A Question of Impropriety

Chapter Two

‘Rude. Arrogant. Impossible.’ Diana threw her gloves down on her dressing table and finally gave vent to her frustration. Passion and emotion were permissible in private.

Lord Coltonby actually thought that she would seek him out! And the worst thing was that he possessed the same sort of lethal charm that Algernon had oozed from his every pore. But she had learnt her lesson about how quickly such things vanished. Her rules had kept her safe since then. Diana concentrated on taking deep calming breaths.

‘Who?’ Rose, her maid asked, looking up from her pile of mending. Rose coming into her life was the only good thing that had happened in London. Sometimes, Diana felt that the world would have gone entirely black if not for Rose’s practical approach to life and her sense of humour. ‘What edict has the master issued now? You were displeased with him at breakfast. I could tell by the set of your mouth when he went on about you going to visit Lady Bolt. Why he should be interested in the Honourable Miranda, I have no idea. The woman is a menace. She is the sort who considers every cold a lung fever and faints at the merest hint of anything untoward.’

‘It is not the Honourable Miranda’s charms that interest my brother, but the possibilities of using Sir Norman’s landing on the Tyne if he makes an offer. Business, always business with Simon.’

‘Your brother should make other things his business. That son of his needs a mother. You do your best, Miss Diana, but you ought to have a life while you are young enough to enjoy it.’

Diana gave a short laugh as she gazed with fondness at her maid who sat sewing by the window. ‘I have discovered someone worse than my brother—an unadulterated rake who goes by the name of Brett Farnham, the sixth earl of Coltonby. He thinks all he has to do is click his fingers and women will fall at his feet.’

‘And do they?’ Rose laid her mending on her lap. Her placid face crinkled up. ‘I have often longed to meet one and to see if such a thing is really possible. What was he like, your mysterious rake?’

‘He is no rake of mine. He will have forgotten my existence by the time my gig turned the corner, and certainly once he encounters the next skirt.’

‘You judge yourself too harshly. You have done so ever since you returned from London.’ Rose made an impatient motion with her hand. ‘And what do you know of rakes and their doings? You resolutely refuse to read the Crim. Con. papers.’

Diana gave a small shrug as she stared into the large mirror that hung over the mantelpiece. Her features were ordinary: dark hair, reasonable eyes and an overgenerous mouth. They had not been what had caught the eye of Algernon Finch. He had been attracted to the size and newness of her fortune. And his determined seduction and easy manner had dazzled her. She had never thought to question his stories until it was too late, far too late. But she had learnt her lesson. ‘Brett Farnham is a rake, Rose. His exploits with gaming, carriage driving and women were the talk of London five years ago. But simply because other women fall at his feet, there is no need to think that I should.’

Rose made a noise at the back of her throat. ‘How has he behaved? Tried to flirt with you a bit? You never used to mind such things, Miss Diana…’

‘That was a long time ago, Rose.’ Diana tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear as she tried not to think about the girl she had once been. ‘I am no longer a green girl, ready to believe the lies that drop from a man’s lips, particularly not when he appears sophisticated and charming. And I have better uses for my fortune than buying a bankrupted title.’

‘Is Lord Coltonby bankrupt?’ Rose’s eyes widened. ‘You know a great deal about a man in whom you profess no interest, Miss Diana.’

‘The state of Lord Coltonby’s finances fails to intrigue me. I simply know what sort of man chased after me in London. Bankrupt. Let in the pockets. They saw only my fortune and not my face or personality.’

Rose shook her head so that her ribbons bobbed. ‘You should judge each man on his own merit. And stop seeing yourself as a plain old maid, an ape-leader who is on the shelf. Abandon your caps and embrace life. There, I have said my piece, Miss Diana, and it has been a long time coming.’

‘Please, Rose. You have it all wrong.’ Diana briefly related what passed between her and Lord Coltonby. Her voice faltered briefly when she neared the kiss, but she pressed on, avoiding any mention of it. If she did not think about it, it would be as if it had never happened. ‘I shall enjoy seeing his face when he realises who I am.’

