Flirting With Fortune

landed him in need of funds in the first place. So, in hopes of rescuing the innocent from this sort of fate, I offer up my thoughts on how to recognize a fortune hunter.

“‘The simplest method for determining a man’s motives is observing whom he asks to dance. If he focuses solely on ladies of notable dowry, then he is likely to be a fortune hunter and therefore should be avoided.’” It was signed The Daring Debutant.

Well, this was just bloody great. It was hard enough feeling as though he were some sort of predator by looking to marry a woman with a decent dowry. Now he’d have to contend with newly suspicious females watching his every move.

“And the piece de resistance,” John said, interrupting Colin’s wandering thoughts. “The blasted cartoon.”

Colin directed his attention to the engraving below the letter. He blinked suddenly, his eyes widening in disbelief. The setting was a strikingly familiar ballroom, with elegant twin pillars framing the arching doorway. He jerked his gaze to the doorway of the breakfast room, which sported a similar, if less elaborate, motif.

“I see you recognize the background.”

“Your mother’s ballroom? That’s a bloody bold move.”

“An apt description. Though I’m certain Josephine would have never brought it to me if she hadn’t recognized our own ballroom, so I suppose we should be grateful. Tell me what else you see.”

Shaking his head, Colin lifted the page for a better look. Standing to one side was a man dressed in the style popular with those of the Bond Street Beau set. He was leering at three ladies, each with progressively smaller stacks of gold spilling from satchels at their feet. The fop had his hand extended to the lady with the largest stack and the caption above his head read, “Would your dowry—I mean, would you—care to dance?”

“I see a fortune hunter sizing up three ladies based on their dowries.” He tossed the magazine on the table, more in disgust of himself than anything else. “It’s a wonder my name isn’t sprawled across the poor bastard’s face.”

John leaned over to retrieve the damnable thing and thumped the cartoon with the back of his knuckle. “Not your name, my friend. Godfrey’s.”

“What?” Colin sat up straight, snatching the thing from John’s fingers for a closer look. Surely the artist wouldn’t be so brazen. “I don’t see his name anywhere.”

“That’s because you are unfamiliar with the people of the ton. If you had spent every last social minute with these people as I have, you would see that Godfrey is as good as labeled. See that distinctive waistcoat? It was what he wore to Mother’s ball. Combine that with the overly dramatic version of his hairstyle and the spot-on expression on his face, and there is no way that’s not him.”

The page crumpled in Colin’s hands before he realized what he was doing. Carefully releasing his grip, he laid the rumpled magazine on the table before crossing his arms and facing his cousin. “Who would do such a thing? Granted, the man is an ass, but how could someone make a mockery of another in such a public forum? It’s not as though he’s a bloody political figure.”

“Not uncommon, I’m afraid. The scandal sheets regularly call out ‘Lady D’ and ‘Lord H,’ as if everyone doesn’t know exactly who they are referring to. It’s something of a game in this society.”

“Bloody hell,” Colin breathed, running a hand through his hair. “Seems as though I am taking a greater risk with my reputation than I realized.”

Not that it really mattered. If he didn’t find a wife with a hefty dowry in three months’ time, the world would learn of his father’s spectacular business failure and the family reputation would be in tatters anyway. No one wanted to be associated with the utterly bankrupt family of an eccentric painter. Colin harbored no illusions that his father was some sort of national hero. The moment they caught wind of the fact he had died in debt up to his nose, the condemnation would come.

And Colin should know.

That was exactly the way he had felt about his father when the solicitors had shown up at his doorstep last month to inform him that his father had mortgaged everything he had in the world, including the estate and everything in it, against the engraving business he’d started last year. The same business, incidentally, that Colin had vehemently advised against. And the same one that, according to the representatives for Father’s investors, had never even turned a half penny’s profit.

Resentment built deep in his stomach, spilling out into his blood and pumping through his body with every beat of his heart. Father had mortgaged the estate—Colin’s entire inheritance and the only home his siblings had ever known—without ever even telling him. He had told him the money had come from eager investors. Never did he admit that the investors were eager thanks to the massive amount of collateral he’d put up.

John laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. You’ve little other choice, no?”

“No.”

“Then carry on as you must. I just thought it best to share with you what you are up against. An invisible foe is much more dangerous than the one you can see. At least now you know to be on the alert. Have a care with how you are perceived.”

Colin nodded. “Agreed. Thanks for sharing, cousin. It’s always better to be prepared.” If he’d learned nothing else in his past two years at the Inns of Court, he’d certainly learned that. A barrister was only as good as the information he gathered. Well, that and his ability to argue his point the way a dog chewed on a bone.

As his cousin headed to the sideboard to fill his plate for breakfast, Colin considered the letter and accompanying cartoon. The words of warning would no doubt resonate with the young ladies who read it. It had a distinctly empowering feel to it, as if the author had decided it was high time women took responsibility for their own fates. It was both bold and clever to print such a thing in a fashion magazine—after all, how many men would ever see it?

Colin leaned back in his chair, considering what, if any, changes should be made to his approach to finding a wife. This article may very well be intended as a guide to females on how to avoid fortune hunters, but it could also be used for exactly the opposite purpose. Did he not know what they would be looking for now? He could use this knowledge to his benefit.

He picked up the magazine and scanned the letter once more. A fortune hunter danced only with women of a certain worth? Fine. He’d go out of his way to dance with any woman he found interesting. Actually, he quite liked that strategy. It felt much more natural to enjoy a lady based on her own merit, anyway.

Unbidden, an image of Lady Beatrice flashed into his mind. Some of the stiffness drained from his shoulders, and he smiled absently. Their tour had been every bit as enjoyable as he’d imagined it would be. She was so much more than he ever expected a privileged daughter of the nobility could be. How many other debutants could have inspired him to dance a Scottish reel in the middle of a gallery? And more to the point, how many other debutants would have taken him up on the offer?

“What are you over there grinning like an idiot about? Nothing good can come from that blasted letter, my friend.”

Colin raised an eyebrow to his cousin as he set down his plate and pulled out a chair. “On the contrary. This letter did little more than arm us with the knowledge we need to avoid raising suspicions.”

John slowed in the process of laying his napkin in his lap. Colin could practically see the man’s military brain going to work. “By Jove, you’re right, old man. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

“Too much time away from the battlefield can make any man go soft. Mustn’t blame yourself.” He grinned at the sarcastic expression John threw him before picking up his fork.

“No, I think it is the lack of stimulating conversation around here. Regardless, you have your battle plan. Dance with a variety of ladies. The trick of it is having a care not to lead on any of the unsuitables.”

“Agreed.” The last thing he wanted to do was hurt some girl’s feelings. He had to be charming and agreeable with the ladies he considered prospects and cordial but impersonal to those who weren’t.

Of course, if he adhered strictly to that plan, it would mean no more ill-advised romps with the enchanting Lady Beatrice. He smiled wryly. So far, he had shown a complete lack of judgment when it came to his stor.

And he wasn’t sorry for it.

It was a bloody rotten time for him, and if there was one person in the mess of it who made him feel like an