Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  Radcliff took a deep breath. “What’s his name?”

  “N-Nathan,” she murmured.

  “And how old is he?”

  “Five.”

  “Does he like to fetch?” Nathan inquired of the dog.

  Gibbons nodded, and Nathan went in search of a stick to throw to the dog. Swifter, sensing a potential playmate, followed at his heels.

  “He adores dogs,” Miss Priscilla explained.

  The two Sherwood sisters possessed the same father, but there was little to indicate they were related. One was fair and angelic, the other dark and sultry.

  Radcliff watched as Nathan found a stick and threw it for Swifter to catch.

  “He needs clothes,” he observed of the boy’s ill fitting apparel.

  “He has clothes,” Miss Priscilla furnished.

  Ah, there was the similarity, Radcliff noted of her lifted chin and proud tenor.

  “Better clothes,” Radcliff clarified. “I will have Gibbons take him to the tailor tomorrow.”

  She shook her head. “We’ve not the money for a new suit of clothes.”

  “There is no need for your money.”

  She furrowed her brow.

  “I will take care of it.”

  She hesitated, “It is kind of you, but—”

  “I insist.”

  “I should consult with Darcy—”

  “No. Do not let her know I came to see you.”

  He could see her perplexed and softened his tone. “Your sister is a proud one. She would not wish to accept a gift from me, but the boy is in need of better attire.”

  “Yes, alas, it is not for want or attempt that he has not better.”

  “I know.”

  A small smile lighted her face at his acknowledgement, and he felt confirmed that he had done right to sever the relationship between her and Edward. Not for Edward’s sake. But for hers.

  “But he is happy,” she informed him. “A better son I could not ask for.”

  He saw the love in her eyes as she watched her son. “Why did you not come to me?”

  “You disapproved of my relationship with Edward from the start.”

  “True, but I would never have allowed Edward to shirk his responsibility.”

  She protested that she was quite comfortable with her situation and would not seek Edward’s involvement now.

  Radcliff offered no comment, but he was not satisfied with how things were.

  “Darcy and I have done well enough raising him,” Priscilla added.

  “That you have,” Radcliff conceded. “You and your sister have proven to be remarkably capable women. Nathan appears a healthy and amiable young man. My compliments to you.”

  “What do you intend with Darcy?”

  The question caught him off guard, but he met her gaze. “As long as the deed to Brayten is returned to us, you may rest assured that no harm will come to your sister.”

  The answer clearly did not mollify her, but she did not pursue the matter further, for the time being.

  Nathan, followed by Swifter, ran up to them. “He is a grand animal!”

  Radcliff smiled at Nathan. “I can see you’re better able to keep up with Swifter than my man Gibbons.”

  “Indeed, my lord,” Gibbons agreed.

  Nathan’s eyes widened. “Are you a lord, sir?”

  “Would you like to take my dog out for his daily constitutionals?” Radcliff offered.

  The boy’s mouth dropped. “Would I? Every day?”

  “Every day.”

  “Most certainly, your Grace!”

  Radcliff refrained from correcting the boy’s address. “Gibbons will give you our address. We’ll expect you at ten each morning.”

  “Mother! Mother! Did you hear?” Nathan exclaimed.

  “Yes, yes,” Miss Priscilla laughed.

  He danced away from them in his exuberance. Swifter chased after him, barking.

  Radcliff turned back to Priscilla and pulled out his purse. “Here. Take it. Purchase some books for Nathan. A boy his age should be well read. If there is anything else you wish to provide him, you have but to inform me. Only you must promise not to speak a word of this to Dar—to Miss Sherwood.”

  “But how will I explain the new clothes and books?” Priscilla demanded.

  “You are, no doubt, a clever woman and will surely think of a proper response.”

  She was a charming and refined young woman, Radcliff reflected to himself later after they had bid adieu. He could easily see how Edward had fallen for her, though he himself had initially thought her rather simple and humdrum. She had matured elegantly despite her situation in life.

