The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (19 page)

Malcolm rode back to Wroxton slowly, sunk in thought. He entered the house to find Stephen in the breakfast room, perusing a letter as he addressed a pot of coffee and a plate covered with kippers and cream.

Malcolm looked with displeasure at his friend’s meal. “Really Del,” he drawled, “had I realized kippers found favor in your eyes, I might have reconsidered inviting you to Wroxton.”

Stephen turned and watched as Malcolm took a plate and piled it high with slices of rare beef, eggs and toast. “Really Mal, had I known I would confront half a cow at your breakfast table, I might not have accepted,” he said mildly.

Wroxton laughed, and sat down with him. Stephen watched as he attacked his food with gusto.

“Where have you been? I asked for you when I arose, but the servants said you had gone out.”

“We can’t all lie abed until past noon,” observed Malcolm. “I went for a ride. A very pleasant ride.”

“It seems to have done you good. You look relaxed, and, if your plate is any indication, it has given you an appetite.”

“I do find that riding clears my head,” agreed Malcolm, a grin on his face.

A few moments of companionable silence ensued as Delaney finished his letter, and Malcolm glanced over
The Gazette
. He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Wickworth announces his engagement to Llandreth’s daughter,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought she could bring him up to scratch.”

“Never say so! I laid George Nansquith a monkey she would. What a pity I will not see him at White’s today to savor my triumph while the news is fresh.”

“Alas, you will have to find other, more rural, sources of satisfaction, Del. However, if it is gaming you are after, I have a fancy to visit the house of a Mrs. Featherhaugh in Folkestone tonight. It’s said that a man may find deep play and loose company there. Not a patch on London of course, but it should prove entertaining.”

“That sounds like the Wroxton I knew in London,” Stephen laughed. “Not the dashed dull dog who has been doing the pretty with the locals since we arrived. By all means, let us investigate the dissipations of Folkestone.”

“Very well. Folkestone it shall be.” Malcolm paused a moment to wolf down more food. “We’ll invite Arthur Keighley to go with us as well. He should learn to gamble and hold his liquor in a public place before he goes up to Town.”

“You’re quite right about that,” Del responded. “But I’ll be surprised if his Amazon of a sister agrees with you.”

Wroxton waved a hand and laughed. “There’s not a great deal she can do to stop it, and eventually she will thank me.”

“Perhaps, but in the meantime, I expect you will get a piece of her mind.”

Malcolm made no answer, instead finishing his meal as he pondered the idea that Helena’s mind was not the only part of her that intrigued him.

In due course, a footman conveyed an invitation to Keighley Manor and a response was received at Wroxton indicating that Sir Arthur would be pleased to join them. At the appointed hour, Malcolm and Stephen bowled up the drive of the Manor in a chaise, and Arthur emerged from the house, glancing hastily over his shoulder, as though he expected Helena to recall him at any moment.

As the coach pulled away, Arthur sighed in relief. “I never thought Helena would permit me to accompany you to Folkestone!” he exclaimed. “But when I told her I had received an invitation, she barely blinked, and only warned me to be cautious. At any rate, I’m off the leading strings for the night, my lord.”

Malcolm smiled at his enthusiasm, remembering times he had managed to slip away from his father and sample forbidden delights. But he also felt an unaccountable urge to defend Helena. “Your sister is understandably concerned for you; she knows she cannot replace your father’s guidance,” he astounded himself by saying. “However, she doesn’t realize how much a gentleman can learn about how to go on in society by experiencing it. But you needn’t think that you can go to any length of folly in my presence, Arthur. I owe her a duty as well.”

Malcolm’s first words were said in a mild voice, but his tone grew sterner as he spoke. Stephen gaped at him in amazement. Arthur glanced at his lordship, and one look at the serious expression in his eyes made him realize that he would be wise to obey.

After a companionable drive through the extended midsummer twilight, they arrived in Folkestone with a clatter of wheels over the cobbled streets. As they pulled up at their destination, Malcolm opened the door of the chaise.

“We are here to enjoy ourselves, but also to learn more about who is running brandy across my land,” he said to Stephen and Arthur. “The implausibly named Mrs. Featherhaugh is undoubtedly acquainted with most of the local gentry, and with the leaders of the smugglers. Be gregarious and personable, but do not drink or play too deep. We want to be sober when the others are drunk, and have our pockets full when others’ are to let. Encourage tongues to wag, but keep our business close.”

He paused and gave Arthur a glance. “I am willing to send you home drunk from a friendly card game at Wroxton, Keighley, but I will not incur your sister’s wrath by allowing you to be a pigeon for plucking. If you wish to go about with me again, you will heed my warning.”

