Christina closed her eyes, shaking her head at the idea. “But even if it is so,” she answered, “there is nothing that can be done. Lord Fulham will not agree to his son’s marriage to anyone who has no wealth. And even if we were to confront him about what we have overheard, the debt my father owes still remains.” Her heart began to sink, despair beginning to grow within her. “It is to Lord Fulham that he owes the debt, not to Mr. Markham.”
Lord Harlow smiled warmly despite the heaviness of her words.
“Do not give up so quickly, Lady Christina,” he told her. “We have an opportunity to, perhaps, speak openly to Mr. Markham. To have him tell us the truth of his situation. I must begin to believe that the façade he presents is nothing more than a mask; a mask that he places upon himself in order to ensure that he behaves as is expected.”
Christina frowned. “A gentleman is obedient to no one but himself,” she said, speaking from what she knew. “What expectations can you speak of?” She knew very well that most gentlemen behaved appropriately at public functions but that, during their times away from the public eye, they often did as they wished. A lady could be ruined by a simple mistake, whereas a gentleman could do as he pleased and never really be thrown from society as a lady might.
Lord Harlow’s smile remained, and, daringly, he reached out to brush his fingers down her cheek. “A gentleman can be forced to abide by the wishes of his father,” he said with an air of understanding that told her he had been subject to such a situation. “And Lord Fulham does not appear to be a man able to set aside his own wishes, but rather seems to focus entirely on what he wants—and, therefore, he has high expectations for his son.”
“I can hardly believe that to be true,” Christina answered, her skin warm and her heart beating furiously at the merest touch of his hand. “But if it is as you say, how are we to have him admit to it?”
Lord Harlow hesitated. “I am not yet sure,” he told her honestly. “But I shall, however, endeavor to discover a little more about him this evening.” His smile was bright, and the light in his eyes brought a fresh hope to her heart. “And mayhap, you might acquaint yourself with Lady Burroughs?”
“An excellent idea, Lord Harlow!” Lady Newfield declared as Christina began to smile. “That may, in fact, unsettle Mr. Markham all the more—to the point that he might be more willing to speak openly to you later this evening.”
Lord Harlow beamed but then shook his head, his smile fading away. “I do not like having to bid you farewell, Lady Christina, but I must hope that, very soon, there shall be no barriers between us.”
“I cannot wait for that day,” she told him truthfully. “And I must now begin to believe that it is not so far away.”
“It is not,” he swore, taking her hand and bowing over it again, her heart beginning to ache as she realized their time together was now at an end—at least, for the moment. “I shall write to you tomorrow, Lady Christina.”
“I shall be waiting,” she told him, regret within her heart as she watched him walk away.
Lady Newfield stepped towards her at once, clearly aware that there was a sorrow within Christina’s heart at that moment.
“Shall we go to speak to Lady Burroughs?” she asked, catching Christina’s attention and pulling her away from the shadows. “You shall dance with Lord Harlow very soon, and that, I am sure, must please you.”
It was something Christina had quite forgotten and, thus encouraged, she slipped her arm through Lady Newfield’s, and they began to make their way through the ballroom.
“I am acquainted with Lady Burroughs through my friendship with her mother, Lady Sullinger,” Lady Newfield explained, her steps slow but her attention fixed on finding the lady in question. “Lady Sullinger often told me of her sorrow over her daughter’s betrothal and her subsequent marriage.” Her brows drew together, and her mouth tightened. “Gentlemen such as Lord Sullinger are entirely selfish, ignorant, and conceited. He should never have forced his daughter into such a marriage, but he only looked to his own wellbeing rather than that of his daughter.”
“He is not the first gentleman to have done so, and certainly will not be the last,” Christina murmured. “My own father has always been very good to me, I admit. I have been lucky.”
Lady Newfield turned her head to look at her, her lip caught between her teeth for a moment, but before she could say anything, her eyes widened, and she stopped dead.
“I see her,” she said, halting Christina and herself. “Come, this way.” She patted Christina’s arm. “Allow me to make the introductions.”
