Miss Verey’s Proposal

Chapter One

Four years later

It was late at night when Miss Jane Verey’s laggardly suitor finally arrived at Ambergate. Dinner had been held for hours until Cook had complained bitterly that the sauce béarnaise had curdled and the pheasant compote had dried out and stuck to the serving dish. With a sigh and a glance at the clock, Lady Verey had had the food brought in and had eaten alone with her daughter, both of them uncomfortable in the unaccustomed finery donned especially for their visitor.

After dinner, they had sat for another hour in virtual silence, broken only by Lady Verey’s plaintive cry of, ‘But why does he not come? I am certain that he said the fifteenth! Perhaps he has had an accident on the road…’

Jane had fidgeted with her needlework, but had said nothing at all. There seemed to be little to say. After two months of vague promises and broken arrangements, Lord Philip Delahaye had still not honoured their agreement and met his chosen bride. He seemed a reluctant lover indeed, which sat ill with the information Jane had been given that the Delahaye match, as well as having her late father’s blessing, was Lord Philip’s most earnest desire.

Eventually, when Jane’s yawns had become too pronounced to be ignored and the clock had chimed twelve, Lady Verey patted her daughter’s cheek.

‘You had best retire for the night, Jane. I shall wait up in case Lord Philip comes. Such disappointment is hard to bear, I know, but perhaps the morning will bring better news.’

Jane kissed her mother and went off to bed. She did not feel it necessary to explain that her disappointment amounted to very little at all. She had been persuaded to receive Lord Philip’s addresses since it had been made very plain to her that they were now quite poor and that her father’s dying wish was that her future be secured. Her brother Simon, the new Lord Verey, had been fighting with Wellington’s armies and had not been heard of for a twelvemonth. Ambergate was falling about their ears and the servants stayed only out of loyalty. It was a melancholy picture.

It is not that I do not wish to marry, Jane thought, as she climbed the stairs in the candlelight, for I know I have very little choice. It is just that I imagined-hoped-that it might be so very different…And she thought of her henwitted friend Sophia Marchment, and could not help smiling. Sophia had imagined herself in love with no less than four young gentlemen in the last six months, but then she had remembered that none of them resembled the young man she had dreamed of so long ago on St Agnes Eve…

Jane had no illusions that her marriage would be other than a business arrangement, a matter for sound common sense, and yet part of her wished for, if not a romantic passion, at least a mutual regard.

If I can just like him, she thought, then matters need not be so bad. And I hope that I do like him, for Mama can be most determined and I know that she means for the match to be made…

She stood before her bedroom mirror for a moment and wondered whether Lord Philip would like her. So familiar was she with her own features that Jane could scarcely see their charm. She decided that she looked rather like a cat, though admittedly a sleeker creature than the mangy tom that patrolled their stables. Her face had lost all its childhood fat and was now almost triangular, tapering from wide-set hazel eyes to a pointed little chin. Her mother was always telling her that she had the Verey nose, a delicate little projection that always looked weak on the face of Jane’s male ancestors but suited her own proportions far better. The whole was framed by thick black hair as dark as night.

Jane sighed and started to undress for bed. She could see little to commend herself and did not recognise her own intriguing mixture of innocence and allure. She donned her cotton nightdress hastily, for the spring evenings were still chilly and Ambergate had many draughts. Her best dress of slightly faded white silk was laid carefully aside, looking as forlorn as Jane felt.

It was five minutes after Jane had slipped into her bed that the front door bell pealed, harsh and loud in the night. It rang once, then several more times, with irritable repetition.

A loud male voice shouted, ‘Deuce take it! Is the whole house asleep? Hello there! Wake up, I say!’

Jane slid out of bed and tiptoed along the corridor to the wide landing at the top of the stairs. She could see Bramson, the butler, hastily shrugging himself into his coat as he hurried to the door. The old man was almost visibly shaking at the shock of the sudden arrival and all the noise, and Jane could not but wish Lord Philip would leave the bell alone. The continuous jangling was giving her a headache.

