Men and their honor! Such a noble idea, and to what lengths they will go to protect it. Too bad they are not as concerned about a lady’s honor—for they will go to ruinous lengths to gain her attendance in their bed.
Advice to Felicity Langley from her Nanny Lucia
Minerva came downstairs the next morning, her thoughts awhirl from the events last night. However had her life come this?
Chudley had challenged Lord Langley to a duel. And then Langley had been shot at, and she, of all people, had saved his life.
And while she had shrugged off the event to the others as naught but a botched hold-up—her own fault for wearing the Sterling diamonds so publicly—she held every suspicion that there was far more to the attempt on Lord Langley’s life than just a robbery.
Nor had the nannies seemed to find it plausible. They had all glanced out the carriage and looked at everyone but her, as if they pitied her for being such a fool.
For they knew, as Minerva did now, that the man was a dangerous enigma.
Flirtatious and rakish. By all accounts a favored hound by every living woman who’d ever met him.
And yet he’d been living in her house in secret. Added to that, what about all the rumors about his death, hints of treason? He had only been a diplomat, nothing more.
Hadn’t he? Certainly the stint in a French prison suggested otherwise.
She paused, her teeth catching her lower lip as she continued to puzzle it all out, but kept coming back to Chudley’s challenge.
Why, the entire thing was ridiculous to fathom. Here she’d thought Aunt Bedelia’s fifth husband quite the stodgy, dependable sort—which up until last night she’d thought an odd choice for Aunt Bedelia—but apparently her aunt had seen the lion’s heart beating beneath the viscount’s tweedy exterior when no one else had.
But a duel? Lord Chudley was going on seventy, if he was a day. And whatever sort of mischief had Lord Langley wrought that Lord Chudley had held a grudge this long, and obviously so deeply?
Pausing on the landing, she came to the only correct conclusion. Of course this was over a woman. Good heavens, given Chudley’s age, Langley must have been in short pants when the slight occurred.
Not that it wasn’t an impossible notion. No one who knew Langley would put it past the baron to have been charming women even back then. Rakish devil.
Good thing he’d never had sons, only daughters.
His daughters . . . Minerva’s heart pattered slightly as she thought of the letters in his jacket, faded and worn, and obviously so very dear to him.
Dear Papa . . .
Whatever he was in life, there was no denying his daughters were devoted to him and he loved them with all his heart.
Thank goodness he’d never had sons.
Then for the life of her she couldn’t help but see a pair of lads—tawny like their father and just as charming. Tall and strong, with blue eyes alight with mischief and delight as they came running across a wide meadow dotted with snowdrops in bloom, each racing the other to see who would reach her first.
For the first time in her life, Minerva’s heart burned with a longing for a family. To kneel down and hold a child close, ruffle his hair and inhale deeply, taking in the salty air of a fresh-faced lad—all sweet meadows and trout and horses and the things a mother probably didn’t want to know about.
Minerva, who had never desired children, never even been comfortable around them, suddenly ached for nothing more than the safe haven of a home and family. A pair of boys, and the man who stood beside her in her vision . . . a man she could see so clearly with his golden brown hair and blue eyes, desired so deeply . . .
She caught hold of the railing to keep from sinking down atop the step.
She didn’t want this . . . a home . . . children . . . a true husband. No, she knew better. She couldn’t want this.
The shuffle of boots in the foyer below stopped her wayward thoughts. Thank goodness something had, she mused, until she heard the bits of conversation rising up the stairwell.
“Yes, gentlemen. I do think everything is in order.”
Langley! Oh, she had a few things to say to him this morning. After Chudley’s challenge, the entire evening had been chaos, and then after his near murder, he’d hustled her and the others into Lord Throssell’s carriage, ordered them home and slipped away into the night.
Whenever had he come back? She’d waited up for him, until all hours . . . that is, she ’d tried to wait up for him, but despite her best efforts, she must have eventually drifted off into an exhausted sleep atop her bed, for she’d awakened not that long ago still in her muddied gown.
“Then we are agreed, my lord?” came a deep voice she didn’t recognize.
“Yes, two days from now, Primrose Hill at dawn,” Langley was saying.
Primrose Hill at dawn? She shivered and then leaned farther over the railing, trying to catch sight of him. This could only mean he meant to go through with this scandal. Wasn’t being shot at once already this week enough for the man?
A duel indeed! Over her dead body . . .
Or his, she thought grimly.
