‘Thank you, I will.’
‘I’ll wager Mortimer won’t let you breach that particular citadel,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘I think Renwick has the right of it and Alex Mortimer’s looking to wed her himself. His principal estate marches with the Allyngham lands: I’d wager a monkey he would very much like to combine the two.’
Jack took another card and studied his hand. He did not like the conversation but knew that any remonstrance on his part would only fuel the speculation.
‘That might be his intention, but what about the lady?’ remarked Renwick, flicking a smile towards Jack. ‘Our mutual acquaintances in Paris tell me the Major has gained quite a reputation over there with the fairer sex, to say nothing of the havoc he wreaked with the beauties of Spain and Portugal.’
‘Ah, but the Glorious Allyngham’s different: you might say Mortimer is already in residence,’ chuckled Graham. ‘He will protect his own interests, I’m sure.’
Jack threw down his hand.
‘Deuce and a pair of fives. I am done, gentlemen.’
Mr Graham gave a snort.
‘Well you know what they say, Clifton, unlucky at cards…I’ll wager Lady Allyngham will be married before the year is out. Any takers, gentlemen?’
Jack smiled but made no reply to that. With a nod he took his leave of them and as he walked away he heard the man with the red side-whiskers calling for the betting book.
Jack made his way to his lodgings in King Street, where his valet was waiting up for him, dozing in a chair. He jerked awake and jumped up as Jack came in.
‘You’s early, Major,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. ‘Didn’t think to see you for an hour or so yet.’
‘I have an appointment with my man of business tomorrow morning.’
Jack allowed himself to be eased out of his coat and waistcoat but then waved his man away.
‘Thank you, Robert. I can manage now. Wake me at eight, if you please.’
When he was alone, Jack delved into the bottom of his trunk, searching for the ring and the locket that he had carried with him since Waterloo. They were safe, tucked into a small leather pouch at one side of the trunk. On impulse he pulled out the locket and carried it to the bed, where he opened it and turned it towards the flickering light of his bedside candle. Two faces stared out at him, the colours jewel-bright. Lord Allyngham’s likeness was very much as Jack remembered him, curling brown hair and a cheerfully confident smile. The other face was but a pale imitation of the original. He frowned. Tony Allyngham’s image of his quiet, loyal, loving wife was sadly at odds with the glorious creature that now had all of London at her feet.
The Renwicks’ narrow town house was full to overflowing by the time Eloise arrived.
‘What a squeeze,’ muttered Alex as he escorted her upstairs. ‘I do not know how you expect to find anyone in this crush!’
‘You are too pessimistic, my friend. If Lord Berrow is here I shall find him.’ She swept ahead of him to greet their hostess, and moments later they were pushing their way through the crowded rooms. There was to be no dancing, just a little music provided by those proficient at the pianoforte and the harp, and Mrs Renwick had hired an Italian singer for their entertainment.
Eloise left Alex talking to an old acquaintance and made her way to the music room in search of her quarry. A young lady was playing the harp and while it could not be said that her audience was universally enraptured, the crowd was a great deal quieter than in the other rooms. It did not take Eloise long to realise that Lord Berrow was not in the music room and she turned to make her way back to the main salon.
‘Ah, Lady Allyngham!’ A silk-coated gentleman approached her. His wizened, painted face looked unnaturally white in the candlelight and it made his crooked teeth look even more yellow. She forced herself to smile, not to flinch as he took her hand and bowed over it. ‘My dear madam, you are looking lovelier than ever tonight.’
She inclined her head, wishing she had not dismissed Alex quite so quickly.
‘And shall we hear you sing, this evening, ma’am?’
She shook her head.
‘No, sir. Tonight I am a mere spectator.’
His yellow smile widened and he leaned towards her.
‘You could never be a mere anything, my lady! Shall we find a quiet corner where we may be private?’
‘Alas, sir, that will never do,’ she said archly, treating him to a flutter of her dark lashes. ‘I must not keep you all to myself when there are so many ladies here waiting to talk to you—I see Lady Bressington even now doing her best to attract your attention.’
The old man straightened, his narrow chest puffing out and with a murmured excuse and a flash of her lovely smile Eloise moved away, barely suppressing a shudder. How had she come to this, she wondered miserably, to have every rake and roué hounding her?
You know very well it is your own fault.
The words clattered through her head as clearly as if she had said them aloud. Her spirit sank a little lower. Yes, it was her own doing. When she had first come to town with her husband he had not objected to her flirting with other gentlemen. Indeed, Tony had been happy to encourage it. It had amused him to see his beautiful new bride the object of such admiration, but Tony had always been there in the background to ensure that the flirtations were not carried too far. Eloise’s return to town as a beautiful young widow had aroused a great amount of interest and it had suited her plans to allow herself to be drawn once more into that heady world of flirtation, but now she wondered perhaps if she had taken the game a little too far. Respectable hostesses were beginning to look askance at her and she was for ever fending off unwanted amorous attentions. She could only be thankful that Mrs Renwick had taken her under her wing and still treated her kindly. Eloise bit back a sigh. Once she had concluded her business with Lord Berrow she would retire to Allyngham and live quietly there until the world had forgotten the Wanton Widow.
She heard her hostess calling to her.
‘My dear Lady Allyngham, I have a gentleman here most eager to make your acquaintance.’
Eloise turned, schooling her face into a polite smile which changed to one of genuine pleasure when she recognised the man beside Mrs Renwick as her dancing partner of the previous evening. There was no smile on the gentleman’s face, however, but a faint look of frowning disapproval. She lifted her chin. No doubt he had seen her encounter with the old roué.
‘May I introduce Major Clifton, madam? He is new to town, having only recently returned to England—he was with the Army of Occupation in Paris.’
‘So you are a soldier, sir?’ She held out her hand.
‘I was, ma’am. I have sold out.’
Major Clifton took her fingers in a firm clasp. She was not prepared for the tiny flutter of excitement she experienced at his touch. Glancing up she saw the startled look in his eyes. Was he, too, shocked by this sudden, unexpected connection? Eloise withdrew her hand and struggled to speak calmly.
‘And what will you do now, sir?’
‘Oh, this and that. Become a gentleman farmer, perhaps.’
His response was cool, distant. If she had not seen that look of surprise and confusion in his face she would have thought him nothing more than a polite stranger. Inconsequential thoughts chased through her head: how dark his eyes were, fringed by long black lashes. She liked the way his hair curled about his ears. She wondered how it would feel to run her fingers through those glossy black locks, to stroke his lean cheek…The major was still speaking and Eloise had to drag her mind back to concentrate