Prologue
Joseph Heaton flopped on the vacant chair near Archie Brinklow. “Good God, is there no escape from this inane nonsense, Brinklow? Yet another week of tedium ahead of us,” he groaned, much to his friend’s amusement.
Archie smiled at Joseph; they had grown up together, their families being linked from one of the many intermarriages that occurred in the ton. His relation and friend sprawled across the chair, his dress perfect as always. Only the best tailor, boot maker and valet for Joseph Heaton. His breeches were a pale buff, fitting his solid legs closely. His waistcoat was characteristically flamboyant, of a pale blue patterned silk, with a darker blue frock coat showing his broad shoulders off to perfection. His boots gleamed, as always, and his cravat stood out in contrast against his waistcoat and frock coat. His black hair was slightly longer than normal, giving ladies the false impression he was of the romantic poetic kind. Archie had known Joseph long enough to know there was not a poetic bone in Joseph’s body; he was far too practical and possibly callous but with a handsome face, angled features and a brown-eyed brooding stare ladies would chase him for that alone without the title and fortune that was his.
“Is there no one tempting you?” Archie asked. He was far more easy-going than his friend, equally as well dressed but without Joseph’s handsome features, wit and sarcasm. His features were not of the normal sharpness of the aristocracy but more rounded. He still received attention from the ladies, being considered attractive with his blue eyes and brown hair, whereas Joseph was considered one of the finest specimens in society.
“No one I would be willing to tie myself to for the next fifty years at any rate,” Joseph responded. “Whoever teaches these girls the art of flirtation should be shot. If I hear one more giggle followed by the fluttering of a fan, I swear I will slap the chit.” Why he could not have a civil conversation with any eligible female, he would never know, but if they thought their behaviour was tempting, they were sadly mistaken.
“It will certainly add to your reputation of notoriety,” Archie responded with a smirk.
“It won’t put off the fortune hunters though.”
“It would help if you decided what you’re looking for in a wife,” Archie said. “One day, you want a tall blonde, the next you want a small brunette; how on earth will you find someone when you change your requirements daily?”
Joseph grinned, his smile lightening his features and turning handsome into beautiful. “I’m keeping my options open,” he said with a shrug. He had agreed to marry soon; his ailing mother, whom he adored, had expressed a desire to see her first born and only surviving child settled. At seven and twenty, he was happy to oblige, especially if it meant he could then avoid the marriage mart for the rest of his days. The problem was, having made the decision, he had met no one who tempted him in the slightest.
“What do you really want in a wife?” Archie asked, curious to meet the woman who would tame his friend.
“Beauty, intelligence, educated, a good dancer, sturdy constitution and the ability to make me laugh; in addition to that I want her to know when to be quiet and leave me to do as I wish,” Joseph said flippantly.
“Such a small list of requirements; I’m surprised you have not a huge line of eligible women to choose from,” Archie said with a raise of his eyebrow.
Joseph laughed bitterly, “I am seriously thinking of paying a respectable looking lightskirt to fool my mother into thinking I’m married and then the poor woman can die in peace. You would think I could give her this one wish, wouldn’t you? But as much as I want to please my mother, I am not tying myself to any of the chits being paraded this season.”
Archie shook his head, “Your mother would detect an imposter at a hundred paces: she’s a lady who has class and sophistication oozing out of every pore; you would never find a lightskirt who could fool her.”
Joseph sighed, “I know, or I would do have done it sooner,” he admitted.
Archie’s butler interrupted them, bringing in a letter, which Archie opened and skimmed through. “It’s from West,” Archie said. “Ha! He is in Bath, chasing an heiress. Here! Read this; he sounds smitten.”
Joseph took the offered letter and read quickly through its contents. He shook his head when he had finished reading. “West will never get anywhere, because he has not listened to a thing I’ve tried to teach him over the years.”
“I dread to ask the question, but what’s that?” Archie asked.
“It’s very simple,” Joseph said, leaning back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles in a superior gesture. “The moment you start to chase a girl, she has the advantage and can play you like the smitten fool you are. Pretending nonchalance and indifference is the way to secure her.”
“Unless someone who does pander to her gets in there first,” Archie said reasonably.
“No, no, my friend; every woman likes a challenge, and she likes to be admired by everyone. If she is not getting attention from one particular gentleman that is the gentleman she wants.”
“It can’t be that simple,” Archie said doubtfully.
“It is, but West has got an even bigger advantage than he realises; the fool probably isn’t using it though,” Joseph said derisively.
“I’m all ears; tell me of his mistakes,” Archie laughed.
