The Debutante Disaster (Regency Reputations #2)

Chapter 1

One

“What was it this time, Jack?” she asked, her look of scolding reproach failing to produce anything but the blandest of smiles. “A horse race you couldn’t miss? A shooting party?”

He paused halfway across the room, catching his reflection in the gilt-framed mirror over the pink marble fireplace. “Shooting?” He made a minute adjustment to his coat cuff. “In March? You were closer with horses, Nell. Sedgewick had a hunter for sale. Went up to see it.”

Taking a seat, he crossed his legs, pleased with the gleam of his Hessians. He was trying a new boot maker and from the several compliments he’d received on the walk to his sister’s house, felt fairly sure he’d succeeded in starting a trend.

“You went all the way to Derbyshire to look at a horse?”

“Such tireless diligence, I know. Never fear, I managed to mix some pleasure in with my business.” He’d planned to mix in more, but Sedgewick’s sister hadn’t been at home. “Some of the chaps were around. Pennington, Leighton, that set. Ended up having an enjoyable little house party of sorts.”

After a quick glance at his nails, he raised his head to survey the rest of the room.

Lord, it was even more crowded than his last visit, which was a feat, given the size of the room.

No commitment, that was Nell’s problem. You could be classical or the new Egyptian, but you couldn’t be both.

And was that monstrosity of a clock in the corner Gothic?

“Well! I’m glad you’ve been enjoying yourself, brother. Heaven forbid anything should interfere with that. Whereas the rest of us are half out of our minds with the cares put upon us.”

Jack eyed his sister’s scowling agitation with amusement, selecting a hot-house orange from the silver bowl at his elbow.

He knew his eldest sister’s character just as well as she knew his, and if there’d been the slightest chance her summons had indeed been urgent, he would’ve come straight away.

Probably she couldn’t decide between a pink satin or a yellow.

Or her milliner had sent her a shockingly incorrect bill—by her reckoning.

Had she lost money at cards? More than her pin money could cover?

It wouldn’t be the first time. But why she turned to him rather than her husband, he had no idea.

They’d only been married a year, and while Lord Ashburton was as dull as a rusty shovel, he was a usefully compliant husband and still doted on his pretty little wife.

“Go on then, Nell,” he said, digging a strong but languid thumb under the bright peel of the orange. “Spit it out.”

Predictably, she opted to look affronted at this direct approach. An hour building up to it would’ve given it a sense of drama and occasion. But there were approximately a hundred things he’d rather be doing than taking tea with his sister.

“Well…” she began. “You know Mother is sick?”

Idly, he pulled a long curl of peel free, appreciating the fresh scent it raised. “I was aware, yes.”

“And Nora is coming out this season?”

He feigned confusion. “Gosh, who?”

“Jack! Your sister!”

“Nell, I do happen to have some awareness of the major happenings in my own family. Being, as you know, its head and all.”

She flashed him a scowl. “Is it any wonder I sometimes doubt you do remember that?”

He chuckled, dropping the peel onto the rosewood table by his chair and pulling an orange segment free. “It is a wonder, yes. Everything runs smoothly, doesn’t it? All our ledger columns are in the black. No scandal has ever come near us. What can you possibly reproach me for, dearest sister?”

“The way… The way you carry on. It is hardly respectable!”

He opened wide and apparently innocent eyes. “What do I do that any other young man does not?”

“Those outrageous friends of yours!”

“George Simmons?” he protested laughingly. “What has poor George done to earn your censure? I didn’t know he had it in him.”

“Of course I don’t mean George. No one could ever criticise dear little George.”

“He might find dear little criticism enough.”

“Oh, Jack.” Nell threw up her hands. “Forget George!”

“But,” he said, cheerfully admonishing her with the segment of orange he held as though it were a pointing finger, “you were the one who brought him into it.”

The hideous Gothic clock chimed the hour. And against oriental wallpaper too. But was it really that time already? He was due at Jackson’s. Or was it Angelo’s? He was due somewhere anyway. He always was.

But his sister was still fretting, and though she enjoyed doing that almost as much as shopping, he waited, eating his orange. Maybe she’d get to the point by the time he finished it. If one of his friends had been present, he might have put a wager on it.

