He was the youngest of the group, which might normally have lent him a competitive edge had not his fetid breath nearly knocked her over. Not even her mother could withstand the onslaught, leaning back with a visible wince, and she heard an irreverent snicker of amusement from somewhere over near Thomas.
“Looking forwards to it,” she wheezed.
Both she and the duchess dismissed the viscount with a curtsy, who thankfully subsided to reveal the final man who had come to curry her favor, the Earl of Davenport. But it quickly became apparent that there would be no fawning or flattery from this particular man. He approached seriously, almost angrily, with bushy brows that could not quite conceal the reddened eyes beneath them, and graying mutton chops that were surprisingly large.
“This is all very irregular, my lady,” he groused to her, “but I am here at your behest.”
Now that was categorically untrue. “At my behest?” she inquired.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” barked the duke, his patience clearly at an end. “Let us make our way into the dining room.”
Caroline’s motion was stayed by her mother’s viselike grip on her wrist.
“We’ll join you in a moment, if you don’t mind?” she called to her husband.
He gave his wife a curt nod of approval before ushering the men through the hallway, and Caroline steeled herself for the unpleasant lecture that was to come, noting in gratitude that Frances, Thomas and Eliza had chosen to linger behind.
“You will not embarrass this family, Caroline,” her mother spat. “Do you understand me?”
Caroline couldn’t help but feel that any embarrassment served her parents right for placing their trust in the likes of Lord and Lady Hedridge. Sadly, her lack of good luck meant that she would be the one to pay for it.
“Honestly, Mother . . . have our standards sunk so low that only a baby or a doddering old man will do?” she asked, her desperation rising. “What can be the harm in giving me a little more time?” Enough time for you to leave again and forget about your spinster daughter.
“You’ve had plenty of time. And you speak your mind altogether too easily for a woman who has contributed so little to this family.”
Caroline rocked backwards as if she’d been slapped. “Does my existence count in any way as a contribution?”
“There now,” said Eliza, coming forwards, her eyes shining with concern. “The situation is already emotional. Perhaps we should join the rest of the guests for dinner?”
“But we’re still missing one.”
Frances’s strange, soft declaration caused the entire group to turn, but she didn’t seem to notice as she was focused almost exclusively upon the front doors. With a jolt of dread, Caroline glanced at her mother. More than anything, she couldn’t let things go wrong with Frances. Not here . . . not this way.
She rushed over and hooked a protective arm around her aunt’s arm. “Here, Auntie. We’ll go into dinner together.”
Still Frances resisted.
“Come, Frances,” said the duchess with a quick glance at Thomas. “We’re going in to dinner now.”
Stepping near, Thomas extended an elbow and flashed her aunt a charming smile.
“Join me, my lady?”
Frances blinked up at him first, then slowly curled her hand around his arm, allowing him to lead her to the dining room. Her mother followed with a twitch of her head and a sweep of her vast skirts, and Caroline breathed a sigh of relief. They would likely not permit her to sit next to Frances during dinner, especially since she was supposed to be familiarizing herself with her suitors. But as she passed the grand staircase that led upstairs, the impulse to bolt and shut herself away in her bedchamber was nearly overwhelming. Eliza slid an arm around her shoulders.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, her eyes gleaming with sadness.
I’m thinking that I will be unhappy for the rest of my days.
I’m wondering how everyone would react if I went to Jonathan now and pleaded with him to give me another chance.
But the time for all that had passed. Come and gone.
Swallowing down her anxiety, she shook her head with a bitter smile. She couldn’t tell Eliza the truth, but the time for pretending was over.
“No, you don’t,” she whispered.
A notch formed between Eliza’s brows, but before she could say anything more, Caroline looped her arm through her friend’s and started the walk to the dining room, where her fate awaited her—whether she was ready for it or not.