‘Why would you want to do that?’ Rose finished darning a stocking. ‘I thought you were not interested in the man’s opinion—good or otherwise.’

‘I can hardly allow Lord Coltonby’s arrogance in the matter to continue.’ Diana pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to think straight as Rose’s lips turned up into a smug smile. ‘I do have my pride, Rose. Simon is a man of consequence in this county.’

‘It is a start.’ Rose shifted the mending off her lap and smoothed out the wrinkles in her apron. ‘You should borrow one of those lady magazines and see the latest fashions. One of Mrs Sarsfield’s daughters-in-law is sure to be willing to lend her copy of this season’s La Belle Assemblée. I could easily alter one of your London dresses.’

Diana shook her head. She had lost count of the number of rules she had broken today. Wearing clothes that made her fade into the background was vital, a constant reminder of what happened when one let one’s guard down. ‘My clothes suit the life I have chosen.’

‘It is such a pity. All those lovely silks going to waste.’

‘They stay where I put them—in the attic.’

‘You have mourned your fiancé for too long, Miss Diana. No one expects it. Not after the manner in which he died.’

Diana froze. How could she explain to anyone that she went down on her knees every night and thanked God for her lucky escape? That she had no intention of being caught out again. Ever. There were things about the past that even Rose did not know. Diana forced her fingers to pick up a pile of letters from the dressing room table. ‘The post has arrived. You should have said.’

Rose tightened her lips and showed that she remained unmoved by Diana’s sudden enthusiasm for her letters. ‘Doctor Allen has written. Already.’

‘What has Robert done now? It is barely a week into term.’ Diana tore the seal on the schoolmaster’s letter. ‘He promised me when we said goodbye that there would be no repeat of last year. He would attend to his studies. Simon will be so cross.’

‘It would be better if—’

Rose’s words were drowned out by a door being flung open. The noise resounded throughout the substantive house. Diana gave Rose a startled look and hurried out of the room.

‘He’s gone and done it! Lost everything! On a horse race!’

‘Who has gone and done what, Simon?’ Diana regarded her brother’s thunderous face as he strode about the entrance hall, his black coat flapping and his neckcloth wildly askew. ‘You will make yourself ill, if you continue in this manner. Be calm and collected.’

Simon gave her a disgusted look.

‘Cuthbert Biddlestone has wagered his fortune on a carriage race. And lost.’ He handed the cane and top hat to Jenkins, the butler. ‘He lost his entire Northumberland estate, everything that was not in the entail.’ Simon Clare shook his head as his dark green eyes flashed emerald fire. ‘He wagered the whole thing on his ability to handle the ribbons against one of the best horsemen in the country! His father would be turning in his grave if he knew.’

‘I suspect he did know. It is why he put off Sir Cuthbert’s majority until he was thirty.’ Diana forced her lips to turn up, but saw no answering smile in her brother’s face. If anything, his face became darker. ‘You always predicted such a thing would happen. What was it that you called Sir Cuthbert—a witless fop?’

‘He was a fool. He claimed in his letter that it was my fault as he wanted the money to invest in the travelling engine.’

‘That is complete nonsense!’

‘But it is exactly like Biddlestone. And he did not listen to what I said. I only wanted a bit of his money…for my new engine. Then with the proceeds from the investment, he would have been able to build that new Italianate manor he was always on about. I was even prepared to sell him that parcel of land overlooking the Tyne—you know, the one where the old wooden wagon-way used to run—at a knockdown price.’ Simon ran a finger about his collar.

‘But what does this have to do with the new owner?’

‘He wants to buy the land. Says Biddlestone and I had an agreement. Goodness knows what arrangement he will then strike with Sir Norman Bolt. Bolt’s been after that land for years. About the only spark of intelligence Biddlestone showed was his loathing of Sir Norman.’ Simon’s lower lip stuck out. ‘Is it any wonder that I am furious? Get me the latest copy of Debrett’s, Jenkins, I want to know the measure of this Earl of Coltonby.’

