A Gentleman Never Tells

chapter Ten

We are all full of weakness and errors; let us mutually pardon each other our follies; it is the first law of nature.

—Voltaire

There is delicious scandal brewing in London as more than feet hit the dance floor at a well-attended soirée last night. It was told that Viscount Brentwood and Mr. Alfred Staunton met for the first time and, before the party was over, one of them left seeing fireworks behind his eyes and the other being helped out the door by his friends. And Lady Gabrielle left without a word.

—Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column

Would the scandals never stop?

Brent wadded the newsprint and threw it at the draperies. Hell and damnation to the beast who wrote that rubbish. Brent would like to get his hands on whoever the hell Lord Truefitt was, and wipe up the dance floor with him. Brent had been in London less than two fortnights, and either he or his brothers had been in that blasted scandal sheet every morning since they arrived. It was no wonder his mother never allowed any of London’s newsprint in the house. And if Truefitt was really a lord, a titled gentleman of Polite Society, he wouldn’t stoop to write such drivel.

He didn’t even know why he bothered to look at it, other than he started looking at the column as a way to keep up with what the gossips were saying about his brothers. Brent had wanted Truefitt to stop writing about his brothers, but he never thought he’d be the latest scandal to take their place.

Brent pushed his chair back from the breakfast table and walked over to the buffet. He had very little appetite for the scrambled eggs, large pieces of ham, and fresh baked bread that filled the silver platters. Since he returned home from Lady Windham’s house last night, only two things had been on his mind: Staunton and Lady Gabrielle. He spent half his sleepless night wanting to smash Staunton’s face with his fist and the other half dying to kiss Lady Gabrielle again. How could he have become so bewitched by her and so quickly?

The slam of a door and the commotion of boots stomping on floors and chatter alerted Brent that his brothers had arrived. The twins made their way over to have the morning meal with him three or four times a week. He wasn’t up to their banter this morning. No doubt they wanted to talk about what happened last night. But Brent wouldn’t be talking.

He heard their heavy footfalls on the hardwood floors of the corridor and watched the doorway as first Matson and then Iverson appeared.

“Are we interrupting your breakfast?” Iverson asked as he leaned against the doorjamb.

“Not at all. I was expecting you, and you’re late,” Brent said and dipped into the eggs. “I’d decided you weren’t going to come today, so I started to eat without you.”

“We can’t have that,” Matson said, walked over to the buffet, and picked up a plate. Iverson headed for the silver coffeepot and poured himself a cup.

When their plates were full and all were seated at the table, Matson asked, “How’s your lip this morning?”

“Hurts like the devil,” Brent said, cutting into his ham. “But I’ll live.”

“What are you going to do about Staunton waylaying you at the party?” Iverson asked.

“Nothing.”

“Why?” Iverson asked as he spread fig preserves on his toast.

“Because the man’s a coward,” Brent muttered. “And I have no use for cowards.”

“I agree with that assessment,” Matson said. “If Staunton had wanted to fight you, he should have called you out like a gentleman for a fair fight, not ambush you like a thief in the night.”

“Right,” Iverson said. “He’s an earl’s son and should act like one.”

“Maybe Brent feels the retaliation from Staunton was justified; after all, he did steal his fiancée away from him.”

“And now that we’ve met both of them, I can understand why you had no qualms about doing it. She’s lovely and charming and surely doesn’t deserve a sniveling coward.”

Brent smiled to himself and kept quiet while he buttered his bread. If they only knew he’d had no choice about that meeting in the park with Lady Gabrielle. She had enraptured him the moment she walked out of the mist. But there was no reason to tell his brothers what happened that morning.

“There is something good that has come from this,” Matson said.

“I’d like to know what it is,” Brent argued and then winced as he tried to open his mouth wide enough to bite into the thick piece of bread.

“Oh, not for you, for us.” Iverson grinned, reached down, and picked up the wadded newsprint from the floor. “You usurped us in Lord Truefitt’s society column.”