“I don’t mean George. I mean… I mean… That lot you were just with. Captain Sedgewick. Mr Pennington, Lord Leighton. That Mr Parling. Mr Warde!”

As these were all by far the more respectable of his wide acquaintance, he just grinned. But the grin, unsurprisingly, only seemed to aggravate his sister further. She now hit him with the ultimate assault.

“And a wife, Jack. It’s high time you thought of taking a wife.”

He only laughed again, though he thought wistfully of the boxing gym. At Jackson’s, a man expected the attack. “I don’t call twenty-six high time at all. Rather premature, given the common way of things.”

“It would settle you down.”

He lifted his brows, his astonishment only half pretend. “And I’ve given the impression of wanting to be settled, have I?”

“No. Quite the opposite!”

“Well, there you go then. The riddle is solved. I’m glad I could be of assistance, Nellie.

” He made to stand, knowing full well the real reason for his summons hadn’t yet been touched upon.

Laughing at his sister’s aghast expression, he sat back down.

“Go on. And please do get to the point this time.”

She stood, hurrying to her writing table and flinging the letter she retrieved onto his lap with a martyred cry. “There! That is the point!”

He picked it up, recognising his mother’s familiar hand, but pulled a face when he unfolded it. “She must be feeling better to have filled two whole sheets. Front and back. I’m not reading all that.” He tossed the letter down besides the fruit bowl. “Cut the cackle, I beg you. Give me the summary.”

“She is not feeling better,” said Nell as she flounced back to her seat. “That is the whole problem.”

“Why?” He leant forward, all his levity gone. “What has happened?”

“Something terrible.”

“For God’s sake, what?”

“She writes to say…to say…”

“Yes?”

“That she is too poorly to accompany Nora to Town! And that I must launch her into society, and chaperone her, and all that tedious business.”

He sat back, his chest loosening, and took a fortifying breath. Sisters would be the death of him. But at Nell’s sulking expression, his amusement returned.

“Well, you are her elder sister,” he said. “And respectably married. What more suitable person is there?”

“But I can’t, Jack! It’ll be dreadful. Not only is she one of the silliest girls in the world but think how horribly boring it’ll be.

I’ll have to stand with all the staid matrons, and not be allowed to dance, and have to keep my eye on her at all times, and only ever go to all the sort of tame little parties and routs suitable for unmarried girls—”

“The way you carry on,” he murmured, quoting her. “It is hardly respectable.”

She coloured. “You can’t criticise me for going to…to Vauxhall and such places, that would be the pot calling the kettle, Jack. And it’s not…not like I go to anything scandalous. Mother once told me she went to the ridottos at Ranelagh!”

The fact she named this lost palace of pleasure with a wistful air somewhat weakened her defence. Jack smiled to himself.

“No,” he agreed, eyes twinkling as he added, “It’s not like you go to…masquerades.”

Her colour deepened. “I do not!”

“I beg pardon,” he said, raising his hand to his mouth and giving a cough that sounded suspiciously like “Lady Belvoir’s.”

She gave a startled gasp. “How did you…?”

“Oh, don’t fret. I don’t blame you. Worthy as he is, Ashburton is, let’s face it, a dead bore. But, dearest sister,” he said, adopting a sorrowful expression. “I had so hoped that marriage would see you settle down.”

She glared. Then laughed sharply. “It was only for fun. And to see what it was like.”

“Words I live by.”

Chagrined, but, he knew, only because she couldn’t currently think up an excuse for her hypocrisy, she picked up an ivory fan from the low table in front of her—a table that had gold and ebony pharaohs at every corner. It was very fashionable. And clashed horrendously with the carpet.

Playing mournfully with the fan, Nell let out a heavy breath, very woeful.

“But Jack…surely you can understand how awful it’s going to be?

Eleanor giggling nonstop and wanting to go to…

to Astley’s. Or the zoo! And me being forced to play nursemaid the whole time, just like I had to do when we were children, and all because I’m seven years older than her.

As if that’s fair! You never had to, and you’re eight years older.

But,” she snapped the fan shut with a loud clack, “you are a man, so of course no one asks you to give up your fun to run around like a nanny.”

He met all this with the complacence of a man who knew she was entirely right and didn’t much care to challenge the status quo, being as it benefited him so nicely.

“It’s a pity Min isn’t around anymore,” he said. “If I recall rightly, it was her who had to mind Nora. You were forever palming her off on the poor girl.”

