Revenge In Regency Society. Gail Whitiker

Two

      Anna pulled her dapple-grey mare to a halt by the base of a large oak and waited for Lady Lydia Winston to catch up with her. The two had made a point of riding together on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and these rousing canters had become one of the highlights of Anna’s week. Lady Lydia, daughter of the Marquess of Bailley, was by far one of the most amusing and interesting people Anna had ever met.

      ‘Goodness!’ Lydia said as she drew her spirited Arabian bay level with Anna’s mare. ‘I was sure I had you at the big tree, but you sprinted past me as though I was standing still!’

      ‘I suspect Danby put oats in Ophelia’s bucket this morning.’ Anna reached down to give the mare’s glossy neck an affectionate pat. ‘She’s not usually that quick off the mark.’

      ‘Nevertheless, I had enough of a lead that it shouldn’t have made a difference. Tarik isn’t used to being left behind.’ Lydia’s ready smile flashed. ‘I won’t be so easily fooled the next time.’

      Anna laughed, pleased that her little mare had done so well. She nudged her to a leisurely walk, content to enjoy the glorious morning sunshine and the relative emptiness of the park. During the fashionable hour, the avenue they were now travelling would be crowded with elegant carriages and their equally elegant passengers, but at this time of day it was the perfect place to enjoy a brisk canter.

      ‘By the by, have you heard the news?’ Lydia enquired.

      ‘That depends. All I heard at Lady Montby’s reception last week was that Cynthia Wicks had threatened to run away if her mother forced her to spend a month with her grandmother in Scotland.’

      ‘Good Lord, so would I,’ Lydia declared. ‘Lady Shallerton is a cold fish with whom I wouldn’t wish to spend an hour, let alone a month. But it wasn’t Miss Wick’s escapades I was referring to. It was the Baroness Julia von Brohm’s.’

      ‘Baroness von Brohm,’ Anna repeated slowly. ‘Should I know her?’

      ‘La, Anna, where have you been? It is all about town that the Viennese baroness has come to London to find a new husband.’

      ‘Why? What happened to her old one?’

      ‘He died. Almost two years ago now, leaving her a very lonely but extremely wealthy young widow. Apparently, he showered her with the most glorious jewellery and she was heartbroken when he died. Not because he gave her jewellery,’ Lydia was quick to say, ‘but because they were genuinely in love. But she is finished with her mourning now and has come to London to start a new life. I understand she’s taken a very fine house in Mayfair and is in the process of redecorating it from top to bottom.’

      ‘I’m surprised she would have chosen to leave Vienna at such a time,’ Anna remarked. ‘One would think she would prefer to stay with her family and friends.’

      ‘Friends I’m sure she has, but again, rumour has it that her only brother moved to America when she was quite young and hasn’t been heard from since. And both of her parents are dead.’

      ‘How tragic. What about her late husband’s family?’ Anna asked.

      ‘Apparently, they were never close. Difficulties with the mother-in-law, from what I hear.’

      ‘So Vienna is full of unhappy memories and the arms of her family hold no welcome. No wonder she decided to come to London,’ Anna said. ‘Has she any close friends here?’

      ‘I don’t believe so. Society is wildly curious about her, of course, but it hasn’t exactly thrown open its doors in welcome.’

      ‘Then we must be the first to do so,’ Anna said without hesitation. ‘I suspect once people see the daughters of the Marquess of Bailley and the Earl of Cambermere welcoming her, the rest of the doors will open soon enough. All it takes,’ she added with a knowing smile, ‘is that first little push.’

      Barrington’s sword flashed once, cutting a smooth silver arc through the air and echoing down the length of the long gallery. Metal slid along metal as the two men moved through the orchestrated dance of extend, lunge, parry and retreat, and while concentration was etched on the faces of both men, only Barrington’s brow was dry. He feinted to the left, drawing his brother-in-law’s blade wide and ultimately opening him up to defeat.

      ‘Damn it!’ Tom Danvers snapped as the point of Barrington’s sword flicked his chest for the fifth time. ‘You’ve beaten me again!’

      ‘And I will continue to do so if you do not apply yourself more keenly to the sport,’ Barrington said, drawing back. ‘You won’t stand a chance if you keep both feet firmly planted on the ground, Tom. You need to keep moving. Dance on the balls of your feet.’

      ‘Oh, yes, that’s easy for you to say,’ the other man complained good-naturedly. ‘I’ve three stone and five years on you and it’s not so easy being nimble when you’ve more weight below your waist than above it!’

      Barrington laughed. ‘Then tell that pompous French chef of yours to start preparing less fattening meals.’

      ‘What? And have him quit because I had the audacity to tell him what to cook! Jenny would have my head. Monsieur Etienne is the finest French chef in London!’ Tom exclaimed.

      ‘Be that as it may, he is not doing you any favours by serving all those heavy sauces and rich desserts,’ Barrington pointed out. ‘If you wish to be quicker on your feet, the weight will have to come off. In fact, I have a solution.’

      ‘I’m not sure I wish to hear it,’ Tom muttered.

      ‘Of course you do. I shall take Monsieur Etienne off your hands for a few weeks and you can have Mrs Buckers. I guarantee your clothes will fit better after only three days.’

      ‘Perhaps, but I won’t care because Jenny will have left me.’

      Barrington clapped his brother-in-law on the back. ‘A man must sacrifice for his sport. Ah, there you are, Sam. Has my two o’clock appointment arrived?’

      ‘Not yet, Sir Barrington,’ the secretary said, ‘but another gentleman has and is asking to see you. I put him in your study.’

      Barrington nodded. A visitor in his study meant one of his network had come in with information. Friends he welcomed in the gold salon. Any one else was made to wait in the hall until he had ascertained the nature of their business. He did not purport to be a private investigator, but, because of his past successes, there were those who sought him out regardless.

      ‘Thank you, Sam. Tell the gentleman I shall be there directly.’ He turned to smile at his brother-in-law. ‘Sorry to cut it short, Tom …’

      ‘No need to apologise. You’re a busy man, and, in truth, I’ve taken all the humiliation I can for one day,’ Tom said good-naturedly. ‘Before I go, however, Jenny wanted me to find out if you were available for dinner one night this week. She misses you dreadfully and even young George was heard to say it has been a great deal too long since his Uncle Barr came to play with him.’

      Barrington’s pleasure was unfeigned. ‘Tell my sister I shall make a point of coming one evening this week, and then inform my nephew that I shall be sure to arrive early enough to play two games of hide and seek with him.’

      ‘He will not sleep for the knowledge,’ Tom said, starting for the door. ‘By the by, I should warn you that you won’t be the only guest.’

      Barrington groaned. ‘Don’t tell me Jenny’s matchmaking again?’

      ‘I’m afraid so.’

      ‘Who is it this time?’ He sighed.

      ‘Lady Alice Stokes.’

      Barrington dug into his memory. ‘Lady Alice—?’

      ‘Stokes. Eldest daughter of the Earl of Grummond,’ Tom supplied helpfully. ‘Beautiful, cultured and an heiress in