubrey, I dislike to mention it, but I feel I ought to remind you of the awful truth that you quite recently made a vow to mend your ways.”

Kelthorne felt a familiar stubbornness take hold of him. “And so I shall, the moment my sisters and my hopeful bride-to-be darken my doorstep. Until then, my dear friend, I mean to have a little fun.”

Chapter Two

Judith brushed out her long chestnut curls slowly. She was taking far too long on her toilette this morning, but she found she could not force herself to hurry. The camp was fully awake but an argument was already in progress, one that made ample use of her name, so much so that she rather suspected what had happened. She was far too mortified to find out just who had discovered that Lord Kelthorne had caught her in his orchard last night and forced a kiss upon her, so she stayed in her tent.

She set her brush down on her small dressing table and rose from her chair. She picked up one of the two apples she had in her possession and turned it around and around in her hands. She still could not credit she had actually been kissed by so infamous a rogue nor that she had enjoyed the experience as much as she had.

Of these two thoughts, the latter caused her the greater distress. She felt vulnerable, wretchedly so. The thought that she would be living for the next month in the relative shadows of Kelthorne’s windows was nearly more than she could bear. And if he kept his resolve, he would find her sooner or later.

When the arguing turned to shouting, she realized she could hardly remain hidden in her tent forever. She tossed the apple on her bed and slipped on her underdress, a gown she had made from a pale shade of blue calico, then quickly donned the overdress of Swiss muslin, closing the embroidered band in front. The quarreling grew louder still and the voices of John Ash, Henry Thurloxton, and Charles Hemyock could be heard echoing through the narrow valley from one hillock to the next.

“We ought to be leaving at once.” Henry said.

“I’ll not give up a promising engagement fer her supposed
virtue.”
Charles shouted.

“Enough, Charles,” John said. “Ye as well, Henry.”

“But Judy is in danger,” Henry returned hotly. “We should never ha’ come here, not with that rake ready to pounce. I saw him riding his horse last night, not far from the camp.”

“Why is it that only Judy be in danger?” Angelique asked. “Why not the likes of me, fer instance?”

Freddy called out, “More like Kelthorne ought to be warned of ye.”

A burst of laughter followed, which Judith knew from experience would have something of a calming influence on the situation.

Silence followed for a few seconds, after which Charles began to speak, pressing the troupe yet again to be rid of her once and for all, that her presence hindered their opportunities and shortened their earnings. “I’ll be damned before I pull up stakes on her account again.”

For the past year, Charles had been the troupe’s principal and quite superior actor. He was greatly talented and even more ambitious. Judith understood his complaints perfectly and believed he had cause to be out of reason cross that Henry was demanding the troupe leave Somerset.

More than one of the actresses as well, of which there were five including Margaret, echoed his sentiments. Generally, both John and Margaret Ash, who had the management of the troupe, ignored his ranting. But this particular engagement had been anticipated by the entire troupe for it meant residing in one place for nearly a month. Given the large size of the market town not a quarter mile from the castle, they were guaranteed a sizeable audience each night.

There was money to be made in Portislow and Kelthorne’s unexpected but quite pleasing generosity in allowing the troupe to pasture in his field made the situation absolutely ideal. To ask the troupe to leave the vicinity on her account, therefore, was beyond imagining. She shuddered, thinking just how many times they had been required to do so, and always because some “gentleman” or other had become insistent on possessing her. Far too many times, she thought.

Margaret bid entrance just as she had picked up her brush anew. “Come,” she called out softly.

When her friend entered rolling her eyes, Judith said, “There seems to be quite a to-do this morning.”

“Aye,” Margaret said, taking up her habitual seat on the stool by the tent door. She was a tall young woman, four years Judith’s senior, and her dearest friend in all the world. Her hair was a brilliant shade of red, which she wore in an absolute riot of curls atop her head. Her eyes were a clear light blue and her face was shaped like a perfect heart. She was adorable without quite being a beauty.