Table of Contents
ALSO BY MARY BALOGH
A Precious Jewel
The Ideal Wife
Seducing an Angel
At Last Comes Love
Then Comes Seduction
First Comes Marriage
Simply Perfect
Simply Magic
Simply Love
Simply Unforgettable
Slightly Dangerous
Slightly Sinful
Slightly Tempted
Slightly Scandalous
Slightly Wicked
Slightly Married
A Summer to Remember
One Night For Love
The Secret Pearl
The Devils Web
Web of Love
The Gilded Web
To Maria Carvainis, my agent,
and to June Renschler, Jerome Murphy,
and Alex Slater, her assistants,
who are all and always in my corner.
Reginald Mason crossed one elegantly clad leg over the other and contemplated the gold tassel swinging from one of his white-topped Hessian boots. The boots had been just one of many recent extravagances, but what was one to do when fashions shifted almost daily and one had been taught from the cradle onward that keeping up appearances was of the utmost importance?
What one could do, of course, was ignore the almost daily vagaries of fashion and instead aim for basic good grooming, and that was what he had always doneuntil the past year, when, for reasons of his own, he had chosen to pursue the path of high fashion.
It was his father who had drummed the lesson of keeping up appearances into him. Bernard Mason was not a gentleman by birth but rather a self-made man who had spent lavishly of his enormous wealth on all the trappings of gentility, including the very best education for his only son and a large country estate in Wiltshire. He was, by his own estimation, lord of all he surveyedexcept the world of the beau monde, which looked down upon him along its collective nose as a very inferior being and an upstart to boot. As a consequence, he heartily despised the tonand dreamed incessantly of finding a way into its hallowed ranks. His son was his greatest hope for accomplishing that dream.
All of these facts made it illogical that he was so furiously angry now, that he had been angry all too often during the past several months. For Reggie had been behaving exactly as a young gentleman of ton was expected to behave in order to demonstrate his superiority over the mass of ordinary mortals who must perforce be more intent upon earning money than spending it. He had been as extravagant and reckless and idle as the best of his would-be peers.
His father was sitting a short distance from Reggie, though the wide expanse of the solid oak desk in his study stood between them and set them symbolically much farther apart. The wildly successful and prudent businessman confronted his wildly expensive, aimless, and profligate son with thunderous displeasure. He had just finished delivering an eloquent lecture on the theme of worthless cubsnot for the first time. Reggie had been told, loudly enough to imply that he must be deaf as well as daft, that a man who aspired to be accepted as a gentleman must give all the appearance of gentility, good breeding, and wealth without dabbling in any of its attendant vices.
And Reginald had done more than dabble.
Was it a vice to buy the very best and most fashionable of boots? Reggie jiggled his foot slightly and watched the tassel sway into motion again. It glinted in the sunlight beaming through the window.
He sat half-slouched in his hard wooden chair as a visual sign of his apparent unconcern. He did consider yawning, but that would be going too far.
Anyone would think, lad, his father said after a few moments of exasperated silence, that you were out to beggar me.
His use of the word lad was not, in this instance, an endearment. It was his fathers way of speaking. Whereas Reggies expensive education had polished his speech until it was indistinguishable from that of the beau monde, his father still spoke with a broad and unabashed North country accent.
It would take far more than his recent extravagances to beggar his father, Reggie knew. A little excessive and expensive attention to his wardrobe and a little unlucky gambling would put scarcely a dent in his fathers fortune, nor even a fair amount of unlucky gambling, which was probably a more accurate and only slightly understated description of his recent losses.
Reggie swallowed the uneasy sense of guilt that rose into his throat like bile.
That there curricle, now, his father began, stabbing the desk top with the tip of one broad finger, as though the offending vehicle were cowering beneath it.
Reggie cut him off. He risked a bored cadence to his voice.
Any self-respecting gentleman below the age of thirty-five, he said, must have a racing curricle as well as one for simply tooling about town, sir. And you do wish me to be a gentleman, do you not?
His fathers face took on a slightly purple hue.
And a matched pair of grays to go with it? he said, still poking at the desk. The chestnuts you purchased last month would not do the job?
Reggie shuddered elegantly.
They do not match the paintwork, he said, his voice pained. Besides, they are all prancing show, perfect for impressing the ladies in Hyde Park, but quite useless if I should decide to race the new curricle to Brighton. You would wish me to win, would you not?
And serve you right if you were to break your neck in the attempt, his father said brusquely. I am going to have to lease more stable room.
Reggie simply shrugged.
And these... debts, his father said, picking up a sheaf of papers from one side of the desk in his large fist and waving them in the direction of his sons nose. You expect me to pay them, I suppose?
They were large. Most of them were gaming debts. Reggie never left the card tables or the races until he had lost. Whenever he surprised himself by winning, he always stayed until he had lost all the money again and sent plenty more in chase of it.
If you please, sir, he said with a weary sigh.
His fathers bushy eyebrows collided above his nose.
If I please? he barked wrathfully, and he squeezed the bills in his hand and dropped them onto the desk. They fanned out into an alarmingly large heap. Was it for this that I brought you into the world, Reginald, and spent a kings ransom to have you educated as a gentleman? Was it not rather that I might see and enjoy the fruits of my labors in my old age? I will never be accepted by all the high and mighty gentlemen of this realm. I will always reek of coal in their pampered, perfumed noses. And that is just grand as far as I am concerned. I have no interest in rubbing shoulders with popinjays. I despise the lot of them. But you... you could have the best of it all. You could be my son and a gentleman.
Reggie shrugged and refrained from pointing out the lack of logic in his fathers attitude toward the beau monde.
I am accepted well enough by all the gentlemen I know, he said. I went to school with half of them. As for the ladies, well, who needs them? There are plenty of women who are far more, ah, interesting. He made a careless, dismissive gesture with one well-manicured hand.
