A Minor Inconvenience Read online




  A Minor

  Inconvenience

  Sarah Granger

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Sarah Granger. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Select Historical is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Heidi Shoham

  Cover design by Fiona Jayde

  Cover art from Period Images and iStock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-099-4

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Second Edition August 2017

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  About the Author

  Discover more historical romance from Entangled… A Dance with Seduction

  My Hellion, My Heart

  How to Play the Game of Love

  Viscountess of Vice

  To Leonie,

  For your friendship, for the fun and the laughter, and for the way it always comes back somehow to breeches.

  Chapter One

  Hugh paused on the landing, allowing himself a moment to regain his breath after mounting the stairs. Matthews, as was his way these days, had found something that required his attention in the hall before following Hugh up the staircase. By the time Matthews opened the door to the drawing room to announce him, Hugh had recovered from the climb.

  “A glass of sherry, Captain Fanshawe?” Matthews asked as Hugh entered the room.

  “Thank you,” Hugh said with feeling. Not only did Matthews know his habits, but he understood the very real needs of a man about to face his mother and younger sister, both of whom would be full of excitement about the evening revelry to come.

  The curtains in the spacious room had been closed against the dark March evening, and in the light cast by the many candelabra around the room, the diamonds at his mother’s throat glittered. With some bemusement, Hugh observed that Sophia’s ivory gown also appeared to sparkle in the candlelight. His dutiful greeting was lost in the excited broadside which she let loose when she saw him.

  “Hugh, tell me, what do you think? I believe it is quite the loveliest gown I have ever had!” Sophia spun round, allowing Hugh to admire the gown’s full magnificence. “It is spider gauze with silver roses embroidered upon it, and pearls too, and it’s so beautiful that I am sure even George could not disapprove if he were to see it.”

  “It’s splendid, Sophia,” Hugh assured her, all the while hoping that George would not see the gown in question. He did not share Sophia’s innocent trust in their brother’s reaction. Since becoming Lord Fanshawe and taking his seat in the House of Lords, George had adopted a seriousness of manner which was somewhat at odds with Sophia’s joyous approach to purchasing fripperies with no thought for the cost. The handsome estate George had inherited from their father was very well able to bear such outgoings, but he cared not for frivolity.

  His mother was surveying Sophia with an indulgent eye as Hugh took his seat upon the sofa. Matthews brought him his sherry, and Hugh noticed the glass was filled more generously than usual. His heart sank. That could not mean anything good lay ahead of him.

  “Your sister looks particularly fine tonight, don’t you think, Hugh?” His mother was almost as excited as Sophia. “I shouldn’t be surprised if the Marquess were to ask her to stand up with him.”

  Hugh nodded. “You will break many a heart tonight, Sophia—you may depend upon it.”

  “Oh, Hugh,” she said, her face glowing. She came to sit beside him and took his hand into the clasp of her own. “You know I have no interest in breaking hearts, merely in capturing one, but you are the very best of brothers.”

  Sophia had always had a particular fondness for him. Since his injury at Salamanca, it had found greater and more frequent expression, and he couldn’t be quite sure if it made his lot easier or harder to bear. But there was never pity in her eyes, and for that he could weather any number of protestations of love and affection, sincerely meant.

  “Oh, Hugh.” His mama’s voice followed fast upon Sophia’s, but her tone was as different from Sophia’s as it was possible to be—disappointment and exasperation combined. “Why are you not in your regimentals? You know that the ladies’ fondness for them is your only chance now of attracting a wife with anything to recommend her.”

  “Mama!” Sophia jumped to her feet. “That is quite untrue! And unkind too. Hugh would make the very best of husbands. Any lady would be lucky to have him.”

  “Of course she would,” his mother said swiftly, “but Hugh knows what I mean—the ladies’ fondness for a scarlet coat will often carry the day when all else is lost.”

  Hugh blessed Matthews’ prescience as he found refuge in his glass. It was always best with his mother to allow her to run her course—opposing her in any of her beliefs was akin to engaging in a forlorn hope. But no matter the scolding that came his way, he did not regret his decision to dress in a simple waistcoat of watered silk and a black swallow-tailed coat to go with his knee breeches and silk stockings. His choice meant he could fade into the background in a way that the scarlet of his uniform coat would never allow.

  Seeking to distract his mother from her focus upon his failings, Hugh asked after the previous evening’s entertainment that she had attended and found himself nodding at suitable intervals as he was regaled with a detailed recital of the entire evening. The level in his glass lowered rather swiftly, but the inestimable Matthews rectified that fact with equal swiftness.

