The Wily Wastrel

  The Wiley Wastrel

  April Kihlstrom

  SIGNET

  Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane, London W8 5TZ, England

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2

  Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road. Auckland 10, New Zealand

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth. Middlesex, England

  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.

  First Printing, October 1999

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Copyright © April Kihlstrom, 1999 All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  Printed in the United States of America

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES. FOR INFORMATION PLEASE WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION, PENGUIN PUTNAM INC. 375 HUDSON STREET. NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10014.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Prologue

  James Langford, known to the ton as an engaging but thoroughly hopeless wastrel who gambled and danced and spent far too much time and energy on his clothes and nothing more, quirked an eyebrow at the man looking at his work.

  “Well?” he asked in a brisk voice that none of his friends would have recognized. “Will it do?”

  The man nodded. “Aye, it’ll more than do.” He paused and stared at James. “Why the devil do you waste your time playing at being such a frivolous fellow when you can build machines like this?”

  But this was too much for James. He fixed the fellow with a piercing stare and said, coolly, “You forget, sir, that I am a gentleman.”

  The other man snorted in disgust. “Bleeding gentlemen! Worthless lot of creatures! And you choose to be one of ‘em? Pack of nonsense! It’s not my business to say so, I suppose, but I can’t see why you would.”

  “You are quite right, it is not your business,” James agreed austerely. “Will you be taking the machine with you now, or sending for it later?” he asked.

  The man sighed again. “Oh, I’ll send for it. My man will be here in the morning with a wagon to transport the thing to my factory up north. He’ll bring a bank draft with him, as usual.”

  He paused, then held out his hand as he added, with an apologetic grin, “I meant no offense, Langford. It’s just that I like you, and that’s not something as I’d say about or to most gentlemen.”

  James took the offered hand and he smiled a wry, oddly sweet smile of his own as he replied, “No offense taken, sir. There are even moments when I’d agree with you. But for now I am as I am. Meanwhile, I’ll arrange to have my man waiting to give yours a hand loading this machine onto your wagon in the morning. And now,” he said, reaching for the candelabra, “we’d best go. I’m supposed to be at a gaming party and it wouldn’t do for me to be more than fashionably late.”

  Another snort, this time a gentler one, was the other man’s only answer.

  Chapter 1

  James Langford, younger brother of Lord Darton, returned Miss Merriweather to her mother’s loving care and looked about him for another partner. Already there were a number of young ladies trying to catch his eye.

  His satin coat of soft blue echoed an earlier age, far different from the simple black or other dark colors worn by most gentlemen those days. But none of the ladies were heard to cavil at his taste. Indeed, they were more likely to admire the clocking on his stockings than to call it out of fashion.

  Langford was not unaware of the stir he was causing and he wondered, idly, what would happen if he were to go so far as to powder his hair. The smile that tilted up the corners of his mouth at the thought caused more than one young lady to hope he was thinking of her.

  Even as he steeled himself to find another partner, a friend grabbed Langford by the arm and said, “You must see this quiz. Don’t know what the girl’s mother was thinking! She squints, positively squints. And not a fortune in sight to make it all acceptable. Or so they say. At least, thank God, there is no whiff of trade about her or the girl would be done for entirely!”

  James allowed himself to be commandeered. Why not, after all? He had nothing more amusing to do.

  Still, it was not amusement he felt as he looked in the direction Farnsworth pointed him. He saw, as promised, a young lady who indeed was something of a quiz.

  “Her dress don’t in the least become her,” Farnsworth said.

  Langford had to agree. “And her expression,” he noted, “seems calculated to warn off anyone foolish enough to think of asking her to dance.”

  “As if they would!” Farnsworth snorted in disgust. “Just look at that simpering woman beside her. Obviously the girl’s mother.”

  James sighed. There was a hint of sympathy in his voice as he said, “Poor creature. It’s no wonder she’s become fodder for malicious gossip.”

  “What was her mother thinking to clad such a sturdy young woman in frothy white?” Farnsworth persisted. “Or to have her auburn hair cropped so short? It only draws attention to her squint!”

  “What, indeed?” James murmured. “Poor creature. Thank heavens she is not related to me. Otherwise I might feel compelled to ask her to dance.”

  Farnsworth shuddered at the thought. He and Langford were about to turn away when she looked at them. James stopped, transfixed. There was intelligence and even wry humor in those eyes. And understanding of precisely what he and all the other gawkers must be thinking.

  Before he knew what he was about, before he could even think to alter course, Langford found himself moving toward the girl and bowing to her mother. He didn’t know the woman but he knew one of the women beside her.

  “Lady Batten, would you be so kind as to introduce me to this young lady?”

  Lady Batten gaped at him and then smiled tightly, as though at some private joke. “Of course. Miss Galsworth, may I present Mr. Langford. Mr. Langford, Miss Galsworth. And her mother, Mrs. Galsworth.”

