Chapter 2
“Carenza …” Julian glanced over at his companion’s obstinate face as she steadfastly ignored him.
She was pretending to listen to the Italian opera singer serenading the party.
“You have to talk to me at some point and give up on this foolish scheme.”
“Why?” She answered without looking at him. “You are neither my father, nor my husband, and have no authority over me.”
“But I am your friend,” Julian said softly. “I care about you and your reputation.”
She didn’t bother to answer him, and he felt an unusual stirring of irritation. “They are still betting on you at White’s,” he told her.
She shrugged one shoulder, which vexed him even more.
“Olivia believes she has a foolproof method to ensure that our identities are not revealed.”
“That hardly reassures me,” he murmured as the song finished and everyone clapped. He rose to his feet. “May I escort you in to supper?”
She met his gaze. Her hazel eyes were shining in the candlelight, which also brought out the glints of silver in her fair hair. She wore a patterned muslin gown with gold lace at the bodice and a tall feather in her coiffure.
“If you wish.” She stood and placed her gloved hand on his sleeve. “I wonder where Allegra is.”
“She is just ahead of us,” Julian said. “She’s talking to Viscount Chartwell.”
“He would do very well for her as a husband,” Carenza commented. “He loves music, he prefers to live in the countryside, and he is a widower with no children.”
“I would have to agree,” Julian said, glad to have a conversation that didn’t involve an argument. He wasn’t used to being on Carenza’s wrong side, and he found it unsettling. “I don’t know anything unsavory about him.”
Carenza used her fan. “Then I will invite him to call on us and bring his sister to dine. Allegra deserves to be happy.”
“As do you,” Julian reminded her as they joined the line heading into the supper room.
“Then why are you so determined to stop me from enjoying myself?”
Julian barely repressed a sigh. “Back to that, are we?” He looked down at her. “Can we call a truce while we eat? I have a very delicate constitution.”
She turned away to look around the room. “Of course. Shall we sit with Allegra?”
“Yes. Why don’t you join her while I get us both something to eat?” Julian suggested.
“Thank you.” She smiled and walked away, the soft skirts of her muslin dress flowing gently around her.
His fingers flexed with a sudden desire to tip her over his knee and spank her well-rounded arse until she begged for mercy. He half smiled. From what Hector had let slip in his more drunken moments, she’d probably enjoy it.
“Mr. Laurent?”
He turned to see his secretary, Simon Benson, at his elbow.
“I am sorry to disturb you, sir, but I knew you would want this information at the earliest opportunity.”
“Thank you, Simon.” He quickly read the note and looked over at his secretary. “Well done.”
“Thank you, sir.” Simon blushed. “I assume you’ll want me to handle this matter myself?”
“I think we need to discuss our tactics before noon tomorrow, but I suspect we will both be necessary to implement my plan.” Julian smiled.
The information Simon had obtained suggested why Mrs. Sheraton was not present at this evening’s entertainment.
“I recommend that you forget about work for the rest of the evening. I know you appreciate opera.”
“Are you quite certain, sir?” Simon cast a longing glance back at the drawing room. “I do have plenty of tasks to keep me occupied in my office.”
“They can wait until tomorrow,” Julian said firmly. “Now, get yourself something to eat and go and enjoy yourself for once.”
Julian collected two plates of food and made his way over to where Carenza sat with her sister and Viscount Chartwell.
“I do apologize for the delay, my lady.” He sat down and took two glasses of wine from the tray of a passing waiter. “I had a business matter to deal with.”
“We managed to entertain ourselves during your absence, sir.” Carenza smiled at him. “Viscount Chartwell was just telling us about the restoration work he is doing on his music room at his town house.”
“How interesting.” Julian turned to the viscount. “I do hope your decor is less extravagant than that in Brighton?”
The viscount chuckled. “Rest assured I have no aspirations to achieve the dizzy heights of His Royal Highness’s pavilion, if that’s what you mean, sir.”
“Thank God for that.” Julian was glad to see the viscount had a sense of humor. “I would be delighted to attend a musical evening when you are ready to show off your new music room to the world, Chartwell.”
“I would be honored, Mr. Laurent. You are known as a great patron of the arts.” Viscount Chartwell looked at the sisters. “And, of course, I include the ladies in my invitation.”
“As you should.” Julian nodded. “Lady Allegra lives up to her name and is an excellent musician.”
