( Scoundrels 04) The Last Hellion by Chase Loretta

Author:Chase, Loretta [Chase, Loretta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-02-24T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Wednesday, 1 October

The sun had heavy going in its climb from the horizon. It struggled through the fog rolling from the river, sparkled fitfully through the mist, then was swallowed up in a grey morass of clouds.

Thanks to the morning fog and a last-minute—and futile—attempt to talk Tamsin out of accompanying her, Lydia arrived at Newington Gate with only a quarter hour to spare.

Despite the early hour, not all of the small crowd gathered there was of the hoi polloi. Along with the expected reporters, miscellaneous ruffians, and streetwalkers, she spotted half a dozen male members of the Beau Monde—all drunk, apparently.

They were accompanied by representatives of the aristocracy of whoredom—minus Helena, who had a cold and would rather be hanged than seen in public with a red nose.

The bulk of Ainswood's associates, however, would be in Liphook. According to Helena, Ainswood had sent notes inviting all his friends to help celebrate his victory.

"Sellowby claims that His Grace has obtained a special license, and a ring, and that there will be a minister wait-ing at the inn to perform the ceremony," Helena had reported on Saturday.

Lydia had been seething ever since.

Now, however, she wondered whether Sellowby had merely passed on idle rumor.

It was a quarter to eight and Ainswood wasn't here.

"Perhaps he has come to his senses," Lydia said as she steered her carriage into position. "Perhaps someone has made him recollect his position and responsibilities.

If his curst family cared anything about him, they would not let him make such a ridiculous spectacle of himself. Only think of those two girls, his wards, and how mortified they must be by his methods of winning a wife. He doesn't consider how the eldest must face Society when she makes her come out in the spring. He never considers how his scandals affect others, and they're mere females, after all," Lydia added tartly. "I doubt he even recollects their names."

Elizabeth and Emily. Seventeen and fifteen respectively. They lived with their paternal aunt, Lady Mars, at Blakesleigh in Bedfordshire. Lord Mars was one of Peel's staunchest allies in the House of Lords.

Lydia did not want to think about the two girls, the elder on the brink of entering the social whirl, with all its pitfalls. Unfortunately, she had already opened Pandora's box last Wednesday, when she'd opened Debrett's Peerage.

By now she'd collected almost as much information on the Mallory family as she had on her mother's. While Lydia worked on The Rose of Thebes and the articles and essays needed for the next issue of the Argus, Tamsin had continued what Lydia had begun. After exhausting Debrett's, the Annual Register, and the standard genealogical resources, Tamsin had turned to the numerous Society publications.

The Mallorys were not Tamsin's sole research project.

She was also becoming knowledgeable on the subject of Trent's family.

Initially, she'd been trying to discern an event or persons, past or present, that would explain his obsession with Charles II. In the process, she'd discovered that his family had more than its share of unusual characters.

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