“Of course,” Christina murmured, a tight ball settling in her stomach as they made their way together across the room. Lady Newfield meandered slowly, having no obvious intention, but Christina could feel the tension in her great-aunt’s arm.
“Ah, Lady Burroughs, is it not?”
Lady Newfield stopped and bobbed a quick curtsy as Lady Burroughs turned to them, a look of confusion on her face. It quickly faded away as Lady Newfield introduced herself again, enquiring as to how Lady Burroughs’ mother fared. As Lady Burroughs answered, her voice low and soft, Christina took a moment to study the lady. She appeared to be only a few years older than Christina—young indeed for a widow—with her fair hair curled at the back of her head, her eyes gentle, and a grace about her that could almost be felt.
Christina felt no wariness whatsoever.
“You must forgive my rudeness,” Lady Newfield said after Lady Burroughs had finished speaking. “Please, allow me to introduce Lady Christina. She is the daughter of the Earl of Enfield and my great-niece.”
A pair of blue eyes became fixed to Christina’s, and she curtsied quickly, noting that it took Lady Burroughs a few moments to return the gesture. When the lady raised her eyes again, there was no smile on her face. In fact, she did not appear to be at all delighted to meet Christina.
“It is very good to meet you,” Christina said after a moment or two of silence. “I am sorry to hear that your husband has passed away. That must be very difficult for you.”
Lady Burroughs flinched as though Christina had injured her. “It was over a year ago,” she said, a little tightly. “I do not feel any particular grief.”
It was a cold response, and Christina was a little surprised by it, although she tried to erase any indication of it from her expression.
“All the same, that must be difficult,” Lady Newfield said with a kindness in her voice that Lady Burroughs could not help but respond to. A small, sad smile crept over her face, and she nodded, looking back at Lady Newfield rather than focusing on Christina.
“It has been, yes,” she said softly. “After my year of mourning, I came back to society and found that all was not as I had expected.” As she spoke, her gaze slid towards Christina, but Christina only smiled, not at all eager to make the lady aware that she had an inkling as to what she was referring.
“Society is not as I thought either,” Christina answered, wondering if this might make Lady Burroughs a little warmer in her behavior towards her.
“But you are engaged, are you not?” Lady Burroughs asked, a little sharp in her tone. “That is surely what society expects? And what you have expected?”
“Indeed not,” Christina replied, shaking her head. “My own dear father was to allow me to make my own choice in matrimony, only for circumstances to change.” Knowing that she ought not to speak with such honesty to someone she had only just been introduced to, Christina held back her next words with great difficulty. Instead, she merely glanced towards Lady Newfield, who nodded with evident sympathy.
“You simply must allow me to call upon you, Lady Burroughs,” Lady Newfield said warmly. “I should like to see your mother again, of course, but if she is still at home, then that would prove a little more difficult, would it not?”
This made Lady Burroughs laugh. “Yes, it would, given the estate is so far away from London.” She smiled at Lady Newfield, clearly glad to have been offered the in
vitation. “I should like you to call, Lady Newfield. Whenever you would wish it.” Her eyes slid slowly towards Christina. “And, of course, you must bring your niece.”
This was said with a good deal less fervor, but that did not stop Lady Newfield from accepting with great enthusiasm.
“I look forward to becoming a little better acquainted with you, Lady Burroughs,” Christina said before Lady Burroughs then excused herself. As she stepped away, Christina caught sight of her betrothed.
“It seems Mr. Markham is watching us, Lady Newfield,” she said softly, turning her whole body away from him whilst Lady Newfield’s eyes sought him out amongst the crowd. “Is he there still?”
Lady Newfield nodded but smiled as though they were talking of something quite lovely. “His eyes fixed upon Lady Burroughs as she walked away and then returned to you,” she told Christina, who felt an uncomfortable prickling running up her spine. “Now he has turned away from you also. He is walking in the opposite direction, in fact.”
“That is odd, indeed,” Christina murmured, looking down at her dance card. “For we were to dance the very next dance—the first waltz of the evening.”