“There is a friend,” Joseph said simply. “He mentions Lady Lydia and a Miss Johnson. The beautiful Lady Lydia is residing in Bath, so she is at a disadvantage.”
“How?”
“Mother has begged me to go to Bath; there are more women than men there apparently,” Joseph said with a sneer. “My parent fails to realise it is not lack of beauties we suffer from; it is a severe shortage of quality rather than quantity that is the problem.”
“So, how does that affect West’s situation?”
“If this Lady Lydia has any sense, she will surround herself with ugly friends. The uglier the better,” Joseph said knowledgeably. “If the odds are so to your disadvantage, you have to present yourself to full advantage; therefore, surround yourself with people who show off your beauty even more.”
“A little like you do?” Archie said drily.
“Of course,” Joseph said good-naturedly. “West should be befriending the ugly friends. He will appear all the better for it in his beauty’s eyes. She will fall for the ploy and the man in the process.”
“And the friend?” Archie asked.
“Will be realistic about her chances; ugly people are not oblivious to their looks. She will have a few weeks of having the attention of a handsome man before returning to her wallflower status,” Joseph responded with conviction.
“Good God, man, that’s a cold way to go about things!” Archie said, slightly shocked Joseph would consider using a young lady in such a way. Archie could never act falsely: he did not have the intelligence to do so; if he tried to act as Joseph advised, the result would be marriage to the ugly friend, of that there could be no doubt.
“It’s the way of the world, my friend,” Joseph said authoritatively.
“What about just liking someone for who they are and showing it?” Archie asked; he had always presumed it would be simple once he found his own life partner, and the thought of having to play deep games frightened him.
“And get yourself trampled in the process? Or worse, used to gain the affection of another? Believe me, women play that game just as much as men do,” Joseph said. He had the emotional scars to prove it, but there was no gain in admitting something that had occurred almost as soon as he had left college.
“It involves too many people for it to work in my humble opinion,” Archie said, not liking that people could use each other in such a way.
“This is why West and yourself are always floundering and are at risk of being snared by the scheming mamas out there; you don’t listen,” Joseph said with derision. “As I am such a kind friend, I suggest we take a trip to Bath and guide West through his troubles; he’s bound to be making a hash of things.”
“And you are doing this purely for altruistic reasons?” Archie asked, his tone fully disbelieving.
“It will provide a diversion from this tedious round of engagements,” Joseph said. “And you never know; I may fall in love with Lady Lydia myself.”
Archie shook his head. There was no point arguing; Joseph was definitely the leader of the three of them. Archie knew he did not have the intelligence to compete with the likes of Joseph; most of the time he was happy to follow his friends’ lead. In some ways he regretted mentioning the letter at all: it was going to be difficult if Joseph did fall in love with Lady Lydia; Percy would not take kindly to Joseph wooing the Lady, although Archie had to admit she did sound delightful.
All Archie wanted to do was look-out for a wife of his own. He would have much rather remained in London to secure one of the pretty debutantes, his list of the requirements for a wife far less demanding than Joseph’s. He sighed to himself: he might find someone in Bath; one could always hope, but with Joseph around one would also always be at a disadvantage.
Chapter 1
Bath 1819
Eleanor rested her chin on her upturned hand and gazed at her reflection in the looking glass. She sighed. It did not matter how long she looked at herself or which way she turned her head—this way or that—she would never detect beauty in her countenance. She was plain.
Friends and family said she was personable, intelligent, and compassionate, someone they loved without reservation, but she had never stirred any feelings other than friendship in any of the wide acquaintance she had. At twenty she was convinced that the only way to get a husband was to rely on her dowry. She would never receive a marriage proposal from one who loved her for herself.
Those thoughts resulted in another sigh escaping her lips. No matter how much she tried to be stoic about it, she longed to be the focus of someone’s life, to feel loved and cherished as Lydia was.
Lady Lydia Moore, her friend, whom Eleanor had met at finishing school and loved deeply, but sometimes—just sometimes—Eleanor wished Lydia appreciated what she had. Lydia was the blonde haired, blue eyed beauty everyone flocked around. She was slightly built, not very tall, which brought out the protective instinct in every man they met. She had a laugh that could only be described as a tinkle and the ability to flirt and banter with the most hardened rake. Added to which, a reasonable fortune and a title, ensured Lydia would make a wonderful match one day. Lydia at twenty was single because she had turned down half a dozen serious offers and numerous silly ones. Eleanor was single because she had yet to receive any offers.
