The Scandalous Lord Lanchester

‘Yes—and I need your help. Truly I do.’

‘Very well. Give me two months after we all return to England, Mariah. If I cannot come up with a suggestion that suits you in that time …’ He shook his head, a reluctant smile in his eyes. ‘You are a minx, Lady Fanshawe. I wish I might speak freely …’ He saw the question in her eyes. ‘My hands are tied for the moment.

Come, can you truly not wait a little longer to find a husband who will love and care for you?’

‘If he was the right man, I would wait for ever,’ Mariah said and for once she was not laughing. Her heart raced. Surely he must know what was in her mind? She could not be plainer. ‘Do you think I might find love, Andrew? I have sometimes thought that I must be unlovable since no one seems to care for anything but my fortune.’

‘Ridiculous,’ he replied, a frown creasing his brow. ‘You must know you are beautiful and charming. I dare say most men fall in love with you—but some are in desperate need of your fortune. Others are gamblers and you could not trust them even if they cared for you. However, I dare say there are at least twenty gentlemen I could bring to mind once we are in London.’

‘Then you advise me to wait?’ Mariah nodded. ‘Well, I dare say I should need time to choose my bride clothes and have them made. Very well, I shall take your advice, my good friend.’

‘Is there anything else your ladyship requires me to pack?’

‘No, I do not think so …’

Mariah sighed as her gaze fell on the small trunk, which was to accompany them on their visit to Milan. They would stay at the count’s large house in Milan for two nights before returning to his villa to complete their stay in Italy. In less than three weeks they would remove to Venice for a few days before leaving for France. Sylvia wished to spend a little time shopping in Paris and after that they would return home to England.

What was she supposed to do with her life then? Lucinda had said she would be welcome to make her home with her and Justin, but though Mariah would be happy to visit for a while, she needed her own home. She had paid brief visits to the country house Winston had left her, but it was too grand and impersonal. Of course she could fill it with friends, but she did not think it would suit her to live always in the country—at least, it might be bearable if she were married. As a widow she would do better in London or Bath. No! Bath was full of old tabbies who had nothing better to do than drink the foul waters and whisper behind their fans about the latest on dit in London.

Mariah thought she would rather be amongst the people making those scandals—or preferably making them herself. A mischievous smile touched her soft mouth. Andrew’s manner was so frustrating to a woman who did everything impulsively. His eyes seemed to caress her, to dwell on her mouth, as if he found it attractive, yet she could not tease him into a kiss. She could have sworn he was on the verge of making her an offer as they walked by the lake the other day—or at least declaring himself—but he had drawn back once more. Her intuition told her that there was some mystery, perhaps some hint of scandal. Andrew was being so foolish. If he would only confide his problem to her, she might be able to help him. As if she would have cared for a little scandal!

‘May I send for the porter, Lady Fanshawe?’

‘Yes, please do, Lily,’ Mariah said and smiled at her maid. ‘Once the trunk has been taken you may go to bed. I am not ready to retire yet and can manage my gown myself when I wish to disrobe.’

‘Very well, milady.’

Mariah left her maid to arrange for the luggage to be taken down to the porter’s wagon. It would set off before them and her things would be unpacked and waiting for her when they arrived.

Mariah had not yet met Count Paolo, who was a personal friend of Lord Hubert and of his age group, she supposed. He had graciously loaned them his beautiful villa here at the lakes and must be a generous man. Mariah wondered if he were married. She had not heard Sylvia speak of his wife or family.

Shaking her head at the way her thoughts were taking her, Mariah went down to the spacious salon, which led onto a veranda. The windows were closed, but not locked, and she let herself out, deciding to take a turn about the lush gardens. The air was heavy with scent from a variety of flowers. Mariah thought she could smell jasmine, oleanders, roses and other more exotic perfumes that she could not name.

It was such a perfect setting. A night for romance and adventure, she thought, feeling wistful. How pleasant it would be to walk here with the man she loved, to feel his strong arms about her and his lips on hers. A surge of need and longing swept through her. She had so many friends and yet she was lonely.

She wanted someone special, a man she could lean on in times of trouble, a companion who would be with her throughout life, taking the good things with the bad.

Feeling the trickle of tears on her cheeks, Mariah swept them away impatiently. She would not give way to self-pity! Yet she wanted so much to be loved—passionately and without restraint. She was a fool to torture herself with thoughts of Andrew Lanchester. If he cared for her at all, he would surely speak!

Raising her head, Mariah felt angry. Why should she wait? If she were offered marriage by a man she believed more interested in her than her fortune, she would accept—and if a man she could like sufficiently offered an affair she might take a lover.

She was so tired of being a widow.

The journey to Milan was accomplished without incident and Mariah was delighted to discover that Count Paolo’s home there was one of Milan’s ancient palaces and had beautiful gardens and courtyards behind the rather faded facade. The entrance hall was large with high arched ceilings and marble floors, the sound of their footsteps echoing as the count’s English butler greeted them and took them up to their apartments.

‘Count Paolo will be with you in a short time,’ the man said deferentially. ‘He is with other visitors, but he will be with you very soon.’

‘Yes, of course, Tomkins,’ Lady Hubert said and smiled at him. ‘And how have you been keeping since we last saw you?’

‘Very well, milady. The climate suits me here and I have settled in nicely. I am grateful to you for recommending me to the count.’

‘I was happy to do so. I knew you would get on famously.’

