The Earl's Inconvenient Wife. Julia Justiss
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diminishing her effectiveness, tarnishing her reputation by sponsoring me.’
‘But society knows how close we are all, almost as close as family. They will understand the loyalty that would have her stand by you.’
‘They might understand her loyalty, but they’d certainly question her judgement. No, if I press forward with this, I shall need a sponsor whose reputation is so unassailable that no one would dare oppose her.’
‘How about Lady Sayleford?’ Gifford suggested.
‘Maggie’s great-aunt?’ Temper said, frowning. ‘That connection is a bit remote, don’t you think? I don’t doubt that Maggie would take me on, but why should Lady Sayleford bother herself over the likes of me?’
‘Maybe because I ask her.’ Before Temper could sputter out a response, he grinned. ‘She’s my godmother. Didn’t you know? My mother and her daughter were bosom friends.’
While Christopher and Gregory laughed, Temper shook her head. ‘I didn’t know, but I’m not surprised. Thick as a den of thieves, the Upper Ten Thousand.’
‘You can’t deny she has the social standing to carry it off,’ Gifford said.
Temper smiled. ‘If Lady Sayleford couldn’t get her protégée admitted wherever she chose, London society as we know it would cease to exist. But even she would have to expend social capital to achieve it. I wouldn’t want to ask it of her.’
‘Knowing Lady Sayleford, she might see it as a challenge. She’s never marched to anyone’s tune, knows everything about everyone and has fingers in so many pies, no one dares to cross her.’
‘I’ve never met her, but she sounds like a woman I’d admire,’ Temper admitted.
‘If you could secure her agreement, Lady Sayleford would be an excellent sponsor,’ Gregory said, looking encouraged. ‘If anyone can find an eligible parti to take this beloved termagant off my hands, it’s the Dowager Countess.’
‘Need I repeat, I have no intention of ending a Season, even one sponsored by the redoubtable Lady Sayleford, by marrying?’
When the gentleman once again ignored her comment, Christopher agreeing with Gregory that Lady Sayleford would make an excellent sponsor and asking Gifford again if he thought he could coax her into it, Temper slammed her hand on the table.
‘Enough! Very well, I admit that Lady Sayleford has a better chance of foisting me on society than any other matron I can think of. But don’t go making your plans yet, gentlemen. Let me at least approach Papa and see if I can convince him to release funds from my dowry for me to set up my own establishment—and get out of your house and hair, dear brother.’
The men exchanged dubious glances.
‘If I can persuade him to release my dowry,’ Temper persisted, ‘you’ll have no “situation” to discuss.’
‘Yes, we would,’ Gifford said. ‘We’d be figuring out a way to rein you in before you organised an expedition to the Maghreb or India, like Lady Hester Stanhope.’
‘Riding camels or wading in the Ganges.’ With a beaming smile, Temper nodded. ‘I like that prospect far better than wading through the swamp of a Season.’
‘Well you might, but don’t get your hopes up,’ Christopher warned. ‘You know Papa.’
Despite her bold assertion, Temper knew as well as Christopher how dim were her chances of success. ‘I do,’ she acknowledged with a sigh. ‘I’ll be lucky if he even acknowledges I’ve entered the room, much less deigns to talk with me. At least he’s unlikely to bellow at me or throw things. With all the sabres and cutlasses and daggers he’s in the process of cataloguing now, that’s reassuring. Well, I’m off to pin him down and try my luck.’
‘If I leave before you get finished, let me know what happens,’ Christopher said. ‘I’ll be happy to return for another strategy session.’ Planting a kiss on her forehead, he gave her a little push. ‘You better go now, so you won’t miss saying goodbye to Pru.’
‘You’re right,’ Temper said, glancing at the mantel clock. ‘Aunt Gussie could arrive at any minute. Very well—I’m off to the lion’s den!’ Blowing the others a kiss, she walked out—feeling Gifford Newell’s gaze following her as almost like a burn on her shoulders.
Gifford Myles Newell, younger son of the Earl of Fensworth, watched his best friend’s sister walk gracefully out of the room. Just when had she changed from a bubbly, vivacious little girl into this stunning beauty?
A beauty, he had to admit, who raised most unbrotherly feelings in him. Sighing, he fought to suppress the arousal she seemed always to spark in him of late.
Unfortunately, one could not seduce the virginal sister of one’s best friend, no matter how much her face and voluptuous figure reminded one of the most irresistible of Cyprians. And though she made an interesting and amusing companion—one never knew what she would say or do next, except one could count on it not being conventional—when he married, he would need a mature, elegant, serene lady to manage his household and preside with tact and diplomacy over the political dinners at which so much of the business of government was conducted. Not a hoyden who blurted out whatever she was thinking, heedless of the consequences.
Sadly, when he did marry, he’d probably have to give up the association that had enlivened his life since the day he’d met her when she was six. He chuckled, remembering the rock she’d tossed and he’d had to duck as he entered the back garden at Brook Street, her explaining as she apologised that she’d thought he was the bad man who’d just made her mama cry.
Her body might be the stuff of a man’s erotic dreams, but she was still very much that impulsive, tempestuous child. A mature, elegant, serene wife would be a useful addition to his Parliamentary career, but he would miss the rough-and-tumble exchange of ideas, the sheer delight of talking with Temperance, never knowing where her lively mind or her unexpected reactions would take one next.
He wished the man who did end up wedding her good luck trying to control that fireball of uninhibited energy! Regardless of her childish protests that she never intended to marry, she almost inevitably would. There was no other occupation available for a gently bred female and he sincerely doubted her father, Lord Vraux, would release her dowry so his daughter could go trekking about the world, alone. How would she support herself, if she didn’t marry?
She was too outspoken to become anyone’s paid companion and no wife with eyes in her head would engage a woman who looked like Temperance Lattimar to instruct her children, unless her sons were very young and her husband a diplomat permanently posted at the back of beyond.
Fortunately, figuring out how to control Temperance Lattimar wouldn’t be his problem. Until the day some other poor man assumed that responsibility—or until he bowed to the inevitable, gave in to his mother’s ceaseless haranguing and found a wealthy wife to remove the burden of his upkeep from the family finances—he would simply enjoy the novelty of her company.
And keep his attraction to her firmly under control.
He looked up to find both Christopher and Gregory staring at him. Feeling his face heat, he said, ‘She’s still as much a handful as she was at six, isn’t she?’
Gregory and Christopher both sighed. ‘Pru will do what she must to fit in, but I’m uneasy about Temper,’ Christopher said. ‘That’s one female who should have been born a man.’
Suppressing his body’s instinctive protest at that heresy, Gifford said, ‘I would love to see her on the floor of the house, ripping into the Tories who natter on about how disruptive to Caribbean commerce a slavery ban would be.’
‘She would be magnificent,’ Christopher