The Wild Baron

by Catherine Coulter

  “You are purposely being obtuse.” She sighed. “Listen, Rohan. I cannot be your wife. It would be a sham, a lie. How many times must I repeat it? Wait. Just a while ago you said we wouldn’t be breaking the law. What did you mean? Do you know something I don’t know? Were those wicked old ladies wrong?”

  “Well, yes, I do know something you don’t know, and no, they weren’t wrong.” He drank down the rest of his tea. He carefully set the cup onto the saucer, then with even more care set the saucer on the marquetry table between them. There was hurt coming and he hated it, but there was simply no choice.

  Susannah couldn’t stand it another minute. The damned man was toying with her. It wasn’t fair. She hurled her own cup and saucer at the fireplace, yelling, “This is just nonsense! Will you stop stringing it out? Say what you have to say and be done with it.” She sank back down in her chair, her hands covering her face.

  “Sir.”

  Rohan sighed. He should have known Toby wouldn’t simply take himself off to bed and accept Rohan’s word that everything was under control.

  “Yes, Toby. Do come in. Your sister is momentarily in an unsteady state of mind. She will regain her balance in just a minute.”

  “But, sir, she has never before hurled anything against the fireplace. It was a very lovely cup. Probably very valuable. Mrs. Beete won’t like it.”

  “Ah, but that’s one of the benefits to being Lady Mountvale. She can break every cup in the place if she wishes.”

  Susannah raised her face. “Toby, see that large, ugly vase over there on top of that pedestal? Please bring it to me. I am going to crack it over his lordship’s obstinate head.”

  “Sir, she has never before threatened to strike someone, not like this.”

  “Don’t bring her the vase just yet, Toby. My mother is quite attached to it. No, let us wait a moment. Surely her mental tumult will soon ease.”

  “My tumult is building, not easing. Toby, you heard what he said, did you not?”

  Toby nodded. He was standing very straight, closer to his sister than to the baron.

  “Well, do you believe he is quite mad?”

  “I believe he is trying to protect you, Susannah. Those old ladies were burying you beneath the carpet. They would have ruined your reputation. Isn’t that right, sir?”

  “Yes. All three of them were in transports of malicious delight. I saved her, but she isn’t thanking me, Toby. There isn’t a shred of gratitude in her posture.”

  “Toby, please hand me that statue of the man holding the world on his knee. It looks heavy, so be careful.”

  Rohan raised his hand. “Yes, Toby, I know. Her bile has never been this elevated for such a lengthy period of time. Listen to me, both of you. I am being honest—”

  “Like you were being with those three ladies?”

  “That was different. I saw what I had to accomplish and I did it.”

  “But, sir, why do you want us? Susannah’s right. We’re not your responsibility. You don’t even know us, at least not all that well yet. It’s true that you’re Susannah’s brother-in-law, but if you will just give her George’s twenty thousand pounds, then you will be free of us. I know that a man of your reputation doesn’t want children hanging on his sleeve, much less a wife. This is all very confusing, sir, particularly when you couldn’t even marry Susannah if you wanted to.”

  “That’s right, Rohan. You’ll be free. You can simply tell your neighbors that it was all a jest and that you indeed kicked us out.”

  He bounded to his feet, knocking his chair over, and yelled, “Damnation! Shut up!”

  Brother and sister stared at the baron. He was flushed. The pulse was pounding hard in his neck. He did not at the moment look calm or sleek or aloof. He did not look amused.

  “Oh, dear,” Susannah said, much calmer now. “All right, Rohan, I won’t throw anything at you. You are now taking your turn at agitation. But you must agree with us. For goodness’ sake, you don’t know me. Why could you ever think that you would want me for a wife? For a wife you couldn’t have legally? None of it makes any sense at all.”

  Rohan looked first at Toby, then at Susannah. “I could marry you and it would be quite legal.”

  She was shaking her head.

  His voice gentled and lowered. He was shaking his own head as he said, “I’m sorry, Susannah, but you were never married to George. The ladies were right—Marianne is a bastard.”

