Courting Danger With Mr Dyer. Georgie Lee
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no longer a promise between him and Lady Rexford, but it didn’t mean he’d allow anyone to dictate anything to him. What Lady Rexford allowed others to dictate to her was her own affair.
‘My niece is a very generous young woman. I don’t want her friendliness to be mistaken for an invitation.’
‘Aunt Agatha, you have entirely misread the situation and Mr Dyer,’ Lady Rexford protested, to her credit. It was more than she’d dared to say to her aunt the last time they’d been in a similar situation.
‘No, she’s read me exactly as she wishes to.’ Bart leaned over in his saddle, the horse’s height combined with his allowing him to tower over the diminutive woman. The aunt didn’t back down, but straightened, meeting his hard look with an even more determined one. For a brief moment he admired the little force in silk. Despite her snobbery, she truly had her niece’s best interest at heart and he begrudgingly admired her for it. ‘Did you wake up this morning, madam, with the express intent of insulting me?’
This made her back down and she looked away, fiddling with the handle of her unopened umbrella. ‘I don’t mean to insult you, merely to remind you of the facts of the matter which, as a barrister, I’m sure you can appreciate.’
‘Yes, I do.’ He turned hard eyes on Lady Rexford, wishing she possessed as much strength of spirit as her aunt. It might have changed a number of things about the past five years. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Rexford.’
* * *
‘Mr Dyer, wait,’ Moira called after him, but he dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and bolted off down Rotten Row.
‘Let him go, my dear, it is for the best,’ Aunt Agatha declared as if the topic was finished and it was most certainly not.
‘Why did you insult him?’ Moira demanded. ‘There was nothing taking place between us except conversation.’
‘It always begins with conversation.’ Aunt Agatha sniffed in the superior way which annoyed Moira.
‘And it ends with me being pressured to marry a man twice my age, one I didn’t love and who was incapable of giving me any of the things I wanted.’
Aunt Agatha’s pale skin went pink near her greying hair. What Moira said wasn’t a secret, but it’d never been openly acknowledged either, not by her or any of the people who’d insisted she marry Lord Rexford. Her horse tossed its head and Moira tugged the reins, wishing she could control her emotions as easily as she did her mount, but ever since this morning, the many thoughts and feelings she’d done her best to bury and forget had been rising up, refusing to be ignored.
‘We did what we thought best for you, Moira,’ Aunt Agatha answered at last without apology.
‘I know, but perhaps it’s time for me to make such decisions for myself.’
‘Not if it means entangling yourself with Mr Dyer again. He might be a very successful barrister, but he is still a barrister and can offer you and the family name nothing.’
‘Lord Rexford was an earl and what did he offer us?’ Moira pointed out.
‘I’m not going to discuss this with you if you’re going to be deliberately obtuse about the difference between Lord Rexford and Mr Dyer,’ Aunt Agatha huffed before waving one gloved hand at her driver. ‘Drive me to Lady Windfall’s carriage. I’d like to speak with her.’
Before Aunt Agatha could set off, Moira turned her horse around and cantered down Rotten Row, gripping the reins so tight she thought they would split the seams of her gloves. How dare Aunt Agatha question her judgement or talk to her like some senseless schoolgirl. She, more than Aunt Agatha, recognised the difference between the two men for she’d been forced into intimate relations with one while forsaking the more virile of the two. Everything Lord Rexford had promised her she might have enjoyed with Mr Dyer: a home, family and security. Instead, she’d wed a title and prestige and it’d proven as hollow as her late husband’s chest.
Moira adjusted herself in the saddle, pushing back the encroaching sadness and regret, refusing to allow it to dominate her. Despite what Aunt Agatha believed about her judgement, she would choose her own husband this time, assuming any man worth having stepped forward to offer her his hand and heart.
She slowed her mount, remaining at the outer edges of the crush as the traffic in the Row increased. Young ladies in fashionable habits sat upright in their saddles in the middle of the path, their grooms following at a discreet pace. The bold ones flashed the available gentleman tempting looks to entice them to turn their horses and join them. The more timid ones relied on their mothers to summon the young men to them. Moira possessed neither the boldness nor the necessary guardian to assist her and she failed to catch anyone but old Lord Mortley’s notice, much to the displeasure of his wife who rode in the carriage beside him.
The steady clop of her horse’s hooves punctuated her heavy mood. She’d come to London to marry again. It’d seemed like a Herculean task before they’d journeyed to town. Being here as a widow without a fortune or lands trying to compete with all the glittering young ladies with large dowries made it even more so. Despite what Aunt Agatha believed, Moira wasn’t sure experience would gain her a match worth making.
Lord Camberline passed her on his fine stallion, oblivious to the inviting smiles of the young ladies and their mamas. Moira turned in her saddle, watching him continue down the row before stopping to speak with the Comte de Troyen and his daughter, Marie. His presence reminded her of the other trouble vexing her today.
Even if she did find a man who could make her happy, the stability of her home and happiness might be at risk. Mr Dyer believed something would happen soon and if it did, where would she and her family go? France wasn’t open to them and travelling to Germany was too perilous. There was always America, but it was so far from everything she cherished and loved, the same things she might lose if the Rouge Noir succeeded.
She clutched her reins tight. They can’t be allowed to succeed.
Napoleon’s domination of the European ports and his interrupting of trade were already making things in England worse. The restrictions added to the food shortages from the bad crops, inciting the workers in the north to revolt even more against the factory owners who were fighting a shrinking market to sell their goods and pay the very people turning against them and their new machines. The turmoil in the countryside would be nothing to the havoc Napoleon and his soldiers would wreak if the Rouge Noir destroyed the Government and brought the Emperor here. The thought of her safe world being torn apart scared her more than spending a lifetime without a husband and children of her own.
I won’t see the Fallworth lands torn from Freddy or little Nicholas left with nothing while French soldiers swarm over the country.
She’d do what she could to help bring down the wicked people who wanted to destroy them and rob everyone of their freedom the way Napoleon had pillaged and robbed so many people in Europe of theirs, the way her family had stolen hers when they’d insisted she marry Walter. She would have a life of her own and with it a future. She would help Mr Dyer.
Moira stood near the back of the line of mamas watching their daughters whirl about the Dowager Marchioness of Camberline’s impressive ballroom. A grand, arched ceiling presided over the rectangular space, at one end of which, in a balcony, the musicians played. At the other end, guests traversed the curving staircase to join the festivities or paused on the single landing to look over the crush. Tall windows punctuated the long run of the opposite wall and all of them were open to let in the cool night air. Camberline House in Mayfair was one of the last houses still surrounded by an extensive garden and land. There was some distance between it and its nearest neighbour and the stately trees and rolling lawn beyond the windows, illuminated by torches, gave Moira and the other guests the impression of being in the country.
A few days ago, Moira had eagerly looked forward to tonight. Once here, the thrill