  James bowed again. He felt a strong sense of impending doom, worsened by the way Mrs. Galsworth looked at him with such a satisfied gleam in her eye. Nor was he reassured when he turned to Miss Galsworth and she took his outstretched hand with what could only be patent relief in her eyes.

  When her fingers clutched at his, as though at a lifeline, James wondered if he had made a horrible mistake. As he led her toward the other dancers, however, Miss Galsworth surprised him.

  In a voice pitched low enough to carry to his ears only she said, “I am well aware, sir, that you have the power to bring any young lady into fashion with your attention. While I do not hope for more than mere tolerance, I shall not forget your kindness in asking me to dance.”

  And then she smiled at him. That smiled changed everything. With a shock, James realized that Miss Galsworth had the potential to be very pretty. If it weren’t for her horrid hairstyle and appalling gown.

  But the smile was gone as swiftly as it had appeared and she was the plain creature
with a squint once again. James did his best to banish the other image from his mind.

  Still, they took their places and he smiled at her whenever the figures of the dance brought them together. He made certain to engage her in unexceptionable conversation that others could overhear. To his great relief, Miss Galsworth neither simpered nor showed an unbecoming forwardness nor was she afflicted by shyness.

  By the time the music drew to a close, James was feeling quite pleased with himself. He knew he was kindhearted and he was well aware of his own power in society. Smug in his sense of having done a good deed, he escorted Miss Galsworth back to her mother.

  That would have been the end of things if she had not said lightly, as though it were inconsequential, “Why did you ask me to dance, Mr. Langford? Was it a wager? Or am I one of your charity cases?”

  That caused James to miss a step and he nearly stumbled. He gaped at Miss Galsworth but quickly shut his open mouth. He would not allow her to provoke him. Grimly he said, “You ought not to ask such questions! They impugn both my motives and your own good qualities.”

  “Oh, but I have no good qualities,” she replied frankly. “At least, nothing that would recommend me to so notable a dandy as yourself.”

  “I am not a dandy!”

  She hesitated, studied him carefully, then nodded. “No? Well, perhaps not. Your shirt points are not ridiculously high after all, though the, er, uniqueness of your coat might make one wonder. Forgive me. I have nothing to recommend me to so notable a gentleman as yourself.”

  He wanted to deny her self-deprecations. And certainly James was an accomplished enough flirt that he ought to have found it easy enough to do so. But when he looked at Miss Galsworth, he discovered he could not lie to those clear green eyes.

  A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “I thought so,” she said. “A charity case. I only asked about the wager because I knew you to be a notable gamester. But not about this sort of thing, I would guess.”

  “You guess correctly,” James said, his voice tight with disapproval.

  She sighed. “Now I have offended you and I did not mean to do so. Not after you have been so kind to me. I am sorry, Mr. Langford.”

  Suddenly his anger melted away. How could he remain angry at a girl who spoke so bluntly, who played no simpering games with him? It was such a refreshing change from all the rest of the year’s crop that he almost committed the solecism of asking Miss Galsworth whence she had sprung.

  Instead he smiled again, returned her to her mother without risking another, possibly dangerous conversation, and bowed fully intending to simply walk away.

  Mrs. Galsworth had other plans.

  “You will come to call on us, won’t you, Mr. Langford? Your mother and I were bosom bows.”

  James doubted it sincerely. But he could not call the woman a liar to her face and his mother was dead so he could not ask her to refute the outrageous claim. All he could do was bow again, smile noncommittally, and attempt to beat as hasty a retreat as possible.

  Mrs. Galsworth would have stopped him, but now that James had danced with her daughter, other gentlemen decided to be as brave and her attention was claimed by them.

  James slipped away and headed for the gaming rooms. He hated to gamble, but no one could have guessed it by his demeanor. And for once, the gaming rooms felt like a refuge. Besides, having just earned a hefty commission, he had to account for his good fortune somehow. Best to let the ton, and his brother George, believe he had won it at cards.

  Unfortunately, events seemed to conspire against the small measure of peace James had made with the secret way in which he made his fortune and flouted convention. Almost the first conversation he joined seemed like a reproach.

  “Heard about Kellingham?” Beardsley demanded.

  “Married the daughter of a shipping magnate, didn’t he?” someone else replied.

  “Perhaps he, er, needed to recoup the family fortune,” James suggested mildly. “And I’ve heard nothing to say against the girl’s father.”

  “Except that he owns a damned shipping yard!” Beardsley snorted.

  “Would it have been better for Kellingham to lose the land his family has owned for generations?” a third gentleman countered. “I’ve heard that was the alternative if the merchant had not come up to scratch.”

  “Well, no,” Cathcart conceded. “But that does not mean we have to like it.”

  “I thank God none of our families have had to face such a choice and been tainted by the smell of trade,” someone sniffed disdainfully.

  “Mind you,” Cathcart said to James, “your brother’s wife does interest herself in some of the oddest things.”

