Marriage Most Scandalous

by Johanna Lindsey

  Fall was ending and the chill of winter was already creeping in, particularly out on the water. He could feel the damp chill even under his greatcoat, which flapped in the wind on the deck. He didn’t like traveling in winter, didn’t like his ruins at this time of the year either.

  He usually took a sojourn during these months in southern France or Italy. It wasn’t necessary for him to work year-round with the fees he commanded. In another few days he would have departed northern France, and Margaret Landor probably wouldn’t have heard of The Raven. She would have continued on her way home alone—to find what, when she got there?

  He frowned and glanced at her farther down the deck, where she stood gazing out to sea as well. The late afternoon sun added golden highlights to her light brown hair. He’d rather not have found out how pretty that looked.

  She’d been wearing a bonnet earlier, but the wind had caught it and whipped it across the deck and over the railing on the other side. The face she’d made as she watched it fly beyond her reach had been rather amusing. And she hadn’t gone to fetch another bonnet, despite the brisk wind playing havoc with her hair.

  When the last of her chignon tumbled down and her long hair was flying every which way, she’d simply grasped the lot of it in her fist and held it tightly to her chest. That wasn’t how most vain, aristocratic women behaved, which was rather odd. Most ladies were concerned with their appearance at all times, but apparently Margaret wasn’t one of them.

  He’d hoped to avoid discourse with Lady Margaret for most of their short journey. She seemed to prefer it that way. But there was pertinent information he needed from her before they reached home, a few things he had to impart to her as well. He approached her now to get it over with.

  “You may not have considered this,” he said, drawing her attention, “but my presence will need to remain unknown for several days while I ascertain the situation. The only way to do that is to abide in your house, with your servants sworn to secrecy, in case any of them happen to recognize me. I assume you will accommodate us?”

  She was frowning by the time he finished. He guessed she hadn’t planned on putting them up, had possibly thought her involvement was done. Bring him home and leave the rest to him, as it were.

  She took a moment, he supposed to grasp all the implications of having a bachelor as a guest, then surprisingly didn’t offer a single argument about it. “Certainly,” she said. “You should remember White Oaks. You were there for my sister’s engagement party.”

  He wondered at her sudden blush, until he remembered the last time he’d seen her. “Yes,” he replied. “As I recall, it had a nice garden.”

  Her blush deepened and was accompanied by a glare now. He nearly laughed. Apparently proper Margaret Landor would rather not remember how impulsive and improper she’d been as a child. Or maybe she still liked breaking rules but just didn’t want anyone to know about it.

  He decided to let her off the hook. “We should have no trouble keeping out of each other’s way, since I also recall that White Oaks was nearly as big as Edgewood.”

  “Bigger,” she rejoined with a tight little smirk, yet another indication of her competitive nature. “My father did some renovating after Eleanor ran off. And I added a conservatory off of the dining room when I decided I’d like to garden year-round rather than just in the warmer months.”

  “Another gardener?” he replied with a roll of his eyes.

  She raised a brow. “You enjoy flowers?”

  “Not in the least, but my man John does.”

  “It’s very relaxing, you know,” she imparted. “You should try it.”

  “Flowers tend to die when I’m around them.”

  She blinked, then made a moue. “That wasn’t very funny.”

  “Was I laughing?”

  She snorted. “I believe you’ve forgotten how to. Tell me, what have you been doing with yourself all these years, aside from building that remarkable reputation for accomplishing impossible tasks? Wasn’t it rather—difficult—having your base in France, with Napoleon so annoyed with us?”

  He did have to work at not laughing this time. “Annoyed? That’s a rather gentle way of expressing the little tyrant’s sentiments toward Britain. He had us blockaded from every one of his conquered countries and forced his allies to do the same, whether they wanted to or not. He was planning on invading England, you know, and probably would have, if he hadn’t been distracted by the Russians.”

