Chapter 6
GIDEON
The club was busy the following afternoon when Gideon stepped inside. James was already waiting for him at their usual table, a bottle of whisky and two glasses at the ready.
“There you are,” he said, when Gideon dropped into the chair across from him. “By Jove, you look as though you have been pulled through a hedge backwards. Was it truly that dreadful?”
“It was,” he said. “I do not know how matchmakers make a business of this. I thought I was doing everything perfectly, but Helena was not pleased in the least. And she does not expect to see Sir Franklin again.”
“Really,” James said. “What happened? Did something untoward occur?”
Gideon paused. “No. Nothing untoward was said. But I think she felt that I was rather too involved.”
“You stayed?” James said, topping up his glass, which had already been half empty.
“Of course I stayed. I had to make sure he was who he claimed to be.”
James blinked. “But I thought you already knew who he was. Did Nathaniel not suggest him?”
“It is not polite to discuss a gentleman without him present,” Nathaniel’s voice came from behind them, and they turned. He waved to the waiter to bring another glass and settled himself down. “Now then. What has led the two of you to invoke my name at such an early hour?”
“It is not all that early,” Gideon replied. “And I was just telling James about my meeting with Sir Franklin.”
“He means his meeting with Lady Helena and Sir Franklin,” James corrected. “He decided to play matchmaker and remain in the room for the entirety of it.”
Nathaniel stared at him. “You did not. I did not know that Lady Helena was as dangerous to suitors as my Evelyn was.”
“What do you mean?” James asked.
“Sir Franklin, as you know, is a gentleman I had in mind for Evelyn before I married her myself,” Nathaniel said. “Wealthy, pious — I thought he would make a decent match.”
“Pious?” James said. “And you thought he would suit Evelyn?”
Nathaniel raised his hands. “I did not know my dear wife as well then as I do now. In any case, if I recall correctly, poor Sir Franklin departed with wine all down his pantaloons and we never saw him again.” He paused.
“He brought daisies, I believe. Freshly picked ones. Which did not impress Evelyn in the slightest.”
“Ah,” Gideon said. “That explains it. He made a remark about the flowers he brought today. About how he usually preferred to pick them himself but is efforts were not appreciated in the recent past.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Yes, that would be Evelyn’s doing. But I cannot quite believe that you are truly going through with this plan. When you first told me about it and asked me for a list of names, I thought you were speaking in jest. And yet here you are, setting up meetings with poor Lady Helena.”
“This is no laughing matter,” Gideon said. “She must be found a husband.”
“Yes, but perhaps next time you ought to let her lead the conversation,” Nathaniel advised. “Or better yet, step out and let her maid chaperone.”
Gideon shrugged. “I suppose I ought to. I simply wanted to be certain. Besides, there is a small child to consider. It must be a particular kind of gentleman. Her father would never forgive me if I set her up with some beef-witted nodcock who hasn’t a sixpence to rub together, or one who is too often in his cups. ”
James patted his friend’s forearm. “Well, as long as you are not trawling the rookeries for candidates, I dare say you shall find someone suitable eventually. Now, how does the new dukedom sit with you?”
The three fell into easy conversation for a while, touching among other matters on a new venture that James and Nathaniel were advancing in the House of Lords, a bill to extend protections for tenant farmers beyond those not already secured by a previous measure.
By the end of the afternoon, Gideon had agreed to come on as a sponsor.
His very first piece of business in the Lords.
“Only do not make me stand up and speak,” he said. “I have no desire whatsoever to address the chamber.”
“Do not fret,” Nathaniel said. “We shall send Rhys or Lucien.”
“Just as well.”
“…that young widow in Bloomsbury,” a voice came from behind him, and Gideon stilled.
He did not turn immediately. Two gentlemen were seated at the table just behind them, a young, fair-haired man and another with a shock of dark hair. They were drinking sherry and playing cards, their voices carrying more freely than they perhaps intended.
“The widow?” the dark-haired one said.
“The very one,” the fair-haired man replied. “I thought I might pay her a visit.”
“To what end?”
The fair-haired man shrugged. “To offer my services. Lady Helena is rather striking. Always thought her quietly beautiful. A little low on the ladder for marriage, of course — at least for a man in my position.”
“Was her father not a captain?”
“Yes, and connected somehow to an Earl. Not titled himself, but near enough to make her eligible to some of the lower-ranking lords. Not for me, naturally.”
The dark-haired one pursed his lips and played his card. “Then why call on her at all, if you think her beneath your notice? Does she not have a child?”
The fair-haired man waved a hand. “What of it? I do not intend to make myself a father to the child. I intend to make myself rather more familiar with her bedsheets.”
“I see. For a moment I thought you might actually wish to do right by the woman.”
“A widow? And one with a child? You must have lost your mind, Wentworth. No — but ladies in her position tend to be very grateful when a gentleman pays them any attention at all. And I intend to pay her a great deal of it.” He winked.