Lady Newfield chuckled, and Christina felt her heart lift within her chest. Whatever they had stumbled upon, it might well be the answer to her struggle against her unwelcome marriage.
“He appeared deeply unsettled, I will say,” Lady Newfield finished, sounding more than a little satisfied. “Let us hope that Lord Harlow finds out all that he can from Mr. Markham. Mark my words, Christina. We have stumbled upon something very interesting indeed!”
Chapter Eleven
To have not only spoken at length to Lady Christina, but to have danced with her twice, had left Richard with a feeling of joy in his heart. The evening had gone a good deal better than he had expected, for whatever Mr. Markham had been speaking of to Lady Burroughs, it was clearly of great importance. Finally, he felt as though he could hold onto something tangible, something that would give him a great hope for resolving this situation. All he had to do now was listen to Mr. Markham and allow him to speak as freely as he wished.
Whites was quite busy by the time Richard entered it, with many of the gentlemen already well into their cups. Determined to keep his mind clear, Richard ordered only one small brandy before requesting to know whether or not one Mr. Markham had already entered. Being told that the gentleman had not done so, he found himself a seat in a quiet corner, rested his head back, and let out a long breath.
“Lord Sturrock,” he heard someone say. “Another whisky?”
Instantly, Richard’s head lifted and he looked all around him, wondering where Lord Sturrock might be. Being quite certain that he had been introduced to him only the once, it took a moment or two for Richard to recognize him. The man was sitting forward in his chair, one elbow on his knee with his other hand gesticulating wildly as he held an empty brandy glass tightly within it. Laughing furiously, he threw his head back and slapped his knee, making Richard smile broadly. If he was to speak to Lord Sturrock—for he had not done so as yet—then now was a perfect opportunity to do so. And if Mr. Markham saw them in conversation, then all the better!
“Lord Sturrock!” he exclaimed, pushing himself out of his chair and coming across the room to the gentleman. “Were you at the ball this evening?”
Lord Sturrock’s eyes took a moment to focus on him before a smile slid across his face.
“Lord Harlow!” he cried, not rising from his chair. “No, I was not at the ball. I was with Lord Seaton for dinner this evening, as well as a few other guests.” He grinned, his words a little slurred. “It was, I will admit, an excellent evening.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Richard replied, sitting down near to Lord Sturrock as the gentlemen Lord Sturrock had been speaking with began to talk amongst themselves. “I had an enjoyable evening also, although perhaps not as good as your own!”
Lord Sturrock grinned and sat back in his chair. “There are to be a few card games, I am sure,” he said, gesturing to the busy room. “Or the finest French brandy whenever you wish!”
Richard chuckled but waved a hand no. “I cannot,” he said with a small sigh. “I am to meet with Mr. Markham. Not for anything in particular, you understand, but I cannot simply join a game of cards.”
Immediately, the smile faded from Lord Sturrock’s face. “Mr. Markham is to join you here?” he asked, a little darkly. “This evening?”
“Yes, very shortly, I hope,” Richard replied easily. “Are you acquainted with him?” He kept his tone light, hoping that this would prompt Lord Sturrock, and, after a few moments, it seemed he was successful.
“I am acquainted, yes,” Lord Sturrock said heavily. “An unfortunate acquaintance, however.”
Richard lifted one eyebrow. “Oh?”
Lord Sturrock shook his head and ran one hand through his hair, sending it in a messy heap. “That particular gentleman has promised me that he will repay a hefty debt, and, as yet, he has not managed to do so,” he said, the smile completely faded now. “The promises are nothing more than empty air.”
Shrugging, Richard spread his hands. “Then demand it,” he said as though it were as simple as that. “Force it from him in some way.”
At this remark, Lord Sturrock threw his head back and sighed heavily as though every last part of his breath was being pulled from him.
“I will not do that,” he said, his speech still a little slurred.
“And why not?”
Again came that heavy breath, and Richard found himself holding his, wondering what it was that Lord Sturrock was about to reveal.
