And nearly drove them apart.
Elizabeth found a rose that had somehow avoided her attentions. She tore a petal off it and let it fall to the floor. “Likely she is feigning interest. How could one such as she have such an interest?”
“Easily. And her interest is far from feigned. She has written articles on the subject any man would be proud to own.”
“Including you?”
“Including me.”
Another petal fluttered down. “Did you write them for her?”
“Why would I do that? No, she wrote them before we met.” He had to somehow calm this woman down. Even if she had behaved badly and showed nothing but spite to Damaris and her family, the Illingworths could ruin the chances for the two unmarried Dersinghams.
Besides, in a reluctant way, he could understand Elizabeth’s desperation. For that was what it was. “Elizabeth, we would not have suited. We would both have been unhappy.”
If looks could kill, he’d have dropped to the floor, stone dead by now. But he was made of stronger stuff than that. “I do have my interests, and they do not include spending time in ballrooms. Or even in town, except for occasional visits. You need a man much more interested in society. A politician, perhaps. You would make a marvelous political hostess.”
Was he mistaken, or did a spark of something other than fury lighten her eyes?
“I have said I would marry a duke. After my betrothed died, I made up my mind to settle for an earl. But he married into trade. I cannot believe he did that!” She was talking about Damaris’ brother. “Naturally he would.” There came that sneer again. “He grew up cheek by jowl with them. He has resorted to his natural level.” Gerald had inherited the title unexpectedly, but he was every bit as well-born as he was, or Elizabeth for that matter. But Logan would not remonstrate with her. Not tonight, when his mother had served her such a cruel turn. “And his sisters.”
“Elizabeth, think. Titles aren’t everything. Pitt doesn’t have a title to his name, but he is one of the most powerful men in the country. Walpole was a mere baronet. Would it not be more of a triumph to make a man into a duke, rather than marry one ready made?”
The stalk of the rose tumbled to the floor. “What are you talking about? Are you trying to make me look even more foolish than I do already?”
If she did not take his point, then she had no substance, was not a woman worth continuing with, and he would continue as he had started.
He had planted the seed. That was all he could do. “The world is changing, Elizabeth, and we must change with it. We’ll have a new king before too long, and who knows what a difference that will make? We haven’t had a young man on the throne for nearly a century. Look at the way fields are changing in appearance while farmers adopt different practices, and sink mines on their properties. In ten years, marrying a duke could be a liability.”
She scoffed, but the derisive snort was less pronounced. Very soon, she’d burst into tears, and he definitely did not want to be there for that. Perhaps he had gone too far with his last words.
“I agree, the death of your betrothed was deeply tragic, but you are still young, and you are lovely. You could have the world in the palm of your hand if you played your hand cleverly.”
He’d had enough, done as much as he could. He headed for the door, treading over the remains of a bouquet of hothouse flowers and at least two arrangements snatched out of the vases either side of the fireplace. “Or you could destroy your reputation entirely by becoming a spiteful virago. Nobody will want to marry you then.”
“My family will destroy anyone who dares to show the Dersinghams any favors!” she declared as he opened the door. But she spoke quieter, and as if repeating a passage learned by rote. “We will set society alight, you see if we do not!”
After all, the choice was hers. Logan wanted her to choose the right way, to use her undoubted intelligence to work out the best strategy for her future. He could do no more here.
Damaris did not allow her family a great deal of conversation when they arrived home. Glad that in this house she had a room of her own, she retired upstairs, and went to bed at the scandalously early hour of midnight. Before she turned over to fall asleep, she ran her fingers over the smooth leather of the telescope case, which lay on her nightstand. Her betrothal gift. She could not think of a better gift.
In the morning, she would wrap the fan and return it to Sir Peter. With tonight’s excitement, she had clear forgot.
Somewhat to her surprise, Damaris slept the night through, waking at eight with a start, as Murray tiptoed into her room. She sat up with a start, her thoughts carrying on directly where they had left off. “The fan, Murray, the one with the diamonds. I should return it.”