Eleanor was not jealous of Lydia; she would defend her friend to the ends of the world, but sometimes she wished she was not quite so plain in comparison. Eleanor was dark haired, not mysteriously black, just an uninteresting dark brown. Her eyes of green-blue could not decide which colour to be, and her mouth was ordinary, no pouting rosebud lips: she had full lips that were quick to smile, but they would never inspire sonnets to be written about them. Her height and larger build than Lydia made her look even larger than she was when standing next to her friend. But whatever the differences Eleanor would never change their relationship.
Lydia’s mother had become ill during the last term at the finishing school they were attending. Lydia had received a letter from her family, explaining, although it was not ideal, the family were going to have an extended visit to Bath. Lydia had asked Eleanor to accompany them, and Eleanor had happily agreed to the scheme. A return home would only see Eleanor forced into a marriage with a stranger. Having only daughters, her father wished all his girls to marry someone with a title, or if not, marry the man he had chosen to take over his business and keep it in the family when he became too old to continue.
Eleanor came with a large fortune, as her other sisters before her did, but she was ultimately the daughter of a ‘cit’, a man of business, so was not very appealing to most of the aristocracy. Her two eldest sisters, Rosalind and Annabelle, had married titled men, Rosalind becoming a Duchess and Annabelle, a Lady, having married Lord Stannage the Earl of Garston, which left Grace and herself. Grace was staying with Rosalind and, by all accounts, Rosalind was doing everything she could to match make. Eleanor had not met the man who was helping to run her father’s business but had received unfavourable reports from the sisters who had. If Grace married a titled gentleman, it would be down to Eleanor to marry Mr Wadeson, a thought that did not appeal to her, although she was resigned that at least she would be married.
All of her sisters had grown up with the desire to have large families; their parents had not been neglectful in providing for their daughters, but they had been remiss where attention and love had been concerned. Rosalind, the eldest, had been a substitute mother, and they had thrived under her care, but it reinforced the urge they all shared: a need to have children of their own.
Eleanor and Lydia had only been settled a few weeks, and already they were fully involved in the social whirl that was Bath. Lydia was, as expected, surrounded by potential beaux, and Eleanor provided friendly support for those who wanted to get closer to Lydia but were trampled in the crush of the more experienced gentlemen.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, I don’t want to be the fairest of them all, but couldn’t you spare just one Prince Charming?” Eleanor grinned at her reflection as the looking glass remained quiet. “I suppose Bath isn’t full of Princes at this time of year, so I shall forgive you this poor performance this time, but don’t make a habit of it.” She pulled a face at herself before leaving the room; there was no use pining after something that would not happen.
* * *
The weekly ball at the Lower Assembly Rooms was always a crush. Eleanor and Lydia squeezed through the crowd, Lydia leading the way.
“They must be here somewhere.” she muttered to Eleanor over her shoulder, her cheeks glowing at the rising heat.
“Lydia, they will have look-outs in wait for you.” Eleanor teased.
Lydia grinned, “I don’t want to waste a moment of the evening; we only have until eleven.”
Eleanor smiled in return; Lydia would dance all night, if allowed, but in Bath it was the Master of Ceremonies who dictated the time they went home.
Very soon, they were hailed by one of Lydia’s admirers, and Lydia relaxed. She always doubted her enjoyment until she saw a familiar face and then was assured a good night. Eleanor joined in the greetings; Mr Percy West was the most successful of Lydia’s admirers since their arrival in Bath. Eleanor liked him; he seemed to understand Lydia more than her other beaux. Although Lydia showed preference to him in public, in private, Eleanor could not find out if it were a serious attachment on Lydia’s part.
Mr West made his greetings and then introduced his friends who had been holding back a little. “Ladies, may I introduce Mr Joseph Heaton and Mr Archie Brinklow? Gentlemen, this is Lady Lydia Moore and Miss Johnson. Bath has been a brighter place since Lady Lydia joined its company.”
Joseph raised his eyes to the ceiling. It was obvious Percy was making a bungle of things. Joseph would never have offered a compliment to one young lady, while leaving out another. To her credit the friend seemed to take the faux-pas in her stride, the only outward sign she had registered the omission was the smallest of smiles on her lips. He resolved to have a word with his friends and try to prevent causing offence wherever they went.
Lydia dimpled under the compliment from Mr West and held out her hand in turn to the gentlemen. Eleanor saw with a wry smile both were instantly smitten by her friend. To Mr Brinklow’s credit and Mr West’s chagrin the former gentleman secured the first two dances with Lydia immediately.
“Well, I say, Brinklow! That’s mighty unsporting of you,” Mr West spluttered as Lydia accepted the request for dances.
