The Wily Wastrel Page 2

  Juliet looked away. There was an edge of hurt in her voice as she replied, “You need not catalogue my faults, Mama. I know them only too well. No seam that I sew ever runs straight. No music that I play will ever do other than hurt the ears of anyone nearby enough to hear. I dance, but only the kindest of gentlemen would pretend to call me graceful.”

  Indeed, Juliet thought, she could well have been said to be the despair of a mother who had dreamed, when naming her, of a dainty daughter, with a heart-shaped face, who would float along, the epitome of femininity. The jest, of course, was on her mother.

  As she had often been heard to say, somewhat bitterly, to Mr. Galsworth, “The daughter of the gamekeeper seems more like a lady than Juliet!”

  “I try, Mama,” she said now, hoping to turn aside her mother’s anger. “I truly do. I try to glide across the floor, the way my dancing instructor has demonstrated. And I practice every day on the pianoforte. Indeed I have even used the recipe you gave me for Unction de Maintenon for the removal of freckles.”

  “And none of it to any avail!” her mother retorted sharply. “You remain as you are: a clumsy, unmusical, freckle-faced girl. Your only talent is working with your hands and heaven help us if anyone ever finds out! Why, oh, why, if you must work with your hands, can you not learn to use a needle? That would be unexceptionable. But no, you must needs interest yourself in all sorts of unfeminine things.”

  Mrs. Galsworth shuddered and Juliet could stand no more. “Would it have been better if I had left the pump broken?” she demanded. “So that we would have had no water until someone else could have been found to fix it? Or not repaired the mangle in the laundry shed so that our clothes remained dirty? And perhaps you would have preferred that I had not fixed that carriage wheel? Perhaps you would have preferred if I had let it come off and we had all found ourselves tumbled into the ditch?”

  Mrs. Galsworth could not meet her daughter’s eyes. “It is just so unfeminine,” she said. “It makes you seem such an odd creature. Your governess should never have allowed you to poke your nose into every corner of the estate and watch as all manner of things were being fixed.”

  “Papa said it was handy having someone about like me,” Juliet said hopefully.

  “Handy?” Mrs. Galsworth screeched. “Handy? And do you suppose any gentleman is wishing for someone handy when he looks about him for a wife? Do you suppose he wishes to know she can rescue him, should their carriage begin to fail? Or that she can repair the kitchen pump?”

  “No, Mama, I suppose not,” Juliet replied meekly.

  But it was not enough to turn her mother’s wrath.

  Having begun a catalogue of Juliet’s faults, she could not help but continue.

  “The moment we arrived here, you prowled from top to bottom looking for things you could fix. Do you know how much I have had to increase the wages of the entire staff to ensure that none of them speak of this to anyone outside the house? Do you realize that even so we cannot be entirely certain they will not?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  With tears of frustration in her eyes, Mrs. Galsworth tugged at Juliet’s dress, trying to make it drape in a more flattering way. “Do try to behave yourself today. We must hope that at least some gentlemen will come to call. Perhaps Mr. Langford. He seemed taken with you last night. Here, hold this piece of needlework and pretend you are sewing.”

  Juliet tried to refuse. “But it is a lie!”

  “Everything is a lie,” her mother countered. “At least when one is trying to find a husband and bring him up to scratch. After you are married you may do as you please, but for now you must pretend to be an unexceptionable young lady! The Lord knows you will have to lie to do that!”

  It was impossible, thought Juliet. Her dress of soft, pale-green muslin would have looked lovely on a dainty young thing. On her it looked hideous, or so she supposed. Whatever had possessed her mother to insist upon the knots of ribbons and roses all over the skirt and bodice? Or tell the maid to thread a matching ribbon through her short curls? And why on earth had she agreed?

  For peace, Juliet thought gloomily. Just as, for peace, she would hold the abominable needlework in her hands. And hope that she did not prick herself with the needle just as some gentleman entered the room! As if it would matter, she chided herself. She could not imagine that any young man would actually come to call. Or that if he did, it was with any serious interest in herself.

