Chapter 4

CHAPTER

a

4

G eorgina Cronenworth sat at the dining room table and was having breakfast. Theo was with her, so Georgina was nibbling at her food, pretending to be a light eater. Over the past few years, she'd grown very fat and she didn't like others to think she was a glutton.

Whenever anyone was watching, she pecked like a bird. Later on, when she was alone, she'd fill a plate and gorge herself silly.

With her finally turning fifty, it seemed as if her body had given up. Her hair, that had once been thick, lustrous, and blond, was a thin, mousy grey. Her blue eyes had once been merry and considered her best feature, but they'd faded to a grey that matched her dull hair. If she stood in the middle of a large group, she vanished completely, as if she were invisible.

She was too short to carry the extra weight. Her gowns never hung properly and were too snug, the seams let out as far as they would go. She now had jowls. Jowls! It was mortifying.

Her twin sister, Gertrude, was chubby too, and they frequently debated the cause. They refused to accept that they were prone to overindulgence, and they'd convinced themselves that their obesity was an inherited trait. Their father had been stout, so they were very stout too.

Theo was regaling her with tales of the supper hosted by Lord Thornhill. Georgina was incredibly miffed that she hadn't been invited to the meal, but it had been a small gathering of youngsters, so she wouldn't have fit in.

She'd often been slighted and overlooked in her life, and she'd never become accustomed to being left out. It was the reason she enjoyed her membership in the Matron's Brigade so much. Their activities made her feel important, and there was no doubt she was providing a vital service to the kingdom. People told her so constantly, especially Vicar Johnson, their spiritual leader, who was delighted by her moral indignation.

"What is your opinion?" she asked Theo. "Should we hold a welcome party for Lord Thornhill? We could introduce him to the neighbors. Wouldn't that be a benefit to him?"

It was a fantasy Georgina had allowed to flourish in her mind: her befriending the famous aristocrat. As stories about his bravery had circulated, as he'd been raised up from obscurity, the various accounts had been printed in the newspapers. He was like a hero in an ancient fable.

She'd pictured herself squiring him around to soirees and musicales, tossing his name into conversations. Her circle of acquaintances would be jealous and agog.

Her dream was immediately dashed as Theo shook her head and said, "It's not a good idea. He's an odd duck and he has some very bad habits."

"What bad habits?"

"Well, for starters, he has a long-time mistress and he openly consorts with her."

"How did you discover that?"

"He flat-out confessed it to me! I thought he was married, and I inquired about his wife, but he promptly disabused me of the notion that he was a husband. He saw nothing dodgy or inappropriate about admitting the liaison to me. That's how debauched he is."

"All noblemen are debauched. If there weren't so many tarts available to tempt them, they'd behave much better." It was the underlying belief of the Matron's Brigade: Trollops were the problem. Not the dissolute men who wallowed in their wicked company.

"He gambles too," Theo said, "so he's the precise type of cad who rampages through the demimonde and causes so much trouble."

"Noblemen gamble too. It's in their blood, so it's futile to complain about it."

"Yes, but in light of your work with the Brigade, it wouldn't be wise to fraternize with him. Nor would he be amenable. He was very proud about his being lifted up by the King. He wouldn't lower himself by rubbing elbows with us."

Georgina sniffed with offense. The whole neighborhood was tittering over the fact that he'd bought a house on their street. It was like having a heavenly angel move in next door. Who could have predicted that the notorious fellow would pick such a humble address?

In her view, it wasn't all that humble, but it wasn't Mayfair either. If he ever hoped to assimilate with his toplofty peers, that's where he should have chosen to reside.

"Arthur claims they're cordial," she said. "Did you observe them together? Did that seem to be true?"

"Oh, yes, they're very cordial. When I went home, Arthur stayed to revel."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Arthur was her only child, and she'd prayed he would find a way to wedge himself into the highest echelons of the Polite World. None of the Cronenworth men had ever had a title, and over the centuries, they'd earned their fortunes at numerous endeavors.

Some had been soldiers fighting abroad who'd glommed onto the spoils of war. Others had shrewdly leapt into the import craze, when British traders had been expanding markets around the globe. Still others had been government ministers, which had positioned them to draft lucrative contracts and tax incentives for themselves.