  He, however, preferred the rough edges that the elder Sherwood sister possessed and even her temper for it came from a passion that could burn large and high. Darcy Sherwood was full of contrasting manners. She was exotic, enticing and challenging.

  “A nice young man that Nathan Sherwood,” Gibbons ventured to say. “He has his father’s eyes.”

  Gibbons had been with the family long enough to have earned the right to speak it. Radcliff ground his jaw as he thought about Edward. He could only imagine how callous his family must have appeared to the Sherwoods. No wonder Darcy Sherwood hated all Barringtons with a vengeance. No wonder she had no desire to return Brayten. And he could not fault her for it.

  He wanted to rush over to the gaming hall and apologize to her. On behalf of his family and for his own part. For the harsh words he had spoken of her. He winced recalling all that he had said to her. But he had to proceed with caution. He had no wish to jeopardize what he had with her. He could not yet guess how she would react. Even if he were to apologize, was it too late? Would she able to forgive him?

  CHAPTER NINE

  “YOU APPEAR PARTICULARLY radiant this evening, m’dear,” complimented Henry to Darcy. “And yet I do not find our divine Baron has arrived yet?”

  “He had to tend to an ailing friend,” Darcy answered as she prepared a table for faro.

  “And you let him?”

  “How could I not? I am no ogre. And I no longer hold the trump card—at the moment,” Darcy added.

  “Are you sure you wish to ‘hold the trump card’?”

  Darcy lifted her brow, but Henry simply leaned his chair back and threw his legs over the armrest of another chair.

  “Come, come, m’dear,” he said with a knowing smile, “I fancied beneath your fierce independence and defiance of the world hid a part of you that wished for another to be in control.”

  She wondered if she should be worried that that was the case. Perhaps it was simply that she was, in effect, the head of the Sherwood household, and it was almost a relief to have someone else take the reins, even if only in her bed chamber. She remembered how safe she had felt in his arms—an ironic sentiment given the pain he had caused her family. How could she feel about him the way that she did?

  And when she had woken to find him still in her bed, her heart had leaped. Such emotions boded ill for her, and she was relieved that he would be gone for near a sennight. Her sister, however, was not making it easier. It was as if Priscilla sensed a change and was constantly asking questions about Brayten and the Baron Broadmoor.

  “Lord Broadmoor—Edward’s cousin—he is a reasonable person, is he not?” Priscilla had asked yesterday.

  Darcy had blushed and hoped that Priscilla would mistake it for anger. “I am sure he believes that to be the case.”

  “I cannot imagine him to be as disapproving as some have described.”

  “Only time will tell,” Darcy had replied and went to sit by Nathan to avoid further questioning.

  “The dog is an English setter,” Nathan had informed her.

  “What dog?”

  “Oh, Aunt Darcy, I met the most kindly old gentleman—his name is Gibbons—and he is a friend of a Duke—and do you know I think I have never met a Duke before? And he agreed to let me walk his dog every day. And I have been reading all about English setters in m
y new book. Did you know they are among the best bird hunters? And they have wonderful temperaments.”

  Darcy had turned to Priscilla. “Did you purchase this new book along with these clothes?”

  Priscilla had hung her head and nodded.

  “Pray do not think that I disapprove. Only perhaps we should wait on any new expenditures until I have successfully exchanged the deed to Brayten.”

  “I imagine that to be soon?”

  It had been Darcy’s turn to avoid her sister’s gaze. “There is…well, we must first pay off our debts…but I should think soon.”

  She had wished she could bring herself to explain all to Priscilla, but she had always made an effort to separate her family from her life at the gaming hell. Nothing was going to change that.

  Least of all Radcliff Barrington.

  “Miss Sherwood, I presume?”

  Darcy and Henry glanced up from their cards to see Alastair Robbins standing next to a magnificent redhead.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” the redhead said. “I am Lady Penelope Robbins.”