“And I feel slighted,” Matson added.

“Like hell you do,” Brent grumbled.

Iverson threw the wadded newsprint over to Matson. “He’s an ungrateful blade, isn’t he?”

Matson and Iverson laughed, and they ate in silence for a while until Matson said, “Lady Gabrielle has much to recommend her. She’s beautiful, intelligent, and not without good humor.”

“Mmm,” Brent said, thankful his mouth was full. If it hadn’t been, he might have been tempted to add that she was also enchanting, seductive, and very, very passionate.

“From all the eligible young ladies I’ve seen at the parties so far, you have picked the loveliest one.”

She picked me.

And Brent still wanted to know why. One of the men who held the earl’s son last night indicated that Staunton had been in more than one fight. Men who couldn’t control their rage turned into beasts and would strike out at anyone. Brent couldn’t help but wonder if the man had ever harmed or threatened to harm Gabrielle. That thought twisted Brent’s stomach, and he pushed his plate away. It would certainly explain why she would risk kissing a stranger and getting caught in order to keep from marrying him.

“Why do you always suddenly get so quiet when one of us mentions Lady Gabrielle?” Iverson asked.

Because a gentleman never tells.

Brent ignored the question and said, “It’s true Lady Gabrielle is the loveliest young lady in London, but keep in mind, Brothers, that many families are not even in Town at this time of year. By far most of them have retired to their country homes and estates to spend the winter and Christmas. They will only come back to Town in time for the Season next year.”

Iverson looked up from his plate. “So there will be more delectable young ladies to choose from come spring?”

“They will be buzzing about like bees after flowers,” Brent said.

“Another reason to hurry spring,” Matson said and then added, “I suppose you would have told us immediately if there had been any good news about Prissy.”

Brent looked up at his brother. “You know I would. There hasn’t even been a response from the newsprint notice.”

“Tell me,” Matson asked, “did you hear about Lord Snellingly’s missing dog and that he actually thinks a ghost might have taken it?”

“Believe me, I heard more than I wanted to from that man,” Brent said and couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he remembered the shocked look on Lady Gabrielle’s face when he left her with the earl. That should keep her from ever pretending again she didn’t know how to dance.

“There was also talk that there might be a particularly vicious animal prowling the darkness of Hyde and St. James,” Matson continued. “Perhaps a wild boar. They can grow quite large.”

“But they don’t usually bother dogs,” Iverson added. “Still, strange occurrences happen from time to time. Some of the men have discussed getting a hunting party together.”

Brent didn’t want to think about the possibility of Prissy’s meeting a wild boar. That impish dog had no fear and would challenge an animal of any shape or size.

Iverson added, “I also heard the carnival that set up camp on the south end of Town last month hasn’t moved on like it usually does. Someone thought perhaps one of their big animals might have escaped.”

“If that was the case, everyone in London would be in danger, not just small dogs,” Matson said. “I can’t see anyone hiding something as dangerous as that. Besides, isn’t it late in the year for traveling carnivals and fairs to still be around?”

“Seems to me it is, but you never know what makes them linger. I suppose they have to winter somewhere and make a little money. Someone was going to pay the owner a visit and see what they could find out about their menagerie.”

“Enough about the gossip and last night, Brothers,” Brent said, not wanting to dwell on what might have happened to Prissy. He’d heard more than enough from Lord Snellingly last night. “Tell me how it is going for you two on finding a building space near the docks to house your business.”

Matson laid down his fork and pushed his empty plate aside. “We’ve found a couple of places we are interested in, but there’s one problem.”

“A big problem,” Iverson added.

“What’s that?” Brent said warily.

“No doubt they’ve all heard the rumors about you and Lady Gabrielle.”

Brent didn’t need to hear more but said, “And?”

“We think they are waiting to see what the duke has to say about you, and apparently he is out of town.”

“How much time do you have?”

