Archibald Brainridge raised gray eyes from a piece of vellum covered with a spidery, black-inked scrawl, a perplexed expression on his good-natured countenance.

“If that don’t beat the Dutch! Godfather orders me up to London to pay him a call.”

Percy, his valet, perked his ears. “The earl’s getting on, sir. His honor’s in his eighties, I believe.”

“What’s that to say to anything? Unless you mean to hint he’s losing his wits. What can he want? I thought he washed his hands of me five years ago.”

“I recall the occasion, sir,” Percy admitted dryly as he brushed his young master’s pale Brutus-cropped locks.

“By heaven, so do I! What a peal he rang over me!”

“Be that as it may, I think you should go, sir. Obviously your godfather’s days are numbered. He may wish to make his peace with you.”

“I’ve ever been fond of the peppery old curmudgeon,” Archie admitted grudgingly. He issued a rueful grin. “Unfortunately I cannot afford to go haring off to London at present. I must put him off.”

A quaver in his voice, Percy said hesitantly, “If your pockets are to let, I won’t scruple to advance you the price of a seat on the mail coach, sir.”

Archie awarded his longtime valet a measured look. Sadly Percy still regarded him as the feckless fribble he’d been in his salad days. His eyes glittered with mischief as he decided to twit Percy for his lack of perception.

“Why, Percy, you sly dog! Money put by, have you? Where was it two nights past when I needed a little of the ready for dicing?”

The valet bristled. “Do you take me for a fool? While perfectly willing to make you a sensible loan on occasion, I’ve not the smallest wish to throw good money after bad at a gaming table.”

Amused by Percy’s show of outraged dignity, Archie did his best to suppress his mirth. But instead he was obliged to acknowledge his own traitorous shoulders, at present shaking with repressed laughter. “A fool? Perish the thought! I shudder to think what would have become of me without your sterling example.”

The valet drew himself up to his full height. “I trust you intend to accept my offer?”

He really shouldn’t tease his valet whose loyalty could not be faulted, Archie reflected. Not when, up until quite recently, the man had often been obliged to wait—sometimes for months—for his wages.

Archie cast Percy a placating smile. “No need to cut up stiff. I’m not under the hatches. Simply put, I can’t leave Brainridge Hall until after spring planting.”

Percy had the grace to look suitably chagrined. “I beg your pardon, sir. I confess I’d forgotten how seriously you take your responsibilities ever since your father removed to Leicestershire after appointing you bailiff.”

“Gammon! No offense taken, I assure you,” averred Archie, his equanimity restored.

* * * * *

Six weeks later, travel weary from the constant jolts of the public carriage, Archibald Brainridge lifted the doorknocker of the Earl of Chandos’ townhouse.

The earl’s aged majordomo opened the door and ushered him into the front salon. “Good to see you again, Master Archibald.”

Archie peered quizzically at the stately servant, whom he’d known since he was in short coats. “You’re looking fit, Victor. How is great-uncle?”

“In something of a pother due to a flare-up of the gout. Otherwise in fair health for a man of his years. Do excuse me. His lordship left strict orders he was to be informed the instant you arrived.”

Resigned to a wait, Archie recalled the last time he’d set foot inside his godfather’s townhouse. Since Archie’s father had been hard pressed to educate three older sons, the earl had generously assumed the cost of his godson’s education. Thus, as a mere stripling of nineteen, sent down from Oxford, Archie had felt obliged to pay his benefactor a call.

What a quake the crusty old nobleman had put him in on that occasion, he mused. Even now he could not be entirely easy. Archie stared absently at the ram’s head snuff mill. Blinking into sharper focus the grotesque stand-alone carving, prominently displayed on a round table, Archie caught the feral gleam in its wide-eyed gaze. He shuddered involuntarily. What on earth had prompted Godfather to haul such an ugly artifact all the way to London from Bombay? Perhaps it served as a reminder of the years spent in India acquiring a fortune that heralded the earl’s triumphant return to England as a rich nabob. Archie released building inner tension with a ragged exhale. No doubt, his curiosity aroused by the singularly ugly ram’s head was destined to never be satisfied since Godfather was woefully reticent about those years spent in exile.

The sound of shuffling footsteps signaling the majordomo’s imminent reappearance broke his concentration.

“His lordship will receive you now, Master Archibald.” Victor picked up Archie’s valise. “I’ll take this up. I assume you remember the library’s direction.”

