Chapter 2
God save me from respectable women.
—Lawrence Sinclair
Lawrence had met precious few ladies in his life. Lord Ware had packed him off to boarding school as soon as he could, lying about Lawrence’s age to get him into Harrow a year early. At first, Lawrence had been grateful. However, if living at Ware Hall was insufferable, being raised by wolves might have been preferable to his life at public school.
Until Lawrence had shown the ability to defend himself, and become indispensable on the cricket ground, the prefects had made living at Harrow a hell on earth. But with enough time, one can become accustomed even to hell. Lawrence was forced to remain at school during holidays, when the other lads returned home to parties and country balls. He had few opportunities to acquire any of the social graces required for congress with the fair sex.
He told himself it didn’t matter. He’d never need that kind of polish. He was better off at school than at Ware in any case. At least he was out from under his uncle’s thumb.
Lawrence used the weeks when the hallways echoed with emptiness to catch up with his classmates in academics. He did manage to finally matriculate, though without much distinction. Lawrence was neither at the head nor the foot of his class.
“Sort of a golden mean,” he’d told his uncle.
“Trying to find virtue in mediocrity, I see,” Lord Ware had countered.
Lawrence had no wish to read law. He hadn’t longed for a deeper understanding of algebra or geometry. Without a burning desire for more schooling, there was no reason for Lawrence to attend university. Still, his uncle wouldn’t countenance his returning to Ware Hall.
Instead, the earl had purchased a lieutenant’s commission for Lawrence, and specifically requested for him to serve in the heavy horse. Since this branch of His Majesty’s cavalry always bore the brunt of any major action, Lawrence had no illusions about the sentiment behind his uncle’s graduation gift.
However, Lawrence found that military life suited him. His old fencing master’s tutelage was put to good use. Because he was more at home with horses than people, becoming a dragoon was not without its benefits. Lawrence had found a place where he actually excelled. He could handle himself and his mount in pitched battle, acquit himself admirably in the action, and his semicontrolled aggression would save the horse and rider next to him as well, more often than not.
He strove to be ready for whatever the enemy threw at him.
But his time in His Majesty’s service had done nothing to prepare him for his reaction to Lady Caroline Lovell’s astonishing amber eyes.
His mouth went dry. There was a hitch in his breath, and he suddenly felt all elbows and knees, a gawky youth instead of the steady young man he thought himself.
Bredon’s sister was a goddess, or as near to one as Lawrence could imagine. All that was graceful, all that was innocent and sensual at once, all that was woman, she was neatly packaged before him, wrapped in a few layers of chiffon and lace.
“Won’t you join us for tea, Mr. Sinclair?” she asked. Low and musical, even her voice was the perfect blend of angel and seductress.
He could scarce believe his luck.
Then he noticed that the goddess had reinforcements. Two other young ladies, of a somewhat less divine variety, had risen from their places on the settee. Unlike the gracious Lady Caroline, who smiled sweetly at him, these two eyed Lawrence as if he were a particularly repugnant type of slug.
Introductions were made all around. More tea and a fresh tray of biscuits appeared. Lawrence had hoped to feel more at ease with something in his hands. He was never quite sure where to put them otherwise. But balancing a delicate china cup and saucer on one knee and a plate of biscuits on the other was not an improvement. When the young ladies on the settee continued to study him furtively, Lawrence wished he’d declined refreshment.
And longed for his early days at Harrow.
“Mr. Sinclair, where is your home?” the one named Horatia Englewood said.
“Yes,” he choked out. Lawrence could hardly be expected to say more; he had just bitten into a sweetmeat the instant before she addressed him. Ware was home. Or he supposed it was as much home to him as any place, though it held no warm memories for him. It was mildly disconcerting to find this Miss Englewood had apparently ascertained he was from Ware. He knew nothing about her, save that she tightened her lips into a prim line each time she looked his way.
“Your home, sir. Where . . . is it?”
“It is,” Lawrence confirmed, wondering why Miss Englewood was belaboring the point. He’d been born in Ware Hall. Of what conversational value could that information be? Was she angling for confirmation of the fact that, even as the earl’s presumptive heir, he wasn’t likely to be welcomed back there any time soon?
Miss Englewood gave a decidedly unladylike snort. “Well, if you’ve no wish to tell me…”
Bredon laughed then, and slapped him on the back. His friend seemed unaware that he was seriously endangering the Turkish carpet beneath their feet because Lawrence very nearly dumped his tea. “She’s asking from whence you hail, Sinclair. Lud, man, I know it’s been years since you were at school, but do you not recognize a homonym when you hear it?”