  “Don’t you wish to be married?” Mrs. Galsworth demanded, her shrill voice penetrating Juliet’s reverie.

  “I, of course I do,” Juliet replied. Then, stiffly she added, “I daresay I have indulged in as many daydreams and fantasies on the subject as any other young lady. It is just that I look at myself with a clear and unjaundiced eye, Mama, and I can see how unlikely it is that any of my daydreams will ever come to pass.”

  “You are hopeless,” Mrs. Galsworth said, shaking her head, “hopeless.”

  But there was no more time to quarrel. The first two gentlemen had arrived. Unfortunately, it was clear to Juliet that they had come to gawk and take back tales with which to regale their friends. She was hard put to be polite to them, but under her mother’s stern gaze she tried.

  Two other gentlemen were kind but aroused not the least interest in Juliet’s breast, and it was only when the last of the callers for the day were gone that she could admit to herself there was only one gentleman she wished to see. And he had not come.

  “I do not understand it!” her mother said querulously. “Mr. Langford promised to call upon us today.”

  Juliet tilted up her chin. “I, for one, am glad he did not come,” she lied. “He is everything I disdain. He is an indolent dandy who does nothing with his time save worry about his clothes, gossip, gamble, and no doubt, chase after women. He lives, they say, upon two things: the generosity of his older brother, Lord Darton, and upon the funds that he has won gambling. No, Mama, I am grateful he did not come today.”

  “You are hopeless, Juliet, hopeless,” was her mother’s only answer.

  Juliet turned away, her thoughts still on Mr. Langford. For all her harsh words, she could not help but recall that when he had asked her to dance, when he had talked with her, it had seemed to her as if there was a rare intelligence in his eyes, an understanding in his expression, a kindred spirit in his soul.

  It was all nonsense; of course it was. And yet, Juliet wished he had called today, as promised. Perhaps then she could have dismissed him as an indolent dandy and given her thoughts a more rational direction.

  But Mr. Langford did not call. And because he did not, he only found a securer foothold in Juliet’s thoughts and in her heart.

  ———

  In his bachelor rooms on the other side of town, Mr. James Langford was writing to his brother Philip’s mill manager. He was explaining to the man precisely how to adjust the looms he had sent to the factory some months before.

  It was just the sort of thing James enjoyed and he ought to have been feeling quite content as he alternated between writing and sipping the coffee at his elbow.

  But he wasn’t content. As he had the night before, James worried about Philip today. Again he wondered how long they could keep his ownership of the mill a secret.

  Perhaps it could be passed off as mere eccentricity, but that was not a very satisfactory solution. Particularly if George, Lord Darton, were to find out. How they had come to have such a high stickler for a brother James never had been able to comprehend.

  Speaking of George, James wondered what he would think of Miss Galsworth. Which led to wondering what she was doing and whether anyone had come to call upon her today. And whether she was still expecting him.

  Abruptly realizing what he was doing, James took a deep breath and tried to turn the direction of his thoughts. He was resolute in his determination not to call upon her today. Why, after all, should he?

  Simply because Mrs. Galsworth claimed to have been bosom bows with his mother? He thought it m
ost unlikely. Or because Miss Galsworth might be expecting him? Absurd! She had known he asked her to dance only to be kind and surely she was too intelligent to believe he owed her anything more?

  But James could not shake her image. Why had such an intelligent girl allowed herself to be dressed up in such a way? It was not, he would swear, that she was a meek creature who dared not speak back to her parents. And she quite evidently realized what a quiz of a figure she presented. There must be more to it than that and he wondered what it might be.

  Even as James was muttering to himself about Miss Galsworth, his older brother, George, was shown in to the study. Lord Darton looked about the room and then fixed a disapproving gaze upon his brother. He eyed with particular disapproval the bright yellow coat that James was wearing. Still that was not the matter of which he spoke.

