His Lordship's Chaperone

  His Lordship’s Chaperone

  Shirley Marks

  To the Vernon Girls—Jenny, Linda, and Kathy

  along with our newcomers Evelyn and Serena

  Thank you for your years of input,

  the acute turning of your “fresh ears,”

  and the weekly dedication to improve our stories.

  Where would we be without a Reality Check!

  As always … to my darling husband

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 1

  Robert Moreland, the Marquess of Haverton, stood in Lord Brayburn’s library for what he thought was a moment of solitude. He was not alone. Lady Joanna had been hiding in the darkened corner, working up the courage to finally speak.

  “Is there something in particular I can help you look for, my lord?” It took her another few minutes until she mustered the nerve to touch him. She ran her hand up his sleeve before acquiring the ultimate audacity to slide into his arms. “My father owns some fine leather-bound Shakespeare volumes and many ancient history studies if that is where your interests lie.”

  “I’m finding much more than I ever expected.”

  Lady Joanna was not referring to reading material; neither was he. What else could he say? Anything more would have been presumptuous. Anything less an insult.

  Haverton smiled. He knew exactly why she was here. It was not that he found her at all unpleasant. Lady Joanna was quite lovely and the Marquess could well appreciate her charms. However there would be no time for that. By the sound of the approaching footsteps, reinforcements were on their way. He and Lady Joanna would not be alone for much longer.

  “Thank you for your kind invitation but I fear I must decline.” He stepped away from her and moved toward the window, leaving Lady Joanna to stare expectantly at the door. Haverton gripped the window frame and pulled himself outside onto the ledge.

  “Ah ha!” cried Lady Brayburn, bursting into the room with Lady Joanna’s discarded chaperone trailing.

  “I told you Lady Joanna should not have been left alone, my lady!” the chaperone scolded. “What if some gentleman had trapped her behind closed doors and had his evil way with her?”

  If Haverton had not been mistaken, that is precisely what Lady Brayburn had been hoping. Lady Joanna had done her best to tempt him but her stilted behavior told him she was a mere innocent following instructions—most likely her mother’s.

  “Well … where is he?” Lady Brayburn sounded most anxious and very cross.

  “He’s gone, Mama.” Lady Joanna’s failure was apparent in her voice.

  “Lord Haverton could not have gone far. He was here just a moment ago.”

  The thumping and shuffling from inside told the Marquess the ladies were busy searching the room, looking around the furniture and behind the window draperies.

  “Did you make yourself available to him?” asked Lady Brayburn.

  “Yes, Mama, I did. I allowed him to—to—I did just as you told me.”

  “How could he have refused your invitation?”

  “I do not know, Mama.”

  “Did you approach him as I showed you?”

  It was astounding what a mother would have her daughter do to snag a husband. This had been by far the most outrageous.

  “Yes, Mama, I did. He seemed to be taken with me for the moment,” Lady Joanna sounded on the verge of tears, “and I tried to just as you instructed me, Mama.”

  “What is wrong with the man? You gave him every opportunity to—”

  “My lady!” the chaperone squeaked.

  Lady Joanna’s sobbing overrode her answer.

  Too bad Lady Brayburn had missed her daughter’s performance—it had been quite a spectacle. Haverton chuckled, momentarily forgetting the necessity that he remain quiet. After all, he was hiding.

  As amusing as it was to listen to the disappointed women, Haverton had to get back to the gathering belowstairs. Lady Brayburn might get the idea to look out the window. Then where would he be?

  He shuffled across the ledge to the room next door. Jumping in, he landed quite neatly on the edge of the Persian carpet. Haverton took a few moments to compose himself. He smoothed back his hair, adjusted his cravat and straightened his coat. Checking to make sure the hallway was clear before stepping out of his hiding place, the Marquess headed for the main drawing room.

  It seemed his popularity grew as time passed. Year by year the number of bachelors in Town grew smaller. Marriage was a fate they all faced, he supposed. However this business of trapping him for marriage was becoming very tiresome indeed.

  This had been the worst year yet and the Season had two weeks before it officially started. This year, he swore to himself, steps needed to be taken to prevent another such incident from occurring. He needed to do something to keep from always having to hide from or avoid the fortune-hunting ladies, matchmaking mamas, and assorted forward females.

  For all the pleasure a gentleman could derive from women, ladies made his life a living hell. Without question, something would have to be done.

  In one of the corners of the main drawing room, Lady Stratton chuckled and proceeded with her story. “After all the guests had left, it seems Lord Haverton dressed up as one of the footmen and slipped back into the house. Lady Firth had already gone to bed. As I hear it, Lord Firth was busy working late in his study.”

  “Had they arranged it all at the party?” Lady Clare inquired from behind her open fan.

  “I cannot be sure,” Lady Stratton continued. “Although I hear tell there had been some shameless flirting between them during dinner.”

  “I’ve heard that he’s broken off with Mrs. Cummings-Albright,” Mrs. Baldwin added. “It happened last year at the end of the Season.”

  “No wonder he’s so bold. Lack of female companionship will do that to a man,” Lady Clare replied knowingly.

