A Noble Man

“Yes, you’d best make the bed up in the spare room, and look out one of my night-shirts.” Nicholas turned his attention back to his brother as soon as Figgins had left the room. “There’s only a skeleton staff now at the house in Grosvenor Square. The place hasn’t been used since Father died.”

He searched in vain for a sign of remorse on his brother’s handsome face, and yet he knew how fond Benedict had been of their father. “He passed away peacefully in his sleep. He didn’t suffer,” he assured him, and this time Benedict responded with a softly spoken, “I’m glad,” and then promptly changed the subject by enquiring after their sister.

“Oh, Connie’s in fine fettle. Put on some weight since the last time you saw her. Still,” he shrugged, “only to be expected at her age. Increased the progeny by three since you’ve been away. Five of the little blighters she’s produced now. Which says something for Lansdown, I suppose. I have a deal of respect for our dear brother-in-law. Poor chap must possess the patience of a saint to put up with our bird-witted sister.”

Benedict, willingly accepting a further slice of the apple tart and a full measure of the brandy, could not suppress a smile. No doubt Constance continued to treat Nicholas as though he were still a mischievous schoolboy, and his evident resentment was quite understandable. He decided to make his own feelings known.

“I perceive a great change in you, Nick.” He took a moment to study the very fashionable attire. “Apeing the dandy yourself now, I see.”

“One must dress, dear brother.” The pained expression returned as his attention was drawn to that gaudy neck decoration once more. “Just as well you did come straight here. Wouldn’t do to let people see you looking like that, you know. There’s the name to consider, and all that,” he remarked with quaint snobbery. “We’ll rise early tomorrow and pay a visit to a tailor…Or perhaps several.”

The following morning Benedict discovered that his brother’s idea of rising early was not quite the same as his own. So, after he had consumed a hearty breakfast of ham, eggs and buttered rolls, washed down with several cups of freshly-brewed coffee, and there were still no signs that Nicholas was ready to leave the comfort of his bedchamber and face the new day, Benedict decided to pass the time by exploring the metropolis to see what changes had taken place during his years away.

He stepped outside to discover a morning that was both dry and bright, and blessedly free from the evil choking fog that often shrouded the city even at this time of year. His athletic, long-striding gait quickly brought him to the end of the street and into a wider thoroughfare, where hordes of people were now busily going about their daily work.

This was the part of the city that he knew best of all, where pretty girls in white pinafores and black taffeta bonnets were parading the fashionable streets and squares dispensing milk from the buckets they carried, their cries mingling with those of other hawkers, eager to sell their wares. This was where he had happily frittered away his time, and money, paying visits to friends and enjoying the many pleasurable activities the capital had to offer any young gentleman of wealth and rank. This was what, five years ago, he had very much resented being forced to leave behind.

He remembered clearly the bitterness he had felt when his father had insisted that he travel to Jamaica and learn to respect the value of money by taking charge of the family’s plantation out there. Their parting had been an unpleasant one, with many biting recriminations uttered on both sides. Not many months had passed, however, before Benedict had come to realise that his father’s actions had been totally justified, and he could only be thankful that the majority of letters exchanged during their years apart had been full of warmth and understanding; his only real regret now being that he had not returned to England in time to see his father one last time before his death.

Yes, those years in Jamaica had changed him completely. He was no longer that care-for-nobody, that frivolous, pleasure-seeking fribble whose only ambition was to cut a dash in society, and who squandered vast sums of money without a thought to whose hard work financed his pleasures or from whence the money had come. Older and, hopefully, wiser now, he believed he could take his father’s place and carry out his duties as head of the family in a responsible and caring manner. The cut of a jacket, the set of a cravat and a looking-glass shine on a pair of boots were no longer important to him. A sigh escaped him. Nevertheless he supposed it behoved him to take his brother’s advice, and attire himself as befitted his station in life before returning to the fashionable world, a world that, if the truth were known, he had little desire to re-enter.

The stink of rotting refuse and equally unpleasant odours suddenly assailing his nostrils induced him to take stock of his surroundings. Without being aware of it, he had walked ever eastwards into those areas of the capital where most people of his class rarely or never ventured. The distinction between rich and poor could not have been more marked. There were no fine mansions here, no crossing-boys to clear away the filth from the streets, and no ladies and gentlemen, dressed in their finery, taking the air. Which was hardly surprising, he decided, ripping the kerchief from his neck and putting it to good use by placing it over his nose and mouth.

