Midnight Bride (42 page)

"Who'd she marry? I heard Lord Edgerton had returned."

"Don't mention that man to me." Charles shook his fist as if in anger. "She married Dunstan."

"Dunstan.
The one at the house party?"

"The same.
Are there enough people around for dinner and cards this evening?" Charles asked, trying to count heads around the room.

"Bound to be.
Where?"

"My place.
About eight."
Charles ambled off in search of a few more friends to make up his party.

Card parties, cockfights, bets over being able to walk backward the longest—all these filled Charles's days and nights.
Soon he was coming home later and later. And the lines that had disappeared from his face began to reappear. Some evenings he spent at the theaters whose companies had chosen not to tour the provinces, companies of whose actresses played before small audiences. To Charles, the small crowd at the theater was not a deterrent. It simply meant that there were fewer men in the green room to share the girls among.

Before he had been in town long enough to be bored, Charles turned around one evening to see Hartley walking up. "Sebastian, I thought you were still in Brighton."

"Not even the prince stays there in September. We missed you, Charles. And truly I was disappointed not to receive an invitation to the wedding. How are your sister and her husband?" Hartley asked with a smile. His tone was everything it should be—pleasant, interested.

"They are at Clarendon Hall. She said something about staying there until the holidays. I have a snug party planned in my rooms tonight. Care to join us?"

Hartley smiled and bided his time, his hand running reassuringly over the signed note in his pocket. He attended the party and managed without much effort to include himself in whatever Charles was doing. He was there by his side the evening that the Covent Garden
theater
burned down. "Which of these pigeons shall we take home to our nests?" Hartley asked as he watched the dancers huddle across the street from the flame- engulfed building. "Do you think they will be more welcoming tonight than the last time we tried?" He raised his eyebrow in a question.

Charles laughed. "We looked a sight. Where did you find those wigs and clothes, Sebastian?"

"Anything can be had with money, Charles. Haven't you discovered that yet?" The phrase was Hartley's motto, something he never allowed himself to forget.

"Those girls certainly were not ready to go with us for our looks," Charles reminded him. "And they were not worth the price they were asking, either. Remember how angry they were when we took off the wigs? Is either of them over there?"

"No. We had better make our choice soon before the merchandise is picked over," Hartley said, making his way toward the little group.

"You go ahead, Sebastian. I see someone I want to speak with over here."

Laughing, Hartley had bid him a good night and left. Charles glanced back at the burning theater and walked down the street, his eyes thoughtful.

Late the next morning his face was wreathed with smiles. "It has finally come," he said as Hartley walked through the door.

"What? Have you finally bought your commission?"

"No. But it will only be a few days now," Charles said as he signed a document and sanded it.

"Did your mother finally agree to purchase them for you?"

"No. This is the final deed I must sign on the manor. I will be on my way to the Peninsula soon."

Hartley took a seat, his face deliberately unconcerned. "You sold the manor?"

"Only half.
I deeded the other half to my cousin, Louisa." Hartley closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again. "Dunstan and I decided she needed a place of her own. He wanted to buy the whole thing to give her, but I refused. Said I would match his gift. After all, she is a relative of mine."

"How thoughtful."
By this time Hartley had himself well under control. "And you plan to use the money from the sale, to buy your commission. Does your mother know?"

"No. And I do not want her to know. As soon as the Little Season begins, they will be back in town. If she found out, she would get her friends to refuse my money."

"Perhaps you could use an agent," Hartley suggested, his face as thoughtful as his voice.

"What do you mean?"

"If someone else approached the right person and your name did not come into it until the very end, she could do nothing to stop you." He looked up and smiled. "I know just the one."

"Capital. Sebastian, you have the best ideas. As soon as the funds become available, I will let you know. How can I ever repay you?"

"You could pay off your debts, Charles." This time there was a bit of a sting in Hartley's voice.

"What are you talking about?"

"Surely you haven't forgotten this note you signed, giving me one quarter of your sale price for the manor." He took out a piece of silk and
unwrapped
it, revealing the agreement. "Do you remember it?"

