And by the quick path all the Edgertons took, they were as thrilled at his joining their ranks as he was to join.
His wife hesitated in the doorway. With the benefit of the cane, she brought herself back around to face him. “Leo?” she asked quizzically.
He held his palms aloft. “I’ve dined. I draw the line at anything further.”
“Joining respectable gentlemen for brandies?” She tapped her cane. “Gentlemen who also happen to be your brothers-in-law.”
“I trust I’m doing them a greater favor if I allow them their company without me being a part of it.” In fact, he’d be doing them all the greatest favor—Leo included.
Chloe sighed. “You really need to consult the instructions I provided earlier.”
They waged a silent battle. Any other woman would have backed down under the dark glare he shot her. He should have known better where his wife was concerned.
She thumped the floor again with her cane.
“Oh, bloody hell.” Leo scraped a hand through his hair. “I’ll join them.”
His wife smiled. That grin faintly dimpled her left cheek. “Splendid.”
So it was, a short while later, after being escorted to Waverly’s billiards room, he found himself alone with his brothers-in-law. Both already engaged in a game, they didn’t spare him even a glance.
“Gentlemen,” he called from the doorway.
The crack of Guilford’s targeted ball served as Leo’s empty greeting.
He sighed.
His wife was still too naïve to realize her hopes for the Edgertons welcoming Leo into their folds were as unlikely as the queen’s terriers taking flight over Kensington Palace. Had Leo truly ever been that innocent?
“Your shot,” Guilford murmured to Waverly.
Uninvited, Leo did a turn about the room, surveying the space. If he were going to have to suffer through this, he’d require a damned drink. He settled his gaze on the mahogany tantalus. Crossing over, he attempted to open the glass doors. Locked.
“Tennyson, what the hell are you doing?” Waverly snapped.
He paused. “I thought it should be fairly obvious,” he drawled over his shoulder. “I’m availing myself of a glass of brandy. Or trying to.” He looked pointedly at the stand.
“You ruin my sister and wed her without my consent, and think to drink my spirits?” his brother-in-law asked, his tone steeped in incredulity. Tension spilled from the Marquess of Waverly’s broad shoulders.
He was on the cusp of snapping. Leo had countless experiences with men—and women—close to losing control. “I did speak with you first.” He smiled. “Though, in truth, your answer never meant anything.” It had been the lady’s cooperation he’d required.
Chloe’s brother stiffened. Then, with a sharp bark of fury, he surged forward.
Lord Guilford grabbed his brother-in-law by the shoulder, holding him back.
“This continues to be a game to you, Tennyson,” Waverly hissed.
“Pfft, hardly that.” Leo gave a mock shudder. “No game ends in marital chains.”
Waverly fought against his brother-in-law’s hold. The vein bulging in his forehead and his mottled flush showed his anger. “And yet, you married her anyway,” he cried. “You whoreson. You wed a woman whose slippers you aren’t even good enough to kiss, for what? To pay your debt and bed your whores?” he spat.
“I suggest you leave,” Guilford said quietly.
For an infinitesimal moment, he considered remaining. He contemplated riling the deservedly outraged marquess in a defiant show.
And yet, to do so would create additional unrest for his wife.
He started. Where in hell did that worry come from? Leo shook his head hard. The sole reason he was concerned was because he required the Edgerton connection to Waterson… and respectability. Of course. That was the sole reason. Familial unity for his wife merely aided those efforts.
Leo released a beleaguered sigh. “Oh, very well. Gentlemen.” He touched the brim of an imagined hat and then quit the billiards room. As soon as he’d stepped out into the hall, he glanced up and down the corridors.
Humming The Rakes of Mallow, he strolled the length of the silent corridors. As he walked, he took in the ancestral portraits hanging upon the walls: ones of marquess’ past, bewigged gents alongside powered ladies. With each painting he passed, the passage of time was marked, giving way to more recent Edgertons.
His whistling faded to a slow stop.