“Not much,” Matson said. “As soon as we arrived in London, we sent a letter to our man in Baltimore and told him to load up all our equipment, machinery, everything, including any of the workers who wanted to leave America, and set sail.”

“But we aren’t letting anything stop us from securing a place to house our business,” Iverson said. “We’ll find something, and we’ll be ready when the ship gets here.”

Brent picked up his coffee cup and sipped. He had believed the duke when he’d told him he could keep his brothers from having a successful business in London, and throughout England for that matter. Brent had never doubted Lady Gabrielle’s father, but now his brothers had just given him proof.

***

The rain came down at a steady drizzle and so did Gabrielle’s thoughts of Lord Brentwood. Neither had stopped all day. Even though the fireplace was lit, there was a cold chill to the house as she sat by the drawing-room window, her needlework in her still hands and Brutus snoring heavily on his pillow.

She had worried herself silly wondering what had been said between Lord Brentwood and Staunton and couldn’t wait until tomorrow so she could ask the viscount. She had wanted to stay at Lady Windham’s and hear what everyone had to say about what happened between the two men, but her aunt, sensing more scandal in the making, had hurried her out of the house. Fern had sent her a note, saying she heard Staunton had punched the viscount in the mouth, but that the viscount was a perfect gentleman and had refused to be drawn into a fight in Lady Windham’s house. Gabrielle already knew that much.

She was considering the possibility of confronting Staunton and letting him know what a hypocrite she thought him to be. He had some gall to attack Lord Brentwood for being alone with her when he had been guilty of doing the same thing with her sister.

And when she wasn’t worrying about the tussle between the two gentlemen, she was smiling over the fact that Lord Brentwood had the audacity to leave her with the insufferable Lord Snellingly. She should be furious he had the nerve to smile at her after he told the earl she would love to hear more of his dreadful poetry, but she wasn’t. She was amused the viscount was so clever. She certainly hadn’t wanted Staunton to hit Lord Brentwood, but it had been useful in getting her away from the pompous earl.

Just thinking about Lord Brentwood made Gabrielle smile. He was such a striking figure in his formal evening coat, slim-legged trousers, and buckled shoes. And she couldn’t help but be impressed that no matter how many times she missed steps on the dance floor, he never once became annoyed with her. She couldn’t imagine her father or Staunton being so accepting of a lady who couldn’t dance.

Gabrielle looked out the foggy windowpane and continued her dreams of Lord Brentwood. She remembered how eagerly she had anticipated seeing him, how fast her heart beat at the sight of him, and the feeling of those wondrous sensations low in her abdomen and across her breasts when his hand touched hers as they stepped onto the dance floor. She loved the feel of his strong embrace as he guided them through the steps of the complicated waltz. And as much as she hated to admit it to herself, she could hardly wait for the day of their afternoon in the park.

“There you are, Gabby,” Rosa said, hurrying into the room. “I didn’t see you at first. What are you doing over here in the corner?”

Gabrielle smiled, picked up her embroidery from her lap, and held it up. “Does this give you a hint?”

Rosa looked down at it and said, “Oh, yes. Nice stitches. Would you take the time to read this and give me your opinion?”

Gabrielle laid her work on the table by the lamp, took the sheet of foolscap from Rosa, and read:

My Dearest Staunton,

I have missed you and long to see you.

Where and when can we meet?

I wait for word from you.

Your forever love

A feeling of dread settled over Gabrielle. She looked up into Rosabelle’s young, eager eyes. She saw a raw desperation in her sister’s face that worried her.

“Rosa, I don’t think you want to send this note.”

Rosabelle’s mouth tightened. “Of course I do.”

Gabrielle knew she had to be careful with what she said. “What if it falls into the wrong hands?”

An irritated wrinkle formed on Rosa’s brow. “What if it does? I didn’t sign it. Staunton will know it’s from me, but no one else will.”