Jonathan stepped out of his carriage onto the dimly lit drive, the torches nearby bathing the landscape in flickering hues of yellow and gold. Glancing up at the stately stone facade of Willowford House, he thought it was strange how the house he’d visited many times before now seemed somehow more imposing . . . looming and massive, as if he was no longer welcome. He supposed he wasn’t. And if his hunch was correct, the invitation that was tucked away safely inside his coat pocket was the result of some unofficial interference on Frances’s part and would provide no guarantee that he would be met with civility. He expected to be turned away. But he could not sit idly by while Caroline was promised to another.
After their conversation in the music room, he knew she would be surprised, and that was as he’d intended. She’d been comfortable keeping him at arm’s length for all the reasons she felt were so important—not the least of which was her loyalty to her friend. But after her refusal, he needed her to feel the sting of his loss in the hopes that when the time came to offer for her, she would know exactly what was at stake. But she was a stubborn little minx. He could just as easily see her tossing him out herself. And while his mother fully supported his plan to ask for Lady Caroline’s hand, she couldn’t quite hide her nervousness at how this would play out here tonight. It was highly likely, after all, that the duke would be expecting him. Jonathan hoped his late entrance would be enough to catch the man slightly off guard.
Smoothing his hands over the front of his tailcoat, he took an unsteady breath and vaulted up the steps. Rapping loudly at the door with the brass knocker, he waited, squinting slightly as the door was opened to reveal the brightly lit interior of the house and the hawkish face of the butler who stared at him in increasing confusion.
“Mr. Cartwick?” he asked, forming the words slowly as if attempting to solve some kind of puzzle. His gaze took in Jonathan’s formal coat and breeches, and the man frowned. “Can I help you? The duke is indisposed this evening.”
Jonathan smoothly withdrew the invitation and extended it in his direction. “Yes, I am aware. My apologies for being late.”
The butler unfolded the parchment in an obvious show of shock, raising his hand to cover his mouth at what appeared to be a colossal blunder. “I—Oh. This is most upsetting. The duke was only expecting three guests tonight, and yet . . .” His voice trailed off, then he lifted his chin and snapped into action. “Please wait in the foyer, sir, while I make inquiries.”
He nodded. “I appreciate it.”
His footsteps echoed on the marble floor as he paced restlessly. At last, the butler reappeared after what felt like a lifetime but was likely only five minutes, and the duke was following behind him with the invitation tightly clenched inside his fist. He did not look happy.
“What is this about, Cartwick?” he demanded. Unfolding the paper, he held it out to view the lettering again, raising it to the light, almost as if he suspected Jonathan of committing forgery.
“I received that invitation, Your Grace, and have merely shown as requested.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Merely showing is one thing. Offering for my daughter’s hand is quite another, and that is the purpose of tonight’s gathering.”
Jonathan bowed deeply. “I am prepared to request her hand.”
The butler looked as if he was about to fall over, while the duke’s look of bewilderment quickly transformed into one of outrage.
“Absolutely not—”
The
sound of light steps approaching from the hallway caused both men to turn, and after the duke’s surly greeting, seeing the smiling eyes of Frances was a relief.
“Mr. Cartwick,” she exclaimed, “I’m so glad you could make it.” Placing her hand on his back, she exerted a small amount of pressure to begin ushering him along. “Forgive the error—I’ve had the footmen add a place setting for you.”
Her brother pivoted to pin her with an icy stare. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” she replied with a coolness of her own. “You tasked me with issuing the invitations for tonight, and I have done so.”
“To the suitors I had approved!”
Frances leveled the duke with a critical glance. “And we can see how well that turned out. Did you ever stop to think that perhaps Lady Hedridge was so eager to humiliate your daughter by her choices, that she would end up embarrassing this family as well?”
“I don’t require those men to be anything other than what they are,” he said with a sniff.
“If money is what you’re after, Mr. Cartwick has more than enough.”
“Mr. Cartwick,” he said through gritted teeth, “is not titled. And Caroline might be used to getting her way with you, Frances, but that is not going to happen with me.”
