by Joyce Alec
Of course, then Edward would appear and ensure that she knew such a thing, whilst agreed at the card table, would not be fulfilled and that she would owe him nothing. It was gracious, but he took pleasure in the thought of relieving the lady of the onerous burden of his hand in matrimony. He would not be anyone’s first choice for a husband – of that, he was more than aware.
“It is done,” he muttered to himself, aware of how his friend rolled his eyes at his words. “I will see the chit tomorrow, and we will see how things play out.”
5
“My congratulations, my lord!”
Edward nodded, but said nothing, moving through the crowd of guests. He felt himself grow all the more nervous at the thought of meeting his bride-to-be for the first time. It had been announced in the papers only this morning, and now, despite his assurances that he was not about to force the girl to marry him, he felt somewhat anxious. To have seen it written there, printed for all of the world to see if they wished, had made it all seem quite real.
Edward was well aware that, if he turned from it now, if he broke the engagement that he had agreed to only yesterday, then the lady in question would be quite ruined. Goodness, he had been foolish.
It had been the arrogance on Lord Gaines’s face that had pushed him to agree. He had not only wanted to defeat the man, but to defeat him soundly – and yet the look on Lord Gaines’s face as he had offered Edward his daughter’s hand in marriage had burned into Edward’s mind. The more he thought on it, the more he began to wonder whether or not Lord Gaines had done such a thing intentionally, although he had very little idea as to why.
However, Edward had realized that this nonsensical situation in which he had managed to twist himself was, perhaps, to be the fulfillment of his quest. If Gaines did insist that the wedding was to go ahead – even though Edward felt rather guilty that he had managed to find a bride in such a disgraceful way – it would mean that his very reason for being in London was at an end. He would have his wife; he would have his heir in time; all would be well…at least for him. His bride, whoever she was, might see things very differently. If she was forced into the agreement, for whatever reason, Edward was sure his life would be all the more complicated.
Yes, he had been a fool.
Edward felt his head begin to ache, his forehead knotting as he made his way towards the open doors that led to the gardens. He did not want to be here, not when so many of the ton still stared and pointed and whispered. They had even more to whisper about now, since he was supposed to marry. In a way, Edward almost felt sorry for his mysterious bride-to-be, knowing that she would have to endure a good deal simply because she was betrothed to him.
The cool evening air brushed at his skin, and Edward drew in a long, calming breath. The ache in his head began to fade just a little. Not wishing to return to the chatter of guests for the present moment, he walked a little further along the path. It was not particularly well lit, but mayhap that was simply because Lady Burrows had wished to discourage her guests from spending too long away from the entertainment that was soon to begin.
“No, Father!”
Edward stopped dead, his heart suddenly quickening at the sound of a lady’s voice echoed towards him.
“You will do as I say!”
The sound of flesh hitting flesh caught his ears. Despite being entirely unaware of who it was talking, Edward let his hands curl into fists as his anger began to burn brightly.
“You will do as you are told, my girl, else it will be all the worse for you – and all the worse for your husband. You have ignored me for too long, and I will not stand for it any longer!” The sound of another slap hit the air, and Edward heard the girl whimper quietly, the sound disappearing almost as soon as it reached his ears.
Edward’s frown deepened, his body tensing as he stepped quietly into the shadows, not wanting to reveal his presence as yet. If the man in question made to hit the lady again, whoever she was, then Edward had every intention of striding forward and planting the man a facer simply for daring to strike his daughter. Of course, a gentleman had every right to treat his wife, his daughter, or his servants just as he wished, but Edward would not simply stand by and allow such a thing to occur right in front of him.
“Why are you doing this, Father?”
The girl’s voice was broken, and Edward could almost imagine her slumping forward, her spirit gone in the face of her father’s fury.
“What has he done to you that you hate him so?”
“Never you mind.” The man’s voice was dark and threatening, and Edward’s skin prickled with distaste. Whoever it was, this man was no gentleman. “You are to tell me everything I wish to know,” the voice continued. “Do you understand me?”
The girl sniffed once, twice but said nothing. Edward closed his eyes, willing her to simply agree so that she would not be hurt again, but apparently the lady had more courage than he had first thought.
“Marriage means that you have no power over me, Father,” she said in a clear voice. “Why should I do as you ask?” A hint of laughter rippled through her words, making Edward all the more anxious for her. His body tensed, ready to spring into her defense.
There came a dark, unsettling laugh that echoed around the gardens, making Edward’s stomach tighten horribly. There was evil in that voice, cruelty spreading out from his words that seemed to reach even Edward’s heart, even though he had nothing whatsoever to do with the lady.
“If you think that you can escape me, then you are to be proven incorrect,” the man replied with a gentleness that made Edward shiver. “If you do not do as I ask, then I will do as much harm to him as I can. You are to keep on your guard at every moment, my dear, and should you fail in your duty to me, then know that the consequences that follow, for both you and your husband, will be entirely on your head. You will both be ruined, and when it comes to it, you will find no help from me.”