Gabrielle rose from her chair. “True, but it is very risky for you to suggest the two of you should plan to meet in secret.”

“Yes, but it can be done.”

Treading lightly, Gabrielle asked, “Has he contacted you?”

Rosa bit down on her bottom lip and then said, “No, I haven’t heard from him in over two weeks, and I don’t know why. I think I’ll go completely mad if I don’t see him soon.”

“You might well, but this secrecy is not the way to see him. Auntie and I will be going to Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlebury’s dinner party on Saturday night. Staunton will probably be there too. I think you should plan to attend with us and see him there, as is proper.”

“What? That’s almost a week away, Gabby. I can’t wait that long. I won’t wait that long.” Rosabelle snatched the note from Gabrielle’s hand. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand, and you wouldn’t want me to see him.”

Her belligerence startled Gabrielle. “Rosa—”

“No, don’t say it,” Rosa demanded. “You always say you understand, but you never do, Gabby. You have always been jealous of me, and now you are jealous of Staunton’s love for me.”

Gabrielle was speechless for a moment. “That is simply not true. I’m happy you have found true love.”

“Then why don’t you want me to see him?” she asked petulantly.

Gabrielle was trying to hold on to her patience. “I don’t care if you see him. I want you to see him. Just not in secret. I asked that you go with us to Lady Windham’s last night. Staunton was there, and you could have seen him the proper way.”

Rosabelle’s eyes widened, and her face instantly changed from peevish resentment to eager delight. She grabbed Gabrielle’s hands in hers and asked, “What did he say, Gabby? Did he ask about me? I know he did. Oh, I could just scream at myself! Why didn’t I go?”

“Rosa, settle down. I saw him only from a distance as he was leaving. I didn’t speak to him.”

“Did the poor dear look absolutely miserable, like me? He’s probably pining away for me. I must see him soon or I shall die.”

“And you shall see him, Rosa, but it has to be under the proper circumstances. You cannot meet him in secret.”

“Of course I can.” She dropped Gabrielle’s hands as if they were a hot poker. “You’ve done it. You met with Lord Brentwood in the park while you were still engaged to Staunton, so I don’t think I need any lectures from you.”

Gabrielle’s shoulders stiffened. “I told you that was a chance meeting and not by design.”

“But no one believes you, including me.”

Her words angered Gabrielle. “That’s not true, Rosa.”

“Of course it is, but it’s all right. I’ve met with Staunton in secret before and no one caught us. I will do it again if I so desire. It’s time you realize, Gabby, that you are not my mother. I don’t need you telling me what I can or cannot do. Furthermore, I’m old enough to make my own decisions without your help.”

Rosabelle turned and started to run from the room, but stopped short and looked back at Gabrielle. “And if you dare tell Papa about me and Staunton,” she said, “I will never speak to you again as long as I live.”

Gabrielle gasped again as Rosa stomped from the room.

What was she going to do? The last thing Gabrielle wanted was for Rosabelle to have to endure rude comments and outrageous rumors from stuffy old ladies. Was it finally time for her to confess everything to her father? No, her father would not understand Rosabelle’s behavior at all.

But it was time for Gabrielle to have a talk with Staunton. He was older and wiser than Rosa, and he would have to make her see that they could not continue to meet in secret. If he truly loved her, he had to know how impetuous she was and how dangerous it was for the two of them to have an affair. Since he didn’t seem to know what the sensible thing was for them to do, she would tell him. He must stand up to his father and hers and demand that the two of them be allowed to go ahead and be married, or at the very least be engaged.

But when to talk to him was the problem.

Should she wait until the Cuddlebury’s party next week and try to talk to him there? No, even if he attended there would be too many opportunities for interruptions, prying ears, and more gossip. And it might be too late. Rosabelle had a bee in her bonnet, and there was no time to waste.

