My Fair Lord Read online

  “So it is true.” Rebecca ignored Retta’s less than subtle admonishment and made a show of examining her nails. “Well, I suppose that means that as an elder—spinster—sister, you really should have danced barefoot at my wedding.”

  “Old wives’ tales notwithstanding, I believe my behavior that day was proper for any guest at an elegant ton wedding,” Retta said primly. As she returned the teapot to its place on the tray, she silently berated herself for allowing Rebecca and Melinda to annoy her so.

  Gerald rose to stand next to the unlit fireplace and leaned his arm along the mantel. “So, Retta, now that Willitson’s sister has made the matter public fodder, would you care to share with us just why you did refuse the fellow?”

  “May we just dismiss the subject with a simple statement that I did not think we would suit?”

  He nodded. “As you wish, my dear.”

  “But that is ridiculous!” Rebecca insisted. “Willitson is not some doddering old man seeking only to get an heir on a young wife before he departs this world. Willitson is not yet thirty. He is heir to an earl. And . . . he is known to be of the Prince Regent’s set.”

  “Viscount Willitson has much to recommend him,” said Harriet who could always be counted on to lend a calming influence. “No doubt he will find a suitable bride in due time.”

  Hero nodded her agreement and tried to divert the topic, if only slightly. “You know . . . in some circles, being of the Prince Regent’s set is not exactly high praise. Princess Caroline enjoys a remarkable degree of support in her efforts to force her husband to recognize her rightful place as the future queen of England. One can only feel sorry for the poor woman.”

  Retta smiled her appreciation to her two friends who sat together on a gold and teal striped settee opposite the one she and Melinda occupied. However, she was not surprised when her sisters refused to drop a subject that would cause her discomfort.

  “So why—or how—did you not ‘suit’? It seemed a perfect match to everyone. Did it not, my darling?” Rebecca cocked her silver blond head to send a simpering look up at her husband, who had risen to stand near her chair.

  “That it did.” He patted her shoulder in a show of possession.

  “Come on. Tell us, Retta. Do.” Melinda bent her darker blond head toward Retta in a conspiratorial manner and placed her hand on Retta’s arm. “I mean, after all, we are all practically family here.”

  “Perhaps Retta is waiting for a knight in shining armor to storm in and sweep the princess off her feet,” Richard said with a saucy grin. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and laced his fingers across his chest.

  Tactfully disengaging Melinda’s grip on her arm, Retta rose and began pacing the room. She released a brief sigh of resignation. “Nothing of the sort. I just happen to think there should be a certain meeting of the minds—shared interests, if you will—between a husband and wife. There should be more than just position and—and—whatever . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “I think Retta makes a very good point,” Harriet said, twisting to catch Retta’s gaze.

  “So do I,” Hero said.

  “Well, you two would, would you not?” Melinda’s tart tone bordered on rudeness, and she ignored Retta’s glare of reprimand. “My friend Rosemary said that when she went to Miss Pringle’s school just last year, the three of you were still famous as a trio of bluestockings who took no interest in society and were held in contempt by the girls who did. And just look at you—not one of you is married yet.”

  Retta was embarrassed, more by her sister’s lack of manners than by the hurtful things she was saying. But rather than becoming overtly angry and making a scene, she merely said, “Perhaps one would do well not to listen to idle gossip.”

  “Besides, those tales are somewhat exaggerated,” Harriet said. “We liked society well enough. Much of it, at any rate. And we loved music and dancing. Still do.”

  Retta said in her best “reasonable” tone, “We liked books. We enjoyed learning. Still do. But in certain circles—”

  Hero broke in. “After Retta was so audacious as to criticize members of the Four Horse Club as reckless fools whose racing on public highways was endangering the lives of others and was an abuse of horseflesh as well, Lady Frances Pennworthy gave us the cut direct. Her friends followed her lead. And—not that it matters a great deal—they are merely civil even now, years later. Her brother was one of the leaders of the Four Horse Club, you see.”