  “I do not understand, James, why you cannot instruct your servants to keep this place in order.”

  “They are not allowed in here,” James replied mildly.

  “That I can well believe!” Darton said with a snort of disgust. “And if anyone were to see this room, they would have great difficulty reconciling it with their notions of you. I have trouble reconciling it! You are always so fastidious in your dress. How can you abide such clutter?”

  “I like it,” James said with a singularly sweet smile. “Come, sit, and cease to rip up at me. One would think you had never been in this room before. Or that you would at least think of a new speech to give when you ring that particular peal over my head.”

  Darton sat. “Look here, James,” he said, “you are four and twenty and it is time you changed your ways.”

  “It is not your place to tell me how to live my life,” James said with a stiffness he could not hold back.

  “Perhaps not,” George conceded, “but I am your brother and therefore entitled to feel concern for you. The fact that I supply you with an allowance is a small matter that might also weigh with you—if you felt the sort of family affection and gratitude you ought to feel.”

  James ignored this gibe. Twisting a writing quill in his hand, he said, “So you think I ought to change my way of life. Is there any particular manner in which you wish me to change it?”

  George hesitated. He avoided meeting his brother’s eyes. “Well, er, that is, you are perhaps of an age to think of setting up a nursery.”

  “Without a wife?” James asked, with pretend surprise. “George, I am shocked at you, positively shocked!”

  Stung, Lord Darton snapped, “You know very well that I mean you should marry first, James, and then set up your nursery!”

  “And have you, er, set your eyes on a suitable prospect?” James asked with a carelessness he did not feel.

  “Yes. No. That is, Athenia and I thought we ought to find out if you had.”

  “Me?” James was taken aback. “What on earth would give you the notion…”

  Abruptly his voice trailed off. After a moment he said, “Miss Galsworth?”

  “Just so.” George nodded. He tried to look innocent and failed miserably. Finally he said, “Oh the devil with it! Athenia insisted that I visit you and find out what your interest is in the girl. Athenia heard, from one of her bosom bows, that you have taken up some nobody from the country who has shockingly poor taste in clothes, does not know how to arrange her hair, and positively squints. At least I think those were Athenia’s words. And why you should do so if you had not set your thoughts on settling down is more than either of us can imagine.”

  James almost laughed at his brother’s confusion. But he didn’t. If there was one quality George lacked, and in truth there were many, it was a sense of humor. Instead he answered in a quiet, calm voice.

  “I danced one dance with Miss Galsworth, nothing more. I felt sorry for her and thought perhaps it would help the poor girl if I did so. But that is the beginning and the end of things.”

  Darton nodded. “Well, that’s a relief. I rather hoped Athenia had gotten it wrong. You, of all people, to be taken in by a quiz of a gel in shocking clothes. Preposterous! And so I told Athenia.”

  James felt something stir within his breast. An instinctive protest perhaps. A desire to tell his brother that it was not such a preposterous notion after all. But that would never do. George would feel it his duty to interfere. Or rather Athenia would. And between them they would cut up his peace and probably Miss Galworth’s as well. No, best to say nothing more.

  George rose to his feet, a satisfied look on his face, his duty patently fulfilled. “Care to join me for dinner at the club?” he asked.

  James shook his head.

  “Gaming, are you?”

  No, but as an excuse it would do. James nodded.

  George frowned and sat down again, a stern look upon his face and grim lines around his mouth. He looked as though he had just remembered something. He had. That became clear the moment he began to speak.

  “This has to stop,” Darton said harshly.

  “What has to stop?” James asked warily.

  George waved a hand. “This… this gaming!” He paused and drew in a breath. “You may as well tell me the extent of your debts, for I have no doubt I shall soon be called upon to settle them.”

