London, Friday, 25 March 1814

     When he was four or five, Theo Middleford discovered that ladies--or, at least, the ladies in his family--were soft, sweet-smelling, and well able to entertain him with stories and games. When he was seventeen, he discovered that his attraction to women--women who flaunted their charms and entertained him with their bodies--was mutual. And, usually, mutually satisfying. But on the morning of his twenty-ninth birthday, Theo decided that it was time to eschew his rakish ways.
     Last night while he'd been enjoying the charms of a self-proclaimed widow, her husband had returned unexpectedly. Not from the dead, but from a sojourn in the country. As he'd quickly gathered up his clothes and boots, the lady had confessed her lie, then almost shoved Theo out her bedroom window onto a miniscule balcony. He'd thrown his garments and footwear over the wrought-iron railing, then, clad only in his breeches, he'd climbed over it, dangled for a moment from the railing, and dropped two stories to the ground. He was demmed lucky he hadn't broken his leg. Or his neck.
     Hence, his resolve this morning to reform. But he was a young man with a healthy sexual appetite. He'd never dallied with innocents or married women, so if he gave up willing widows, too, he would need another outlet for his passion.
     He needed a mistress. Or a wife.
     Actually, he already had a mistress, the lovely Janet Brooks, but she was in Yorkshire visiting her mother, who was ill. Who ever heard of a mistress having a mother? Most seemed to spring full-grown onto the stages of London's theaters and opera houses. But in this respect, as in all others, Jani was different. She had a mother. She was nearly a decade older than he. And she was neither actress nor opera dancer, she was a novelist. He'd chosen her as much for her brain as for her body. He could talk to her, in and out of bed, about anything from politics to passion. She was friend, confidante, and sounding board--and she was two hundred miles away.
     He could, he supposed, set up another mistress until Jani returned, but two mistresses seemed . . . excessive. Which reduced his choices to option number two--a wife.
     He had to marry someday, so it might as well be this Season. But he believed in the sanctity of the marriage vows, so he needed a wife who would be friend, confidante, sounding board, and as passionate in their marriage bed as a mistress.
     He needed a miracle.