The air was foul, polluted by filth and grime which oozed from the tightly-packed hovels, and half-starved children, dressed in rags, or nothing at all, were grubbing round in the dirt. What it must be like here when the weather became warmer he dreaded to think. Little wonder these areas of the city harboured the constant threat of typhus. To the poor wretches living here disease and starvation were commonplace, a way of life from which there was little hope of escape.

He knew, of course, that it was the height of folly to remain in these noisome streets, where vice and corruption abounded on every corner, and yet he found his interest well and truly captured. So engrossed did he become in the heart-rending wretchedness surrounding him that it was not until almost noon that he ventured back to the more affluent part of the city, and was greeted none too politely when he did eventually return to his brother’s house.

“Where the deuce have you been?” Nicholas demanded to know. “Figgins informed me that you left the house hours ago.”

“That is correct.” Benedict joined him at the table, and helped himself to a cup of fresh coffee. “I decided to occupy my time while waiting for you to rise in exploring the capital.”

“Expect you discovered some changes, eh?”

“Can’t say I took much notice of the area round here. Whitechapel, Bethnal Green, Shoreditch and Smithfield certainly proved most interesting, though.”

“Good gad, Benedict!” Nicholas was beginning to wonder whether those years spent under a tropical sun might not have had some adverse effect on his brother’s mental state. “What on earth possessed you to venture to those spots? They’re all notorious havens for every form of low life. Even the Runners won’t enter those places alone, not even in broad daylight.” A disturbing possibility suddenly occurred to him. “Dear Lord! You didn’t go there to find a woman, did you?”

One ducal brow arched. “Credit me with some intelligence. Not that I didn’t receive several offers, but I have far too much respect for my health.”

“Well, thank the Lord for that!” his graceless brother responded, audibly sighing with relief. “Though I’m rather surprised you managed to return totally unscathed.”

“Dressed as I am, I no doubt appeared one of their own and, therefore, not worthy of accosting.”

This candid response returned Nicholas’s thoughts to what for him was the most pressing problem besetting him at the moment and, after hurriedly finishing his meagre repast, he wasted no further time in taking the first steps in putting his brother’s deplorable appearance to rights.

It rather amused him to see the appalled expressions on those famous Bond Street tailors’ faces when his brother entered their superior establishments in his wake. Benedict did not appear to take offence at the unenthusiastic reception he received wherever he went, and certainly displayed praiseworthy self-control when he was pulled this way and that, and measured with ruthless efficiency. Nicholas soon discovered, however, that beneath that veneer of complacency was an iron strong will, for nothing would induce Benedict to have his coats made fashionably tight, nor tempt him to select anything other than the plainest of colours for his clothes.

“Damned unimaginative! That’s what I call it,” Nicholas remonstrated, as they emerged into the sunlight once more. “Yellow-and-black-striped waistcoats are all the fashion this Season.”

“I do not doubt you are correct, brother. But I have no intention of going about the capital resembling something that spends most of its life collecting pollen.”

Nicholas was about to cast further aspersions on what he considered a deplorably unimaginative taste, when he caught sight of one of his degenerate friends on the opposite side of the street, and took evasive action by concealing himself in a doorway.

“I have no intention either of wearing coats so close-fitting that one cannot breathe, or breeches so tight that they’re in danger of splitting every time one sits down,” Benedict announced before he realised he was conversing with fresh air and, glancing round in an attempt to locate his sibling’s whereabouts, promptly collided with something soft, slender and totally feminine emerging from Hookham’s Library.

Benedict was powerless to prevent several books cascading from slender hands and ending up on the pavement, but managed to prevent the lady herself suffering the same fate by reaching out a steadying arm to encircle a very trim waist. “I’m so very sorry,” he apologised, silently cursing his clumsiness, and was about to relinquish his hold when the head beneath the fashionable bonnet was suddenly raised.

For several moments it was as much as Benedict could do to stop himself gaping like some lovelorn fool as thickly lashed eyes, with a spark of mischief in their beautiful green depths, twinkled up at him, and perfectly moulded lips curled into the sweetest of smiles. Beauties he’d known by the score, but never before had the sight of a lovely face and trim figure held him so totally captive, mind and body under some hypnotic spell, quite unable to function. The sights and sounds around him slowly began to fade, and he was conscious only of her, and the ever-increasing desire never to relinquish his hold.