“If you wanted the honour West, you should have secured this gem before making the introductions.” Mr Brinklow smiled at Lydia. “I would never have been so foolish.” Archie had shocked himself with his ungentlemanly behaviour, but Eleanor had guessed correctly: one look at Lady Lydia and Archie had been smitten. Her blonde ringlets seemed to frame her face, making her look positively angelic. Her blue eyes had sparkled up at him, and he had been lost. Percy would have to look out for himself: Archie was in love. All his commendable thoughts of allowing Percy to chase the Lady Lydia unheeded had gone out of the window; Archie was besotted within seconds.
Lydia preened, “Don’t worry, Mr West, I shall secure the next two for you if you like,” she soothed.
“I should be delighted,” Mr West bowed, slightly mollified.
Lydia and Mr Brinklow moved off to the dancefloor as the instruments started to prepare.
“Another one is led willingly into the lair,” Eleanor said softly to herself as she noticed the smitten look on Mr Brinklow’s face.
“I’m sure he’ll survive.” came a quiet voice at her side.
Eleanor jumped; she had not meant anyone to overhear. Turning she saw Mr Heaton smiling slightly at her, a teasing expression in his eyes. Eleanor laughed, “I’m sure he will, but he may not come away unscathed; there are a multitude of bodies left behind in every town Lady Lydia visits.”
“In that case I feel I should remain close to my friend in order to step in if he is in danger. Would you do the honour of having the next dance with me Miss Johnson?”
Eleanor inclined her head in acquiescence. This one was good, she acknowledged as they joined the same set; he would spend nearly as much time with Lydia as Mr Brinklow. Eleanor silently congratulated his good judgement; if he then followed Mr West with two dances he would spend more time with Lydia than any of the other men.
Joseph was congratulating himself on exactly the same thing. It had all gone precisely to plan in his opinion; he was dancing with the friend, who as it turned out was quite pleasing to the eye, not nearly as ugly as he had anticipated.
The dance started and, as Eleanor and Joseph were the bottom couple, she had a chance to speak to this newcomer.
“Are you in Bath long, Mr Heaton?” she asked.
“We’ve come down to allow Brinklow to rusticate a little; West extended his hospitality, and we are quite comfortable at his house, “Joseph explained; it was an acceptable story and avoided any mention of titles or the aims of the men with regards to marriage.
Eleanor knew Mr West to have hired a house in Queens Square, not the most popular address in town, but more than suitable for a single man. “It’s a good spot to be: close to everything but near enough to escape to the outlying areas as well.”
“I suppose so; I had never thought about it in that way, but I can see the appeal. Do you often need to escape?” Joseph asked; it was a curious term to be used by a young lady.
“Me? No! I am too busy with Lady Lydia’s activities to have time for escape; she has boundless energy and even more appointments.” Eleanor explained with a laugh.
“I can imagine.” Anyone who set eyes on Lydia would hardly be able to do anything other than spend time in her company; she was clearly the prettiest girl in Bath.
Eleanor assessed the gentleman standing before her: he was obviously quieter than the other two of their group; he had held back a little during their introductions. Eleanor didn’t think this was from any lack of confidence; he seemed very sure of himself: calm, confident and somehow a little unnerving. When he looked at Eleanor, she felt as if he could see into her soul.
She had no further time for reflection as the set moved down, and they joined the dance.
“You dance very well, Miss Johnson,” Joseph said as they joined hands on a turn.
“You compliment even better.” Eleanor replied with a teasing smile.
“Do I not gain favour by my flattery?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes; her retorts amused him.
“I’m always willing to be flattered, but I would wonder why you wish to gain favour.”
“If I gain favour with you, you would perhaps be more willing to look kindly on a newcomer to the area,” came the reply on the next turn.
“As you are one of a handsome trio, I doubt very much you will be lacking in invitations or entertainments,” Eleanor responded with a smile.
“A compliment, and on such short acquaintance; I am honoured,” Joseph teased with a raise of an eyebrow.
“I am stating the truth; please don’t run away with my words and pretend I am trying to flatter you in order to gain favour with you, Mr Heaton!” she teased playfully.
“I would not be so vain,” Joseph said with a smile, but he wondered if he were. At every opportunity he took the words of those around him as flattery: his partner’s words made him pause; she certainly did not seem to be wishing to flatter him. In fact, he had the distinct impression she was laughing at him. “You dance divinely, Miss Johnson, and I hope you will take that compliment as the truth and not one offered with empty flattery in mind.”
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