---

London, Tuesday, 12 April 1814

     He was a rake. A damned good one, too, according to the ladies whose favors he had enjoyed. But he was a rake with principles.
     As he stood in the doorway of Lady Oglethorpe's ballroom, principles or not, Theodore Phillip Michael Middleford, the Viscount Dunnley, felt a bit like a horse being auctioned at Tattersall's--or a young lady on the Marriage Mart--except that it was the ladies who ogled him. Some, undoubtedly, were studying his attire, for he was one of the fashion leaders of the ton. Others, however, had designs on his person. Lascivious designs. All, however, were doomed to disappointment.
     Eighteen days ago, he had resolved to reform, and to find a bride and set up his nursery. He'd kept the first part of his resolution, too, although each night was more difficult than the last, and there had been times he'd felt like howling at the moon. Now he would work on the second part. Finding the perfect wife might not be a simple task, but there was no time like the present to start. And no better place to begin his search than right here--the first ball of the 1814 Season.
     Not surprisingly, he had given the matter of finding a suitable bride considerable thought in the past two and a half weeks. Both his cousins and his older cousin's best friend had married in the past year, and all three couples were blissfully happy. Two of the three brides were members of a group of musical young ladies who called themselves "The Six," and since Theo liked, admired, and respected both ladies, the unmarried members of the group seemed the most likely prospects for his bride.
     "Are you going to stand there all night?" The whispered words were accompanied by a sharp nudge in the back.
     Theo glanced over his shoulder at his brother, Captain Stephen Middleford, who had been in England for a month recuperating from a leg injury. "Just waiting for you, dear boy. Can you manage the stairs with your cane? Or would you prefer to lean on my arm?"
     "I would prefer to be home, with my foot propped on an ottoman and a glass of brandy at my side."
     Turning, Theo studied his brother's face, searching for signs of pain. "We will go home if you wish, Stephen, but I thought you wanted to get out of the house."
     "I did. When you suggested that I accompany you, I thought you meant to White's, not a damn--dashed ball!"
     "Why would I want to go to White's and talk with a bunch of old men I see every day in Lords, or a group of young bucks who won't say anything worth hearing, when I can come here and talk and dance with lovely ladies?" Theo grasped his brother's elbow to help him down the stairs. "I know you can't dance, but you can certainly charm the ladies with your conversation."
     "I don't want to charm them," Stephen muttered.
     "Well, they may wish to charm you. After all, you are quite an eligible fellow."
     "Perhaps so, but I ain't looking for a wife. Not much point in getting leg-shackled when I will soon be back in the Peninsula, and my wife would stay here."
     Stephen's answer surprised Theo. And piqued his curiosity. "You wouldn't take your bride with you?"
     "If I had a bride, I'd want to take her, but I can't think of any lady I know who would want to go." Stephen nodded in the direction of a group of nearby young ladies. "Can you imagine any of them sleeping in a tent and cooking over a campfire?"
     "No, I can't," Theo was forced to concede. "But Aunt Tilly followed the drum with her husband--"
     "Indeed she did, but there aren't many ladies in the world with Aunt Tilly's gumption." Having survived the Ordeal By Stairs, Stephen paused to rest his leg. With a devilish grin, he opined, "We'd have much better success finding you a bride, big brother. You are far more eligible than I. You're wealthy, titled, handsome, charming--"
     "Please, dear boy, spare my blushes."
     "Why, I daresay you are one of the prime catches on the Marriage Mart."
     "Perhaps." Nudging his brother into motion, Theo headed toward a group of chairs against the wall, although their progress was hindered by friends and acquaintances who greeted them and attempted to draw them into conversation. When they finally reached their destination and were in no danger of being overheard, he asked, "Whom do you suggest I allow to catch me?"
     Stephen stopped so abruptly, he almost fell over. "Are you serious?"
     Smiling at the incredulity in his only sibling's voice, Theo waited until Stephen was seated before answering. "Does it seem so implausible that I would marry?"
     "Not that you would marry, no. You need an heir, after all. I just didn't realize you were considering it now. I thought you would wait a few more years."
     Theo shrugged. "Perhaps I will. It may take a while to find a bride."
     "Highly unlikely! You set exacting standards for yourself, but other than that, you aren't too pernickety. Unless . . . Do you look for more in a bride than birth, breeding, good looks, and a decent dowry?"
     "I am more concerned about respect, friendship, shared interests, love, and passion than about a dowry."
     Judging from Stephen's rather startled expression, it was not the answer he expected, but Theo didn't know why his reply surprised his brother. After several moments' thought, Stephen said, with a perspicacity that Theo found a bit disconcerting, "You are a lot like George in many ways, so perhaps you should take a page out of his book. Since our cousin has found all that and more with Beth, perhaps you should take a close look at her friends. I don't know them well, but it seems to me that they are a lot like her in many respects." Grinning, he added, "Well, except for Tina."
     Lady Christina Fairchild was definitely not a candidate for Theo's viscountess. She was too young, too impulsive, and too much the hoyden for his peace of mind. "Surprisingly, we are of one mind. The unmarried ladies of 'The Six' were the first ones I thought of, too."
     "Well, instead of standing here with me, you ought to go talk to them. And ask them to dance." Shooting him a look brimming with curiosity, Stephen drawled, "Will your first partner be Lady Sarah Mallory or Lady Deborah Woodhurst, I wonder?"
     Pure vexation--he'd been debating that himself--prompted Theo's reply. "It may be Miss Broughton."
     His brother smiled--smirked, really--and shook his head. "I think not."
     Irritated, but not quite certain why, Theo turned on his heel and strode away. Lady Sarah or Lady Deborah? Which one is the most likely bride for me?


