Lady Morgan's Revenge: Letitia's Naughty Regency Novella Page 2

  “Good evening, Partney,” he murmured. “I am escorting my mother.”

  Sir Jason Partney raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised to see you at Almack’s. Since your return you’ve been far more likely to be found at Watier’s or the Daffy Club.”

  “I find all this sadly flat,” agreed the marquess. “But my mother is formidable and not to be denied.”

  “Will you join me in the card room, then?” asked Sir Jason. “The stakes here are low, but it’s better than dancing with girls barely out of the schoolroom.”

  The marquess shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I intend to dance with one of these delightful ladies.”

  Sir Jason did not appear surprised. “At your mother’s behest?” he asked.

  “You understand me perfectly,” said Phillip.

  Sir Jason laughed. “When you are bored, you know where to find me.”

  “Indeed.” Phillip watched as Sir Jason moved away towards the card room and then resumed his perusal of the salon. Several young ladies eyed him hopefully. A sign of favor from the Marquess of Eynsford added greatly to a lady’s consequence.

  Eventually he appeared to find what he was seeking, and walked across the room, his face a mask of boredom. If he noticed the inquiring glances and murmur of voices that followed him, he gave no sign. Eventually he reached his quarry, and bowed low before one of Almack’s patronesses, the Princess Esterhazy.

  “Eynsford!” she exclaimed. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

  He kissed her hand and held it for a moment. “I’m delighted to find you here in London,” he said. “It reminds me of our time together in Vienna.”

  She gave him a sly smile and tapped his cheek with her fan. “Ah, Vienna,” she murmured. “But now we are in England.”

  “Indeed we are,” he said, releasing her. “And I must ask you to present me to Lady Pamela Ravenscroft as a desirable partner.”

  “Lady Pamela Ravenscroft?” The princess’ delicate eyebrows inched up. “She’s a shy thing, and hardly up to your weight, Eynsford. The poor girl’s tongue-tied and often lacks a partner.”

  “Exactly,” said the marquess. “Her father was a good friend of my father, and I wish to help his daughter.”

  The princess laughed. “How noble of you! You mean to lend her some of your consequence, do you? But you are not epris in that direction?”

  The marquess gave her a look of amazement. “Hardly,” he said. “After being in your presence how can I look at another woman?”

  “You’re altogether too glib, Phillip,” murmured the princess. “But very well, let us give the youngster a treat.”

  With a flirtatious look she took his arm, and they moved to where Lady Pamela stood by her mother. A seventeen-year-old still in possession of her baby fat, with a slightly sallow complexion and large dark eyes, she barely glanced at them at first, but her expression became increasingly alarmed as they drew closer.

  “Are you sure you wish to do this?” asked the princess. “She looks terrified. Perhaps it would be kinder for you to find a young lady more up to snuff.”

  “Not at all,” replied the marquess. “This is my good deed for the day.”

  They paused in front of Lady Pamela, who gaped at them openly. Her mother stepped quickly into the breach.

  “Good evening, Princess, Lord Eynsford,” she said, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the envious eyes turned on them by the other mothers in the vicinity.

  “Ah, Lady Ravenscroft,” said Princess Esterhazy. “Allow me to present Lord Eynsford as a very desirable partner for your daughter.”

  Lady Pamela flushed a brilliant shade of red as Phillip bowed over her hand. “If you would honor me with this waltz?” he murmured.

  “Oh—oh my,” stammered Lady Pamela, shooting an anxious glance at her mother, who nodded firmly. “Why—why yes, thank you, Lord Eynsford.”

  With a nod at Lady Ravenscroft and a wicked smile for the princess, the marquess led Lady Pamela out onto the floor. He lightly circled her waist with one arm, and clasped her hand in his. With a reassuring smile, Phillip swept her into the dance.

  Lady Pamela had clearly learned the steps of the waltz, but was an inexpert practitioner. The marquess was extremely adept, having learned in the military and as a diplomat that skills in the ballroom were every bit as important as those at the negotiating table.