There was nothing but silence in answer to this. Edward closed his eyes tightly, letting those words flow into his mind and linger there, trying to make sense of it. This father, this supposedly loving parent, was demanding that his daughter do as he had told her, whatever that was, with the threat that he would bring her and her husband significant pain if she did not. His heart swelled with both sympathy and anger. Compassion for the lady in question, who was being so cruelly treated, and anger that the lady’s father was using his daughter in such a twisted fashion.
“Now get yourself inside,” the voice grated, as a quiet whimper escaped from the lady’s mouth. “And do as you have been told.”
Edward remained exactly where he was, suddenly uncertain as to what he ought to do. The gentleman had not done anything against Edward and to strike one’s daughter was not exactly something a man could be punished for. And yet, despite this, Edward wanted to do nothing more than grasp the man by the coat tails, spin him around, and strike him so hard that his teeth would rattle in his head before going to the assistance of the lady.
What that assistance would be, however, Edward had no particular idea. Perhaps simply encouraging her to tell her husband everything that had just passed between herself and her father, or insisting on speaking to her husband himself. However, as he continued to linger in his indecision, the lady and her father had disappeared back inside, leaving him standing alone in the darkness.
Slowing his breathing down, Edward forced his anger and frustration to dissipate, leaving him with the cool calculation required to consider his next course of action. It was a technique he had learned over the course of his years residing – or hiding, as Johnston put it – in the country. He had learned how to detach his emotions from the situation he was in and was therefore much more able to think clearly without being hindered by his emotional state. Letting his breath out slowly, he forced his body to relax, his fists slowly unclenching as the night air touched his hot cheeks.
This situation between father and daughter was not his to deal with, he realized. In fact, it
had nothing whatsoever to do with him. His engagement was more than enough of a distraction.
Still, however, he could not forget the sound of the slap that had echoed through the gardens towards him. How a father could treat his own child in such a fashion was quite beyond Edward, although from what he had heard, he did not think that this gentleman, whoever he was, cared much for anyone other than himself. His daughter was simply a tool he was using for his own gains, and that sickened Edward.
Shaking his head, he stood tall and let his shoulders drop back down, free from the tension that had run through him only a few minutes ago. This was none of his business. Whilst he felt sorry for the lady, whoever she was, he had to put what he had overheard from his mind and continue on his own set course. Nothing else could distract him from his one true purpose.
Slowly making his way back into the house, Edward’s eyes slid from left to right, looking all about him to see whether or not anyone had noticed his absence. It was to his relief that no one looked over at him, no one asked where he had been. Taking a glass of champagne from a tray one of the footmen held, Edward quietly made his way to the corner of the room, letting the shadows welcome him into their arms as they had so often done before. It was somewhat saddening to realize that standing here, alone in the gloom, brought him a good deal of comfort. It was as though the darkness was his security, his protective shelter that hid him from the questioning eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere he went.
“My lord.”
His peace was ripped away in a moment. Sighing inwardly, Edward turned his head to see the young lady he had met on prior occasions coming closer to him. She was as beautiful as he remembered, although there was a distinct sadness about her this evening that brought him a modicum of concern.
“Ah, the wallflower,” he murmured, finding his spirits lift a little as she drew near him. “Are you to tell me your name this evening, my lady? Or am I to be left wanting yet again?” His teasing words left his mouth before he was able to stop them, a little surprised himself by his tone. Clearly, he was glad to see her again – most likely because she did not shirk from his appearance or look to use their conversations as gossip fodder.
She looked up at him with clear blue eyes, and Edward was shocked to see that they were not held with the warmth he had been expecting. Instead, they were almost angry, holding a deep dislike that had him greatly confused.
“Lord Turner, I am surprised you do not recognize me,” she said, her words filled with ice, hitting against him with a good deal of force. “Did my father not describe me to you?”
His frown deepened. “Your father, my lady?”
Her lips twisted into a grim smile. “You need not pretend, Lord Turner. Did you truly think that I would be more than happy with such an arrangement?”
Still utterly confused, Edward stared at her in befuddlement. Why was she speaking to him with such familiarity? “Who is your father?” he asked, his brows so low they cut a deep line in his forehead.
Clearly exasperated, the young lady blew out a long breath and glared at him. “You are truly insistent on playing such foolish games, Lord Turner, but I will not play along. This does not bring me any joy or gladness or even the faintest hint of delight. To be passed from the control of one man to the other, simply on my father’s whim, is not—”
Edward stepped forward and put one hand on her flailing arm, catching it mid-gesture.
“Who are you?” he said sternly, growing tired of her refusal to tell him. “And what does your father have to do with me?”
Her expression cleared, replaced with a look of utter shock. “You do not know?” she murmured, finally seeming to accept his word for it. “You truly do not know who I am.”
“Then tell me,” he grated, his head beginning to throb all the more painfully. “Tell me now.”
Shaking his hand off, she stepped back and folded her hands across her middle. “I am to be your bride, Lord Turner,” she replied with a lift of her chin. “It seems that very soon, I will be your wife.”
6
Miss Dorothea Earnest, the unfortunate daughter of the Viscount of Gaines, stared coldly up at the man she was to marry, seeing him stare at her with complete and utter astonishment.
