Rake in the Regency Ballroom: The Viscount Claims His Bride / The Earl's Forbidden Ward

Chapter Eight

Philippa was going home. Danforth’s stultifying conversation at dinner decided it by the time the duck was served. She would leave in the morning. From the looks of things at the table, she wouldn’t be the only one.

Immune to such uncharitable thoughts, Mr Danforth held forth ceaselessly about his bank throughout dinner, although it was exceedingly obvious no one was paying him serious attention except Lucien. But even Lucien appeared to have his mind on other things. Philippa didn’t want to dwell too long on what those things might be for fear of discovering she was at the heart of them.

She was certainly at the heart of Beldon’s absorption. Beldon, who was normally very adept at dinner conversation, seemed lost in his own thoughts, letting his gaze drift between her and Valerian.

Valerian had apparently used up his quotient of good behaviour the night he’d squired Lady Pentlow. It was clearly not in evidence tonight. Valerian was in one of his blacker moods, not even making an effort to follow the conversation beyond sprinkling it with an occasional pointed comment regarding the risky nature of country banks. ‘Venture capital is all well and good, but let’s call it that instead of calling it “banking”,’Valerian drawled over the last course.

Lucien took offence, which was probably what Valerian had been planning, Philippa thought. ‘Exactly how is it not banking, St Just? We do what any other bank does. We loan money to those who wish it. We hold money for those who wish to deposit sums with us.’

Valerian sipped his wine thoughtfully. ‘With the exception that you invest deposited sums in high-risk ventures without the benefit of safe investments to act as ballast should the risk fail. Frankly, you and I both know there is a significant chance people could not get their money back. It’s why folk of our status bank in London at Childs or Coutts. Don’t you find it telling that certain classes of people are rather limited in the banks they have access to?’

Philippa didn’t like the gleam in Valerian’s eye, but could find no way to intervene without giving the impression she was championing Lucien. For starters, Lucien didn’t need a champion. He could handle himself well enough in a financial conversation. For the rest, she didn’t want to give any impression to Mr Danforth that she’d be willing to invest in his provincial bank.

‘St Just, are you implying that I would deliberately swindle investors by making promises I could not uphold?’ Lucien was all cold ice, piercing Valerian with a stare that said he was merely a comment away from pistols at dawn. Philippa stifled a groan. The Provincial Bank of Truro was about to erupt into scandal and the doors weren’t even open. She shot her brother a quick plea for help, but Beldon was enjoying himself too much.

‘I am suggesting that there is something of a history of short-lived provincial banks, that’s all,’Valerian said easily, his long fingers caressing the stem of his wine goblet. ‘Their limited livelihood comes from the tendency to invest in risky enterprises. Odds are usually against them. It wouldn’t be the first time something went amiss.’

‘It would be for me, Viscount,’ Lucien said evenly. ‘I have yet to invest foolishly. Those who follow my lead reap the profits of their trust. Don’t they, Pendennys?’ He looked down the table to Beldon for confirmation, putting Beldon in a tight spot.

‘That is certainly true, in my experience,’ Beldon acquiesced. But Philippa noticed he didn’t bother to elucidate further on the point. She could tell Lucien was disappointed. She knew Lucien had hoped Beldon would expound on the British-Bolivian mining colony in the Americas that the two of them had invested in. Beldon had sold his shares a few months back, reaping an enormous profit. It was left to Lucien to blow his own horn.

‘Pendennys and I had a lucrative opportunity in Bolivian silver. We took a large sum in the proceeds when we sold. I’d be glad to guide any investments you might consider making as well, St Just. Your man of affairs is welcome to contact my secretary any time,’ Lucien said with cold magnaminity.

He turned to the rest of the table. ‘Since it is just the four of us, I’d like to suggest dispensing with cigars and brandy. It’s been a long day with departing guests and the trip to Veryan. Perhaps, gentlemen, you would enjoy a game of billiards. St Just, if you’d like to play the pianoforte, feel welcome. Make free with my home. I find I have business to discuss with my gracious hostess. If you will excuse us?’

It was all skilfully done and moments later everyone was dispersed, leaving Philippa and Lucien to talk alone in his library.

The meeting was not at all what she was expecting. The last time they’d spoken, Lucien had been angry. Since then, they’d only spoken in the company of others. She’d anticipated a continuation of their former conversation. She’d anticipated an angry, self-righteous Lucien Canton. What she encountered was a very different face.

‘Sherry, my dear?’Lucien solicited from the sideboard, pouring himself one of his special after-dinner wines.

‘No, thank you. I have packing to oversee, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep this short,’ Philippa insisted, taking a seat in a deep-wing backed chair near the fire.

‘I am sorry to hear that. My valet reported you were preparing to leave. I’d hoped you would stay on after everyone had left. We haven’t had much time together this week,’ Lucien said in sincere tones, taking the seat opposite her.