The portrait of a little girl with golden curls and cornflower-blue eyes beckoned. Despite the white frock and tender years, there could be no doubting the figure reflected back was his wife. Leo glanced about and, finding himself alone still, examined the rendering. The artist had captured the likeness when Chloe was nine or mayhap ten. And yet, for all the remarkable likenesses that marked her as the woman he’d wed, there were shades that revealed a wholly different person.
He peered at a young Chloe Edgerton.
Unlike the mischievous glitter that lit his wife’s eyes now, there was an uncertainty in the girl before him. Shoulders hunched, eyes downcast, she was a shadow of the woman who’d invaded his household and presented terms of their marriage.
“Are you the rotter?”
He wheeled around. Two little girls stood several paces away. The elder of the pair lifted one of the rapiers in her hand. “Well?”
Oh, bloody hell. Proper dinners and now… discussions with children.
The world had gone insane. He yanked at his suddenly tight cravat. Children were innocent. As such, he’d not a bloody clue as to what to do with them.
The girl trotted over. “Is something wrong with your hearing?” she asked excitedly.
He bristled. “Certainly not.” His keen hearing had, in fact, saved his miserable hide scores of time from discovery.
Her face fell.
“Faith can’t.” The other curly-headed girl skipped over.
“Be. Quiet,” Faith gritted, nudging the garrulous one in the side.
Do not ask. Do not ask. He would only regret it. Alas… “Cannot?”
“Hear,” the smaller child piped in.
Her sister growled, “I can hear.”
“Not out of your right ear, Faith,” the smaller child insisted, pointing to her left lobe.
Ah, the girl was deaf.
While they bickered back and forth, Leo contemplated a path to freedom over his shoulder.
“I’m only partially deaf,” the older girl cried, stamping the tip of her rapier into the hardwood. The metal thrummed back and forth, forcing his attention back.
“Pfft,” he scoffed. “Beethoven is now nearly deaf in both ears, and he composed his Second Symphony in the state.”
The eldest child widened her eyes. “Who?”
“Beethoven?”
Both girls looked blankly back.
“The Sonata quasi una fantasia?”
“Mm. Mm,” the eldest child confirmed with a shake of her head.
Weren’t young ladies tasked with music lessons? “DaDaDaDaDaDa—Da-Da—Da—Da-Da.” He waved his finger in time to the beat.
“That’s horribly dreary,” the eldest child whispered.
Leo drew back. “Surely you’ve heard his works?” “Da. Da. Daaaa. Da-Da.” He proceeded to sing the lyric-less tune.
The different-aged girls, who could only be sisters, glanced at each other and dissolved into a fit of giggles.
“That is dreary,” he corrected. “Not knowing Beethoven,” he mumbled. “A splendid chap.” One Leo had met in his travels to Austria. “I’ll leave you ladies to your own pleasures.” He swept a bow and marched off.
He made it no farther than three paces.
“He was deaf, you say?” Faith called after him. Her voice echoed in the emptied corridors. The pair of girls instantly trotted over and stood side by side, blocking his path toward escape. The eldest sister pointed her rapier at his throat.
His lips twitched. “Chloe’s nieces?” Th
eir stubbornness and spirit marked them as smaller versions of his Edgerton wife.
They nodded.
“The husband?” Faith countered.
“The same.” He sketched a bow.
“Hmph,” she said noncommittally, in a reply that might or might not have been an insult. In the end, her curiosity won out. “About this Beethoven. He was deaf in both ears, you say?”
“This Beethoven is deaf in both ears. He’s very much alive, I assure you. And,” he felt compelled to advise, “only one of the greatest musical minds of this time.”
“Never gave much attention to music lessons because of my ear,” Faith said quietly, lowering her rapier.
Disquieted by the emotion that lit the girl’s eyes, he tried to step around her. She stuck her rapier out, once again, blocking his escape. “Do you fence?”
“Do I…” he repeated slowly, feeling like one in the midst of a play without the benefit of his lines.
“I’m teaching Violet.”
“Shouldn’t you be abed or… or… doing whatever it is children do at this hour?”