  *****

  The beautiful woman with perfect alabaster skin, thin wide lips painted a vibrant hue, long lush lashes, and soft auburn curls that reflected every ounce of light took a seat at the gaming table. With her slender shoulders and narrow hips, dressed in an evening gown of fine muslin with the most delicate and intricate lace trimmings, she seemed to be everything Darcy wasn’t. Lady Robbins also adorned herself with long golden earrings, a stunning necklace with emerald broach about her swan-like neck, and an emerald ring that was nearly as large as her necklace.

  “A gift,” Penelope explained, seeing Darcy’s gaze, “from the Baron Broadmoor upon my birthday.”

  Darcy stiffened her back, but replied with a smile, “It is most exquisite. My compliments to the Baron for his impeccable taste.”

  “You must be the infamous Miss Sherwood.”

  Darcy exchanged amused glances with Henry before answering, “I am indeed Miss Sherwood. As to being infamous, I did not think anyone outside these humble walls would know my name.”

  “You underestimate yourself, Miss Sherwood.” Penelope flicked her wrist, one so slender it would rival the circumference of a child’s, at her companion. “I think you know my cousin Alastair Robbins. He tells me the tables here are friendly. I enjoy a game of whist from time to time. Would you oblige?”

  “Certainly—for the right price. Our bets start at ten quid.” Darcy handed the cards to Henry to be shuffled. She had no illusions that Lady Robbins came to play whist, or any other card game for that matter. From the woman’s frequent but empty smiles, it was obvious why she was here.

  “If you do not mind, I would like Alastair to be my partner. We are so used to playing together, he and I.”

  Henry gave Darcy an exaggerated sidelong glance—a motion that did not escape the notice of Lady Robbins, who frowned at the attempted mockery regarding her relationship with her cousin.

  “You had a sister, did you not, Miss Sherwood?” asked Penelope as the cards were being dealt.

  “My sister is alive and well,” Darcy answered.

  Penelope raised her thin arched brows. “Indeed? That is a relief to hear. Quite often you find women who, well, are removed from society that they fall into the deepest melancholy. I heard not but yesterday of a woman who, tragically, took her own life.”

  “Our burgundy here is quite a comfort if you should need to drown your sorrows,” Darcy said with what was meant to be a sympathetic smile. It required some effort to remain unaffected when she knew that Penelope’s questions were not innocent attempts at a tête-à-tête.

  “How droll you are,” said Penelope. “You deal as if you spend a great deal of time at the card tables.”

  The cards had been dealt quickly but also precisely. Each player had a neat concise pile of cards before them.

  “I understand your father also spent a great deal of time at the card tables,” Penelope continued.

  Darcy looked at the woman sharply but willed herself not to take the bait. “I was barely out of the cradle when my father taught me how to play.”

  “How commendable, but I must urge you to spend a little more time in society. Surely a beautiful young woman such as yourself cannot hope to always hide in this gaming hall, charming as it is?”

  “On the contrary, I prefer it.”

  “But surely it has been years since your come-out? If you wait too long, you will be a confirmed spinster.”

  Having won the first trick, Darcy focused on collecting the cards. She had the sense that she and Penelope were two men fencing, using words as their offense and the fan of cards they held before their faces as foils.

  “I have no need for marriage,” Darcy replied. “To be discreet about one’s lovers would be all too tiresome.”

  “And have you many of them?”

  “To have but one would be far too boring, would it not?”

  “Too true. The Baron Broadmoor and I pride ourselves on our unabashed frankness with one another. I was beginning to worry that he would not take interest in other women—you see, I am not eager for marriage either—and am relieved that he has found you.”

  Darcy could feel Henry’s gaze upon her, but she kept her own eyes on her cards. She did not want to acknowledge that Penelope, having lost the next trick, had nonetheless scored. They feigned politeness when they really meant to cast daggers at one another, and Darcy found herself wanting to win the game of whist like never before.

  “He speaks of you often to me. But I wonder that he has not taken himself to be seen with you in society?” Penelope continued her offensive. “But perhaps we will see you at the ball being given by Lord and Lady Pinkerton this Thursday? All persons of any importance will be there. I know Radcliff mentioned to me that he planned to attend and hoped I would as well. He and I had a wonderful time of it last season. I am sure you would have enjoyed it as well.”