  “Yes, I know we finally got fed up with the trade blockades and took the war to him,” she replied. “But did you get involved at all?”

  He shrugged. “A little. My particular talents came in handy during the Peninsular War, especially since I’m fluent in the French language, so I offered my services.”

  “You acted as a spy!” she guessed.

  “How astute of you. But I wasn’t involved for very long, just toward the end, when they forced Napoleon’s brother Joseph to flee from Madrid. And I wasn’t in France when Napoleon marched across it in 1815, gathering his last army, after his abdication. I had several jobs in Italy that year, didn’t even hear about his last effort to regain his throne until he was exiled again. But to answer your question, I bought those ruins only four years ago, after his exile, so no, I haven’t experienced any difficulty making my home in France.”

  “You actually call that pile of stones a home?”

  “Slip of the tongue, Lady Margaret. You’re right. It’s no more than a convenient place where I can be contacted. As it happens, I’m not there often, and rarely at this time of the year. If I hadn’t had a delivery to make near there, I probably would have been on my way to Italy by now.”

  “How fortunate for me that—”

  “And unfortunate for me,” he cut in. “Now to the matter at hand. I’ve been away from Kent for eleven years. I need to know what has occurred during that time. Any changes I should be aware of?”

  Her look was annoyed for a moment over that ‘unfortunate’ remark, but then she briefly ignored him while she gave the question some thought. Even in the full afternoon light, her eyes were still so dark, the brown in them was barely noticeable. She was still gripping most of her hair to contain it, but a few shorter strands kept floating across her cheek. He wondered if she’d notice if he pushed them behind her ear. Possibly not, she was so deep in thought, but he restrained himself.

  She was charming in her dishevelment. Not many women were, but with Margaret, it made her seem more—accessible. She was too pretty by half, actually. And she wasn’t even trying to be attractive, far from it. It really did seem as if she couldn’t care less how she was perceived, which was quite odd for a woman. Or perhaps she just felt that way when she was around him. Disliking him, she wouldn’t put any effort into attracting him, he was sure.

  He found her attitude unique. Never before had a woman hated him. He was almost tempted to win her over—not bloody likely.

  She finally said, “Aside from the assorted deaths and births in the neighborhood—”

  “My grandmother?” he cut in with dread.

  “No, no, Abigail is just fine—or was, before I left for the Continent. But she’s quite batty now, you know.”

  “Nonsense—”

  “No, really. Her eyesight isn’t so good, which might be why she sees things that aren’t there. During my time at Edgewood, she was forever finding me to tell me we had intruders in the house, and whispering it, afraid they’d hear her when there was never anyone there.”

  He actually smiled at the picture that conjured. “Very well, so she’s a little batty. She is eighty-seven now, after all. I’d say she’s allowed.”

  Margaret said nothing for a moment, was staring at his lips, which he found quite disconcerting. The smile vanished before he was even aware he’d smiled. Her lips twisted in a moue of mild annoyance before she continued.

  “I’m extremely fond of the old bird, but it took me a while to get into her good graces.”

  “Imp
ossible. She’s the sweetest—”

  “Not anymore,” Margaret cut in. “She took your side, you know. In fact, she hasn’t spoken a single word to her son since he disowned you. If she needs to communicate with him a’tall, she sends someone else to do it.”

  Sebastian was incredulous. He’d never guessed that his father and grandmother would have a falling-out after the duel. They’d always been in accord, agreeing on everything—two minds thinking as one, as it were. More guilt to take to his breast, as if he didn’t have enough.

  “But as I was saying,” Margaret continued again, “Abbie wasn’t easy to win over, especially after Douglas gave his conservatory into my care when he learned how much I love to garden. He was trying to assist me out of my mourning, but Abbie didn’t see it that way. The conservatory had been her domain, as far as she was concerned, so she felt I was invading her territory. She was quite cantankerous and argumentative about it. But it wasn’t too long before she was in there giving me advice instead of snapping at me that I was doing everything wrong. It’s a shame she gets so maudlin, though. It’s why I still visit so frequently, to cheer her up.”

