“Yes, milord?”
“King George has died.”
Quinn bowed his head. “Ah. So, England has a new king, milord.”
“The Prince of Wales is to be crowned King George IV,” Flynn said soberly, rubbing the back of his neck. He expected King George to make outlandish demands. And Flynn to be the likely recipient. He must not forget that one harsh word from the king could destroy his career and send him back to this lonely place filled with bitter memories.
*
London, February
Mrs. Maxwell’s ball,despite being held so early in the season, was crammed with guests who all appeared to be talking at once. Althea Brookwood sat with Aunt Catherine while the musicians enjoyed a break.
“Two years have passed since Brookwood died.” Her aunt compressed her lips.
“I am aware of it, Aunt.” How could she not be?
“You should consider marrying again.” Neither Aunt Catherine’s conversation nor her purpose had changed from the last time they met.
Althea’s answer remained the same as well. “I have no wish to.”
Her aunt’s violet-blue eyes regarded her. “I know Brookwood was a devil. I heard the rumors. I thought it was good riddance when he died in that duel.”
Aunt Catherine didn’t know the half of it. Brookwood’s obvious dissatisfaction with her had been a torment from the very beginning. Now she was free and determined to stay that way. No man would ever hold sway over her again, bending her to his will. She patted her aunt’s gloved hand. “I know you care, Aunt, and I’m most grateful.”
“Did Brookwood leave you well provided for?”
“My dower allows me to live quite comfortably.”If she was careful.She’d learned that skill as it had been necessary to economize with a tightfisted husband.
Aunt Catherine frowned, and she touched the brilliants at her throat. “I lost some of my finest jewels in that spate of robberies two years back. When your uncle died, the bulk of the estates was lost to entail, but you will inherit all that I have. I’d like to know to whom I’m leaving my money before I die. Not another bounder like Brookwood.”
Althea kissed her aunt’s soft cheek. “Have no fear. I shan’t make that mistake. I had no say in my marriage to Brookwood. Father arranged it.” The possibility of being at the mercy of another like him made her stomach flip over.
“Lord Ingleby has recently been widowed. He’s shown a considerable interest in you, and he’s plump in the pocket. Won’t be after my money.”
“I shouldn’t think anyone would be so foolish, Aunt Catherine. You are in excellent health and will be with us for many years to come.”
“Never mind sweet-talking me,” Aunt Catherine continued undaunted. “A woman does better in this world with a husband. Why not Ingleby?”
He was another man with more than a touch of violence about him. It was in his eyes and the tight way he held himself. Althea recognized the signs and suppressed a shiver. “I don’t find him attractive.”
“Attractive? That’s of little importance. We are talking about a husband, not a lover.”
Her aunt’s husband had died some years ago. A generous, quiet man, a good deal older than Catherine. She studied her aunt, whom she was said to favor. Catherine was still arresting in aGros de Naplesgown of deep violet, the color of her eyes, which had not dimmed. Might she have taken a lover at some point? Althea dismissed the idea immediately. There had never been a whiff of scandal attached to her.
“You can’t say the Irishman, Montsimon, isn’t attractive,” Aunt Catherine said, nodding to where he moved through the crowd, a head taller than most around him.
Althea turned in his direction. “Yes, he is, and a rake.” Lord Montsimon was part of the King’s immoral court.
“Some woman will tame him. Rakes make the best husbands once they settle down.”
“Ifthey settle down,” Althea said with a laugh. “Wasn’t it Samuel Richardson who disputed the idea of a reformed rake making the best husband? According to him, it was a false and inconsiderate notion.”
“Pooh,” Aunt Catherine said rudely. “You have simply no idea how to enjoy life, child.”
Althea did not add that Montsimon had attempted to woo her into his bed. Since she had been widowed, many men pursued her. Widows were seen as fair game. Men assumed she was dying of frustration! She supposed she was an oddity. Younger widows often remarried after a year of mourning. Others found suitable arrangements outside marriage. Her treatment since she’d been widowed had shattered her confidence. After her marriage ended as brutally as it began, she enjoyed her freedom and wished for neither husband nor lover, but still came under criticism. Ladies with roving husbands glowered at her while their husbands made discreet advances.
Aunt Catherine motioned with her fan. “Have you noticed the way Montsimon looks at you? If you play your cards right, you’ll be the one to tame him, my dear. Well worth the effort, I’ll wager.”
