“Absolutely,” she ground out.
“Good. Then straighten your shoulders and smile. The Caroline Edwards I know—”
“Forsyth,” she said, very, very softly.
Stephen inclined his head. “Caroline Forsyth has never been cowed by any old bat, young bat or the entire bat family for that matter, and that fact won’t be changing tonight. You look well enough to brazen it out, even if you don’t think it.”
“Indeed,” she replied, looking away so he didn’t see how much the lukewarm compliment meant.
“Darlings! There you are!” called Jane from the top of the staircase that led down to the wide double doors of the ballroom. “We’ve received everyone, all the guests are being announced, and they are very eager to know what is going on considering you weren’t greeting them with me. Now, Sir Malcolm and Emily will go in first, George has kindly offered to escort me, then you two will come in and everything will be splendid.”
“Fine,” said Stephen, nodding in greeting to the small group.
“Sir Malcolm and Emily, Lady Edwards,” boomed a disembodied voice over the sounds of the packed ballroom as her mother and stepfather went in. Several minutes later Jane squeezed her hand, even George looked back and offered a reassuring smile as they stepped through the door.
“Mr. George Edwards and…the Dowager Countess of Westleigh!”
After horribly loud gasps and more than a few shrieks, the ballroom went dead silent. The words were a giant announcement in themselves, if Jane was the dowager it could only mean the current earl had married. Even from behind the doors she could already feel a thousand eyes staring, judging, hating. Panic twisted her stomach and dampened her palms.
“I can’t do this,” Caroline muttered, preparing to flee. The continent sounded especially good about now. Or perhaps India.
Stephen gripped her arm. “Yes. You can.”
Then, surprisingly, he leaned in and kissed her. A short, light brushing of his mouth against hers. Well at least it started like that. But soon their lips were clinging, his tongue darting into her mouth. As his scent and heat enveloped her, she couldn’t even remember her own name let alone the witches at the bottom of the staircase.
Until a discreet cough sounded.
“My lord? My lady?”
Oh. It was indeed possible to freeze and burn with embarrassment at the same time. Somehow she managed to step backwards, but it took Stephen a full minute to clear his throat and nod to the footman. “Announce us.”
“The Earl and Countess of Westleigh!”
Her husband tucked her arm through his and they descended the staircase.
Into the lion’s den.
***
They were entering his ballroom, not a snake pit, yet he’d never felt a stronger urge to brandish a few swords. Or roll up his sleeves and throw a few punches.
Stephen forced his lips into a smile. The ton’s hysterical reaction to his mother being announced as a dowager was ridiculous enough, but as he and Caroline ambled in, the crescendo of murmurings behind fans grew to fever pitch. Wild-eyed stares graced every second face in the ballroom, and several particularly silly young ladies were lying prostrate on the floor while chaperones frantically waved vials of hartshorn under their noses.
“My lord. My lady. We are overcome!” bellowed some pink trouser-wearing buffoon.
“Buck up, man,” he replied, pretending amusement while swiftly calculating all the staff he would be firing in the morning. Daniels, who had tied his cravat so tightly he could hardly breathe. His secretaries, for inviting London’s most bloody annoying people. The footmen could throw themselves into the Thames too, dishing out champagne and brandy and desserts like they wanted these guests to stay all week.
“Stephen.”
He glanced at his wife. “Yes?”
“The green and gold. It looks…it looks very nice.”
The twinge of relief was unexpected. And Christ, as if she didn’t look beautiful enough already, Caroline was looking at him with bright eyes, a soft smile on her face. But before he could respond, a crowd of well-wishers closed in.
“Lord Westleigh. Lord Westleigh!”
At the grating shrieks he nodded at the acquaintances, accepting hearty handshakes and insincere air kisses from those who had already regathered their wits. Fortunately there were no Doverfields, Hartleys or Shiltons in sight, having very sensibly heeded his warning to stay the hell away.