Nicholas, on the other hand, stepping out from the convenient hiding-place, was instantly aware of the interest his clumsy brother was arousing in several passers-by, and promptly took command of the situation by treading none too gently on one roughly shod foot. “Don’t just stand there like a dolt!” he ordered, sublimely ignoring the flashing look of annoyance he perceived in a pair of masculine eyes. “Help this lady’s maid to pick up those books!”

Very reluctantly Benedict did as bidden, and Nicholas wasted no time in escorting the young lady in question to her waiting carriage. “Can’t apologise enough. The clumsy brute might have done you a serious mischief. I trust you’re none the worse for the encounter?”

“No, not at all, sir,” she assured him, her gaze momentarily wandering in the tall man’s direction as he handed her maid the books. “And please do not blame your servant. It was as much my fault as his. I was not attending where I was going either.”

Out of the corner of his eye Nicholas saw Benedict approaching, and hurriedly helped the lovely damsel into the carriage. “You are too kind, ma’am,” he responded, stepping to one side to enable the maid to enter, and then wasted no time in closing the door.

“Why in heaven’s name didn’t you introduce me?” Benedict demanded, aggrieved, as he watched the carriage move away.

“What!” Once again Nicholas very much feared those years spent beneath a Caribbean sun had taken their toll. “When I’ve done everything humanly possible to keep your identity secret since we left the house? You might have no pride in the name you bear, brother, but I most certainly have. Do you imagine I’ll permit London to see you going about looking like that? Why, it would be the talk of the clubs for months to come if your identity ever became known!”

Catching the eye of a passing jarvey, Nicholas hurriedly bundled his troublesome brother into the hired carriage before Benedict could draw more attention to himself. “I don’t understand what’s come over you, Ben. You used to take such pride in your appearance, and yet now you don’t seem to care a whit that you look more like a didicoi than a duke.”

More interested in the lovely image his mind’s eye was conjuring up, Benedict had listened with only half an ear to his brother’s strictures. “Who was she? Do you know?”

Nicholas cast him an impatient glance, wondering anew what had come over him. No one would have believed his brother capable of fending off an attack from pirates, when a pair of green eyes could fell him with one glance!

“Of course I know her. I was dancing with her only last night. She’s Lady Sophia Cleeve, the Earl of Yardley’s daughter.” He raised his eyes heavenwards when his brother’s besotted expression did not alter. “Anyone would suppose you’d never seen a pretty face before.”

“Pretty? A totally inappropriate description!” Benedict scoffed. “She’s exquisite.”

Nicholas considered this for a moment or two. “Opinions differ. Some consider her a beauty. However, blondes are all the fashion this Season.”

His brother appeared decidedly unimpressed. Evidently flaxen hair was not to his taste. “My, my, the little minx appears to have you well and truly in her toils,” Nicholas remarked, highly amused now by the unfortunate encounter with the Earl’s daughter. “Not that I don’t think it’s high time you were leg-shackled, brother, but if you take my advice you’ll look elsewhere for a wife.”

A heart-rending possibility occurred to Benedict. “She isn’t married already, is she? Or engaged?”

“No, nor likely to be, either.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t seem interested in marriage. At least,” Nicholas amended, memory stirring, “certainly not a marriage to a member of our class. If what she tells me is true, she prefers the company of grooms to dukes.”

“Ha! She must have been teasing you,” Benedict scoffed, thinking his brother highly gullible.

“Perhaps,” Nicholas conceded. “I’m only repeating what I was told last night. Furthermore, she’s received four proposals of marriage to my certain knowledge since her arrival in town, and has refused them all. Which would suggest that she certainly isn’t hankering after a husband, let alone a title.” His wicked sense of humour coming to the fore, he gave a shout of laughter. “Why, she paid more attention to you out there in the street just now than she pays to most members of her own class.”

Evidently his brother did not share the joke, for he sat silently staring out of the window. “Don’t disturb yourself,” Nicholas advised. “There’ll be plenty of other pretty wenches gracing the Season once it officially gets under way.”

“I dare say you’re right,” Benedict murmured, a decidedly calculating gleam springing into his striking blue eyes, “but it’s Lady Sophia Cleeve I intend to get to know. So perhaps, all things considered, it might serve me best if I remain incognito for a while longer.”

“How on earth can that benefit you?” Nicholas asked, totally at a loss.

Benedict transferred his gaze to his sibling’s puzzled countenance. “You said yourself that she prefers the company of grooms…And if there is one thing I do know…it’s my way around a stable!”

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