LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      ‘I am not property-rich, Aunt Matty,’ Victoria patiently explained. ‘The bank will seize Hartfield, and Alexander Beresford is hardly rich…’

      ‘Tush, not him!’ Matilda Sweeting dismissed, contemptuously flapping a hand. ‘We can do better than him, I’ll warrant. We want a man of serious wealth, not reasonable prospects. No, what we will have to do, my dear Vicky, is take a trip to London and put you on the marriage block!’

      ‘You are simply priceless, Aunt Matty,’ Victoria censured on a giggle. ‘In case it’s slipped your mind, I am not a debutante of eighteen with an enticing dowry but an impecunious recent widow in her twenty-sixth year. Husband-hunting so soon and so blatantly would be frightfully unseemly. Besides, how many rich saints do you know that we can impose upon? For such a man is indeed what we need. Someone willing to take on all the responsibilities of Hartfield, and yet be content never to own it himself. A man prepared to support with equanimity a wife and her relations…’ Victoria glanced anxiously at Matilda’s reaction to that; she hadn’t meant to imply her aunt was a burden.

      ‘Keep your head still,’ Matilda ordered, unperturbed by Victoria’s tactless comment. She gently drew a silver-backed hairbrush through her niece’s thick hair, fanned ebony tresses over the shoulders of her white cotton nightgown and teased strands to frame her ivory complexion. Satisfied with her artistry, she curved her age-spotted hands over Victoria’s silken scalp, showing her her reflection in the glass. ‘Now tell me which man would not like that beautiful sight greeting him nightly.’

      ‘Aunt Matilda!’ Victoria admonished in an outraged squeak.

      ‘Now don’t get prudish with me, my girl. What you have to bear in mind is that what always counts with gentlemen when the chips are down—or more importantly aren’t down in our case, as we are all now so poor—is the lure of beauty. I suppose that tubby solicitor courting you told soppy tales of admiration and respect,’ Matilda fawned, contorting her lined cheeks into further wrinkles. ‘Pah! He desires you. So does every lusty male who claps eyes on you…that’s the truth of it.’

      Placing her elbows on the dressing table, Victoria rested her slender chin in her cupped hands and looked. Limpid grey eyes roved across her creamy brow from where ebony satin hair curtained her small, heart-shaped face. She swivelled her pointed chin in her palm, examining her features. Her nose was too short and narrow, she was sure, and her mouth too full and wide. But throughout her life she had been told she was pretty. Even her papa had once grudgingly admitted that she mirrored her mother’s pale beauty and not a scrap of him…apart from his black hair. But she could only recall him complimenting her that once, when mellow with brandy and bonhomie after a successful afternoon’s gambling at his club. There had been very few such cheering incidents. He’d invariably lost, and heavily. Yet he would return to St James’s confident of recouping the previous day’s misfortunes.

      Daniel had constantly said how proud he was of his child-wife, as he affectionately termed her. But the man who had pleased her most with his quiet compliments…she no longer thought of, she firmly reminded herself, abruptly sitting back in her velvet chair. But her grey eyes held with her reflection. She rubbed at her high cheekbones, stirring some colour into them.

      ‘Leave yourself be!’ Matilda whipped pins from her own greying locks in readiness for retirement. ‘You weren’t meant to be one of those milky-pinky misses with yellow hair and baby-blue eyes,’ she lisped through the pins lodged temporarily between her teeth. They soon scattered on the dressing table. ‘You’re just fine as you are. I noticed David Hardinge couldn’t keep his eyes from you…when he thought you were looking elsewhere, of course. I swear you quite took that wealthy bachelor’s breath away,’ she innocently declared, sliding a pale blue eye sideways at her niece.

      Victoria stood up abruptly. ‘Indeed I did,’ she admitted sourly. ‘So breathless was he in my company, he had difficulty speaking at all. We barely exchanged a dozen words, in the short while he deigned to stay at his kinsman’s wake.’

