Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations. Sarah Mallory

father made me your guardian?’

      ‘Because I know how much you dislike fuss, and with everyone saying you were far too young to be my stepmama—’

      ‘When I first married your father, perhaps, but I am four-and-twenty now!’ protested Phyllida, laughing.

      ‘I know that, but you look far younger and I thought they would bully you into submission.’

      Phyllida put her hands on Ellen’s shoulders and looked into her face.

      ‘I know I was very shy and, and compliant when I married your papa,’ she said seriously, ‘But I have changed a great deal since then, my love. I made my come-out fresh from the schoolroom and I knew nothing of society, which is a great disadvantage. I was determined you should not suffer the same way, which is why I thought a few months in Bath would be most beneficial to you.’

      ‘And so it will be.’ Ellen enveloped Phyllida in another embrace. ‘We shall have such fun together, you and I.’

      ‘Well, yes, I hope so,’ said Phyllida. ‘The past year, living on my own, has made me heartily sick of my own company. Now,’ she said, leading Ellen to the table. ‘Come and try some of the lemonade Mrs Hirst has made especially for you.’

      * * *

      The evening passed in non-stop chatter and by the time she went to bed Phyllida realised how much she had missed her stepdaughter’s company. Phyllida had been just eighteen when she had married Sir Evelyn and she had made great efforts to befriend his eleven-year-old daughter. Even though Ellen had been packed off to school soon after the marriage they had remained close, much more like sisters than mother and daughter. Phyllida had always felt that to be an advantage, but as she blew out her candle she was aware that the tiny worm of anxiety was still gnawing away at her comfort.

      At seventeen Phyllida had been painfully shy. She had been educated at home with her sister and had experienced nothing beyond the confines of the small village where they lived. Ellen was not shy. The select seminary in Kent where she had spent the past five years might have given her an excellent education but from her artless conversation it was clear that she had enjoyed far more licence than Phyllida had known at her age. It was doubtful she would feel any of the mortification Phyllida had experienced during her one London Season.

      Phyllida had stood firm against every argument the family had put forward but now she wondered if she had been selfish to insist upon bringing Ellen to Bath. The recent elopement of the late Marquess of Hune’s daughter with a penniless adventurer showed that danger lurked, even in Bath. What did she, Phyllida, know about playing chaperon to a young girl, and an heiress at that? With a sigh of exasperation she punched her pillow to make it more comfortable.

      ‘Ellen will have me and Matty to look after her, she cannot possibly come to any harm,’ she told herself as she settled down again. ‘I shall not let doubts and anxieties spoil my pleasure at having Ellen with me. We shall have a wonderful time!’

       Chapter Two

      ‘Good morning, sir. Her ladyship’s compliments, she hopes you will be able to break your fast with her this morning.’

      Richard groaned at his valet’s determinedly cheerful greeting. It was not that Fritt had woken him, nor a sore head that caused him to mutter an invective as he sat up in bed, but the memory of last night’s events. Had he really signed his name to that foolish wager? He had obviously been more drunk than he realised because he had allowed his dislike of Sir Charles Urmston to get the better of him. It was too late to cry off now, it was against his code of honour to renege on a bet. Damn the man, even the memory of Urmston’s self-satisfied smile had Richard fuming. The valet gave a little cough.

      ‘As time is pressing, sir, I have brought your shaving water. I thought we might make a start...’

      ‘Surely it can’t be that pressing,’ retorted Richard. ‘Where is my coffee?’

      ‘Beside your bed, sir, but her ladyship is always in the breakfast room by nine and it is nearly eight o’clock now...’

      ‘For Gad this is an unholy hour,’ grumbled Richard. ‘What time did I get to bed?’

      ‘I think it must have been about four, sir. Would you like me to inform her ladyship that you are indisposed?’

      ‘You know that’s impossible. She doesn’t ask much of me, so I must do this for her.’ Richard swallowed his coffee in one gulp. ‘Very well, let us get on with it.’

      He jumped out of bed, yawning but determined. He owed this much to Sophia. She had stood by him when the rest of the family had wanted him to disown his brother and he would never forget it.

      ‘Hypocrites, the lot of ’em,’ she had told him when the scandal broke. ‘The Arrandales have always had skeletons in their cupboards. Why should they object so much to yours? My door is always open to you Richard. Remember that.’

      He had been just seventeen at the time and grateful for her support. She had neither judged nor censured his conduct, even when he left Oxford and took London by storm, embarking upon a frantic round of drinking, gambling and women. No, she had not tried to stem his outrageous behaviour; it was in his blood, his father had told him as much. Everyone knew the Arrandales spread scandal and mayhem wherever they went. He plunged his head into the bowl of warm water on the washstand. He would stay in Bath just as long as Sophia needed him.

      * * *

      An hour later Richard walked into the breakfast room, washed, shaved and dressed in his morning coat of blue superfine. His great-aunt was already sitting at the table.

      ‘Good morning, Sophia.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘You are looking very well this morning.’

      ‘Which is more than can be said for you,’ she retorted. ‘I’m surprised that man of yours let you out of your room dressed in that fashion.’

      Richard laughed.

      ‘Are my shirt points not high enough for you?’

      The Dowager Marchioness of Hune gave an unladylike snort.

      ‘They are more than high enough. I can’t abide the fashion for collars so high and stiff men can’t move their heads, they look like blinkered horses! No, ’tis your neckcloth. Too plain. Not a scrap of lace. Your father wore nothing but the finest Mechlin at his neck and wrists.’

      Richard sat down at the table.

      ‘Well, you will have to put up with me as I am,’ he replied, unperturbed by her strictures. ‘It shows my affection for you that I am out of bed at this dashed unfashionable hour.’

      ‘If you did not stay up so late you would find this a very reasonable hour to be up and about.’

      ‘If you say so, ma’am.’

      She gave him a darkling look. ‘Don’t think I don’t know how you spend your evenings.’

      ‘Gambling, I admit it.’ He grinned. ‘It could be worse. I am avoiding the muslin company.’

      ‘I should think so, after that latest scandal in town. From what I hear you were not only involved with the wife of a government minister, but with his mistress, too.’

      ‘Yes, that was a little complicated, I admit. So, in Bath I will stick to the gaming tables. But you may be easy, ma’am, I never gamble more than I can afford.’

      He decided not to mention last night’s little wager. A mistake, that. He had no intention of joining the pack; they would be sniffing around the heiress like dogs around a bitch on heat. He hid a little grimace of distaste. He would rather lose his thousand pounds, write it off to experience. An expensive lesson and one he could ill afford, but he would not sink to that level.

      ‘And what are your plans for today?’

      Lady