The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting Read online

  “I know you wouldn’t have.” Hart spoke with certainty. “You have a heart. Not to insult your capacity for wiles, but I really don’t think you’re in the right line of work.”

  Robin’s fingers groped for his, gripped them. Hart squeezed back. They lay in silence for a few minutes.

  “Thank you for telling me that,” Robin said eventually. “It sounds appalling.”

  “Maybe someone else could have handled it better. I have sometimes wondered, if I had been less hostile, more understanding, if I had had my mother’s affection—”

  “If you had been more lovable.”

  The words were stark and painful. “Well,” Hart said. “Yes.”

  “If you were more lovable, she would not have treated you so. If you were charming and graceful and handsome, other people would have been kinder to you. The former maybe, the latter undeniably, but do you know what, Hart? I am charming and graceful and handsome, and there is only one of us in this room who is worth a damn.”

  “That is not true.”

  “Yes, it is. And if people care for nothing but a pretty face, they deserve what they get when the charming, graceful, handsome one empties their pockets.”

  “Blaine was handsome,” Hart said. “Charming too, at least until they were married. Edwina didn’t deserve that.”

  “All right, no, but I maintain the principle. If you can only treat a pretty child well, you have no business with children. And any charlatan can learn social graces. I learned them at a drunkard’s knee, and have used them to cozen, cheat, and fortune-hunt, while you have worked damned hard at the expense of your own comfort and social standing to help your family. I don’t know about lovable, but I bloody know who deserves to be loved.”

  He sounded ferocious. Hart looked at him, startled, to see that Robin looked somewhat shocked himself.

  “Thank you,” he said inadequately. “I, uh, appreciate that.”

  Robin squeezed his hand. “Well, someone had to tell you.”

  Hart wanted to hug the words to him, to start a diary just in order to write them down. He took a steadying breath instead. If this wasn’t the perfect opportunity to raise the subject that had been consuming him, he didn’t know what was. “Speaking of fortune-hunting, Robin. What will you do at the end of the month?”

  “In what sense?”

  “Financial. The Season is well underway. Do you plan to pursue another...” Not victim, for heaven’s sake. He went with “Lady?”

  Robin made a face. “I have to agree with you: I don’t think I’m cut out for this line of work. I don’t know what I’ll do. It will probably depend on what Marianne, or rather Tachbrook, does. I can’t make a decision until I know about that.”

  “Could I offer a suggestion?”

  “What’s that?”

  “A proposition for you. I like you very much, and our arrangement has been extraordinary. You said you wanted to be my fantasy, and you have fulfilled that beyond imagining. I have never had anything like this—like you—in my life.”

  “I like you too,” Robin said softly.

  “And I listened to what you told me about your situation. Of course you want security. That is quite reasonable.”

  “It stays with you, doesn’t it?”

  “But I don’t want you to be forced to, uh, drastic action to find that security. So I wondered if we might put the arrangement on another footing.”

  Robin looked a little wary. “You want to change the terms?”

  “Our agreement isn’t fair to you. It never was.”

  “Of course it is. We agreed a month where we could fuck without any other considerations, and that is what we have.”

  “That wasn’t what we agreed.”

  “It was really,” Robin said. “I wanted you, and you wanted me, and the arrangement let us have that. Me paying off a debt and you getting your money’s worth was a, a framework. We both knew where we stood when we started. Or I did anyway, and you grasped it in due course.”

  “Perhaps. All right, yes. But we aren’t where we started, are we?”

  “No, we aren’t, but we still know where we stand. We both have the right to walk away at the end if we want, either of us. Nobody is obliged.”

  “But I don’t want to walk away,” Hart said. “Do you?”

  “We have ten days still. I don’t want to think about it yet.”