Their current generation owned and operated HH Imports, with the HH standing for Theo's father, Harold, and his brother, Herbert. Both gentlemen were deceased and Georgina had slyly finagled the situation so Arthur had wound up running the business.

He didn't like being saddled with it and she'd had reservations about him assuming control. It tarnished his image and blocked relationships with prominent men. They scorned him as having to be in trade, and thus, being beneath them on the social ladder.

She'd always thought he was destined for a bigger future, but neither her first husband—his father—nor her second husband—Harold—had arranged their affairs so Arthur could have flown to great heights. A mother was judged by the success or failure of her son, and Arthur wasn't as significant as she'd wished him to be.

He chose that moment to stagger into the room. It was nine o'clock, so it was a surprise for him to be up so early. Usually, he caroused until the wee hours, so he rarely got out of bed before three, but there was a conference with their bankers that he had to attend. She would have attended for him, but they wouldn't speak to her. They'd demanded a discussion with him instead.

"Good morning," Theo said to him. "Why are you up before the crack of noon?"

"I have an appointment I can't miss." His voice was groggy and cracking, and as he eased down on a chair, he held his head in his hands, as if it was pounding ferociously.

He enjoyed liquor a little too much and it was obvious he was hungover. She'd coddled him, so he was prone to mischief, and it would be useless to scold him. She was just relieved he'd agreed, without a quarrel, to go to the bank.

He was thirty and sired after years of trying with two different spouses. She'd have liked to boast that he was a handsome, captivating devil, but the truth was that he was plain and ordinary: medium height, sickly complexion, pudgy tummy. His hair was the typical Cronenworth blond, but he was balding, and he wore it long in the back and combed over the top to distract from what was missing.

He had the Cronenworth blue eyes too, but they were pale and rheumy, mostly due to his constant over-imbibing. They didn't spark with humor or jollity, so he would never make a female's pulse flutter with excitement. Then again, Theo had betrothed herself to him, and they were marching down the road to their wedding, so it probably didn't matter if he could dazzle the ladies or not.

Occasionally, she nudged them to set the date, but they weren't in a hurry. She couldn't abide much more of a delay though, and Arthur was cognizant of the danger they were in. They wouldn't be safe until Theo was his wife.

He was a shirker, and he'd always been lucky, so she couldn't convince him that tragedy might strike. He was having too much fun as a bachelor, and he never worried about any subject, especially Theo or their fiscal predicament.

He deemed Theo to be too accommodating to complain about any issue. That might be correct with Theo, but what about her sister, Charlotte? Charlotte was a nuisance and firebrand, and just because Theo might never trouble them, it didn't mean Charlotte wouldn't rise up like a demon to plague them.

One sibling at a time, she mused. If Charlotte ever raised a fuss, Georgina would deal with her when it happened.

"Theo," she said, "why don't you ride to the bank with Arthur? There's that new teahouse that opened nearby. You could stop in, then tell me about it afterward."

"I can't. I have to write that pamphlet you requested." Theo was finished eating. She stood to depart, and as she walked by Arthur, she patted him on the shoulder. "Have some breakfast, Arthur, and see if it will improve your condition. You shouldn't show up for your meeting when you look like death-warmed-over."

Was that a sly jibe about his drinking? Did Theo realize he often partook to excess? Were the servants gossiping about it?

She hoped not. She hoped everyone ignored his weaknesses as carefully as she did. If Theo ever grew concerned, Georgina would sing his praises and insist Theo was deranged to suppose he wasn't perfect.

v

Arthur was too queasy to dish up his food, so he waved for the footman to handle it for him. The boy was aware of what Arthur liked, and quickly, the plate was laid before him. He was hungry enough to dig in like a starving man, but his stomach was roiling. He didn't dare gobble down the contents, for he was certain they'd come right back up.

His mother motioned for the boy to leave the room, and he complied, shutting the door on the way out, so they were alone.

Arthur couldn't bear to be scolded, but from her dour expression, it was clear she was about to start in. He braced, recognizing that he had to simply agree with her. He was too miserable to spar, and if he didn't watch out, he'd wind up consenting to all sorts of nonsense merely to silence her.