She felt nothing for him. No sympathy, no understanding, no sense that all would be well. The man had been foolish enough to agree to a wager presented by her father without even considering meeting her first.
By Jove, she was angry. More than angry, in fact. Furious. Livid. Incensed.
And Lord Turner knew it.
Without so much as blinking, she continued to regard him. One side of his face had been ravaged by fire, but there were still two strong eyes looking at her, still a strong jaw that was clenched in either frustration or anger. His dark brown hair was almost black in the shadows, falling over his forehead on one side – intentionally to hide the scars, she thought to herself. All in all, he was a strong, capable, noble gentleman, and whilst she did not much care for the scars he bore, she did not find him repulsive nor feel the urge to turn away. It was his character that mattered the most to her, given that she was soon to be his wife. Was she then to be treated in her married life as she had been with her father? Would Lord Turner continue to treat her as her father had done, continuing to use her for his own ends? Her stomach tightened as the reminder of the hard slap her father had inflicted upon her only half an hour ago sprang to mind. Absently, she rubbed the side of her face and felt a small stab of pain.
Bruising. Her father had bruised her face with his sudden, hard slap. Closing her eyes for a moment against the wave of distress that crashed down upon her, Dorothea turned her head away and let out a long breath, as if to find a way to control her composure in front of her betrothed.
“Miss…I am sorry,” she heard Lord Turner say in a rather quiet voice for a man of his stature. “I do not know your name.”
She turned back to him, her voice as clear as a bell. “Miss Dorothea Earnest,” she replied tightly. “And you are Earl Turner. I hear we are to wed.”
He dropped his head, running one hand through his hair. “I do apologize, Miss Earnest,” he mumbled, clearly rather ashamed of himself.
Snorting indelicately, she narrowed her eyes. “Your apology means very little to me, Lord Turner. You accepted such a wager from my father, knowing full well what it would mean for you should you win. My father made it very clear to me that he had lost everything else and that this was his final offer. You could have refused him. You ought to have refused him, but instead, for whatever reason, you chose to accept. Given the lack of skill on the part of my father when you played him at first, I must believe that you somehow wanted to take me as your bride! I did not think that a gentleman would ever stoop to such levels, Lord Turner, especially not an earl!”
The words were flowing thick and fast, and Dorothea found she could not stop. In fact, they continued to spring from her lips as her distress and anger at being so treated began to run through her blood, heating it all the more.
“You can imagine my surprise at being woken this morning to the news that my name was already in the society papers and that it was tied to yours! When my lady’s maid congratulated me, I thought mayhap she had taken to drinking my father’s brandy. In the end, it turned out that I was the one who required a drink! My goodness, Lord Turner, where is the consideration for my wishes and feelings on the matter?” she continued, feeling her chest begin to tighten painfully as hot tears began to press at her eyes. “You treat me as though I am something that can simply be bought and sold, purchased for a price without any consideration other than your own.” Her voice broke and pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed at her eyes, praying none of the other guests were watching her. Keeping her back turned towards them all, she wiped the moisture from her cheeks and, with a delicate sniff, lifted her gaze back to Lord Turner.
He was, it appeared, quite ashamed of himself. His cheeks were a little flushed, and his eyes were d
arting from one place to the next as he shuffled uncomfortably.
“You are quite correct, Miss Earnest,” he began softly. “You are right to rail at me so. I was quite wrong to accept such a foolish wager. You need not wed me at all. I will take the blame for the ending of our engagement. I would not wish for you to—”
“No!”
The word broke from her lips, fear pushing it from her mouth. As angry and as upset as she was at this sudden change in her circumstances, she could not allow Lord Turner to turn his back on her now. They would go through with the marriage, and she would become Countess Turner, just as her father wished. To have their engagement come to an end, to have it break into pieces and leave her free once more, would only bring more pain and suffering onto Dorothea’s head. Pain and suffering that she did not think she could bear.
Lord Turner lifted one eyebrow and looked at her intently, making Dorothea stomach twist uncomfortably, knowing that she could not reveal the truth behind her urgency.
“No?” he queried, looking a little confused. “So after your rather inspiring speech where you state that you ought not to be treated as though you are nothing more than an object to be bought and sold, where you tell me just how terrible a human I am for doing such a thing, you now decide that we are to wed after all?”
Shrugging, she tried to come up with some sort of excuse. “I will not allow my name to be sullied, Lord Turner.”
“But it would not be,” he replied without missing a beat. “I would ensure that your name was not in any way sullied by the ending of our engagement, as I am sure I have just said.”
Shaking her head, Dorothea let her eyes rove to the corner of the room, trying her best to think quickly and calmly. She could not tell her him the truth about her father for fear of what would occur thereafter, and yet she found the truth trying to tug itself from her lips regardless.
“You know very well that, even if you did everything you could and told all of London society, one by one, that it was all on your head, they would still whisper about me,” she stated firmly, a terrifying fear beginning to quicken her heart all the more. “My reputation cannot have even the smallest stain, Lord Turner. Therefore, we will wed.” She held her head high, not letting him see just how afraid she was that he would refuse to go through with what he had already agreed to, only to see him shrug.