Lady Verey herself now came running out of the parlour just as Bramson swung the door open. It was clear to Jane that her mother must have fallen asleep in front of the fire, for her coiffure had started to come down on one side and there was a vivid red mark on her cheek where it must have been pressed against the side of the chair. She had had no time to tidy herself and was straightening her dress with nervous fingers. Jane’s heart went out to her as she saw the anxious look that creased Lady Verey’s face. She was heartbreakingly eager for the visit to be a success.

‘What the devil do you mean by keeping me standing out there in the cold!’ The same loud, masculine voice demanded wrathfully, as Lord Philip stepped into the hall. ‘You!’ He pointed at Bramson. ‘See to the stabling of my horses! They are worn to the bone by these devilish bad roads! And you…’ he turned towards Lady Verey ‘…kindly take me to your mistress!’

With horror, Jane realised that he had mistaken her mother for the housekeeper. Fortunately, Lady Verey’s good manners, if not Lord Philip’s, were up to the occasion.

She dropped a slight curtsy.

‘How do you do, sir. I am Clarissa Verey. I am sorry to hear you have had so poor a journey. Would you care for some refreshment before you retire?’

Jane waited to hear Lord Philip apologise for his late arrival, his poor manners or perhaps both. Instead, he looked down his nose as though he could not quite believe that the fright who was addressing him could really be the mistress of the house. He gave a slight bow. ‘How do you do, ma’am. Some dinner would be excellent.’

‘The servants are all abed,’ Lady Verey said, colouring a little under Lord Philip’s critical scrutiny. ‘I hope a cold supper in your room will suit your lordship…’

Lord Philip gave a sigh. ‘I suppose that will suffice! What extraordinary hours you do keep in the country, ma’am! Why, if this were London, we would only now be sitting down to our second course! Quite extraordinary!’

Jane shrank back into the shadows as her mother steered their guest towards the staircase, but she had ample chance to see Lord Philip’s rather disparaging look as he took in the old-fashioned furnishings and the threadbare carpet. Something close to fury rose in her. She could see that Lady Verey was both offended and upset, but was bravely trying to maintain a flow of pleasantries as they mounted the stairs.

Lord Philip, however, was only concerned with the arrangements for his luggage and turned to shout over his shoulder at the footman, ‘See to it that someone brings my bags up carefully, man! The last time I stayed in the country some dolt of a servant managed to ruin half my cravats with his man-handling!’

For a moment Jane indulged in the satisfying thought of kicking Lord Philip’s bags straight down the stairs, then she dived for her bedroom door as her mother ushered him down the corridor. She huddled under her covers, knees drawn up to her chin, and thought about what she had just seen and heard. How could this be her intended husband, this arrogant, boorish man who had made his contempt for country manners and country living so obvious in the space of only a few minutes? How could he humiliate his hostess so? His rudeness and scorn were not to be tolerated!

Her thoughts were distracted by the rattle of a tray and the chink of china. Lady Verey had sent hotfoot to the kitchens and even now she was labouring along the corridor, weighed down with food. Jane slipped out of bed again, opened her door a crack and pressed her ear to the gap. She heard the door of the green bedroom open and Lord Philip drawl in a tone very different from the one last used,

‘Well, my pretty, what good fortune can have sent you to me?’

Jane pressed a hand to her mouth. Surely he could not be addressing Lady Verey! Then she realised that her mother must have left Lord Philip to the mercy of the servants and it was Betsey, the prettiest of the maids, who had run the errand. Betsey was giggling.

‘I’ve brought your supper, sir!’ There was a pertness in her tone that Jane had heard before when Betsey was flirting with the youngest footman, or Jack from the stables.

There was a crash and another giggle from the maid. ‘Oh, sir! And you come a-courting here, as well! Whatever will Miss Verey say?’

‘A pox on Miss Verey!’ Jane heard Lord Philip say lazily. ‘What do I care for her? And a pox on this paltry dish! Here’s one much more to my liking! You’re a cosy armful-come and give me a kiss…’

The door swung closed. Jane, burning with a mixture of embarrassment and fury, slammed her own door, careless of the noise. How dared he! First to arrive so late that he missed dinner, then to scorn Lady Verey’s hospitality and show his contempt for her home, and finally to seduce one of the maids before he was barely across the threshold! Jane knew that she would never accept Lord Philip now, even if he went down on bended knee.

