How Not to Chaperon a Lady--A sexy, funny Regency romance Read online

  Griff loathed him with every fibre of his being. Denby was all flash and no substance. Overconfident, over-polished, wore over-tasselled Hessians, over-pomaded hair, over-the-top brocaded waistcoats and over-complicated cravat knots in which he constantly wore his ridiculous quail’s-egg-sized emerald stickpin like a placard of his wealth and status. Yet he also understood that his intense hatred of the man was as futile as his misplaced jealousy was irrational and that Charity was at the root cause of all of it.

  Miss Charity Grace Brookes.

  The bane of his existence since childhood.

  The undisputed belle of each and every ball. Fêted and sought after wherever she went. Gifted with the sublime voice of an angel, the skill to light up a stage or a room and a face that would easily launch a thousand ships. Every man wanted her, and every woman wanted to be her.

  Beautiful. Effervescent. Witty. Ambitious. Meddlesome. Valiant and vain. Indiscreet. Indomitable. Incomparable. Alluring and intoxicating. Certainly as dangerous a flirt as any woman he had ever encountered and yet the most loyal and tolerant of best friends to his flighty baby sister Dottie, who hung on her every word as if it were gospel and who the dangerous minx frequently led astray.

  Charity was the infuriating fly in his ointment. The persistent pain in his neck. A complete conundrum of a woman who he still couldn’t work out despite almost two decades of trying, and for some reason the most unfortunate be-all and end-all as far as his wayward eyes were concerned.

  Fortunately, his eminently sensible head had always had her full measure, else he’d have been as doomed to the same terminal disappointment in himself as the hapless Rigsby was. Never quite good enough for the lofty heights she had set her determined sights on and not at all the sort of man she was destined to snare and make miserable.

  Thank goodness!

  At least that fool was a fully ordained member of the blue-blooded aristocracy, ergo he stood a smidgeon of a chance with her. Whereas Griff was no more aristocratic than she was, but unlike Charity, was quite content to stay so.

  He was also perfectly content with the fact that she would never be his. Even without the reassuring barrier of their sibling-like relationship, the last thing he wanted in his life was a woman who was as much hard work as she would inevitably prove to be. Only a complete idiot would choose a wife who would run him a merry dance, flirt with all and sundry, kiss them behind his back, ruthlessly pursue her own ambition and never be content with her lot, and he wasn’t a self-destructive idiot. Not that she would ever want him anyway, so it was a rather moot point which didn’t deserve quite as much pondering as he was giving it.

  When he did seek a wife, and one of these days he was determined he would go hunting for one, Griff wanted the sort of marriage his parents enjoyed. A blissful meeting of minds and shared goals. An oasis in the desert and a calm port in a storm. A haven of mutual trust, devoted fidelity and ordered serenity. Miss Charity Grace Brookes was capable of none of those things and never had been. She had been a crashing wave of disorganised and determined chaos since the first moment she had barrelled into his life and broken his favourite toy. No amount of glue and paper patches had ever made that damned kite fly again—a telling metaphor and a stark omen of warning if ever there was one, and one he had always heeded as if his life depended on it.

  Charity was best avoided.

  If only his unhealthy, lifelong obsession with her would pass as he had incessantly prayed for seventeen long years that it would. Well perhaps not an entire seventeen years. When he had left London to learn his father’s business from the ground up, spending an idyllic four years in their main engine factory in Sheffield, he had hardly thought about her at all. She had crossed his mind a time or two, or ten. Possibly a couple of hundred times, maybe...daily.

  ‘Not dancing again, Griff?’ Faith, Charity’s oldest sister and his oldest friend, came up beside him and saved him from further unhelpful contemplation. ‘You do realise it is considered the height of rudeness for a gentleman not to dance when there is a glut of eligible young ladies stood around without partners?’

