Chapter Six
Roland fastened his dark green banyan and accepted the cup of tea his butler handed him.
The dignified doyen of his household cleared his throat.
Montgomery looked at him questioningly. “My lord, Mr. Robert Walker is here and requests an interview with you. Shall I tell him you are unavailable until a more suitable hour?”
Roland glanced at the clock on the wall.
It was only just ten minutes past nine. Even in town, Montgomery kept country hours and was usually awake much earlier than members of Society who spent most evenings at the theater or balls and dinners that lasted well into the early hours of the morning.
“You can show him in. Whatever has dragged him out of bed before noon must be important. And I prefer to deal with unpleasant business immediately.”
“If you insist, sir, I will show him in.”
Montgomery hid a smile. Whitcombe had been in service to the Montgomerys since before Roland could walk and he still considered it his main duty to protect his young master from all difficulties and inconveniences.
Roland had scarcely had time to take more than a sip of his tea before the door to his private sitting room opened again and Whitcombe ushered in Robert Walker.
“What brings you here so early?” Montgomery asked without preamble.
Walker raked his hand through his usually impeccably styled hair and stared wildly around the room as if he had found himself in an ogre’s den rather than his cousin’s pleasantly decorated quarters.
He said nothing, making only an unintelligible sound at the back of his throat. He walked towards the window and then spun around and paced back to the center of the room. Montgomery complacently drank his tea, noting that Walker’s cravat was skew and his shirt crumpled.
After several silent minutes, he placed his now empty teacup in its saucer, leaned back in his chair and said, “Please desist from imitating a mangy caged lion. You are making me quite dizzy.”
Walker stopped in mid-turn and grabbed the back of a chair as his balance wavered. “This is not the time for facetious comments or derogatory observations.”
“Probably not,” agreed Montgomery. “I can only justify my lack of sympathy by observing I am not used to having my mornings disturbed in this manner.”
Walker sent him a withering look but his cousin’s words goaded him into articulating his problems.
“You were there yesterday. You heard what Lady Burroughs said.” He gave a low moan.
“It seems most unfair to punish a man just because he sat down next to a girl for a few minutes. I never wanted to marry the wretched girl. She’s amusing to flirt with and I daresay she’s prettier than most and I believe she has a decent dowry but a wife has a terrible way of limiting a man’s options.
I mean to follow your example and not marry until I’m too old to enjoy myself. ”
“I haven’t ordered a bath chair yet,” Montgomery observed mildly and brushed the hair off his forehead with a sigh.
“I thought you wanted to win the bet so you could buy a horse and your behavior towards Miss Burroughs yesterday gave everyone reason to believe that you are seeking an attachment with her.” His dry comment resulted in a withering look from Walker.
He held up his hands. “What do you expect me to do about your predicament?”
Walker threw himself into an armchair, slumping forward. “I don’t know. I’m your heir. Surely it’s your responsibility to ensure our family heritage is safe. Can’t you forbid the banns or something?”
Roland was growing tired of this conversation.
“On what grounds? Miss Burroughs is, as you say, eligible in every way. She comes from a titled family, she has a good dowry and is pretty as well as amusing. Many would consider her an eminently suitable wife for the heir of a baron. Besides, all of society has seen you pay her particular attention and many heard her mother’s declaration.
It appears that all is done and dusted.”
A strange sense of defeat, of loss, threatened to unsettle Roland but he drew on his usual calmness and betrayed nothing of his discomposure as he slathered blackberry jam onto a slice of toast and took a big bite.
Walker scowled. “I thought you’d be more sympathetic. You’ve made no secret of your interest in her, although you pretend to dislike her.”
Montgomery finished the toast and poured himself another cup of tea. He reached for a clean cup and offered some to his cousin.
With a groan, Walker shook his head in refusal.
“I need something much stronger to sustain me. I am expected to dine with the family before the Cartwrights’ ball this evening.
The baron wants to discuss marriage settlements before finalizing the betrothal with announcements in all the proper newspapers.
” He sounded as if he were being dragged off to Newgate Prison rather than planning a wedding.
“In that case,” retorted Roland, “you had better remain as sober as a judge. Although I can’t possibly imagine how you could in any way make a bigger hash of things.