Surely…surely Lady Verey would not insist on the match now…Jane shivered in the draught from the door. If only she could be that sure, but their situation was so perilous. With Simon missing, they had no one to protect them. The estate needed firm management and a great deal of hard work. Lord Verey’s entire fortune was left to Simon, but for Lady Verey’s widow’s jointure and Jane’s small dowry. It seemed inevitable that her mother would wish her to marry well and marry soon, perhaps so soon that she would be prepared to overlook Lord Philip’s crass bad manners.

There was a crash in the corridor as Lord Philip ejected both the supper tray, contents scattered all over the floor, and a snivelling Betsey, who had evidently not received the reward she had expected for her services. Jane gritted her teeth as she heard the sobbing maid rush away downstairs. Enough was enough. She took a candle and crept through the adjoining door into the old nursery.

The nursery was cold and dark, the pale candle flame reflected in the window panes. Shivering, Jane tiptoed across to the huge Armada chest tucked into a corner, neglected for years since the Verey children had grown too old for dressing up. She dragged it out and threw back the lid. She was sure she remembered…Yes, there it was, the dress her governess, Miss Tring, had worn as the Wicked-and fat-Stepmother to Sophia’s Cinderella. Sophia had made a lovely heroine, but Jane had preferred to play one of the Ugly Sisters, for she found the part more interesting. But Miss Tring’s dress was perfect for her purpose. It had huge cushions sewn on the inside and had made her look outrageously obese. Then there were the little pads to fatten out the cheeks and the brown crayon for freckles. Jane gathered everything up into a hasty bundle and hurried back into her room. She had great deal to do before morning.

Lord Philip Delahaye was woken at some ungodly hour of the morning by a cock crowing outside his window. He groaned and turned over to bury his head in the pillow but the noise seemed to go on and on, skewering his brain. He vaguely remembered a pretty little maidservant and a large bottle of port…Groaning, he turned on to his back and flinched as the bed-curtains were flung wide and the light struck across his eyes.

‘Good morning, my lord!’ A voice trilled in his ear. ‘Why, I declare you are quite a slug-a-bed! My mama said to let you sleep, but I declare you must be up and about and out riding with me before breakfast!’

Lord Philip opened his eyes very gingerly. Before him stood an apparition that seemed to have come straight from his feverish dreams. His incredulous gaze took in the mob-cap, perched on a frizz of black curls, the hugely fat figure and the mottled face. He goggled at her.

‘Who the devil are you?’

‘I am your affianced bride, my lord!’ The apparition moved slightly so that the morning sun was directly behind her and gave a little simpering giggle. Lord Philip could see little more than a monstrous, dark shape menacing him from the side of the bed. He shrank back against the pillows.

‘Beg you to retire, ma’am!’ he stuttered. ‘Whatever can your mama be thinking to allow you to visit a gentleman’s chamber so early-’

‘It is past six,’ his future bride scolded, wagging a finger. ‘What a shocking lazybones! Breakfast is served at seven and then we must be about to help with the milking and feed the pigs! This is a working farm, my lord, and there is much to be done!’

Lord Philip winced. The thought of breakfast brought on a rush of nausea and the sight of his bobbing, tittering bride made it much worse. He desperately tried to remember what his elder brother had told him about Miss Jane Verey. Alex had been very persuasive about the match, convincing him that it was the only way that he would have his debts paid and be given an increase in his allowance. Philip had reluctantly considered that a wife, provided that she was biddable and presentable, need not hamper his activities too much. Besides, the money had been the deciding factor.

He shuddered. He spent as little time as possible in the country and even its sporting pursuits did not interest him. He was a creature of the city, in thrall to the gaming tables and the clubs, shuddering at country taste and country manners. No wonder Alex had skated adroitly over the Vereys’ situation! They were hardly in the first stare of fashion and he had known nothing of them before Miss Verey’s name had been put forward as his potential bride. Now he could see why. Poor as church mice…working a farm to make ends meet…a shabby house, no food, a barely drinkable port…They evidently needed Alex’s money as much as he did!