Arthur murmured an unintelligible assent, and the gentlemen leapt out of the carriage. Wroxton rapped the knocker on the dark green door of the handsome townhouse, one of an elegant row near the new harbor that was being built. It opened to reveal a burly, hard-eyed butler who looked them over carefully before allowing them to enter. He took their coats and hats in silence.

“Who shall I say is here?” he finally asked.

“Lord Wroxton, Sir Arthur Keighley, and Mr. Delaney, a visitor from London,” Malcolm replied.

The butler bowed deeply upon realizing the style of the party, and departed, indicating they should wait. They cooled their heels for some minutes in the genteelly appointed hall, which, with its black and white tiled floor, demi-lune table, large looking glass, and curving, carved staircase leading to the upper floors, looked as
tonnish
as a London townhouse.

Eventually the butler returned, bringing with him a handsome lady past the first blush of youth but not yet in her middle years, who wore the aura of one who spent a great deal of time on her appearance. Discreet makeup covered any small lines that might mar her complexion, and her jawline was absent any betraying droop. She was dressed in a manner that flirted with vulgarity without tipping over into it, in a gown of purple silk charmeuse, cut very low to expose a great deal of her fine bosom, and tightly drawn enough to allow a gentleman to just barely distinguish the contours of a nipple through the shining, close fitting fabric. The dress was cut with a masterly hand; a translucent band of organdy ruching prevented her cleavage from crossing the line from daring to excessive, while still encouraging closer inspection. Shells interspersed with stars were embroidered in silver at the edge of the sleeves and hem, and she wore a silver band on her head, from which a large number of plumes curled over her ringlets. A fine paisley shawl in plum and white, draped casually across her elbows, completed the ensemble.

This vision sailed up to their party, a hand outstretched to the gentlemen, her countenance welcoming. Malcolm’s expression changed from one of mild boredom to astonishment.

“Lady Ansbruck!” he exclaimed. “I mean Mrs. Featherhaugh, how nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Ah, there’s no need to stand on ceremony with me, Lord Wroxton.” Mrs. Featherhaugh’s eyelashes fluttered flirtatiously as she took his hand. “Of course I remember you, and the lovely times we had in Munich.”

“Where is Lord Ansbruck?” inquired Malcolm cautiously.

“You have no need to worry, love,” said Mrs. Featherhaugh coyly. “He died four years ago, poor soul.”

“My condolences.”

“No need for that, he’s not much missed.” She looked at Arthur, who was gaping at her openly. “Oh, I’ve shocked your friend. Don’t mind me, dear. My husband was much older than me, and rather straitlaced,” she confided. “Not nearly so amusing as our friend Wroxton here.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.

“And is there a Mr. Featherhaugh?” asked Malcolm, his voice trembling on the brink of laughter.

“There is indeed, though I have no idea where he might be,” said Mrs. Featherhaugh cheerfully. “The last time I saw him was in Brussels; it must have been two years past.” She winked broadly. “So you need not be concerned. I tell everyone I’m a widow.”

“A wise choice. May I present my friends, Sir Arthur Keighley, and Mr. Stephen Delaney?”

Mrs. Featherhaugh turned to Arthur, obviously pleased. “I’ve hoped you might visit me!” she exclaimed. “I always wish to enjoy the friendship of the gentlemen hereabouts, and you’ve been far too elusive!”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Arthur managed to say, sketching a bow.

Mrs. Featherhaugh took his hand and patted it. “You need only tell me what you want, and I will make sure you have it, no matter what it is!” she assured him.

“I – I – thank you,” Arthur stammered.

“And Mr. Delaney!” she said, turning to that gentleman. “Am I right in thinking I address a relative of Lord Redesford’s?”

“His cousin, ma’am,” said Stephen politely.

Mrs. Featherhaugh appeared to be delighted. “How kind of you to attend my little card party. Please, come in, gentlemen.”

She led them through the entryway and into a long hall, where she indicated a door to one side. “Supper is in here, gentlemen,” she said. “I think you will find that I keep a tolerable table for my guests.”

Arthur lagged behind to peek in surreptitiously and saw an array of roasts, a turkey, and any number of other side dishes spread on two large sideboards, with smaller tables around the room for diners to be seated. All manner of sweets and syllabubs accompanied them. After a moment, he hastened to catch up to his hostess and companions at the top of the stairs, where Mrs. Featherhaugh showed them into a spacious drawing room.