  “The man is still a great horseman,” said Richard.

  “After that—” Harriet threw up her hands. “Some members of the ton have long, if not wholly accurate, memories. And young girls can be very . . . well, adamant in the lines they draw. But you must not think for a moment that we had no other friends—that we cried ourselves to sleep every night out of pathetic loneliness.”

  “Good heavens, no,” Hero said. “Remember the time Miss Pringle herself caught a number of us girls in Retta’s room having a gab session—”

  “At two in the morning!” Harriet said.

  Hero deepened her voice to sound stern. “‘You girls stop making so much noise and the rest of you go to your rooms this instant. Disgraceful. Utterly disgraceful.’ We have such memories, have we not?”

  A murmur of nervous laughter followed as everyone seemed to find refuge in a teacup or a biscuit.

  Then Rebecca, setting her cup and saucer on a table near her chair, again returned to the topic she had introduced. “But why, Retta? You have refused at least five offers since your debut. Whatever do you find so objectionable in England’s eligible men? The rest of us find them quite unexceptional. Some are quite adorable.” A coy glance at Lenninger accompanied this declaration. “You even refused the heir to the Marquis of Dorset, though he comes of excellent family and Mama thought him an eminently suitable match for you.”

  Retta fought her rising temper. Why on earth was Rebecca pressing her so? “Yes. The countess made her view very clear. But she would not be the one to marry the Dorset heir, to sit across from him at the breakfast table every day, would she? And, yes, he is a very handsome man. A very pretty face. And I doubt there are even two worthwhile ideas floating around in his well-groomed head. Beyond his horses and hounds, that is.”

  “Oh, I say—” protested Lenninger.

  Too late Retta remembered that Lenninger had close ties to Dorset’s family. But by now she had become decidedly provoked. She refused to back down. Nor had she quit pacing; she paused in front of Rebecca.

  “Look, Rebecca. Your views and your interests have always been very different from mine. I am sorry to say that I have found the marriage mart sadly lacking in possible partners. For me, that is. It is true that I had offers, but most were extended because I am—as Melinda unnecessarily pointed out, and thanks to my maternal grandmother—very rich. What is more, on my birthday in February, I shall have sole control of my affairs. Why would I turn all that over to some fortune hunter?”

  Rebecca sniffed. “You cannot appear in company on the arm of your fortune.”

  Richard gave a low whistle. “Egad, Retta, you underestimate yourself. And you don’t think much of men, do you?”

  She took an empty chair near him and patted his arm. “I like you well enough, little brother. But I am heartily tired of being seen in terms of all those pounds sterling that I will have one day. I daresay one could take any worker off the London docks, dress him appropriately, teach him to talk without a cockney or country accent, limit his discussions to horses, hounds, and gaming, and you’d have a splendid specimen of your typical gentleman of the ton.”

  “Oh, ho! Did you hear that?” Lenninger asked of no one in particular.

  “You do not really mean that, do you, Retta?” Gerald cautioned from where he still stood near the fireplace.

  She lifted her chin. “Yes, I think I do.”

  “You may
be right,” Harriet said, “but it is a hypothetical proposition that cannot be proved.”

  “Why not?” Rebecca challenged. “I should like to see you put that theory to the test, oh sister mine.”

  “As would I,” her husband echoed.

  “Hear! Hear!” Richard said with a grin.

  Melinda squealed and clasped her hands together. “A wager!”

  “Oh, Retta,” Hero and Harriet said in unison, shaking their heads.

  “This is preposterous,” Gerald said, straightening his stance. “All of you, do stop teasing Retta and discuss something else. Ladies do not make wagers.”

  “Spoilsport.” Melinda directed a small moue at him.

  “She was the one who said it could be done,” Rebecca said. “Let us see if she can follow through on such a bizarre claim.”

  “What would be the terms of such an arrangement?” Richard asked.