“You have two notes, my lady.” Murray dropped them on the covers. “Shall I lay out the apple green?”
“Yes, yes.” Distracted, she picked up the notes. The first, from Sir Peter, was a terse note to request the pleasure of an interview with her at eleven. That was early, well before the usual visiting hour. The second was from her betrothed. Repeating the word in her mind, helping herself to become accustomed to it, she broke the seal.
My dearest wife-to-be,
I will do myself the greatest honor of calling on you at noon, if you are up (and even if you are not). I would discuss our plans for our future nuptials. Of course, I expect your aunt to be present, and if possible, your brother. We have a contract to sign, and quickly, too. I have sent a similar note to your brother and your aunt. Except for the part in parentheses, naturally.
Yours ever,
He’d signed it with a bold, flourishing word, but it wasn’t his title. He’d used his first name. That meant as much as everything he had said. Compared to Sir Peter’s terse missive it was a positive model of politesse. But she had to admit, Sir Peter was the loser in this confrontation. She would see him, but she would ask one of her sisters, or Matilda, to be present. He might yet try to compromise her.
Accordingly, when the front doorbell clanged on the stroke of eleven, she was sitting demurely in the best sitting room at the front of the house, with Matilda by her side on the big sofa. He was in the room and bowing to them before the clock on the mantelpiece had finished chiming the hour. He shot Matilda a glance of acid disapproval, but so fast Damaris nearly missed it, for his face was blandly pleasant when he turned back to her. His bow was, as always, perfect. “Madam, do I still congratulate you?”
“If you please.” She held out the fan. “And I would like to return this to you. It was very kind of you to let me use it.” She couldn’t resist the last. He might realize that she knew the fan was far more valuable than a casual gift.
He tossed it aside carelessly. The pretty bauble bounced off the back of a chair, tumbling to the floor, where the box broke open. The fan lay inside, glittering in the sunlight. As a dramatic gesture, it was adequate.
Damaris had never seen Sir Peter perturbed. His assured, polished demeanor had never broken in her presence. This time, she didn’t deny his right to be upset, but she would far rather he was upset somewhere else. “Keep it as a reminder of what you could have had,” he said dismissively.
“Sir, I never promised you anything. I made my choice.”
“It should have been me.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he strode to the window, and then back again.
“Do sit down, sir,” Matilda said.
He ignored her, and continued to address Damaris as if she were the only person in the room. “I have courted you, madam. I have a title, modest to be sure, but I am expecting an elevation shortly. I would have told you that, had you waited. The king, no less, is interested in my donations to the Royal Society, and my research. I will not be so vulgar as to mention my wealth.”
Then the king did not know much about astronomy, because Sir Peter’s work was strictly pedestrian. But he could have bought his way to a title. Informally, naturally, since they were honors, but the practice was not unknown. “Then I mus
t congratulate you, sir.”
He continued to pace. “I had to bring my proposal forward, but I could not bear the thought of losing you. I nearly succeeded, did I not?”
“Only because you told me that the Duke of Glenbreck had left London. That was unkind of you.”
And Lady Elizabeth’s letter, although he had no hand in that.
He lifted a hand, as if to rake it through his hair, but that would have dislodged his wig. He dropped his hand by his side with a slap of flesh against fabric, a slightly sinister sound. It disturbed Damaris. She’d heard that sound before. It had frequently been followed by the rip of fabric. Her father’s shamelessness, heard easily through closed doors might start with a slap, then a giggle, and more slaps. She forced herself not to flinch, annoyed that after all these years that sound had the same effect. Making her cringe, at least inwardly.
Sir Peter grunted. “Indeed, I will not give up. I cannot bear the thought of losing you, and I will not.”
