Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations: The Chaperon's Seduction / Temptation of a Governess. Sarah Mallory

which one of us will marry the heiress?’

      Cromby banged on the table, looking up with a bleary eye. ‘No, no, Urmston, that is unfair on those of us who are already leg-shackled.’

      Sir Charles spread his hands.

      ‘Very well, if you all want to have a touch, let us say instead, who will be first to seduce her.’

      ‘Much better,’ agreed Cromby, laughing immoderately. ‘Then we can all have a pop at the heiress.’

      Fullingham raised his hand. ‘There must be witnesses, mind—a trustworthy servant or some such to confirm the prize is won.’

      ‘Naturally.’ Urmston smiled. ‘Waiter, tell Burton to bring the betting book and we will write this down.’ His hooded eyes surveyed the company. ‘But there is one here who has not yet agreed to join us, one whose reputation as a devil with the ladies is well known in London. What say you, Arrandale? I should have thought you eager for this little adventure.’

      Richard did not allow his distaste to show.

      ‘Seducing innocents has never appealed to me. I prefer women of experience.’

      ‘Ha, other men’s wives.’

      ‘Not necessarily, just as long as they don’t expect me to marry ’em.’

      There was general laughter at his careless response.

      ‘What, man?’ exclaimed George Cromby. ‘Do you mean you have not left a string of broken hearts behind you in London?’

      ‘Not to my knowledge.’

      ‘Best leave him out of it,’ cried Fullingham gaily. ‘He is such a handsome dog the ladies can’t resist him. The rest of us would stand no chance!’

      ‘Certainly I have not heard of Arrandale being involved in any liaisons since he has been in Bath,’ murmured Sir Charles, swinging his eyeglass back and forth. ‘Mayhap you are a reformed character, Arrandale,’

      ‘Mayhap I am,’ returned Richard, unperturbed.

      ‘Or perhaps, in this instance, you are afraid of losing out to the better man.’

      Richard’s lip curled. ‘Hardly that.’

      ‘So why won’t you join us?’ demanded Fullingham. ‘You are single, if the chit took a fancy to you there is no reason why you shouldn’t marry her. Don’t tell me a rich bride wouldn’t be an advantage to you.’

      Richard sat back in his chair, saying nothing. As a second son he had been expected to find a rich bride, but his brother’s disastrous marriage had made him shy away from wedlock and he was determined to remain a bachelor as long as possible.

      He was fortunate to have inherited Brookthorn Manor from his godfather. It was a neat property in Hampshire that included a home farm and substantial estate. Without its income he would have been obliged to seek some form of employment by now. As it was, Brookthorn gave him independence, but he knew it could not support his lifestyle for much longer. It needed careful management, but when had the Arrandales ever been good at that? Their name was synonymous with scandal and disaster.

      Sir Charles was standing over Richard, a faint, sneering smile on his face. He said quietly, ‘A thousand pounds says I can secure the heiress before you, Arrandale.’

      Surprised, Richard looked up. ‘A private wager, Urmston? I think not.’

      ‘Very well.’ Sir Charles looked at the men gathered around the table. ‘There are eleven of us here.’ He gestured to the hovering proprietor to put the betting book, pen and ink down on the table. ‘How much shall we say? A monkey from each of us?’

      ‘What had you in mind, Urmston?’ demanded Tesford.

      ‘We will each stake five hundred pounds that we will be the first to seduce Miss Tatham. Burton shall hold the money until one of us is successful.’

      ‘Capital! But we should set a date on it, Urmston,’ cried Henry Fullingham, his words slurring a little. ‘Can’t have this going on indef—indefinitely.’

      ‘Very well,’ Urmston looked around the room. ‘Shall we say the next Quarter Day?’

      ‘Michaelmas,’ nodded George Cromby. ‘Just over a month. That should be sufficient time for one of us to succeed.’

      ‘Very well. Five thousand pounds to whoever can seduce the heiress by September the twenty-ninth. And of course the added prize, the possibility of marriage for those of us who are single.’

      Cromby laughed. ‘And if I should be successful...’

      ‘The way would be open for one of us bachelors to snap her up,’ Tesford finished for him. ‘And her family would be grateful for it, too. By Jove that is an excellent suggestion. I’m not averse to spoiled goods, if they come with a fortune.’

      ‘Quite.’ Urmston placed the book upon the table and quickly wrote down the terms.

      ‘Well, Arrandale, what do you say, does five thousand pounds hold no appeal? Or perhaps you prefer to run away, like your brother.’

      A sudden hush fell over the table. Not by the flicker of an eyelid did Richard show how that remark angered him. There was a mocking smile around Urmston’s mouth, challenging him to refuse. Richard looked at the pile of coins before him on the table. A thousand pounds. He had been planning to use some of it for vital maintenance on Brookthorn Manor, but now, dash it, he would show Urmston who was the better man! He pushed his winnings back to the centre of the table.

      ‘Let’s double it.’

      The tense silence was broken by gasps and smothered exclamations. One or two men shook their heads, but no one walked away.

      ‘Very well, a thousand pounds each.’ Urmston corrected the terms and held the pen out to Richard. ‘That’s a prize of ten thousand pounds, Arrandale.’

      Richard took the pen, dipped it in the ink and added his name to the others.

      ‘Ten thousand,’ he repeated. ‘Winner takes it all.’

      * * *

      ‘There.’

      Lady Phyllida Tatham placed the little vase of flowers on the mantelshelf and stepped back to look around the room. She had only signed the lease on the house at the beginning of the month and had been busy decorating it to her liking ever since, finally ending with this bedroom overlooking the street. Despite the open window there was still a faint smell of paint in the air but she hoped it would not be too noticeable. The room had been transformed from a rather austere chamber to a very pretty apartment by using cream paint on the panelling and ceiling and adding fresh hangings in a yellow floral chintz around the bed and the window. The dressing table and its mirror had been draped with cream muslin and new rugs covered the floor. Phyllida dusted her hands and smiled, pleased with the results of her handiwork.

      It was just such a room as she would have liked when she had been on the verge of her come-out, and she hoped it would appeal in the same way to her stepdaughter. Ellen was even now on her way from the exclusive seminary in Kent to live in Bath with Phyllida. Doubts on the wisdom of this arrangement had been expressed by relatives on both sides of the family. Phyllida’s sister had merely mentioned her concern in a letter, questioning if Phyllida had considered fully the work involved in being chaperon to a lively girl only seven years her junior. Her late husband’s brother, Walter, was much more forthright and had even posted to Bath to remonstrate with Phyllida.

      ‘My dear sister, you have no idea what you are taking on,’ he had told her in his pompous way. ‘My niece has always been flighty, but now at seventeen she is far too hot at hand. The tales Bridget and I have heard of her behaviour at the seminary are quite shocking!’

      ‘She is spirited, certainly—’

      ‘Spirited!’ he interrupted her, his thin face almost contorting with disapproval.