  ‘I have always hated dancing, you know that.’ Dancing involved making a spectacle of yourself while admitting to the ballroom you fancied someone enough to ask them, while he preferred to keep all his cards close to his chest. Especially because the only woman he currently fancied was the one he wouldn’t and couldn’t touch. ‘Although I confess that nowadays I dislike eligible young ladies more.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ She gestured to a nearby gaggle of young ladies who were doing a very poor job of pretending not to stare at him. ‘You hate being considered eligible.’

  There was no denying that. When his father had misguidedly strapped a target on Dorothy to lure an aristocratic son-in-law into the family with a dowry of fifty thousand pounds, he had also strapped a bigger one on Griff. Now the entire world and his wife were alerted to the fact that the Philpot & Son Manufacturing Company was worth a fortune and, as the son alluded to in the company’s proud title, so was he.

  ‘You do realise I hold you entirely responsible for that intolerable fact.’ Griff huffed out a put-upon sigh to amuse her. ‘If you hadn’t gone and married a viscount and your mother hadn’t gloated about that tremendous social coup to my mother, then dear Mama wouldn’t have harboured such futile delusions of grandeur herself. Some friend you turned out to be. And I am still absolutely furious at Hope for rapidly following suit as it’s only made things worse. This last year has been unbearable on the back of it. So unbearable, I wish I’d stayed in Sheffield.’ For more reasons than one—even though that main reason had pulled him back in the first place.

  ‘I am sorry.’ But by her broad smile she clearly wasn’t. ‘And I am sure Hope is too. But look on the bright side, at least now the women are positively throwing themselves at you, you do not have to make any effort at all with the ladies. Most gentlemen would kill for such a scandalous predicament. Perhaps you should embrace your new popularity a bit and have some fun for a change. Have a few mad and passionate affairs before you inevitably get caught in the parson’s mousetrap too. All work and no play makes Griff a very dull boy indeed.’

  ‘That’s the second time I have been called dull by a member of the Brookes clan in as many hours.’ Of their own accord, his eyes wandered to where the youngest sister danced again before he ruthlessly tore them away. ‘I am rapidly going off your family.’ The Brookes and the Philpots were closely entwined, God help him. How the blazes could he avoid any of them, and one in particular, when their parents had always lived in one another’s pockets?

  ‘That is too bad as I was about to invite you to a party.’

  ‘When you know full well I abhor them almost as much as I hate dancing.’

  ‘It isn’t that sort of party, you old curmudgeon. Just family and close friends so no airs nor graces. A private celebration at my house.’

  ‘What are we celebrating?’

  ‘Charity.’ Of course they were. Of late, and with her glittering star rapidly rising, he couldn’t seem to escape her no matter how much he tried. And he really, really tried. ‘They are going to extend her run at Covent Garden through the entire summer. Isn’t that marvellous?’

  More success to go to her ridiculously pretty head. ‘Indeed, it is.’

  ‘We only found out this afternoon, so it’s still a secret until all the contracts are signed, but they are so keen they are prepared to work around her tour of the north.’ The newspapers had droned on about that ad nauseam in the last week too. Solo performances at the four biggest provincial theatres in the country. And all expenses and a king’s ransom paid for the honour. Lincoln, Manchester, Leeds and York. Four blessed weeks and hundreds of miles of good road between them when he would be blissfully free of her again. ‘So it doesn’t spoil her and Dorothy’s little adventure in the slightest.’

  ‘Dorothy?’

  �
��Your sister is accompanying her. It was all arranged last week. Didn’t she tell you?’

  ‘Not that I recall.’ Of course she hadn’t. Because Dottie knew it would be a cold day in hell before he ever allowed that potential disaster to happen on his watch.

  Chapter Two

  Rumours abound, Gentle Reader, that at Lady Bulphan’s soirée last night Miss C. from Bloomsbury and Lord D. shared more than a moment together, in the same orangery where she allegedly kissed that cavalry soldier last year...