  They were all silent for a moment: Gerald, Harriet, and Hero apprehensive; the sisters, Lenninger, and Richard clearly considering the possible terms of such a wager. Retta mentally kicked herself for allowing the matter to get out of hand, but she would certainly not back down now!

  “I have it,” Rebecca announced. “If Lady Henrietta fails to transform her dockworker into a gentleman by her birthday, she will forfeit to me that black mare Papa gave her on her last birthday.”

  Retta gritted her teeth. All her life, it seemed, she had endured Rebecca’s envy and covetousness. The countess had once forced Henrietta to give up her favorite doll to the pouting Rebecca. “Rebecca is just a little girl and you—” Later, it had been a ball gown that Retta had bespoken with a modiste. Nothing would do but that Rebecca should have one exactly like it, though in a different color, thus making Retta’s gown less special. Retta remembered the vicious whispers. “Oh, look, another set of Blakemoor twins. Are they not just too sweet?” And now Rebecca wanted her precious Moonstar? No. It could not happen.

  But she found herself snapping, “And if I win?”

  Rebecca laughed. “I doubt you would want my first born son. No, really—how about my emerald necklace and earbobs? They are worth far more than a horse.”

  “I cannot believe any of you are taking this idea seriously,” Gerald protested. “If Father were here, he would forbid it. Neither Mother nor Uncle Alfred would consider it quite proper, either.”

  “But they are not here, are they?” Rebecca said. She gestured at Retta. “If her ladyship truly thinks so little of English gentlemen that she can pass a commoner off as one of us, let her just try to do so. Perhaps she could present him at an assembly at Almack’s.”

  “Almack’s!” Melinda hooted. “Oh, how delicious. Foisting some shabby man off on the patronesses of the ton’s most exclusive club! If you were found out, Retta, you would be barred from society forever.”

  “Oh, Retta,” Harriet implored, “do not do this. You know how much you love that mare.”

  “It is an improbable if not impossible task, my friend,” Hero warned.

  “Well, if she wants to renege, we must allow her to do so,” Lenninger said slyly.

  “Of course.” His bride smirked.

  Retta was silent for a moment, wondering just how it was that she had underestimated all these years the full extent of Rebecca’s animosity towards her. Then she said, “All right. I shall do it. If nothing else, it should prove to be an interesting social experiment. Your emeralds against my mare.

  She rose and extended her hand to the still seated Rebecca. They shook on it just as men might have done in Brooks’s or White’s or any other of London’s gentlemen’s clubs.

  Chapter 2

  There was long moment of silence as the seriousness of this whole idea sank in, then Richard said, “So just how do you intend to select the subject of this, uh, experiment?” His view of the situation seemed to have sobered as he rose to stand next to his brother, his hands clasped behind his back. “What kind of man would you choose? And how will you know who won?”

  “He must be reasonably young,” Retta said, “and in good physical shape. Intelligent enough to play his part convincingly. If he fools any of the patronesses and other members of the ton for an entire evening, I will have won.”

  “We shall simply go down to the docks tomorrow morning and find someone,” Rebecca said.

  “The docks are no place for ladies,” Gerald said.

  “We need not get out of the carriage,” Rebecca said, “and with you stalwart men to protect us, surely no harm could come to us.”

  “I get final choice,” Retta said, asserting herself that much at least.

  “Oh, no. You will be too persnickety,” Rebecca objected.

  Richard offered the compromise. “How about this: We visit the docks. We choose, say, three possible candidates. Then Rebecca has final choice from among our three. Gerald and Retta will then interview the man. If Retta accepts him, the wager is set. If she rejects him, we choose another three for Rebecca’s choice.”

  Rebecca folded her arms across her chest. “How many times must we do this before she is required to forfeit?”

  “Until you select a suitable specimen,” Retta retorted.

  “I should think no more than three times would be needed,” Gerald said.

  “Well . . . all right then,” Rebecca said grudgingly.