The protestation should have brought her a sense of triumph, but Damaris felt far from triumphant. She wanted him to leave but surely he deserved his say. “I regret that I treated you so shabbily yesterday, sir,” she ventured. “However, when my life’s happiness is involved I considered that more important than society’s expectations.”
His lip curled in a sneer. “I should have expected that from a jumped-up Cit. However, once you enter more exalted company, better behavior is expected of you. Society should know better than to let such people as you into its ranks.”
By now, Damaris was trembling with rage. How could he say such things?
Before she could speak, Matilda opened her mouth. “How dare you address us so? The only matter that makes you superior to us is your money. But society does not discuss money, does it? When I came here, I heard that was vulgar. So we will not discuss that. As for the rest, we outrank you and, it appears our manners are better than yours. Please leave this house, and do not return.”
Once more, Sir Peter ignored Matilda. It occurred to Damaris that he was giving her the cut direct. Since Matilda had made herself busy making some influential acquaintances recently, that was a dangerous path to take. Perhaps his passion really did overcome his behavior.
But he should not speak so of her beloved family. If he left here in this mood, Damaris was fully aware that he would speak ill of her and her family to anyone he met. If vulgar and bad-mannered were the worst, she would be getting away lightly. And yet, she had considered him her friend.
Steeling herself, determined he would not see her shake, Damaris firmed her jaw and faced him, getting to her feet and standing firm. Sir Peter was a tall man, but her lack of height did not daunt Damaris. “In case you did not hear my aunt, she asked you to leave. I repeat her request.”
To her shock, Sir Peter fell to his knees.
“Please get up. You have become fond of doing that but this is one time too many.”
He gazed up at her, his eyes pleading. “I regret my passion but I am more than disappointed at losing you, Damaris. I am heartbroken. I can only humbly request that you reconsider your decision. I will be waiting. I will never stop waiting because I know you are making the wrong decision. I pray you do not make any more. Will you give me until the end of the season?”
She pulled her hand away when he tried to take it in his. “I will not. I can promise nothing of the kind.” She was about to inform him that Logan wanted to marry her “very soon” but that might send him into the kind of passion she wanted to avoid. Better he did not know.
He stayed kneeling for far too long. Damaris remained where she was, her hands clasped tightly before her so that he could not grab one.
Eventually, heaving a sigh that must have reached to the depths of his stomach, he got to his feet. He kept his head bowed. “I asked for a private meeting with you. It is the least you could do after spending a whole night with the duke in Greenwich. Oh, yes, I know about that. You spent the night alone with him in a small room which contained only one bed.”
Both ignored Matilda’s gasp.
“I would have forgiven you that if you had accepted my offer.”
Damaris heard Sir Peter’s threat loud and clear. If she did not accept his offer, he would tell everyone in society what she had done with Logan that night in Greenwich. She did not pause to consider how he had discovered her transgression. Even dukes had servants who gossiped. Not for one minute did she suspect her sisters, Matilda, or either of the two dukes who knew. She had mentioned the servants to Logan but he had brushed aside her concerns. She would have to tell Logan when he visited so that he was prepared to face the gossips.
“I will not dignify your comment with an answer. However, I will say that I am adamant in my reply to you. I will not marry you, Sir Peter.”
“We shall see,” he growled, and spun around. When he strode to the door he took a slight detour to where the fan lay, and took pleasure in standing on it until the sticks cracked. Damaris turned her back, more concerned with Matilda than she was with the diamond-encrusted trinket. “I’m sorry he cut you like that, Matilda.”
Matilda shrugged. “I’m not. I am delighted that he showed us his true colors. It’s much better when you can stare your enemy in the face.” She got to her feet and settled her skirts, outwardly calm, but her fingers uncharacteristically fumbled on the fine pink silk. “Although I suspected his superior attitude, I was not aware such maliciousness was part of his nature.” She nodded at Damaris. “You’ll make a good duchess, my dear. That was perfectly done. We will, however, have to take steps to ensure he doesn’t have London to himself, so to speak. We are finding our places in society, and I think I can guarantee you some support.” She paused. “Come. I told them to hold breakfast for us.”