“Swilly will stand with me, along with Thomas-William,” Langley continued. The boots shuffled again, and then some murmured discussion drifted upward even as the creak of the front door revealed it was being opened.
That was it? Just a few civil words over what was nothing more than politely organized murder?
Well, certainly not in her house.
But by the time Minerva whirled around the landing and hurried down the last flight, the foyer was empty and all she could spy of Langley was his coattails disappearing into the dining room.
“Who were those men?” she demanded when she caught up with him.
Langley had settled back into his chair and was already tucking into a half-eaten breakfast that must have been interrupted by his guests. He didn’t get up at her arrival.
Apparently one interruption to his breakfast was enough.
“Chudley’s seconds,” he said as if merely commenting on the lackluster state of his now cold eggs.
Seconds! Oh, this was madness. Though apparently not to Lord Chudley or her faux betrothed, who sat there calmly, coolly dispatching his morning repast.
“Langley, you cannot do this,” she told him, coming around the opposite side of the table and facing him. It made her feel more solid to have the breadth of the table between them. Even if it was as narrow as this one.
“Of course I must. I was challenged.”
“Challenged? ’Tis foolery! Nothing more.”
“Not to Chudley,” he pointed out. “It is a matter of honor.”
“You’d do this . . . this murder . . . to appease an old man’s honor?”
He looked up at her, his gaze level and straightforward. “Yes. Actually I would. I would have you know, Lady Standon, that sometimes your honor is all you have in this world.”
And he wasn’t speaking of Chudley—this she knew right down to the heels of her slippers. And something about the solemn light in his eyes, the calm manner with which he spoke, made her pause, left her unable to breathe.
Honor. She’d lived without that notion her entire life, and yet here was a man who would hold onto it with both hands, valued it above all else, wore it as proudly as others wore a perfectly cut coat.
But still, the end results of holding onto something as ethereal as honor . . . She closed her eyes for a moment trying to blot out the vision of either man—or both—lying atop Primrose Hill in a pool of their own blood.
“Please, Langley—”
“I like that,” he said softly.
Minerva paused. “Like what?” She could hardly see what there was to like about a discussion of him being shot at.
“I like it when you call me Langley,” he confessed, smiling at her. “It is quite endearing.”
“I would never be so informal,” she said, realizing that indeed she was being so utterly intimate with him. She’d been calling him that ever since . . .
Last night in the carriage. Her gaze flew up and she found him smiling wickedly at her as if he too was thinking the very same thing. Recalling their interlude with some delight, if that wretched grin of his was any indication.
“I won’t make that mistake again,” she informed him, not sure if she was speaking of her use of his name or their encounter in the carriage.
“We are betrothed,” he reminded her. “And you are a widow. Both are perfectly acceptable.”
“We are not,” she corrected. “Betrothed,” she added hastily. They had gone right past acceptable and respectable last night.
“But no else knows that.” Then he reached for another piece of toast from the rack and began to butter it. After he was finished, he glanced up at her, obviously not willing to continue until she agreed.
“Lord Langley—”
“Tut tut,” he said, shaking a piece of toast at her.
“Langley, then,” she ground out. “Please . . . please, don’t do this. You promised me you wouldn’t compromise my reputation if we went forward with our agreement—”
“And thus far I have kept my part.” Then he paused, tipped his head and studied her. “Have you kept yours, my lady?”
That piercing gaze of his went straight to her heart.
“No other men?” he prodded.
“No!” she sputtered. “When would I have—”
And her words abruptly came to a halt as she recalled her meeting with Adlington. How could she have forgotten it?
While she might, not so Langley. He must have seen her with Gerald and . . .
Minerva straightened. Not that there had been anything to see. Besides, Langley couldn’t have noticed her situation with Adlington; he’d been too busy with Chudley.
Which meant he was bluffing.
“There is no other man in my life,” she asserted.
“That is good news,” he said, letting up his scrutiny. “I’ll have you know I am the jealous sort.”
“Truly? Will it matter much when you are dead?”
He grinned at this. “Worried for my safety?”
“Not in the least,” she said, pacing a bit. She stopped and whirled around, shaking a finger at him. “But if you die up there, I’ll be the one left to live with the scandal.”
“I can hardly be held accountable for Chudley’s challenge, or that he had to make it in the middle of Drury-Lane Theatre.”
She pressed her lips together. He did have her there. Still . . . “And why was such a challenge necessary?”