  She was shaking violently now, whispering, “No, no, it can’t be. No, Rohan, I showed you my marriage lines. It was a lovely ceremony, private, of course, but the vicar was kind and—”

  “I’m sorry. Listen, the man should have been kind, for George paid him a goodly sum to pretend to marry you. I realized it immediately when you showed me the license back at Mulberry House. I know the man. His name is Bligh McNally. He is infamous in Oxford for doing this exact thing. He makes quite a good living at it. Many young girls have been taken in over the years. George didn’t really marry you. I’m sorry, Susannah. It was all a lie.”

  Toby looked whiter than a fish’s belly.

  Susannah held herself stiff as a broom handle.

  Finally, she said, barely above a whisper, “If you did know it was all a sham, then why didn’t you say anything when I showed you the license?”

  Rohan looked her straight in the eye. “At first I couldn’t credit it even though the truth was staring me right in the face. I had always believed George to be so serious, so studious, such a scholar, what with his love for maps. He told me it was his dream to go on expeditions and become a famous cartographer. I always believed him good-hearted, gentle, and kindness itself. But then he did this to you. It was reprehensible. I couldn’t believe it, yet he had done it.

  “I couldn’t bring myself to turn your life into a shambles before I even knew you or Marianne. Regardless of what George had done, Marianne was still my niece, of my blood. I decided to buy myself some time. That’s why I brought you all here. That’s why I went along with the lie until tonight.”

  “You also made up the inheritance, didn’t you?”

  “He didn’t have to, Susannah,” Toby said quietly. “Since you weren’t ever married to George, if there was an inheritance it wouldn’t come to you.”

  “I made it up.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew he’d blighted her to the dirt. She had nothing now, not even the illusion of a choice. She had just been shoved into a very deep well.

  “I see,” Susannah said slowly. She was staring into the fireplace, at the orange embers that had nearly burned themselves out. “And now you feel so guilty about what George did that you are willing to offer yourself as a sacrifice? You are willing to marry me and claim Marianne as your own child?”

  He looked a bit astonished at himself, but his voice was steady as a rock. “Yes, that’s about the size of it.”

  “But, sir, Susannah’s right. We’re strangers to you. If my father hadn’t tried to squeeze money out of you, you would have never even known about us.”

  “But he did and thus, now I do know you. Listen to me, Susannah, surely it isn’t such a rotten plan? I would be a tolerant husband. I would be a good father to Marianne. I will even try to bear with Toby, though he gives me hives and sends me to the brandy bottle with all his wild antics.”

  “Sir, I’ve never done any wild antics!”

  “I know and that’s the point, isn’t it? You would be my brother-in-law and that’s nice, since I’m fond of you. I am fond of all of you. Stay here. Stay with me. Become my family. I will protect you and in doing so, I will also protect George’s memory. I don’t want people to know what he did to you. I don’t want my mother to know. You see, no matter the wicked indulgences of my parents, there was always a solid core of honor, of fair play. They indulged themselves endlessly, but they would have never hurt an innocent person, never. There is only my mother now, but I don’t want her hurt. You must realize that I am very concerned with what I will find out in Oxford.
I imagine that you are concerned as well.”

  Susannah rose and shook out her skirts—Charlotte’s skirts. Such a beautiful gown, and now it was wrinkled. She said very clearly, very precisely, “None of this makes sense. You are a womanizer, a man who changes mistresses as often as he changes his cravats, indeed, a man who loves women. Toby, if you wouldn’t mind—please cover your ears.”

  “Oh, Susannah, don’t be silly. Everyone speaks with the highest regard of his lordship’s prowess and vigor. Everyone is proud of him.”

  “That is excessively odd, but no matter for the moment. Rohan, I must be honest about this. I am not a milksop, nor will I ever be like Charlotte.”

  “You make excellent points there.” He rubbed his knuckles over his chin. “However, I quite understand what you are not. In the coming years, perhaps I will learn what it is you are, exactly.”