Diana reached down and gave Titch a pat on the head. Lord Coltonby had told the truth—he was their nearest neighbour. The terrier looked up with big eyes. The simple act eased her nerves. She would be practical and she would not give in to her fears as Simon appeared to be overwrought enough for the both of them. Calmness and tranquillity were the keys to an orderly life. ‘Why should it affect us? Why shouldn’t we be able to go on as before? The colliery is profitable.’

‘Everything has changed, Diana. Everything.’ Simon’s lip curled back slightly and his eyes became even greener. ‘The bloody Earl of Coltonby now demands that I dance attendance on him and listen to his scheme for improving the area. I dare say that he will tap me for money. These aristocrats are all the same. Jenkins, I want my copy of Debrett’s now, not in a month’s time!’

‘I am trying, Mister Clare.’ The butler’s voice echoed from the library. ‘It does take time.’

‘I know of Lord Coltonby,’ Diana said quietly as Simon looked about to explode and the butler wore a hurt expression. The last thing she wanted was to have to find yet another butler. Jenkins was the third butler they had had in a year. ‘He was there when Algernon died. One of the seconds…for the other man. It was all in Algernon’s last letter. Then Brett Farnham…’

Diana hated the way her voice trembled. She swallowed hard and steeled herself to explain about today, but Simon held up his hand, preventing her from speaking further, from telling him about her earlier encounter with Lord Coltonby.

‘By all that is holy! Brett Farnham…’ He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. ‘I never realised your fiancé knew him. I would never have listened to Jayne and agreed to the match if I’d known that.’

‘You never wished to know much about him,’ Diana replied carefully. She refused to speak ill of the dead—neither Algernon nor Simon’s late wife, Jayne. ‘Perhaps it would have been better if you had. How do you know Brett Farnham?’

‘Farnham and I were at Cambridge together. He with his drawling voice and oh-so-smooth manner as he threatened to dunk me in the Cam for wearing the wrong cut of coat.’

‘It was mostly likely a joke, in poor taste, but an idle boast.’

‘The water was ice cold, but I swam to the other side while he and the rest of his cohorts stood braying on the bank.’ Simon’s eyes flashed a brilliant green. ‘The man is debauched, Diana. He bragged about his gambling prowess and how well he drove carriages. And the women. You should have seen the parade in and out of his rooms. He and his kind are one of the reasons I detested Cambridge.’

‘It may not be as bad you fear. Rakes are ever in need of money.’ Diana kept her head high and her voice expressionless. She wanted to shake Simon. He should have questioned her chaperon in greater detail before entering into negotiations about her marriage.

‘Why me? Why now when the engine design is beginning to show its true potential? Why am I being punished in this way?’ Simon slammed his hand down on the mantelpiece, making the Dresden shepherdess jump. ‘I should have insisted on the agreement being formal, but Sir Cuthbert hemmed and hawed about being honourable gentlemen. Honourable! Him! My great-aunt Fanny! He wagered his entire estate on a daft horse race. How can that be considered honourable?’

‘He was not the man his father was.’ Diana closed her eyes. ‘The ways of the aristocracy are very different from ours. They always honour their debts to other gentlemen.’

‘And never to their tailors. Papa finished being a tradesman before you were born and I am no tradesman’s son.’ Simon waved an impatient hand. ‘I do not need the lecture, Diana. We both know what they are like, despite our dear papa’s desire to become one. Coltonby is the worst of the lot. Mark my words. He will be up to some deviltry.’

‘You don’t know that.’ Diana laid a hand on her brother’s arm. She had to get Simon out of his black mood. A fit of the blue devils was not what anyone needed. The entire house’s routine would be upset for days on end. ‘Think logically, Simon.’

‘You are against me as well! My own sister.’ Simon slammed his fist against the table, narrowly missing the alabaster lamp.

‘Simon Clare. Do not pick a fight with me, simply because you are cross with Lord Coltonby and his treatment of you years ago. You will find the finance for the engine. Perhaps Lord Coltonby is keen on all these new machines. Maybe he, too, sees the possibilities of steam and iron. Ask him. Maybe he will want to invest.’