  Lady Stratton and Mrs. Baldwin froze and stared at Lady Clare.

  “And how would you know?” Mrs. Baldwin asked. “Have you, by chance, had a rendezvous with him?”

  Lady Clare blushed. “Of course not! But don’t we all wish we could?” She giggled like an empty-headed schoolgirl. The other two ladies didn’t behave much better. They chuckled too.

  Stuff and nonsense. The Duchess of Waverly wished she had stepped away from the trio the first time she heard her son’s name mentioned. Why had she insisted on listening to the gossip? Gossip was just that—gossip. No real facts were involved, she reminded herself. Except she knew there was always some shred of truth in any rumor.

  The Duchess knew Robert had wintered in Sussex. A few months before, he had courted Mrs. Cummings-Albright and a few months later they parted company. In the Lady Firth fiction, the one piece of truth might have been that Robert had attended a dinner party at the Firth Lodge without Mrs. Cummings-Albright.

  The rest of the overblown tale—sneaking into the house after hours—could be just pure speculation or some bit of wishful thinking on the part of Lady Firth. Anyone, any female that is, would delight in any type of an association with the Duchess’ rich, charming, and handsome son.

  Which brought her to lament that Robert was much too rich, extremely too charming, and far too handsome for his own good. Although he had managed to handle the combination well, he tended to take most things for granted. That was his problem.
He could do whatever he liked with whomever he wished.

  Yes, she mused, things came much too easy for him. What his life needed was stability and direction. He had only a few more years before he reached the age of thirty. It was certainly time he provided an heir. Each and every Season that passed she had insisted he find a bride but this was the year the Duchess expected results.

  It was high time Robert married.

  Haverton stood in the doorway of the main drawing room and observed the members of the ton. Couples danced and, off to the side, others held private conversations. Across the room in another corner sat the dowagers, companions, and abandoned chaperones. Chaperones whose charges had escaped their attention, no doubt.

  How many poor fools would fall prey to some female’s set of contrived circumstances? Not all men were as well practiced as he at avoiding the modern day female. Keeping company with a married woman or a young widow was far preferable to any milk and water miss.

  He understood society’s rules concerning safeguarding innocent girls, but their chaperones were discarded at a time when, he believed, they were most needed. It seemed to him that chaperones were more useful protecting a gentleman’s freedom. Haverton stilled when the idea struck him.

  Chaperones.

  But of course, why hadn’t he thought of this before?

  If the women of London insisted on leaving their chaperones behind, he saw no alternative but to supply one of his own. Make no mistake, it would not be for the ladies but for his own protection.

  A brilliant, if not novel, notion and an entirely sound course of action. Nothing he could do about it presently. He could proceed first thing tomorrow—that was, if he could survive tonight.

  “There you are, Robert.”

  Haverton nearly jumped out of his skin when his brother called out to him.

  “I’m sorry.” Simon clapped Haverton on the shoulder. “I didn’t expect to scare you.”

  “I thought you might be someone else.”

  “Who were you expecting?”

  “Lord Brayburn,” Haverton confessed with a whisper.

  “Good Gad, why?”

  Haverton ran his hand down his waistcoat, smoothing any imperfections he might have missed. “His daughter, Lady Joanna, managed to corner me in his library.”

  Simon’s eyes widened. “I thought you knew better than to wander off by yourself.”

  “I needed to get away for just a bit.” Haverton squeezed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose, preparing himself for the torment that was sure to follow. “I thought I had seen enough of tonight’s festivities. Apparently I hadn’t seen enough. While in the library, Lady Joanna arrived and did her best to find a diversion to the merriment of the ballroom.”

  Simon laughed.

  “And while I freely admit that she is a diamond of the first water, Lord Brayburn’s library does not inspire me as the proper place for cultivating romance.” Experience told Haverton that nothing would halt his brother’s outburst. He had to stand there and tolerate it or make a scene fleeing. His early departure would certainly cause nothing short of a scandal.

  “She’s quite a fetching thing. I think you would have dug your heels in and enjoyed yourself.”

  “On the contrary, I escaped and managed to keep my virtue intact.” Haverton’s reply brought a fresh bout of laughter from his brother. “Had I not been on the alert, I would have been caught in that neat web designed by Lady Brayburn.”

  “Good thing you’re fleet of foot.”

  “Yes, but the years are catching up.” He sighed and tried to sound as tired and aged as possible. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  “You managed to escape quite unharmed,” Simon said, sounding wholly unsympathetic.

  “For the moment but I did sustain a superficial injury.” Haverton felt for the small torn seam under his arm. “Another incident such as that and I’ll be reduced to my shirtsleeves. What is it about desperate women?”

  “As I understand it, this will be her second Season. I’m of the opinion that Lady Brayburn expects her daughter to marry this year. If she’s after you, then she wishes her daughter to marry well.”

  Haverton glanced around the room, checking to see if Lady Brayburn and Lady Joanna had returned. “Fine. All the best to her I say. I’ll be more than glad to wish the couple happy and to attend their ceremony. But she’ll not wed me.”