Charles
nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering how he would explain the loss of so much money to his trustees. Then he smiled brightly, remembering that the money for the manor was his without restrictions. He would need to watch his expenditures, though. He did not plan to use capital for all his purchases. "As soon as the funds clear, you will have your share. What were we playing that night? I usually don't play that deep."

"An intriguing game but boring.
I have already forgotten it. How are we going to amuse ourselves today?"

Charles was as good as his word. No sooner than the funds had been deposited, he posted Hartley a check. He also reminded him of the commission and told him to get busy. He wanted to be a captain in the Horse Guards.

Within a few days Hartley had the news Charles had been waiting to hear. "Your commission is assured. As soon as the funds are delivered, your orders will be sent. Charles, they told me that you should form your stable carefully. They recommend sturdy mounts that will last. Shall we go to Tattersall's for a
look.
"

"You go ahead? I may take a run into the country for a few days. I know just the horses I want. I will give you a note for the bank so that you will have funds when you need them. What was the amount?"

Hartley named a figure, adding a percentage for himself. Even though the money from the manor had been considerable, it would not last long. "You will not be able to assume the commission until after the New Year, something about paperwork."

"Yes, my stepfather always says the army moves
more slowly than a snail." Charles laughed. "I suppose that is one of the things I will need to get used to. Should I have my uniforms made yet?"

"I would wait until you have talked to your colonel. He will be able to recommend a tailor."

"You're right, Sebastian. You have probably saved me from some terrible solecism."

"How long do you plan to be gone?" Hartley asked. For a few minutes longer the two men talked; then Hartley told Charles good-bye and headed toward the bank.

Charles made his preparations quickly. Then he and his valet made their way out of London, stopping first at Lord
Ramsburg's
estate.

"What is this sudden interest in acquiring a stable, Charles?" his stepfather asked suspiciously.

"I thought it was time for me to take more interest in my estates. And since your horses are strong, I thought that adding one or two to my stables would improve my stock." He looked at the two stallions he had chosen, one a black with no spot of white anywhere and the other a bay.

Not thoroughly convinced, Lord
Ramsburg
looked over the horses, strong animals capable of running for hours. "If it is hunters you want, I have some that are better jumpers."

"No, these are exactly what I want. Your head groom mentioned that you are planning to put them on the block."

"Yes. Neither is up to my weight for long stretches. I have gotten some good colts from them, though. Since I am in London so much lately, I have been neglecting my stables. It is a shame to do that to good horses." Lord
Ramsburg
let the black nuzzle his hand. "They are yours if you want them, Charles."

Delighted though she was by his visit, his mother was angry with him, too. Putting his new horses through their paces, he ignored the young ladies she invited to luncheon and dinner. "Give it up, my dear," Lord
Ramsburg
urged one evening as he sat in a chair and watched her maid add the last touches to her ensemble. "Right now Charles is horse mad. And horses and young ladies usually do not mix."

"He is so frustrating. Can't he understand that I am doing this for his own good?"

"Are you, my dear?" He stood up and offered her his hand. "I rather thought it was for your own."

Finally Charles made his escape, sending his horses to his own estate. "I am going to visit Elizabeth and Dunstan, Mama. Do you wish to accompany me?"

"And miss the Little Season? I will see them here for Christmas. I wrote to invite the earl also.
And Louisa.
Give them my love, dear one." She patted his cheek, rather glad for once to see him on his way. "Now, who will be presenting young ladies this Season?" she asked as she watched him ride away.

Had she chosen to accompany him, Lady
Ramsburg
would have received her heart's desire. On his first day at Clarendon, his eyes widened when
Cecile
Westin walked in on Dunstan's arm. "Elizabeth, present me at once," he said, poking her in the side. His voice trembled slightly.

She raised her eyebrows at his serious tone. She looked at the other side of the room, where her husband and
Cecile
talked with the earl. Dunstan had returned only the day before from one of his business trips. "Dunstan, bring our guest over here," she said, her voice sharper than she had intended it.
"Cecile,
this is my younger brother, Charles
Beckworth
. Charles,
this is
Cecile Westin."
She stepped
back,
amused but cynical.