‘Ask? You never ask Farnham anything. He always declined politely to remove his boots from the stairwell, to not hold drunken parties, to stop fraternising with coachmen. He simply curls his lip and laughs at you.’

‘You could try. People do change. You have.’ Diana regarded her brother with his expensive frock coat and well-tied neckcloth, the very image of a prosperous landowner. ‘You are no longer a student at Cambridge with little consequence. You do have a name and standing in Northumberland. You have a reputation for innovation and resourcefulness. The earl will listen to reason in time. You are under no obligation to sell that parcel of land.’

‘I hope you are right, sister.’ Simon’s face closed down. ‘Is there a method you would like to suggest?’

‘Yes, wait and see.’ Diana popped the final bit of toast into the terrier’s mouth. ‘Time has a way of solving problems.’

Brett paced the library of Ladywell Park, sidestepping the boxes of books that needed to be re-shelved and the portraits of Cuthbert Biddlestone’s ancestors that needed to be sent on their way. The Beauty of the road invaded his thoughts, preventing him from learning more about the estate and how mismanaged it was, from planning his new house overlooking the Tyne, one which would be free of damp and mismatched rooms. He had had plans drawn for one years ago, something he had promised himself when he finally succeeded in restoring the family’s fortune. And the outlook here was perfect. Biddlestone had been correct about that.

Who was she? Her eyes haunted him. Blue speckled with green, fringed with dark lashes. He had seen them before. He idly took down a book. ‘Finch, Finch. Should I know the name?’

‘You won’t find songbirds there, begging your pardon, sir,’ Hunt, the butler, put down the tray of port. ‘Birds and natural history have always been kept at the other end of library. Shall I fetch you a book on the subject?’

‘Songbirds?’ Brett snapped the book and turned to face his new butler. ‘Admirable insight, Hunt. You must tell me how you do it some time. Songbirds, indeed.’

‘I do try, my lord.’

Brett waved a hand, dismissing the butler. Then in the stillness of the room, he poured a glass of port from the decanter and swirled the ruby-red liquid.

Songbird. Finch. Algernon Finch. Son of Hubert Finch, Viscount Whittonstall. He’d died in the duel. That dreadfully pointless duel over a disputed Cyprian. How could he have forgotten the name of Bagshott’s opponent? The man who had unwittingly changed Brett’s best friend’s life and his own. A stupid boorish man who’d got everything he’d deserved.

It bothered Brett that the detail of Songbird’s name had slipped away. He had been so sure that he would remember everything. The mud, the mist and the absolute horror of a life ended in such a way. Bagshott had already been up to his neck in debt, but it had not stopped him from quarrelling with Songbird. Standing on the dock after he’d bundled Bagshott into a ship, Brett had vowed that he would make a new start, that he would succeed and would restore his family’s fortune. That he would not waste his talent, waste his life; but would use it wisely. But he had forgotten Finch’s first name. And that of the man’s fiancée.

How much else had he forgotten? Brett pressed his knuckles into his forehead.

Now all he had to do was remember her name, and why she was off limits to him.

* * *

‘A man approaches,’ Rose said the next morning as Diana sat re-trimming her straw bonnet in the dining room. ‘He is driving one of the smartest carriages I have ever seen.’

‘Since when were you interested in carriages, Rose?’

‘I have an eye for a well-turned carriage, same as the next woman. My uncle used to work at Tattersalls. You should have seen them come in their carriages.’ Diana’s maid gave a loud sniff. ‘Which admirer of yours drives such a thing?’

‘I have no admirers, as you well know.’ Diana bent her head and concentrated on the bonnet. A large silk rose now hid the mudstain and the ribbons were a deep chocolate brown instead of hunting green. More sombre. Less noticeable. By following her rules, her life was returning to its well-ordered pattern. ‘It will be someone coming to see Simon.’

‘The master is at the colliery. Where he always is these days. Why would a man not call there?’