Miss Verey was hovering about his bed now, plumping his pillows, smoothing his sheets and all the while chattering on in a way that made his head ache abominably. Philip tried to concentrate on Alex’s fortune and the improvements in his life when his brother deigned to grant him a small share in it. A wife could be made to look presentable, but he shuddered to think of the cruel amusement of the ton when he escorted Miss Verey to one of the exquisite Bond Street couturiers in the hope that they could work a miracle. Pride and appearance were everything in his circle. He would be a laughing-stock. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the money, but Miss Verey’s chatter distracted him.

‘Pray, ma’am, will you be quiet!’ he snapped. ‘All I require from you is that you summon my valet! Immediately!’ Six in the morning-he knew that Gibson would be furious for, like his master, he was a late riser. Nevertheless, that could not be given consideration. Lord Philip knew that he simply had to get away from Ambergate.

Lady Verey did not wake until ten, for she had been exhausted by the events of the previous night and Jane had given the servants orders not to disturb her. The first thing she saw was her daughter, perched demurely on the end of her bed, face scrubbed and pale, black hair freshly washed and curling about her face.

‘Lord Philip!’ Lady Verey exclaimed, struggling upright. ‘Have you seen to his lordship’s requirements, Jane? He is most particular and I should not wish him to find fault with us-’

Jane came forward and patted her mother’s hand. ‘Do not distress yourself, Mama! I saw Lord Philip myself this morning-I went to his chamber to see that he had all that he needed-and alas, he told me that he must hurry back to London. He had some urgent and unexpected business, I understand.’

Lady Verey clapped her hand to her mouth in horror. ‘Jane! You mean that he has left already?’

Jane nodded regretfully. ‘I am sorry, Mama. He sent you his apologies and best wishes.’

‘Did he say nothing of returning?’ Lady Verey asked, clutching her head beneath its lacy bedcap. ‘Surely he will be back with us soon?’

Jane shook her head. ‘I fear he made no mention of it, Mama, and I did not wish to press him-’

‘No, of course.’ Lady Verey smiled distractedly at her daughter. ‘Natural delicacy must prevent you from inquiring-’ She broke off in exasperation. ‘Oh, dear, this is so very unfortunate! What of the betrothal? He did not speak this morning? No, I can see that he would not have the time…Perhaps I should write…But if he did not seem anxious to return…’

Jane got up and made a business of brushing some imaginary dust from the skirts of her dress.

‘I am persuaded that it would be best to let matters lie, Mama. I am sure that Lord Philip will come back to Ambergate if he wishes and that we should not importune him. As for the betrothal, well…’ she tried to look suitably downcast ‘…we must bear the disappointment as well as we are able.’

‘Yes, indeed!’ Lady Verey took her wrap gratefully and slipped out of bed. ‘What a sensible girl you are, Jane. Tell me, did you like Lord Philip?’

‘I scarce had time to form an opinion, Mama,’ Jane said carefully. ‘His lordship is excessively handsome and seems most fashionable…’

Lady Verey’s lips set in a thin line and for a moment her daughter thought that she was about to pass some criticism, but her innate courtesy triumphed over her feelings.

‘Well, well, it is all most strange! He gave no indication of the business that had summoned him away so suddenly, I suppose? No, of course he would not. But perhaps he will return in his own good time…’

‘Perhaps so, Mama,’ Jane concurred. ‘Perhaps so.’

Three weeks later, Simon Verey returned home.

‘Is it not romantic, Jane?’ Sophia Marchment exclaimed as the friends sat together in the parlour of the Manor. ‘Your long-lost brother returned from the dead to save the estate from ruin! I declare you must be aux anges!’

Jane tried not to laugh. Sophia’s flights of fancy were as extravagant as they were highly coloured, but she was the sweetest friend imaginable.

‘I am very happy to have Simon back,’ she agreed, ‘for we were always close and to think him lost was a horrid thing! He has changed, Sophia, which I suppose is no surprise.’ Jane wrinkled her brow. ‘War has changed him. He seems older, not just in years but in attitude and experience.’

Sophia made a little noise of distress and took Jane’s hand in a comforting hold. ‘Oh, Jane! Is he very sad?’