Allegra blushed. “I consider myself … competent, and I am always willing to improve.”
“My sister is being modest, my lord,” Carenza said. “She is an exceptionally fine vocalist and pianist.”
Viscount Chartwell bowed his head to Allegra. “Then I shall be imploring you to lend your talents to my first concert, my lady.”
Julian met Carenza’s gaze over her sister’s head and winked.
It was pleasant to share a moment of unity when their present relationship was so uncertain.
Who would’ve anticipated that? Julian had never experienced a moment’s anxiety about his best friend’s widow.
She had always appeared to be the perfect woman to him.
“Would you care to take a turn around the room, Lady Allegra?” Viscount Chartwell stood and offered his arm. “We can ask our hostess what pleasures await us in the second half of the program.”
“I would be delighted.” Allegra rose, too, the blush on her cheeks matching the color of her gown. She placed her gloved hand on his sleeve, and they walked away.
“He is definitely interested in her,” Julian murmured into Carenza’s ear. “Would you like me to find out more about his family and finances?”
“That would be most kind of you,” Carenza said. “If my father bestirs himself to come to town and finds out Allegra has a beau, he will expect a full report on his suitability.”
“Are you expecting your father?” Julian asked.
“Why would you wish to know that?”
He raised his eyebrows at her sudden change of tone. “Not to tell tales, I can assure you.”
She fiddled with the lace on her shawl. “I suppose you expect me to be grateful for your forbearance.”
“I expect—” He bit back what he had intended to say and shrugged instead. “I expect you to do as you wish.”
She raised her chin. “I intend to.”
“Have you finalized your list of acceptable scoundrels yet?” he asked idly after a long, rather uncomfortable silence.
“I’m hardly going to tell you if I have, am I?”
So much for the cessation of hostilities. It appeared they were at war again.
“I suppose not.” He reached for her plate. “May I tempt you to some dessert?”
“No, thank you.”
“Then shall we return to the music room?”
She rose to her feet and looked down at him. “Of course.”
Julian peered out from behind the corner of the Wheatsheaf public house on Charing Cross Road and saw Simon coming toward him.
It was a chilly day with a hint of rain in the air, but there was more than a hint of excitement in the crowd milling around in the stable yard ahead of him.
He recognized several of the most depraved individuals in society, who were only tolerated because of their family connections or wealth.
There was also a scattering of the press.
There was no sign of Mrs. Sheraton or, thank God, Carenza. If they were ensconced in the inn, he hadn’t seen them enter, and he’d been there for at least an hour planning the best way to execute his plan to save his friend from herself.
“Mr. Laurent.” Simon came up to him. “I think I’ve discovered why they chose this particular venue.”
Julian trusted his secretary implicitly, but even so, he’d struggled to confide in him and expose Carenza to further censure.
It was only when he realized he couldn’t be seen openly meddling that he’d consulted with Simon and come up with what he hoped was a workable plan.
Simon had applied to the advertisement posing as an applicant and had received further instructions by letter as to where he should meet the lady for his interview.
“Mrs. Sheraton’s dresser is related to the landlord, Mr. Cox, who has a second house right next door to the inn where his family resides.”
“Ah, so the two buildings are connected.” Julian nodded.
“Exactly, sir. Anyone could enter the house on the street behind this one and not be seen coming into the pub.” Simon took off the leather purse strung over his shoulder. “I have the coin here, sir, and the stable boys are ready and waiting at the corner.”
“Excellent. I think a judicious mix of the fear of ridicule in the press and some generous bribes should change most people’s minds.”
Simon glanced across the street, his expression doubtful. “I hope you are right, Mr. Laurent.”
“Make sure Roger and Mac have plenty of the smaller coins,” Julian said.
“Their job will be to get rid of the onlookers while you focus on anyone who looks like a serious candidate. Remember, our aim is to make them all believe this is a gigantic joke to expose them all to the gutter press. I will stay here and emerge only if necessary.”
“Yes, sir.” Simon settled his hat more firmly on his head. “Wish me luck.”
Julian watched as his stable boys and secretary began their work.
Soon, the crowd grew noticeably smaller, and within twenty minutes, most of the press had left as well.
Finally, only three stubborn fools remained, obviously refusing to listen to Simon’s entreaties.
Julian recognized all three of them and strolled toward the inn.
The men didn’t notice him, as they were immersed in an argument about who would enter the inn first.