Minutes later, Archie knuckled the bookroom’s oak door and entered in response to the earl’s command.

Greeted by a blast of hot air, Archie reeled back, then, squaring his shoulders, advanced with a firm step. Though a blazing fire had put the room in a swelter, the old man sat bundled in a profusion of comforters and quilts. As he neared a wing chair covered in red velvet, Archie recollected that his godfather—in common with the Prince Regent—always felt cold and consequently kept the rooms he frequented excessively hot.

As he came to a halt, Archie glimpsed the elderly nobleman’s keen black eyes peering up at him. With a shock, he noted how much the earl had aged during their estrangement.

The octogenarian held out a frail hand. Archie shook it gently.

“Mind you don’t jar my curst leg,” the earl admonished.

Sympathetic gray eyes raked the swollen appendage propped upon a footstool with needlepointed cover. “The gout, guvnor?”

“Damme yes! Not to mention the dropsy and a touch of dyspepsia,” the old man grumbled. “However I didn’t order you up to London to recite a laundry list of my infirmities. Sit down. I’ve a proposition to make you.”

Archie perched gingerly on the edge of a French-styled sofa, squirming a little in reaction to the heat. He loosened his neckcloth, a thing he didn’t do usually as it put his valet into a pelter. But what did that signify, given that his own copiously excreting sweat glands were rapidly wilting whatever starch remained?

“Not buckled yet?” the earl inquired.

“Is that so wonderful, sir? As you know, I’ve no prospects. The dragon mamas are not at all anxious for me to dangle after their eligible daughters.”

“Stuff! You spring from good stock. That should count for something. Wouldn’t surprise me—should you make a push—the mamas would soften. Only think, if you manage to charm a female with a respectable fortune, you could settle your debts and start again with a clean slate.”

Archie sprang up from the sofa, indignation mirrored on his flushed face. “Sir, I draw the line at becoming a fortune hunter!”

The earl burst into an appreciative cackle. “Steady there, lad. Didn’t mean to vex you.”

“No offense taken, sir,” Archie said, his stiff demeanor belying his civil response.

“Excellent. Now hold your tongue, lest I lose my thread.” His lordship hesitated then plunged on determinedly. “Since I find myself plagued by all manner of ills, it’s high time I set my house in order.”

“Oh but guvnor…”

“Do not interrupt!” ordered the earl, bestowing a heavy scowl upon his godson. Satisfied he’d silenced him at last, he continued in a softer vein, “Having neither chick nor child of my own, I fear I dealt with you too harshly when you were sent down from Oxford for a mere schoolboy’s prank.”

Faintly embarrassed by the unexpected whitewashing of his character, Archie tugged once again at his neckcloth. Never had he suspected how difficult it could be to keep his tongue between his teeth.

“To make amends for my shabby treatment,” the old man rasped, “I propose to settle your debts and make you a modest allowance, provided you promise to steer clear of all wagering for a period of one year. What do you say to that, my boy?”

“You are too kind by half, sir. However I’m not sure I should accept. At four-and-twenty, it’s time I solved my own problems without outside assistance.”

“Pray don’t allow pride to get in the way of common sense. There’s no disgrace in accepting my terms, provided you strive to uphold your part of the bargain.”

Godfather had a point, Archie conceded. While safe enough buried in Hertfordshire, London was a different kettle of fish. Suffice to say that if his creditors got wind of his presence, he’d be hounded to death. Still, he refused to be less than candid.

“Even so, it would be remiss of me if I failed to make known to you that the sum total of my debts is truly monstrous. Perhaps you should have your man of business—”

“Do you take me for a slowtop?” the earl railed. “My solicitor has already looked into the matter. Well, Archibald, what is your answer to my proposition?”

Archie smiled faintly. “I accept of course. Only a sapskull would refuse such a handsome offer.”

“Capital! I’ll have your hand on it.”

Archie clasped the proffered frail hand, mindful not to crush it in his stronger grip.

“Make no mistake!” his lordship warned. “Should it come to my ears you’ve slipped back to gaming, I intend to call you to book.”

“You have my word I won’t, sir. However, if I somehow make a mull of it, I’d like to think I’ve the bottom to tell you so to your face.”

“Lobcock! Even as a green halfling, your honor was never in question,” the mollified nobleman assured him.

