house went up like a rocket, with all those dry old timbers to feed the flames.’
Dominic suppressed his own shudder. Fire...it was a terrifying prospect, and an ever-present danger with candles and lanterns supplying light and with open fires where an unwary soul might find their clothes catching alight and going up in flames. There were new innovations, with gas lighting now more common in London streets, but there was widespread distrust at the idea of employing the new technology in private homes.
Felicity looked at them, frowning. ‘What are you two whispering about?’ She narrowed her eyes at Stanton and shook her head. ‘You should know better than to try to hide unpalatable truths from me, Richard.’
Her husband laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dare,’ he said, with a wink at Dominic. ‘But this is not hiding. It is protecting. You know the tragedy that occurred, but you do not need to know the details, my sweet.’
Felicity pouted, then smiled. ‘You are right. As you so often are, my darling husband.’
A laugh rumbled in Richard’s chest. ‘If you believe that last remark, Dom, my boy, you do not know women. Or, more particularly, wives. We men might hold the titles, property and wealth, but, in a marriage, it is the wife who holds the power.’ He captured Felicity’s hands and kissed first one palm, then the other. ‘My heart. Your hands.’
His smile confirmed his happiness at being in such thrall to Felicity and Dominic was happy for them. He was very fond of Felicity—they had worked together closely for years, supporting and funding Westfield, a school and asylum for orphans and destitute children—and he remembered only too well the traumas of the early months of Richard and Felicity’s arranged marriage. Would he be so fortunate in his marriage of convenience? He mentally ran through his shortlist and doubts erupted. Not one of them, from his observations, had Felicity’s kind heart and sincerity. He shifted uneasily in his seat and tried to quash those doubts.
I’m not looking for love. Nor for a comfortable wife. I want a lady suited to the position of a marchioness; someone with the perfect qualities to be a duchess in the future and capable of raising a son who will one day be a duke. Someone of whom my mother would approve and a daughter-in-law to make my father proud.
That had always been his destiny. From a young age, his mother had drummed into him his responsibility as his father’s heir and his duty to marry a lady worthy of the future position as the Duchess of Cheriton. It was the price one paid when one was firstborn.
His situation was entirely different to that of the Stantons.
He dragged his thoughts away from his future marriage to concentrate on the reason he had come to the theatre. If he could set Miss Lovejoy’s mind at rest about her brother, then hopefully he could move on with his plan without distraction.
Liberty’s brother was easy to pick out in the auditorium below, with his hair the same shade as Hope’s—a golden-blond colour, two shades lighter and much brighter than Liberty’s dark honey hue. Dominic watched him. He was behaving much as every other young buck in the pit—whistling and calling at the hapless performers and, during those times the onstage drama failed to hold his attention, boldly ogling the theatre boxes and any halfway pretty occupants. So far, no different to how most young men behaved when they were out with other young men and without the civilising influence of ladies to curtail their antics.
Alex, Dominic was interested to see, was more subdued—indeed, he looked almost bored, gazing in a desultory fashion at the surrounding boxes. He gave every impression of wishing he was anywhere but where he was. Whatever jinks the three young men were up to, Alex was not the ringleader.
Dominic leaned forward. ‘What do you know of Wendover, Stan?’
‘Not a great deal,’ Stanton replied. ‘A gentleman’s son, but his mother was some sort of merchant’s daughter. He attended Eton, but left Oxford early after his father died. He has three sisters and I’ve heard it was a financial struggle for them after their father’s death. He’s a lucky man, inheriting so unexpectedly. Why do you ask?’
‘He and Alex were pally at Eton and I’ve been told that Alex is encouraging Wendover in some wild behaviour. I’m worried Alex will slip back into his old ways.’
‘How old is Alex now?’
‘Five and twenty. Old enough to know better.’
Alex had always been a difficult youth, but Dominic, and the rest of the family, had believed the worst of his wildness was in the past.
‘I didn’t even know Alex was in town,’ said Stanton. ‘I heard Wendover’s new-found fortune has gone to his head and, looking at them now, I should say he is the instigator, not Alex or Wolfe. It is Wendover’s first time on the town—he’s bound to kick out. I shouldn’t worry too much, Dominic.’
How perfect if Stanton was right and it was Gideon trying to lead Alex and Neville astray. Dominic would enjoy putting Liberty straight...although...there was still the effect of Wendover’s behaviour on his sisters’ reputations—they would face enough of a struggle to be accepted in society, with their maternal grandfather being in trade, without a rackety brother to further taint the family.
He stood. ‘I’ll go and talk to him, nevertheless. I think you are right, but it won’t hurt to make certain.’ He shook Stanton’s outstretched hand and bent to kiss Felicity on the cheek.
Down on the floor of the theatre, he stood at the back until the end of the play, keeping a close watch on Alex, Neville and Wendover. As the audience began to leave, he moved to meet the three men.
Alex’s eyes met his. A smile was swiftly masked.
‘Dominic.’ Alex nodded casually.
‘Alex.’ Dominic kept his nod just as casual. ‘Why did you not let me know you were in town?’
He cringed inwardly as soon as he said the words. There was nothing he could have said more likely to provoke Alex into a fit of the sullens, as their aunt Cecily used to call them.
Alex shrugged. ‘I don’t need your permission to have some fun in my life, do I?’
Dominic bit back the urge to cuff his brother’s ear as he might have done when they were lads.
‘No, of course not. But if I’d known I could have let you know Olivia, Hugo and the twins arrived yesterday.’
They’d been due to arrive the day he’d met Liberty at Beauchamp House, but had delayed their journey a couple of days when one of the twins was poorly.
Alex’s eyes lit up. ‘Are they staying in Grosvenor Square?’ Dominic nodded. ‘Good. I’ll call on them tomorrow.’
Dominic then turned to Neville Wolfe, a friend of Alex’s since boyhood.
‘Wolfe. How do you do? Are your family well?’
Neville grinned and shook Dominic’s hand. ‘Very well, Avon. Very well.’
Dominic shifted his attention to Gideon, Lord Wendover. Miss Liberty Lovejoy’s twin brother. The family resemblance was strong—the same stubborn chin and the same blue eyes. He wondered idly if Wendover’s irises were likewise flecked with gold before jerking back to the realisation that he was staring mindlessly at the man. He thrust out his hand.
‘I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Avon... Alex’s brother.’
Gideon shook Dominic’s hand. ‘Wendover. Good to meet you, Avon, but... I beg you will excuse me—I’m due backstage.’
His words slurred and Dominic could smell the gin on his breath, but at least neither Alex nor Wolfe appeared foxed. Gideon was quickly absorbed into the throng of people slowly shuffling out of the theatre.
Alex muttered a curse. ‘I’ll call on you tomorrow, Dom. I have to go now. C’mon, Nev.’
He followed Gideon but, as Neville began to move, Dominic grabbed his arm.
‘Hold