  Whispers from Behind the Fan

  —April 1815

  ‘But we have both Lily and Evan as chaperons!’ Charity glared at her mother dumbfounded. ‘Not only are they husband and wife, you and Papa trust them implicitly, so we certainly do not need another tagging along.’ Particularly if the additional chaperon was Gruff Griff Philpot. The one person on the planet guaranteed to royally spoil all her fun and squeeze all the joy out of her achievements.

  ‘I am afraid Mrs Philpot has insisted, dear, for propriety’s sake, and she makes a valid case. There are some vile people out there who would take advantage of two young ladies alone and, as mothers, we have a solemn duty to protect our daughters’ precious V-I-R-T-U-E. A family member will do that more diligently than a lady’s maid and a coachman. As loyal as Lily and Evan are, they will likely not be allowed into most of the entertainments you are bound to be invited to, which will leave you both unchaperoned for huge swathes of time.’

  Which was precisely why Charity had argued so vociferously for Lily and Evan in the first place. This was supposed to be an adventure. Her moment. The one time that the limelight was firmly on her and nobody else. And a taste of freedom she and Dorothy had hitherto not experienced as the two youngest daughters, free from the well-meant shackles of their over-protective families. No doubt the intuitive Griff had worked that part of her cunning plan out and then gone to work scaring his mother. The wretch had always been a spoilsport.

  ‘But Griff, Mama? Of all the people significantly better suited to the role, surely there is someone more appropriate than him?’ The man who had never found anything about her unique or impressive. The one who had always preferred both her sisters to her. Who she had positively worshipped as a child, who she had always irritated without trying and yet still couldn’t fathom. Too handsome, too tall and too clever for his own good, and likely the most unreadable and vexing bachelor who ever walked God’s earth.

  Bachelor!

  Out of the blue, an idea hit. ‘Surely it is highly improper for a single gentleman to accompany two single ladies, one of whom he isn’t the slightest bit related to? With all the enforced proximity of a month away, he might get inappropriate I-D-E-A-S about me, Mama.’

  Instead of frowning while she considered that glaring impropriety, her mother threw her head back and laughed, clearly well aware that Griff had rarely ever looked at her once, let alone longingly. ‘Sometimes you do say the funniest things, Charity! As if Griff would ever consider you in that way! Why, you are practically brother and sister and as such, he will protect you with the exact same diligence as he will protect Dorothy. Griff has always been the most sensible one out of the five of you and the most responsible. The perfect older brother.’

  Their families often threw around that term—brother. It had always baffled her because there was nothing brotherly about her relationship with Griff. At best nowadays, it was distant, but usually it was fraught. They tolerated one another because they had to and since his return not so much. Instead of mellowing over time, after four years away his disapproval of her seemed to have increased in the last year. Disproportionately in her humble opinion as she had far more sense at twenty-three than she had had at eighteen when he had left, though he had made no secret of the fact he despaired of her then too. In Griff’s rigid mind, the very things she had always enjoyed, like dancing, chatting, flirting and having fun, had always been the things he most took umbrage at.

  ‘What if I ask Hope to come?’ Hope owed her a huge favour because Charity had known all along that she and her now husband had shared adjoining balconies which they met upon in secret when her parents were fast asleep. She had known and selflessly kept it a secret so that her sensible sister could finally have some fun. Hope had also stolen her sister’s moment in January and still felt guilty that her book had come out on the same day as Charity had made her debut as Susanna in Figaro. Therefore, she doubly owed her.

  ‘Aside from the fact it’s hardly fair to drag a pregnant woman across the country, or that it is horribly short notice and she has another book coming out imminently, I cannot imagine Luke will allow it. Impending fatherhood has made him more overprotective than usual and before you suggest Faith in her stead, she is as swamped with commissions as your father is and already has her hands full with your new niece.’ A niece who had decided to arrive the day after Charity’s debut too, overshadowing the achievement she had worked diligently for years for yet again. As much as she adored little Raphaela and her big sister, she couldn’t help but wish the pair of them had waited just a little while longer.