“My lord,” Taff said loudly, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. “May I offer you and your lovely wife my very best congratulations! Goodness me, if I’d known there was to be a wedding I never would have left to see the sights. The two of you certainly kept your romance well under wraps.”
Caroline bared her teeth like a she-wolf.
“Well,” she drawled. “Some things are so precious you only want to share them with your closest friends and family.”
“Of course,” Taff replied, seemingly oblivious to the tone and look as he clasped her gloved hand and lifted it to kiss. “Please forgive a silly old romantic. I always wanted to shout it to the entire world. Introduce my lady to perfect strangers on the street just so I could say ‘have you met my sweetheart?’ I would have done anything for her, it was by far the blackest day of my life when she died.”
Stephen winced. A few times he’d been tempted to ask Taff about his army days and marriage, but something always stopped him. A certain look, perhaps, that said his guest would enjoy reminiscing as much as he wished to relive the day at Nexham’s estate.
“No doubt,” he began carefully, but instead of everyone following his lead and tactfully changing the subject, an idiot, purple-turbaned grande dame beside him gave Taff a sternly approving look.
“Pretty words indeed, sirrah! If only more men felt as you do, I wager there would be far less trouble in this city. When did your wife pass?”
Taff stilled, his face pale and jaw clenched. “A touch under four years ago, ma’am.”
“My word. You haven’t considered remarrying?”
“No, ma’am. Never. Marriage to another woman would be a travesty. A union without true love is a sin against God and I know I’ll never feel that way about anyone else.”
A symphony of deep sighs sounded around him, and a quick glance at Caroline indicated she was just as uncomfortable with all the love talk as he was. Perhaps more so. Her face was ashen and she gripped his sleeve as though it were a piece of rock in a stormy ocean. Before he even thought about the action, he lifted his other hand and covered hers, giving it a quick, gentle squeeze.
She turned her head and stared, eyes huge. Had they always been so green?
A fan snapped open like a thunderclap, and he forced himself to pay attention to a young widow he regrettably knew altogether too well. Ugh. Lady Diana Beecham, and she was making calf-eyes at Taff.
“Lud, sir. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, but if my husband had possessed a drop of your courtliness, I’d have been one contented lady!”
Taff bowed. “It’s Martin, ma’am. Captain Tavistock Martin. I’m lucky enough to be a guest of the Westleighs for the Season.”
“Really? Are you family?”
“No, ma’am. Actually, I, er…”
“Taff saved my life, Lady Beecham,” said Stephen. “Charged in and rescued me from two would-be kidnappers while I was out riding. I owe him a great deal.”
“Well I never! Sounds like you are an excellent man to have around for many reasons, Captain Martin!”
Taff shrugged. “You do me great honor, my lady, but enough about me. We are here to celebrate the whirlwind marriage of Lord and Lady Westleigh. I simply cannot wait to hear all the details, as I said, I’m quite the milksop for stories of true romance.”
Lady Beecham tittered. “Oh, me too! Do tell us the story,
Westleigh. We all know you and George Edwards have been the best of friends forever, but I must admit I never for a moment thought you and his twin would make a match! You always seemed so, ah, spirited, in each other’s company.”
Stephen cleared his throat. What the hell was wrong with these people? Couldn’t some things just remain private?
“Er, well, not really that much to tell—”
“Oh, come now, my lord!” said Taff, laughing heartily. “No need to be shy! This is your chance to earn a whole barrel of, now what did your charming mother call them? Ah yes, credits. Delight us all with the tale of how you won your fair lady’s heart and convinced her to marry you on a whim after so many years of spirited friendship.”
“Yes. Yes!” trumpeted purple turban lady, elbowing her way in front of Lady Beecham. “You’ve put the cat amongst the pigeons tonight, you two lovebirds, I’m dying to hear the tale as well. Indulge an old woman.”
Oh, for God’s sake. As if Caroline standing meekly beside him wasn’t irritating enough, Taff, who he’d really expected better from, had gone and revealed a disgustingly soft underbelly and incited this circle of cream puffs into wanting to hear some bloody Byronic love quest. Like he needed another reason why the foolish emotion should be completely avoided. It turned formerly sane, rational people into simpering idiots and liars.