      ‘Well, the memory of him has certainly cured the lack of roses in your cheeks,’ Matilda lightly remarked, eyeing the becoming flush warming Victoria’s face. ‘I’ve heard from my sources in London that he is now so eligible he is sought by all the top hostesses, yet shuns most in favour of carrying on regardless. Of course his affluence and title ensure he is welcome whatever his character and reputation.’ A reflective pause preceded her next words. ‘I thought he seemed much older and rather cynical about the eyes and mouth. But then it hasn’t detracted at all from his looks; quite the reverse. Maturity sits well on some men: gives them presence and sophistication. To look at him, so handsome and dignified, you would judge him a paragon of propriety.’

      ‘Perhaps he is,’ Victoria remarked lightly, as though, truth or not, it concerned her little.

      ‘Indeed, he’s not!’ Matilda scoffed. ‘Last time I sat down to a hand of brag with Colonel Whiting and his lady, I overheard the gentlemen tattling about Viscount Courtenay. Never mind.’ She drily anticipated and answered Victoria’s unspoken inquisitiveness. ‘They sounded quite green with envy and were no doubt vastly embellishing it all. They must have been! The few snippets I caught would have shocked the devil himself!’

      ‘How can you intrigue me so then refuse to say more? You have to tell me now,’ Victoria petitioned with a brittle little laugh.

      ‘Indeed, I shall not! It’s not fit for these old ears.’ Matilda batted at them in emphasis. ‘I’ll certainly not repeat such lewd, shameless behaviour to a genteel young female.’

      ‘It concerned his lady friends, then?’ Victoria probed, dipping her head and brushing her hair.

      ‘Friends, maybe…ladies, never!’ Matilda snorted. ‘And you’ll prise no more from me, my girl. You’ve tricked me into saying too much as it is. Now I’m off to find my bed. These old bones need some rest.’ She halted with her hand on the doorknob. ‘What you have to bear in mind, Victoria, is that there are far worse things than marrying a libertine for his money and his title. After all, once you were prepared to marry him when he had neither,’ she added wryly, closing the bedroom door.

      ‘I thought I ought to bring this to your immediate attention, my lord. Albert Gibbons had it hand-delivered. As you and the lady are almost related, he probably guessed you’d be concerned at the news.’

      David Hardinge frowned at this cryptic comment and immediately took the proffered note. It had to be news of some import from his solicitor, he supposed, breaking the seal, that had brought Jacob out in the sleety rain to seek him at his club. A frown and narrowing of incredulous blue eyes were swiftly followed by an exceedingly contented smile. As David relaxed back into his chair, leisurely rereading the note, he gave a throaty, satisfied laugh, thereby prompting Jacob to sigh and give an imperceptible shake of his head. He had anticipated a mood of shock and sorrow at the calamitous information contained in the missive, but his master was merely surprised…and pleased.

      He had always believed he knew this Lord Courtenay well. He would have held him up as a charitable man; not one apt to crow over others’ misfortune. It was true he was ruthless in his business dealings, especially with any foolish enough to attempt trickery. Nevertheless, he could be outstandingly generous. William Branch, not even one of his closest chums, had fallen foul of the dice once too often, yet had been saved from the Fleet by the Viscount’s funds forwarded at a paltry percentage. Was not his lordship also invariably generous to his women, past and present? Redundant paramours were amply compensated. In fact, Jacob was prone to tut and mutter about economies every time he dealt with such pension funds.

      Yet Lord Courtenay learned of disasters affecting his late cousin’s family and it gave him cause to chuckle. Jacob had heard about the inferno that had decimated a warehouse on the East India Dock and knew, unofficially, that Mrs Hart was now destitute because of it. Well, perhaps the hard-hearted devil wouldn’t find it quite so amusing if his kinsman’s widow decided to petition for his charity. Jacob glared through his spectacles at his master’s hard face. Yes, that might just test his generosity and his humour, for he’d heard her losses were colossal.

      Having

Скачать книгу