He drew a deep breath and exhaled, relaxing. ‘This is nice, sitting with you by the fire. Two chums, taking their ease together, eh, Philippa?’ He gave a charming smile, looking and acting more like the Lucien she’d known over the past three years than the arrogant man of the last few days. ‘We are still friends, aren’t we?’

‘Of course, Lucien,’ Philippa said quietly. In truth, as upset as she was about Lucien’s behaviour, she could not logically throw out years of steadfast friendship with him over the matter of a few days and events; events she was responsible for. She imagined she might behave quite the same as Lucien had if she’d been in his place. No one liked being usurped in one’s own house and there was no denying that Valerian hadn’t hidden his dislike of Lucien Canton.

Lucien cocked his head to one side, studying her intently. ‘My God, you’re a beautiful woman, Philippa. The shot-blue silk becomes you.’

Philippa blushed. ‘Thank you. But I am sure that isn’t what you called me in here for,’ she prompted gently. She wanted to be in her room, watching the maid pack her things. When she’d returned from Veryan, she thought some of her things had been moved, that her escritoire had been looked through, gently, of course, but still it felt like a violation. The letter she’d written, but never sent to London regarding Valerian was in a different spot than she’d recollected. For an unexplainable reason, the incident felt like more than just negligence on the part of an unobservant maid cleaning the room.

‘Yes, our business.’ Lucien nodded. ‘I need to thank you for acting as hostess. Everything went splendidly, as I knew it would. I had time to talk business with my guests and you took care of the rest.

‘I also need to apologise. I have not looked after our relationship as I should. I was reckless and selfcentered. Such behaviour caused me to jump to poor conclusions.’ Lucien reached for her hand and closed his fingers around hers.

His hand was warm and she thought the gesture was meant to convey reassurance. But she wasn’t reassured at all. She had the distinct feeling they were being watched, and coupled with the fact that Lucien was not a man who would admit to such shortcomings, something was afoot, although she couldn’t put a finger on it.

‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ Philippa offered, hoping quick absolution would end the conversation. But Lucien wasn’t finished.

‘I have everything to apologise for. I didn’t understand how close you and St Just were, that he was your friend as well as your brother’s. I misunderstood your desire to simply spend time with an old friend. He had your time, Philippa, and I didn’t. It made me a bit jealous and jealousy can cloud a man’s judgement, make him see things that aren’t there or put incorrect constructions on what is there. I am guilty of doing that. I spoke harshly to you on New Year’s Day. You were right. Jealousy does not become me and, indeed, there is no place for jealousy between us.’

Lucien ended his pretty speech and reached inside his evening coat. ‘I have something for you, Philippa.’ He took out a square, blue velvet box and opened the lid to reveal a sapphire pendant on a thin gold chain, tasteful and expensive. It had not come from a local jewellers. ‘I made a shambles out of things New Year’s Day. No woman wants to be asked to wed in a haze of anger.’

‘You don’t have to do this. You don’t need to atone for anything,’ Philippa began to stall. Right now would be the perfect time for Mr Danforth to burst in and start babbling about his bank. The odd man hadn’t bothered to follow any protocols of polite conversation at the dinner table, why not put all that lack of couth to good use and barge in now, when it would be useful?

Lucien was prosing on about his growing sentiments for her and she supposed she’d better pay attention. ‘Although I regret my behaviour during St Just’s visit, I do not regret what his visit has caused me to see. That is, I want to spend my life with you. We are well matched in status and intellect. In you, I see more than a wife and mother to my heir. I see a partner. Would you consider doing me the honour of marriage?’

He was even down on one knee. Philippa was struck by how different her response to this scene might have been had it occurred a month earlier. She might have said yes immediately, as a logical conclusion of their long-standing friendship. Companionship was worth marrying for, even in the absence of passion. Her first marriage had been based on mutual companionship and it had not been a poor experience. But now, everything was somehow different.

Still, she was not foolish enough to toss away a modicum of happiness and security on a whim. Neither was she so much of a sapskull that she would ignore the assets of marriage to Lucien Canton. As her friend, he deserved more from her than an out-of-hand dismissal.

‘Lucien, you pay me a great honour. It deserves thinking about. Rest assured that your proposal will be in the forefront of my thoughts as I return home to Cambourne.’

‘Then take this pendant as a token of my esteem and my affection, Philippa. It will serve as proof that I am in your thoughts.’ Lucien was too gallant to refuse as he fastened the sapphire pendant around her neck. ‘Now, off to your packing, my dear. Rest well. I will be up to see you off in the morning.’

The wall panel to the left of the fireplace slid open and Mandeville Danforth came out of hiding. ‘That’s quite a room you’ve got back there,’ he chortled. ‘Right out of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s time.’

‘That went well, I think,’ Lucien said, uninterested in Danforth’s thoughts on the priesthole.

