by Allison Lane
So Sophia must be reviving her failed plan, hoping to pressure him into separating Eastbrook from Miss Parker. If she could convince him that Miss Parker loved Langley, then he would help her end Eastbrook’s betrothal.
She had failed again. Aside from deducing her plot, he had sworn off meddling. Every time he stooped to dishonor, Diana suffered. He was finished.
“But I am well served for my plot,” wailed Sophia, interrupting his thoughts, but confirming that she had talked Langley into helping her. “Papa has a new offer for my hand. If I do not accept someone this Season, he will give me to Lord Griswold.”
“I do not know the gentleman.”
She sniffed. “He is a baron who lives about ten miles from our estate. He is all of fifty, has rotten teeth, and smells. He jumped at Papa’s offer, though, for he is in dire need of cash and he has no heir. His former wife left him with three young daughters,” she added, cringing.
“He sounds awful,” he agreed. “You had best make a determined effort to find someone eligible.”
“Never. Honorable men will not want me, knowing I love another – I could never hide such a thing. Only men like Griswold will not care. Talk to Papa, Nicholas. Surely you can make him understand. I must move to my own estate. I can find an acceptable companion. Surely he cannot hate me enough to force such a match.”
“He can, and will,” he said, shaking his head. Bankleigh might not hate his daughter, but he would not renege on his sworn word. “In your own interest, you must pick a husband, Sophia. At least half a dozen sober-minded gentlemen would offer if you gave them any encouragement.”
“Ha!”
“It’s true. Lord Harold Spencer would take you in a trice. As would Sir Richard Fotheringay, Lord Bankhead, Lawrence Stoverson, Robert Macefield, John Pringle—”
“But I don’t want them,” she interrupted him, new tears escaping her eyes. “I want George. Or no one.”
“Stubborn, aren’t you. Which is why you are in this fix.”
“Talk to him,” she begged again.
“It would do no good – as you well know. You have pushed him too far to expect him to change his mind now. Either you compromise, or you will wind up with Griswold.”
“I can’t! I can’t! I will throw myself off a cliff before tying myself to so odious a husband.” Her passion startled him, but it was obvious that she was serious.
A solution was nipping at his mind, one that could solve both their problems. After taking a moment to examine it, he sighed. “If you feel that strongly about it, you might as well wed me. I don’t love you, but neither do you love me. We are good enough friends to muddle along together. I can see no way of breaking off George’s betrothal, and frankly he seems content with it. As does Miss Parker.” It would also get Lady Hardesty off his back. He had reluctantly concluded that the betting books were right. He wasn’t going to survive this Season unshackled. But he wanted a little say in who he got stuck with. Sophia wasn’t bad looking, and at least she wasn’t stupid. Stubborn he could handle.
“You?” she squeaked.
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Why not, indeed.” She stared out the window for several minutes. “Very well, my lord. I will endeavor to make you an adequate wife.”
Which was as much as he could expect. He placed a gentle kiss on her hand and led her back to the ballroom, his head swirling worse than before at the suddenness of his capitulation.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Diana choked on a bite of toast. Motioning the footman out of the room, she succumbed to coughing. An audience was the last thing she needed just now. And not because of embarrassment. Long after she recovered, her eyes stared sightlessly at the Morning Post.
Surely she had misread the announcement! But the words would not change. Lord Bankleigh was pleased to announce a betrothal between his daughter, Lady Sophia Prescott, and the Marquess of Woodvale.
Oh, Nicholas!
He would regret this. She knew he would. Lady Sophia worshipped propriety and was far too self-righteous to make him a comfortable wife. Her sharp tongue would drive him to distraction, and her willful determination was every bit as strong as his mother’s.
When I finally decide to set up my nursery, I will choose an heiress. His voice echoed as it had done for ten years. Stubborn, blind fool! Despite the changes in his own life, despite the character of the lady involved, he had stuck to his plan. He had wooed Sophia for weeks, ignoring any hint of her flaws as he secured the biggest dowry in town.
Damn you, Nicholas!
Imagining him tied to Lady Sophia forced her to face the truth. She still loved him. Had never stopped loving him. Oh, she had hated him, too. But the pain of his cruelty had lingered only because she also loved him.
Sitting up straighter, she tried to concentrate on his faults. He was not a man who would make a comfortable husband. He could be as determined as Lady Sophia – which itself hinted that this would be a match made in hell. He was single-minded and ruthless in pursuit of his goals. His raking was legendary and anything but discreet. No marriage of convenience was likely to change that.
Loving him would never compensate for those faults. She would be miserable with a husband who spent his time in other women’s beds. Nor would she tolerate a man who would ride roughshod over her. His ingrained selfishness left him oblivious to others’ needs and uncaring of any pain he inflicted as he bulled his way through life. Let Sophia have him. They deserved each other.
He had done her a favor all those years ago by refusing her love. And her temporary betrothal to Charles was a true blessing. Nicholas would have had little trouble coercing her into his bed. Intimacy would have made this news even harder to bear. Thank heavens she had been spared that.
She repeated that again and again, until she almost believed it. She must put him firmly behind her. The past was truly gone and could not be resurrected. Her future was set. The transition might be rough, but if she stayed busy enough, she would manage. And she had plenty to do.