Gabrielle would send her own letter to Staunton, but unlike Rosa, she would sign her letter. She left her needlework on the table, went to the secretary in the drawing room, and sat down. She opened a drawer and took out a quill, ink jar, and a sheet of vellum, and wrote:

Staunton,

I find it is necessary that I should talk to you about an important matter as soon as possible. I would be most grateful if you would please respond with a date and time that would be good for you so we might meet in Hyde or St. James Park. I await your answer.

With all regards,Gabby

***

Brent stepped out of the pouring rain and into the warmth of the Harbor Lights Club. A stiff-looking attendant approached him, staring at the swelling on the side of Brent’s mouth. No doubt he wasn’t used to seeing many gentlemen coming into the establishment with a fat lip. Brent ignored his scrutiny and handed the man his wet coat, hat, umbrella, and gloves, and explained who he was and that he wasn’t a member of the club but was to meet Sir Randolph Gibson in the taproom. When Brent said he was Viscount Brentwood, the man’s attitude changed immediately, and at the mention of Sir Randolph’s name, the attendant’s face lighted with a smile.

The man handed Brent’s soggy garments off to another person, and then he led Brent down a dimly lit corridor. They passed more than one room where he heard loud talking, laughter, and billiard balls smacking together. For a small club, it seemed to have a lively atmosphere. The man stopped in the doorway of the taproom and pointed to a finely dressed gentleman who was seated at a table by the front window that opened to the busy street.

He’d seen Sir Randolph at a couple of different parties over the past month, and there was no way Brent wouldn’t have known the man. Matson and Iverson’s resemblance to him was stunning. Sir Randolph had been presented to Brent at a party, though they hadn’t really spoken, other than the perfunctory greetings that civility required. Unlike his meeting with Mr. Alfred Staunton, both Brent and Sir Randolph had behaved as gentlemen, and neither had said a word about what was really on their minds. The man had readily accepted when Brent sent him a note suggesting they meet.

Brent could understand his brothers’ wanting to ignore the fact they looked just like the man and simply get on with their lives. That’s what Brent wanted for them, but he also wanted more. He wanted to see where Sir Randolph stood with the twins. It wasn’t that Brent didn’t think his brothers could handle any situation that might come up; it was mainly his vow to his mother that he would keep up with them and, if need be, help them.

Sir Randolph Gibson was staring out the window, though Brent had no idea what he might be looking at. The rain was now pouring down in torrential sheets, and no one was on the walkways. When Brent had been out, it was too gloomy and murky even to see the coaches as they passed him on the streets.

Brent remained where he was for a moment, watching the man. From what he’d learned from the runner he’d hired from Bow Street, Sir Randolph was in his sixties, though he hardly looked a day over fifty. He was a tall, robust, handsome fellow, with a thatch of silver hair that most men his age would envy.

Apparently there were three gentlemen, cousins in fact—a duke, a marquis, and an earl—who watched after the old man and had saved him from losing his wealth to such risky ventures as a hot air balloon travel business and a time machine. Earlier in the year, the old man had even been involved in some kind of boxing match over a spinster’s honor. The runner couldn’t find out much about that, but said shortly after the fight—which somehow the old man had won—the lady and her brother had left London.

The runner said Sir Randolph inherited his considerable wealth. His father had struck it rich in the shipping business when England was still trying to maintain control of its colonies across the sea. The war that followed made the old sea merchant a wealthy man, and it all went to Sir Randolph when his father died.

Brent didn’t know any of the three gentlemen who watched over Sir Randolph. No doubt the man’s substantial estate and no legitimate heirs were the main reasons the cousins, who had no blood relation to him, were so eager to step in and take care of him when needed.

The most interesting thing he’d been told was that over the years, Sir Randolph Gibson had been constantly sought after by ladies young and old, widows, innocents, and spinsters, too, all wanting to better their station in life by becoming his wife. But according to the runner, no one had ever caught his fancy enough for him to propose matrimony. According to rumor, Sir Randolph held solidly to the fact that the deceased Lady Elder, who was married four times but never to Sir Randolph, was the only woman he’d ever loved. But obviously she wasn’t the only lady he’d ever made love to. Matson and Iverson were testament to that.