  Sophia attempted to look interested in the conversation but was all too clearly still taken with her new gown, and she moved to the door with unbecoming haste when his mother finally indicated that it was time to remove to the Fitzroys, who were hosting a ball that night. A ball at which, apparently, the Marquess of Esdale was due, hence the excitement displayed by Hugh’s mother. While Sophia was beautiful, she had neither rank nor fortune enough to tempt the Marquess into matrimony, but there was no gainsaying his mama when she had her heart set upon something.

  Not for the first time, Hugh thanked the Almighty that, of all the things that had resulted from his injury, one was an almost complete cessation of his mother’s attempts to marry him to a suitable heiress. “Had you been either of your brothers,” she had confided to him when he had recovered from the arduous journey from Spain t
o London and had been once more in full possession of his senses, “then your unsoundness would not matter so much, but with only a competence to call your own, and having inherited your dear father’s looks, you will be quite unable to attract any young lady of means.”

  George had inherited the title and the estate, and Hugh’s second brother, James, had his mother’s vivacious manner and good looks to recommend him to the ladies of the ton. Sophia too had taken after their mother; she was the image, apparently, of Lady Fanshawe as she had been at that age. Hugh, on the other hand, had his father’s ungraceful solidity as well as his firm jaw—obstinate, his mother had called it when she was adjuring Hugh to go into the church rather than the army. His green eyes and straight fair hair did not please her either, for they contrasted too sharply with the blue eyes and chestnut curls that George, James and Sophia sported.

  As if those disadvantages were not enough, he had returned from the war with a leg that would no longer work satisfactorily, resulting in his steps being lame and sometimes, when the pain was very bad, halting. In short, he was now unlikely to attract any of the ladies of even modest fortune that his mama had decided upon for him. Unlike James, of course, who had swept off her feet an accredited beauty with a significant fortune who had, contrary to all Hugh’s expectations, turned out to be an intelligent lady who appeared to be very fond of James. They were to be married when he was next on leave.

  Regardless of his inability to secure a wife with anything to recommend her, his mother was still keen for Hugh’s escort. George was far too serious and important a man these days to give in to her importuning and allow himself to be dragged through the dreary round of pleasure that was the London Season, and James was still campaigning with Wellington overseas—and for an instant, Hugh allowed himself a moment of envy at that thought. That left Hugh. He had disappointed and distressed his mother by returning home from the Peninsula with such an injury, and he found himself unable to sadden her further her by declining every one of the multitude of invitations she showered upon him. So it was that he was set for an evening which would be composed of almost everything he hated and would rather avoid.

  …

  Upon arrival at the Fitzroys’ townhouse, he steeled himself for the ascent of the long, curving staircase. Sophia fussed with her reticule in the hall for a time, allowing another group of guests to sweep past them and up the staircase before she pronounced herself ready. Hugh took hold of the banister and began to mount the stairs, secure in the knowledge that for now, he would be delaying no other guests, nor would he suffer the indignity of being passed on the stairs, his halting progress noted with pity or derision.

  He was, however, keenly aware of his mother hot upon his heels and an exasperated sigh that she could not quite keep to herself when his progress slowed further as he neared the top of the long flight. Heat flared in his cheeks as he heard Sophia hiss, “Mama.” But then cool, low tones graced his ear, and he knew he was saved.

  “Lady Fanshawe, what a delightful surprise it is to see you.”

  “Lady Emily, I did not know you were coming tonight. Have you seen Sophia’s new gown? It is by Madame Lucille, you know—she is the most discerning mantua-maker, and the instant she saw Sophia, she all but begged to be allowed to dress her, for she could see how Sophia takes after me.”

  Distracted by talk of feminine frills and fashions, his mother ceased to notice the time it took them to ascend to the delights of the ballroom.

  Having safely gained the flat terrain of the landing, he turned and greeted Lady Emily d’Arcourt. She was looking ravishing as ever in a crimson velvet gown trimmed with lace that had Sophia staring in open yearning, but it was the warm friendship in her hazel eyes that Hugh most appreciated. She was sister to his best friend at Eton, Lord Robert Trevelyan, and she had been a hoydenish miss who had trailed after the boys wherever they went when Hugh had stayed at Marcham during school holidays. Robert’s death at Talavera nearly four years ago had, if anything, brought them closer together, following swiftly as it had upon the heels of her loss of her husband, Chevalier d’Arcourt. Julien d’Arcourt had been many years Lady Emily’s senior, but theirs had been a love match, surprisingly unopposed by her parents who might have been expected to object to having an émigré of minor consequence allied with their daughter. Or perhaps, knowing Lady Emily’s strong will, she had managed to persuade them into agreement. Whichever the case, he knew that she had truly mourned her husband and had no interest in marrying again. It did not prevent her from attending a goodly number of balls and other revelries for the sake of amusement.