“A what?” Grammar had not been his strong suit.
“A homonym,” the angelic Lady Caroline said. “Two words that sound alike but have different spellings and meanings. Where and Ware, you see?”
The two girls on the settee tittered like a pair of canaries.
“Honestly, ladies, you mustn’t laugh over a silly misunderstanding. Mr. Sinclair is our guest,” Lady Caroline scolded. Lawrence was impressed that her mild rebuke made the others duck their heads, to all appearances suitably chastised. “And besides, if my brother met Mr. Sinclair on the Continent, no doubt he’s been living in places where no one speaks English. Perhaps for quite some time. I wager if we held this conversation in French, he’d be brilliant.”
“Or Italian or Spanish,” Bredon put in staunchly. “Lawrence has an ear for languages.”
“Ah! Then he will no doubt be pleased to dazzle us with something delightfully foreign from his travels,” Miss Englewood said. When Lawrence didn’t respond immediately, she added dryly, “An ear for languages, perhaps, but not a tongue, apparently.”
Miss Englewood was right. As much as Lawrence wished he could impress Lady Caroline with something suitable for the present company, all that came to mind at this moment were the words to a bawdy Spanish poem about a camp follower and an Italian drinking song.
Neither would do credit to Lady Caroline’s very proper parlor.
Fortunately, the goddess herself took charge of the conversation and steered it toward her brother’s travels. Bredon was used to holding court and soon had all three ladies hanging on his every word.
Lawrence was grateful. It allowed him to seem to participate without actually doing anything but keep from spilling his tea. The other four laughed together so easily. They exchanged news of friends they held in common. Witticisms were batted back and forth like a game of shuttlecock. Sitting in their shadow, Lawrence almost enjoyed himself.
But then Lady Caroline turned to him. “Now that you’ve returned from your time abroad, will you remain in London for the Season, Mr. Sinclair?”
Lawrence swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He’d planned to seek temporary lodging, somewhere cheap, near Wapping Dock, perhaps, while he untangled this particular knot. He had a vague idea about contacting his mother. Perhaps he could persuade her to allow him to take her to Wiltshire to visit her family there.
“I have no plans to remain in London, Lady Caroline.”
“Then you must make plans,” she said with another dazzling smile. Her teeth were brighter than the cliffs of Dover at sunrise. “There will be balls and routs and musical evenings and oh! ever so many fascinating things to do.”
Those fascinating things sounded like the worst sort of torture to Lawrence, but if she were there, he thought he might be able to bear them.
“Well, I—”
“That settles it.” Bredon slapped him on the back. “You’ll stay with us, Sinclair.”
“Perhaps this is something you might wish to discuss with Lord Chatham,” Lawrence said.
“Father will be in perfect agreement. In any case, I have five brothers in total, and once the others arrive, he’ll scarcely notice an extra gentleman at table,” Lady Caroline said. “Besides, we’ve yet to hear about that sticky situation in Rome from which you extricated Teddy and Lord Rowley. There’s a mystery I’m dying to unravel. Do tell us.”
Lawrence cleared his throat. Twice. He had no idea how to sanitize a tale that involved a brothel, a scimitar-wielding debt collector, and a dead weasel. When his teacup chose that precise moment to tumble from his knee, he was relieved.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Caroline,” he said, kneeling at once to sop up the stain with his handkerchief.
“Nonsense, man, do get up,” Bredon said. “The maid will tend to that.”
Lawrence stood, suddenly aware that none of the others in the room would have stooped to such a menial task. Even as low as his position had been in Ware Hall, he’d still been the nephew of the earl. Even as a child, he wouldn’t have been expected to mop up a spill. Evidently, he’d been away from gracious living so long, he no longer knew how to behave among the upper crust.
“Undoubtedly, you’re fatigued from your travels, Mr. Sinclair. Perhaps you’d like to be shown to your room,” Lady Caroline suggested as she rang the small bell on the table beside her.
Lawrence could have kissed her. It was yet another highly improper thing for him to do, but one with real appeal.
“Thank you, my lady.” He wanted to say something else, something that might erase the bad impression he’d made thus far. All that came to mind was that Lady Caroline’s hands were as white and graceful as a pair of doves. He didn’t believe expressing that bit of sap would improve his situation. So instead, he bowed to all the ladies, nodded to Bredon, and followed the butler, Mr. Price, out of the room.
With gratitude.
* * * *
“Well, Lord Bredon, it appears you are about to present the ton with a good deal of entertainment in the form of your new friend,” Horatia said once Mr. Sinclair had followed Price from the parlor. “Under what rock did you find such an awkward fellow?”