  “Maudlin over what?”

  “Can’t you guess? She misses you. And, deep down, I suspect she’s distressed at being so furious with her own son that she refuses to talk to him. She is concerned about his accidents, though she won’t let on to him that she is. But she hinted more’n once that you could easily get to the bottom of what’s going on and put a stop to it, which convinced me to find you. Then there’s Cecil and her complaints that he doesn’t visit anymore. He was like a son to her as well, I gather.”

  “He died?”

  She gave him a sour look. “Must you assume that everyone died? No, he’s quite well, as far as I know. But he and your father have been estranged since the duel, so he no longer comes to Edgewood.”

  Sebastian was stricken. Good God, even more guilt to add to his plate.

  “She was very fond of him, I think,” Margaret added. “But then I’d heard Cecil was more often at Edgewood than his own home when he was a child. And his own mother had died, so he took to Abbie and she to him. At least, that’s my take on it, from the things she’s said.”

  Sebastian sighed. “The door to Edgewood is probably going to be barred to me. My father stated clearly enough that I was no longer welcome there.”

  “That will pose a problem,” she agreed, frowning. “Are you sure you can’t reconcile with Douglas?”

  “Quite. I wasn’t aware the duel estranged him from Cecil till you just mentioned it. It was because of Cecil and my father’s regard for him that I was given the boot, as it were. The estrangement that followed after I left would only have made my father more furious with me.”

  “Or made him come to his senses and realize who was more important,” she suggested.

  He snorted. “You don’t understand how it was with my father and Cecil. They were as close as Giles and I were. When you develop a friendship that deep, it becomes a bond of honor. He had to disown me. I’d killed his best friend’s only son, and after he forbade me to harm him.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “Good God, you don’t really think I meant to, do you? It was a bloody accident.”

  “What I think is you’re trying to find a way out of our bargain,” she said stiffly. “There are any number of ways for you to get back in that house. Think of one.”

  “I have and there aren’t. It’s your turn.”

  She glared at him. “Disguise yourself,” she ordered.

  He raised a brow. “From my own family? I could wear a bloody dress and they’d still recognize these eyes. Try again, Lady Margaret.”

  She started to laugh. “You, in a dress? Good God, that’s priceless. I never would have thought of that.”

  “You can stop thinking of it right now. It isn’t going to happen.”

  “No, no.” She grinned. “Of course not. It wouldn’t do a’tall, anyway. Women just don’t come in your size—” She burst out laughing again. “My God, I can’t get the picture out of my mind now.”

  “Shall I help you?” he growled, not the least bit amused as he stepped closer to her and reached for her arm.

  She leapt back from him. “None of that, now.” She scowled at him, her humor gone. Then she sighed. “Very well, there’s the most obvious way.”

  “What obvious way? There is no obvious way.”

  “Course there is. We could pretend to be married for a while. That would get you in the door. Any husband of mine would be as welcome at Edgewood as I am.”

  “Have you quite lost your gourd?”

  “Certainly not. I’ve been away for four months. It’s quite reasonable that I could have married during that time. And I’m not suggesting that we stay married. Heavens no. And I’m certainly not suggesting we really get married. That isn’t necessary a’tall. No one at home will be able to prove or disprove whether we are or aren’t married, since the pretend wedding would have taken place on the Continent. Of course we’d have to pretend to divorce afterward, just as soon as you’ve gotten to the bottom of who or what is causing your father’s accidents and you’ve removed the threat.”

  He stared at her. Her thought processes quite bowled him over.

  Dryly, he said, “Maggie, m’dear, you’re overlooking one simple fact. The stigma of a divorce would ruin you, real or not.”

  “Rubbish. When people learn why I made the sacrifice, I will be quite the heroine.”