“Come on, Westleigh,” several people chorused, and mild panic set in.
Come on, think of something. Anything. Then they’ll go away and leave you alone.
“So,” he hedged. “You really want to hear the story?”
Hell and damnation. Of course they did.
***
Hell and damnation.
This was just embarrassing. And because the Fates hated her, Taff was standing too far away to maul with a heel. Or gag. Or drown in the champagne fountain.
Taking a deep breath, Caroline let loose with the most high-pitched, fake tinkling giggle she could muster. One which startled her husband so much he shot her an alarmed look, eyebrows nearly imbedded in his hairline.
“Caroline?” he said, in a tone so artificially calm and soothing she wanted to laugh for real.
“Oh, Westleigh,” she murmured, rapping his arm with her fan sharply enough to sting. “Stop teasing the poor people. Just tell them our wonderfully romantic story.”
“But, my dear,” Stephen replied, reaching across to clasp her fingers in a grip that made her eyes water. “You tell it so much better. The stage is yours.”
“Are you sure?” she crooned, her nails nearly shredding his jacket.
“Absolutely,” Stephen smiled with another squeeze, one that had her stifling a squeak.
Caroline coughed delicately. “I seem to have a slight tickle in my throat. Perhaps…”
“Here you are,” he said, scooping a glass of champagne from a passing footman’s tray. “Drink up, then you may share all the delightful details.”
Oh, her husband was a feral skunk, leaving this entirely up to her. And when had the ‘chew them up and spit them out’ wolf pack ton turned into a group of such lovesick lambs? Sipping the drink, Caroline mentally plotted the worst of revenges, but eventually she placed the empty glass on a nearby ledge and smiled at the group which had of course become ten times larger.
“The truth is,” she began, “I first fell in love with Westleigh when I was thirteen years old. It was visiting day at Eton and when my family went to see George, standing next to him was an equally tall, equally gangly pile of bones, but even worse, he had an equally terrible glint in his eye, the kind that spells serious trouble. George, as you know, is an utter rascal, but those two together, my word. Yet I knew there and then he would be the only man for me.”
“But how did you know?” said Lady Beecham with a supremely annoying flirtatious giggle. “By your own account Westleigh wasn’t the, ah, fine figure of a man he is now.”
“I can’t explain it, I just did. My whole heart belonged to him from that day forward, wayward limbs, torn sleeves, spotted face and all.”
Stephen shot her an irritated look. “You were hardly Aphrodite. Stringy hair, a crooked tooth that gave you a lisp, no bosom to speak ooo…”
He broke off as roars of laughter rang out, giving her the opportunity to discreetly remove the elbow embedded in his ribcage. Yes her breasts were more than ample now, but they’d taken their sweet time arriving. And THAT had been no joking matter.
“Anyway,” Caroline trilled, musical as a crow, “As you can see we both improved markedly over the years. I was patient. So very, very patient.”
“As one has to be,” sighed a rather plain-looking young woman.
‘Yes,” said Caroline sympathetically. “I waited while he went to Cambridge. I waited while he trotted around on various grand tours. I waited when he suffered such terrible tragedy. And I waited while he learned all he needed to learn to be the wonderful man he is today.”
Taff smiled thinly. “Sensible lady, waiting. You’ve been rewarded with far more than, I don’t know, say what a mere mister or even a barony would offer.”
Bastard. If the captain had a lick of sense he would bolt his door and employ a food taster forever.
“I’ve been very lucky, yes,” replied Caroline, trying out her fake, tinny laugh once again. “But you know, I would have married Westleigh even if he’d been a chimney sweep.”
“A sweep?” purred Lady Beecham with a sleepy, doe-eyed look. “I daresay he wouldn’t have been a very good one. Imagine trying to fit those shoulders…or those thighs… into a chimney.”
