Gamble With Hearts by Hilary Gilman

being said to him.
    Miss Milverly had already driven off in her Papa's modish barouche when Mrs Carstairs and her escort appeared, but the Marquis himself was still standing upon the pavement, deep in conversation with a young man whom Mrs Carstairs had no difficulty in recognising as Viscount Carlington.
    She was sorry to see that he was on the point of visiting Lady Northwood, for she by no means approved of Carlington or of the set of young fashionables who made up his circle. However, she was a polite woman and, seeing that the two men had finished their low-toned conversation, she stepped forward to introduce her brother.
    Carlington, who was a friendly young man, proffered his hand with real cordiality. He had a singularly charming smile and was, moreover, just the kind of dashing blade that Mr Edridge had been watching enviously from afar ever since he had arrived in the metropolis. An invitation to join the Viscount for dinner at his club was accepted with alacrity, and the young man went off with his sister in a happy dream, Miss Milverly's image temporarily banished from his mind.
    ‘An engaging young cub that,’ remarked the Marquis casually. ‘I depend on you to keep him out of trouble tonight.’
    ‘I only offered him dinner,’ expostulated the Viscount, much aggrieved.
    ‘Well, do not let me hear that he had to be bailed out of Bow Street tomorrow morning, that is all. I know you and your evenings of fun and gig. He is only a child, however.’
    The Viscount regarded his mentor in exasperation; ‘I'm not exactly a greybeard myself, you know, sir!’
    ‘No, Charles,’ agreed the Marquis, his stern eyes softening a little. ‘You are just as much a young fool as ever you were. Witness this absurd business yesterday.’
    ‘Dash it, sir, I've already said I'm sorry,’ said the Viscount wearily. ‘I do not see what more I can do.''
    ‘Merely strive to be a little less stupid in the future, my boy. That is all.’ With this the Marquis very unfairly took his leave, while the Viscount was trying to think of something suitably dignified to retort. He reflected bitterly that the Marquis sometimes took his unofficial guardianship far too seriously. Ruthin had been the late Viscount's dearest friend and had promised him, as he lay dying on the hunting field clasped in his friend's strong arms, that he would always keep an eye on the youngster. The present Viscount had often wished that his father had chosen a less strict disciplinarian to be his mentor, but he admitted to himself that it was often a comfort to know that in Ruthin, at least, he could trust. He was sorry he could not say the same about the man whose ward he had been under the law, and who was still the trustee of his huge, ramshackle estates. Mr Pentherbridge was his father's half-brother and as such, had seemed the properest person to nurse the Carlington inheritance. Under his rule, however, the land was at its lowest ebb for decades and the vast, sprawling mansion that had housed Carlingtons since the Conquest had fallen into disrepair. In six months, on his twenty-fifth birthday, Charles was to come into his inheritance. Until then, he was forced to kick his heels in Town, trying not to think of the hopeless task that faced him when he eventually gained control of his lands.
    At the moment, however, it was not his troubles that lay uppermost in his mind. He had come to see the girl he intended to make his Viscountess and, as he rang the bell, he reflected that falling in love was the last thing he had intended to do.
    He was ushered into Lady Northwood's morning room where the ladies were seated. He was not a young man sensitive to atmosphere and beyond thinking that Mrs Wrexham seemed a somewhat vapourish kind of female and that Charlotte was rather quiet, he noticed nothing amiss. The visit passed off very well. Nothing was said but the merest commonplaces, but the Viscount was not disappointed. He had not supposed that he would be allowed