Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow

Neither, to be fair, did his lordship.

But one thing he could do over which she had no jurisdiction. The time had come. The Countess of Wexford, he decided, had long outstayed her welcome. Wycliffe had been instrumental in her presence to strengthen his cover as a dilettante. He had seen the value of that on his return to London when gossip over his immoral ways had run rife, but enough was enough. Nor, suddenly, for some inexplicable reason did he wish to appear quite so unprincipled and lacking in moral decency. He could no longer tolerate her attentions, her clear designs on his time and his interest. Certainly he did not appreciate her heavily patronising manner toward Mrs Russell, a manner that had been allowed full expression since the incident of the French banquet.

It was more than time that their paths parted.

He needed an opportunity to suggest that the lady leave. And if one did not present itself, then he would have to end the situation as carefully and discreetly as possible.

The former did not arise, so he was driven with some distaste to the latter, after making some thoughtful preparations.

* * *

‘I have seen so little of you, my lord.’ Olivia Wexford entered his library on the following evening, where he was sitting with a glass of brandy and a recent edition of the Gentleman’s Magazine. A provocative swing of expensively gowned hips advertised her deliberate intent. The neckline of the emerald silk was cut low on her bosom and, unless he was very much mistaken, her lovely face was enhanced by the use of cosmetics. Her mouth, deliciously red, settled in an inviting pout, her heavy perfume invaded his senses. His lordship felt a sudden urge to retreat in disorder, but stiffened his resolve.

‘Forgive me, Olivia. I have not been the best of company.’ He called on the excuse of his damaged hip and knee, with silent apologies to the deity who had granted him the facility to heal quickly and well. ‘My leg. The pain, you understand. Sometimes it is almost too great to bear.’ He managed to move surprisingly quickly from his chair, even without the use of his cane, to avoid an inevitable kiss as the lady approached. ‘Perhaps I can offer you a glass of brandy?’

‘No. I suspected that you were in some discomfort.’ Her intense expression was not quite critical of his lack of attention to her. She followed him to where he had lifted the decanter to refill his own glass. Oh, God! ‘But perhaps now that you are able to walk more easily, and without your cane…’ She smoothed a hand delicately down his arm, looking up into his face with wide and lustrous eyes. ‘Perhaps you would be willing to escort me to the opera? It would be good for you to see friends again, I think. And afterwards a light supper where you could spend time with me, of course. Alone.’

‘I would be delighted to oblige, Olivia. But I regret not this evening. I have another engagement.’ He cast about in his mind, only to come up with the obvious. ‘At Brooks’s.’ The only place he could be safe.

‘Ah!’ The faintest of lines was drawn between her sleek brows, but then she smiled. It reminded him of a raptor’s hungry interest in its prey. ‘I have received an invitation to join a weekend party at the country home of Lord and Lady Melville in Berkshire. So gracious of them. I think it would be excellent for your spirits if you accompanied me, Joshua.’

‘Olivia—there is something I would say.’ He put down the glass of brandy. ‘But first, I have a gift for you—a mark of my esteem. And gratitude.’ How clumsy it sounded. He winced inwardly as he moved to open a drawer in the desk, to remove a flat packet. Held it out.

The Countess took it, without any sign of pleasure, and lifted the lid on the velvet-lined case.

‘How lovely.’ Her eyes were flat and cold. She did not touch the sparkling gems, but merely tilted the box so that their facets would catch the light. She angled her head, watching the expensive glitter, then looked at him. ‘Could this be in the way of a farewell present? Somehow, in my experience, diamond necklaces always seem to figure at the end of a relationship.’

‘I think, yes. I fear that you are bored, my dear Olivia. I have been no help to you in recent weeks, although I shall be eternally grateful for your company. In my convalescence.’

Thick lashes hid her thoughts. She fixed a smile that looked almost genuine. ‘But you are recovering now, Joshua. We could still pass some pleasant times together. I think that you are not unaware of my attractions.’ She reached over to touch his hand.

‘No. My mind is made up.’ He tried to be gentle even as he withdrew his hand. ‘This is the end for us, Olivia. Much as I admire you.’

‘But I have not thanked you sufficiently for your hospitality.’ The raptor’s talons sank deeper. He could not escape as she tightened her hold on his arm and touched her lips to his. All he could do was to remain still, cool and unresponsive to her invitation. Not quite a rejection—that would be too much like a slap in the face—but his reluctance was plain.

Olivia straightened, allowed her hand to drop away, her face controlled, but her smile had vanished and there was now an edge to her voice.

‘I see that you are determined. Will you tell me why?’

‘No reason that would be an insult to you, my dear. But time passes. And I need to make some changes in my life.’

‘And I have no place in them.’

He could find nothing to say.

‘Is there someone else in your life? Have you taken another mistress?’

‘No.’

Her smile was brief and bitter. ‘How demeaning to be overthrown for no one else.’ She turned her back to walk toward the door, pride stamped on every controlled movement. And a simmering rage. ‘Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?’

‘No.’ A brush of sympathy touched his senses before it was ruthlessly checked. ‘You deserve better than I can give you.’

The Countess of Wexford picked up the necklace from where she had placed it on the desk. She would not reject the gift, however angry, however humiliated she might be. ‘You have been a disappointment to me, Joshua.’