So practical, Matilda put Damaris’ dilemma in a nutshell and Damaris’ appetite returned.
An hour later, Damaris waited for her betrothed in an entirely different state of mind. She sat in the small parlor at the front of the house, not the drawing room in all its splendor. In the room behind her, the study Damaris usually shared with her sisters, Matilda waited with her brother, ready to discuss the contract.
This time when the doorbell clanged and the front door opened, Damaris had to clench her fists to stop herself flying out to meet him. He would likely not appreciate that, and Matilda would most definitely disapprove.
However, when he came into the parlor, she did leap up from her chair and into his outstretched arms. Their lips met in a kiss, as if they’d been doing this forever. He held her close and took her as if she already belonged to him, sweetly and passionately. When he finished the kiss, he did not let her go. “I take it from your welcome that we are alone?”
“We have ten minutes, Matilda says. Then she will come in. She is waiting with Gerald through there.” She indicated the connecting door with a jerk of her head. “Who is to say that door isn’t open?”
“Indeed. Well met, my lady.”
She liked that. “Well met, my lord. Your grace.” The correction came automatically.
“Logan,” he murmured, cupping her cheek.
“Logan.”
She got another kiss for that. But when they had done, she didn’t have much time left. “Sir Peter visited today. I tried to return his fan, but he wouldn’t let me. He broke it instead. He was not happy.”
“Did he upset you?”
“Not much.” She went on quickly before he could interrupt her. “I need to tell you that he knows about our—evening in Greenwich and what we did there.” His arms tightened around her. “He has threatened to spread the gossip, and say that I trapped you into marrying me. I did not, I swear I didn’t.”
“I know you didn’t.” He touched his lips to her forehead. She loved the freedom she had to touch him and caress him, and the way he treated her, so gently but with such banked passion. “That night was as much my fault as yours.” He stared outside, then back at her. “Then we must remedy that. Don’t worry, I have th
e perfect response, but I won’t waste our short time here telling you. I’ll talk to your brother, too.”
“They will say I’m not suitable.”
“The jealous cats will. Perhaps they will believe that I’m poverty-stricken, or an uncouth Scot.” His soft smile warmed her from her toes up. “I’m sure I can manage to support a wife in a certain amount of luxury and without any signs of uncouthness.” Releasing her with one hand, he dipped into his pocket and came out with a ring. “A gift to mark our betrothal. Not your wedding ring, I do not have that yet, but I will remedy that shortly.”
Lifting her hand, he slipped a circlet of gold topped by a large, richly red stone. A ruby.
The moment stood out of time and, right then and there, she knew it always would. Whatever happened next, she’d remember this.
He sealed the gift, lifting it to his lips and kissing it, then touching his lips to hers in a kiss that was more a promise than a caress.
After some diplomatic fumbling, giving them time to break apart, the connecting door opened, and Matilda stood in the opening. “We’d like you to come through, if you would,” she said after greeting Logan.
Logan kept hold of Damaris’ hand, as if reluctant to stop touching her. He ushered her through to the next room, where two chairs waited for them before the big desk that dominated the space. Behind the mahogany surface, Annie sat on the big chair and Gerald stood by her side. A stack of papers were lined up neatly.
Damaris liked the implied activity. “We’re happy to welcome you to the family,” Gerald said after shaking Logan’s hand. “Under the right circumstances, of course.”
Logan took a seat, taking Damaris’ hand once more and threading his fingers through hers. “Sooner than we all planned, I think. Damaris informs me that Sir Peter is probably spreading malicious rumors even as we speak. They will be damaging unless we counter them.” Gerald gave a terse, tight-lipped nod of agreement. “Then we will take the teeth out of his story. Damaris and I will marry next week, on Tuesday, most likely. I will obtain a special license on Monday.”
A Hint of Starlight Page 21