So. It was true. La Beecham and Stephen had been lovers.
A faint hiss escaped. If the baroness thought she would ever get within two feet of Stephen again, she was very much mistaken. Actually, the woman had better start running for the continent. Bloody, hair-ripping, gown-tearing brawls at wedding balls were never a good look, especially when one of the combatants was the bride.
Stephen coughed.
“But then Caroline got tired of waiting,” he said smoothly. “You know us gentlemen, sometimes we need to be, er, helped along a little when it comes to matrimony.”
“Helped along?” snickered a dandy to her right. “More like dragged kicking and screaming with a pistol at our backs!”
Stephen smiled at the quip. “Indeed. So she played a dastardly trick on me.”
Everyone went deathly silent, and her fingers clamped down on Stephen’s arm as the entire group surged forward with gleaming eyes and big-toothed smiles. The wolves were back with a vengeance.
“Really?” said a purple turbaned-woman she couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of. “What did our dear Lady Westleigh do?”
“She…oh I can hardly say it,” he murmured.
Caroline gritted her teeth. Now he revealed a penchant for the dramatic. If she didn’t know him better, she might say Stephen was actually enjoying himself.
“Tell us!” barked Lady Beecham, amongst a loud chorus of fervent agreement.
“Very well,” said Stephen. “She pretended, bold as brass, she was about to marry someone else. Can you imagine! Well, I wasn’t impressed. Knew she’d be making the biggest mistake of her life and I told her so in no uncertain terms.”
“Yes, he did,” said Caroline dryly, her grip slowly relaxing.
“And then she said to me, if her chosen fiancé was so terrible, perhaps I knew of someone else who might fit the bill? And that’s when it hit me—”
“Like a china figurine hurled from a short distance.”
Stephen patted her hand. “Absolutely, my dear. It did take something akin to a sledgehammer, as I said, you know us men. But I was the right one! So I dropped to one knee—”
“How romantic!” sobbed a confirmed spinster at the back of the group.
“Thank you,” Stephen grinned. “And very, very humbly asked
her to be my wife. Naturally, once I made up my mind, I couldn’t abide waiting.”
“No, he couldn’t,” said Caroline. “We were married this morning.”
“In Langton’s chapel with both our delighted families, Standish, Ardmore, Southby and Miss Donovan present. Although I must admit, I did suggest a sojourn to Gretna Green.”
“No!” shrieked a petite brunette to her far left. “How scandalous!”
“Unfortunately yes, he did,” George interrupted, shouldering his way into the fray while bestowing his most charming smile. “Despite this poppycock story my brother-in-law doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body, as I’m sure my baby sister will attest. But Caro didn’t fancy a long carriage ride to Scotland, so here they are, shocking everybody in their ballroom instead. For that we need a drink! Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to raise your glasses and toast the earl and countess. To Lord and Lady Westleigh!”
“Lord and Lady Westleigh,” the group sang back obediently, and Caroline let out a long breath. The wolves had been tamed for a night at least. Amazing the realistic-sounding story that could be spun when you added some partially true detail, her husband actually hadn’t done too badly with his additional false proposal details.
Stephen held up a hand to regain their attention. “I hope you all enjoy your evening, supper is now being served in the adjoining room. I’m going to steal my bride away for a dance.”
As soon as they made it to the dance floor, Caroline ignored propriety and practically slumped against him. Would it be so bad to abandon their own ball?
“I feel like I’ve just walked here from Bath,” she muttered eventually as they waltzed.
“No doubt. You did very well though, especially that nonsense about falling in love with me when you were thirteen.”
She closed her eyes briefly against the stab of pain. “Yes. Well. I…had to think of something.”
“Thanks to Taff. And Lady Beecham and her cronies are rather hard work.”
“Do me a favor and never mention that woman’s name in my hearing again. Ever.”
“Really? I thought perhaps you might become great friends. Imagine the conversations you could have over tea and cakes.”
To Love a Hellion (The London Lords Book 1) Page 13