He waved her off and dug back into his breakfast.
“Langley!” Minerva reached across the table and pulled his plate away.
He tossed down his napkin. “If you must know—”
“I must.”
“Good God, woman, it was fifteen years ago, is this truly necessary?” He reached for the teapot, and in a quick motion she pushed it out of his reach.
Taking a deep breath, he sat back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. “I was posted in Naples at the time, and Chudley and his wife—not your aunt, his second wife—were there. She was a foolish young thing and she flirted shamelessly with any and every man at court.”
“Including you?”
“Yes, including me,” he said, shaking his head. “Then one night Chudley spied his errant wife with a man out in the gardens, but he couldn’t see who it was. So when he demanded she name her paramour, rather than reveal her lover’s name, she said it was me.”
“Whyever would she do that?” Minerva asked.
“Because, if you must know—”
“I must—”
“I had rebuffed her on more than one occasion and she was a petty bit of muslin.” He raked his hand through his hair and then shook his head as if trying to discard the memory. “I wasn’t interested in her. Besides, any man would have been a demmed fool to dally with her, given Chudley’s reputation with pistols.”
“Was there a reason you rebuffed her?”
He blew out an exasperated breath. “Contrary to the common gossip you seem to ascribe so much value to, I have not bedded every woman I’ve met. Besides, she wasn’t my sort. A more foolish and vain chit never lived.” He paused, then leaned over and fetched his plate back. “Vain I don’t mind, but I’ve never suffered a foolish woman.” He dug back into his breakfast defiantly, as if challenging her to refute his version of the events.
Minerva took a step back and considered what he’d said. And then she glanced upward and considered his former paramours, all still soundly asleep upstairs. Oh, they were all vain creatures, but as he said, not one of them was a fool. Calculating, yes. Devious, definitely. But foolish? Not in the least.
And neither was she. For like his honor, she knew he was telling the truth. She didn’t know how or why, but she would have staked her honor on it.
What little she possessed.
“To avoid a huge scandal,” he said, continuing the story, “I was hastily reposted to Paris—not to mention, peace had broken out and the Foreign Office wanted to take advantage of the moment to gather every bit of intelligence on Napoleon that they could muster. Thus, Chudley’s insult and challenge have lay lingering all this time—though I have to admit, I’d all but forgotten about it, at least until yesterday.”
Minerva sighed, completely exasperated over the entire situation. A fifteen-year-old peccadillo? Oh, she’d never understand men.
She pulled out her chair and sank down into it, unwilling to even think of the consequences of such a rash act.
“You don’t believe me,” he said, having mistaken her dismay. And if she didn’t know better, sounding quite affronted.
She glanced up at him, took in his furrowed brow, the indignation. “Actually, I do, that is what has me in a mare’s nest.”
This took him aback, his eyes widening as if he was seeing her for the first time. “You believe me?”
Minerva nodded, then reached for the teapot and poured him a cup, as well as one for herself. It wasn’t steaming as it ought and it had brewed too long, but then again that seemed to be par for the course at the moment.
“Why?” he asked quietly as he cradled his cup in his hands.
“I don’t know,” she confessed, unwilling at first to look at him. But then she willed her gaze to meet his. “But I do.”
And inside her heart, those words took on an entirely different meaning.
Langley didn’t know what was more disconcerting—having Lady Standon’s conviction in his favor or the way his heart beat faster as she gazed steadily at him. Not just faster, but actually thudded and pounded as if applauding.
For it couldn’t be something else. Certainly not that.
He knew he should say something, but what you said to a lady when your heart went on some errant course of its own, he knew not.
For whatever he was going to say to her, he knew he had to damn well mean it.
“Minerva, I—”
His confession came to an abrupt halt as the front doorbell jangled. Not just the usual rattle, the poor thing sounded as if it was being yanked off the hanger.
They shared a glance that said the same thing.
Aunt Bedelia.
Most likely having spent the night unsuccessfully bullying her husband to give up his folly, she had now come to Brook Street to continue her tirade.
As the bell tolled again, Langley bolted to his feet. Given what he knew of Lady Chudley, he assumed he wouldn’t get a third warning. “That is my signal to leave.”
“Leave?” Minerva protested, getting to her feet as well. “You can’t just abandon me to her.”
And just as he predicted, the front door banged open. “Where is he?”
They both glanced at the door. “ ’Tis your relation, my lady, not mine,” he said in the way of an apology.