‘Yes, indeed. Although, she could have said “yes”,’ Danforth was quick to point out.

‘At least she didn’t say no. St Just has turned her head, but how far is hard to say. We’re not the only ones making inquiries in London. She’s thought about it. My valet found a letter in her room. Still, her doubts about St Just are enough for us to exploit if we must.’

‘We must. It is a foregone conclusion,’ Danforth corrected. ‘She must marry you or sell you all her mining rights and ancillary companies. You have to control the Cambourne interests. I don’t see her selling.’ Danforth’s eyes narrowed in thought.

‘We could stage another accident, perhaps several of them, that would convince her to sell.’ He began to plot.

‘No.’ Lucien cut him off sharply. ‘Properties with accidents don’t inspire investors to cough up their pounds. It would do us more harm than good in the long run. Besides, she’s stubborn and sabotage would take too long. We need those properties by late summer.’

‘Then it looks as if the Duchess should reconcile herself to being a June bride,’ Danforth said in a tone that suggested Philippa Lytton would find herself at the altar, whether she wished it or not.

Lucien raised his glass. ‘Here’s to the end of my bachelor days.’

Chapter Nine

She was glad to be home! Philippa put down her pen and looked up from her ledgers, taking a moment to stretch her back and survey the glorious view spread before her through the long windows of the library. Not even the fine mist that blurred the landscape could dim her appreciation. The vast lawns spread before her, green even in winter. The pond floated on the horizon, filled with ducks. In good weather, she would have been tempted to throw open the windows in order to hear their squawking.

In all, she’d been gone two months; first up to London for the Little Season and the Michaelmas session of Parliament, wanting to support some early discussions on mining reform; then to Richmond for Christmas and Lucien’s for New Year. Now she was home for three months before she’d need to return to London after Easter.

Home. Her kingdom where she reigned supreme. She did the ledgers, she oversaw the transactions of daily business, she visited the tenants, the fields, the home farm, the mining interests. Here, she was not ruled by any man.

Philippa knew how rare her situation was. It had not come easily, but at the price of sacrificing a youthful dream. She’d wanted to marry for love, the passionate romantic kind of love found in fairy tales and Minerva Press novels. Instead, she’d married the man of her family’s choice and found a quiet companionship with him.

Perhaps that was better. Her experience with Valerian had been quite illuminating about the quality and strength of romantic love. It had its limitations. But companionship had its limitations, too. Cambourne had been kind and generous with a giving that extended far beyond his purse. He’d educated her in business and finance, delighting in her interest in his estates.

In the beginning she’d become interested to keep her mind off Valerian’s desertion. She had to do something to fill her life. Later, she’d seen the genuine need to take an active part in the life of Cambourne’s holdings. She’d built the school for miners’ children and it had become one of her favourite projects.

Then Cambourne had died so suddenly, firing her involvement in legislation concerning mine safety. Oh, yes, there was no disputing that her life was full these days. She’d remade herself admirably as the young Duchess of Cambourne and then again a few short years later as the Dowager Duchess. But re-fashioning oneself was hard work and she had no desire to do it again.

Philippa fingered the sapphire at her neck. She’d worn Lucien’s gift today out of a need to honour her word. There was no one to see her, no one to hold her to her commitment. But she knew. She’d told Lucien she’d consider the offer. Wearing the pendant was a reminder of what she’d promised. She owed at least some consideration of his offer. Although, if he could read her thoughts, he’d probably wish she hadn’t felt so obliged. Marriage to Lucien would definitely require some re-fashioning.

Most likely, she could get her solicitors to design a betrothal contract that would protect her property, but it would be difficult. Not even a dowager’s possessions were safe from a new husband’s rights. She would have to give him something. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him precisely. It was more the issue of having to give up the control she was so used to having.

Control would be given up in other areas, too. Lucien would expect her to stay with him wherever he went. The year would be divided up between Truro, London, his father’s estate, and then Cambourne. There wouldn’t be time to live as she liked. Her interests would give way to his and when his father eventually died, Lucien’s responsibilities would increase. Becoming the future viscountess to Lucien Canton would require quite a lot of re-fashioning, leaving very little room to be the Dowager Duchess of Cambourne—obliterating it, in fact.

And for what?

Security? She didn’t need security. She had it aplenty with her own holdings.

Finances? She was far wealthier now than the Pendennys family had been during her growing-up years. Marriage to Lucien didn’t enhance her wealth in any meaningful way.

Companionship? Certainly they rubbed along well together, but that was already something she enjoyed with him, not something she needed marriage to gain.

Love? Definitely not. In spite of his protestations the night before she left, Philippa knew without question that Lucien didn’t love her any more than she loved him. She appreciated him, but one didn’t marry for appreciation. She wasn’t sure Lucien was capable of a great love, the kind of love you married for, because you knew with a pure certainty that this was the one person in the entire world whom you could find fulfilment with.

