by Stacy Reid
“Is…is that bad?” his brother asked.
Michael faced him. “Very much so. I…I cannot imagine life without her, it seems.”
Thomas's eyes widened, and his brother’s start of shock was almost comical. “What does that mean! She is not suitable to be your wife!”
Michael lifted the glass to his lips and downed it in one swallow. “Why not?”
“Well!” Thomas spluttered. “You are Viscount Worsley, your wealth is unmatched even by dukes! What does she have to offer?”
“Her kindness recommends her,” Michael said gruffly. “Her utter joy for life and living, the way her eyes light up when she sees me, the beauty of her heart. The way she makes me feel…” God. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He sounded like a damn moon-calf poet.
“I see,” Thomas said a bit weakly, a contemplative look in his eyes.
Last night she had whispered, “I love you,” and every place inside him that had been cold, empty, and frustratingly blank had been filled with a sense of wonder. Pieces which had been cracked and damaged slowly came back together healed throughout the day. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on his meetings to his friends’ great amusement. His mind had been crowded with images of her…a bright smile, a cheeky wink, the lascivious way he had taken her, her soft lips…everything about her had been imprinted on his heart.
I know your worth.
Her letter did not mention if she would be open to an offer to be his wife, and doubt quivered through him. He realized then he did not know what she hoped for in the future and if she would have any space for him in it. Then he recalled her greatest dream was for a family of her own and to live life freely. I can give you that, Marianne. The surety of it bloomed through him.
But would she want him? A man she believed to be only a rake and wicked libertine?
“I must go to her,” Michael muttered.
“The hell you say!”
He had forgotten Thomas was still in the drawing-room. He looked at his brother, noting the misery in his eyes and the frown on his mouth. And suddenly Michael understood. “You love Lucy Ashbrook.”
His brother was silent for a long time. “Yes, I do.”
“You are a damn coward for not doing anything about it.”
Thomas’s gaze snapped to him, and in his brother’s eyes Michael spied a deep shame and pain. “I am…I fear there is nothing I can say to her that will allow her to forgive me. And…I am engaged.”
Michael thought how different his brother was. Michael did not give a damn what society thought about his choices. He wanted Miss Marianne Ashbrook, and the only thing that could keep him from her would be the lady’s objection.
“If you wish to break your engagement…do so!”
“And the scandal?” Thomas demanded, with a hopeful look in his eyes.
“Damn the scandal,” Michael said ruthlessly. Then the image of Marianne’s face came to him, and in her eyes, he saw abject censure and disappointment. Bloody hell! Before knowing her, he wouldn’t have even been bothered by the consequences of a broken engagement to the girl and her family. But Marianne expected him to be kind and thoughtful. Michael scowled down into his drink.
Ah, Marianne how you’ve altered my heart.
“If you need my permission or blessings to go for Lucy Ashbrook, you are a damn fool. But if you do need it, you have it. I will also speak with Lord Kenwood.”
The glass dropped from Thomas’s hands, and he raked his fingers through his hair, mussing the strands. “I might really go for her?”
“Yes.”
His brother closed his eyes. “That is what I wanted to speak to you about,” he admitted hoarsely. “I have known for the last few weeks I cannot marry Lady Sarah. Miss Ashbrook does not know it, but I wait by the park daily to catch a glimpse of her and…and Lizzie. And each day, I think that should be Lucy pushing our daughter in her perambulator. I then imagine how Lucy must be devastated to not have her child with her…and I feel wretched. I cannot marry Sarah, but I do not want to hurt another lady. But Lucy! She haunts me, Michael!”
And he understood, for everything in him felt owned by Marianne Ashbrook.
Chapter 17
Lucy had been set up in a five-bedroom townhouse in Bath near Camden Place. She had a butler, maids, a cook, a lady’s maid, and even a footman! Her sister seemed quite accepted by the society there, considering she was called upon daily by many of the most respected notables residing in the town. Although now she was known as Lucy Elliot, the name chosen from one of her favorite novel heroines. Lucy had assumed widowhood and had made a friend with another charming girl who was the daughter of a baronet.