"Should I ask you about the wedding date again?" she inquired as her initial salvo. Recently, she'd been harping on it more than normal.

"Must we argue about it so early? I've barely crawled out of bed and you're already pestering me."

"We can't protect ourselves until you're married to her."

"I know, Mother. I know. You've only reminded me a thousand times."

Theo's father, Harold, had built HH Imports into a huge, prosperous enterprise. He'd been extremely wealthy, but he'd never been fond of Georgina and he'd absolutely detested Arthur.

When he'd died, he'd bequeathed monetary gifts to them, which they'd promptly spent. The old roué had had a favored mistress, and she'd been a cash beneficiary too, but it was a bequest they had no intention of ever paying. The rest of the estate, including HH Imports, had been left to his daughters, Theo and Charlotte, and all of it would pass to their husbands once they were wed.

The assets had been placed in a trust, with their cousin, Benedict, named as the trustee, but he'd been elderly and in failing health. As he'd begun to decline, Georgina had taken charge of his personal affairs. Gradually and cunningly, she'd persuaded him to let her deal with the business and the money for him, and he'd signed over his authority.

Theo and Charlotte didn't realize what had occurred. They'd been adolescents when Harold had perished, and they'd been too young and na?ve to worry about things like a Will or an inheritance. On one tense occasion, Charlotte had demanded information, but Georgina had lied and claimed he'd had no Will, but that there had been a prior directive for the company to be given to Arthur on Harold's death.

After that, the sisters had assumed his role was part of the natural course of events.

Thorny issues were arising though. Georgina was a negligent accountant and Arthur was a gambler and spendthrift. In his own defense, he had an image to maintain about town, and it was very expensive to carry on appropriately.

He refused to dirty his hands in trade, so he'd hired men to manage the company for him, but they were either corrupt or incompetent. They lost money every year and Arthur and Georgina fell farther behind. They'd had to sell their country property of Peachtree Haven, Theo and Charlotte's childhood home, so it wasn't seized by creditors. Another cousin had snatched it up, so they were still able to visit, but it had been a terrible blow.

Theo and Charlotte hadn't forgiven him, but he couldn't have explained that they'd been facing foreclosure. They believed the business was thriving and the family's financial condition perfectly fine, but it wasn't. Arthur wished he cared more about imports or shipping, that he had the inclination to supervise his employees, but he couldn't be bothered with trifles.

His mother had pressed for him to betroth himself to Theo, but he hadn't really been interested. She was too quirky, too independent, but Georgina kept pointing out the approaching hazards. If Theo ever learned about the terms of Harold's Will, if she ever found out about the squandered assets, who could predict how she might react?

A wife had no power, so if Arthur roped her into marriage, but she discovered the truth later on, she'd be stuck with the ramifications of what he and Georgina had perpetrated. She would have no means of altering the situation.

Matrimony wouldn't solve the problem of Charlotte learning the truth, but Arthur could only focus on one debacle at a time.

His mother was nagging. "You always insist that you know you must wed, but you need to add some effort to your words."

"Must we quarrel, Mother? I've been sufficiently amenable by agreeing to talk to the bankers. That should be enough controversy for the moment."

"Will they let you have another mortgage?"

He shrugged. "Probably not."

Georgina blanched with horror. "What will we do then?"

"I'll think of something, so don't fret about it."

HH Imports was a vast, global venture, with dozens of ships and offices in all the major ports. He ought to be rolling in riches, but he wasn't. He was bored by numbers, bored by strategy meetings, bored by having to make choices and render decisions. It was why he paid others to make decisions for him, and he thought they ought to perform better at their positions. They were very inept though, and due to their bungling, he was suffering.

He glanced at the clock over on the mantle and it was nearly ten. He swallowed a few quick bites, then he tossed down his napkin and stood.

"Are you leaving?" Georgina asked. "We've hardly scratched the surface of the topics we have to discuss."

"It's impossible to have a rational discussion with you. No matter what I suggest, you shoot down my ideas. Your solution is for me to hurry and wed, but I'm not about to rush my final days as a bachelor. I'll proceed with Theo when I'm good and ready, so please stop harping about it."

He whipped away and stomped out, yearning to appear stern and in the right, but his burst of bravado had simply forced his head to pound and his stomach to roil even more violently. If he could get through his meeting at the bank without vomiting all over a priceless rug, it would be a miracle.