“Sheath your claws, Miss Cat.” Edward’s smile turned brittle. “You say Sinclair is my friend and you speak truly. Perhaps you’d like to amend your comment, lest I take serious offense.”
Horatia’s eyes widened in surprise.
Although Caroline’s brother had teased her unmercifully as they were growing up, he’d usually been kind to her friends. But Caroline—and evidently Horatia as well—had forgotten that he could occasionally lord his status over others. Everyone knew Edward was bound to inherit the earldom from their father someday—God willing, many years in the future—however, it was not something he made much of with those who’d known him since childhood, as Horatia and Frederica had.
Unless he was seriously vexed with them.
Caroline put a conciliatory hand on her brother’s forearm. “She doesn’t mean anything by it, Teddy.”
“Neither do I, Lord Bredon,” Frederica said, though she’d not offered a word against Mr. Sinclair. Apparently, an unkind thought had been squatting on her tongue so heavily, she felt as guilty about thinking it as if she’d spoken it aloud.
“Still, Edward dear, you must admit your friend has—”
“Careful, Sister,” he interrupted. “Remember what our mother says. Speaking ill of someone, even the singular Mr. Sinclair, is—”
“A prayer to the devil,” Caroline finished for him. “Very well. To show our good will, we shall each say something nice about Mr. Sinclair, shan’t we? I’ll start. He has…” She cast about in her mind for the space of several heartbeats. The man was striking in appearance, handsome even, but he couldn’t hold up his end of a conversation to save his soul. Caroline finally came up with, “The man has symmetrical features.”
Then she turned expectantly to Horatia, who rolled her eyes. “Let Freddie go next. I need more time to think.”
“Well, it seems to me that Mr. Sinclair, well, he…” Frederica glanced at Horatia for moral support before saying, “He seems very clean-natured.”
“He does indeed. An admirable trait in a gentleman. Thank you, Freddie,” Caroline said. “And now you, Horatia.”
“Very well. The teacup incident demonstrated that your Mr. Sinclair has quick reflexes, my lord. He was on his knees in a trice.”
Edward crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. “Symmetrical features, clean-natured, quick reflexes…I hope you’re aware you have just described a house cat.”
Horatia and Freddie giggled, but then stifled their laughter quickly once they realized Edward was not laughing with them.
“Come, Teddy, even you must admit Mr. Sinclair is not the sort of gentleman you usually befriend.”
“You are not acquainted with all my friends.”
“Oh! But we do know some of them,” Horatia put in, as if she hadn’t just been chastened by the future Earl of Chatham. “Lord Rowley, for example. He was always so jolly and must surely have been an excellent traveling companion for you. I trust your sojourn on the Continent with him has not changed his nature.”
“No, Rowley never changes,” Edward said cryptically.
“I’m relieved to hear it,” Horatia said, whipping out her fan and waving the lace before her. “What a pity he didn’t come with you this morning. Caro speaks so highly of him.”
If Horatia had been closer, Caroline would have given her a swift kick to the shins. Before Edward had left for his Tour, her brother had relished every chance to tease Caroline about her mild infatuations, which included the always entertaining Oliver Rowley. It was easy to fancy herself in love with Oliver. He was handsome in a ruddy, young King David sort of way, glib and full of charm. Even her mother called him a lovable rogue.
But Caroline had been ever so much younger then, and incredibly naïve. Now, if she experienced a brief flutter over a gentleman, she extinguished it immediately. She’d realized, through observation of the couples in her parents’ circle and reading the widowed Mrs. Birdwhistle’s excellent accounts, that when a woman married, she surrendered everything to her husband—be it fortune, friends, or freedom of movement.
An attachment to a gentleman, no matter how jolly he might be, would keep her from traveling the wide world. There could be no more infatuations. Not if she wished to control her own life.
Admittedly, it was an unusual goal. In truth, she was hesitant to share it even with Horatia or Freddie, her two best friends in the world. They’d think her odd in the extreme. However, she was certain she’d never be able to settle for a life filled with sewing infant clothing and consulting the cook about menus and the other minutiae that filled her mother’s days.
Still, though the sort of life she envisioned for herself held no room for a man in it, Caroline wondered about Oliver Rowley. “Lord Rowley did return with you, didn’t he?”
To her surprise, Edward didn’t take the opportunity to tease her about his friend this time.
“Yes, but he has no time to spend clucking in a parlor with a bunch of hens. Rowley had an appointment to keep,” he said gruffly, rising and making for the doorway. He paused at the threshold and turned back to face Caroline and her friends. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as if Edward were much older than his years.
It made Caroline wonder if all his traveling adventures had been happy ones.