Sylvia beamed at him as he preceded them up the wide, rather worn stone stairs to the gallery above, then turned to Mariah.

‘Tomkins worked for my father until he died, you know. He suffers with the rheumatics and decided he would like to live in a warmer climate than the east of England. Knowing that Count Paolo was looking for a major-domo for his house here, I suggested he might apply and gave him a reference.’

‘That was kind of you.’

‘Oh, no, Tomkins deserved it. He was very kind to Papa in his last days.’

They were led along the gallery to a suite of rooms that overlooked the courtyards to the rear of the house. Mariah went immediately to the window to glance out. The paved courtyard was very attractive with its slightly uneven and faded pink bricks that were interspersed with rose beds; there was a fountain with beautiful statuary and she could see a series of courtyards and gardens leading from the one below.

A man and a woman were walking at the far side of the courtyard. As she watched, the man kissed the woman’s hand and she left him, going through an arched gateway to whatever lay beyond. A servant approached the man, who glanced up at the window where Mariah stood and nodded at something he had been told.

Was he the count? From this distance Mariah could see little except that he was dressed exquisitely in the French manner and his hair was a pale silver-blonde.

She drew away from the window as Sylvia called to her, ‘This is your room, dearest. What do you think?’

Mariah went through the elegant sitting room to a bedroom. She gasped, for it was beyond anything that she had expected. Furnished in the French Empire style, which had become so fashionable during Napoleon’s occupation, the furniture was imposing and grand rather than comfortable, made of light wood strung with ebony and gold leaf, the soft furnishings in purple and cream with touches of black. The mirrors were flamboyant with gilded rococo-style frames, as was a picture that looked as if it were an Old Master. Perhaps not da Vinci, but of the same period, and the ceiling was painted with ridiculously fat cherubs, ladies of ample proportions and a satyr.

‘Good gracious,’ she murmured, a naughty gleam in her eye. ‘I am overwhelmed. Do you suppose this chamber was meant for royalty?’

‘I think Napoleon may have stayed here, though I am not certain he had this suite,’ Sylvia replied and laughed. ‘That was in Count Paolo’s father’s day, of course. He has only recently inherited the estate, you know. Hubert was the late count’s friend, but we met Paolo at the funeral and he was gracious enough to offer us his villa whenever we wished to stay near the lakes.’

‘He must be a very generous man.’

‘Yes, I dare say,’ Sylvia replied. ‘He would accept no payment—but I believe Hubert and the count have some business together. The count also has vineyards and wishes to import his wines to England.’

‘Ah, yes, a mutually beneficial arrangement. I wonder—’

Mariah broke off as she heard a knock at the door and then the sound of Lord Hubert’s rather loud voice greeting their host. Drawn by curiosity as much as politeness, she walked back to the sitting room with Sylvia, glancing at the man standing with Lord Hubert. Her breath caught, for he was an extraordinarily handsome man, his eyes a greenish-blue and his hair a pale blonde, but not quite the silver it had looked in the sunlight. His nose was patrician, his forehead high, his chin not square but strong and his mouth soft and sensual. He was older than she had expected after hearing that he had only recently come into his title, being nearer thirty than twenty and of a slender build. His clothes were extravagant, very French, his cravat exquisitely tied, his coat a deep shade of violet and his breeches a paler shade of the same colour; his long fingers were crowded with expensive rings. From his accent as he spoke, she thought he must have spent much of his time in France prior to his inheriting the estate in Lombardy.

She became aware that he was staring at her in a way that made her body tingle from head to toe. This was one of the most sensual, aggressively masculine men she had ever met despite his foppery. His eyes were the eyes of a predator and she knew immediately that he found her physically attractive. The smile on his lips sent a little shiver down her spine—he was a hunter and she sensed that she had been added to the list of his prey, which she imagined to be substantial.

She must be on her guard with this man or he would gobble her up! How very exciting to be sure. Life would not be dull for a few days.

‘Lady Hubert. Madame, I am delighted to welcome you to my humble home—and your friend, the so-delightful Lady Fanshawe.’ He moved towards Mariah with the grace of a large cat on the prowl. Politeness made her offer her hand. The count took it between his own for a moment, then lifted it to his lips, depositing a kiss on the palm. It was such an intimate gesture that Mariah found herself suffused with warmth. She glanced up at him and saw the challenge in his eyes.

‘Such beauty leaves me without words,’ he declared. ‘Had I known what to expect, but even your friend did not do you justice … magnifique …’

‘You flatter me, sir,’ Mariah said, but she smiled and did not withdraw her hand too quickly. His overt flirting made her want to laugh and she was intrigued. She could not imagine that Count Paolo was in need of a fortune. This house and its contents were worth a fortune alone, to say nothing of the beautiful villa at the lakes and his vineyards. No, he was not a fortune hunter, but perhaps something more dangerous. He hunted for a different kind of prey, but he oozed sensual charm. She was certain he would seduce her if she let down her guard.

‘No, I never flatter,’ the count denied. ‘I say only what is in my mind—and you are one of the most beautiful women I have met. It is a great pleasure for me to have you at my home.’

‘I am overwhelmed, sir,’ Mariah replied. ‘Your house is astonishing—such splendour and grandeur. I do not think I have seen anything like it in a private home before.’

‘There are many such palaces in Lombardy and Rome. Venice is renowned for its beautiful palaces, of course—but for me there is nowhere quite like Paris. I lived there for many years. My father and I did not always agree and I had interests in Paris. My wife is French and I have a house there still.’