  “Yes, but you don’t think ahead. I do, and ten days isn’t much. It isn’t enough for you to make plans for your future and it isn’t enough for me at all, and— Robin, I could look after you. I have the funds—”

  “No,” Robin said. “No, no, no. Stop. Please.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to think about it! We have our arrangement, the rules are simple and clearly laid out, and we don’t have to worry about anything more. Can we not leave it there?”

  “You haven’t heard me out.”

  “You are proposing to offer me carte blanche or some such, yes? That’s all I need to hear. You must not. It’s absurd.”

  That was stark. “Absurd, why? I want to give you choices, Robin. Pursuing wealthy women or cheating at cards isn’t a choice. Or if it is, it’s the choice between a louse and a flea.”

  “Being a kept man is better?”

  “You were looking for a rich wife. Is a protector so different?”

  Robin’s lips moved slightly, as though he was trying out an argument. Finally, and in a steady tone, he said, “It is a kindly meant offer. But I would be a knave to take it, both for your sake and for mine.”

  “Why?”

  “For your sake, because you have never had anything like this. For God’s sake, you have only just learned what it is to kiss a man. Perhaps you should try some others before you decide where to spend your money. For mine—” Robin looked up at him, his eyes entirely without light or humour. “Because you have just told me what you think of parasites, and I saw your face as you spoke. I don’t want you to look at me like that.”

  “What? That is an entirely different—”

  “It isn’t,” Robin said. “Please stop. I don’t want to talk about it any more.”

  Hart felt his chest tighten with alarm. “I had no intention of offending you.”

  “I know that, and I’m not offended. It was a generous thought, but it isn’t necessary.” Robin smiled, his unusually grim expression relaxing. He always smiled, always made the difficult moment easy. “We have a very satisfactory arrangement for now. Let’s stick to it.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hart was still fretting about that conversation a couple of days later. It didn’t help that he’d had very little time to reflect. He’d been busy with a lawyer drafting terms for his agreement with James, which had required another meeting with his mentor; he’d had a great deal of correspondence accumulate over the last weeks, since it seemed he had inexplicably failed to give work his full attention; he’d spent hours in Bill Richmond’s boxing saloon, pouring his confusion and frustration into punishing exercise. And then there was Edwina and Alice.

  Edwina had capitulated to Alice’s scheme, but was clinging to her new position, which was that Alice must travel with a companion—a competent woman, not merely a maid—and a responsible British connexion must be found in Heidelberg so that she had assistance at hand.

  “It’s not unreasonable,” Hart said, seeing Alice’s mulish expression. “For your well-being.”

  “It is perfectly reasonable as a condition but how will we do it?” Alice demanded. “How long will it take to find these people?”

  “We’ll ask Trelawney’s help, and I’ll talk to Giles Verney. Foreign Office, remember? He will know someone.”

  “That is an excellent idea, Uncle Hart,” Alice said, beaming. Edwina agreed, less enthusiastically.

  “And we will advertise for a companion. There is bound to be someone who wants a passage. I’ll have that done at once. Don’t worry, Alice. We’ll find your way.”

  Edwi
na gave him a rather jaundiced look once Alice had left them to go out with her friends. Hart said, “What now?”

  “Anyone would think you are keen to be rid of her.”

  “Nonsense. She wants to do this, and it is not fair to drag our feet.”

  “I am not dragging my feet, I am insisting on reasonable precautions. Going overseas, fending for herself—”

  “So we will find a capable companion.”

  Edwina sagged. “I don’t want her to go. I don’t understand why she wants to.”

  “But you understand that she wants to. Your choice is to thwart her efforts and earn her resentment, or to help her do it as well and safely as possible.”

  “Those are extremely trying choices,” Edwina said crossly. “Suppose she dislikes it after all? What if it goes badly and she is thousands of miles away and I can’t help her?”

  “Then she will have failed. But if she doesn’t try, she will have failed too. You cannot protect her from failure, so you might as well give her the best chance to succeed. Edwina, you have done all the protecting and teaching you can, and have brought up a remarkable young woman. Trust her and yourself.”

