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Authors: Mary Nichols
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looked set to be overturned. And for what? A no-good Frenchman.
How long had Maryanne known him? It was the man he had seen leaving Beckford
Church; he was almost sure of it. Who was he? Not a gentleman, that was
certain, for he had not come out of the encounter with any honour. Well, the
world would soon know about it; the tale would go round, though he must be
careful not to tarnish Maryanne’s reputation in the process, and the fellow
would not dare to show his face again.
He went
upstairs and into the card-room, where the gentlemen who did not dance could be
found at the tables. The room was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of good
French brandy which, with the end of the war, was coming into the country
legally again, much to the chagrin of the smugglers. There was ribaldry and
laughter, except at those tables where the play was too serious to admit of
anything but the greatest concentration. Seeing the Duke of Wiltshire at one of
these, Mark went over to him.
His Grace was
corpulent to the extent of being gross; his tight coat of satin was stretched
across a belly that was obviously confined by stays tight enough to make it
almost impossible for him to bend. His purple waistcoat was heavily embroidered
with gold thread and his frilled shirt was topped by a collar whose points
threatened to scratch his cheeks whenever he moved his head. Beneath this, held
by a jewelled pin, was a voluminous spotted cravat. He beamed at Mark. ‘Come
and join us, me boy. Hunter is just quitting.’
‘Cleaned out,
I’m afraid,’ Lord Hunter said, rising from the table. ‘Perhaps you’ll have
better luck.’
Mark sat down
and a new game was started, but he was still too cut up to concentrate and had
soon lost a great deal, and it was no good applying to His Grace, because he
had lost even more. Lord Markham and Lord Boscombe sat with a growing heap of
coins at their elbows.
‘I’ll have to
give you a note,’ His Grace said. ‘Pockets empty. Didn’t intend to gamble
tonight. Got drawn into it by a fit of the blue devils. Not an eligible girl in
sight, except me cousin Caroline.’
‘Caroline!’
Mark said in surprise.
‘Why not? Seems
to me she’ll do very well.’
‘You can’t mean
it.’
‘Never more
serious in me life. Young, healthy and willing...’
‘I don’t
believe it.’
‘Why not?
She’ll jump at the chance to be a duchess, ‘specially if I don’t keep her on too
tight a rein. All I ask is discretion and care. Don’t want to play parent to
anyone else’s by-blows.’
‘Have you asked
her?’
‘Not formally,
but I will. She wants to have a ball at Wiltshire House -well, so she shall - an engagement ball.’
Mark opened his
mouth to protest, but decided against it, and they continued to play, but now
he had something else to occupy his mind besides Maryanne.
Somehow he had
to stop the Duke from marrying Caroline. If they married and she had a son, it
would put paid to his own hopes of the dukedom. The problem concentrated his
mind wonderfully and he was soon winning again, while His Grace found himself
even deeper in debt and the two baronets were just breaking even.
‘I’ll make you
a proposition,’ Mark said, when it looked as though the game was coming to an
end, because even the Duke realised he had gone as far as he dared; the spectre
of his mother’s wrath was large in his mind. ‘Double or quits on a little
race.’
‘What kind of
race?’ the Duke asked guardedly. Mark shuffled the cards, watching his face
carefully. ‘You’ve got a new rig, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, bang up,
and the best cattle in the country.’
‘Then I’ll put
my rig against yours over a measured five miles. If you win, your debt is
cleared; if you lose...’H shrugged, as if it were nothing ‘...the debt is
doubled.’
‘Don’t do it,
Henry,’ Lord Boscombe said. ‘The young shaver is a first-class whip.’
‘And so am I,’
His Grace said. He turned to Mark. ‘ I’ll take you on,
How long had Maryanne known him? It was the man he had seen leaving Beckford
Church; he was almost sure of it. Who was he? Not a gentleman, that was
certain, for he had not come out of the encounter with any honour. Well, the
world would soon know about it; the tale would go round, though he must be
careful not to tarnish Maryanne’s reputation in the process, and the fellow
would not dare to show his face again.
He went
upstairs and into the card-room, where the gentlemen who did not dance could be
found at the tables. The room was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of good
French brandy which, with the end of the war, was coming into the country
legally again, much to the chagrin of the smugglers. There was ribaldry and
laughter, except at those tables where the play was too serious to admit of
anything but the greatest concentration. Seeing the Duke of Wiltshire at one of
these, Mark went over to him.
His Grace was
corpulent to the extent of being gross; his tight coat of satin was stretched
across a belly that was obviously confined by stays tight enough to make it
almost impossible for him to bend. His purple waistcoat was heavily embroidered
with gold thread and his frilled shirt was topped by a collar whose points
threatened to scratch his cheeks whenever he moved his head. Beneath this, held
by a jewelled pin, was a voluminous spotted cravat. He beamed at Mark. ‘Come
and join us, me boy. Hunter is just quitting.’
‘Cleaned out,
I’m afraid,’ Lord Hunter said, rising from the table. ‘Perhaps you’ll have
better luck.’
Mark sat down
and a new game was started, but he was still too cut up to concentrate and had
soon lost a great deal, and it was no good applying to His Grace, because he
had lost even more. Lord Markham and Lord Boscombe sat with a growing heap of
coins at their elbows.
‘I’ll have to
give you a note,’ His Grace said. ‘Pockets empty. Didn’t intend to gamble
tonight. Got drawn into it by a fit of the blue devils. Not an eligible girl in
sight, except me cousin Caroline.’
‘Caroline!’
Mark said in surprise.
‘Why not? Seems
to me she’ll do very well.’
‘You can’t mean
it.’
‘Never more
serious in me life. Young, healthy and willing...’
‘I don’t
believe it.’
‘Why not?
She’ll jump at the chance to be a duchess, ‘specially if I don’t keep her on too
tight a rein. All I ask is discretion and care. Don’t want to play parent to
anyone else’s by-blows.’
‘Have you asked
her?’
‘Not formally,
but I will. She wants to have a ball at Wiltshire House -well, so she shall - an engagement ball.’
Mark opened his
mouth to protest, but decided against it, and they continued to play, but now
he had something else to occupy his mind besides Maryanne.
Somehow he had
to stop the Duke from marrying Caroline. If they married and she had a son, it
would put paid to his own hopes of the dukedom. The problem concentrated his
mind wonderfully and he was soon winning again, while His Grace found himself
even deeper in debt and the two baronets were just breaking even.
‘I’ll make you
a proposition,’ Mark said, when it looked as though the game was coming to an
end, because even the Duke realised he had gone as far as he dared; the spectre
of his mother’s wrath was large in his mind. ‘Double or quits on a little
race.’
‘What kind of
race?’ the Duke asked guardedly. Mark shuffled the cards, watching his face
carefully. ‘You’ve got a new rig, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, bang up,
and the best cattle in the country.’
‘Then I’ll put
my rig against yours over a measured five miles. If you win, your debt is
cleared; if you lose...’H shrugged, as if it were nothing ‘...the debt is
doubled.’
‘Don’t do it,
Henry,’ Lord Boscombe said. ‘The young shaver is a first-class whip.’
‘And so am I,’
His Grace said. He turned to Mark. ‘ I’ll take you on,
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