Disgrace and Desire. Sarah Mallory

      ‘What the devil do you mean by that, Clifton?’

      There was a tension around the table. Jack met Deforge’s hard eyes with a steady gaze.

      ‘I think you might be looking to replenish your fortune.’

      Deforge shrugged.

      ‘No sensible man takes a penniless bride.’

      ‘Your first wife was not penniless,’ remarked Jack, a hard edge to his voice. ‘I hear that there is nothing left of her fortune now, save the house in Berkshire, and you would sell that if it were not mortgaged to the hilt.’

      An unpleasant smile curled Sir Ronald’s thick lips. He said softly, ‘Your allegations have all the marks of a disappointed suitor, Clifton.’

      ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is all history,’ declared the whiskery gentleman sitting beside Jack. ‘If you wish to quarrel then take yourselves off somewhere and let the rest of us get on with our game!’

      ‘Aye, let us play,’ added Charles Renwick hastily. ‘Deal the cards, Deforge, if you please.’

      Jack spread his hands, signifying his acceptance and after a final, angry glare Deforge turned his attention back to the game. It did not last long. Luck was running with the dealer and as soon as the last card was played Sir Ronald scooped up his winnings and left.

      Charles Renwick called for a fresh pack of cards.

      ‘You caught him on the raw there,’ he remarked, watching Deforge stalk out of the room. ‘Damnation, Jack, why did you have to mention his dead wife?’

      ‘Because I don’t believe her death was an accident.’

      Charles Renwick leaned over and placed his hand on Jack’s sleeve. He said, ‘Let be, my friend. It was years ago. It can do no good for you to dwell on it now.’

      Jack’s hands clenched into fists, the knuckles showing white against the green baize of the table. How could he be thankful that the girl he had wanted to marry, the love of his life, was dead?

      They subsided into silence as the next game of bassett began. Jack played mechanically, his thoughts still on Deforge. He hated the man because he had stolen the woman he loved, but was that rational? Clara had been free to make her own choice. He had no proof that she had not been happy in her marriage, only a feeling in his gut. He gave himself a mental shake. Clara was dead. There was nothing he could do about that now. It was time to forget the past.

      ‘I did hear Deforge is running low on funds.’

      The remark by one of the players broke into Jack’s thoughts.

      ‘As long as he can pay his gambling debts, I don’t care,’ laughed Edward Graham.

      ‘If he marries the Glorious Allyngham his worries will be over,’ said the gentleman with the red side-whiskers.

      ‘She won’t have him,’ said Jack emphatically.

      ‘Oho, what do you know, Clifton?’

      Jack shook his head. The thought of that beautiful, golden creature marrying Sir Ronald Deforge turned his stomach. He schooled his face into a look of careful indifference.

      ‘If the lady is as rich and independent as you say she has no need to marry a man like Deforge.’

      ‘Perhaps you think she might prefer a handsome soldier,’ chuckled Graham, giving a broad wink to his companions.

      Charles Renwick cocked an eyebrow.

      ‘Fancy a touch at the widow yourself, Clifton? Well, I wish you luck.’

      ‘I need more than that,’ grinned Jack. ‘We have not yet been introduced.’

      The red side-whiskers shook as their owner guffawed loudly.

      ‘What, and you stole a dance with the widow? Impudent young dog!’

      ‘If you want an introduction, my boy, my wife is giving a little party tomorrow. A soirée, she calls it,’ said Renwick. ‘Come along and she’ll present you to the Glorious Allyngham.’

      ‘Thank you, I will.’

      ‘I’ll wager Mortimer won’t let you breach that particular citadel,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘I think Renwick has the right of it and Alex Mortimer’s looking to wed her himself. His principal estate marches with the Allyngham lands: I’d wager a monkey he would very much like to combine the two.’

      Jack took another card and studied his hand. He did not like the conversation but knew that any remonstrance on his part would only fuel the speculation.

      ‘That might be his intention, but what about the lady?’ remarked Renwick, flicking a smile towards Jack. ‘Our mutual acquaintances in Paris tell me the Major has gained quite a reputation over there with the fairer sex, to say nothing of the havoc he wreaked with the beauties of Spain and Portugal.’

      ‘Ah, but the Glorious Allyngham’s different: you might say Mortimer is already in residence,’ chuckled Graham. ‘He will protect his own interests, I’m sure.’

      Jack threw down his hand.

      ‘Deuce and a pair of fives. I am done, gentlemen.’

      Mr Graham gave a snort.

      ‘Well you know what they say, Clifton, unlucky at cards…I’ll wager Lady Allyngham will be married before the year is out. Any takers, gentlemen?’

      Jack smiled but made no reply to that. With a nod he took his leave of them and as he walked away he heard the man with the red side-whiskers calling for the betting book.

      Jack made his way to his lodgings in King Street, where his valet was waiting up for him, dozing in a chair. He jerked awake and jumped up as Jack came in.

      ‘You’s early, Major,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. ‘Didn’t think to see you for an hour or so yet.’

      ‘I have an appointment with my man of business tomorrow morning.’

      Jack allowed himself to be eased out of his coat and waistcoat but then waved his man away.

      ‘Thank you, Robert. I can manage now. Wake me at eight, if you please.’

      When he was alone, Jack delved into the bottom of his trunk, searching for the ring and the locket that he had carried with him since Waterloo. They were safe, tucked into a small leather pouch at one side of the trunk. On impulse he pulled out the locket and carried it to the bed, where he opened it and turned it towards the flickering light of his bedside candle. Two faces stared out at him, the colours jewel-bright. Lord Allyngham’s likeness was very much as Jack remembered him, curling brown hair and a cheerfully confident smile. The other face was but a pale imitation of the original. He frowned. Tony Allyngham’s image of his quiet, loyal, loving wife was sadly at odds with the glorious creature that now had all of London at her feet.

      The Renwicks’ narrow town house was full to overflowing by the time Eloise arrived.

      ‘What a squeeze,’ muttered Alex as he escorted her upstairs. ‘I do not know how you expect to find anyone in this crush!’

      ‘You are too pessimistic, my friend. If Lord Berrow is here I shall find him.’ She swept ahead of him to greet their hostess, and moments later they were pushing their way through the crowded rooms. There was to be no dancing, just a little music provided by those proficient at the pianoforte and the harp, and Mrs Renwick had hired an Italian singer for their entertainment.

      Eloise left Alex talking to an old acquaintance and made her way to the music room in search of her quarry. A young lady was playing the harp and while it could not be said that her audience was universally enraptured, the crowd was a great deal quieter than in the other rooms. It did not take Eloise long to realise that Lord Berrow was not in the music room and she turned to make her way back to the main salon.

      ‘Ah, Lady Allyngham!’