  Darcy played a card that allowed Henry to win the current trick. She focused her attentions on the game but was not impervious to what Penelope said. It hurt because it was true. She was no doubt a forbidden amour best hidden from public view. Lady Robbins was Broadmoor’s legitimate mistress.

  “Ours is a simple association,” Darcy said, deciding the gloves had come off, “built upon satisfying but meaningless frigging.”

  Alastair Robbins went blue in the face, and even Henry Windham choked on his breath. A small flush crept up the high-boned cheeks of Penelope, and her eyes flashed with ice.

  “If I were to attend the Pinkerton ball,” Darcy resumed as she won her third trick, “it would certainly not be for the sake of being seen with Lord Broadmoor. I am sure that you and I, being ladies of experience, have had our share of men with greater wealth or rank?”

  There was barely any need to tally the scores, Darcy and Henry having collectively won the vast majority of tricks.

  “Well played, Miss Sherwood,” said Penelope between closed teeth. “You are not at all the vulgar creature that I have heard people describe you to be. And while polite society may label you and your sister with that horrid word ‘tramp,’ ours is a kindred philosophy. It is a shame that you will not be attending the Pinkerton ball, but I do hope that we may have the pleasure of each other’s company again.”

  With one final smile, Lady Robbins took her leave on the arm of her cousin. When they had walked out of view, Darcy turned to Henry and said, “Get me an invitation to the Pinkerton ball.”

  Henry nearly fell of his chair. “But the ball is less than a week away.”

  “You are the Viscount Wyndham, future Earl of Brent, surely you can devise a way to get me there.”

  “Even if I could, why would you wish to attend? It will be a deadly dull affair. Don’t tell me that silly woman has perturbed you?”

  “Perhaps if she had not referred to my sister as a tramp…” Darcy returned with anger as she recalled the woman’s words and departing smile—a smile so spur
ious it was almost malicious.

  “But, my dear, she fully intended to antagonize you and, apparently, succeeded.”

  “Harry, you ought to know my temperament. I am not so stalwart as to be impervious to such slanders against my family,” responded Darcy, a little exasperated with her friend.

  “No,” said Henry slowly, “what surprises me is that you seem jealous of Lady Robbins.”

  Jealous? Was she jealous of Penelope? wondered Darcy. She had never been jealous of a woman before, but she would have to be amazingly dense not to realize that she was, in fact, jealous of Penelope Robbins.

  “I could be—a little,” admitted Darcy, “and who would not? She is beautiful and has such obvious wealth at her disposal.”

  Henry avoided Darcy’s gaze by aimlessly shuffling a deck of cards. “…but that would mean you actually cared for that Barrington fellow.”

  The realization hit her like a collapsing stone wall. It was worse than finding herself jealous of Lady Robbins.

  “Not possible,” Darcy said weakly. She recalled how furious he had made her, how she had succumbed to his touch the following day, how the slightest phrase of his could anger her, how maddening the pleasure…how safe she felt in his arms.

  “It is merely part of my plan to provide him his set-down,” she said. “He may think he holds all the cards, but the odds always favor the house. Will you help me or not, Harry?”

  “Of course, my dear,” Henry answered, sounding anything but convinced.

  *****

  “Thank you, Lady Worthley,” Darcy said to the regal woman sitting opposite her in the carriage.

  “Not at all, my dear,” replied the older woman. “I have no affection for Anne Barrington. She tried to deny my application to Almack’s years ago on account of a few soirees I had hosted in which the men and women were free to court whomever they wished. Nor could I deny a request from my grand-nephew.”

  Henry, seated next to Darcy, smiled with appreciation at his aunt.

  “I have heard much of you, but your manners appear to me genteel.” Lady Worthley peered at Darcy through the eyepiece she held before her. “And you are ravishing—like Queen Nefertiti or Cleopatra. There is no need to be nervous, my child.”