  Sacrifice. To marry him? Now that hurt, ’deed it did. Unfortunately, she probably had the right of it. Posing as her husband, while it wouldn’t get him back into the bosom of his family, just might get him inside Edgewood for a visit or two. And that could be all that was necessary. The pot would be stirred—if her suspicions were correct.

  He wouldn’t care to have her ruined reputation on his conscience, though, so he told her, “It might not be necessary a’tall. I’ll need a few days to investigate to see if it is. However, it’s a serious charade you are proposing, so I suggest you give it more thought in the meantime.” But because that “sacrifice” remark was still fresh in his mind, he needled her further. “Think carefully about whether you’re willing even to pretend to be married to a man like me.”

  She raised a questioning brow. He took a step closer, brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You’d have to pretend to be in love with me,” he said, “and get used to my touching you, kissing you. Perhaps we should practice to see if you’re even capable of that kind of pretense.”

  It took her several moments to grasp what he was implying, and then she blushed vividly. “There will be no practicing or pretending of that sort! Really, Sebastian, you know very well that even mild displays of affection between married couples are kept behind closed doors. I’d always thought that was rather silly, but now I’m bloody well thankful it is so. As for pretending to be in love with you, I’ll manage somehow, if it becomes necessary.”

  Chapter 9

  T HEY COULD HAVE REACHED PORT LAST NIGHT, but their captain was new to the task and too timid to continue on after the rain started, obscuring all view. Although the channel was heavily trafficked, a veteran captain would have had no trouble avoiding a collision with sister ships. But it didn’t really matter what time of day they docked at Dover, because their destination was only a little farther down the coast.

  Margaret was grateful for the extra time, since she wanted to carefully broach to Edna the subject of the possible marriage, so she and Oliver would know to corroborate the wedding story if it became necessary. She hadn’t counted on her maid being so scandalized by the very idea.

  “You can’t do that,” Edna had said bluntly.

  “Course I can,” Margaret told her. “Keep in mind he is Sebastian Townshend.”

  “Exactly, the disowned son of the Townshends, a family you’re quite close to. You would have given him the cold shoulder if you had met him again under normal circumstances. It ma
kes no sense that you’d marry him.”

  Margaret hadn’t thought she’d have to convince Edna of the reasons she might have married Sebastian but trotted out a few. “I never mentioned this to anyone before, not even to Florence who I confided everything to when we were children, but you know I used to be quite fascinated by him—before the duel, of course. But it isn’t unreasonable that I might have held a tendre for him all these years and been delighted to meet up with him again. It’s also not unreasonable that I thought I could reconcile him and his family. And you mentioned it yourself, how handsome he is, certainly handsome enough to turn any girl’s head.”

  “Not yours,” Edna said with a huff.

  “No, not mine, but you get the point. I could have fallen in love with him and married him, despite all the reasons I shouldn’t. Besides, we haven’t yet determined whether we will need to pretend we’re married, but if we do, it’s for a good cause, Edna. Let’s not forget why I went in search of him in the first place.”

  Edna had agreed in the end, though grudgingly, and went off to let Oliver know what to expect. Margaret had a few doubts of her own that night, though, especially after recalling Sebastian’s warning about his touching and kissing her. She’d let him know she wouldn’t tolerate anything of the sort, but—he was a different man these days from the one she’d admired in her youth. He was a mercenary, a man willing to do whatever was necessary to get the job done, so would he abide by any restrictions she set?

  She went to sleep with her doubts but woke up with a new resolve, that she, too, could do whatever was necessary to remove Douglas from danger. And if that meant pretending to be Sebastian Townshend’s wife, so be it.

  She found him on the deck that morning, staring pensively at the English coastline, which was now in view. She’d been gone only four months but had missed her home terribly. How much worse it must have been for him, being away for so many years. Or maybe, as he’d claimed, he just didn’t care anymore. Not bloody likely.