“Exactly how has she gotten her way, Your Grace?” Jonathan asked, unable to stay silent any longer.
The duke turned to stare at him in disdain. “Lady Caroline has had her chances before, and she chose to leave the season last year while she was being courted by Lord Braxton.”
Frances sighed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t do it to upset you, she did it to help me. And if you’d been at home a little more, you might know how much I needed the help.”
Jonathan’s heart sank at her admission.
The Duke of Pemberton tipped his head. “What are you talking about?” he asked quietly.
Rather than answer his question, she nodded in Cartwick’s direction instead, sending the silver curls bobbing alongside her face. “Will you tell him for me? Please?”
He paused. “Is that entirely necessary—”
“He needs to know.”
Lady Frances was ready to risk her future for Caroline. The realization caused Jonathan’s chest to squeeze tightly in emotion, and he cleared his throat before speaking.
“Senile dementia, Your Grace,” he muttered reluctantly. “Lady Caroline fled London to protect her aunt, and keep your family safe from the scandal that could possibly ensue.”
The duke opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, his eyes darting between the two of them in an attempt to either understand the truth of things, or deny it altogether. Finally, he shook his head.
“I’m sure that’s not right. Have you been seen by a physician—”
“No,” Frances replied, “but I have been seen cavorting around outside in my underthings, as Mr. Cartwick here can personally attest to.”
The duke’s mouth gaped in disbelief, and Frances took advantage of his surprised state to slide her hand around Jonathan’s arm. “Let’s go into the dining room, shall we?” she whispered.
Figuring the duke might need a moment to himself anyway, Cartwick inclined into a bow then proceeded down the hallway with Frances on his arm. He moved his gloved hand over hers and squeezed it.
“I wish you hadn’t done that, my lady.”
She tsked at him as if there wasn’t a care in the world, but her cloudy eyes had acquired a look of distress that he did not like. “It’s nothing Caroline wouldn’t do for me, and surely you knew I was prepared to do whatever it took to get you into that dining room. He knows now that you’re aware of the family secret, and that might just be enough to keep him from being unreasonable.” Frances tugged on his arm to pull him closer. “Now do me a favor and rescue my poor niece from these buffoons.”
Caroline sat perfectly straight in her chair and stared at the door in something akin to dread. She was surrounded on either side by Baron Horne and the Earl of Davenport, while the disgruntled Viscount Bryant and his breath had been seated across the table. Eliza was the unfortunate soul who’d been assigned to sit next to him, and she also kept glancing at the doorway, perhaps for an excuse to flee.
It was unclear what could have called her father’s attention away from such an occasion, but she could only surmise that it was important. She wouldn’t have put it past Lord and Lady Hedridge to scrape up one last, lowly suitor from the dregs of the ton. The abrupt addition of a place setting did not reassure her in the slightest, nor did her aunt’s disappearance.
Then the door opened and her world came to a spectacular and stunning halt.
Lady Frances entered the room escorted by none other than Jonathan Cartwick—who was absolutely dressed for the occasion, looking dashing in black and white.
Eyes huge, she bolted up to her feet and sent the chair scraping gracelessly behind her. A million emotions roiled through her all at once. Surprise, elation and even anger caused her stomach to lurch in equal measures. Hadn’t she already given up on the notion of a happy life? Hadn’t an afternoon full of tears been required to kill any lingering fight left in her?
Yet here he was, his eyes warm and golden, gazing at her as if she were the only thing worth seeing.
Caroline forced herself to look over at Eliza, who was clearly taken aback by Jonathan’s appearance. Her friend stared at Cartwick in blank amazement then rose from her seat too.
“Mr. Cartwick, I wasn’t aware you had been invited.” Her eyes darted back over to Caroline, who felt herself flush under her friend’s scrutiny. “Or that you and Lady Caroline were so well acquainted.”
He pressed his lips together and tipped her a nod. “Understandable, my lady. Although I daresay any level of familiarity, either distant or close, would far outweigh what the men here can rightly claim.”