Letting out one last sigh, she set the paper aside.
How could Charles and Chloe elope with minimal damage? Would Charles’s original plan actually work?
A moment’s thought left her shaking her head. Perhaps it might have once, but not now. By moving up the date of the wedding, the Parkers had already triggered gossip. Few believed their excuse. Speculation had ranged from a falling out between Chloe and her parents to misbehavior that left Chloe in an interesting condition. After that, changing the identity of the groom would cause a scandal of epic proportions.
So either Charles and Chloe must actually wed on their secret elopement – the isle of Guernsey was a possibility; like Scotland, it required no license, and it was only a day’s sail by packet – or they must elope onto the ship that would take them to Charles’s post. But that would work only if he got his orders very soon. So far that hadn’t happened.
She sighed. They had best plan for both contingencies. And she needed to protect herself from George and the Parkers. Possibly even the Weymouths. All of them would be furious. George would forgive her once his initial embarrassment faded. He might even admit that he was better off without Chloe. The Weymouths would put the incident behind them once George married. But the Parkers would cling to this grievance forever. So how was she to deal with them and the neighbors they would influence?
* * * *
Nicholas grimaced as he followed Justin into the hallway behind his theater box.
“Very bad form, Nicholas,” his friend chided softly. The first act was in progress, but voices carried. “How could you publicly escort Lady Forester the very day your betrothal announcement appeared in the paper? Everyone in London knows she is little better than a courtesan.”
Running frustrated fingers through his hair, Nicholas ignored the condemnation in Justin’s eyes. “I did not know about the announcement until half an hour ago,” he admitted. “Why the devil did Bankleigh print it? I haven’t even spoken to the
man.”
“You mean you are not betrothed?”
“I’m committed to it, of course. I spoke to Sophia last night, but nothing is settled.” And wouldn’t be for weeks; Bankleigh had a reputation for hard bargaining.
But he should have expected this. He knew the man was determined to force Sophia into marriage. The moment Sophia mentioned accepting his offer, Bankleigh would have tied it up so she could not back out.
Justin shook his head. “When did you get interested in Lady Sophia? I never would have considered her as a potential wife.”
“Be careful, Justin.”
“Why? You know my impressions of the lady. We’ve discussed them before. Is that why you said nothing?”
He opened his mouth, but no words emerged. He had not mentioned his betrothal even to his best friend because it had seemed unimportant. But he could hardly admit that without insulting Sophia. And only now did he recall Justin’s earlier words. His heart sank to his toes. He must have been more foxed than he’d thought to have forgotten.
Justin continued. “I don’t know what bugaboo is driving you, Nicholas – and I don’t want to know. But you need to take a long look at yourself before you destroy every shred of your reputation. Even if you care nothing for Lady Sophia, the timing of this little escapade is abominable. And its blatancy is downright cruel.”
“Agreed. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
He watched Justin walk away, then pressed his hands to his eyes and sighed. He had set up this meeting with Lady Forester two days ago when her flirtatious advances had caught him during a particularly intense wave of melancholy. If he had realized the announcement was public, he would have canceled, but he had risen late that morning, leaving no time to scan the newspapers before meeting with his solicitor.
Lady Forester must have known, though, he admitted grimly. Yet she had said nothing, setting him up to appear as cold as Devereaux, London’s most callous rakehell.
Damnation!
Had she meant to do it, or was she pursuing some other goal? One of his reasons for escorting her tonight was curiosity. He had recently heard a vastly different tale of her sudden marriage than the one accepted by the gossips.
Jonathan Tindale had been another member of the house party Forester had attended last summer. He claimed that Lady Forester and her family had met the entire company that first night, and that Forester had been instantly smitten – which cast doubts on her reputation for callous manipulation.
Yet Nicholas felt manipulated. She was the one who had suggested the theater. And she had maneuvered him into appearing more interested than he was, brushing against him and all but embracing him. What game was she playing?
He returned to his box, but instead of watching the stage, he studied the other boxes. It didn’t take long to understand. Lord Forester was directly across the way, snuggling with a pair of courtesans. But five minutes of watching revealed that he was not truly paying attention to his companions. His eyes kept wandering toward his wife.
Nicholas compared Tindale’s claims to his other facts about the Foresters. They had met the previous summer. Lord Forester was heir to an earl and a well-known rake. Lady Forester had been a vicar’s daughter two generations removed from the aristocracy. No one was surprised that his eye had chosen the delectable girl to be his summer flirt. And with his history, no one had been shocked that he had convinced her to meet him on the sly. She was beautiful and eminently beddable, but she was too far below him to make an acceptable wife. And she’d had no dowry.
He shivered at the similarities between this tale and his own summer in Warwickshire. Assignations with gentry lasses were fraught with danger – as they both had learned. But he had not been caught with Diana. Forester had not only been caught, he’d been caught with his clothes off. Idiot! A wedding had quickly followed, but neither of them evinced any pleasure in the union.
