Mary Balogh
Gentle conquest

CHAPTER 1

"I HAVE SAID IT a hundred times, but I shall say it again," the Countess of Chartleigh complained, picking a speck of lint from the skirt of her black dress with two plump fingers. "I shall never forgive myself for having given birth to Ralph before Stanley."

This strange utterance was received without a flicker of surprise or amusement by her two companions. Obviously they had heard the same sentiment expressed on at least one other of those one hundred occasions. Lady Beauchamp was sitting very upright on the edge of a deep chair in the Chartleigh drawing room, sipping tea from a Wedgwood china cup. Only a close observer would have seen the family resemblance of feature between her and her sister, the countess. Lady Beauchamp was slim almost to the point of thinness and impeccably elegant.

The other occupant of the room could easily have been mistaken for the daughter of Lady Beauchamp rather than the niece. But Lady Gloria Middleton, like her mother, the countess, was dressed in unrelieved black. She looked up from her embroidery, her expression cheerful.

"It is all very well to say so, Mama," she said. "But the fact is that Ralph is the elder by three years, and no amount of wishing is going to change that."

"Well, I consider it most provoking that it has to be the elder son that always succeeds to his father's title," Lady Chartleigh said, fumbling in the pocket of her dress for a handkerchief and dabbing at her moist eyes. "It is not that I dislike Ralph. He is my own son and I nursed him at my breast. And who could dislike the boy? He is sweet-natured and always did well at his lessons. But how can he possibly take poor Chartleigh's place now that he is of age?"

"The boy is well enough, Hilda," her sister said somewhat impatiently. "One must give him a chance to prove himself now that he has passed his one-and twentieth birthday and is to take over his duties as earl. What was so great about the late Chartleigh, after all? When he was alive you were forever complaining that he was a spendthrift among other things."

"But, Elspeth," Lady Chartleigh said, her handkerchief poised halfway to her eyes, "Chartleigh was at least a man. You have to admit that. All real men drink and gamble and, well, have other weaknesses."

"And are likely to come to premature ends like my brother-in-law," her sister commented acidly. "He would probably not have broken his neck at that fence, Hilda, if he had not been in his cups at the time. None of the other hunters had any difficulty clearing it."

Lady Gloria Middleton dropped her embroidery in a heap on the table beside her and crossed the room swiftly to her mother's side. "Aunt Elspeth!" she admonished the other lady. "Do please have a care. Mama is still very sensitive on the topic of Papa's accident, even though it happened more than a year ago. Come, Mama, here is your vinaigrette. Do take it from me, and I shall ring for a fresh pot of tea. Pray do not take on so."

"Oh, what a wretched creature I am," the countess wailed. "My poor Chartleigh dead in his prime; my dear Stanley, who resembles his Papa to the very letter, with the misfortune to be a younger son; and Ralph a dear, sweet weakling about to try to step into his papa's shoes."

"Hush, Mama," Gloria said, clearly distressed. "You are being unfair to Ralph. It is true that he has always been a sweet and quiet boy and that he dislikes hunting and gambling and such. But he is certainly not stupid. Why, that professor at Oxford who likes him so much made the effort to travel all the way to Chartleigh last year to persuade Ralph to complete his studies before taking on his new duties. And we do not know for certain that he has not matured in the year since Papa's death. He came home from university only yesterday. And, Mama, do please remember that he is barely one-and-twenty now. He is very young to bear so much responsibility. As Aunt Elspeth says, we must give him a chance to prove himself."

"Stanley is only eighteen," the countess pointed out with a sniff, "but he could take his father's place at a moment's notice. What good is an Oxford education when one is to be an earl?"

"The boy will do well enough," Lady Beauchamp said, placing her cup and saucer on the table beside her and clasping her hands in her lap. "He needs a wife, that's all. There's nothing like family responsibility to turn a boy into a man. I wish I had insisted on Roger marrying when he was as young."

"Well, bless my soul," her sister replied, looking at her in some shock. "Ralph is barely more than a child, Elspeth. How would he know what to do with a wife?"