‘Not precisely…’ Jane smiled a little ‘…but he is serious and no madcap boy like he was before. He says he wishes to settle down! Imagine! He plans to go to London to find himself a suitable wife!’

Sophia coloured a little. She had been a little in love with Simon Verey for the last ten years.

Jane, realising she had been tactless, hurried on.

‘Anyway, when Simon explained his plan to go up to Town, Mama decided that we should all go, for the Season. Apparently, Aunt Augusta Monckton has a house in Portman Square which she has offered to us and, although it is not the most fashionable of addresses, it is in a perfectly respectable area. Mama believes that we may afford it if we are careful and she is quite taken with the idea.’

‘London!’ Sophia breathed. ‘Oh, Jane!’ She looked round the manor parlour with its faded velvet and chintzes. ‘The Season! Fashionable company! I declare you are the luckiest creature alive!’

Jane, reflecting how little she wished for her good fortune, gave her friend a smile. ‘Well, it is not perfectly to my taste, for you know how I prefer the country, and I know you think me mad to do so! But what I really wished to ask was whether you would like to come with us? Mama thought it would be better fun for me if you were there and I should like it extremely-’

When Sophia had stopped screaming with excitement, had hugged her friend twice and had rushed off down the corridor to find the Squire and Mrs. Marchment, Jane sat back with a sigh.

She had spoken the truth when she said that she was delighted to have her brother back, but his plans had taken her by surprise. She had expected him to want nothing but peace and rest after the privations and hardship of his life on campaign, but instead he had insisted on the entertainment and company of the capital. Lady Verey’s enthusiastic acquiescence had made Jane’s heart sink. She had not imagined that she would need to set foot in London.

She knew that her mother was thinking to bring her to Lord Philip’s attention again in the hope that the Delahaye match might be saved, or, if that were not to be, that Jane might attract the interest of some other gentleman of means. Simon’s return had staved off the most immediate threat of penury, of course, but she still had little alternative than to marry. She could not be a drain on her brother’s limited resources indefinitely.

London. In view of the way she had disposed of Lord Philip, this was particularly awkward. Jane frowned. Her conscience had been troubling her, not about the way she had deceived Lord Philip by her appearance and behaviour, but over the necessity of omitting certain facts when she spoke of it to her mother.

For some reason, she had not anticipated ever having to see Lord Philip again and she was annoyed with herself for not considering the possibility. It would be very difficult to think up a convincing explanation for the sudden transformation in her appearance.

Of course, she might not even meet Lord Philip in London, but matters could become awkward if she did. Jane heaved another sigh. Thank goodness that no one else knew the embarrassing truth about Lord Philip’s foreshortened visit to Ambergate. It was not an episode of which she was proud but, given a little time, she was sure that she could come up with a plausible explanation for her behaviour.

The night watchman greeted the gentleman with the news that it wanted but ten minutes to two and the weather was fine. The butler at the house in Berkeley Square gave him the further intelligence that his brother was awaiting him in the library. Lord Philip Delahaye thanked both of them and tipped neither. The butler watched him go into the room and shook his head very slightly at the distinct unsteadiness of his lordship’s gait.

The library was lit by the fire and one candle only. Lord Philip, coming to an abrupt halt just inside the door, said uncertainly, ‘Alex?’

‘Sit down, Philip.’

Alexander, Duke of Delahaye, spoke from the depths of the wing chair placed before the fire. He put his book to one side and got to his feet. ‘A drink, little brother? Or have you already had enough for one evening?’ There was the faintest, mocking undertone in his voice and, as always, it put Philip on the defensive.

‘Devil take it, Alex, it’s not even two o’clock yet! I’d only just got to Watiers as it was!’

‘Not broached your third bottle yet? My apologies for finding you too soon,’ his brother returned drily. ‘Unfortunately, there was-is-a matter of some urgency I wished to discuss with you.’

There was silence. Philip watched a little sulkily as his brother crossed to the table and poured two glasses of brandy. He took one with a grudging word of thanks and sat down. Unlike the Duke, who was casually if elegantly attired, Lord Philip was in evening dress of a high dandyism. He felt rather than saw his brother’s dark gaze skim him with thoughtful consideration and stiffened. Why was it, he wondered, that Alex could look so effortlessly elegant in his disarray whilst he had spent hours before a mirror and was still discontented with the result?