     Lady Sarah Mallory wrinkled her nose at the image in her mirror and wished, for at least the thousandth time, that her figure was not so . . . generous. It was just one more way in which she was different from the other young ladies on the Marriage Mart, and there were far too many of those differences for Sarah's comfort. She was Welsh. She found it difficult to converse with people she did not know well. But most distressing of all, although she was as slender as her friends, she had far more filling the bodice of her gowns than they did. And too many men--she would not call them gentlemen--ogling the contents of her bodice. It was quite disconcerting to talk or dance with a man who could not meet her gaze because his eyes were on her bosom. It did not make a whit of difference how high her necklines were, either; some men stared at her chest even when her gowns buttoned all the way to her throat.
     Evening gowns and ball gowns were the worst, of course. They were designed to display a lady's figure to best advantage. Whether she wished it or not.
     Sarah most definitely did not.
     But if she wanted a husband--which she did, very much, and children, too, in time--then she had to wear fashionable gowns like all the other young ladies on the Marriage Mart. Even though doing so made her miserably uncomfortable.
     She would bear the torment of the ogles and leers in the hope of finding a husband this Season. And it had to be this year. Other girls might take several Seasons to catch a husband, but Sarah could not. Although she'd made her come-out just last year, she was two-and-twenty--practically on the shelf! And she was not at all certain that her mother, who hated leaving her beloved Wales, would agree to come to Town again next year.
     So she had to find a husband this Season. But she would not marry a man who was more interested in her bosom than in her brain.
     Tugging up the bodice of her cream silk ball gown with its cornflower blue sash and trim, she turned from the mirror and pulled on her gloves. Once her shawl was draped over her shoulders to her maid's satisfaction, Sarah looped her fan and reticule over her wrist and left the sanctuary of her room.
     Some days the sacrifices a young lady had to make to find a husband seemed more trouble than any man could possibly be worth.