  He did not speak to Lady Pamela for some moments. Eventually, however, he felt it best to attempt a conversation.

  “Is this the first time you’ve waltzed?” he asked in a gentle voice.

  Lady Pamela’s head popped up, and she gazed at him, her eyes wide. “I’ve waltzed with my dancing master, of course,” she said.

  “Naturally,” he responded. “I hope I dance as well as he does.”

  “Oh yes, of course you do,” breathed Lady Pamela.

  “You honor me,” said his lordship.

  Lady Pamela dropped her eyes, and Phillip was quite sure that she was counting her steps. “Are you enjoying Almack’s?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, it is so very exciting,” Lady Pamela informed the top of his waistcoat. “Mama says that it is very important that I make a good impression here.”

  The marquess’ lips twitched slightly at this confession. “I am sure that you will make an excellent impression tonight,” he assured her.

  When the dance was over, he escorted Lady Pamela to an adjoining room, where he procured her a lemonade before restoring her to her mother, who beamed at him.

  “Thank you for dancing with me, Lady Pamela,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it lightly as he took his leave.

  The marquess saw that Lady Pamela danced every one of the next five, while he led out a selection of young women, not one of whom he could recall when he returned to his mother’s side.

  “Have I made you happy?” he asked, bowing before her.

  “Lord, Phillip, I don’t know. Are you going to marry any of ‘em?” she asked.

  “Did you have a particular favorite?” he asked. “I could call on her parents tomorrow.”

  The dowager shook her head and stood. “You are humoring me. I know you’re bored to tears.”

  “I could never be bored when I am with you, Mother,” he promised.

  “Do you talk to your opera singers that way?” she asked.

  “Not at all. They frequently bore me,” he said lightly.

  The dowager laughed. “Well, Phillip, I know you aren’t interested in any of these girls, but keep in mind that you need to be married, and soon.”

  “I will marry when I find someone as interesting as you,” he promised, raising her hand to his lips.

  Chapter 3

  By early December a tenant had been found for Morgan Park, much of the packing was complete, and Letty wrote to Isobel, asking her to visit as she finalized arrangements for the move to London. Letty’s spirits rose with Isobel’s arrival and the realization that a few more days would bring her life at Morgan Park to a close. One afternoon shortly after Isobel’s arrival, Letty left her with a checklist for the linen closet, and went to finish a few final tasks in the cellar. She hummed as she walked down the stairs, to rummage through a few remaining trunks of odds and ends.

  After completing her survey and determining that their contents could best be given to the parish or the tenant farmers, Letitia's eye fell on a dusty box in a nearby corner. Opening it, she was astounded to find several bottles of wine. There were two old sherries, a fine claret, and two bottles of vintage champagne. Since everything in Baron Morgan's cellars that he had neglected to consume had been sold to a wine merchant in Chester in order to settle his debts, Letitia was surprised to discover this cache, but she gathered the bottles in a worn out tablecloth and brought her booty upstairs.

  She found Isobel in the sitting room just finishing the inventories. Letty dumped the bottles on a settee in a little cloud of dust. At the clinking, Isobel looked around. A smile crossed her lovely face.

&
nbsp; “Letty, it is nearly time for dinner, and I think a glass of sherry would be delightful,” she said.

  Letty smiled and went to ring the bell. “We shall have Banning open it for us, I think,” she said. She peered at the bottles. “I believe that this must be some of the Amontillado laid down by Alfred's father. I wonder how it came to be sitting in a box with the rest of these?”

  “It makes no difference, I suppose,” responded Isobel. “We can simply enjoy it.”

  “Indeed,” smiled Letty. The aged butler appeared. “Banning, please open this bottle of Amontillado and chill the champagne if you can. Please ask Mrs. McCreavey to do what is possible to create a more elegant dinner.” She turned to Isobel. “I think we should dress for dinner and enjoy a celebration, Lady Exencour. What say you?”