He grabbed his hat and cloak, and as he stepped out the door, his carriage was waiting. The driver and outriders were eager to whisk him away and he said, "We're taking a detour, and as usual, we won't whisper about it to my mother."

He slipped them each some pennies as a bribe for their silence, then he climbed in and settled on the seat. He hadn't had to mention his preferred destination. They understood where he'd rather be: with his dearest paramour, Nell Parsons. She was a gorgeous, fascinating opera dancer who drove him wild with lust.

He would pop in for some morning delight, and she'd be desperately glad to have him visit. Her cheery nature would lift his low spirits and he'd tarry until she'd vanquished his hangover. Once his condition was repaired, he would continue on to the bank.

If his bankers didn't like it, that was their problem. Not his. He was a wealthy gentleman and HH Imports one of their biggest accounts. They often forgot the deference he was owed, and they should start treating him in the courteous manner he deserved.

v

"How was the party? You still haven't told me."

Cedric Bennett glared at his son, Jackson, but he'd never been able to manipulate him with a look. They were alike in many ways, but they were completely different in others. Jackson was dependable, trustworthy, and loyal. He worked diligently and tried his best. From his earliest days at boarding school, to his lengthy career in the army, he'd showed himself to be brilliant, shrewd, and kind. Women adored him and men begged to follow him.

Cedric, on the other hand, was a scapegrace and laggard. There was no denying it. He could persuade himself to be trustworthy and dependable—if the circumstances weren't dire. Occasionally, he would try his best, so long as he wasn't required to exert much effort. And he could be loyal if the other person had earned some fealty. If not, Cedric would be the first to jump ship.

They both loved women, but Cedric loved them more than Jackson, and he had decades of illicit affairs to prove it.

They were in the front parlor of Jackson's new home, sitting on chairs by the hearth, and sipping expensive whiskey—as if they were a pair of noble lords, which Jackson now was. It was June, but it was a chilly night and they had a fire burning.

Supper was over, and they'd been served by footmen who'd previously been in the army with Jackson in India. They were a motley collection of aging warriors who were either too injured for employment or who hadn't had the connections to find a position. Jackson was hoping to turn them into valets and butlers, but Cedric doubted he'd succeed. They were too rough around the edges and it was hard to take any of them seriously.

"If I'd wanted you to know about the party," Jackson retorted rather snidely, "I'd have let you attend."

"What sort of son refuses to invite his father to his house-warming?"

"I've allowed you to move in with me, haven't I? You should be grateful I offered to put a roof over your sorry head—again."

"You're a much better child than I ever should have had."

"You've got that right," Jackson grumbled.

Cedric always admitted that he'd been an awful father. He'd been an awful husband too, and his wife had died young and heartbroken over the fact that he was a rogue who'd had no ability or desire to be faithful.

He'd been corrupt and dissolute, but as an orphan surviving on London's mean streets, he'd quickly learned how to thrive. His keen instincts had helped him to rise in the world, when he probably should have perished or been killed by the time he was fifteen or so.

His parents had been common folks who'd passed away during a winter of influenza. After they'd been buried, their home had been sold, and he'd had nowhere to go. There had been a church orphanage in the neighborhood and he'd frequently resided there. He'd been educated sufficiently that he could have been sent into an apprenticeship, but he'd had no interest in being locked away in a dark shop where he'd have had to toil away at a pointless task.

With his being sly and charming, he was much more suited to gambling and carousing, so he'd blustered through life by glomming onto rich friends and winning huge pots of money. Of course, he'd lost huge pots of money too, so Jackson's childhood had been boom-and-bust. Despite Cedric's failures, Jackson was incredibly devoted, so Cedric would never suffer or starve.

Jackson simply couldn't forget the mishaps he'd been forced to endure as a boy, and he repeatedly nagged about it. In Cedric's view, Jackson shouldn't complain so much. Cedric's antics had made Jackson tough, strong, and resilient. And Cedric wasn't all bad. He'd bought Jackson his commission in the army and they'd had their adventure in India. How could they ever regret the path they'd walked?