“Now, see here,” blustered Viscount Bryant in a show of personal affront. “I was told there would be three suitors in attendance—”
Frances lowered down into the chair Jonathan had pulled out for her, and hitched her frail shoulders into a shrug. “There must have been some mistake, my lords, but I did send out four invitations.” Her eyes met Caroline’s and her lips quirked into a smile. “My apologies.”
A single sob escaped Caroline before she clapped a hand over her mouth and sat back down. Mortified, she risked a glance at Eliza, who had also lowered into her chair and was staring over at Thomas who looked surprisingly . . . unsurprised. Come to think of it, Eliza didn’t seem nearly as shocked as Caroline would have expected.
Jonathan bowed politely to the duchess, whose silence spoke volumes about the state of her confusion, before taking his seat next to Frances.
“Thank you for having me, Your Grace.”
Unable to even form a sensible reply, Caroline’s mother simply nodded. When her husband finally appeared at the door, he beckoned to her. Placing her napkin on the table, she rose to a stand and left the room with the duke.
The ill-tempered Earl of Davenport must have decided he was finished playing second, third and fourth fiddle to the rest of the men, for he suddenly tossed his napkin aside and stood to survey those gathered in abhorrence.
“I have never . . .” he sputtered, jowls trembling as he foundered for words and came up short. “In all my days!”
The earl stalked from the dining room in a huff just seconds before the footmen entered with the first course. Their shock at finding that nearly half of the guests were no longer at the table was almost comical, and after a few uneasy glances between them, went ahead with service anyway. Caroline stared down at her plate, desperate to avoid the curious stares. Then she made the mistake of allowing herself to look at Jonathan. His wavy hair gleamed like polished bronze beneath the yellow glow of the candles, and it was clear from the intensity of his expression that he had no desire to eat dinner. In fact, it seemed that he’d much prefer to devour her.
Her heart hammered in a series of poorly timed thump
s.
“So tell me, Cartwick,” said Thomas in an obvious attempt to break the tension. “Do you plan on returning to America or have you decided to settle in the English countryside?”
Jonathan’s gaze shifted to the viscount.
“Moving back to America was never an option for me, given the conditions of my entailment.”
Eliza stared. “But wouldn’t that mean leaving the shipbuilding empire your family worked so hard to build?”
“Yes, but my brother has things well in hand. Soon my mother will rejoin him and I will be left here to carry on alone.” His eyes flicked over to Caroline. “Or not alone.”
He wanted her to join him. Her heart fluttered painfully at the thought.
With a little help from Frances, Jonathan had decided to take matters into his own hands. She couldn’t deny that his willingness to pursue her was not just unexpected, it was thrilling as well.
Baron Horne chimed in from beside her. “Wait. Are you telling me that Viscount Bryant and I are to be considered alongside a man in trade?”
“I believe one would now refer to me as landed gentry,” Cartwick replied sardonically. “But I would not be averse to finding new opportunities here in England.”
Thomas appraised him thoughtfully from his side of the table. “How do you feel about cotton mills?”
The idea of Evanston teaming up with the same man who’d been instrumental in displacing his wife seemed nothing short of traitorous. Luckily, Jonathan laughed at the notion.
“Don’t patronize me, Lord Evanston.”
The corners of the viscount’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “Stand down, Mr. Cartwick . . . I’ve been thinking about it, and you and I have no quarrel. In fact, without you here to claim the estate, I may have never tempted my fair wife into matrimony.”
Eliza rolled her eyes heavenward. “I think you would have probably found a way.”
“Yes,” Jonathan replied. “Surely you give me altogether too much credit for that.”
Caroline frowned in dismay, her eyes darting frantically between each of them. She would have definitely expected more of a reaction from Eliza, but she’d greeted her husband’s casual discussion of the entailment with nothing more than a little sarcasm.
Waiting for a Rogue Page 25