To make himself feel better he said spitefully, ‘You look a little dishevelled, Alex. Been entertaining a lady?’

‘No,’ the Duke said indifferently. ‘I have been waiting for you to come and explain to me why you are in Town rather than courting Miss Verey in Wiltshire.’

Lord Philip took a pull on his brandy. He felt he needed it. ‘I did go to Wiltshire…’

‘I know. And then you came back the following day. Why?’

There was nothing for it but the truth. ‘The girl’s a freak,’ Lord Philip said viciously. ‘A great, fat, whey-faced creature who can barely string two words together, and you and Lady Verey will not foist her on to me for the sake of any fortune! I’d rather starve!’

‘And well you might.’ There was still no inflection in Alex Delahaye’s voice. The fire crackled. ‘Have you forgotten that you’ll not get another penny from me if you do not marry?’

‘Marry, yes-but that?’ Philip’s eyes were wild. He slammed the glass down and the amber liquid jumped. ‘Have you met Miss Verey, Alex? Do you really dislike me so much as to condemn me to that?’

Alex Delahaye raised his brows. ‘I have not seen her since she was fifteen and I’ll allow she was a little on the plump side then-’

‘Plump! Surely you mean monstrous fat! A great whale of a girl tricked out in pink satin!’

Alex winced. ‘Must you always judge on appearance, Philip? I confess I have had no speech with her, but Verey assured me that she was of pleasant disposition and well to a pass-’

‘Ha!’

‘And that she was not unwilling to the match-’

‘Maybe not, for what other chance will she get?’ Philip drained the rest of his brandy in one gulp. ‘No wonder she is not yet out! No wonder the Vereys had been hiding her away there in the country these years past! And now Lord Verey is dead and beyond retribution and I am promised to that fright!’

The Duke sighed with the first sign of irritation he had shown. ‘As well he is dead, or you would be answering to him for your insults to his daughter! Philip, I will not carry on financing your escapades about town indefinitely. The alliance with Jane Verey is a sound one.’

‘Oh, I know you want me to settle down.’ Philip put his empty glass down with a sulky snap. All his remembered grievances were jostling in his mind, pushing forward, demanding to be heard.

‘It is all very well for you to dictate to me, keeping me short of funds, making me beg to have my debts settled! You, with all the fortune and all the estates-’

‘And all the responsibilities,’ his brother finished, a little bitterly. ‘Yes, it has been truly enjoyable for me, Philip, with five younger siblings to see settled creditably and three estates to return to profit! And then there have been fortune-hunting suitors to discourage on behalf of my sisters and the extorting landlords to deal with over breach of promise-’

‘There was only one landlord,’ Philip said crossly, ‘and I never promised to marry his daughter!’

Alex did not trouble to reply. He stretched out his long legs towards the fire and sighed. His brother eyed him with disfavour.

‘You have been married,’ Philip said suddenly. ‘How can you then condemn me to a loveless match?’

There was a sharp silence. ‘I would have thought that my own experiences were the perfect example of the evils of a love match,’ Alex said expressionlessly. ‘I would spare you that, little brother.’

Philip said something very short and very rude. His brother only smiled.

‘I sometimes find it difficult to believe you are only my senior by ten years,’ Philip said, with a final vicious spurt of malice. ‘You seem so very much older!’

Alex laughed. ‘The weight of obligation!’ he said lightly, but his eyes were cold.

‘But devil take it, Alex, you like living like this! You choose it!’ Philip reached for the brandy bottle, staring at his brother aggressively. ‘You never go out, you never entertain…You cultivate your reputation as a recluse! And yet the toadies still try to tempt you with their daughters and their entertainments and their wine cellars!’

Alex shrugged, indifferent again. ‘A Dukedom is perceived to be always in need of a Duchess,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately for the matchmakers, I am not in need of a wife! Which is where you enter the play, Philip!’

‘Damned if I see why I should marry just to oblige you!’ his brother said, aggrieved. ‘I know Madeline played fast and loose, and after she died you wanted no more to do with women! But you hold the Dukedom-you provide the heir! Damnation take it, there are hundreds of women panting after you!’