  ‘I would come, but I had already committed to the concert in Bath before your offer came in and I wouldn’t like to let them down.’ Her mother hated to disappoint her fans. ‘I suppose you could ask Dorothy’s mother...’ Which would be worse than having her own ridiculously famous and talented soprano mother on the tour because Mrs Philpot had eyes like a hawk—exactly like her dratted son. ‘But as Griff already has urgent business to attend to in the north anyway, I dare say it makes little sense to have both of them accompany you.’

  Urgent business that had doubtless become significantly more urgent when he had discovered his little sister was spending the entire month alone with her. Charity was sorely tempted to dig her heels in and rescind Dorothy’s invitation simply to prevent Gruff Griff from tagging along and putting a heavy-footed dampener on everything.

  At her despondent expression, her mother cupped her cheek, smiling in sympathy as she cruelly sealed her fate. ‘While I appreciate why you are desperately unhappy to have your wings clipped in this way, we both know that you could do with a dose of sensible on this trip, my darling. I will sleep sounder knowing he will be there to temper your usual recklessness and you are bound to have a splendid time irrespective of Griff’s presence because you always do. You have always been my most tenacious and driven daughter, the most like me, and not even Griff’s guiding hand could temper that. Come, the carriage is waiting outside, and you don’t want to be late for your own party.’

  * * *

  Charity was subdued for most of the journey to Faith’s house in Grosvenor Square, until she decided that Gruff Griff the Fun Spoiler could go to hell. Her mother was right, she was tenacious and she was driven. She had always had things to prove to herself and the world, no doubt that came from being the youngest and by default the last of her siblings to do everything. But this was her time to shine and she had earned it!

  He could try to curtail her as much as he wanted because she fully intended to do things her own way regardless, exactly as she always had. When she wasn’t working, she fully intended to have fun irrespective of what he had to say on the subject. Woe betide him if he laid down a slew of unreasonable rules, because rules were meant to be broken and, he was well aware, she had always been a rebel at heart. And as for the entertainments she hoped to be invited to, she would jolly well dance every dance with myriad handsome gentlemen until the small hours to vex him and spend as little time with him as was humanly possible.

  Then, and only when they reached Sheffield, would she tell him the absolute best bit.

  That she had made other plans for her last week in the north that rendered Griff redundant. Secret plans which she hadn’t yet shared with Dorothy that meant that she couldn’t possibly stay at the Philpots’ northern residence while he attended to his trumped-up urgent business there. Because she would be attending Lord Den
by’s house party at his estate twenty miles away instead.

  The house party she had practically goaded Denby into having when he let slip, the other night in Lady Bulphan’s orangery, that he hailed from the north. A house party which would be conveniently chaperoned by the host’s eminent parents who lived there. The perfect setting, she had convincingly argued, for Lord Denby to celebrate the milestone of his thirtieth birthday with his family as he should, and the perfect opportunity to finally make him fall head over heels in love with her rather than only in lust and perhaps tease out a proposal to rub under Griff’s nose too. What marvellous revenge it would be to outrank him!

  Feeling much better, she pasted on a smile just for him as she burst through the door, letting him know in no uncertain terms she wasn’t the least bit fazed by his unwelcome interference, then promptly ignored him. Knowing Griff, he would make it his mission to approach her and outline his petty and pointless rules for the trip. There had always been plenty of those. True to form, she didn’t have to wait long because her oldest sister, in her warped wisdom, had seated him directly beside her at dinner.

  ‘I suppose you are furious with me.’

  She suppressed the urge to snap her napkin open. Or directly into his much too handsome face. ‘More curious than furious actually, Griff, as I cannot fathom why you would want to traipse behind me from theatre to theatre like a lapdog when you loathe the opera and only ever attend if your mother drags you, and even then it’s patently obvious you are only there on sufferance.’ Even Charity’s singing failed to impress him, and drat it, if she could do nothing else well in his book, she was undeniably brilliant at that.