The Proper Wife Read online

  However, the first gentleman he encountered after handing over his hat and coat to White’s majordomo was Lord Alastair.

  Sinjin tried to pass by with a nod, but looking both shamefaced and earnest, in a low voice Alastair begged a moment of his time. Sure the man meant to entreat him with a caseshot of excuses for his participation in last night’s folly, Sinjin tried to brush Alastair off.

  “Please, sir.” Alastair caught his sleeve. “Think what you will of me, I deserve it all and more, but I must not allow you to harbor an opinion of…a certain lady you might well have conceived upon finding her in such singular circumstances.”

  Aware that to have the man hang on his elbow would invite just the sort of speculation he was at pains to avoid on that same lady’s behalf, he concluded with a flare of annoyance that ’twas best to let the man say his piece.

  “Very well. But make short work of it.”

  He followed Alastair to the least-inhabited part of the reading room and impatiently took the seat indicated. “Say what you wish.”

  “First, thank you for your timely intervention last night. I could not sleep for reflecting upon the horror that might have befallen Miss…that might have occurred had you not happened by.”

  In truth, his lordship was pale, the skin beneath his eyes shadowed. Sinjin felt a grudging sympathy. “I am thankful for it myself.”

  “As for how we all came to be there…you must understand the, ah, lady in question has great spirit and courage. For reasons of his own—and I intend to take him to account for them in the very near future—I now believe it was not mere whimsy that prompted Weston to propose the wager he did. No, he deliberately designed that particular ‘challenge’ in such terms that to refuse would have amounted to an admission of weakness and timidity such a person could never allow.”

  Sinjin’s attention had been wandering, but Alastair caught it now. “You mean, Lord John set about from the first to entice this person into danger?”

  “It’s quite possible.” The young man sighed heavily. “I also fear that in pointing out the risks and impropriety involved, I unknowingly abetted him. Even then, had the individual been in an equitable frame of mind, my cautions might have swayed her—normally she is able to ignore Weston’s baiting—but something, I know not what, had occurred to put her in a rare temper.”

  Sinjin shifted uncomfortably, his parting words to Miss Beaumont echoing in his ears. He could not be sure they had set her off, for she’d seemed quite calm when he left her, but his insult must certainly have rattled her.

  That unpleasant memory triggered another. Three years ago when he’d returned to London to find Sarah married, he’d discovered the malice her disappointed suitor, the late Sir James Findlay, harbored toward the new Lady Englemere. Lord John Weston had been Findlay’s friend—and tool. Two villains cut from the same cloth?

  “Has Weston any reason to wish this person harm?”

  “He finds her attractive—who does not? Being too honest to dissemble flirtation with a gentleman she cannot like, however, she has never hidden her disdain for him. I fear Weston, piqued by her disregard, may have intended for her to experience something uncomfortable or frightening. To…humble her, perhaps.”

  “He might well have gotten her killed.”

  “Surely not! Ill-judged as his behavior was if such was his intent, I cannot imagine even Weston vile enough to have wished her real harm. Thank Heaven and your intervention there was none! I don’t think I could live with myself had that villain actually hurt her.”

  Sinjin thought of her bleeding shoulder and instantly decided to say nothing. For one, her young suitor already felt guilty enough. And if she had wished her injury to remain secret, who was he to reveal it?

  Grimly his thoughts returned to Weston. “Lord John wished to teach her a lesson?”

  “I very much fear so. Indeed, when we chanced to meet a party of friends, it was Weston who encouraged them to linger, allowing my—our—attention to be diverted for some moments longer than a simple greeting would have required.”

  “Bastard,” Sinjin muttered. “Thank you, Lord Alastair. What you’ve told me does alter my…impressions of what took place. I trust you’ll continue your good offices by making sure no whisper of this gets out?”

  “Of course. And I intend to watch Weston.”

  Sinjin sat pensively after Alastair bowed and left, a grudging anger emerging. Though she was undoubtedly reckless and ignorant, perhaps Miss Beaumont wasn’t entirely as witless as she’d first appeared. She had openly admitted her folly. Even more significant, although she’d had every opportunity to do so during their drive home, she’d not made any attempt to explain or excuse her behavior, despite the icy contempt he had displayed toward her. A forbearance he had to admire.