Lucy had also applied her heartbreak and experiences to write a gothic romance novel which she had just finished. Marianne had stayed up for a few nights reading, because she found it hard to sleep at all. The very idea was splendid, and in the story of the novel, the dastardly villain who had gotten the heroine pregnant after trapping her in a tower, came back and married her. It was easy to see the desperate dreams Lucy still held in her heart and Marianne had wept for them both and their foolish hearts.
Marianne had been with her sister for a week now, and each day she felt as if loneliness would suffocate her. Her sister’s company was wonderful, but the pain in her heart lingered too deeply. Marianne did not like it at all and hid from the overwhelming feelings by reading. A knock sounded on her bedroom door, and before she could answer, it was opened, and Lucy strolled in, looking the very picture of elegance. She wore a pale-yellow muslin dress with a cinched waist and close-fitting bodice trimmed with white lace, and a matching hat was perched atop her curls.
“I plan to call upon Venetia, and then we shall visit the pump room, would you like to accompany me?” Lucy said with a bright smile.
Marianne attempted to smile and failed miserably. “I do not feel equal to the task. Perhaps another time.”
“You have been saying this to me for the last few days. I can tell that something is awfully wrong,” Lucy cried, coming over to sit on the bed. “You have been very morose but endeavoring to be brave. I can see the pain in your eyes because it is what I have in my heart daily! Will you not confide in me? Is it Lizzie…” Lucy’s voice broke, and she clasped her gloved hands in a tight grip.
With a gasp, Marianne sat up and grabbed her sister’s hands between hers. “Of course not! Lizzie is…Lizzie is wonderful!” Then she took a deep breath. “There is something I must confess to you…and I did not want to because I cannot bear hurting you more.”
Green eyes, very much like her own, lifted her to Marianne’s and she saw how much Lucy had grown in the strength she spied there.
“Tell me,” she said quietly.
And then she revealed it all.
Lucy swayed but then held onto her wits with admirable composure. “Thomas…he is not Lord Worsley and Lizzie is living with the viscount, but he is her uncle, and that is where you have been for the last several weeks?”
Marianne took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Oh, Marianne, I cannot credit he would deceive me so. I love…I loved him, not the idea of his title and wealth.” She swiped away the tears coursing down her cheeks. “I can also tell you have fallen in love with Lord Worsley.”
Marianne stood and went over to the windows overlooking the streets of the town. “It does not matter.”
“Did he break your heart too?”
“No,” she whispered. “But it is empty, and the things it needs to be filled with will never happen.” She frowned at the carriage that pulled up outside at the entrance. Then shock bloomed through her as Mr. Thomas St. Ives descended, taking off his hat and crushing it in his hands.
“Lucy!”
She scrambled to her feet. “What is it?” she asked, rushing over.
When she saw him, she lurched back, gripping Marianne’s shoulder. “Why is he here?”
She whirled at her sister’s cry of alarm. The hope in Lucy’s eyes strangled Marianne�
��s breath.
“You would forgive him?” she asked her softly.
Lucy burst into tears, “I do not know. Because of him, our child is a bastard and might never find her place in this world! But Marianne I still love that wretched man with every beat of my heart.”
Marianne hugged her sister to her. “She will. Her uncle is powerful and will do everything for her. I also suspect for Mr. St. Ives to be here it means he wants you and her. She will have you, her loving and devoted mother to guide her, and she will always have me.”
Lucy nodded.
“Now compose yourself, wash your face and go down to him.”
Her sister laughed and walked away. She gripped the knob and opened the door.
“Lucy?”
She glanced over her shoulder at Marianne. “Yes?”
“Let him grovel!”