With that thought, Brent entered the room and headed toward the table by the window.

Sir Randolph rose from the table and bowed. “My lord.”

“Sir Randolph,” Brent said, pulled out the chair opposite the man, and sat down.

“What are you drinking?” Sir Randolph asked as a server approached.

“Ale will do,” Brent said and waited for the server to walk away before adding, “I suppose you are wondering why I wanted you to meet me today.”

Sir Randolph shook his head as he folded his arms across his chest. “No, I didn’t wonder at all. I figured I knew.”

“My brothers,” Brent said.

Sir Randolph nodded.

“I’m afraid they are not as worried as I am by the fact they look so much like you.”

A sparkle lit in his brown gaze and he quipped, “Would it help if I shaved my head and grew a beard?”

Liking the twinkle of humor in the old man’s eyes, Brent smiled. Only a few words out of his mouth and already he had disarmed Brent. It was no wonder Sir Randolph had caught his mother’s attention. Brent would have to be careful around the distinguished-looking dandy. Clearly, the sly old goat was cunning and clever enough to know how to win over his enemies.

Trying not to let Sir Randolph know that, so far, he was impressed with him, Brent said, “I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?”

“I suppose it is,” Sir Randolph answered, some of the sheen fading from his eyes. “I guess that would have worked only if I had known the twins were coming to Town.”

“So you knew about my brothers?”

Remaining unflustered, Sir Randolph nodded again and said, “Of course. I knew your parents had three sons.”

“Did you know two of them look like you?”

“I had never seen them until they arrived in Town a few weeks ago.”

Brent shifted in his chair and said, “Have you kept up with my brothers over the years?”

Sir Randolph’s gaze stayed steady on Brent’s. “That wasn’t my place to do, my lord.”

He was cagey, answering every question but giving little information. Brent started to ask, But did you know they were your sons? Did you and my mother or my father ever talk about the fact that they are your sons? But Brent held his tongue, not knowing if he really wanted to know that much about what went on with his parents and Sir Randolph.

The server approached, and Brent waited until he’d placed his drink on the table and turned away, before saying, “What I really want to know, Sir Randolph, is if there will be more scandal coming.”

A genuine look of puzzlement wrinkled the dandy’s forehead, narrowed his eyes, and tightened his lips. “I’m not sure I know what you mean by that comment.”

Brent picked up his ale and took a sip. The tankard hit his bruised lip, and he stifled a wince. Every time it pained him, he thought about how good it would feel to pummel Mr. Alfred Staunton’s face into the ground.

“Then let me be forthright with you, Sir Randolph,” Brent said, placing his ale back on the table. He looked the man coldly and directly in the eyes, wanting to make sure there would be no misunderstanding as to what he had to say. “I do not want to wake one morning and find you have blabbed to every scandal sheet and gossipmonger in the ton about your clandestine affair with my mother almost thirty years ago, because if you do, I will pay you a visit.”

Sir Randolph jerked back as if Brent had struck him. Wide-eyed surprise quickly turned to a deadly glare. It didn’t surprise Brent that the man wasn’t cowed by his strong words.

Sir Randolph’s hands jerked to the table, and his fingers white-knuckled the edge as he leaned in closer to Brent. “By your words, my lord, it’s clear you don’t know me, so I’ll forgive you this once for questioning my honor and not take offense at what you just said. I have only one and will always have only one thing to say about your mother to you, Society, or anyone else in London. She was a fine and virtuous lady, and I’ll take up my sword, my pistols, or my fists against any nobleman, gentry, or servant who dares to say differently about her. And, my lord, that includes her sons.”

Brent sat back in his chair and slowly nodded. He couldn’t have said that better himself. “Then we’re in agreement, Sir Randolph.”