  “The point is,” Richard emphasized, “the choice will be yours, Rebecca. You cannot come back, when all is said and done, and cry ‘foul’ for any reason.”

  Rebecca glared at her brothers. “You two always take her side.”

  Richard rolled his eyes.

  Retta said in a more subdued tone now, “Fine. I accept those terms.”

  Gerald looked around the room. “If you insist on doing this, it must be done in utmost secrecy. No one outside this room can know of it. That condition must extend to Uncle Alfred and all the servants,” he warned.

  “Right.” Richard appeared to be rather cautious now. “Must avoid scandal and ostracism. You know it would extend to all of us. It must eventually be seen as a fait accompli. Are we agreed?”

  His listeners all murmured acquiescence, but Richard turned to his sisters. “Rebecca? Melinda? No coy hints to your friends or your maids about a secret you just can’t share yet.”

  “We know.” The girls spoke simultaneously and with the same note of childish impatience.

  “Well, should either of you forget, and let slip even a hint, Retta will have immediately won. Is that clear?” Gerald warned.

  The two grumbled at being singled out for the repeated warning, but they did agree.

  Then Gerald added, “We cannot all go parading down to the docks in elegant carriages. It will be tight squeeze, but six of us could fit into one of the vehicles Papa left us.”

  Quickly Hero and Harriet, both of whom clearly had reservations about this scheme, explained that they were returning to the country the next day.

  Already Retta was regretting the sheer foolishness of this project—this possible debacle. How on earth did I allow things to get so out of control?

  * * * *

  After a nearly sleepless night spent berating herself for allowing others to goad her into such a scrape, Retta gave up and went down to breakfast early the next morning. She was surprised to find Gerald there before her.

  He waited for her to get her food from the sideboard, then said quietly, “You know, Retta, no one whose opinion counts will think the less of you if you wish to, uh, forego that wager.”

  “And surely you know, Gerald, that I cannot renege now.”

  He sighed. “I was afraid you would say that.”

  “I do regret keeping it from Uncle Alfred, though,” she said as she stirred cream into her coffee.

  Lord Alfred Parker, their father’s younger brother, had always been a fixture at Blakemoor House. As a chi
ld and even as a young woman, Retta had confided in him, taking to her dear Uncle Alfred her troubles and triumphs. He had invariably listened, offering opinion when it was asked for, offering sympathy when it was called for. It felt strange to withhold anything from him.

  Gerald nodded his understanding. “‘Twould be impossible, though. He would never condone this. Keeping him unaware is not going to be easy.”

  “I know.”

  Two hours later she sat with her sisters on the forward-facing seat in the earl’s plainest traveling carriage. Her brothers and Lenninger sat opposite them. It had suited her mood to dress in a walking dress and pelisse of subdued gray that emphasized the gray rather than the green of her eyes. She had tucked her dark brown hair under a rather non-descript straw bonnet. The others were all dressed in their usual finery for, say, a stroll in the park.

  She caught expressions of quiet sympathy from Gerald, and from Richard too, but the other three seemed in high spirits at the prospect of a break in routine that promised an adventure, if only vicariously.

  As the carriage rumbled near the docks, Retta, seated at an open window, caught the smell of rotting fish, sour mud, and a plethora of other malodorous things. She conjectured that the tide, which reached this far up the Thames, was at its lowest ebb. At least the weather offered a cloudless, sunny sky. Several tall ships rocked gently near the docks. She felt the magical attraction of travel to faraway places, places she had only read about in books.

  For a moment she allowed herself a foolish daydream of stowing away on a ship and sailing off to some exotic location. Then harsh voices intruded. She heard not only the shouted orders and advice of dockworkers to each other, but also a few of their comments clearly aimed at persons perceived to be intruders;

  “What cause the quality got down here?”

  “Ain’t no ship takin’ passengers today as I know of.”

  “Bloody hell. They’s jus’ gonna be in the way.”

  “Or cause trouble.”