An Ideal Husband?. Michelle Styles

of his valet. The sooner this contretemps in a teacup was sorted, the sooner he would get back to his dream.

      ‘Mother, what are you doing waking me up so early?’ Richard sat up and stretched. He glanced at the small ormolu clock on the bedside table. ‘I thought you would find this time of day exceedingly early for civilised people.’

      He waited for her to make her excuses and withdraw.

      ‘I left you to sleep for as long as I dared,’ his mother said, straightening her cap. ‘Luckily your sister remains in ignorance of last night’s events. I only pray we can keep it that way. Her head cold last night turned out to be a blessing in disguise after all. I dread to think what would have happened if Hannah had been at the ball.’

      Richard’s heart sank. His mother had obviously heard the wrong sort of gossip. Silently he bid goodbye to a morning’s rest. He would have to sort out whichever mess.

      ‘What promise have I broken?’ Richard retained a leash on his temper. His mother enjoyed her dramatics. ‘At least do me the courtesy of hearing the full accusation.’

      ‘You obviously haven’t seen the morning papers. It is in all of the local ones. It is sure to be in the London ones by nightfall. Your father will know you are here! He is far from stupid and he will know your reason for coming to Newcastle.’

      ‘I’m a grown man, Mother. My father doesn’t dictate or control my movements. There are numerous reasons why I might have travelled to Newcastle, none of which involved yourself or Hannah.’

      ‘He will ruin any chance of Hannah’s happiness out of sheer spite. You know what he is like when he is in one of his rages. How could you involve yourself in scandal at this juncture?’

      Richard pressed his palms against his eyes. He did know what his father was capable of and how, each time, the fits of anger appeared to last longer. Most of all he feared the gentle father he loved would remain a raging mad man, incapable of coherent thought. The doctors told him that there was nothing they could do except lock him up, and Richard was not prepared for that to happen.

      ‘Mother, as I went to bed in the not-so-early hours of the morning, I have not seen the papers. Whatever you are seeking to blame me for, I am innocent.’ He held out his hand. ‘Pinch me. See, I am here in my bed, alone.’

      ‘At least tell me that the woman in question is an heiress, this redoubtable woman of yours. Your father might understand your need to chase her up here if she was eligible. Your being single must be a worry. I know how relieved he was when I produced you as the heir. All your father has ever cared about was having the line continue and those blasted pigs of his.’

      He pressed his lips together, considering the first part of his mother’s statement. He could explain away Newcastle on chasing an heiress. His father would accept that, rather than going into some apoplectic rage over the fact that his son had regular contact with the one woman he hated more than life itself. His father’s mental state and health were far too fragile to risk that. He loved both parents and refused to bow to his father’s insistence that he choose a side. Once his father’s health improved, he would explain properly. For now, a small amount of subterfuge had to be used. Two parts of his life kept separate.

      ‘What do the papers have to do with it?’ he asked.

      ‘Myers, the Newcastle Courant for your master, if you please.’

      Richard nodded to his valet, who gave a bow.

      His manservant brought the Newcastle Courant as well as one of the more popular scandal sheets, freshly ironed. He turned to the gossip page of the scandal sheet and pointed. Richard gave him a curious look.

      ‘It has the best wording, my lord. The Courant used a bit more veiled language. I thought it best to take the precaution of examining all the papers. I like to be prepared for all mention of my gentlemen.’

      Richard scanned the paper and winced. Has the scandal-prone Lord B—been captured at last by the redoubtable Miss R—? Turtledoves were cooing last night. A wedding is devotedly hoped for but, given Lord B—’s form, not expected.

      Scandal-prone indeed! The last crim. con. trial had not been his fault at all. His name should never have been mentioned. The Duke of Blanchland admitted that later. He’d been the innocent party, attempting to assist a woman, driven to distraction by her errant husband. The Duchess had never been his mistress. He had already bedded her sister. He had his code.

      He folded the offending paper in half and glared at his mother.

      ‘Preposterous nonsense, Mother. You shouldn’t believe things that you read in the papers. Surely you learnt that long ago!’

      His mother slapped her gloves together. ‘I won’t have it, Richard. Not when Hannah is about to be married. They will drag up the whole contretemps between your father and myself … and the issue of Hannah’s parentage. And if your father comes up here, there is no telling what he’d do. He swore revenge. I won’t have my innocent child suffer!’

      ‘And this has nothing to do with Hannah. In any case, your late husband adopted his daughter. It was all sorted in the end. My father did behave well on that.’

      ‘He never paid back my dowry and he ensured I had to lead a life of economies.’

      ‘It was your father who negotiated the settlement. The money was spent in part on refurbishments that you ordered.’

      ‘Do you know this redoubtable Miss R?’ His mother slapped her hand down on the paper. ‘For the life of me I can’t think of any acquaintances with the last name of R who would warrant the sobriquet of “redoubtable”. There is Petronella Roberts, but she has spots, and Sarah Richards fills out her ball dress in all the wrong places.’

      ‘Sophie Ravel—yes, I know her. I would have used the word ravishing rather than redoubtable.’ Richard put his hands behind his head and conjured up Miss Ravel’s delicate features. Her generous mouth had held the promise of passion, if a man could find a way to unlock it. ‘Even Aunt Parthenope declared there was nothing scandalous in our behaviour.’

      His mother went white. ‘Parthenope was there?’

      ‘My aunt attended the ball last night. Apparently my grandmother is buried in Jesmond. She visits the grave every year.’ He glared at his mother. ‘You never said.’

      ‘She is sure to write to your father, giving a report. Even if he misses the papers, he will know you have been in Newcastle. Parthenope is like that—full of spite disguised as doing good. When she is at her most charming, she is also at her most deadly.’

      ‘You overreact, Mother.’

      ‘Richard, this is important. It is your sister’s future. Hannah has an excellent chance to have a glittering marriage. Could you use this Miss Ravel as an excuse to stay, rather than dashing off to London this afternoon?’

      Richard tapped his finger against the scandal sheet, the beginnings of an idea forming. Pursuing Miss Ravel without interference from either parent and seeing if there was passion underneath the ice she presented to the world was tempting, but…

      Richard folded the paper in half again. ‘What puzzles me is how quickly the papers have acquired the story.’

      ‘Someone is always willing to sell a good story.’ His mother gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Poor girl. It is the women I feel sorry for. The men can survive, but a woman, well, she always has the whiff of a scandal hanging about her skirts.’

      ‘I will sort it out before it becomes an inferno, Mother.’

      ‘I trust you to do the right thing, Richard.’

      ‘I am surprised you even need to say that, Mother. I know my duty. The necessity of doing it has been beaten into me since childhood.’

      ‘Did you have a pleasant time at the ball, Sophie? You said very little about it last night. You were back far earlier than I expected.’

      Sophie’s