‘I must live with it.’ The thought came into his mind that Sarah Russell would not have snatched up the necklace to take with her. Sarah Russell refused anything he offered!

‘Yes. you must. I hope that you do not live to regret it, my dear Joshua.’

She did not look at him again but left the room, leaving the door open behind her, all grace and cold fury. The diamonds had glittered, stark and blue as the coldest of ice, but never as frigid as the face and heart of Olivia Wexford.

Lord Joshua retrieved the brandy and drank. It was over. And easier than perhaps he deserved, for he and Wycliffe had made use of the woman. Her eager compliance did not make his own part in the masquerade any more comfortable. At least his injuries had given him every excuse to keep him from her bed and for that he must be grateful indeed.

Chapter Six

The contentious issue of his continuing employment of Mrs Sarah Russell was resolved in Lord Faringdon’s mind in a quite unexpected manner—indeed one of mind-shattering discovery—one sun-filled afternoon in the following week. He rode into Hanover Square a little after three o’clock. It was the first time that he attempted to get into a saddle since the disastrous and humiliating culmination of his assignment in Paris. The short ride around Hyde Park, one circuit only, had been without doubt excruciating, but it was immensely satisfying that his strength and agility were at last returning. Shoulders and ribs were already more comfortable, allowing him to stretch and turn without immediate and painful repercussions. His knee and thigh might still scream from the demands put on damaged tendons and joints, but there was room for optimism. Thank God he had at last been able to dispense with the cane.

As he rode toward the front steps of his house, his mind occupied with far from pleasant thoughts, shouts and laughter caught his attention from the garden beyond the iron railings. He drew rein. Turned his head to watch. Then simply sat and stared in amazement.

A game was in progress. Not a game that he recognised, but one which involved considerable noise and a lot of running and hiding, with a ball and a hoop. And also, it appeared, involved much enjoyment. He immediately recognised the participants and could not prevent his lips from lifting in appreciation of the scene. Most of the laughter came from John, untidy and red-faced, who whooped and shrieked as if pursued by a band of cut-throat robbers, wielding a hoop to the danger of any who might come too near. But there was his daughter, Miss Celestine Faringdon, no less, hitching up her petticoats and chasing the boy, to wrest the hoop from him with a cry of triumph. Her dark eyes sparkled and she laughed aloud. When she caught John she grasped and hugged him, planting a kiss on his cheek, which caused him to squirm and shriek even more, and his daughter howl with laughter. He had never seen his daughter so…so happy! Abandoned was perhaps the appropriate word, he thought. There was bright colour in her cheeks and stains on her skirts from where she had come to grief in the grass. Now she ran across the garden with John in noisy pursuit.

But the shock doubled, for the supervision of this madness was in the hands of one of the younger maids and Mrs Sarah Russell. And they were joining in. He found that he could not take his eyes from the solemn young woman who ordered and organised his life with intense reserve and so rarely smiled. It was a revelation indeed.

Sarah Russell was flushed. She was involved. She ran after the children, catching them, taking her own turn with hoop and ball. She laughed, completely unselfconscious, unaware of the picture she made. She is no older than a girl! he thought. She looked radiant, as if all the responsibilities and tensions of her life had been lifted for this short time. Even more, she looked exceptionally, stunningly pretty with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. The vitality, the sheer… well, loveliness of the lady struck him a blow to his chest. His hands tightened on the reins: he could not take his eyes from her.

He would like nothing better, he realised in that one moment of recognition, than to make it possible for her to be so joyful all the time. That was how she was meant to be. If he had ever met Theodora, he would have recognised the same outgoing nature and love of life—now that Sarah had been able to forget her present burdens and her past sins. When she shrieked—then covered her mouth in youthful and delicious embarrassment—as Beth caught her skirts, he smiled. He could not resist.

She had dispensed with the lace cap and her hair had loosened from its neat arrangement, to drift in soft, fair curls around her face. Why had he not realised that she was so pretty when he saw her every day?

The game was apparently over, the players weary but ecstatic. They trooped back across the road in the direction of the house, to halt when they saw their unexpected audience. They came to stand beside him.

John put out a tentative hand to stroke as much as he could reach of the satin shoulder of the bay gelding. Beth smiled up at her father with such openness that it filled him with warmth. This was how his daughter should be. And he cursed his former neglect, however essential it had become to keep her safe in Richmond, away from Paris and its dangers, the threats attached to his own actions in the service of the Crown.

‘You are riding again, Papa.’

‘So it seems. And you are out of breath.’

‘I won.’ Beth crowed with a smug satisfaction. ‘But John is very good. I am older, of course,’ she explained in all seriousness.

‘So you are.’ Lord Faringdon’s eyes moved on to rest on Sarah, who flushed even more at being discovered in so ruffled and unseemly a state. It took much effort to resist the urge to straighten her skirts and push back a wayward curl. But she would not.

‘We had finished the lessons for the day, my lord.’ Why did she feel the need to explain her actions? She set her teeth. ‘The afternoon was so mild…’

‘There is no need to explain, Mrs Russell. I could see that the game—whatever it was—was much enjoyed—by all.’

Her colour now became a deep rose. ‘I must go in. If you will excuse me, my lord…’

‘Of course.’