  He’d never had much use for bullies, but a man who would deliberately lead a woman into danger was beneath contempt. Regardless of the provocation—and he had to admit Miss Beaumont could be very provoking—Weston needed more than watching. He needed a lesson. And, Sinjin thought, flexing his fists, he knew just the right teacher.

  “Sorry I’m late, Sandiford,” Englemere’s voice interrupted his pleasant reverie of retribution. “You’ve wine already, I see. Good. Would you bring it and come along with me? There’s a friend I’d like you to meet.”

  Englemere led him into a smaller room where groups of members sat conversing or reading the London papers. Sinjin had always considered himself tall, but the blond man who rose to greet them outstripped him by inches.

  “Lord Sandiford, may I present Hal Waterman. Hal, this is the gentleman I spoke with you about.”

  Mr. Waterman bowed, then extended a hand that dwarfed Sinjin’s long fingers. After an exchange of bows, the three men sat.

  “Hal’s papa helped me when I stood in much the situation you do now.” At Sinjin’s raised eyebrow, Englemere laughed. “We share more than you may think. I inherited a title barren of any assets save my name. Although initially I stayed afloat by gaming—” at Sinjin’s involuntary grimace he waved a dismissive hand “—not that I would ever suggest that as a prudent course to anyone, but I happened to be lucky—”

  “Englemere’s Luck,” Mr. Waterman inserted and nodded sagely, as if that explained all. “Byword. Still is.”

  Sinjin must have frowned as he tried to sort through that response, for Englemere added, “Hal means I acquired, and have somehow managed to retain, this reputation for having the devil’s own luck.”

  “Found Sarah, didn’t he?”

  Sinjin was beginning to appreciate the big man’s logic. “True enough.”

  “Once I amassed sufficient funds to keep bread on the table, Mr. Waterman pressed me to invest some blunt on the ’change. Hal’s father was one of the first aristocrats to have dealings there, and prospered accordingly. Hal’s inherited his skill—and his contacts.”

  The big man shrugged. “Simple. Logic.”

  “Put that down to modesty, Sandiford. An astute trader possesses much more than logic. The play of financial numbers fascinates Hal, whereas investments are my particular fancy.”

  “Nose for gadgets, Nicky has,” Waterman said. “Made ’im rich.”

  “Not half so rich as poor Hal. He’s considered so eligible he has to take refuge at White’s to avoid the matchmaking mamas.”

  Waterman shuddered and Englemere laughed out loud. Sinjin assumed this must be something of a running joke between them. Anxious to get to the point as soon as politely possible, though, he said, “My congratulations to you both on your successes, but as you well know, I’ve no blunt, either to invest or gamble.”

  “Patience, Colonel,” Englemere said with a gleam of humor. “I asked Hal to meet you for several reasons. First, his contacts within the City are more extensive than mine. In fact, I took the liberty of confiding your intentions to him and asking him to come up with some potential…candidates. Second, if perhaps after next harvest you amass a small amount of capital to spare, Ha
l can recommend the most expeditious way to increase it. Lastly, should a bit of capital…assistance be required before your long-term plans can be accomplished, Hal can arrange it on the best terms, with absolute discretion.”

  Sinjin felt his face warm. “I assure you I—”

  “Just keep the option in mind. Recall that I’ve sat where you’re sitting and worse, half a desperate evening away from choosing a single bullet and a short trip to Hell.” For a moment, his eyes glazed as he seemed to contemplate the past. “But there’s Richardson, I must speak with him.”

  Englemere stood. “I’ll leave you to chat with Hal. If you’re still set on wedding a middle-class heiress?”

  Sinjin nodded. There seemed nothing to do but agree. Embarrassing as it was to know Englemere had discussed his situation with this stranger, soon enough his circumstances would be generally known. If Englemere, who had shown himself thus far a staunch ally, felt Mr. Waterman’s advice would help him achieve his aims more speedily, he’d best swallow useless pride and get on with it.