My only comfort is knowing that you cannot inherit my estate until I am not here and so I will not see you and your frivolous wife fritter away all that I and my forefathers worked so carefully to establish. ”
Robert snorted contemptuously.
Roland pushed his chair away from the table, preparing to rise. “On the other hand, your foolishness might just force my hand. I might have to take the drastic measure of finding myself a wife who can provide me with a son and heir and leave you and your spouse to make your own way through life.”
*
Gwendolyn swallowed the last mouthful of champagne, plonked the glass down on a nearby table and took another from the tray of a passing footman which she drank almost as quickly.
Mariana was alarmed. With each glass, Gwendolyn was becoming more reckless. Her voice was becoming louder and she laughed more and raucously. “Gwennie, perhaps we should ask if the carriage could be called and we can go home,” she suggested tentatively.
Gwendolyn’s eyes narrowed as she glared at her cousin. “Why? You don’t look as if you are feeling ill and I am finding this party far more enjoyable than any other this Season.” She swallowed more of the bubbly gold liquid.
Mariana moved forward and reached for the champagne glass but was frozen by Gwendolyn’s icy look.
Gwendolyn tossed her curls and blew to dislodge the one that had come loose and was lying on her forehead.
“I don’t care what you do tonight but I mean to have as much fun as I possibly can.
I will dance every dance with all the most charming gentlemen who are tripping over themselves to dance with me.
” Some of her words slurred and she ended her speech with a loud hiccup.
A group of ladies near enough to hear the offensive sound looked at her with horror clearly visible on their faces.
Gwendolyn pulled a face at them and then tried to look as haughty as a queen as she announced, carefully enunciating every syllable, “Are you amused? Have you seen enough to spread some gossip about me?”
Mariana looked around at the guests, her heart heavy and her stomach twisting in knots.
She drew in a breath when she spotted Lady Burroughs who was hovering near Countess Leavin and for once was not paying close attention to her daughter but whispers of Gwendolyn’s behavior were sure to make their way back to her, and then sparks were sure to fly.
Mariana had been driven to distraction for the last few weeks. The announcement of the upcoming nuptials between Mr. Walker, esquire and owner of Hillsdown Manor in Kent, and the honorable Miss Gwendolyn Burroughs, only daughter of Baron Humphrey Burroughs, was expected any day now.
Gwendolyn protested vociferously but her parents were adamant that she had to marry to save her reputation.
The more determined they were, the more outrageous Gwendolyn’s behavior became.
Her mood was further exacerbated because Robert Walker was dragging his heels and showing very little eagerness to tie the knot.
His interest in Gwendolyn had faded. He had turned down several invitations to dine with the Burroughs and avoided Gwendolyn when they attended the same balls.
The group of scandalized ladies moved quickly away and Gwendolyn blinked her blurry eyes. But they narrowed as Robert Walker entered the ballroom. He looked directly at her and then turned to greet a young lady who giggled when he spoke to her.
Gwendolyn was not going to let anyone humiliate her or make a fool of her.
But the champagne made her head fuzzy and it was difficult to think clearly.
She lifted the glass to her lips and emptied it.
Perhaps drinking more would bring back the wonderful sensations that the first glass had given her.
*
Robert Walker stalked out of the card room, shoving the crumpled paper on which his vowels had been recorded into his pocket.
He was furious after losing a very frustrating game of picquet to Major Enderby.
His gambling debts were increasing to unwieldy amounts and each morning, bills from tailors and tobacconists were heaped onto the already tottering pile he shoved under a paper weight on his desk.
He had appealed to Roland Montgomery for a handout, but his cousin refused to give him nearly enough to meet his immediate needs.
His only option was to settle with Lord Burroughs and marry Gwendolyn.
But the baron was being stubborn, insisting that her dowry should be tied up in investments and annuities that could not be touched and Robert wanted immediate access to the funds.
He had tired of Gwendolyn’s company and kept his hopes high for a more amenable heiress, but the parents of those he had pursued quickly put an end to any connections with him. Only Lord and Lady Burroughs were prepared to consider his courtship of Gwendolyn.