  With a laugh Isobel agreed, and they went arm in arm to their rooms to change. When they returned to the drawing room, the bottle of sherry and two glasses waited on a small table. Letty and Isobel looked rather out of place in their elegant dinner dresses, for Letty had daringly put off her widow’s weeds and shone in a low cut sky blue silk gown with a gauzy silver over dress, open down the front, which glittered next to Isobel's sage green gown, embroidered with tiny gold flowers, and ornamented at hem with a deep row of gold and dark green embroidery. Their elegance was jarring in the room from which so many pieces of furniture and pictures had been removed, but they sipped the sherry in good spirits, excited about soon returning to London.

  When they entered the dining room, Letitia giggled. The long dining table looked faintly ludicrous, being draped with Holland cloth, with one end flung back to display a selection of the finest Morgan family plate. A bottle of champagne held pride of place in an immense and rather ugly silver urn that had been filled with snow.

  Isobel and Letitia seated themselves, and prepared to do justice to the wine. The cook had managed quite a good dinner, with a very tender lamb and some fresh flounder bathed in a creamy sauce providing the centerpiece of the meal.

  While Banning solemnly opened the bottle of champagne, Isobel waved one hand gracefully. “Upon my word, Letty, I feel just as I did when I was first out, and a glass of champagne was a symbol of the delightfully glamorous world outside of my schoolroom,” she said.

  Letty nodded. “Perhaps it can also be viewed as a symbol of the delightful world outside my marriage,” she responded.

  “A toast to it,” Isobel cried, lifting her glass toward Letty. “And to happier and far more amusing days.”

  The two ladies drank. Letty refilled their glasses, and sipped enthusiastically.

  “Do you know Isobel, I rather fancy myself as a dashing and slightly dangerous widow,” she observed in a thoughtful tone. “I could wear very décolleté gowns with nothing but an invisible petticoat beneath them, and learn to drive myself in the Park in a high perch phaeton.”

  “Yes, and you could flirt desperately with ineligible gentlemen, and make all of the very young men fall in love with you au coeur perdu, and let them drink champagne out of your slippers at very, um, very select card parties,” answered Isobel, entering into the spirit of Letitia’s daydream.

  “It is decided then. I shall become a fatal widow, and gentlemen across England will be clamoring for my smiles,” Letty declared, her spirits flown with imagination and alcohol.

  “Perhaps you could have a wardrobe of gauzy purple and lavender gowns made up for the Season,” conjectured Isobel, entering into the fantasy with enthusiasm. “You could dampen them for balls, and if you did not first catch your death of pneumonia, I can only imagine what Mrs. Drummond-Burrell would have to say.”

  The champagne was disappearing rapidly and Letty rang the bell for the second bottle.

  “I could lease an elegant little house in Clarges Street and allow my cecisbei to lavish me with compliments and gifts,” she continued merrily. “I could banish from my court any who spoke a cross word to me.” She paused thoughtfully, “I do think though that I would much prefer a wardrobe full of scarlet dresses instead of lavender. Far racier, as well as being more flattering to my coloring.”

  “Enough, Letty, you will have me hoping that Exencour has met with an accident since I returned to Morgan Park,” said Isobel laughing as well. “Oh, why, when I was insisting I would never marry, did I never think of becoming a widow without becoming a wife?”

  “It is decided then, nothing but red silk gowns for me,” Letty declared. “Damped of course, and without petticoats each day.”

  “Nothing but red silk?” Isobel asked. “Don’t you think that maybe a bit de trop, in the mornings my dear?”

  Letty was silent for a moment or two, and then answered with a slight smile, “Do you know, Isobel, I think I might quite like to be de trop. I am really very tired of living for nothing more than my husband, my children and my duty. Moreover, I have nothing to show for it but misery. I think should quite like to be a fatal widow when I move to London, although in the most discreet and economical way of course.”

  Isobel feeling a bit shocked, inquired casually, “What do you mean by that?

  Letty paused and looked blankly across the dining room for a moment, “I don’t wish to be married again,” she shuddered. “But it might be quite pleasant to have the, um, attentions and affection of a charming gentleman who cared for me, yet had no legal claim on me, and to whom I was not beholden.”