Her sister’s eyes widened and then she nodded, before closing the door and hurrying down the stairs. Marianne exhaled a sharp breath, and her wretched curiosity urged her to follow her sister and eavesdrop. She giggled and tossing her head she hurriedly shed her nightgown. She picked a light blue day dress with a tight waist and high lace collar. She hurried down the stairs to see the drawing-room door ajar, and two of Lucy’s maids hovering close by. When they saw Marianne they scampered away, and she shamelessly went closer.
Mr. St. Ives was on his knees, peering up at Lucy, who seemed indifferent to his pleas.
“My sweet Lucy, I beg you, please put me out of my misery and consent to be my wife.”
“Why should I?” she said with a haughty lift of her chin. “I am now a woman of independent means. I have this charming home and my own money. I also have a bevy of beaux demanding dances from me every night at the assembly rooms. I do not need you, Thomas!”
His face crumpled, and he staggered to his feet, and from where she stood, Marianne could see the agony on his face.
“You don’t need me,” he said softly. “and I am glad for it. But I fervently hope you could forgive me and learn to want me again as desperately as I want you, Lucy.”
Her sister stared at him, and her lips wobbled, but to Marianne’s shock she simply said, “I shall think about it, now if you will excuse me, I have to call upon my dear friend.”
“I am staying at The White Hart hotel,” he said, “Will you permit me to call upon you tomorrow?”
Marianne walked away, missing her sister’s reply. A burst of pride filled her chest, knowing that everything would be quite well with her sister. The relief of it almost dragged Marianne to her knees, and deep down, a part of her knew that somehow Michael had something to do with Thomas’s presence.
A few days later, Marianne departed Bath, leaving Lucy to run her tangled web around Thomas. Each day he visited, publicly courting her, and Lucy would remain aloof but then scream her happiness when he left. Marianne did not want to remain in Bath, for she missed her parents and her sisters. Lucy had wanted to settle five hundred pounds on Marianne, and she had informed her she would think about it.
As the private coach Lucy had hired to transport her rumbled over the rocky country road, Marianne turned her thoughts to her future. Settling down in Biddleton seemed impossible after only seeing a little of the world. Perhaps she could take the money Lucy offered, and her younger sister, Ruth, who was one and twenty, and perhaps hire a lady companion, then take a trip to Italy. She had no idea if the money would stretch that far, but it was a beautiful dream, one that would take her far away from Michael. She did not think she could bear to see him for many years to come.
There they could explore the ruins; maybe eventually the hollowness in her heart would be filled, and life would once again seem bright with endless adventures and possibilities. She let out a sigh of relief as her home came into view. Marianne had been traveling for several days, staying in respectable inns each night, and then leaving early the very next day to continue her journey home. Seeing that large cottage and inhaling the scent of a freshly baked cake, a sense of peace filled her chest.
The steps of the coach were knocked down, and she got off the carriage. The curtain in the parlor shifted, and a face peeked out the window.
“Marianne is home,” Sarah cried.
The coachman set down her valises, and she located some coins which were hidden in a reticule deep within her hatbox and tipped him generously. He smiled, hopped onto his seat, and urged his horse away. When she turned around, her papa was there, coming down those small steps.
The wide smile which had curved his lips faded as he stared into her face. He flinched, and pain darkened his eyes. Marianne’s heart broke into smaller pieces. He knew! She did not know what he saw in her face, but he knew. Emotions rose to choke her, and her lips trembled. She was mortified to feel the tears spilling over. Bracing for his anger…or worse his disappointment she closed her eyes on a choked gasp.
“Marianne.”
She opened her eyes at that soft entreaty. Her papa stood with his arms wide open. Dropping her hatbox on the ground, she hurled into his arms, sobbing her heart out against his chest.
* * *
“I beg your pardon?” The Earl of Kenwood said, his eyes darkening with shock and anger. “Your brother is breaking the engagement?”
“Yes,” Michael smoothly replied, wondering if he should point out to the man that his daughter, the very one they were discussing, was hiding behind the peach-colored drapes and listening to their conversation. That bit of naughty spirit amused him. Now he understood the ruinous manner in which the girl had acted. She was both willful and impetuous.