“Sinclair is loyal and resourceful, and there’s no one I’d rather have at my back in a fight, but as you saw, he’s hopeless in a drawing room,” Edward said. “The man has fine qualities, many of which may not be readily apparent to you, but they have most certainly been demonstrated to me.”
“Of course we respect your judgment, Teddy, but—”
“But nothing. Sinclair has agreed to remain in London, so it behooves us all to assist his entry into Society. I’ll see that he’s admitted to White’s. But when it comes to…the feminine side of the Season, well, you three have it within your power to help or hinder him in that regard.”
“What are you suggesting?” Caroline asked.
“That you smooth the way for him a bit. He’s not had much experience in Town. Help him fit into conversations. Make him feel comfortable.”
“Do you wish us to keep him from cleaning up after his own spills as well?” Horatia said waspishly.
Edward snorted. “Just see he gets on with people, will you?”
“Of course,” Caroline said. “We’ll do what we can.”
“That’s all I ask,” Edward said, and was gone.
Horatia waited until the sound of his boots on the hardwood had faded to dull thuds. “Well, His Lordship doesn’t ask much, does he?”
“No indeed,” Frederica said, missing Horatia’s sarcasm completely. “Only last week, I was reading in The Complete History of Knights and Heraldry that the lord of the manor could demand anything of his vassals.” Her cheeks flushed rosily, and Caroline decided Freddie was thinking of the mysterious droit du seigneur. Between the three of them, they’d amassed just enough information about this old custom to decide that whatever it was, it must have been incredibly wicked. “If all Lord Bredon asks is that we help Mr. Sinclair, why, he’s being terribly undemanding. By comparison to some, I mean.”
Caroline rose and wandered back to the window. A coach rattled past with a large trunk strapped to its luggage platform.
Someone is going on a long journey. Someday, I swear that someone will be me.
“Honestly, Caro, I can see a plot in the making hovering above your head plain as day,” Horatia said. “It’s as if you were in one of Mr. Cruikshank’s caricatures.”
Frederica squinted in Caro’s direction. “Really? I don’t see a thing. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light.”
“I wasn’t speaking literally, Freddie. You’re such a goose sometimes. But a well-loved goose,” she hastened to add when Frederica’s blue eyes began to tear up. The squall passed as quickly as it had threatened, and Freddie beamed at her. Then Horatia turned back to Caroline. “What do you intend to do?”
“Do? Why, just as Edward says, of course,” Caroline said. “I plan to make his friend extremely comfortable.”
“But remember that Lord Ware is seeking a wife. If he marries—and honestly, what gentleman of wealth and title can fail in that endeavor?—then it is all but certain Ware will have a new heir in short order. Mr. Sinclair is, for all intents and purposes, a man of no prospects,” Horatia reminded her. “You can’t mean to waste the Season on him.”
“It won’t be wasted.” Caroline flounced back over to her seat. “He’s presentable enough, so long as he’s not required to speak. Why not allow the ton to think I’m entertaining his suit?”
“Ah! I see what you’re about.” Horatia cast her a sly look. “If the daughter of an earl finds his company bearable—”
“Scintillating,” Caroline corrected. “That’s the word I’ll use when I speak of him.”
“That will raise Mr. Sinclair’s standing out of all knowing,” Horatia said with a nod.
It would cut up her parents’ peace as well to see their only daughter keeping company with a gentleman so far beneath her touch. Caroline was all for helping Teddy’s friend, but, if she were honest with herself, alarming her parents was the main benefit of this little gambit.
“But you’d need to be seen with him for people to notice you’re…being seen with him,” Frederica said. “I doubt anyone we know will invite him to a private soiree.”
Freddie might make a cake of herself with regularity, but she did have her moments. This time, she had the right of it, squarely identifying the problem with Caroline’s plan.
“Perhaps he could persuade one of the Lady Patronesses to permit him to purchase an Almack’s voucher,” Horatia suggested.
Caroline sighed. “Can you imagine him being interviewed by Lady Jersey?”
Horatia snorted. “She’d refuse him immediately, and that would be the end of Mr. Sinclair in London. He’d be forced to return to…by the way, where is Ware?”
Frederica groaned. “Oh, please, let’s not start that up again.”
“So, the plan is that Mr. Sinclair and I need to be seen together,” Caroline said.
Her friends nodded in unison.
“But the problem is, there are so few places where—” She stopped abruptly. Inspiration snatched her up like an eagle and allowed her to view the rapidly developing scheme from a godlike vantage point. It was perfection. Caroline smiled at her friends. “I know exactly what we’re going to do.”