  Edwina glared. “Don’t you dare be wise at me John Hartlebury. It is intolerable from one’s little brother.”

  “I could pull your hair if you prefer.”

  She leaned back and rubbed her face. “I absolutely insist on a responsible and respectable companion and I shall not budge on that.”

  “Duly noted. I’ll put it in motion.”

  “Thank you, Hart. I am grateful, really.” She took a deep breath and sat up. “I feel I have not seen you in an age. Have you been busy?”

  “Somewhat. I have been working on my plans with James Alphonso.”

  “Not every evening, surely.” She gave him a shrewd look. “I will not interfere, but if it is That Woman again, I trust that you will keep your affairs to yourself this time.”

  “Eh?”

  “Lady Wintour. We had quite enough of that.”

  “I have not been involved with Evangeline Wintour in years,” Hart protested. “She is a friend only.”

  Edwina sniffed. “Then who is it?”

  “Who is what?”

  She sighed heavily. “I do know what it means when a gentleman is privately engaged all the time. Sara Verney says that Thomas Verney told her that Giles Verney thinks you are in love.”

  Hart was resigned to this sort of thing in a general way. The extensive Verney family came from Drayton Beauchamp, the next village, and had been on good terms with the Hartleburys for generations, and hostile ones with the Tachbrook marquessate for decades, thanks to an endless dispute over a five-acre strip of land. That had doubtless underlaid Tachbrook’s interference in his affairs. Interference was a tradition as old as family itself, and one taken up enthusiastically by the Verney clan.

  “Giles, Thomas, and Sara should all mind their own business,” he said. “I shall tell you at such time as I have anything to tell you, which I currently do not.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Edwina said. “As long as I am not quite the last to know.”

  “The way they gossip, I imagine I shall be the last to know.”

  HE MUSED ON THAT AS he strode home. He had no fear of Edwina prying—she took no great interest in his personal life as long as he didn’t embarrass her—but he was unnerved to hear that Giles was speculating. He’d had a drink with his friend the other night, but they’d only talked about prizefighting and politics. Christ, was his affaire written on his face?

  Perhaps it was. James had been able to tell the state of his mind at a glance, after all. Hart was not used to having his expressions read, since most people only ever saw the scowl, and he wondered what those who knew him well saw when he thought of Robin. Was it something like the light in James’s eyes when he mentioned Theodora? He should take care.

  And he should consider. Consider what his sentiments might be, since his best friends clearly had ideas on the subject, and consider what he was going to do about it. Robin had refused his offer, but that was because Hart had gone about it badly. He had not meant the offer as a payment for services to be rendered, or to imply that he might regard Robin’s affections as purely financially motivated, but clearly that was what Robin had understood it to mean, and that was Hart’s fault.

  He could, and should, do better, to make Robin understand. Maybe he should ask him to come over now, rather than waiting till night once more. If they spoke outside the bedchamber, he might be able to explain himself properly.

  He arrived home, and was greeted by Mrs. Spenlow telling him, “A gentleman is waiting in your sitting-room, Sir John.”

  Hart’s pulse jumped. Could it be? Robin was a mind-reader at times. “Thank you,” he said, and hurried up, absurdly pleased. To come home and find him there felt like a gift.

  He threw open the sitting room door. “Are you here? I was just— Oh. Giles?”

  “Hello, Hart.” Giles looked startled. “Were you expecting someone else?”

  “No. Yes, I was, but on a matter of business. I must have misunderstood Mrs. Spenlow.” He pulled himself together. “I’m glad to see you. Did I know you were coming?”

  “I knocked in the hope you’d be in and Mrs. Spenlow suggested I wait. Hart, I need to talk to you.” Giles sounded urgent, even desperate.

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know. I dare say there is nothing at all but I cannot bear to think that and—” He put his face in his hands. “It’s Marianne.”