It was not decorated with the elegance of the most discreet London hells, but their hostess had achieved remarkable results for a provincial town. Silk draperies of a cerulean blue with vaguely imperial Roman designs woven into them and a heavy gold fringe hung at the tall front windows. The wallpaper bore a delicate pattern of paler blue flowers interspersed with vines, and the furnishings included a few pieces built in the Egyptian style of ebony and gilt made so popular recently by Sir Thomas Hope, while several large candelabra of the same design lit the tables.

Malcolm’s heavy-lidded gaze took in the room at one glance. A faro bank was to be found at one table, while hazard was at another, and he also noted a table for
rouge et noir
in the adjoining salon. He smiled. As in most such establishments, games of chance that favored the house greatly outnumbered those of skill. Several dozen gentlemen were scattered about the rooms, wearing evening clothes and concentrating on the games of chance. A few women, dressed in a revealing manner that made Arthur stare, moved among them, laughing at a joke here, supplying a new pack of cards there.

If Wroxton was disappointed to not find Lord Denby present he did not show it, and the three men presently took their places at the faro table.

“I presume you know how to play,” he said to Arthur.

“Of course, I do. I’m not a complete greenhorn!”

“I’m sure you are not. Also, I need not tell you that the fair Cyprians are to be avoided.”

Arthur’s eyes widened as he watched a man approach one of the women and speak a few words to her. She smiled and nodded, and the man’s hand went from his pocket to her palm. With a sharp glance at them, she slipped the coins into her reticule and then took the man’s arm with a smile. They mounted the stairs to the upper floor together.

With a promise to keep his wits about him, Arthur eagerly joined in the play. Malcolm signaled to a waiter to bring a bottle of burgundy as Stephen stepped up to his side.

“A pleasant enough house,” he said. “The place is in the first style of elegance, and if our hostess is a bit vulgar that can hardly matter. A friend of yours, I gather?”

Malcolm laughed. “We are acquaintances. We knew each other long ago.”

“In Munich, I believe she said?”

“In Munich,” confirmed Malcolm. His bottle of wine was brought and he poured them each a glass.

Stephen accepted it and bent an inquiring glance on his friend.

“You’ll learn no more from me, or at least not until I’ve had a great deal more to drink,” said Malcolm cheerfully. “Shall we play?”

Their trio focused on the faro table, and half an hour passed in boisterous play. A pile of coins and bank notes grew steadily in front of Malcolm as he drank his wine and placed his bets with easy assurance. Arthur fared more unevenly, but he was in no danger of being badly dipped. He accepted a glass of burgundy from Malcolm and talked easily with the other gentlemen at the table. Mrs. Featherhaugh, who presided over their play, viewed the group with great pleasure.

Malcolm had just sent for another bottle of wine when the door opened and a group of gentlemen entered. He looked up briefly, noting that Lord Denby was among them. Mrs. Featherhaugh hailed him by name, and he strolled over to the table, taking her hand familiarly in his and kissing it.

“Augusta, you look lovely tonight,” Denby said gallantly. He slurred his words slightly, making it apparent that he had been drinking already.

Mrs. Featherhaugh simpered. “How kind of you to say so, Lord Denby. It has been a few nights since you favored my home with your presence.”

“I was preoccupied with business. But I can’t be kept away for long.” Denby pressed her hand and then released it lingeringly.

“Will you join the play, sir?” she asked.

Denby glanced around the table, his eyes narrowing briefly when they encountered Malcolm and his friends.

“Wroxton,” he said distantly.

Malcolm put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he felt the younger man stiffen. “Good evening, Denby,” he said calmly. “You know Sir Arthur Keighley, do you not?”

“We are acquainted.”

Malcolm’s fingers tightened, and Arthur managed a nod of his head. “Denby,” he ground out.

Lord Denby smirked, and took a place at the table across from them. “I believe I will join you, Augusta,” he said to Mrs. Featherhaugh, who was watching them curiously.

“Damn it,” whispered Arthur to Malcolm. “That fellow—I can’t abide him. He—he…”

“I’m aware of what he did,” replied Malcolm quietly. “Remember, part of being a gentleman is knowing when to fight and why. Some battles can’t be won, no matter how right you are. Pull yourself together; Denby is looking for trouble, and I don’t wish him to find it with you.”

Arthur swallowed and visibly calmed himself. He placed a coin by a card, studiously ignoring Denby, and took another swig of wine.

Malcolm exchanged a meaningful glance with Stephen, and after Mrs. Featherhaugh had played the bank’s card and the bets had been settled, Delaney turned to Arthur.

“I’ve a mind to try the hazard table,” he said. “Would you care to accompany me, Keighley?”

Arthur gratefully assented. “Will you join us?” he asked Malcolm.

“The luck is favoring me tonight,” said the earl. “I believe I’ll stay a bit longer.”

