April Kihlstrom - The Wiley Wastrel.pdf - April Kihlstrom - SilverWitch

The Wiley Wastrel

April Kihlstrom

SIGNET

Published by New American Library, a division of

Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane,

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Victoria, Australia

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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth. Middlesex, England

First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.

First Printing, October 1999 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

Printed in the United States of America

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced

into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise),

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If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and

destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

Prologue

James Langford, known to the ton as an engaging but thoroughly hopeless wastrel who gambled and danced and spent far too much

time and energy on his clothes and nothing more, quirked an eyebrow at the man looking at his work.

"Well?" he asked in a brisk voice that none of his friends would have recognized. "Will it do?"

The man nodded. "Aye, it'll more than do." He paused and stared at James. "Why the devil do you waste your time playing at being

such a frivolous fellow when you can build machines like this?"

But this was too much for James. He fixed the fellow with a piercing stare and said, coolly, "You forget, sir, that I am a gentleman."

The other man snorted in disgust. "Bleeding gentlemen! Worthless lot of creatures! And you choose to be one of 'em? Pack of

nonsense! It's not my business to say so, I suppose, but I can't see why you would."

"You are quite right, it is not your business," James agreed austerely. "Will you be taking the machine with you now, or sending for it

later?" he asked.

The man sighed again. "Oh, I'll send for it. My man will be here in the morning with a wagon to transport the thing to my factory up

north. He'll bring a bank draft with him, as usual."

He paused, then held out his hand as he added, with

2 April Kihlstrom

an apologetic grin, "I meant no offense, Langford. It's just that I like you, and that's not something as I'd say about or to most

gentlemen."

James took the offered hand and he smiled a wry, oddly sweet smile of his own as he replied, "No offense taken, sir. There are even

moments when I'd agree with you. But for now I am as I am. Meanwhile, I'll arrange to have my man waiting to give yours a hand loading

this machine onto your wagon in the morning. And now," he said, reaching for the candelabra, "we'd best go. I'm supposed to be at a

gaming party and it wouldn't do for me to be more than fashionably late."

Another snort, this time a gentler one, was the other man's only answer.

Chapter I

James Langford, younger brother of Lord Darton, returned Miss Merriweather to her mother's loving care and looked about him for

another partner. Already there were a number of young ladies trying to catch his eye.

His satin coat of soft blue echoed an earlier age, far different from the simple black or other dark colors worn by most gentlemen

those days. But none of the ladies were heard to cavil at his taste. Indeed, they were more likely to admire the clocking on his stockings

than to call it out of fashion.

Langford was not unaware of the stir he was causing and he wondered, idly, what would happen if he were to go so far as to powder

his hair. The smile that tilted up the corners of his mouth at the thought caused more than one young lady to hope he was thinking of her.

Even as he steeled himself to find another partner, a friend grabbed Langford by the arm and said, "You must see this quiz. Don't

know what the girl's mother was thinking! She squints, positively squints. And not a fortune in sight to make it all acceptable. Or so they

say. At least, thank God, there is no whiff of trade about her or the girl would be done for entirely!"

James allowed himself to be commandeered. Why not, after all? He had nothing more amusing to do.

Still, it was not amusement he felt as he looked in the direction Farnsworth pointed him. He saw, as promised, a young lady who

indeed was something of a quiz.

"Her dress don't in the least become her," Farnsworth said.

Langford had to agree. "And her expression," he noted, "seems calculated to warn off anyone foolish enough to think of asking her

to dance."

"As if they would!" Farnsworth snorted in disgust. "Just look at that simpering woman beside her. Obviously the girl's mother."

James sighed. There was a hint of sympathy in his voice as he said, "Poor creature. It's no wonder she's become fodder for

malicious gossip."

"What was her mother thinking to clad such a sturdy young woman in frothy white?" Farnsworth persisted. "Or to have her auburn

hair cropped so short? It only draws attention to her squint!"

"What, indeed?" James murmured. "Poor creature. Thank heavens she is not related to me. Otherwise I might feel compelled to ask

her to dance."

Farnsworth shuddered at the thought. He and Lang-ford were about to turn away when she looked at them. James stopped,

transfixed. There was intelligence and even wry humor in those eyes. And understanding of precisely what he and all the other

gawkers must be thinking.

Before he knew what he was about, before he could even think to alter course, Langford found himself moving toward the girl and

bowing to her mother. He didn't know the woman but he knew one of the women beside her.

"Lady Batten, would you be so kind as to introduce me to this young lady?"

Lady Batten gaped at him and then smiled tightly, as though at some private joke. "Of course. Miss Galsworth, may I present Mr.

Langford. Mr. Langford, Miss Galsworth. And her mother, Mrs. Galsworth."

James bowed again. He felt a strong sense of impending doom, worsened by the way Mrs. Galsworth looked at him with such a

satisfied gleam in her eye. Nor was he reassured when he turned to Miss Galsworth and she took his outstretched hand with what could

only be patent relief in her eyes.

When her fingers clutched at his, as though at a lifeline, James wondered if he had made a horrible mistake. As he led her toward the

other dancers, however, Miss Galsworth surprised him.