Alex Delahaye stretched, crossing one ankle over the other. ‘You’re wasting your time, Philip! I hold the purse strings and I want you to marry! It’s as simple as that. Now, you will renew your courtship of Miss Verey-’

‘I can’t do that!’

‘Because of your aversion to her appearance? You will find that there is more to marriage than a pretty face,’ his brother said coldly.

‘It’s not just that.’ Philip’s face was turned away, suddenly suffused with colour. ‘I have told everyone-told the others how it was with her. I shall be a laughing-stock if I renew my suit!’

‘The others? Whom?’ Alex’s voice cut like a whip.

‘Ponsonby and Malters and Cheriton,’ Philip muttered. ‘It seemed a good joke-Verey tricking you into agreeing an alliance between the Delahayes and that pudding-faced wench! They found it amusing, at any event…’

‘No doubt,’ Alex said, with biting sarcasm. He got to his feet, towering over his brother’s chair. ‘Your drinking cronies have seldom been graced with wit and taste! Well, you must make your choice, Philip! Either you are a rich laughing-stock or you are a penniless one!’

Philip was out of his chair in a second, confronting his brother. Alex had moved away and stood before the fireplace, one arm resting idly on the mantelpiece. He was the taller, which gave him an immediate advantage, but for once Philip was too angry to care.

‘Damn you for dictating my life,’ he said, real hatred lighting his blue eyes. ‘I wish you had died along with our parents!’

For a moment they stood as though frozen. Philip was the first to look away.

‘I’m going,’ he muttered, ‘and do not think to try and pass off one of your candidates for matrimony on to me again! Damned if I’ll ever marry, to oblige you or otherwise!’

‘Damned if you don’t,’ Alex said expressionlessly, moving over to the fireplace and pulling the bell for the butler. ‘Tredpole, my brother is just leaving. Be so good as to lock up after him. You may go to bed. I shall not need you again tonight.’

After the impassive Tredpole had shown Philip out, Alex resumed his seat but did not pick up the book that he had been reading. Instead, he sat staring into the dying embers of the fire.

Miss Jane Verey…She had been little more than a child when he had seen her at Ambergate, but she had seemed a pleasant and unaffected girl. Alex smiled a little as he remembered the first glimpse he had had of her, riding across the fields close to her home. She had had a good seat on the horse and was clearly enjoying both the fresh country air and the company of her brother, who rode alongside. She had seemed exactly the type of sensible girl who would best keep Philip’s wilder excesses in check. Lord Verey had been flatteringly eager for the alliance, but they had agreed to wait a few years for Jane to reach her eighteenth year. All had seemed set fair.

Verey’s death had thrown the plan slightly, but when the year of mourning had elapsed, Alex had been glad to find that the widow was still as receptive to the match. Philip had been giving increasing cause for concern over the years, with his deep play and unsuitable friends, and now that he had attained the age of four and twenty, Alex had decided it was high time that his brother settled down. Nor had Philip seemed particularly reluctant at first. Alex gave a rueful grimace. Money was the only currency that Philip understood and the inducements that he had offered alongside Miss Verey had obviously been attractive. More attractive than the girl herself, evidently!

Alex sighed. Perhaps he had been mistaken, in both Miss Verey and in the strength of Philip’s feelings. It was not always easy to know what was best in the matter of his brother and sisters. There had been an ageing roué whom his sister Eliza had sworn was the love of her life. Alex had disapproved of the man but had not liked to oppose the match when he could see that his actions made Eliza so unhappy. Yet the very next season she had met a young baronet and was now happily married and living in Herefordshire. The other two girls were also married and the middle brother, George, was serving with Wellington’s army. There was only Philip…

Alex strode over to the bureau beside the window. One of the desk drawers was half-open, a pile of papers almost spilling over the top. His expression hardened. Philip had been granted endless credit on the strength of the Delahaye fortune and now he was the one they were dunning for payment. He slammed the drawer closed, sending several of the bills tumbling onto the carpet. He would not stand for any more nonsense. The Verey match would be put forward once again and Philip forced to comply. Alex’s jaw tightened. His brother’s day of reckoning was approaching in more ways than one.