Stephen and Arthur moved away, and Malcolm poured himself another glass of wine. Denby grimaced.

“Whatever made you bring a stripling like that to a gaming house?” he asked. “He’s still wet behind the ears.”

“We must all grow up sometime,” observed Malcolm. “I find it is best to do so among friends. Besides, our lovely hostess was happy to make his acquaintance.”

“Indeed I was,” agreed Mrs. Featherhaugh. “Such a handsome young man, and so polite.”

“Rich too, as I’m sure you know,” sneered Denby.

Malcolm placed a coin on the queen of clubs and looked up. “I believe we were discussing manners,” he said coolly. “Sir Arthur certainly has them in abundance; far more than some others present.”

Denby grew red. “Now see here, Wroxton,” he began, but Mrs. Featherhaugh stepped into the breach.

“No quarrelling in this house, gentlemen,” she said brightly.

“But he insulted me!” protested Denby as Malcolm observed them dispassionately.

“I’m sure Lord Wroxton meant nothing by his comment,” said Mrs. Featherhaugh. She glanced anxiously at Malcolm.

He smiled at her. “I would not wish to do anything to cause you concern, Mrs. Featherhaugh.”

“There, you see?” she said to Lord Denby placatingly, who scowled. He called for a bottle of wine.

The play continued. The pile of coins and notes in front of Malcolm grew, but Denby’s luck appeared to be uneven. After some time, he stood up from the table.

“My luck is out tonight,” he said.

“Perhaps it is merely the game,” suggested Malcolm. “Would you care to play a hand of picquet with me?”

Denby glared at him, his brow furrowed. Then he gave a short laugh. “I’m partial to the game.”

Malcolm stood. “Then by all means let us see how well we are matched.” He picked up his glass of wine and moved to where a few small tables were set aside, calling to a waiter for a pack of cards.

Denby seated himself, his bottle of wine at his elbow. “What stakes do you play for, Wroxton?” he asked.

Malcolm viewed him calmly. “I play for whatever stakes are proposed to me.”

“I’ve a mind to make back the money I lost at the faro table. What do you say to ten shillings a point and thirty pounds the rubber?”

“Whatever you choose,” said Malcolm indifferently, turning away to take the cards the waiter was proffering on a tray.

“Excellent!” Denby rubbed his hands together, foreseeing a profitable evening.

The two men settled down to play in silence. No one disturbed them, though Mrs. Featherhaugh cast an occasional nervous look in their direction. They appeared to be very evenly matched, and at the end of the first game, Denby was the winner by a small amount. He sat back in his chair, pleased.

“Shall we double the stakes for the next game?” he asked.

“Certainly,” agreed Malcolm.

The play continued, with Denby taking the first rubber. He called for more wine, and proposed doubling the stakes again. Malcolm assented indolently.

Stephen wandered by the table as they played and stayed for some moments, observing. He gave a little shake of his head as it became clear to him that Malcolm was toying with his opponent. Slowly the tide of the game was turning, and Denby had begun to lose.

Malcolm glanced up at his friend. “Did you need something, Del?” he asked lazily.

Stephen’s lips twitched. “No, I believe you have things well in hand here,” he answered, turning away.

Malcolm turned back to the game. He won the second rubber, and Denby threw his cards down in disgust.

“The cards favored you! Another hand? And shall we raise the stakes?”

“Certainly.” Malcolm signaled to a waiter, who brought another bottle of wine and placed it at Denby’s elbow.

As the night wore on, Denby continued to lose. He was quite drunk, but his head was clear enough for him to perceive Wroxton was far more skilled at the game, and had an uncanny way of summing up the contents of his opponent’s hand. At the end of a rubber, which he had lost in two short games, he stood, swaying slightly.

“You’ll not get off this easily,” he said. “I mean to win my money back from you.”

Malcolm inclined his head, and watched as Denby staggered off to relieve himself. He sat casually at the table, one arm spread along it, the other holding his wine glass, a leg stretched out in front of him.

Stephen approached him, a look of concern on his face.

“Mal, what you up to?” he whispered. “Do you mean to ruin the man?”

Malcolm gazed at him, his face expressionless. “I never mean to ruin anyone, no matter how poorly they play cards. I merely wish to make him very uncomfortable.”

“Damn it, he’s down thousands of pounds.”

“Is he?” Malcolm smiled.

“Blast it, are you drunk?” demanded Stephen.

“You know I can hold my liquor. Your concern is noted, my friend, but is completely unnecessary.”

Denby returned to the table, his face unbecomingly flushed. He glared at Stephen, who nodded politely and departed. Denby seated himself, and pushed the cards toward Malcolm.