Now, Jackson was famous, having been singled out for valor, but Cedric wasn't surprised by Jackson's heroics. His son was remarkable, but he wasn't a chip off the old block. He'd flourished, while having to drag Cedric along too, and it felt as if Jackson was the adult in their relationship, and Cedric the spoiled, lazy, exasperating toddler.

A crash sounded above them, and they glanced up, then pretended they hadn't heard it. It was Lola, having the servants arrange her bedchamber. She didn't like the furniture Jackson had purchased for her, and she was furious that he hadn't permitted her to attend the party either. They were staying out of her way.

"Are you sure she should live with us?" Cedric asked. "She's so exhausting and you're weary of her. Isn't it a recipe for disaster?"

"Who said I'm weary?"

"You have no secrets from me. You were sick of her when we were still in India. When we sailed away, I should have barred her from climbing onto the ship with us, but I was too worried about you to focus on her."

"It's cheaper to have her here with us," Jackson said. "Otherwise, I'd have had to rent an apartment for her."

"Will you support her forever? Is that your plan?"

"If I'm lucky, she'll find a paramour she likes more than me. I keep introducing her to my friends, but she can't abide any of them. Most of them are wealthier than I am, and she's very greedy, so my fingers are crossed that she'll latch onto someone else."

Cedric snorted with disgust. "With you being elevated to earl, you'll never be shed of her. She's dug in her claws and she intends to marry you, so you should watch out. Before you can blink, she'll be strutting around with a ring on her finger and calling herself Lady Thornhill."

At the notion, Jackson shuddered. "I'm not marrying her or anyone."

"You have to wed someday. You're an aristocrat, so it's expected."

"I'm afraid I'll pass on your horrid traits. I think we ought to let our bloodline die out. Don't you?"

"You should give yourself more credit. Even though I was a despicable role model, look how you turned out. I tried my damnedest to mold you in my image, but you refused to be molded."

They snickered and enjoyed their whiskeys. It was their routine that they argued and traded insults, but they were closer than most any father and son could ever be. Their tribulations and calamities had tightly bonded them and Jackson was the sort of fellow who never left a man behind. It was why the soldiers who'd served under him had loved him. He would never abandon Cedric to his own devices, so Cedric would never have to fend for himself.

He was fifty, tall and slender, and he still had his full head of blond hair, although it had faded to silver. His blue eyes were still riveting, and he was in excellent shape and form, but with his advanced age, he wasn't as successful at flirtation as he'd been previously.

"The neighbors won't like to have Lola living with you," he said. "We're back in Puritanical England and this type of liaison is generally deemed to be shocking."

Jackson tossed off the warning. "I will carry on quietly and unobtrusively. They'll hardly notice me, and they definitely won't notice Lola—or be curious about her."

"Do you really believe that? She can't even step out a door without raising a fuss. I predict she'll stir all kinds of trouble."

"If and when it becomes an issue, I'll deal with it."

"If you're not careful, that Matron's Brigade might bite you in the ass. I wouldn't want that group of harpies to set their sights on you."

"They'd set them on Lola rather than me. They don't blame the cads. In their view, it's the trollop's fault."

"If that's their opinion, then those old biddies are deranged."

"On that point, we completely agree."

Cedric hoped that—if Lola caused problems for Jackson—he'd finally get rid of her. She was such a nuisance, and the sooner Jackson split from her, the better.

Jackson needed to start searching for a higher class of female and Cedric would be delighted to assist him. Where women were concerned, he had a keen perception and was a renowned connoisseur. He would find Jackson a stellar bride, one who would increase his public acclaim and give him robust sons.

Cedric hadn't thought he would ever fret about folderol like ancestry or lineage. He certainly didn't have any that could be mentioned in polite company, but with Jackson being lifted up, silly obsessions about rank and station were rattling Cedric to his core. Apparently, he was more British than he'd realized, and it would please him enormously to be grandfather to a wave of boys who would rule in England forever.

"You're being much too furtive about your party," he complained. "What's the big secret? Who were the guests? Might I be acquainted with any of them?"

"It was mostly veterans and dandies, and one was our neighbor. Arthur Cronenworth? He's the terrible cardplayer whom I fleece every night at my club. It's how I bought this house, remember? I'm picking his pocket and he's too stupid to quit before he's totally beggared."