  Coming years. It was enough. Indeed, it was too much. She couldn’t bear any more of it. She’d believed herself married, but she wasn’t. She was naught but a woman with an illegitimate child because she had been a credulous fool, because she had trusted a young man who had seemed so very perfect for her—quiet, gentle, trustworthy. Ah, what a jest on her. What had George been? Why had he done it?

  It didn’t matter. None of this was real. What it was, she didn’t know. She said, “Toby, we will leave Mountvale House tomorrow. We will return to Mulberry House.”

  “You don’t have any money, Susannah,” Rohan said, his voice very gentle, yet implacable. “You won’t get far. You can’t very well walk back to Mulberry House, not with Marianne.”

  She couldn’t find any more words. Just looking at Rohan would always tell her how very stupid she had been. No, she couldn’t bear any more. She turned on her heel and walked out of the library.

  “Toby, stay here, I’ll be back. Then you and I can discuss what can be done.”

  “I don’t think Susannah feels very good about things right now, Rohan.”

  “I wouldn’t either, if I’d just found out what she has.” Jesus, it was crippling, this knowledge he’d had to dish out to her.

  He would leave her be tonight, but tomorrow—he would not allow her to leave Mountvale House.

  She was met on the upper landing by Lottie, looking to be at the end of her tether, holding a yelling Marianne.

  “I gave her just two apple tarts, Mrs. Carrington—er, my lady. Just two, like you told me. But her stomach hurts now and I don’t know what to do.”

  From the absurd to the mundane. Susannah took her daughter, soothing her as best she could. “These things happen, Lottie. It’s not your fault. I will see if Mrs. Beete has something to make her feel better.”

  At least she hadn’t yelled at Lottie that she wasn’t a ‘my lady.’ “I will see to it,” Rohan said, coming up behind her. He looked at the sobbing Marianne, who was draped over her mother’s shoulder, her fist stuffed in her mouth. “In a moment, little one, you will feel just fine again.”

  “Ro-han!”

  “I’ll be back soon, Marianne.” And he was gone. Susannah walked the floor, trying to calm her daughter. Suddenly he was back, carrying a glass. Marianne looked at it and whimpered.

  He lifted Marianne’s chin with his fingers. “Listen to me, little pumpkin, you will drink this down. Mrs. Beete gave it to me when I was a little boy. It works and it doesn’t taste bad. In but a moment of time, you will want to dance a Scottish reel with me.”

  Marianne hiccuped. “I don’t know how.”

  “I will teach you, but first you must make your belly happy again.”

  To Susannah’s astonishment, Rohan tipped the little girl’s head back and began feeding her the liquid. Marianne, who was a great fighter, docilely drank until the glass was empty.

  “Excellent. Now I’m going to carry you downstairs. When you feel like dancing again, then we will be close to the piano so I can teach you.”

  Marianne went to him. With no hesitation at all, she went to him. She was still sobbing, hiccuping. She trusted him.

  Rohan said nothing at all to Susannah or to Lottie, merely walked away, Marianne sprawled over his shoulder, her fingers in her mouth. Susannah could hear her sucking those fingers from thirty feet away.

  “Well,” she said, turning back to Lottie. “I must pack. We will all be leaving in the morning.”

  “You are traveling to Oxford with his lordship?”

  Doubtless Lottie knew very well every word, every expression, every snippet of speculation about the story the baron had told the three old battle-axes. By now everyone did. Soon, all the south of England would know.

  “Perhaps,” she said, not up to any explanations. She went to her bedchamber, only to find Charlotte waiting for her, exquisite in an utterly outrageous confection of cream silk and feathers. Her blond hair was long on her back, smooth and deliciously soft.

  “This is quite an occasion,” she announced when Susannah came into the room. “More excitement than I’ve experienced in at least a fortnight. Ah, but that was a very different kind of excitement from this. One must continually adapt.

  “My dear son told me only the barest bones of it, but now you are here and you will tell me every small detail. I know only the very barest bones because he wanted to speak to you, to make certain you were all right. Don’t overlook any of those pesky details, Susannah. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so diverted in my life.

