Journey to love (Runaway Regency Brides Special Edition) (5 Story Box Set) Read online

  “You have never had to do without one.”

  The sentence was said with such venom and jealousy that any onlooker would have been shocked to the core.

  TWO

  “It is, to be sure, a matter of grave disappointment that no matter where a man goes upon this island, he must be harangued merely because he is a bachelor. Are there no more pressing matters of government? Is the nation’s financial situation so prosperous that conversations can resort to the topic of my unwedded state rather than express concerns about exports or explorations or some such subject? Is the monarchy so sound that men will divest themselves of concern about the debts of the Prince Regent and instead demand of me when the banns will be read?”

  Lady Ariana Carlington looked up from her embroidery to give her older brother a look of fond exasperation. Ever since they had arrived at their London residence two weeks prior, they had been inundated with calling-cards, to the annoyance of her brother.

  “James,” she said patiently, “you must marry. For the sake of the dukedom, at least.”

  Her brother, James Carlington, the Duke of Summersby, who had just returned from a trip to Scotland, glowered at her. To an outsider, he would have seemed overly severe, but this was nothing more than an illusion. He was actually quite fond of his sister and had been her guardian for the last three years, ever since the death of their father.

  The Duchess, their mother, was very much alive and unfortunately too much involved in the lives of her children since her husband’s passing.

  The Duchess had left for Bath the week before James returned home. James loved his mother but was just as glad to have avoided her lectures on his marital duty.

  His sister’s green eyes, very much like his own but with innocent mischief rather than cynical disdain as their typical expression, peered up at him as he stood before the fireplace.

  It was a rather chilly April, but nonetheless, spring was beginning to make its presence known and the activities of the social season were commencing as well.

  Ariana was only sixteen and she eagerly anticipated her own debut and the time when she would be out of the schoolroom and a participant in the excitement of the ton.

  “Really, James,” she said, “you cannot expect the duchy to manage with a duke who would rather frolic with several mistresses rather than settle down with a wife.”

  The Duke, who was sipping his tea, put the cup and saucer upon the mantel of the fireplace.

  “And where, chit, have you been learning of such things?” he demanded. “You have no business knowing of mistresses, much less preaching to me about them.”

  “I am afraid that your private life is not as private as you would like it to be,” she replied airily, as if she were familiar with a great many such matters.

  In truth, Ariana was as sheltered as any other well-bred young lady of the aristocracy, but her friends did have older siblings who were acquainted with her brother’s private affairs. Gossip, even third-hand, was titillating, despite the fact that the Duke of Summersby conducted his amours encounters with discretion.

  “I ought to send you back to Summersby,” he muttered. “You’re acquiring far too much unseemly knowledge for a girl your age. Allow me to remind you that I am quite content with my life as it is. You may read into that whatever salacious nuances you choose, but the fact remains that I am a man of discernment and discretion and, missy, I do not have any by-blows. How is that for tittle-tattle?”

  “Oh, I know that,” Ariana said. “I would have heard otherwise.”

  “I should like to know who the deuce is providing you with these tidbits,” he grumbled. “Or perhaps I would not,” he grumbled, giving his sister a sharp stare. “All those young schoolgirls who are supposed to be learning watercolour painting and French and whatever else your governesses teach you are apparently set on becoming the ruination of their generation. A fine state of affairs this nation has descended to.”

  “Never mind the fate of the nation, James,” Ariana said. “If you are not going to marry and sire legitimate children, the fate of the nation is of no concern to you.”

  “May we return to the topic of conversation which I thought we were pursuing? I was explaining to you that a man ought to be able to travel from a Highland fishing holiday to his London club without being besieged with queries as to his unmarried state. At my club, no less than three of my friends—who are soon to be my former friends if their pernicious inquiries continue—demanded to know why I had not yet succumbed to the matrimonial state. Mind you, all three gentlemen were at their club!

  “Their club!” he re-emphasised. “Not at home in the nuptial bower.”

  “I don’t see that it is of any significance,” Ariana replied. “Papa used to go to his club on a regular basis and he and Mama were happy in their marriage, were they not?”

  “As far as I know,” her brother conceded. “But I maintain my position. Now, missy, I am going to adjourn to my study and examine the accounts. Should any of my friends come to call, pray tell them that the next person to prod me on the subject of matrimony will be shot.”

  Ariana giggled as her brother stalked from the room. It was so much more fun when James was at home.

  James was quite comfortable in his study, looking over the books and examining the profits and losses that were inherent with the running of an estate such as Summersby. Even though he was currently in London, he was well able to maintain an alert eye upon the business of the estate: his investments, the forecast for the crops this year, the necessary upkeep of the manor house in the country, and all of the varied threads which, when knitted together, formed the financial foundation upon which the Carlington wealth was built.

  He had been, as a young man, unique in his fervour to pursue his Oxford studies. Luckily enough he had a keen mind and a willingness to learn. However, his interests lay not in the study of the law, theology, or any of the traditional fields with which the sons of the aristocracy spent their university years.

  James was fascinated by finance.