  “I must thank you for all your efforts, Englemere—”

  “Nonsense.” Englemere waved away his gratitude. “As we both know, my debt to you is far greater. I trust Hal has several attractive possibilities to present.”

  Feeling heat creep once more up his neck, Sinjin watched Englemere walk off. To discuss bartering himself in marriage was even more degrading than he’d anticipated.

  He forced himself to face the man opposite. “I must thank you as well, Mr. Water—”

  “Hal. Marriage.” He shook his head. “Sorry business. Duty, though.”

  Somehow, having his circumstances summarized in a few pithy words made the situation sting less. “I’m afraid so. Lord Englemere said you had some…prospects for me? You are amazingly kind to intervene, and I’m much obliged.”

  Waterman waved one large hand. “Best friend. Do anything for ’im. Sarah too.”

  A deeper understanding formed. “You…cared for Sarah?”

  The big man sighed. “Went to a ball for ’er.”

  Given Englemere’s humor over Mr. Waterman’s unwelcome status as an extremely eligible gentlemen, Sinjin surmised that represented a major concession. But of course Sarah would have attracted him.

  A bear of a man too large for fashion, his speech nearly unintelligible, Mr. Waterman would have been drawn as strongly by Sarah’s innate kindness as by her serenity and pale blond beauty. Did Waterman, too, mourn losing her to his friend? Perhaps, as apparently he’d not yet been noosed into matrimony.

  Mr. Waterman sighed again. “Nothing for it. Loved Nicky, y’see.”

  Sinjin could have sighed himself. “I do see.”

  “Sisters though. Wouldn’t consider one of ’em?”

  Sinjin shook himself, trying to follow the thread. “Marry one of Sarah’s sisters?” To see on his wife’s face a pale imitation of Sarah’s features? To visit often with the intimacy of family, but with the wrong lady’s hand on his arm?

  The notion appalled, and in spite of himself he shuddered. “I—I must have a bride of some means.”

  “Wealthy now. Dowries from Nicky.”

  So her husband had dowered Sarah’s sisters handsomely—a generous gesture. His respect for Englemere rose another notch.

  “That was kind, but I still don’t think—”

  “No matter,” Hal interrupted with a short nod. “Have to be the Cit then.”

  “If you have suggestions along that line, I would be most appreciative, Mr. Wa—Hal.”

  The marquess returned shortly afterward, and by the time they’d broached their second bottle, with Englemere’s help in translating some of Hal’s less intelligible utterings, they had a list of three wealthy businessmen with daughters of appropriate age for whom, Hal guessed, it might be assumed their proud papas cherished the highest of ambitions. That none of these gentlemen were known to be hanging out for an aristocratic son-in-law was, Englemere affirmed, a decided plus, and another benefit of having access to Hal’s knowledge of the City.

  “Should I…contact the gentlemen?” Sinjin asked, suddenly appalled at the prospect of approaching a stranger, hat in hand, and bargaining his title for settlement money, like haggling over beef at market.

  As he’d rather have stood through another Waterloo cannonade than do so, he was relieved when Waterman shook his head. “Nicky’ll chat ’em up. Eloquent.”

  “Hal’s right, ’tis best to approach this through a neutral third party. Once I’ve screened the prospects, would you be willing to meet with any who seem interested? For lunch or dinner at his home, perhaps. Hal and I could go with you, so the initial contact takes place under the guise of a business meeting.”

  Sinjin caught his breath in surprise. “You would do that? ’Tis wonderous generous of you both.”

  Hal grinned. “I eat. Nicky talks. Set a good table.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Sinjin replied, finding it easier now to follow the leaps in Waterman’s conversation.

  “It’s settled, then. I’ll send you a note when I’ve arranged something, in a day or so, I should guess.”

  Sinjin stood and bowed, still awed and a little humbled by their open, unqualified support. It seemed Englemere meant his pledge to do whatever he could to assist his former rival. “I am much in your debt.”