Diana stood and went to stand by Rose. Her breath stopped. Lord Coltonby neatly jumped down from the high-perch phaeton and handed the ribbons to his servant. Diana drew back from the window as his intense gaze met hers. Her heart skipped a beat, but ruthlessly she suppressed it. She began to pace the drawing room. ‘Lord Coltonby, Rose. He has come to call. What has Simon gone and done now? I told him to wait.’

‘Shall I inform his lordship that both you and the master are not at home, Miss Diana?’ Jenkins asked, coming into the dining room.

‘No, no, Jenkins. I will see him. I want to know why he is here. I can only hope that Simon has not done anything rash.’ Diana’s hands smoothed her gown and adjusted her cap so it sat squarely on her head. Although some might have argued that at twenty-two she was far too young for a cap, Diana had worn it ever since that dreadful day in London when she had received news of Algernon’s death. There was a safety of sorts in caps. ‘You may show him into the drawing room if he asks to see either one of us. Else you can take his card if he asks to see Simon.’

‘Should I stay with you, Miss Diana?’

‘That won’t be necessary, Rose. I believe I have the measure of the man,’ Diana dismissed the maid. The last thing she wanted was some subtle interference from Rose.

Diana forced herself to wait calmly and to rearrange the various vases on the mantelpiece as she strained to hear the conversation between Jenkins and Lord Coltonby. Why had he appeared today and what would he say when he realised who she was? Diana gave a wry smile. She doubted that he would call her Beauty any more. She would be proper and hold her temper—the very picture of a spinster, an ape-leader.

Brett followed the butler into the Clares’ drawing room. The house exuded new money, rather than old. The drawing room, with its multitude of alabaster lamps, Egyptian-style chairs and green-and-gold striped walls, was the height of fashionable elegance, even though the colours were enough to make a grown man wince in pain. He could well remember Clare revelling in his wealth at university, always going on about his latest acquisition or his father’s newest business. A man who knew the price of everything and the value of nothing. A man without bottom. He had not changed.

‘I wish to speak with…’ Brett arched an eyebrow as his gaze took in Diana Clare. Even her badly fitting dress in a green that rivalled the chocolate brown she had worn the other day for sheer horror and the oversized cap with ribbons did little to diminish her memorable eyes. Their almond shape and the curve of her mouth had plagued his dreams last night. Clare’s sister. And a woman with a delectable bottom. ‘How pleasant to renew your acquaintance, Miss Clare. I believe we once had correspondence on a less happy occasion.’

‘I thought you had no recollection…’ Miss Clare’s pale cheeks flushed.

Brett inclined his head. ‘I regret that it took me a while to connect you with Songbird’s demise. I had quite forgotten that his fiancée was from Northumberland. Forgive me.’

He watched her intently. The aftermath of that day lived with him still. His determination to do more than simply chase skirts and play at gaming tables stemmed from the moment he’d seen Finch breathe his last. He had seen how quickly the dead and the departed were forgotten, not even a ripple on time.

‘Songbird?’ A puzzled frown appeared between her brows, marring her perfect skin. ‘I am afraid that you are now the one who holds the advantage, Lord Coltonby.’

‘Algernon Finch, as was. I only recalled him by his nickname, more’s the pity. I had thought every detail to be emblazoned on my mind and now find that certain details had slipped from my grasp. A thousand pardons.’ Brett tightened his grip on his cane and prevented any words from slipping out. The irony of the situation did not escape him. The whore had taken a new man within hours of the duel, despite her protestations of undying devotion to Bagshott. And yet, Miss Clare, the innocent fiancée, who had had no party in the action was here, alone, apparently living a retired life. ‘A sorry business that day. Totally unnecessary. Both men were insensible to reason. They paid a high price.’

‘You do remember.’ Her blue-green eyes widened slightly.

‘It took me until the early hours of this morning to recall the precise identity of the fiancée,’ Brett explained smoothly. ‘It was a nag at the back of my mind that prevented me from sleeping. I then felt compelled to apologise for my behaviour. It was unforgivably rude of me to question your source of information. Although I would contend that Songbird was not the most reliable of men when alive. And people change over the years. You should not judge me on his tittle-tattle.’