  “I’m surprised to see you at yet another ball, Hugh,” she confided to him as he joined her later. She was fanning herself lightly to recover from the many dances in which she had engaged. “I hadn’t thought they were to your liking.”

  “It’s due to Lady Fanshawe,” he confessed as he handed her a glass of iced punch. “She is always so eager for my company upon her excursions and I haven’t the heart to refuse her every time.”

  She took a sip of her punch and looked round the room, apparently casual but in reality, as Hugh knew well, taking in everything with one swift glance. “And it has nothing to do with Sophia’s infatuation?”

  He stiffened slightly. He had not known Sophia had been so unbecoming as to allow anyone outside the family to know of her feelings for Sir Ralph Stanton. Despite possessing a long line of respectable forbears, he had turned out to be a rackety sort of a fellow, and in Hugh’s opinion wholly untrustworthy with young ladies.

  “Don’t worry,” Emily said quietly. “She looks upon me as an aunt, I believe, and confessed all to me when I took her up in my barouche in Hyde Park and we espied him there.”

  “I know she is perfectly sensible in all other ways,” he said, “yet he is entirely unsuitable. It worries me.”

  “It is scarcely unusual for young girls to form a violent attachment, but do not concern yourself overmuch, Hugh—it seldom lasts.”

  An unimaginable thought crossed his mind. “Don’t tell me you too succumbed at her age,” he said, a laugh in his voice. “I will not believe it.”

  Delicate pink touched her cheeks as she sipped her drink. “Even I, paragon of all things sensible, was not entirely immune,” she admitted. “But I soon realised that my feelings were not, and never would be, returned.”

  “He must have been touched in the head,” Hugh declared.

  “I think rather that his interest lay elsewhere,” she said, surveying the crowded room. “And perhaps Sophia’s trouble will dissipate even sooner than you think, because Sir Ralph has none of the address of the gentleman who has just been presented to her. That is a Rifles uniform, is it not?”

  Hugh was taken by surprise, for he had not noticed anything other than the usual parade of young misses in their best gowns and exquisitely dressed gentlemen attempting to gain their favour. As he followed Emily’s gaze, he could see the dark green of a Rifles uniform, although the angle meant he could see little of the face of the dark-haired colonel wearing it, other than the impression of a firm jawline and smooth cheek. Emily was right—the man’s air of address and composure was striking, and as the dance began, Hugh saw he moved not only with grace but also the suggestion of leashed power. He turned away, unwilling to watch any longer and torment himself with what he could never have.

  “There is a young lady over there who has been very badly treated by our hostess,” Emily said. “No gentleman has yet been presented to her, and she looks as if she wishes to fade into the wallpaper in mortification. Will you rescue her, Hugh?”

  “You know I can’t,” he said. Bitterness edged his voice. He did not expect such casual cruelty from Emily.

  “I did not mean you to dance with her,” she said steadily, “but I’m sure she would like a handsome young gentleman to procure for her a glass of lemonade.”

  Shame washed over him. He knew Emily b
etter than that, but being in public like this left him overly conscious of his shortcomings. “Of course,” he said, giving her a small smile by way of apology. He escorted Emily to her seat, whereupon she gained the attention of their hostess and enjoined her to present Hugh to the young lady who appeared to be shrinking further into her lonely corner by the instant.

  Miss Williams blushed bright pink when Hugh was presented to her. It was not a becoming look, because her hair, strewn through with white flowers, was a vivid red. The smile she summoned at his offer of a glass of lemonade looked like the expression a rabbit caught in a trap might turn upon the gamekeeper who turned up to dispatch it. She had stared in unguarded surprise at his limp as he had approached her, and Hugh thought she would rather have been left to the humiliation of being overlooked than be rescued by someone so lacking.

  As he escorted Miss Williams around the edge of the ballroom so that they might go to the supper room, Hugh could not help glancing across the room. Sophia’s cotillion with the Rifles officer was continuing, and his first impression of the gentleman’s grace and strength was reinforced as he watched. Recalling his manners, he began to make laborious conversation with Miss Williams, who seemed almost too overcome to speak to him, except in rushes of self-conscious gabble. From these, he learned she was from Portsmouth and had come to London for her first Season because there were five daughters to marry off, and everything was bigger and more confusing than she could ever have imagined, and how was she to know just which haberdashers to bestow her custom upon when there were so very many, not at all like Portsmouth. At that, inspiration struck Hugh.

  “Shall I introduce you to my sister, Miss Williams? I venture she knows everything there is to know about shops, and I am quite sure that nothing would give her greater pleasure than to share her knowledge.”

  “Oh, that would be—would it not be an imposition, Captain Fanshawe?” she asked, and for the first time, Hugh could see the beginnings of beauty in her, as her blue eyes sparkled with shy excitement.