  “But, you know, it is something of a disappointment. My dearest boy was right about that. I had such hopes for him.”

  “Lady Dauntry believed you wanted him to marry either someone just like you or a milksop so he could continue his profligate ways with no wifely interference.”

  “How perceptive of dear Regina. Even after all these years, she can still surprise me. Not often, you understand, but very occasionally. Isn’t ‘Regina’ a charming name? Pity she doesn’t live up to it.

  “Now, Regina ‘buried you beneath the carpet’—I believe that was the image dear Toby used. Not only Regina but Almeria and Elsa as well. The three of them together are a veritable set of Fates, with Regina urging them on and giving them the proper direction. And here was Rohan, claiming that you were his bride all along. Let me tell you, married five years, you are far from being a bride. I have been wondering whether or not to believe him. Is it true that you never even met poor George?”

  Susannah just looked at her helplessly. She was mute.

  “You are looking perfectly fagged, Susannah. Come, sit down. That’s right, just sit down. Rohan will take care of Marianne. Isn’t that odd? I saw him take her as if he’d done it for years. But he has, hasn’t he? Was Rohan with you when Marianne was born?”

  “No, he wasn’t. There was no time. She came a bit early.”

  “What I don’t understand is why Rohan brought you here claiming to be George’s widow. Why not simply arrive as Rohan’s wife, if indeed that is who you are?”

  She was sinking fast. Soon her nose would be well under the quicksand. What to do? Tell Charlotte the truth? Tell her that her beloved, prudish George had lied to her, Susannah, and betrayed her, all to get her into his bed? What kind of a man would do that?

  A very young man who had no scruples at all. Somehow she knew that Rohan would never do such a despicable thing. She shook her head.

  “You are thinking of lies that might suit me, Susannah?”

  “No, ma’am, not really. It’s just that I beg you to speak to your son about all of this.”

  “Ah, so you’re afraid you won’t tell me the same things in the same way?”

  Susannah could only give her another helpless look. She was getting rather proficient at it.

  Charlotte rose, smoothing her slender fingers over the feathers at her wrist. “I had thought to enjoy Augustus for a time, then journey back to Italy. I have always adored Venice. Actually, I was dallying with the idea of taking Augustus with me. But now there is this—this confusion. I will speak to Rohan. Then we will see, Susannah. Sleep well, my dear.�
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  At least Charlotte hadn’t cursed at her or shot her. She sat back in the chair, closing her eyes for a moment, just for a moment. Then she would pack.

  When she jerked awake, it was the middle of the night and she was shivering with cold. She felt about for candles but couldn’t find any. She couldn’t very well pack in pitch-blackness.

  She managed to remove her clothes, smoothing Charlotte’s glorious gown over the back of a chair, and sink beneath the blankets.

  Just as she was at the edge of falling asleep again, she realized that Rohan surely had given George much more than a mere twenty-pound allowance per quarter.

  George hadn’t even cared that his daughter have enough. She felt the tears, hot and burning, well out of her eyes and drip down her cheeks. She had lived nothing but a lie. Her stupidity had been boundless. No wonder George hadn’t wanted to introduce her to his family. What would he have said? “Here is my mistress and my little bastard?”

  She’d never doubted his word that his father, then his eldest brother, would disown him and her and Marianne. He had to have time, he’d told her again and again. Soon, he’d promised her over and over. Soon they would be together, a family, and everyone would know. No wonder George had visited Mulberry House only rarely those past several years. He’d known that sooner or later he would be found out. Then again, perhaps he hadn’t cared. He’d grown bored. He’d not wanted to hear her asking him if he’d yet spoken to his older brother. He no longer wanted them. He no longer wanted his own daughter.

  She would have killed him if he weren’t already dead.

  She had deceived herself for nearly five years, and now she thought she’d die of it. She cursed herself more than she cursed George. She’d always believed she was so smart, saw people so very clearly. She cried until her throat ached, until there were no more tears, but still the pain was deep and hard inside her. George had lied to her because she had so little value, so little worth, that she had merited only a sham marriage.