CHAPTER SIX

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                   CHAPTER SIX

Lady Susan Birkett sat in the drawing room of her half-brother’s house in Bruton Street, London and favoured him with a severe a look as her round pleasant face would allow.

    ‘Ambrose, it seems to me that you make no effort at all. Last season you were the most sought after man in London, yet, here you are, still without a wife. I admit I am quite crushed with disappointment.’

    ‘Dear sister, mine, it was my fifty thousand a year that was sought after.’ Ambrose smiled. ‘I admit though there were one or two beauties that made my heart race a little, but not enough to rob me of commonsense.’

    ‘You grow no younger, Ambrose. Commonsense will not warm your bed or give you an heir. A man should have an heir by the time he is forty.’

    ‘I am a few years off that yet,’ he exclaimed. ‘But I own you have a point there, Susan. Now that Father has gone, and I am the new master of Falsworth Grange, I should take a wife, but I will do so in my own time and in my own way.’

    Lady Susan’s plump lips formed a disapproving pout.

    ‘I devoutly trust that you are not considering that disreputable Mrs Vallentine. There were too many whispers about town last season linking you with that woman, which Lord Birkett found most displeasing.’

    Ambrose’s sun-weathered face clouded a little and his mouth became a straight line.

    ‘Gerald Vallentine fought beside me in the Peninsular. He was a fellow officer and a friend. I do what I can for his widow. Sophie has few real friends.’

    Lady Susan looked down her nose but held her peace. While it was true that Sophie Vallentine appeared to have few women friends, she was never at a loss for male companionship and Ambrose Warburton was not the only name bandied about in connection with the beautiful widow.

    In Lady Susan’s opinion the woman was no better that a light-skirt and she itched to tell him so. But she did not wish to quarrel with him at this time.

    The Season would be starting in several weeks. Her twin daughters, Cecilie and Dorothea, though extremely pretty girls with winning ways, would find even greater advantage in the jostle for husbands in having the very sought-after Major Ambrose Warburton of Falsworth Grange, Cornwall, as their uncle and escort.

    Her cheeks dimpled in a smile; her tone one of mock chiding. ‘Upon my word, Ambrose! I see why no woman will have you. You’re as crotchety as a hungry hound. I came all this way from Gloucestershire bearing a heartfelt invitation and you can only growl at me.’

    ‘I apologise.’ A wide good-natured smile brightened the austerity of his features. ‘I am a bear. I admit it.’

    His sister was pleased to see him smile. She was aware that the long years of campaigning had roughened the edges of his temperament, and even after sixteen months in England she knew he felt ill at ease in polite society. If ever a man needed a wife it was Ambrose.

    ‘I am pleased to see you, Susan and looking so well, and so very much after the rate.’

    Lady Susan preened, much gratified. Only recently come out of mourning for their father, she had rampaged through the fashionable shops in Bond Street to find accessories for the new gowns her seamstress was making for her.

    Beneath her modish tight crown hat decorated with tassels, Lady Susan raised the lorgnette that she had lately begun to effect and examined him critically.

    ‘I would that the same could be said of you, Ambrose. But no one can say that you are in the first rip of fashion. Your attire is of the most sombre hue, while your cravat leaves a lot to be desired. Obviously, your valet is lax in the extreme. He should be got rid of.’

    Ambrose gave a snort of impatience. ‘I am no Corinthian, nor do I wish to be. But, what is this invitation of which you speak?’

    Lady Susan dropped the quizzing glass in disgust, and then her expression brightened as she began to speak on her favourite subject.

    ‘My girls are now seventeen.’

    ‘So soon?’

    ‘They are to be brought out next Season. Two of everything, my dear, two of everything! I am forced to take on extra seamstresses. Lord Birkett quite insisted on it.’

    ‘Ah! My brother-in-law was always the forceful man,’ Ambrose commented dryly.

    Lady Susan appeared not to hear the irony in his tone. ‘I am quite crushed by the excitement of it all. That’s why I am so thankful that Eleanor is with us. I am certain she will prove to be a steadying influence on my girls and will make an excellent chaperone.’