Lady Beauchamp pursed her lips. "He would soon learn," she said.

Gloria bent her blushing face over the embroidery that she had picked up again.

"Do you really think it would be a good idea?" Lady Chartleigh asked doubtfully.

"It would be the making of him," her sister assured her. "What man likes to appear weak before his own wife? I shouldn't wonder if he doesn't take up hunting and gaming and all those other activities you seem to think so important, Hilda, just to impress her."

"But where is he to find a suitable bride?" the countess asked. "There are no very eligible girls around Chartleigh except the Horsley sisters, and I always felt they were appropriately named, poor dears. They are distinctly horsey in appearance."

"Who says the girl must come from the country," Lady Beauchamp asked reasonably, "just because the last two earls chose brides from their own neighborhood? Here we are in London, Hilda, the Marriage Mart itself. It is true that you have not gone about in the last year because of your mourning and do not know many eligible parties, but there are any number of suitable girls. There would be more here if it were the Season, of course, but even so you will have a considerable choice. I tell you what I shall do. I shall call on Eugenia tomorrow. She knows positively everyone who is anyone. She will name us some likely prospects."

"She must be a girl of firm character," Lady Chartleigh said. "I fear that Ralph will need a strong woman behind him if he is to perform his duties at all well."

"I shall mention that to Eugenia," her sister assured her.

"Is that Lady Sheldon you speak of, Aunt?" Gloria asked. She added rather timidly, "Is it quite right, do you suppose, to entrust the finding of a bride for Ralph to a stranger?"

"Gracious, child," her aunt replied, "who better to find a bride for any young man than someone with Eugenia's connections? Your brother is the Earl of Chartleigh and the owner of Chartleigh. He owes it to his position to marry well. Just any girl will not do, you know."

"Oh, why did I not produce Stanley first?" Lady Chartleigh said on a sigh.

It was not clear whether her elder son heard this. statement or not as he entered the room. Certainly he gave no sign of having done so, and his mother quickly erased the stricken look that his unexpected entrance had brought to her face.

The Earl of Chartleigh smiled at the three ladies and crossed the room to kiss each on the cheek. "Are you comfortable enough, Aunt Elspeth?" he asked. "Shall I fetch a cushion for your back?"

"Absolutely not," his aunt assured him, lifting her cheek for him to kiss. "It is very bad for the posture, my boy, to be forever propping oneself up."

Ralph grinned, picked up the teapot to refill his mother's empty cup, and seated himself beside his sister. She smiled across at him.

"Were you out riding?" she asked. "I saw you go downstairs in your riding clothes after luncheon."

"In a sense," he said. "I went to have a talk with Parker. His firm has handled Chartleigh's business for so many years that I thought he would know best what is to be done. When I visited Chartleigh at Easter, I rode down to the laborers' cottages. Those people had a great deal to say."

"Complaining, no doubt," his mother said. "Chartleigh-your poor dear papa, that is, Ralph-always used to say it would serve them right if he cut them off and made them move into the towns to work at a factory. That would teach them when they had been well off, he used to say."

"I daresay they are far better off where they are, Mama," the earl agreed with a smile, "but there really is room for improvement in their living conditions. Some of those houses are not fit for habitation."

"They are good enough for laborers, you may depend upon it," Lady Chartleigh said firmly. "Don't let them persuade you otherwise, my son. You must never appear weak to your servants, especially at the start. You must try to imitate your poor dear papa, who always knew how to handle his workers."

The earl continued to smile. "I am sure your advice is good, Mama," he said. "Gloria, do you still spend a great deal of time at your embroidery? You are a wonder. The work is exquisite."

Gloria smiled up at him, pleased, and looked back to her work again.

An onlooker would have noticed that although the ladies resembled one another to a degree, Lord Chartleigh bore no likeness to any of them. While Gloria was dark with strong, rather severe features and firm, thin lips, and the other two ladies were older versions of her, the one equally slim, the other plump, he was fair and had a pleasing, open countenance with steady gray eyes and a sensitive mouth that seemed to curve upward at the corners. He was a tall, slender young man who moved with an easy grace. It was not yet apparent whether age would add muscularity to his physique. He looked younger than his one-and-twenty years.