Minerva stepped into his path. “What does it say about your precious honor that you flee in the face of my aunt?”
“That my honor isn’t always what it should be,” he teased, before he leaned forward and, staring at her lips, half considered putting a kiss on them. But he stopped just short and said, “Alas, I promised.”
His near kiss was enough to distract Minerva, and he dodged around her and escaped down the hall toward the kitchen even as Lady Chudley rounded the corner.
He continued apace down the back stairs to the kitchen and had planned to cut through Mrs. Hutchinson’s domain, then depart using the servant steps that led up to Brook Street, but what he spied in the kitchen halted his escape.
For there sat Mrs. Hutchinson, Thomas-William, and one of Lord Andrew’s urchins, all on stools beside the lift that carried plates to the dining room.
“What the devil—” he began.
“Sssh!” Mrs. Hutchinson said, finger on her lips. “The next round is about to start.”
As he drew closer, he could clearly hear Lady Chudley saying, “This is ruinous, Minerva! You must put an end to this nonsense!”
Egads, the shaft between the walls conducted conversations perfectly down to the kitchen for all to hear.
Why this was the worst sort of eavesdropping!
But before there was anything more from above, the incorrigible housekeeper leaned over to Thomas-William and nudged him in the ribs. “Owe me two bob, you do. Told you himself would be down here in a thrice when that caterwauling mort arrived.”
For his part, Thomas-William shot Langley a scathing glance, not that much different from the one Lady Standon had sent him when he’d gotten to his feet to flee.
“My lord,” the boy began, “Lord Andrew sent me with the carriage—”
“Sssh,” both he and Mrs. Hutchinson directed at the lad.
“But I am supposed to—” the boy persisted, but stopped when he realized no one was listening to him. Huffing a sigh, he sat back on his stool and shook his head.
Not that Langley really noticed, for down from above came Lady Standon’s strained voice, “I hardly see what I can do—”
“What you can do?” Lady Chudley clamored. “I’ll tell you what you can do—”
“A slight delay in our plans,” Langley whispered to the lad. And having not a single bit of honor when it came to such practices, and every measure of his wits, Langley pulled up a stool and settled in like the veriest tabby.
“I will have him arrested,” Aunt Bedelia declared, still standing at the head of the table like she was presiding over the House of Lords.
“Who? Lord Chudley?” Minerva asked as she gave up and sat down, pushing Langley’s deserted plate aside.
“No, of course not!” the woman sputtered. “That wretched betrothed of yours—he is the cause of all this. Whatever was I thinking giving you my blessing for such a union? The man is a scandal!”
“A scandal? He wasn’t the one who issued some foolhardy challenge in the middle of Drury-Lane Theatre!” Minerva shot back, wondering at her own vehemence.
Good gracious heavens, she was defending Langley.
“And why shouldn’t Chudley have issued his challenge? Granted, he is a bit of a hothead when provoked—though usually he roars in that manner in more private moments.” Aunt Bedelia sat down and pulled out her handkerchief, fanning herself a bit.
Minerva’s gaze shot up to her aunt. Had she just heard the lady correctly? Oh, if the blush on the older woman’s face was any indication, she had.
And wished she hadn’t.
“Please, Aunt Bedelia, let us not fight over the hows and whys of this mess.” And please no more intimate details about your marriage to Chudley. It is going to take a month of Sundays to get the image of Chudley roaring through your bedchamber scrubbed from my mind. “Let us work together to discover a solution to all this.”
“Find a solution to what, darling?” Tasha said as she sauntered into the dining room, glancing at the sideboard and taking naught but a piece of toast.
“The duel,” Lucia chimed in, coming in behind the Russian princess. She fluttered her hand at Minerva. “You English are so odd—always ready to argue—but also so ready to condemn a sensible solution.” She sighed and took a plate as well.
“A duel is a wonderful moment for a man,” Helga said, having come in behind Lucia. “The honesty, the bravery, the courage. Never fear, my schatzi will put a bullet through that old goat and be done with him.” She snapped her fingers and sat down at the table, glancing around for a servant to fetch her a plate.
“I’ll have you know, my good margravine,” Aunt Bedelia began, bristling with indignation, “that my Chudley is an excellent marksman and will most likely put your scandalous Langley in an early grave!”
“He can try, darling. He can try,” Tasha said, reaching over and patting her hand, as if already offering her condolences. “But as the margravine says, Langley is a devilish rogue. I fear your Chudley has challenged the wrong man.”
