a quiet spot beside a rather large exotic oriental plant. ‘How long is this rebellion against the fashionable world going to last?’
Rowland grinned, proudly rubbing his whiskers. ‘As to that, I’ve not yet decided. My valet chastises me about it daily. I fear that one night when I crawl into bed deep in my cups, he will take a razor to it and shave it off. If he does I shall have to get rid of him, for I am determined to bring back the fashion for beards. Damn it, Lance, the London beaux need someone to keep them in check.’
Rowland, tall and lank and seeming rather disjointed in his gangling limberness, was too untidy to be described as a beau. His mane of light brown hair looked forever in need of a brush and his clothes often looked as though they had been slept in—which they often had on the occasions when he was too drunk to remove them and his valet had gone to bed. Wild, disreputable and outrageous, he was also warm hearted and possessed an enormous amount of charm, which endeared him to everyone and was the reason why he was invited to every fashionable party. The two had been close friends since their days at Oxford.
‘It’s good to have you back, Lance, and that you’ve assumed your earldom. Have you been to Ryhill?’
‘I’ve just got back.’
‘Your mother will be relieved you’re back. Is she well?’
He nodded. ‘She visited me at Ryhill prior to leaving for Ireland to visit Sophie. My sister is expecting her first child and naturally Mother insisted on going over to be with her.’
‘And your daughter—Charlotte?’ Rowland enquired cautiously. ‘You have seen the child, I take it?’
Lance’s face was devoid of expression as he avoided his friend’s probing gaze. ‘No, but I have it on good authority that she is thriving and being thoroughly spoilt. She is with Mother in Ireland.’
Rowland knew not to pursue the matter of Lance’s daughter. It was a subject he would never discuss. ‘And you’re finished with the army for good?’
Lance nodded, looking down at his uniform. ‘The old uniform will have to go, but it’s the best I have until my tailor provides me with new clothes—tomorrow, I hope. After Waterloo I had intended carrying on with my military career, but on learning of the death of my uncle, as his heir I had a change of heart. So I left the army, casting my sights towards home. I swore an oath to do my duty to my newly acquired title. Even to think of the estate being bestowed upon another went against everything I hold dear.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly set tongues a wagging since you got back, with every mama with daughters of marriageable age setting their sights your way. There’s one right now,’ he said, indicating a young woman standing close by with her mother.
Lance casually glanced their way and acknowledged first the older, then the younger woman with a slight inclination of his head. The mother smiled stiffly and the daughter blushed and giggled behind her fan.
‘There you are. You always did have women falling over themselves,’ Rowland remarked casually. ‘You were always viewed as the biggest fish in a very small pond. Every time you’re in town they begin casting nets in hopes of scooping you up.’
‘I’m particular as to which bait I nibble at, Rowland, and that particular morsel is not tasty enough for me.’ Lance withdrew his gaze from the young woman and fixed his eyes once more on Isabelle Ainsley, who wandered back and forth in admiration of her surroundings.
Rowland followed his gaze to the source of his distraction. ‘You look at that particular young lady with a good deal of interest.’
‘You are too observant, Rowland,’ Lance replied shortly.
Rowland raised one eyebrow. ‘Well, out with it, man. Am I to know the identity of the lady?’
‘Isabelle Ainsley, the granddaughter of the Dowager Countess of Harworth, recently come from America.’ Lance didn’t turn to look at Rowland, but he could sense his surprise.
Rowland made a sound of disbelief. ‘You have been involved too long in the wars, my friend. See a pretty face and you lose your wits over her. Good Lord! You’ve only recently returned from France, and already you know who she is.’
Lance grinned. ‘You know me, Rowland—always one to keep ahead of the rest.’
‘You know how to live dangerously, I’ll say that.’
‘Who said anything about living dangerously? I have not laid eyes on her until tonight.’
‘You wouldn’t since you’ve been out of the country fighting those damn Frenchies. The American girl has certainly hit the London scene by storm and is no nitwit, that’s for sure. Wherever she goes men are dazzled by her. She received countless marriage proposals before she came out, and countless since. The dowager countess is aiming high—the greater the title the greater the chance for the suitor.’
‘Now why does that not surprise me?’ Lance murmured drily. ‘Nothing but the best for the great lady.’
‘Yes, only the best. The real test for any man is fairly simple. All he has to do is win the lady’s heart, for by winning it, he will then gain her grandmother’s approval—maybe. Foolish logic indeed, for they will soon learn that many a pompous lord, after striving to gain the young lady’s favour, has toppled from their plinth with scarcely an excuse from the young lady herself. As a consequence she has been dubbed the Ice Maiden and I have to wonder if she is as cold and haughty as those rejected suitors have claimed. I’d say her beauty is unparalleled. I wonder if she’s as beautiful on the inside.’
‘That, my friend, is immaterial to me,’ Lance said quietly. ‘It’s what she has around her neck that counts.’
‘I did notice that she had some rather pretty sparklers adorning her equally pretty neck.’
‘The famous diamonds.’
Rowland looked at Lance, realisation dawning on him. ‘Ah, how interesting—those diamonds. I think this needs further examination, old chap. I thought they were under lock and key, never to see the light of day again. Now I understand. It certainly explains the attraction—although after all that has happened in the past between your two families, I doubt the Dowager Countess of Harworth would consider a Bingham suitable for the hand of her granddaughter.’
‘Who said anything about wedding her?’
‘Then it’s time you gave it some thought. Besides, you do realise that not a woman in town will spare the rest of us a glance until you have been claimed. You’re not getting any younger, you know. If you intend to sire a dynasty, then you’d better get started.’
‘I have already started, Rowland, and after my tragic marriage to Delphine I am not looking for another wife, and won’t be doing so for a good many years.’ Lance grinned, a hint of the old wickedness in his eyes that Roland had not seen in a long time. ‘I have a few more years of grand debauchery to enjoy before I settle for one woman.’
If he had thought to convince his friend he failed, for although society thought otherwise, Lance’s days as a debauchee were long and truly behind him. Lance was the stuff ladies’ dreams were made of, fatally handsome and with the devil’s own charm. Having spent several years as a soldier, his daring and courage in the face of the enemy had won him praise from the highest—from Wellington himself. His skill and knowledge in numerous