  Hal shook his head. “Soldier. Fought for England. Our debt.” He offered Sinjin his hand.

  “Thank you.” Sinjin shook it, feeling as if he were the unworthy recipient of accolades earned by the sacrifices of all the soldiers who had battled and bled and died—he who had joined the army on a whim to escape a future he could not then face.

  The same future he faced now. He’d best prove equal to their trust. Inhaling a sharp breath, he took the first step. “Let me know when all’s arranged.”

  Three mornings later Clarissa drank tea with Sarah in her sitting room. She’d easily convinced her mama that, with Sarah once again in an “interesting condition,” her friend had need of her help for a few days.

  At least as long as it took for her shoulder to heal completely. She had much more trust in Becky’s discretion than in that of her own volatile maid.

  Though she might well no longer need the Frenchwoman’s innate sense of style. If despite Sandiford’s warning, any specific details of her escapade circulated through the ton, she was likely to be the one receiving the cut direct.

  A prospect she greeted with more indifference than she’d have credited possible just four years ago, dizzy with the heady sensation of finding herself, as she’d long dreamed, the most celebrated Beauty of the ton. The only significant drawback of being ostracized, she decided, would be finding it even more difficult to fill up the idleness of her days.

  Oh, for a challenge, for a task of worth and significance to pursue. Oh, for a way to stop being envious of the avenues open to men, to content herself with the few straight and simple lanes permitted a woman.

  She thought of Aubrey. Given the enticement of motherhood, the only traditional role that appealed to her, perhaps she should seriously reconsider marriage. If, after Sir John finished dropping the veiled innuendos she felt certain, despite Sandiford’s warning, he would spread, she had any suitors left.

  Sarah asked Englemere to visit his clubs and listen for any reaction. Clarissa hadn’t been sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when after two days he reported all he’d heard was the intrepid Miss Beaumont had engaged in some sort of daring wager, the lack of detail inviting speculation that caused her reputation to augment rather than diminish.

  To check for rumors among the feminine contingent, Sarah accepted Lady Cowper’s invitation to tea. After that Almack’s patroness stopped trying to pry details of Clarissa’s escapade from her, to which Sarah blandly replied she knew nothing, the society leader merely shook her head and remarked how adventuresome their Clare was.

  It seemed scandal and ignominy were not to be hers, at least not yet. Still, Clarissa had determined
to go out on this, the third evening after the attack, her shoulder discreetly bandaged under the least revealing of her evening gowns. Best not to give the gossip mills too much grist for speculation.

  Sarah, to whom Clarissa had confided in full the wretched details of her adventure, listened without comment. “My, Clare, you were mad for diversion,” was the only criticism she uttered.

  Too mild a criticism for Clarissa’s awakened conscience. “I was an idiot. I should have realized any scheme of Weston’s had to be tawdry and ill-advised, but then I was so furious…” Recalling her fury brought to mind the face of the man who had inspired it, and she lost track of the thought.

  “What happened to put you in such a taking?”

  “Your precious Sinjin! First he informed me he had no need of the help I offered in finding a wife. Because, you understand, ladies of the upper classes are too vain, mindless, immoral, spendthrift and lazy to be worth considering,” Clarissa finished hotly.

  “Oh, Clare! Surely he didn’t phrase it like that.”

  “It was words very like,” she replied defensively.

  Sarah caught her breath on a chuckle. “Oh, dear. I expect I should have warned you. Sinjin fought a running battle with his mama’s extravagance for years, and she was initially instrumental in parting us. Though she and I have since made peace, I fear Sinjin still bitterly resents her. I had no idea his disdain extended to our entire class.”

  “Believe it. He informed me quite frostily he will have none but a merchant’s daughter for wife.”

  “If that isn’t just like a man!” Sarah shook her head. “Summarily choosing that course when I’d be willing to wager he hasn’t the least notion what a wealthy middle-class maiden is like. If all are raised like those we encountered at school, I expect he’ll find they possess every bit as much vanity, vacuousness, and extravagance as their aristocratic sisters.”

  “If not more,” Clarissa agreed.