"Do you not consider the color of your riding attire somewhat inappropriate, Ralph?" his mother asked as she selected a buttered muffin from the plate he had risen to offer her.

Ralph looked down at his bottle-green jacket and buff riding breeches in some surprise.

"Your poor dear papa has been gone for scarcely more than a year," his mother continued. "I have not even considered the possibility of leaving off my blacks yet, dear, and you can see that Gloria is still in deep mourning too. As the new Earl of Chartleigh I think you owe it to your family and to society generally to show all proper respect to the dead."

The earl looked at his mother, contrition in his glance. "I have been thoughtless, Mama," he said. "I left off my own mourning after the year was over, but I should have noticed when I arrived yesterday that you are still in black. If you will excuse me, I shall go upstairs now and change. I am glad I arrived home in time to see you, Aunt Elspeth. Your pardon, Mama." He lifted his mother's hand to his lips as he passed her chair on his way out of the room.

Lady Chartleigh sighed and accepted another muffin from her daughter. "Yes," she said to no one in particular, "dear Ralph needs a bride, someone who can manage him and instruct him how to go on. Had not even noticed that we were still in mourning, indeed! The boy is a dreamer and the veriest child."

The Honorable Georgiana Burton was in disgrace again. She had been sent to her room to contemplate her many sins after a severe tongue-lashing in the library from her father. She was fortunate indeed, he had told her, not to be tipped over his knee and spanked until she was too sore to sit down. She might be eighteen years old and consider herself above such childish treatment, but if she must behave like an irresponsible hoyden, then she must expect to be treated like one. Next time… Viscount Lansbury had left the threat unfinished, but his daughter had looked suitably chastened as she withdrew with lowered eyes and flaming cheeks.

He would, too, he told his wife ten minutes later when he had joined her in her sitting room, his breathing still labored, his face still flushed. He would paddle the girl's bottom until she had to sleep face-down for a week. Just one more provocation!

"I have never been more mortified in my life," the viscount continued. "There they were, all lined up in the green salon, all breathing fire and brimstone. At me. Viscount Lansbury! Tradesmen and servants all of them. And I was obliged to eat humble pie in front of them."

"Dear Georgie is merely a high-spirited girl," the viscountess said soothingly, pouring a cup of tea for her husband, who looked as if he were in need of a far stronger beverage. "And she has always enjoyed a prank. She will grow up."

"When!" The word emerged as more exclamation than question. The viscount regarded the top of his wife's head in exasperation. "It seems to me you have been saying that for the past five years, my lady. When is Georgiana going to grow up? She was presented this past spring among a bevy of girls as pretty-behaved and dignified as any father could wish. And some of them were younger than she."

"You must admit that Georgie has been very popular this Season, Lansbury," his wife said. "She has certainly not lacked for admirers."

"You refer to Greeley and Vaughn and young Haines, I presume?" the viscount said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Not one brain to spare among the lot of them. It was young Haines who caused all the trouble this morning. Not that I believe for a moment that the fault was all his. If the truth were known, I daresay the whole idea was Georgiana's."

"I think you make altogether too much of the incident, Lansbury," the viscountess said placidly. "All they did, after all, was race their horses through the streets instead of in the park. Georgie said it added to the excitement to have obstacles to dodge instead of just a wide green to gallop along. No harm was done. One can always trust servants and tradespeople to exaggerate and look for cause to complain against their betters."

"No harm was done!" The viscount directed his eyes to the ceiling. "If you call an apple stall being upset, a fish wagon overturned, and a pedestrian's leg bitten by a frightened dog, among other incidents, no harm, my lady, I should like to know what you consider some harm."

His wife sipped her tea and wisely refrained from comment.

"Well," Lansbury said, "I had decided to stay away from the country this summer while the repairs are being made to the house, but go there we will, and soon. We shall just have to turn a blind eye to the presence of the builders."