Gideon’s hands curled into fists beneath the table.
This was precisely why she had been so hostile when he first appeared on her doorstep.
Because men like this were talking about her in such terms, treating her as though she were merely an object to be possessed, a diversion to be used and discarded.
Well. Not while he had anything to say about it.
He was on his feet before he had fully decided to move. His chair went over behind him with a clang on the hardwood floor.
“Gideon,” James said sharply.
Nathaniel reached for his arm, but he shook it free and crossed to the next table in three strides.
Both men looked up. The dark-haired one — Wentworth — rose.
The fair-haired man, whom Gideon now recognized as the heir to a marquessate by the name of Lord Henry, likewise got to his feet.
Up close he had the look of a Captain Sharp about him — all surface charm and not a great deal beneath it.
“Can I help you?” Wentworth said.
“You cannot. But your friend can.” Gideon looked at the younger man. “Henry, is it?”
“What is it to you?” Lord Henry replied.
“What is it to me,” Gideon said, his voice very even, “is that the young woman you were just discussing is under my protection. I will not have her spoken of in that manner. And I will most certainly not have you showing up at her doorstep to bother her. Am I understood?”
Lord Henry put his hands on his hips. “And why should I listen to you? Who are you?”
Wentworth turned to him. “That is Gideon Blackwell, Duke of Blackthorne. The Viscount who came up rather suddenly.”
“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” Henry said, with a short laugh.
“The one who benefited from poor Howard’s unfortunate driving.
How very fortunate for you.” He looked Gideon up and down with contempt.
“And I see you have wasted no time in making use of your new position. Tell me, Blackwell, is this what it has come to? Throwing yourself at widows in Bloomsbury because your own wife could not bear to stay?” He smiled thinly.
“Left you for an untitled man, didn’t she?
No fortune, no prospects? Apparently just rather more of a husband than a Viscount’s son could manage to be.
I suppose if one cannot keep a wife, one must content oneself with collecting other men’s widows instead. ”
Gideon’s fist connected with his face before the smile had finished forming.
Henry went down hard, landing with a grunt and a thud. Sent to grass in a single blow.
“I’ll say, that is quite the facer you planted,” James said, from somewhere behind him.
Wentworth twitched beside him, clearly deliberating.
“I would advise against it,” Nathaniel said pleasantly, from where he had appeared at Gideon’s shoulder. “Gideon put your friend to grass with one shove, and three against one has never been a fair proposition. Besides, that rum touch of yours is already down — I would not fancy your odds alone.”
“Indeed,” James added. “And I would take note of his words regarding Lady Vale. She is not only under his protection, but ours as well.”
Wentworth’s jaw worked. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Then he seemed to think better of it. He reached down and hauled Henry to his feet.
“Come on, then,” he said. “Let us go.”
“But…” Henry began, still winded.
“We are here on a trial membership that my father sponsored,” Wentworth said, low and firm. “If we make any more of this than we already have, we shall never see proper membership. Now come.”
He gave Gideon one last look and steered Henry toward the door. As they went, Gideon heard Henry mutter something indignant and Wentworth reply in an undertone, “Leave it. He’d have drawn your cork next.”
Gideon watched them go. Then he looked around the room. Half the club had risen out of their seats. They were settling back down now, by degrees, the murmur of conversation resuming.
“Well,” James said, as Gideon righted his chair and lowered himself back into it. “That was rather eventful. Pray, how did defending her honour end in a fist fight?”
“I do not appreciate the way men speak about her,” Gideon said. “She all but accused me of ill intentions when I first appeared at her door. Now I understand why.”
“I must say,” Nathaniel remarked, settling back into his own chair and reaching for his glass, “you were bang up to the nines with that right hook. I did not know you had it in you.”
“One picks things up,” Gideon said.
James and Nathaniel exchanged a look. Then Nathaniel shrugged. “These matchmaking schemes are a dicey business at the best of times. And if you are already coming to blows this early in the venture, I cannot say with confidence that it is wise to continue.”
“It is necessary,” Gideon said. “Whether it is wise or not.”
He sat back. As he did, he looked down at his fist. He had put it square into Henry’s chest and felt no hesitation whatsoever.
What he did feel, sitting here now, was a faint unease at how quickly the rage had come.
Not at the insult to himself — that he could bear easily enough.
Henry’s remark about Cassandra had landed somewhere, he would not deny that, but it was not what had moved his arm.
It was the rest of it. The casual, contemptible way they had spoken about her, as though she were a hedge bird they might amuse themselves with rather than a woman of intelligence and dignity who deserved a great deal better than any of this.
Nathaniel had a point. It probably was not wise.
Still, what was done was done. And he resolved, quietly and with considerable firmness, to find Lady Helena a husband sooner rather than later — before he found himself sending any more young lords to grass on her behalf.