“I mean to get my money back,” he pronounced.

“I’m happy to oblige you,” said Malcolm.

Two hours later the waiters were replacing the candles in their sockets, and the rooms were slowly emptying of company. Mrs. Featherhaugh approached their table tentatively.

“Gentlemen, the house closes at four o’clock,” she said in a soft voice.

Denby turned on her angrily. “I’m not leaving until I’ve regained my money.”

Malcolm laughed, and put down his cards. “My game, I believe,” he said unhurriedly. “Of course we will oblige you, Mrs. Featherhaugh.” He swiftly added up the points and announced to Denby the extent of his losses. The man paled, and Mrs. Featherhaugh made a strangled noise.

“I’ll accept a draft from your bank if you choose,” said Malcolm, standing.

“Damn it, you must have cheated,” announced Denby loudly.

The heads of the few remaining people in the room turned toward them. Malcolm raised his eyebrows.

“I think you are mistaken, Denby,” he said quietly.

Mrs. Featherhaugh made a fluttering motion with her hands and stepped between the two men. “Lord Wroxton, I’m sure Lord Denby meant nothing by that.”

Malcolm glanced down at her, amused. “The man accused me of cheating,” he pointed out. “He was quite clear about it.”

Mrs. Featherhaugh laid a hand on his arm. “He’s drunk, and I don’t need a scandal connected to this house. Please do not call him out; do you want Denby’s death on your hands?”

Malcolm gave Denby a chilly look. “I don’t think I’d mind,” he said flatly. “I will let the insult go because you asked me, Mrs. Featherhaugh, and because of our old friendship.”

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“I would never wish to cause a lady difficulties,” responded Malcolm politely.

Mrs. Featherhaugh smiled tentatively and moved away, saying good night to some departing gamesters. Malcolm glanced at his erstwhile opponent.

“A word if you please, Denby.”

Denby turned around, an angry look on his face. “You’ll get your money,” he snarled.

“I have no doubt of that,” said Malcolm mildly. “I feel quite sure you’re good for it. This is another matter.”

“What else do you want from me? Isn’t six thousand pounds enough?”

“I’m afraid not,” Malcolm replied apologetically. “There is one other thing. You will immediately cease your attentions to Miss Keighley.”

Surprise replaced the anger on Denby’s countenance. “Miss Keighley? What’s she to you?”

Malcolm took out his snuffbox and offered it to Denby, who made a hasty motion of rejection. The earl languidly took a pinch. “What Miss Keighley is to me is no concern of yours. But you will oblige me in this.”

Denby peered at him. “She told me of your advances,” he sneered. “She’ll have none of you. Too good for the lot of us, it seems.”

“I did not approach you in order to discuss Miss Keighley’s preferences.”

“No, you came here to give me orders,” replied Denby. “I don’t have to listen to you. Miss Keighley sent for me today, and I will visit her when I choose.”

“Perhaps I did not make myself clear.” A steely note entered Malcolm’s voice, though his expression remained calm. “You will leave Miss Keighley alone or you will answer to me.”

Denby paled slightly. Stories of Wroxton’s expertise with pistols had long circulated among the
ton
. “You have no right to forbid me to see her!” he blustered.

“Perhaps not. Yet I find myself doing so. I advise you not to test me.” Malcolm sketched a polite bow. “Good night, Denby. I will be pleased to return your vowels when you settle your debt.”

Denby glared angrily at the earl’s back as he walked away, and then marched towards the door, calling for his hat and cane.

Del gave Malcolm a curious glance as the earl rejoined his friends. “What was that about?”

Malcolm waved one hand airily. “We were conversing.”

“Why in God’s name would you converse with Denby?” asked Stephen.

“It seemed to be the polite thing to do.” Malcolm glanced at Arthur. “How did you fare tonight?”

“I won—a little,” he said.

Stephen smiled. “He did quite well, though I’d say Keighley is not a gamester at heart. His sister need never worry that he will gamble away the estate.”

“What of you?” asked Malcolm.

“Mrs. Featherhaugh will be very pleased with the amount I lost in her home tonight.”

Malcolm laughed. “Well, I’m for home. Gentlemen?”

The party said a pleasant goodnight to their hostess and departed the gaming salon, collected their hats and coats from the sinister looking butler, and climbed into their waiting chaise. Malcolm sighed as he leaned back on the soft upholstery.

The carriage moved forward, and Stephen looked across at his friend.

“Some deep doings tonight, Mal.”

“Deep enough,” agreed the earl.

“Are you going to tell us why you took such a large sum of money off Denby?”

Malcolm shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pocket of his coat, stretching his long legs out in front of him.