  His father had been a careful, prudent man who oversaw the family sources of income with an eye akin to that of a meticulous steward. James had that same cautiousness, combined with a flair for money. He trusted the steward of the estate and he knew his tenants to be honest. He was, however, of the opinion that there was not a more duplicitous caste of society than the blue-blooded ne’er-do-wells who flourished amidst the debt-riddled families of the aristocracy.

  His temper already ignited by the meddlesome interest in his matrimonial state, James settled down to the ledger books with a predatory focus. Surely there would be something in the records which would allow him to exorcise his ill humour on some deserving profligate.

  “Ha!” he announced to the empty study as he found what he sought.

  Having already made arrangements for the Summersby steward to come to London upon his arrival so that together they could review the accounts and make plans for the harvest, James summoned his butler.

  “Baxter, please send Mr Updike to me.”

  “I regret, Your Grace, that Mr Updike is at Tattersalls, arranging for the purchase of horses which you indicated you wanted for the Summersby stables.”

  “Yes, of course. I had forgotten . . . well, leave word that when he returns, I wish to see him.” As the butler bowed and made to leave, the Duke called out to him.

  “Baxter, tell me what you know of the Gibbs family.”

  “Which Gibbs family, Your Grace?”

  “The one that owes my family a small fortune, of course.”

  “I could not say for certain . . . would that be the Hudson Gibbs family?”

  James leaned forward, his elbows on his desk and his chin resting upon his clasped fingers.

  “It would,” he said grimly. “Tell me what you know.”

  Baxter knew that when the Duke required information, he expected the details to be accurate and comprehensive.

  Luckily enough, Baxter, whose network o
f informants extended to the staffs of all the Mayfair households, was more than able to comply.

  “I believe that Viscount Lathan, that is Hudson Gibbs the younger, inherited the title from his grandfather. The father, Hudson Gibbs the elder, has been disinherited.”

  “Disinherited? Why?”

  “He has an abundance of mistresses who proved to be regrettably fruitful. The estate is sadly in arrears because of the necessary provisions required for the upkeep of so many illegitimate offspring.”

  “Yes, well, we shall leave the fertile father aside for the moment, as this debt is owed by the Viscount, who, according to your identification, is Hudson Gibbs the younger.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. The Viscount of Lathan is marrying an heiress in order to restore his family fortunes.”

  “Is he, by God! And I suppose that this debt, which is no small amount, I can tell you, was incurred so that he can pass himself off as a man of means.”

  “I could not say, Your Grace. I believe . . . ” the butler coughed. “I believe that the Duchess may have been susceptible to the Viscount’s pleas for financial assistance. She is a lady, as you know, with a very kind heart.”

  “Mother! Of course!” James exclaimed, irritation lacing his voice. “I knew I ought not to be so accommodating in allowing her access to the finances! She has loaned a monstrous sum to this wastrel which, apparently, he has no intention of paying back. There is no down payment, no monthly repayments, nothing at all in the ledger.”

  “I believe, sir, that if he will be making restitution of the debt, he is obliged to wait until he can procure his bride’s inheritance. Her father plans to settle handsomely upon her when she is the Viscountess.”

  “I’ll lay you odds the blighter has no intention of paying his debt to Summersby,” James exclaimed.

  “The Viscount, I regret to say, Your Grace, is not known to be a man of honour,” Baxter acknowledged.

  “Indeed,” James replied, his brow in a frown, “Tell Updike to come to me as soon as he returns from Tattersalls, will you?”

  “Of course, Your Grace. Will you be dining at home tonight, sir, or at your club?”

  “At home. I am resolved to become a hermit, Baxter, so that I may avoid the prying noses of others who wish to intercede on my behalf to procure me a wife which I neither need nor want.”

  “Very good, Your Grace,” the butler replied. Baxter, who was well acquainted with his master’s aversion to matrimony, bowed. “I shall let Mrs Thomas know.”

  “We must ensure that Lady Ariana knows that I am dining at home. I wish to keep her from unsavoury company.”

  “Your Grace?” Baxter inquired on a puzzled note. Lady Ariana was the very epitome of a well-bred English debutante and he could not imagine what sort of folly she might have committed to elicit such a remark.

  James waved his questioning glance away.

  “I spoke in jest, Baxter.”

  “Oh, very good, Your Grace.”

  Baxter returned to the kitchen to deliver the news to Mrs Thomas, the housekeeper, that the Duke intended to dine at home.

  “So I should hope,” declared Mrs Thomas. “Him just home and Her Ladyship otherwise all alone, with the Duchess gone.”

  “Quite. He’s in rare form, is the master.”

  “Isn’t he always?”

  The Duke was a fair master and regarded with respect by his household, but they would not have disputed the Duchess’ assertion that her son was rather high-handed and inclined to do whatever he wanted with no thought or care for the consequences.

  As Pearson Updike was reminded when he responded to the summons to the Duke’s study.

  “Your Grace?” he inquired anxiously. “I trust that I did as you wished in going to Tattersalls? Before you left for Scotland, you had said to purchase—”

  “Yes, yes,” James interjected. “I had forgotten.”