In a voice pitched low enough to carry to his ears only she said, "I am well aware, sir, that you have the power to bring any young

lady into fashion with your attention. While I do not hope for more than mere tolerance, I shall not forget your kindness in asking me to

dance."

And then she smiled at him. That smiled changed everything. With a shock, James realized that Miss Galsworth had the potential to

be very pretty. If it weren't for her horrid hairstyle and appalling gown.

But the smile was gone as swiftly as it had appeared and she was the plain creature with a squint once again. James did his best to

banish the other image from his mind.

Still, they took their places and he smiled at her whenever the figures of the dance brought them together. He made certain to engage

her in unexceptionable conversation that others could overhear. To his great relief, Miss Galsworth neither simpered nor showed an

unbecoming forwardness nor was she afflicted by shyness.

By the time the music drew to a close, James was feeling quite pleased with himself. He knew he was kindhearted and he was well

aware of his own power in society. Smug in his sense of having done a good deed, he escorted Miss Galsworth back to her mother.

That would have been the end of things if she had not said lightly, as though it were inconsequential, "Why did you ask me to dance,

Mr. Langford? Was it a wager? Or am I one of your charity cases?"

That caused James to miss a step and he nearly stumbled. He gaped at Miss Galsworth but quickly shut his open mouth. He would

not allow her to provoke him. Grimly he said, "You ought not to ask such questions! They impugn both my motives and your own good

qualities."

"Oh, but I have no good qualities," she replied frankly. "At least, nothing that would recommend me to so notable a dandy as

yourself."

"I am not a dandy!"

She hesitated, studied him carefully, then nodded. "No? Well, perhaps not. Your shirt points are not ridiculously high after all,

though the, er, uniqueness of your coat might make one wonder. Forgive me. I have nothing to recommend me to so notable a gentleman

as yourself."

He wanted to deny her self-deprecations. And certainly James was an accomplished enough flirt that he ought to have found it easy

enough to do so. But when he looked at Miss Galsworth, he discovered he could not lie to those clear green eyes.

A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. "I thought so," she said. "A charity case. I only asked about the wager because I knew

you to be a notable gamester. But not about this sort of thing, I would guess."

"You guess correctly," James said, his voice tight with disapproval.

She sighed. "Now I have offended you and I did not mean to do so. Not after you have been so kind to me. I am sorry, Mr.

Langford."

Suddenly his anger melted away. How could he remain angry at a girl who spoke so bluntly, who played no simpering games with

him? It was such a refreshing change from all the rest of the year's crop that he almost committed the solecism of asking Miss Galsworth

whence she had sprung.

Instead he smiled again, returned her to her mother without risking another, possibly dangerous conversation, and bowed fully

intending to simply walk away.

Mrs. Galsworth had other plans.

"You will come to call on us, won't you, Mr. Langford? Your mother and I were bosom bows."

James doubted it sincerely. But he could not call the woman a liar to her face and his mother was dead so he could not ask her to

refute the outrageous claim. All he could do was bow again, smile noncommittally, and attempt to beat as hasty a retreat as possible.

Mrs. Galsworth would have stopped him, but now that James had danced with her daughter, other gentlemen decided to be as brave

and her attention was claimed by them.

James slipped away and headed for the gaming rooms. He hated to gamble, but no one could have guessed it by his demeanor. And

for once, the gaming rooms felt like a refuge. Besides, having just earned a hefty commission, he had to account for his good fortune

somehow. Best to let the ton, and his brother George, believe he had won it at cards.

Unfortunately, events seemed to conspire against the small measure of peace James had made with the secret way in which he made

his fortune and flouted convention. Almost the first conversation he joined seemed like a reproach.

"Heard about Kellingham?" Beardsley demanded.

"Married the daughter of a shipping magnate, didn't he?" someone else replied.

"Perhaps he, er, needed to recoup the family fortune," James suggested mildly. "And I've heard nothing to say against the girl's

father."

"Except that he owns a damned shipping yard!" Beardsley snorted.

"Would it have been better for Kellingham to lose the land his family has owned for generations?" a third gentleman countered. "I've

heard that was the alternative if the merchant had not come up to scratch."

"Well, no," Cathcart conceded. "But that does not mean we have to like it."

"I thank God none of our families have had to face such a choice and been tainted by the smell of trade," someone sniffed

disdainfully.

"Mind you," Cathcart said to James, "your brother's wife does interest herself in some of the oddest things."

James went very still. His eyes narrowed. In a voice that was dangerously soft he asked, "Are you impugning Lady Darton, sir?"

He knew full well the fellow did not mean Athenia, that paragon of conventionality. He knew full well it was Philip's wife who trod the

line toward eccentricity. But nevertheless James watched in satisfaction as Cathcart sputtered and hastily withdrew the gibe.

Someone else turned the subject to safer matters and James suppressed the sigh of relief he felt. Confound it, what would the ton

say, what would they do if they ever found out that Philip and Emily owned a mill? So far his brother had managed to keep the thing a

secret but there was always the risk of discovery. As there was with his own activities.

James would have liked to leave the game at once, the room no longer feeling like a refuge to him. But he could not do so. Not

without drawing unwelcome attention to his reaction to the conversation and unhealthy speculation once he was gone. So, for the mo-

ment, he stayed.

April Kihlstrom - The Wiley Wastrel.pdf

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