“Because I am trying to be gentlemanly about things,” he said, deflating Richard’s hopes somewhat. “I do not like to demand, even when it is money that I am owed.”
“That is very good of you,” Richard remarked, sitting back in his seat. “I do not think that I would be as eager to do so.”
A small shrug met his words. “It is not Mr. Markham’s fault, in many ways,” Lord Sturrock said, closing his eyes. “Therefore, I must not behave improperly.”
Richard made to say more, a small movement catching his eye. As he turned his head, he saw Mr. Markham stop dead, looking at them both with wide eyes.
“Ah, there is Mr. Markham now,” Richard said in a very jovial manner. “Do excuse me, Lord Sturrock—and I wish you luck in whatever card games you intend to play this evening!”
Lord Sturrock chuckled but kept his eyes closed. “I thank you, Lord Harlow. Good evening.”
“Good evening,” Richard murmured, rising to his feet and making his way towards Mr. Markham. As he drew nearer, he saw how Mr. Markham dropped his gaze for a moment, hearing him clear his throat. Evidently, the man was doing all he could to regain his composure.
“Good evening, Mr. Markham!” Richard exclaimed, trying to sound as amiable as possible. “Do you have a drink to hand? They have some of the best brandy here, I must confess.” He smiled jovially, but the smile that was returned was nothing more than a flicker.
“Good evening,” Mr. Markham said, his eyes drifting across to where Richard had been sitting. “You have been speaking to Lord Sturrock, I see?”
Richard shrugged. “I am not particularly well acquainted with him, but I thought it best to greet him,” he replied. “Now, shall we sit down somewhere? I am rather fatigued after the ball this evening, as I am sure you must be also!”
Mr. Markham said nothing but instead walked past Richard towards the corner of the room, where it was quieter. He sat down hard, his face set and his hands curling tightly around the arms of the chair.
Richard chose to keep a jovial tone.
“Lord Sturrock was just informing me that there are to be a few games of cards this evening,” he said, gesturing back towards the fellow. “If you are interested, of course.”
“I am not interested in going anywhere near Lord Sturrock,” Mr. Markham bit back before closing his eyes and turning his head away, evidently aware
that he had said more than he ought. Inwardly, Richard grinned, knowing full well that he had an opportunity now to question what had been said.
“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head just a little. “Has the man injured you in some way?” When Mr. Markham did not immediately answer, Richard lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “There is obviously some upset between you, although I do not mean to pry.”
It took a few minutes for Mr. Markham to speak again. His eyes were darting from one place to the next, his brows low and his jaw working furiously.
“You will think it foolish, Lord Harlow, for it sounds as though it is my own doing that has placed difficulty between us, but it is not entirely as it first appears.”
Spreading his hands, Richard spoke honestly. “I shall not judge whatever it is you wish to express,” he told the man. “I am well aware that, in many situations, there is more than one perspective.”
Mr. Markham’s eyes shot to Richard’s. “That is it precisely,” he acknowledged slowly. “It appears as though I owe a great debt to Lord Sturrock, and, whilst that is in some ways true, it is not exactly as it sounds.”
Wondering if this was the reason that Lord Fulham had demanded that his son marry a lady above his station, with what would be a very large dowry also, Richard nodded in what he hoped would appear to be a most understanding manner. “I see,” he said, choosing his words with great care. “Then you are frustrated with Lord Sturrock for continually expressing his eagerness for you to pay this debt, when you know all too well that it is not one of your own doing.”
A muscle twitched in Mr. Markham’s cheek. “No, that is not quite as it is,” he answered gravely. “The debt is my own, but it was not given to me of my own choosing.” Seeming to relax just a little, he let out a pained sigh and sat forward in his chair, one hand running through his hair. “My father, Lord Fulham, has more than one large debt that he has acquired,” he said as Richard fought the urge to ask as many questions as he could. “However, when the time comes for him to write a vowel or to sign a document stating he will pay what he owes, he does not place the debt on his shoulders, but rather on mine.”
Betrayal and Lies: Convenient Arrangements (Book 4) Page 11