There were none of the usual reasons that women typically married for. She couldn’t think of a single reason why she would want to marry Lucien and give up all she had. It all provoked the question—why Lucien had asked in the first place? Surely he knew?

But Lucien needed the one thing she didn’t. He needed an heir and he was approaching thirty-five in a couple of years, the magical age when heirs finally decided it was time to start their nurseries and look to their futures. Perhaps he’d looked about for a wife and decided she would be better suited for him than one of the débutantes peopling London’s marriage mart.

That was a conclusion she could understand. Lucien would not tolerate an insipid wife. He would want someone with intelligence and social skills. It was the only conclusion that made sense. Like her, Lucien didn’t need additional wealth. Being a man and his father’s heir gave him inherent security. He didn’t need to marry for companionship.

Philippa sighed and took off the necklace, carefully laying it in a desk drawer for the time being. She’d take it upstairs later. Lucien would be disappointed in her answer and it could very well scotch their friendship. He would want to know why. He would try to resolve her misgivings with promises he’d mean to keep, but that social pressure wouldn’t allow him to—like the right to live her own life. He would say, laying out his assets like a balance sheet, ‘Why not me? Do you think someone better will come along?’

In fact, she did. At least she hoped. She’d married once for the sake of her family. If she married a second time, it would be for her. For someone who considered herself to be fairly conversant in the realities of the world, she was hard pressed to let go of her romantic notions.

It didn’t mean she had someone specific in mind and it absolutely didn’t mean she was holding out to see if Valerian could be brought to heel. He’d already proved he couldn’t be. But his kisses were hard to forget and served as potent reminders that one did not have to settle for the convenience of lukewarm companionship.

Philippa rose from the desk. The drizzle had stopped. She would change into a habit and take a ride between showers. When she came back she would write to Lucien and tell him of her decision. There was no sense in waiting. Bad news didn’t get better over time and the longer she waited to dispel him of his matrimonial notions, the more likely it was that he’d build up his expectation of being accepted.

Expectations being what they were, Lucien was not all that troubled by the arrival of Lady Cambourne’s letter at the manor in Truro the first week of February. In fact, he was precipitously jubilant. The New Year had got off to a perfect start.

Danforth’s bank had been well received by local men with money to invest. Cornwall was rich in many resources and not all of them came out of the ground. Industry bred invention. Plenty of men like Dabuz, Bolithio and Williams had seen the need for other industries like tin-smelting and gunpowder. Dabuz and Fox swore that smelters and gunpowder works were more profitable than the actual act of mining. From the amount of funds at their disposal, Lucien was inclined to agree with them.

It had been the simple work of a few dinner parties to corral the financial resources needed to start investing and buying. These men were as avaricious as he was. They immediately saw the merit in banding together to form a cartel that controlled the outside world’s access to tin and regulated the prices at which that outside world would have to pay for the commodity.

They’d also seen how important it was to control the mining interests in Britain’s new South American colonies. If those resources were allowed to compete against the cartel, it would diminish the profit. But if those colonies were controlled by the cartel, then the prices would be controlled as well.

Lucien had hand-picked the men who would serve on the new bank’s board of trustees and all had agreed buying up shares in the largest British mine in South America would be the first place they’d start with the building of their overseas control. Monopolies and cartels were tricky things. It wouldn’t do for there to be a large broadcast of their intended plans until they had some leverage.

So with his finances firmly in hand, Lucien had complete confidence that all else would fall into place, too. The letter from Philippa had arrived as if on cue. Just that morning at a bank meeting someone had asked about the Cambourne mines. He’d given the man an enigmatic smile and said vaguely something to the intent that he hoped to have more concrete news to share shortly. Then, like magic, the letter had arrived.

Lucien ripped open the envelope and scanned the contents, reading it twice and then again a third time to make sure he understood its contents correctly, his blood turning to ice.

Damn Valerian Inglemoore.

Lucien crumpled the note in one angry fist. The man’s name hadn’t been mentioned once in the missive, but he could read between every line. Although Philippa would deny it, St Just had turned her head. Whatever the man had once been to her, whatever claims, spoken or unspoken, had lain dormant between them during her marriage and his long absence, they had been awoken once more.

The man had kissed her at least once since his ill-timed return, making Lucien highly suspicious that St Just’s tenure away from fair Albion’s shore could be directly linked to Philippa’s marriage. Lucien didn’t like surprises. It galled him there was something of that nature he didn’t know about Philippa.

Lucien’s secretary knocked and asked for the day’s correspondence. Lucien sent him away. ‘No letters to write today. Take time to work on cataloguing the library.’ The door shut on the office.Alone again, Lucien took out a sheet of crisp paper. There was one letter to write, but it was too private to entrust to another pair of eyes.