“Min?” repeated Nell. “Who is…? Oh! Lucy! I forgot you used to call her Min. Though why you did, I never knew. She’s not a Minerva at all.

” She dropped the fan back onto the table, her sulk forgotten as the light of reminiscence brightened her eye.

Curious and amused at where it might take her, Jack ate some of his orange, watching.

He’d always be happy to spend a minute or so thinking about little old Min.

“Little Lucy Fanshaw!” said Nell. “But I haven’t seen her in…well, it must be ten years!”

“Six,” he said, doing a quick calculation.

“No, seven. She was sixteen when she went off to live with that old crone, and I was just turned nineteen.” Slowly, succumbing himself to the reminiscent mood, he pulled another segment of his orange free.

“Yes, that’s right, because it was two years before Father died. ”

“Lucy,” said Nell again, amused. “Little Lucy. Good Lord, I wonder whatever happened to her.”

“She got packed off to live with that aged aunt when her father died, don’t you remember? Northumberland or some such dreary backwater place. Probably she’s still there, mouldering away.” He sighed, suddenly troubled by thoughts he hadn’t had for years. “Poor thing.”

He ate his orange, the juice sharp and sweet, and his frown slowly curved into an irresistible smile as he recollected messy dark curls, silver-grey eyes, and absolutely shocking freckles. He swallowed, needing to laugh at the memory of a very serious voice informing him he was a horrible boy.

“Good Lord,” he muttered, grinning now, “I wonder if she still has them?”

“Has what?”

“The freckles.”

“Lord, yes, the freckles! How could I forget? I nagged her endlessly to try lemon juice, and she never once did. So if she’s stuck with them, it’s her own fault.”

His brow pinched. He frowned at his sister. “But she wouldn’t really be Min, though, without them.”

Nell wasn’t listening, deep in her own line of thought. “I wonder…”

“What?” he asked, noting the calculating look.

Nell was all bright energy now. “I knew you’d help me, Jack! You always do, no matter how much you torture me first.”

“Help you? How have I done that?”

“By suggesting Lucy Fanshaw! It’s the perfect solution. I’ll write to her; Mother must still have her address.”

“But why?”

“To invite her here, of course. If she really is mouldering away in some cold, rainy, backwater part of the north, imagine how delighted she’ll be to get an invitation from one of her oldest, dearest friends begging her to visit them in London!”

“Nell…” began Jack.

“She’ll live with me. I’ll pay for everything. Ashburton won’t mind.”

He put the rest of his orange down, no time for it now. “And then you’ll foist Eleanor on her, and make poor Min do all the things you don’t want to?”

“Exactly! Imagine how much she’ll love going round London after being stuck in the countryside her whole life. Seeing all the sights. Astley’s! The zoo! She’ll have a marvellous time.”

Frowning, Jack pulled out his handkerchief and began cleaning the orange juice from his fingers.

“But you’re forgetting she isn’t married.

Or…well…as far as we know, she’s not. And she’s only”—he taxed his brain with another calculation, surprised but pleased he could still remember her birthdate—“barely twenty-three years old. Hardly an appropriate chaperone.”

“Yes, I know, and obviously I’ll still accompany Nora to the balls and assemblies, but if Lucy is there to keep an eye on her, then I don’t have to.

I can still dance and enjoy myself. And it would be perfectly acceptable for two unmarried ladies to go around town during the day, seeing all those innocent, boring sights, so long as they have a maid or footman with them. ”

“She might not want to come.” But he felt a flash of excitement. What would she be like? Different? He hoped not. “But…maybe she really is married, has children, that sort of thing.”

“Lucy? Married? It’s not very likely, is it?”

“Well,” conceded Jack, brow furrowed, finding he somehow couldn’t imagine it at all, “it hardly seems fair inviting her and pretending it’s for friendship’s sake when you’re planning to use her as little more than a servant.”

“Use her like a servant?” protested Nell. “I’m going to shower her with riches! I’m doing her a great favour. Who in their right mind would prefer an antique aunt and the freezing Northumbrian wind to a London season as the pampered guest of Lady Ashburton?”

Jack didn’t bother answering, but he suspected if there was anyone, it was his little old Min, Lucy Fanshaw.