  James was taken aback. Where the devil had this notion come from? Cautiously he tried to feel his way. “Actually, George, I am rather beforehand with the world, at the moment. Indeed, just last night I won a tidy sum at Lady Merriweather’s party.”

  Lord Darton waved his hand again, this time dismissively. “The merest trifle,” he said impatiently. “Or so I heard. Come, tell me the truth, James! From what I’ve heard, you have had some grand losses and some minor wins. What are your debts? You need not fear to tell me. I may scold but I promise I shall settle them. Don’t want m’brother falling into the hands of cents-per-centers.”

  “I have no debts,” James repeated, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

  George gaped at him. “No debts? Come now, James, that’s doing it much too brown! You forget, I am the one who makes you your allowance and I know full well it does not run to the kind of clothes you wear or the upkeep of these rooms. Not when you are losing as much as I have heard you lost these past few weeks.”

  James sighed and closed his eyes. He wanted, desperately, to tell his brother how he was making his money. But he knew too well how George would react. Bad enough that Philip was a barrister! To be making money, as he was, almost as though he were in trade, would draw more disapproval from Lord Darton than he wished to deal with just now. Or ever.

  He opened his eyes and shrugged. “Believe what you will, brother,” James said, “I have no debts.”

  George smacked the flat of his hand on James’s desk. “Dash it all, James! If you don’t need funds, it must mean you’ve been gambling in some godforsaken gaming hell! And winning. For the moment. And I’ve no doubt you believe it will continue forever. But it won’t!”

  Lord Darton began to pace about the room. “You’re an intelligent man, James. You must realize they think you a pigeon ripe for the plucking and plan to do so the moment you let down your guard. They must believe I’ll back your debts. So they are letting you win. For the moment. But once you become accustomed to gambling large sums, you’ll suddenly find your luck changing. You’ll go down to the tune of hundreds or perhaps even thousands of pounds, I’ll wager.”

  He paused and stared grimly at his younger brother. In a stern, indeed quite fatherly voice, Darton said, “If you allow that to happen, James, I swear that will be the end of your allowance. I swear I’ll send you to live on my Yorkshire estate. I’ll not stand for a wastrel of a brother who hasn’t the sense to stay out of gaming hells! And don’t try to tell me that’s not where you’re gambling because I know full well how your luck has been running when you play in respectable homes.”

  James did not try to tell his brother a thing. Instead he tried to make light of matters. A tiny smile quirked at the corners of his mouth as he said, “I promise you,
George, you shan’t have to rescue me from my debts. Nor,” he added, holding up a hand to forestall his brother’s next fear, “will I resort to cents-per-centers. I know too well the danger there.”

  Lord Darton tried to stare down his brother, but it was hopeless. James merely smiled at him with that impassive expression he used to such excellent effect.

  Finally George gave another snort of disgust and turned toward the door. “Very well,” he said. “Have it your way. Just don’t cry to me when you find yourself in the River Tick. I mean what I say. I’ll cover your debts but you will find yourself on my estate in Yorkshire.”

  And with that, Lord Darton left. James watched him go and thought, inconsequentially, that it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing to be on the estate in Yorkshire. No one would bother him and he could tinker to his heart’s content.

  Ah, but then he would be away from his friends in London and the men here who were as eager to try new things, to experiment, as he was.

  There was even, he thought with a wry smile, a part of him that liked to go to balls and pretend to be an indolent dandy. He could not, mind you, entirely reconcile it with the serious side of his nature. But then, he was too easygoing to even try.

  Before he knew it, James’s thoughts were once more on Miss Galsworth as he imagined how she might look if he had the dressing of her and could determine how her hair should be cut. He even thought that perhaps, away from the crowded ballroom, she might be able to speak with some sense!

  Chapter 3

  He was not going to call on Miss Galsworth. Of course he was not. James told himself so, over and over again. Unfortunately he did not listen. Which was why, early the next afternoon, he found himself standing on her doorstep.