Jackson had Cedric's same penchant for mathematical calculation, so cards were a simple method for earning money. They could foresee which cards would fall and when, and they were astute judges of desperate men. It was easy to win against fools.

"I've never met Arthur," Cedric said, "but I was once intimately fond of a Cronenworth. I wonder if he's related."

Jackson scowled. "What does that mean? I suppose you had an affair with a woman by that surname."

"Yes, and it was my most notorious amour of all. We ran away to Paris, and her husband was murderously incensed, so he chased after us and dragged her home. It was a huge scandal and I was touted everywhere as the kingdom's most corrupt roué."

In his heyday, Cedric had been the consummate libertine. As a handsome, flamboyant gambler and flirt, the ladies hadn't been able to resist him.

Looking back, it was embarrassing to have dished out so much ill-treatment, but as a youngster, hot desire had burned in his veins. He'd believed that he'd been born to revel with beautiful women, that it was his sole purpose in life. It was a shameful history and he tried to ignore the fact that he'd ever been so horrid.

"Who was the Cronenworth you seduced?" Jackson asked. "Dare I inquire?"

"She was my dearest Sybil, a lonely and very miserable wife. Her husband was a brute and she'd been anxious to escape him. She left two little daughters behind, so she was branded an adulterous hussy. She didn't deserve the abuses that were heaped on her, but her spouse was declared the victim, so she'd had to be vilified."

Jackson was aghast. "You ran off with the mother of two little girls? What is wrong with you?"

"She was a damsel in distress and I had to help her. In the end though, I brought her more heartache than joy."

"Of course you did. I wish I could have warned her away from you. What happened to her?"

"Last I heard, her husband had locked her in a lunatic asylum. Or was it a convent? I don't recall her specific conclusion, but it was somewhere appalling, so she could never be released."

"She was ruled a lunatic because she snuck off with you?"

"Well, she abandoned her children. Most people deem that to be unhinged conduct."

"And the daughters? Did you ever learn their fate?"

Sybil had frequently blathered on about her girls, how she yearned to obtain custody and have Cedric raise them. She could never have wrenched them away from her husband, and her ramblings had put a real damper on their romance, so perhaps she'd been insane after all.

"Their names were Theodora and Charlotte," he said.

Jackson's jaw dropped. "Theodora Cronenworth? Are you joking?"

"No, why?"

"She lives across the street and Arthur is her stepbrother."

Cedric froze with astonishment, then he chuckled. "That could be awkward."

"She was here at the party. With Arthur!"

"It's lucky that I wasn't allowed to attend then. I probably shouldn't ever bump into her."

"From now on, I'd better avoid her too."

Cedric shrugged. "You don't have to tell her about any of it. Women don't have to know everything."

"As if I'd take your advice about how to handle a female."

"Why wouldn't you? I permitted you to make your own choice and it was to hook up with Lola Carter. You could use some guidance, particularly with you being an earl. You have to focus on the correct kind of girl, so you never again get waylaid by a trollop like her."

"I don't trust you, and you're an annoying busybody, so that comment terrifies me."

"Who has ever had your best interests at heart more than me?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I could apprise every person in the kingdom about what sort of parent you've been and they'd all feel sorry for me."

"Yes, but I'm an expert on amour."

"In your imagination maybe, but stay away from Theodora Cronenworth. If you stumble on her by accident, please walk away as fast as you can. I could never explain your connection to her."

It was a silly admonition and Cedric had no intention of heeding it. He would be delighted to chat with Sybil's daughter, and in fact, he thought he'd spend quite a bit of time loitering outside in order for it to transpire.

"I wonder if Sybil is still alive," he mused more to himself than to Jackson.

"Whether she is or not, it's none of your business. Could we talk about something else?"

"What topic would you prefer? Me? Lola? Or shall it be your growing notoriety? Shall it be your fancy friends and high circumstances? You're almost too grand to claim me as your father."

"Unfortunately, I can't fathom how to be shed of you. You're attached to me like a leech on a thigh."

"I certainly am and don't you forget it."

Cedric leaned over and they clinked their glasses together. Then he eased back in his chair. His son's star was rising, and he, Cedric, was happy to hold onto his coattails and enjoy the ride.