At this, Brigid came in, Knuddles at the hem of her gown. “But of course Chudley has challenged the wrong man. Whatever did Langley do? Flirt with his wife?” She made an inelegant sort of snort, as if such a thing were trifling and hardly worth the bother. “But I grieve for you, Lady Chudley. I do. For I doubt with your coloring you look all that well in black.”
Minerva glanced over at her aunt, who looked ready to give every single one of them a severe wigging, so she stepped into the fray and announced, “There isn’t going to be any killing. No need for widow’s weeds.”
The nannies shared a collective glance and sighed in unison, a sort of unanimous, Oh, these English.
Tapping the heel of her slipper down hard, Minerva folded her arms over her chest. “I mean it. There will be no duel. Langley will never go through with this. He promised me he wouldn’t drag my name through scandal and he won’t.”
Tasha shook her head. “If you were worried about scandal, Lady Standon, whyever did you become engaged to the baron?”
“Yes, why did you, Lady Standon?” the margravine echoed.
Minerva found herself as the focal point of the room, with all eyes on her. Even, she suspected, Knuddles. “Well . . . because . . . I would say . . .”
Lucia waved her off. “Say no more. You love him. Of course you do. All women love Langley, rogue that he is.”
There were nods all around, save Aunt Bedelia, whose opinion of Minerva’s betrothed no longer glistened.
And while she would have liked to correct their assumption—that she was in love with Langley—she just offered a wan little smile. “I don’t want to see either man harmed. And neither does my aunt.”
“Of course no one wants to see a good man die,” Brigid began, “but however do you stop them when they get their blood up?”
Lucia shrugged in agreement at this, ever the Italian.
“Well, if you must stop him—” the margravine began.
“I must,” Minerva insisted.
“You could always poison him.” Having given up on any hope of a servant, the lady got up and helped herself to a plate full of eggs and sausages. “Ask Brigid for help—she’s the expert.”
“Poison?” Minerva gasped.
“Not so much to kill him, Lady Standon,” Brigid advised, handing down a piece of bacon to her monkey-faced little dog, cooing at him as he snapped it up. “Just enough to keep him down for a day or two.”
“If his horse were to go lame, he would not make it in time,” Tasha added.
“Hide his pistols,” Lucia offered.
“Tie him up,” the margravine suggested. When the others glanced at her, she scoffed at them. “As if any of you haven’t done as much.”
There were shrugs and nods all around, including Aunt Bedelia, and Minerva couldn’t believe what she was listening to.
“I still say having the rogue arrested is the best choice. Lock him up in Newgate and throw away the key,” Aunt Bedelia avowed.
“On what charges, my lady?” Tasha asked. “You English so adore your charges. Is it against the law to find a lady interesting? When Langley finds a lady charming, nothing can divert him.”
“Yes, yes, that is it,” Lucia agreed. “Lady Standon, Lady Chudley, you have naught to do but to keep your gentlemen diverted until the appointed time has passed.” She smiled wickedly.
Minerva thought her aunt would be outraged, but to her shock her aunt’s eyes widened with relief. “Yes, yes, that is the perfect idea. I shall keep my husband delightfully entertained and so exhausted that he will not be able to rise in the morning.”
“I hope he can still rise, darling, for your sake,” Tasha teased. “And if you do the same, Lady Standon, Langley will be well occupied as well.”
Once again Minerva found herself the center of attention. “I cannot do that!”
“Whyever not?” came the chorus of protest.
“We are not yet married.” She looked around the room waiting for the respectable support she would expect. Except she was prattling on to the wrong crowd. “We can hardly—”
Oh, it was no use, they all looked at her as if she had grown a second head.
“Minerva, you have always led a proper and respectable life—” Aunt Bedelia began.
Well, thank goodness there was one voice of reason in the room. Seducing Langley indeed! As scandalous as dueling. For hadn’t last night in the carriage nearly been her undoing?
But Minerva was in for a shock.
“My good niece, this is no time for propriety. We have a grievous situation. One that warrants extraordinary mettle,” Aunt Bedelia said, her voice ringing with conviction. “You must do everything in your power to lure that man into your bed and keep him there!”
Down in the kitchen, Lady Chudley’s demand was met with a stunned silence.
Then Thomas-William leaned over and nudged Mrs. Hutchinson. “Now you owe me two bob.”