"So uncomfortable," his wife said with a frown. "You know how sawdust and the smell of paint give me the headache and have me sneezing all day long. Perhaps it would be better to find Georgie a husband. You may depend upon it, Lansbury, she would soon settle down if she were given the responsibility of her own home. I am convinced that it is merely boredom that drives the girl into so many scrapes."

The viscount regarded his wife fixedly. "Heaven help the poor man!" he said feelingly. "Is there anyone foolish enough to take her off our hands, Livvy?"

"I am not sure, of course," his wife said with careful casualness, "but I do believe Chartleigh might be brought to the point."

The viscount frowned. "Chartleigh," he said. "He is a mere pup, is he not?"

"One-and-twenty," his wife informed him, "and in search of a wife. Or the countess is in search of a wife for him, which amounts to the same thing. She has always ruled that family, I understand. The late earl was something of a wastrel."

"I knew him," the viscount said. "Is the son like him? I can't say I have heard anything about him."

"A very quiet, bookish sort of young man, according to Eugenia" his wife replied. "Just the sort of husband for Georgie, Lansbury. He would be a steadying influence and help her to grow up."

"Hm," Lansbury said. There was a world of cynicism in the one syllable. "I think a rakehell might do better for her. He might take a horsewhip to her hide once in a while."

"Lansbury!" his wife admonished, placing her cup back in its saucer with a clatter.

The viscount clasped his hands behind his back and regarded his wife, rocking back on his heels as he did so. "Very well," he said. "You heard this from Eugenia, Livvy? She ought to know. The woman has been matchmaking for years. I shall accompany you on a visit to Lady Sheldon tomorrow afternoon. We shall see what can be learned about this youngster. I do not set my hopes too high, though. The man who will be willing to take Georgiana off our hands will have to be somewhat touched in the upper works. Now, if it were Vera… How can two sisters be so vastly different from each other?"

"Vera is an angel," the viscountess said briskly, rising to ring for a footman to remove the tea tray, "but she is three-and-twenty and still unmarried, Lansbury. And without prospects. One must admit that the girl is on the shelf to stay. If we can but catch Chartleigh for Georgie, I shall be well content. It will be a quite brilliant match for her."

Georgiana sat in the drawing room of her father's house on Curzon Street, all outward docility. Since Mama and Papa had explained to her the afternoon before that a marriage between her and the Earl of Chartleigh was a definite possibility, she had been all set to rebel. No one was going to marry her off to a total stranger.

But Papa had foreseen her reaction and her ears were still tingling from the peal he had rung over her head immediately after luncheon. The earl was to visit that afternoon with his mother, the countess. Georgiana was to conduct herself as a young lady of the ton who was "out" was expected to behave. She was to be courteous and agreeable. If she was not, if she did one thing to show the visitors what a bad-tempered hoyden she really was-just one thing!-she would have him to reckon with afterward.

Georgiana had dared to glance inquiringly at her father at that point. The spanking threat again? He appeared to read her mind.

"It will be home to the country for you, my girl," he said, "and there you will stay until some gentleman farmer is fool enough to offer for you. Or failing that, you may spend your declining years ministering to the needs of your mother and of the parish. You will never see London again, never attend a ball or a party, and never wear a fashionable gown. Do I make myself understood?"

Georgiana dropped her eyes meekly to the toes of her blue slippers. "Yes, Papa," she said.

And that was just the sort of threat he would keep, too, she thought glumly. She could safely disregard the threats of a spanking. Papa had never ever beaten her, though he must have threatened to do so at least once a week since she was six. He had even dismissed a governess once when he caught the woman rapping her over the knuckles with a ruler for not paying attention to her lessons. But he would send her home. That was just the sort of thing Papa would do. She would take the beating any day rather than have to go home. She would positively die of boredom.

So she had quite sincerely assured her father that she would behave herself that afternoon, and gloomily allowed herself to be turned over to Price, Mama's hatchet-faced dresser. And here she was as a result, a lamb prepared for the slaughter, sitting meekly in the drawing room wearing her pale pink muslin, which she positively hated because it was so delicately feminine. And her hair! She had not counted the ringlets as Price turned them out, like so many sausages on a string, from the curling tongs. But it felt as if there must be at least two hundred of them bouncing against the back of her head and the sides of her face. And ribbons! One pink bow on each side of her head, starkly noticeable against the darkness of her hair. Georgiana scowled, remembered her promise, and schooled her features into bland emptiness again.