  James went very still. His eyes narrowed. In a voice that was dangerously soft he asked, “Are you impugning Lady Darton, sir?”

  He knew full well the fellow did not mean Athenia, that paragon of conventionality. He knew full well it was Philip’s wife who trod the line toward eccentricity. But nevertheless James watched in satisfaction as Cathcart sputtered and hastily withdrew the gibe.

  Someone else turned the subject to safer matters and James suppressed the sigh of relief he felt. Confound it, what would the ton say, what would they do if they ever found out that Philip and Emily owned a mill? So far his brother had managed to keep the thing a secret but there was always the risk of discovery. As there was with his own activities.

  James would have liked to leave the game at once, the room no longer feeling like a refuge to him. But he could not do so. Not without drawing unwelcome attention to his reaction to the conversation and unhealthy speculation once he was gone. So, for the moment, he stayed.

  Two hours later, James rose from the card tables in disbelief. He had won. Actually won! It was a most unusual circumstance. Oh, he had had short runs of luck before, and one of his talents was pretending it was often so. But the truth was, James rarely won like this.

  “Perhaps Miss Galsworth has brought you good fortune tonight, Langford,” Beardsley suggested with a wicked gleam in his eye.

  “Heard you’ve a command to call upon the gel tomorrow,” Cathcart added with a grin.

  James eyed them both with disfavor. “How the devil did you hear about that in here?” he demanded.

  The two men shrugged. “One simply does,” Beardsley replied.

  “Yes, well, I asked her to dance. Once. And that is the end of it,” James retorted.

  “Of course, m’boy, of course,” Cathcart replied.

  James pressed his lips together in a thin line, well aware that further protests would only make matters worse. He bowed to his friends and stalked from the card room.

  He made his way toward the door, determined to leave before any other unfortunate girl could catch his eye or make a claim on his kindness. Had his attention not been so thoroughly engaged in his plans to escape, James might well have noticed the Galsworth party in time to sheer away. As it was, he almost ran into Mrs. Galsworth and he did trod on the hem of Miss Galsworth’s gown. Everyone nearby heard the sound as the flounce at the hem of her dress tore under his clumsy foot.

  James turned red and started to stammer an apology. Mrs. Galsworth started to ring a peal over the offender and stopped the moment she recognized who it was. Miss Galsworth turned first a fiery red and then went very pale. It was she who spoke first.

  “Never mind, Mama. It doesn’t signify. We were leaving anyway. Let us go out to the carriage. It must be waiting by now. I am certain Mr. Langford meant no harm.”

  Mrs. Galsworth smiled thinly and tapped him playfully on the arm with her fan. “I shall forgive Mr. Langford,” she said, an arch note to her voice, “if he promises, without fail, to call upon us tomorrow!”

  James could only bow. He would not, he vowed silently, promise such a thing. And yet neither would he cause any further commotion by refusing aloud to do so.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Galsworth took his bow as an assent, as he meant her to do. Miss Galsworth was not so easily deceived. She ca
st an ironical smile his way and then swept her mother away.

  For some reason, her perceptiveness disturbed James. And he found himself absurdly wishing he could explain.

  “Dashed odd girl,” said Farnsworth, who had suddenly appeared at his elbow. “Best stay until you’re certain her party is gone, otherwise bound to find yourself pounced upon all over again.”

  “I suspect you might be right,” James agreed. “I think I shall go and find our hostess. I’ll take my leave of her, and by the time I reach the door, the way should be clear.”

  “Come with you,” Farnsworth suggested. “I can help fend them off, if need be!”

  James laughed. “It shan’t come to that,” he said, with a shake of his head.

  Farnsworth disagreed. “Do a kindness for a plain gel and you’re never rid of her, Langford. Just look at my cousin Lydia. Wore her fiance down ‘til he had to ask her to marry him.”

  With pardonable exasperation in his voice James said indignantly, “I only asked the girl to dance! Once. And that’s the start and end of it.”

  “We’ll see,” was Farnsworth’s gloomy reply.

  James shook his head again. Still, by the time he had reached home and parted company with Farnsworth, he felt a distinct sense of relief at having somehow escaped a horrible fate. He would not, definitely not, call upon the Galsworth girl on the morrow.

  James would have been aghast had he known that at the town house her mother had hired for the Season, Miss Galsworth was sitting by the window, brushing her curls, and thinking of him. He would have been even more appalled had he known she was reliving, over and over again, the experience of dancing with him.

  He might even have felt compelled to flee London for a spell and that would have been a pity. For that would have robbed the ton of what was about to become their biggest amusement of the Season.

  Chapter 2

  In the drawing room, as they waited for callers, Mrs. Galsworth studied her daughter carefully. “I do not know what to do with you, Juliet,” she said, shaking her head in patent disapproval. “You have no social graces. You will never be known for your beauty. You do not even have the proper accomplishments to recommend you to a gentleman. How are we ever going to marry you off?”