“Kind of you to say so, guvnor.”

The earl dismissed Archie’s perfunctory bow with an impatient wave of his bony hand. “On to my second proposal. A bit more difficult to bring off, I will own, but greatly to your advantage if you come up to scratch. Not to mince words, if you manage to persuade some eligible female to marry you, I’ll make you heir to my fortune when I pass on. Mind, you must promise not to breathe a word of our arrangement to your intended.”

Archie’s brow puckered. “Am I to understand, my lord, that my bride must command a fortune of her own?”

“By no means. I don’t care if she has tuppence. Only that she remain ignorant of your improved prospects until after the ceremony. One reason I never married is I didn’t wish to risk the mortification of discovering I was shackled to some grasping female,” the earl grumbled. “Take my fortune and welcome I say, provided you keep your lips sealed until you’ve convinced some eligible young miss to accept you solely on the strength of your lineage and reformed character.”

“I understand, sir, though heaven knows, since I’m acquainted with precious few young ladies at present, what you ask won’t be easy.”

Yet, even as he spoke, Archie’s thoughts homed in on his childhood friend, Isabella Cox. His troubled countenance brightened. If he took advantage of his godfather’s generosity, he’d be in a position to rescue her from a life of penury.

“Where’s your pluck, nephew? What do you stand to lose? In order to ease your way, I’ll stake you to a new wardrobe. So even if you fail to discover someone who will look deep enough to see more in you than the size of your purse, you’ll still come out ahead. Your debts will be settled. You’ll have an adequate allowance and be rigged out in the first stare of fashion.”

“Very well, guvnor, I’ll do my best.” Once again he carefully shook the old man’s hand.

“That’s settled then.” The earl heaved a relieved sigh. “You’ll have to hang about Town at least a fortnight so the Bond Street tailors can run you up a decent wardrobe which, judging from the cut of your coat, you stand badly in need of. Come to think of it, make free of my townhouse whenever you’re in London. I imagine you will wish to take in the season.”

“Mayhap I will, sir, and thank you for—”

“Gammon! Out of my sight before I change my mind. I’ll wager you could do with a hot bath and a change of linen after your rackety trip.”

Archie chuckled. “You’ve the right of it, sir. Indeed what else is to be expected when one travels by mail coach?” With a respectful bow to the cantankerous old man, he took leave of the overheated bookroom.

* * * * *

“Fudge!” exclaimed Miss Isabella Cox.

Sensibilities outraged, she regarded Archie through veiled lashes. Inexplicably, indignation gave way to admiration when she noticed that the cut of his elegant new coat made his shoulders seem broader. Indeed she’d never seen him looking so handsome. She pressed her hand over her heart. Never had it fluttered so erratically before when he was around her. Most unusual. Disturbed by emotions she didn’t understand, she averted her gaze.

Unhappily her eyes came to rest upon the hem of her gown—a gown she’d been obliged to lengthen when she’d grown taller. Isabella stared at the ugly line demarking the unfaded material of the let-down hem from the rest of her gown. The contrast between Archie, looking for once as fine as fivepence, and her own shabby appearance triggered a fresh spurt of anger.

Archie quelled a shiver. Despite his befuddled state, he was all but certain Isabella’s sapphire blue eyes seethed with resentment. Clearly she was overset. Why else would she be twisting her handkerchief, he reasoned as his sturdy frame swayed unsteadily.

“You’re making a cake of yourself, Archie. Climb up off your knees, do!”

“Gladly, Bella, after I’ve finished making you an offer.” Beaming benevolently, he blinked in the vain hope of keeping her face in focus.

Unfortunately, when he’d jogged past the Rose and Crown on his piebald, Archie had been besieged by icy fingers of doubt and had felt a burning need to bolster his sagging spirits with a little Dutch courage. Thus he’d entered the taproom and ordered a tankard. One had led to two. Two had led to three.

Now, gazing at Bella’s blurred image, Archie silently acknowledged the minx had matured into a comely female. Indeed he regretted that their paths had seldom crossed since her return to Cox Manor from the young ladies’ seminary. The fact that they had seen so little of each other was as much his fault as hers, he freely admitted. Ever since he’d squandered the small dot bequeathed to him by his mother, he’d pointedly avoided all females…whenever possible. Nonetheless, when Isabella’s father died recently leaving her penniless, it had saddened him that he lacked the power to help her come about. But now, thanks to his godfather’s change of heart, he was in a position to make her an offer. Too bad Isabella did not seem at all impressed by his magnanimous gesture. On the contrary, her scowl radiated disapproval. In vain, Archie scoured his brain in search of something he’d done to put him in her bad books.