  “I trust that you enjoyed fishing in Scotland?”

  “Scotland was vile,” James replied. “It was cold and rainy and the fish were singularly reluctant to be lured. And the proximity of Gretna Green led to rather too many jocular references to marriage. I am glad to be back in London.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Updike said, not entirely understanding the Duke. But that was the way of it.

  The Duke frequently spoke in intricate references which made no sense to anyone else. One simply nodded and agreed.

  “Sit down, Updike. I have been going over the books.”

  “Yes, Your Grace?” Updike replied worriedly. “The rents have been paid and the expenses clearly marked. We shall be planting the southern acreage this spring, and I think you will find it profitable. To be sure, that entails extra expense, but I am confident that the soil will provide handsomely on the investment.”

  “I have no doubt, Updike,” James assured him. “You have, as always, acquitted yourself with the utmost reliability and discernment. No, my issue is with a matter not of your doing. In going over the accounts, I have discovered that the Gibbs family owes my family a rather large sum of money.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Updike said unhappily. “The Duchess instructed me, in your absence, to withdraw a substantial sum to lend to the Viscount of Lathan. I suggested to Her Grace that, perhaps, the loan ought to wait until your return from Scotland, but she was moved by his plight.”

  “I don’t blame you, Updike. I blame myself. I ought to have put more limitations on my mother’s financial freedom. Left to her own devices, she would lend every guinea that we have in the bank,” James replied, absentmindedly taping his monocle against his mahogany desk. “I mean to collect on this debt from Lathan, Updike. You will send, in my name, a letter to the Viscount, demanding payment of the debt which he has ignored.”

  “Very good, Your Grace,” the steward responded, relieved that his mission was perfectly within his sphere of responsibility. The Duke was known for his rather unorthodox tactics, which occasionally ran counter to accepted protocol.

  “In the letter, you will note that I require a response by tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” This was also entirely reasonable. Debts were a serious matter and a gentleman knew that he was expected to pay what he owed, particularly to a member of his own class.

  But when Updike was summoned to the Duke’s study the following afternoon, it was to report that the correspondence had failed to achieve the expected response.

  “I delivered the letter to his house personally, Your Grace,” Updike said as if the news pained him. “I am sure that he received it.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt that he did,” James said. “He is ignoring it. Snubbing my family, in effect. Well, that simply won’t do,” he continued a grim look on his face.

  James loved a challenge and it looked like the Viscount was about to provide him with one.

  He turned his attention squarely on his steward, who had to force himself not to squirm in his shoes, the Duke could be quite intense some times.

  “I have learned from Baxter that Lathan is planning a particularly extravagant wedding to an heiress. I have no intentions of letting him spend that money without taking care of his obligations to the estate.” He rose from his chair. “I’ve business at White’s.”

  White’s was where he ought to have gone first, James thought as he handed the reins of his horse to one of the grooms and walked inside. His arrival was greeted with pleasure by one of his friends, a charmingly rakish young man recently returned from military service.

  “Summersby!” exclaimed Captain Montgomery Kent. “I thought you were away for the rest of the spring.”

  “So I intended to be. Kent, you’re just the man I wanted to see.”

  “Oh?” Captain Kent looked alarmed for a moment. “I don’t recall owing you money.”

  “You don’t.” There was a glint in James’ green eyes. “But someone else does and I intend to get it back.”

  “Oh? Who might that be?” Kent inquired, his sympathies naturally with the one who owed.


  “Lathan.”

  “Oh, Lathan, well, you ought to have known better than to expect him to honour his debts,” Kent said carelessly. “He can’t pay, you know. Hasn’t a farthing. I won’t play with him and I don’t know anyone else who does either.”

  “You may count me among that number. He borrowed from my mother,” James replied through gritted teeth.

  “Bad form, borrowing from someone’s mother,” Kent commented with a nod.

  “I intend to have it back. I understand he’s planning to marry well.”

  “Yes, but getting one’s hands on that money will take a bit of time, you know. And once he has it, there’s absolutely no hope that he’ll begin to honour his debts.”

  James leaned back in his chair. His lassitude was deceiving, as Captain Kent knew. James at his lounging idleness was ready to pounce.

  “What do you say,” he suggested in a coaxing voice, “to a wager? I’ll bet that I’ll get the money back. In fact, I’ll bet that I’m more likely to get the money back than he is to marry the heiress. What do you say?”

  Kent laughed.

  “You are sure to lose this one Summersby!”

  “Lathan never pays his debts. He’ll marry the woman and likely do a long honeymoon in the hopes that his debts and sins will be forgotten by the time he returns.”

  “I have an uncommonly long memory,” James stated in a dry voice.

  Kent was intrigued.

  Summersby rarely gambled; the thought of engaging the Duke in a wager was in of itself too alluring a prospect to pass up. To do so, and collect on his winnings—for there was nothing more certain than Lathan’s aversion to paying a debt—seemed a most handsome proposition.

  “You’re on!” he said again. “What’s the wager?”

  James told him the amount. It was the sum of the loan.

  Kent whistled. “That much? You’re uncommonly deep of pockets today.”