Fortune's Lady by Evelyn Richardson

Author:Evelyn Richardson [Richardson, Evelyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 2002-10-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

In fact, Althea was forced to wait over an hour longer until the duchess’s carriage rolled off toward Bond Street. Barely able to contain her impatience, she was unable to distract herself with reading or correspondence, and had to content herself with pacing her bedchamber until Jenny came to report that the duchess had left. “Thank you for doing that, Jenny. Now fetch your cloak and bonnet. We are going to pay a visit to a ... a blackguard.”

“Oh, miss, are you quite sure that ...”

“Quite sure. There is only one thing to be done, and I shall do it.” And holding her head high, Althea marched down the stairs with her maid scurrying behind her.

She kept up the pace all the way down South Audley Street until they turned the corner of Curzon Street, but her furious pace slackened as she drew closer to the Marquess of Harwood’s door.

When Reggie had confided the tale of his losses to her she had been immediately ready to go do battle, but now that she had nearly reached her destination, she began to question herself. What if he were not there? She could hardly follow the Marquess of Harwood about town hoping to challenge him to a card game. What if he refused? What if she lost? Enough, Althea, she scolded herself. Where is that stupid obstinate Beauchamp pride now that you need it? Taking a final deep breath she mounted the steps and nodded to Jenny to lift the knocker.

Ibthorp’s grizzled countenance remained impassive as he announced Lady Althea’s arrival to his master, but his brain was working furiously. A woman calling on his master was significant enough in itself, but a well-brought-up young lady calling for the second time was a serious event. Was this the reason behind the marquess’s uncharacteristic attendance at several dull but fashionable ton events, or his sudden decision to appear at Almack’s? Ibthorp could have been knocked over with a feather the previous evening when his master had ordered him to lay out his satin knee breeches.

“Knee breeches, sir?” he had asked in amazement.

“Knee breeches,” the marquess had responded firmly.

“Very well, sir.” Ibthorp had followed orders as a good servant should, but his tone had clearly suggested that his ordinarily trustworthy master had taken leave of his senses.

Now Ibthorp knew why. Their caller was something quite out of the ordinary, with that regal carriage and the be-damned-to-you-all sparkle in those magnificent blue eyes.

“Lady Althea Beauchamp,” he announced unnecessarily as Althea swept into the room.

“Why, Lady Althea, what a ...”

Althea cut the marquess short. “How could you! I thought we were friends. How could you behave so despicably to anyone, but especially to someone who is like a brother to me—no, closer to me than any brother I would be likely to have.”

Gareth’s welcoming smile vanished and his eyes narrowed. “You have been speaking to Reginald, I gather. Young fool.”

“Of course he is a fool. And you knew he was nowhere near your equal, yet you agreed to play against him anyway.

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