He nearly laughed as his eyes moved between husband and wife. Only the fact that he was caught in the middle kept him quiet. Forester had been caught all right, but not in dalliance. The fool was in love with her. And he would bet his last shilling that she returned his regard. But circumstances and pride were preventing either from admitting it. Each was using blatant affairs to hide the truth, and perhaps to goad the other into a confrontation. What a farce.
By the first interval, he had attracted Forester’s attention with a vengeance. He had moved so close that Lady Forester was practically in his lap, then spent the remainder of the first act whispering in her ear. His eyes alternated between staring down her low-cut bodice and glaring at her husband. When laughter drew all eyes but Forester’s to the stage, he let his hand trail suggestively across her bosom and grinned.
It worked. Even as the curtain rang down, Forester was up and slamming out of his box.
Nicholas leaned over Lady Forester’s shoulder. “Quit playing games,” he whispered into her ear. “Isn’t it time for a little honesty? You will never be happy until you tell your husband the truth.”
Her eyes widened in shock, but he left the box before she could respond. He cheekily gave the same message to Forester, then pushed him through the door and left them alone. Hopefully his own performance hadn’t blackened his reputation beyond repair.
That hope lasted less than a minute. The next man he encountered was a furious Eastbrook.
“How dare you demean your betrothed and make a mockery of your upcoming vows by entertaining a Cyprian in public on the very day your nuptials are announced?” Eastbrook demanded, hatred blazing from his eyes.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” he drawled, holding his temper with difficulty, “but I had not expected the announcement just yet.”
“What difference does that make?” His eyes bulged. “You dishonor Lady Sophia by even thinking of another woman. I cannot understand how so proper a lady could consider wedding you.”
“Just one of life’s little mysteries, Eastbrook.” But something in the man’s face kept him from brushing past. Even a self-righteous prig would think twice about initiating such a low-bred public confrontation. So what was driving Eastbrook? Was he so obsessed with propriety that he had assumed the role of society’s conscience?
It didn’t matter. He had admitted fault to Justin – the complaint was legitimate, and Justin was a close friend. But he’d be damned before he let a suffocating prig criticize him. So he smiled. “Surely you understand marriages of convenience better than that, Eastbrook. I’m hardly going to sacrifice my pleasures for a chit so long in the tooth that her father would promise anything to get her shackled. She knows me well enough to expect no more.”
“You mean that you offered for a girl you don’t love?” George sounded horrified.
“An odd question coming from a man whose marriage was contracted when he was still in short coats.”
George glared. “That is beside the point. Lady Sophia is an innocent who will never be happy with a libertine.”
“Innocent?” He shrugged, again letting that smile flirt with his lips. “Virginal, it’s true. But she has been out long enough to know the rules. In her eagerness to escape her parents’ pressure, she gladly accepted a libertine. Once I get an heir, she can go her own way, though if she wants to live separately, it will have to be on my Scottish property – I need her estate to house a cousin. But she knows exactly what she’s walking into. And it is not your affair, in any case.”
George was sputtering incoherently, so Nicholas took his leave, furious that a man he barely knew would question his actions.
But the die was cast. His solicitor would begin negotiations with Bankleigh tomorrow. By summer he would be wed, and by Christmas Sophia would be carrying his heir.
So why did his heart feel so heavy?
* * * *
“How was the theater?” Diana asked as Chloe joined her in the drawing room. Chloe had arrived first today. Charles would be along shortly. Occasionally he slipped in throu
gh the back or met them elsewhere. They had worked out elaborate schemes to keep Chloe’s visits innocent.
She shuddered. “I nearly told George what a pompous ass he is.”
“In front of your parents?”
“I caught myself in time, but I’ve never sat through such a long evening. I hope Charles gets his orders soon. I can’t stand much more.”
“What happened?” Surely Chloe was used to boredom by now.
“Lord Woodvale brought Lady Forester to the theater and spent the first act nuzzling her neck. George was furious, grumbling nonstop about libertines thumbing their noses at innocent young girls. But that was nothing to his tirade after the first interval. He must have spoken to Woodvale while he was out getting lemonade, because he went on and on about ruthless lords and marriages of convenience.”
“What does he consider his own marriage to be?”
“I almost asked that, but with Mama and Papa there, I didn’t dare. George claims that Woodvale plans to lock Lady Sophia away in Scotland or some such nonsense – personally, I can understand him not wanting to live with the girl, but then why is he wedding her?”
Diana offered no explanation. All her energy was focused on keeping her face under control.
“But that tirade was nothing to the one he spouted after Woodvale abandoned Lady Forester to her husband.”
“What?” Her pain lightened to hear that Nicholas had not left with the lady. Lady Forester was notorious. Perhaps her husband had decided to rein her in, though his own reputation was little better.
“I thought at first that George was upset because Woodvale left the Foresters in a vehement public argument in his box.” She giggled. “Everyone in the house was straining to hear, but they kept their voices down, despite their furious gestures. Forester tried to drag her bodice higher – Woodvale had hardly taken his eyes off her bosom – but she yanked it back, popping one breast out and nearly ripping the fabric.”
“Good heavens!”
“But that wasn’t what upset George. Woodvale joined the two women Forester had arrived with. They left together during the second interval. George claimed they were courtesans.”
