Tangled Reins (Regencies 1)

‘Which ladyship?’ pursued Hazelmere, assailed by a sudden and revolting thought.

‘Why, the Dowager, m’lord!’ replied Mytton, at a loss to understand the strange question.

‘Oh, of course!’ said Hazelmere, relieved as enlightenment dawned. ‘For one horrible moment I thought Maria and Susan had come back.’

This explanation made all clear to the assembled company. Hazelmere’s antipathy towards his elder sisters was common knowledge. This stemmed from an attempt made some years previously by those rigid ladies to manage his matrimonial affairs for him. Their inevitable and ignoble defeat had culminated in their being persona non grata in his various establishments. As they were both married to men well able to provide for them, Hazelmere saw no reason for them to be cluttering up his houses with their meddling, strait-laced ways.

Absorbed in his own affairs, he had entirely forgotten that his mother, Anthea Henry, the Dowager Marchioness of Hazelmere, always came to town for a few weeks of the Season, and invariably attended the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. Again surveying the scene, he asked, ‘How is her ladyship, Mytton?’

‘She has retired to rest, m’lord, but said she would join you for dinner.’

Hazelmere nodded absently and led the way in between the various trunks and boxes, down the corridor and through the double doors into the beautifully appointed library. Ferdie followed, with Fanshawe bringing up the rear. Closing the doors behind them, Fanshawe turned with a grin. ‘They all seem to move with mountains of luggage, don’t they? Can’t think your mama will need the half of it, but mine’s exactly the same.’

Hazelmere ruefully agreed. Realising that to dine alone with his sharp-eyed parent might not be all that soothing to his temper, already under strain, he decided to call in reinforcements. ‘Tony, you’ll come to dinner? And you too, Ferdie?’

Fanshawe nodded his acceptance, but Ferdie replied, ‘Pleased to, but don’t forget I’m to escort the Merion party to the ball, so I’ll have to leave at seven.’

‘Well, if you’re leaving at seven we’ll have to leave earlier,’ said Fanshawe. ‘Don’t you dare leave Merion House until the carriage is away from this door!’

Hazelmere crossed to the bell pull and, when Mytton appeared, gave his orders. ‘And my respects to her ladyship, but we dine at five and are to leave fo

r the ball at seven. See that the carriage is waiting no later than seven.’

Mytton retreated to convey this unwelcome news to the culinary wizard downstairs. Hazelmere poured glasses of wine and, having handed these around, sank into one of the wing chairs gathered around the marble fireplace. Fanshawe had taken the chair opposite, and Ferdie was elegantly disposed on the chaise. Now that they were comfortably settled, a companionable silence descended. This was broken by Fanshawe. ‘What on earth made you come back from that ride so quickly?’

Without looking up from his contemplation of the unlit fire, Hazelmere replied, ‘Temptation.’

‘What?’

With a sigh he explained. ‘Remember we agreed we’d have to play by the rules?’ Fanshawe nodded. ‘Well, if we’d stayed any longer in that ride the rules would have flown with the wind. So we came back.’

Fanshawe nodded sympathetically. ‘All this is turning out a dashed sight more complicated than I’d imagined.’

That brought Hazelmere’s gaze to his face, but it was Ferdie, all at sea, who spoke. ‘But why is it all so complicated? Would’ve thought it was all pretty much plain sailing, myself, especially for you two. Simply roll up and ask the girls’ guardian, the horrible Herbert, for their hands. Simple! No problem at all.’

Seeing the expression of amused tolerance this speech elicited, Ferdie realised that he had missed some vital point and waited patiently to be set right. Hazelmere, eyes fixed on the delicate wine glass held in one white hand, eventually explained, ‘The difficulty, Ferdie, lies in divining the true state of the Misses Darents’ affections. To whit, I can’t tell if Miss Darent is merely playing the game or whether her heart is at all engaged by your humble servant.’

Ferdie regarded him with absolute disbelief, utterly bereft of words. Finally regaining the use of his tongue, he exclaimed, ‘No! Hang it all, Marc! Can’t be true. You, of all people. Must be able to tell.’

‘How?’

Ferdie opened his mouth to answer and then shut it again. He turned to Fanshawe. ‘You too?’

Fanshawe, head sunk on his chest, merely nodded.

After a pause while he digested this astonishing intelligence, Ferdie said, ‘But they both seem to enjoy your company.’

‘Oh, we know that,’ agreed Hazelmere dismissively. ‘But beyond that, I, for one, can’t tell.’

‘True,’ Fanshawe confirmed. ‘Only need to look into those eyes to see they like having us around. Like to talk to us, dance with us. Well, why wouldn’t they, all things considered? Fact of the matter, Ferdie, m’lad, is it’s a very long hop from that to love.’

The dilemma they were in was now clear to Ferdie. He was considering the possibility of helping them out, when he suddenly found himself the object of the Marquis’s hazel gaze.

‘Ferdie,’ said Hazelmere softly, ‘if you so much as breathe a word of this conversation outside this room—’

‘We’ll both make your life entirely unbearable,’ finished Fanshawe. This was a standard threat between the three, and Ferdie made haste to assure them that such an idea had never entered his head. He faltered slightly under Hazelmere’s sceptical gaze.

A dismal silence settled over them, until Fanshawe glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf and stirred. ‘I’d best be off to change. Coming, Ferdie?’