  “How do you do it, Robert? How do you fight off the scores of women who relentlessly hound you at these affairs? Gad, I don’t have half the problem you do.”

  “You exaggerate, Simon. I am not pursued by scores of women.”

  “From what I understand, it’s when you single them out you get into trouble.” Simon’s laughter diminished to a mild chuckle under Haverton’s quelling gaze. “I’ve heard that you’ve been busy since I saw you last at father’s hunting lodge at the end of last year.”

  Haverton raised his eyebrow and regarded Simon skeptically. “I dread to ask it but what exactly have you heard?”

  “Something about you attending a dinner party and sneaking back into the house for a very early morning rendezvous with the hostess after all the guests had left.” Simon shook his finger at his brother. “I thought you knew better than to tryst with the lady of the house. Shows extremely bad form, lack of respect to your host and that sort of thing.”

  “Simon, I thought you’d know better than to listen to idle gossip. And the facts are very, very wrong.” Haverton laughed, but the twisted tale really wasn’t funny—just the abstract turn it had taken. “The truth of the matter was I tried to sneak out, not in. Lady Firth was the one who locked me in her closet, saving me for dessert.” He exhaled in exasperation. “What’s the use? I think you would know me well enough. Would I really do such a thing?”

  “I thought there might be a rational explanation. I just wanted to see the look on your face when you discovered what’s being said about you.”

  “I imagine that’s not the half of it. I am not so desperate for female companionship as to dally with the hostess of the party I’m attending.”

  “You know how to put an end to it all.”

  “Stop right there.” Haverton held up his hand. “Not another word.”

  “You know what Mother thinks …” Simon shrugged.

  “Speaking of Mother, where is she?” Haverton glanced about the room. He was sure he had seen her here earlier. Or was that at last night’s soiree?

  “Mother?” Simon pivoted, glancing about the room. “I think she’s over there.” He pointed to a corner. “Do you see her standing with Lady Clare?”

  Haverton looked over the crowd. “Ah, yes.”

  “Why the devil do you want to see Mother? You’re usually trying to avoid her.”

  “I am in need of her social contacts.” Exactly how he would explain that he needed a chaperone for himself was another matter.

  “It’s not to meet a certain lady is it?”

  “You are precisely right—it is to meet a woman.”

  “You know she won’t help you set up any questionable associations. Much rather you were seeing to an heir.”

  “It’s not what you think.” Haverton smiled. “I need a particular sort of woman.” He had until tomorrow to come up with the proper phrasing.

  “You’re asking for trouble.” Simon shook his head. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough of females?”

  “I’ve always maintained that I’ve had the lion’s share—” Haverton stopped abruptly when Miss Emma Dunstead slowed to stroll by at an amazingly slow pace. He made eye contact and returned her tempting smile. “I have no objection to the ladies’ attentions, as it were …”

  Miss Dunstead had blossomed from a slightly awkward young lady into the fine woman standing before him. Her delightful blue eyes, exquisitely dainty nose, and most perfect rosebud lips added to her newfound beauty. A wisp of dark hair feathered across her forehead and framed her heart-shaped face.

  “I do, how
ever, take exception to their impulsive rush to the altar,” Haverton concluded.

  Simon shifted his attention from his brother to Miss Dunstead. “It’s the way you look at them. What a talent! You make them fall in love with you just by looking at them.”

  “In love with me?” Glancing back again at the young lady, Haverton noted Miss Dunstead still looked his way and never seemed to notice Simon’s presence. “Nothing is further from my mind. I cannot prevent them reading something in my eyes that is not there.”

  She was far too young and far too dangerous for a chance meeting. Miss Dunstead was exactly the type that should be avoided.

  “It may not be intentional on your part, but you certainly do pay the consequences for their misinterpretations.”

  “You may be right but I shall not be paying much longer.” Haverton smiled wide and fully satisfied. “I believe I have found the answer to my problems.”

  Why do I bother attending these functions? The Duchess of Waverly summed up the evening as fairly uneventful. That was until she spotted her eldest son Robert coming her way.

  He edged around the dance floor and skirted around the groups of guests lost in conversation. The ladies, she noticed, were not so involved and with the exception of two or three, glanced at him with longing as he made his way past.

  “Good evening to you, ladies … Lady Stratton.” The Duchess watched Robert gaze into Lady Stratton’s eyes, bent over her proffered gloved hand.

  “Lord Haverton,” Lady Stratton returned. “Charmed, I assure you.”

  Why does he waste his glorious charm on these old bats? the Duchess silently chided. He was far from needing the practice.

  “Lady Clare.” Robert took his time to pay her the same attention as he had Lady Stratton.

  “Lord Haverton, I am so very delighted.”

  Of course you are, you twit. The Duchess of Waverly popped open her fan.

  “And, of course, Mrs. Baldwin.” Robert turned to the last lady, smiled and bent over her hand.

  “Your lordship,” she said and curtsied.

  Encroaching mushroom. The Duchess of Waverly fanned herself vigorously.

  Robert straightened and his eyes twinkled, making Mrs. Baldwin’s blush deepen.