and not languishing in Devon nursing broken ribs. Not that Nathaniel believed Gabriel would need, or indeed appreciate, anyone’s support, tacit or otherwise; during his eight long years of exile Gabriel Faulkner had become one of the proudest and most arrogant men the English ton was ever likely to meet!
Still, if nothing else, he would have liked to have been present to see some of those well-bred faces when Gabriel took up his rightful place in society. Instead of which Nathaniel had left London for Devon almost immediately upon Gabriel’s arrival back in town, his only means of entertainment being this outspoken young lady who was his aunt’s companion.
‘Indeed?’ he drawled icily.
Elizabeth pursed her delectable mouth. ‘You are aware of a different version of events, perhaps?’
Nathaniel’s gaze swept over her contemptuously before he replied in a disdainful voice. ‘If I am, then I assure you I am not inclined to share it with you.’
He meant to be insulting, and he had succeeded, causing the colour to drain from her cheeks as she felt herself suitably chastened for having seriously overstepped the bounds of her current role of companion.
For it was a role. And one which did not sit altogether comfortably upon the slender shoulders of a young woman who, until two and a half weeks ago, had enjoyed the title of Lady Elizabeth Copeland, the youngest daughter of the previous, and now deceased, Earl of Westbourne.
It was the very reason Elizabeth had taken such an interest in acquainting herself with the gossip concerning Lord Gabriel Faulkner, the man who had not only become the new Earl of Westbourne on the death of Elizabeth’s own father almost seven months ago, but also guardian to Elizabeth and her two sisters.
All three of the Copeland sisters had been badly shaken by their father’s sudden demise and equally alarmed on learning that, their two cousins having died at the Battle of Waterloo, the title of earl had now passed to a man who was a second or third cousin of their father’s. That man was Gabriel Faulkner. A man none of the sisters had ever met. A man, moreover, who was rumoured to have behaved so disgracefully eight years ago that society had chosen to banish him, and his own family had disowned him.
Having lived all of their lives at their father’s country estate, Diana, Caroline and Elizabeth had never been made privy to the details of that scandal and, despite having made discreet enquiries upon learning he was now their guardian, none of them had been able to ascertain the exact nature of that disgrace. The only information any of them had been able to garner on the man at the time—it had been left to the recent gossip below stairs at Mrs Wilson’s home to fill in the exact nature of that scandal—was his banishment to the Continent eight years ago, and that he had been an officer in Wellington’s army for five years, before residing in Venice these past two years.
Lord Faulkner, it seemed, had not been in any hurry to return to England and take up his duties as the Earl of Westbourne, or his guardianship of the Copeland sisters, none of them having so much as set eyes upon him when they had received a letter from that so-called gentleman some months after their father’s death, in which he had made an offer of marriage to whichever of the three Copeland sisters would have him!
No doubt, with the scandal of their own mother having abandoned her husband and three young daughters ten years ago—Harriet Copeland had fled Shoreley Park for London and the arms of her young lover, then been shot by that young lover only months later before he had then turned the pistol upon himself—Lord Faulkner had perhaps believed that one of the Copeland sisters would be so desperate for marriage they would be happy to accept an offer from a man equally as shrouded in scandal.
He had been wrong.
Her sister Caroline’s answer to that offer had been to run away from her home and sisters three weeks ago. Equally as horrified at the prospect of such a marriage, Elizabeth had followed her sister’s example only days later.
Having made her escape from the possibility of that unwanted marriage, and subsequently managing to find employment in London with Mrs Wilson, Elizabeth had then been shocked to her core when Gabriel Faulkner had arrived at that lady’s house only days ago to visit Mrs Wilson’s injured nephew, Lord Nathaniel Thorne, the two men having apparently been best friends for some years!
Admittedly the new Earl of Westbourne had proved to be exceedingly handsome, more so than Elizabeth or her two sisters could ever have guessed. But those arrogantly dark and fashionable good looks did nothing to lessen the shock she had felt upon hearing the details of that gentleman’s past scandal as the servants gossiped below stairs whilst he visited with Lord Thorne upstairs …
Only the fact that the whole of Mrs Wilson’s household was to be immediately removed to Devonshire, well away from London—and Lord Faulkner!—had prevented Elizabeth from fleeing into the night for the second time in as many weeks.
‘It was not my intention to insult Lord Faulkner,’ she dismissed coolly now, knowing from Mrs Wilson that Lord Faulkner and that lady’s nephew had been friends from their school-days; a fact Elizabeth should perhaps have realised sooner, considering that Mrs Wilson had also informed her shortly after she had taken employment with that lady of her nephew’s recent return from visiting with a friend in Venice!
‘Then perhaps the insult was directed at me?’ Nathaniel drawled softly.
She had meant to insult him, Elizabeth acknowledged ruefully. She could not imagine why any gentleman of the ton would wish to remain friends with a man as dissolute and rakish as Gabriel Faulkner was reputed to be. Unless that gentleman was equally as disreputable himself?
A fact perhaps borne out by Lord Thorne having received his present injuries in what sounded distinctly like a drunken brawl, as well as his recent un wanted advances towards her? ‘I apologise if that was your impression, my lord,’ she said stiff ly. ‘Although, in my defence, I do believe you offered me just provocation,’ she could not resist adding.
Nathaniel regarded her beneath hooded lids. At a little over five feet tall, her slender figure shown to advantage in the plain blue gown, with her ebony curls arranged in a simple if fashionable style, and her face one of delicate beauty—fine dark brows, deep blue eyes, a tiny nose above a perfect bow of a mouth—Miss Betsy Thompson somehow did not have the looks, or indeed the voice, of a paid companion to a lady of wealth and quality.
And how would he know what one of those should look like? Nathaniel mused self-derisively.
Yes, Miss Betsy Thompson was in possession of a rare and tempting beauty, and the refinement of her voice spoke of an education, but for all Nathaniel knew of such things that could merely be because she was the daughter of an impoverished gentleman or clergyman, in need of employment to support herself until some equally impoverished young gentleman took her as his wife, before then producing a houseful of even more impoverished children to continue the cycle!
Incarcerated in Devon, and so robbed of rakish entertainment as well as all news of London society—his aunt had refused to even allow Nathaniel to read the newspapers this past eight days in case he ‘became overset’ by anything printed in them!—Nathaniel had only thought to provide himself with a diversion from his increasing boredom when he’d attempted to kiss his aunt’s young companion. Certainly he had not intended engaging in a verbal exchange during which this outspoken young woman had dared to insult one of his closest and dearest friends.
He had no doubts that Gabriel would have simply laughed off such an insult, used as he was to the sideways glances of the gentlemen of the ton and the gossip behind the raised fans of their wives and daughters—along with their surreptitious and hypocritical lust