  “Miss Loxleigh?” Hart said, with a sense of impending doom. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? Have you ever been in love?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Giles looked up, jolted out of his misery. “How can you not know?”

  “I don’t know what ‘in love’ is supposed to convey. I have never found it hard to distinguish my beloved from the moon and stars, no matter what poets say.”

  “Of course you haven’t. Love is—I don’t know. That one thinks of her all the time in her absence—what she might say were she here, what she must be doing elsewhere—and there is very little that can distract one for long. That one’s pulse quickens at the sound of her voice and one’s heart heaves in her presence. That to be without her for an hour is an irritation, and to be without her for the rest of your life would render it a desert. It is a constant pain and a constant pleasure, and you would give anything to have her place her hand in yours and say she chooses you above all else.”

  “You would call that love? Not, uh, fondness, or infatuation, or the sort of thing one might feel during a mere affaire?”

  Giles gave him a look. “If you feel that way, it is not a mere affaire.”

  Hart sat down. “I see.”

  “I have never felt like this before,” Giles said. “I will never feel like this again. She is everything I have ever dreamed. And she is going to marry Tachbrook.”

  “He’s offered?”

  “Not yet, but he will.”

  “Have you spoken to her?”

  “She knows my feelings.”

  “Does she return them?”

  “She asked me not to declare myself.” Giles’s face was twisted. “She said, Don’t make me refuse. And how can I persist? What have I to offer her except my love, compared to him?”

  “Yourself. God’s sake, man! What has he to offer her except wealth and a title?”

  “Oh, yes, trivial. You are asking her to turn down the position of a marchioness!”

  “No, you are,” Hart said. “And if she loved you, wouldn’t she do it? Granted, Tachbrook could elevate her to the first rank, and make her wealthy beyond counting. She would never have to worry about material things again, or about the opinions of others. He could give her a place. Security.”

  He stopped there. Giles waited a moment. “Is there a ‘but’?”

  “I thought there was.” Hart grimaced. “Maybe not.”
/>
  “Thank you so much.”

  “No, there is a ‘but’: he won’t make her happy. I’m sure of that.”

  “Do you imagine that’s a consolation? Dear God, if I thought he would I’d wish her well if it broke my heart to say it. I’m not entirely selfish.”

  “I didn’t mean it as consolation. She is a clever woman. She must know what Tachbrook is, and she is choosing the path of wealth and ambition. Does that not tell you something of her character?”

  Giles sat up, eyes angry. “I cannot think that. I don’t think it. I know her better.”

  “Can’t we be judged on the choices we make?”

  “What sort of choice do I offer? A younger son with no fortune but what I earn, against a marquess?”

  Hart’s mind was full of Robin’s face, lit with anger as he spoke of being left without choice and desperate situations, and how desperate Marianne’s situation had once been, and if it might become so again. “An impossible one, maybe. And perhaps she doesn’t truly believe happiness is in her grasp either way, in which case she is making the only sensible decision. Perhaps the world has taught her that she is a commodity to be traded, so she should hold out for the best price.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It is called the Marriage Mart, isn’t it?” He’d very nearly slipped there, and knew he had to be careful, but the thoughts were pressing as he teased out the Loxleighs’ situation. “It is a frightening thing for anyone to trust a will o’the wisp of feelings that come without guarantees. And if you are seeking security, if you need it, would you trust a declaration of love over a solid income? I drove my own mother away because I had a choice between her and security.”

  “You did nothing of the kind,” Giles said heatedly. “Her behaviour was disgraceful and you were right to act as you did.”

  “She was still my mother, Giles. I stopped loving her because I had to, and if she ever loved me, she does not now. Love is not guaranteed to last. And if you picked it over a lifetime of certainty and then it died and you had nothing left—that is a great leap of faith to ask of anyone.”

  Giles was staring at him, open-mouthed. Hart shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “Or so I suppose. I can’t pretend to know what Miss Loxleigh thinks.”