     Escorted by her brother, Viscount Llanfyllin, and accompanied by her parents, the Earl and Countess of Tregaron, Sarah entered Lady Oglethorpe's ballroom. Descending the stairway was disconcerting, to say the least. When one was the cynosure of all eyes, it would not do to watch one's feet, but the staircase was so wide that the banister was not within reach. Sarah descended without mishap, but her vise-like grip on her brother's arm probably creased his sleeve.
     The first person she saw, standing just to the right of the stairs, was Lady Christina Fairchild, one of her particular friends. Tina and her mother, the Duchess of Greenwich, were chatting with the Marchioness of Kesteven and one of her twin daughters. Sarah was not one of the few members of the beau monde who could distinguish the Woodhurst twins at a glance, but it was safe to assume that Tina was talking with Lady Deborah. The duke's daughter had exchanged cross words with Deborah's sister, Diana, on more than one occasion, and generally tried to avoid her.
     Deborah was also one of Sarah's best friends. More so than Tina, in fact, although they had all made their come-outs last year and were members of a singing group known as "The Six." Deborah was one-and-twenty and would understand Sarah's feeling of urgency about finding a husband this Season; Tina, who was only eighteen, probably would not.
     "Sarah!" Tina exclaimed, "I was beginning to think you weren't going to attend."
     The duchess groaned and muttered something about her daughter's rudeness, then greeted Sarah and her mother. The twin revealed her identity by hugging Sarah, something Lady Diana would never do.
     As their mothers settled on nearby chairs for a comfortable coze, Tina pulled Deborah and Sarah to one side. Close enough that they were still under their mothers' watchful eyes, but far enough away that their conversation could not be overhead. Sarah exchanged a wry smile with Deborah, certain that Tina was about to propose another of her mad schemes.
     "This Season I am determined to snare Viscount Dunnley," Tina announced as calmly as if young ladies made such outrageous statements every day.
     Deborah giggled. Sarah struggled to repress a smile. "Tina, you know you are a bit . . . impetuous sometimes. Have you carefully considered this plan? I don't think Lord Dunnley, or any gentleman for that matter, would care to be snared."
     "I imagine," Deborah said thoughtfully, "that gentlemen who are trapped into marriage make quite disagreeable husbands. Men like to do the choosing--"
     "Or," interposed Sarah, grinning, "at least to think that they have."
     "I am not going to compromise him into marriage," Tina protested. "I just want him to notice me and realize that I am no longer the scrawny, pigtailed hoyden he remembers from visits to Greenwich Park."
     "Who says you aren't a hoyden?" Deborah teased. "I seem to remember a time or two last Season--"
     "Deb!" Tina's indignant exclamation was overridden by her friends' laughter.
     "Why Dunnley? Don't you want to marry for love?" Deborah's tone made it quite clear that she hoped for a love match. Sarah nurtured the same aspiration.
     "But I do love Dunnley," Tina insisted. "I have for years and years."
     "You aren't old enough to have loved him--really loved him--for years and years," Sarah said. "What you feel is cream pot love. Or a schoolgirl crush."
     "I have been out of the schoolroom for more than a year," Tina retorted. "And I still feel the same."
     "That doesn't necessarily mean your feelings for Lord Dunnley aren't a youthful infatuation," Sarah gently pointed out. "Only that they are unchanged."
     "You sound like Beth," Tina moaned, referring to the Countess of Weymouth, the unofficial leader of "The Six," who was very fond of logic and scientific deduction and applied both in everyday situations.
     "Let's apply Beth's logic to your scheme," Deborah suggested.
     Tina sighed, sounding quite put-upon. "Why?"
     "Why not?" Sarah countered.
     "Very well. If you insist." Tina sounded thoroughly disgruntled. "Logic says that Dunnley isn't going to notice me among the crop of young ladies on the Marriage Mart. He didn't last year, so it is highly unlikely that he will this year."
     "He noticed you last year. He danced with you several times." Sarah felt compelled to point out this bit of illogic in her friend's supposedly logical argument.
     "True, but not nearly as often as he danced with you or Deb. And he never took me driving in the park."
     "Did you keep track of all the ladies he danced with and drove in the park?" Despite the teasing tone of Deborah's question, Sarah suspected that its real purpose was to determine the depth of Tina's infatuation.
     "Of course not!"
     "So he noticed you, but not as much as you hoped?" Sarah asked, not at all certain where Tina's argument was leading. Nor why her friend wanted Lord Dunnley's attention. Sarah always felt gauche and nervous in the viscount's presence, and she did not like the trembly feeling she experienced whenever he was near.
     "Sarah!" Tina groaned, dragging two long syllables out of the name. "You don't understand."
     "I don't understand your point either, Tina," Deborah confessed. "You haven't explained very much yet."
     "Look at the two of you, and then look at me." Tina flung her arms out in a dramatic gesture. "You are both tall and slender and lovely--acclaimed Beauties, in fact--and you're smart, too. I am just a squab of a girl, with dark hair and dark eyes."
     "You are slender and smart and lovely, too." Sarah and Deborah said in unison.
     "Not lovely," Tina contradicted. "Passably pretty, perhaps."
     "I disagree," Sarah said, "but we will save that discussion for another time."
     "How can you possibly disagree?" Tina's tone was pure frustration. "The bachelors of the ton haven't given me an encomium like 'The Welsh Beauty' or 'The English Rose.'"
     "That may be true," Deborah said, "but being an acclaimed Beauty does not guarantee a successful Season. Especially if one is a bit shy."
     "Very shy," Sarah corrected, speaking of herself. "You may envy my height, Tina, but I would gladly trade those extra inches for your vivacity."
     "You would?" the younger girl gasped, clearly astonished.
     "Indeed I would. Timidity is a formidable obstacle when one is hoping to find a husband."
     "Being a twin is quite an obstacle, too. There are only a handful of people in the ton who can distinguish me from Diana. Even the two of you can't. At least, not immediately."
     The hint of hurt in Deborah's voice tugged at Sarah's heart. "Regrettably, that is true. I am getting better, but I still cannot tell at a glance." She smiled at Deborah. "I know it must be difficult for you to believe, Deb, because your personality and interests are so different from Diana's, but your appearance is identical, as far as I can tell. And believe me"--Sarah laughed--"I have looked very hard."
     The set of country dances that had been in progress throughout the conversation came to an end. "Do you have partners for the next set?"
     Deborah shook her head. "I don't."
     A shiver snaked down Sarah's spine. She rubbed her gloved hands up and down her arms, wondering if someone had opened one of the tall windows.
     "Not yet." Tina's dark eyes grew wide, and mischief danced within.
     As Sarah glanced over her shoulder to see what had caught her friend's attention, that strange, tremulous feeling assailed her. The Duke of Fairfax, the Earl of Blackburn, and Viscount Dunnley, three of the most eligible bachelors in the ton, were approaching, obviously intending to ask her and her friends to dance.
     She hoped Lord Dunnley would solicit Tina or Deborah as his partner. Whenever he bowed over her hand or led her into a dance, a tingle radiated up her arm, and her heart raced alarmingly. Sarah did not understand why the viscount so terrified her. He was a very handsome man, especially in black and white evening attire with his tawny hair glowing like a candle's flame, and a gentleman--elegant, well-mannered, and famed for his address. As an escort or a dance partner, he was considered by many young ladies to be the ideal. Obviously, his presence did not disconcert them as it did her, nor make them tremble.
     Given the sudden wobbliness of her legs, she would be lucky to walk to the dance floor without falling on her face. Actually dancing might well be impossible.


From A Rake's Redemption by Susannah Carleton, Signet, November 2004, ISBN 0-451-21354-8.
Copyright © 2004 by Susan A. Lantz.