Why had she never met the Earl of Chartleigh? She had never even heard of him before. Was he newly arrived from the country, still smelling of the barn? And how old was he? What did he look like? What sort of man had to have a marriage arranged for him? And with a girl he had never set eyes on! She heartily despised him already. She was going to hate him, she knew she was. But how was she to put him off without making it obvious to a hawk-eyed papa that she was doing so? She would not marry him. She was not going to marry anyone. If she ever did marry, it would be to someone like Warren Haines, a thoroughly good fellow with whom she could be herself and not have to trouble about ringlets and pink dresses and all that faradiddle. But she had laughed at Warren the week before when he had suggested that perhaps they should think of becoming betrothed. She did not really want to marry even him.

Georgiana stifled a sigh. Mama and Vera were all dressed up as for a big occasion too, and both already wore on their faces that bright, sociable, artificial expression that they reserved for visitors of special significance. Why could not this earl marry Vera if he was so anxious for a bride? She was the older sister, after all. And Vera was not an antidote, though Mama was fond of saying so when Vera herself was not within hearing. She was a little too thin, perhaps, and a trifle pale, and her hair of a somewhat indeterminate color, but she had the finest gray eyes Georgiana had ever seen. "Windows to the soul" was the phrase that leapt to mind when one really looked into Vera's eyes. And, more than that, she looked beautiful when she felt deeply about something. Her cheeks would flush and her whole face come alive. Unfortunately, that did not happen often enough. Vera seemed to think that a lady should always be calm and in control of her emotions. She was an angel-even Mama admitted that much. She never lost her temper or got into scrapes.

Georgiana jumped noticeably in her chair as the butler opened the double doors into the drawing room with a flourish and announced the Earl and Countess of Chartleigh in his best theatrical manner. Her heart fluttered painfully. How could one possibly be expected to behave naturally in such very embarrassing circumstances? She schooled her features into a smile that matched exactly in artificiality those worn by her mother and sister as her father stepped forward to greet the visitors.

She curtsied deeply to the portly countess, whom she recalled seeing on occasion at church, and to the earl, who was blocked to her view at first by the large frame of his mother.

When she did see him, Georgiana was definitely shocked. This was the husband her parents had chosen for her? This… this boy? He was surely no older than she. There must be some mistake. She felt an alarming urge to giggle as everyone settled into chairs and began the laborious business of making polite conversation. The older people sustained the flow of talk. The three younger ones sat mute after the opening greetings-like children who must be seen but not heard, Georgiana thought hilariously.

At first she kept her eyes riveted to the face of whichever adult was talking. But several furtive glances at the Earl of Chartleigh assured her that he was not looking her way at all. He seemed to be engrossed in the conversation. She studied him openly, losing all track of what was being said.

How old was he? Far too young to be married, at any rate. Most of the men of her acquaintance held that marriage before the age of thirty was a shocking waste of a youth. She doubted if this man was even twenty. Her eyes passed over his tall frame, slender and elegant in his mourning clothes. A boyish figure. Not the sort of godlike, muscular physique that all girls dream of. His hair was very fair and looked baby-soft, but it was thick and rather unruly. Although it was fashionably rumpled, she doubted that the effect had been created deliberately. His complexion, too, was fair. He had a sweet face. His nose was high-bridged, a rather prominent feature; his eyes and his mouth looked as if they smiled, though his face was in repose.

He was beautiful, she thought, and then realized with some revulsion just what adjective her mind had chosen to describe him. What woman wanted a beautiful man for a husband? Handsome, yes. Rugged, perhaps. But beautiful?

It was while she was frowning at the thought that the earl turned his head rather jerkily and looked directly into her eyes. He looked sharply away again, his fair complexion decidedly flushed.

Good God, Georgiana thought irreverently, he is shy.