would be useful, I imagine, for her to see the house.’
Lady Hazelmere sighed. Hermione’s weekly letter had been perfectly candid. Clearly, despite minor misunderstandings, her arrogant son had, as usual, triumphed, and all would proceed as he decreed. Even the headstrong Dorothea had apparently been tamed. If things continued in this fashion Marc would soon grow to be utterly impossible. She had had such hopes of Dorothea. Still, at least she would now have a daughter-in-law. Even if nothing else, they could swap stories of her impossible son. And, knowing her son, she could look forward, with as much confidence as possible in such matters, to a grandchild within the year. The thought cheered her. So, resigned, all she said was, ‘Yes, that would be wise. We’ll have to arrange to refurbish the apartments next to yours.’
Chapter Thirteen
Hazelmere returned to London, driving a new pair of black horses, leaving the bays in the country to recuperate. The curricle flashed into the mews behind Hazelmere House late in the afternoon. Discussing the performance of the new pair with Jim, he strolled out of the stables as Ferdie rode into the mews, leading two horses.
Thoroughly worn out with his role as chief confidant and protector, Ferdie was delighted to see his cousin. Dismounting and handing over the reins to Jim, he reflected that the source of the horses the Darent sisters rode was one of the better kept secrets in this whole affair. He could imagine what Dorothea would say when she learned that her bay mare had all along belonged to Hazelmere. He hoped they would be married by then and she could discuss the subject with Hazelmere rather than him. He turned to his cousin. ‘Relieved to see you back!’
‘Oh?’ The black brows rose interrogatively.
‘Not that anything’s happened,’ he hastily assured him. ‘But Dorothea knows something’s going on and it’s getting more and more difficult to know what to say.’
‘Poor Ferdie! It sounds as if it’s all been too much for you.’
‘Well, it has!’ returned Ferdie, incensed. ‘Here she’s gone and turned all your friends into her most devoted slaves-oh, yes! Didn’t expect that, did you?’ He had the satisfaction of seeing the hazel eyes widen. Nodding decisively, he continued, ‘Rather think it’s been her holding the reins in your absence, not us!’
Hazelmere, eyes dancing, sighed. ‘I see I was mistaken in thinking it safe to leave you all in charge of Miss Darent. I might have guessed it would turn out the other way. Why on earth you have allowed her to assume the whip hand, I know not. Obviously I’ll have to intervene and save you all.’
‘All very well for you. It’s you she loves, not us! Never seen a lady so capable of making us all jump to her tune. Better take her in hand straight away!’
Hazelmere laughed at this blatant encouragement. ‘Believe me, Ferdie, I intend to-with all possible speed. But not tonight, I think. It’s Alvanley’s dinner for me. I can’t remember if there’s anything else on.’
‘No, nothing of note. I’m to escort Dorothea and Cecily to a quiet little party at Lady Rothwell’s. Just the younger crew, so I’m looking forward to an uneventful evening. Mind, though! Tomorrow she’s all yours!’
‘Oh, quite definitely!’ As they strolled back into Cavendish Square Hazelmere added, ‘In fact, you can assist in your own relief by informing Dorothea that I’ll call on her tomorrow morning.’
Regarding his cousin with misgiving, Ferdie answered, ‘Well, I’ll tell her. But she’ll probably insist on going riding or think up some important engagement on the spot.’
‘In that case,’ Hazelmere said, his voice silky smooth, his lips curving in anticipation, ‘you had better add, in your most persuasive tones, that she would do very much better to meet me next in private rather than public.’
Ferdie, doubting that he could deliver that statement with quite the force Hazelmere could, nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, all right, I suppose that’ll do it.’
‘You can take it from me that it will,’ responded Hazelmere gravely. Laughing at Ferdie’s outraged countenance, he clapped his cousin on the shoulder and went into his own house, leaving Ferdie to wander on to his lodgings.
Some two hours later Fanshawe was attempting to tie his neckcloth in the latest fashion when the knocker on his door was plied with unusual insistence. With an oath he discarded his latest attempt and testily recommended his man, standing mute with an armload of fresh specimens, to see who on earth it was.
A minute later, just as he was once again engrossed, the door opened.
‘Hartness, who on earth have you sent these to? They’re too floppy to do anything with!’
Came an amused voice in reply, ‘A poor cobbler always blames his lathe.’
He twisted around, ruining any chance he had of correctly tying his next attempt. ‘Oh, you’re back, are you?’
‘As you see,’ replied Hazelmere. ‘I’d said I would be, after all.’
‘Never know where you’ll be or not. Where’d you get to-just Leicestershire?’
‘Lauleigh, Darent Hall and Hazelmere,’ responded the Marquis.
Fanshawe took a moment to work this out. ‘Thought that might be it,’ he said sagaciously. ‘Have you seen Dorothea yet?’
‘No. I thought that after my flying around the country I deserve Alvanley’s dinner. And Ferdie tells me they’re to attend a boring party tonight, so all should be safe until tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow. Good! Where’d you say Darent Hall was?’
‘Ah, lies the wind in that quarter?’
‘You’re not the only one who can suddenly decide for reasons unknown to get leg-shackled to a managing female!’ responded his lordship tartly.
Laughing, Hazelmere said, ‘It’s in Northamptonshire, not far from Corby. Easy to find if you ask. Here! For the lord’s sake, let me tie that or Jeremy will be wondering what’s become of us! Stand still!’
He rapidly tied his friend’s cravat, his long fingers creasing the stiff material into the required folds. ‘Right, done. Now let’s get going!’
Fanshawe, admiring the finished product, mused, ‘Not bad.’
Finding his coat thrown at his head, he laughed and, putting it on, joined Hazelmere on the stairs.
Jeremy Alvanley had been in the habit of giving a dinner for his closest friends every year for six years. It had become an event in their calendar, a gentlemen-only gourmet affair with the best of the latest vintages to wash the delicacies down. All their set made every effort to attend, and the occasion usually proved highly entertaining. This year’s dinner was no exception. The conversation flowed as freely as the wine. Much of this consisted of regaling Hazelmere with the problems they had faced in looking after Miss Darent. All of them knew of the scene in the Park, but none of them could begin to imagine what had happened afterwards. However, they were well acquainted with Hazelmere and had therefore been surprised at Dorothea’s subsequent performance. Finding him in his normal benign mood, none of them was quite sure what to think. But, as he was obviously genuinely entertained by the stories of their difficulties, they took every opportunity to impress on him how arduous their labours had been.
Though they did not know it, their stories confirmed for Hazelmere what Ferdie and later Fanshawe had told him: clearly Dorothea had taken charge, realising that, to some extent, they were acting under his direction. That she had succeeded in captivating them was apparent. He was amused to hear that the only sure way they found to escape her subtle questioning had been to invoke his name. That this had succeeded told him that she had known precisely what she was about in her handling of this group of gentlemen whom he would have described as among the most hardened to feminine wiles.
During the evening Desborough paused by his chair to enlighten him regarding Edward Buchanan. The black brows drew together. Then he shrugged. ‘I might have expected him to make some such attempt. Thankfully, you were there.’ With a quick smile Desborough moved on.
After dinner it was their custom to adjourn to White’s for the rest of the evening, or, more correctly, until the small hours of the next morning. By eleven o’clock they were deeply engrossed in play.
Ferdie, Dorothea and Cecily arrived at Lady Rothwell’s punctually at eight, to find carriages waiting to convey them to a surprise party at Vauxhall. Neither Dorothea nor Ferdie was enthusiastic; Cecily was ecstatic. As it was