  Isobel, recalling the affair she had conducted with her husband before they married, could not disagree with her.

  Chapter 4

  Viscount Exencour strolled leisurely towards his home in Grosvenor Square, having found the weather unseasonably warm when he left White’s. He looked forward to seeing Isobel and discovering what progress she and Letitia had made that day in finding a house. The process was complicated, for although his secretary was frantically attempting to find a house that would satisfy Isobel, Letitia was quite happy with a number of the houses they had seen.

  His lordship found the whole business amusing; Letitia Winwood had been staying with them since Morgan Park’s tenants took over, and he was perfectly content to have her under his roof as long as she cared to stay. As he strolled and enjoyed the rare late winter sunshine, he was greeted by another walker, a strikingly handsome gentleman about his own age.

  “Francis!” he exclaimed. “How pleasant to see you. It has been too long since our days together in Lisbon!”

  “Phillip!” replied Lord Exencour. “You are back in London! Don’t tell me you they no longer need you in Vienna, for I shall not believe it.”

  “They will have to do without me,” responded the Marquess of Eynsford. “I told them I had been away too long, so you perceive me a free man, Francis, without a care in the world!”

  Lord Exencour gazed at Phillip with affection. Their friendship long preceded that gentleman’s accession to the Eynsford marquisate, so he knew the warm and generous side of the marquess’ nature. Francis appreciated Phillip’s natural brilliance of mind, which, combined with his charm, made him a natural negotiator who could extract concessions from opponents while leaving them feeling as though they had emerged from the encounter victorious.

  “You deserve it, Phillip,” said Francis. “Lord knows you’ve given king and country enough of your time these last years. Sometimes I think the diplomats have it worse than the soldiers.”

  “I suppose that depends on whether you’d rather dodge a Frenchman’s bullets or Metternich’s tongue,” said the marquess. “I did think at times that bullets were less lethal.”

  “I am glad you survived, at any rate,” said Lord Exencour. “I have missed you, and of course those adventurous times in Lisbon. I’ll never forget the Duke’s face that night you stole Mrs. Marchant out from under his nose!”

  The marquess laughed. “With help from you, Francis, I’ll not take all the credit for that. But I hear you’re no longer stealing ladies away from your friends. What is this about your marriage?”

  A smile played across Lord Ex
encour’s face. “I have indeed wed,” he said. “I think you will find my wife quite charming. She is--”

  “I know who she is, Francis!” interrupted Lord Eynsford. “Any number of people wrote with the startling news that Miss Isobel Paley had succumbed at last. You have made a conquest, Francis.”

  “It wasn’t easy,” said Lord Exencour ruefully. “She was determined not to marry.”

  “I wish you very happy, and your lovely wife as well,” said Lord Eynsford. “It must have disappointed many an ambitious mama; you were the finest catch on the Marriage Mart.”

  “No, you hold that title as long as you remain single, Phillip,” retorted Lord Exencour.

  “I will not be marrying soon, Francis. Your wife may have been the last young lady in London I could have found attractive.”

  “Hence the cheres amies?” asked Exencour. “Do you still have that Spanish opera singer under your protection?”

  Lord Eynsford laughed. “Long gone, Francis. A delightful woman in many ways, but what a temper. I could not tolerate it for long.”

  “What better than a sweet English miss then, to make you forget her hysterics?” asked Lord Exencour with a wicked smile.

  “Your marriage must be happy, Francis, if you want to foist the same on me. However, my mother is before you, with her demands that I find a young and biddable bride,” shuddered Lord Eynsford. “But first I must find a lady who thinks of me before my title and fortune.”

  “Your problem, Phillip, is that you are a cynic,” said Lord Exencour.

  “While yours, Francis, is that you married a woman you love,” responded the marquess. “I do owe it to the name to produce a brood of children in my own image, as my heir is my nephew, who combines indolence with a propensity for gambling and libertinism that would rapidly dissipate the wealthiest estate. But I find one young woman much like the next. Perhaps I will let you identify a fresh young miss who will bear me children and be docile enough to put up with my amours.”