Unless the grudge she nursed dated back to their childhood. As a lad, he’d barely tolerated the little hoyden who’d trailed after him on her Shetland pony, whenever he rode his frisky mount. Yet what else had she expected, considering she was six years his junior and a female to boot!

He braved a furtive glance into Isabella’s stormy countenance. The chill rising from the stone floor, passing through the threadbare Turkey carpet and seeping into his shinbones, was nothing compared to her icy stare.

“Archibald Brainridge, you’re foxed!” She stamped her slippered foot. “Furthermore I’d thank you not to tease me. I’ve no time for nonsense.”

“Tease you? No such thing. Bella, I’m in earnest. Why else would I be at your feet?”

“In earnest? Pray, sir, have done.”

“Not until you give me your answer.”

Isabella gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh very well!” she capitulated with ill grace. “Sir, I am aware of the honor you do me but I cannot accept your flattering offer.” A healthy swathe of sarcasm had crept into her voice. “Now if you will kindly excuse me, I must speak to Ned.”

“Pray don’t be so hasty, Bella. Do take a moment to consider your straitened circumstances.”

“Rest assured, I already have,” she responded sweetly. “I mean to procure a post as a lady’s companion.”

Archie’s fair skin reddened alarmingly. “Confound it, Bella, such a post will lower your social standing—to say nothing of your prospects.”

Isabella stiffened. “In the marriage mart, you mean? Since I’ve no dowry, my expectations in that quarter were never very high.”

“Your father would squander money set aside for that purpose at the gaming tables! But it doesn’t signify. I don’t care whether you’ve a button to your name. If you need more time to consider my offer—”

“More time?” she interrupted. “Sir, I beg leave to tell you I know my own mind. I won’t marry a gamester! Why, we don’t have a groat betwixt us. Wherever did you get such a crackbrained idea?”

Clearly his business with Isabella was not going well, Archie ruefully conceded. As his head began to clear, the specter of his godfather’s prune-wizened countenance rushed to the foreground of his consciousness.

Slightly desperate now, he coaxed, “I beg you to reconsider.”

“Indeed I will not! What a kickup there’ll be if your father gets wind of this!”

“What has he to say about it? I’ll be five-and-twenty in a few months.”

But a moment’s reflection forced Archie to admit she was right. Should Isabella accept his offer, he doubted his father would be best pleased.

Sent down from Oxford, Archie had got in thick with Bella’s father. As a result he’d developed imprudent habits, such as wagering money he could ill afford on cockfights or cards and quaffing ale by the pitcherful at the Rose and Crown. Consequently Archie’s father had long since laid the blame for his youngest son’s dissolute behavior upon Sir Reginald Cox’s doorstep.

Archie shifted his weight on his cold, stiff knees. Because of innovative practices he’d introduced as bailiff at Brainridge Hall during the past year, he was almost certain he’d earned a modicum of grudging respect from his father. But even if he were mistaken in this assumption, his father’s opinion no longer mattered. Thanks to the earl’s generosity, Archie had a chance to start fresh—if only Bella could be made to look favorably on his suit.

He frowned. What a devilish fix! He’d had such high hopes when he’d set out from Brainridge Hall all rigged out in a new Weston coat and pale yellow breeches. Percy had taken pains to polish his Hessians until he could see his reflection in them and had arranged Archie’s neckcloth to perfection. If only his avoidance of the female gender hadn’t resulted in him feeling so shy in their presence.

Sober now but still kneeling on the stone-cold drawing room floor, Archie was forced to admit he had only himself to blame. He’d insulted Isabella by making his offer while foxed. Obviously his shameful rag manners had given her a disgust of him. Lord, what a mull he’d made of it!

Archie’s warm gray eyes anxiously scanned Isabella’s heart-shaped face, hoping against hope that her attitude would soften. After all, if he must get leg-shackled, he preferred it to be to someone he’d been fond of since he was in short coats.

“Am I to understand, Bella, that you are rejecting my proposal?”

“Of all the shabby, harebrained offers! I wouldn’t marry you, Archibald Brainridge, for all the tea in China!”