    ‘What? Is this some poor wretch you have taken under your wing, sister, mine?’

    ‘Poor, by all means, but no wretch. A lady of quality fallen on hard times. A baronet’s daughter, no less. A connection of Lady Constance Dunstan.’

    Ambrose winced at the mention of the Dunstans. Lady Susan noted his reaction and raised a lace handkerchief before her mouth to hide her amusement.

    Ambrose would not wish to be reminded of the three Dunstan girls of last season, with their dumpy, round bodies stretching the seams of their silks and satins; their upturned freckled noses and their uncontrollable red hair. Their mother had been particularly heckling for him, giving him no peace.

    She permitted herself a subdued titter.

    ‘Dear me!’ she chided herself. ‘I should not laugh for it is a very sad case indeed.’

    ‘Then perhaps we should not discuss it,’ Ambrose said.

    ‘Nonsense!’ Lady Susan exclaimed. ‘Eleanor, a cousin of Lady Constance, is left destitute, her father dead; his fortune gone. Lady Constance took her in but was quite turned over, my dear, when a promising suitor to her eldest girl began to dangle after Eleanor, and even went so far as to pop the question.’

    ‘Tiresome,’ Ambrose said languidly, stifling a yawn which Lady Susan failed to catch.

    ‘Very,’ she agreed. ‘There was nothing for it but that she had to go.’

    Lady Susan flicked a careless hand.

    ‘I have no such qualms. Eleanor is comely but has no fortune and is past her best. Therefore, she cannot hold a candle to my girls. In fact, her staidness is a perfect foil to the brilliance of Cecilie and Dorothea.’

    ‘Really?’ Ambrose leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

    ‘I feel too,’ Lady Susan continued relentlessly. ‘That it cannot hurt in the least to have taken in a connection to our dear Duke of Wellington, distant though it may be.’

    Ambrose sat forward with a jolt, his face now showing sharp interest.

    ‘Are you saying that this poor creature has the family name of Wellesley? I would know more of her.’

    With an impatient tut, Lady Susan rose from her seat, smoothing down the rich green Berlin silk of her skirts.

    ‘Grand sakes, Ambrose! I have no time for gossip. Albermarles’ have had in a new batch of brocades and muslins. There is so much to see to. The season will soon be upon us. I am quite crushed.’

    Ambrose swiftly rose to his feet. ‘My dear Susan, I would not dream of detaining you, although I have yet to learn of your invitation.’

    She looked at him in surprise.

    ‘Have I not said? Why, you must come to us in Gloucestershire for Christmas and the New Year. Lord Birkett quite insists on it.’

    ‘That would be very pleasant indeed,’ Ambrose said, smiling. ‘It will give me a chance to quiz this new chaperone.’

    ‘What? Oh Ambrose, you confuse me,’ she said irritably. ‘As I was saying, Lord Birkett insists that you stay on until early spring when we will make up a family party to take in the Season. My girls will be thrilled to have such a handsome escort.’

    She looked askance at his cravat.

    ‘With the right valet, of course.’

Ambrose was contemplative as he awaited the attentions of his elderly valet. He would certainly look into the plight of this poor girl his sister had taken in. It would please him if she were a close connection of Henry Wellesley. He would do all he could for her.

    Having decided that, his thoughts turned to the question of finding a wife. It was a devil of a nuisance! But Susan would give him no peace until it was settled.

    He was a little piqued that she understood him so well. It was true that Sophie Vallentine had been in his thoughts a great deal of late. He had found the other young women, who had been so forcefully thrust upon him, either too simple-minded to sustain intelligent conversation or too scheming.

    He was well aware of the gossip that surrounded Sophie Vallentine. He knew too that he was not the only man enjoying her company. But he did not care. Sophie was a beautiful elegant woman, and a most stimulating companion. If he had to take a wife then he might as well take one who pleased him thoroughly. He could not deny that Sophie did that so very well.

    He thought, with a great deal of pleasure, of the coming evening which he would spend in jovial company of his fellow officers, and the diverting charms of Sophie Vallentine that he would enjoy in private much later. 

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