The earl’s dark slashing brows lowered, and he narrowed his brown eyes threateningly. “I’ll not allow it! It has already been announced! How dare you, Worsley? I’ll sue your brother for breach of promise and—”
“I know about Lady Sarah’s unfortunate little accident,” he said softly. Michael had ruthlessly searched for any secrets the man might have, hoping for any leverage to ensure he came out the winner in this negotiation. Once again, he saw Marianne’s disappointed green eyes, and he scowled.
“She was caught kissing your solicitor. A very ambitious man with dreams of holding a seat in parliament. Not the worst suitor she could have found. I even heard say that she is deeply in love with the young man, and that he sought her hand in marriage but you do not approve of the match.”
The earl’s cheeks went ruddy. “That was weeks’ ago, only a kiss, and I fired him!”
“Nevertheless…I must insist the contract be canceled because you cannot expect my brother to marry a girl who is in love with another man.”
“No, I’ll not—”
The curtains were parted with such vigor they were nearly torn from their hooks, and a very beautiful young lady who could not be a day over seventeen rushed out from behind them, her hands clasped to her cheeks in a dramatic fashion.
“Papa! Surely you know Neil owns my heart! I shall die and be prostrate with grief if you do not allow me to marry him.” Her lips wobbled, and tears pooled into wide, big, beautiful golden-brown eyes.
With a groan, the earl stood. “Sarah! What did I tell you about hiding—”
“Papa!” she cried, stomping her feet. “I shall run away with him, I shall if you do not consent! I do not want to marry that odious Thomas St. Ives. Surely you must see that. Neil—.”
“Mr. Stanton!” her father roared. “He is Mr. Stanton to you.”
The girl did not even flinch at her father’s anger, and Michael realized then how much the man had spoilt her. He came to his feet, amused by it all.
“Mr. Stanton,” she said, “did not seek to kiss me or do anything wrong. He has always been scrupulously respectful. I heard you coming, Papa, and threw myself in his arms. Of course, he was helpless after that to resist my charms,” she said with a pretty blush.
Good God.
Her father stared at her as if she had gone mad, and Michael swore he saw the formation of a few gray hairs at the earl’s temple right before his
very eyes! Imagine that.
“I believe I shall take my leave,” he said smoothly.
“By God, Worsley, you will not leave!” the earl snapped, and in his eyes, Michael saw desperation.
It was that look and the image of Marianne’s censure which gave him pause. “To atone for my brother’s change of mind which I acknowledge is ungentlemanly conduct, I will settle a sum of twenty-five thousand pounds on your daughter.” He would never mention he knew of the earl’s impoverished state, and that was the reason the man had been so eager for an alliance with his family.
“Thirty-five thousand pounds!” the Earl countered.
A drop in the bucket of Michael’s wealth. He cocked his head, thinking of the debts he had discovered the man owed. That amount should see him above water. “Done.”
Relief rushed from the earl, and he gave him a considering glance. “Why did you do this, Worsley? You have the upper hand because of my daughter’s ridiculous behavior. Thirty-five thousand pounds is no small matter.”
“Papa!”
They ignored her.
Michael shrugged. “It is what Miss Ashbrook would want.”
The bold chit stepped forward. “I also demand at least ten thousand pounds for my dowry. I am certain Miss Ashbrook would want that as well considering the damage your brother will do to my reputation once it is learned the engagement is no more!”
“I will allow you, Lady Sarah, the latitude of calling off the engagement for, of course, marrying a man you love, a rising star in politics who will have my support.”
Interest lit in her eyes, and her father choked when she held out a hand for a shake.
“Very well, I shall count on your support for Neil…Mr. Stanton, in addition to the funds for my dowry. Imagine how distressed Miss Ashbrook would be if she learned otherwise.”
Amusement curled through him. He shook her hand. “Done.”
She clapped her hands in glee, and the stunned Lord Kenwood could only stare at him.