The girl grinned widely. “We are. I fence.”
“Of course you do,” he muttered.
“And I’m learning.” Violet waved her fingertips.
Her elder sister went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “You could return to Uncle Gabriel and have him yell at you some more.” Faith lifted her little shoulders in a shrug. “Not really sure what else you are going to do, since my uncle threw you out.”
“Fair point,” he said under his breath.
When presented with joining his brother-in-law or interacting with this tenacious imp, he found himself seriously debating a plea for a truce with Waverly.
“What’s a pony son?” the small girl asked curiously.
“A pony… son?” he echoed. What in the blazes?
Faith sighed. “A whoreson. Uncle Gabriel called him a whoreson.”
His ears heated. Oh, bloody hell.
“Fencing it is, then,” he muttered and allowed the small pair to lead him off.
Chapter 17
Through her mother’s noisy weeping, Chloe puzzled through one question: Just how many times could her mother utter a single word before Chloe’s patience snapped?
“M-married,” the dowager marchioness gasped out for a fourth time. From where she sat before the hearth, she buried another sob in her palm. “M-married.”
Five. That was now the fifth time she had thrown out that forlorn utterance.
Seated beside her on the damask sofa, Philippa, who’d long been the one to appease their mother, proved wholly incapable. She caught Chloe’s gaze, an apology in her expressive eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.
Chloe turned her focus to the window. What was the remorse for? Pulling back the curtains, she peered down at the streets below. Their mother’s endless round of tears? Her family’s unpardonable rudeness at dinner? Or fear that you’ve found yourself in a miserable marriage like their mother’s… and Philippa’s first union?
Her sister-in-law moved into position just beyond her shoulder. “She is worried about you,” Jane murmured.
Ah, Jane, ever the peacemaker. “As is Gabriel. As is everyone. That does not give anyone permission to be rude.” She’d expected more from her family. Instead, throughout the dinner, not a single member of her family had uttered a word to Leo.
“Married,” her mother repeated.
Chloe drew the line at that sixth utterance. She let the curtain slip from her fingers and faced her weeping parent.
“Given you’ve spent the past eight years trying to maneuver me into that very state, I’d expect you’d conduct yourself with a modicum of delight,” she called over.
Her mother flew to her feet. “Yes,” she cried, slashing the air with her wrinkled handkerchief. “I wished to see you wedded to a good man. A kind one. Instead, you’ve gone and tied yourself to a brute like—” Chloe’s father. The marchioness broke down, wilting into the sofa. Covering her face with her hands, she wept copious tears that shook her frame.
Philippa folded their mother close and made nonsensical soothing noises.
Chloe bit the inside of her cheek. “Leo’s not like him.” Was that assurance given for her mother? Or Chloe herself? Because, did she truly know him? Did she know him in any way?
Her mother drew back from Philippa. “How do you knowww that?” her mother pleaded, echoing her very thoughts. “He is a blackguard.”
I’ve never proclaimed to be anything other than a black-hearted scoundrel, because I’m not…
She hugged herself in an involuntary embrace. For the truth was, she didn’t know that.
“He is a man who wishes to be better,” she finally said into the quiet. Which wasn’t untrue. Her family, however, didn’t need to know the reasons for his request. “A gentleman who offered me marriage and forfeited all rights to my dowry, who asked for little in return.”
“A man like Tennyson does not do anything because he has a heart, Chloe,” her mother shot back, fury adding strength to her previously weakened timbre. No, he’d had a need in marrying her. Just as she’d had her own reasons to wed him.
Her mother drew in a breath and made a show of smoothing her skirts. When she again spoke, she was a master of her emotion. “I’ve always admired you, Chloe. Despite… everything.” The Monster Marquess of Waverly. “You were strong and clever, and you learned how to smile and laugh. But this?” She shook her head sadly. “This decision, I can never understand. It goes against all you are and all you have adamantly stood against as a woman.”
The damning words echoed in the quiet of the room long after her mother finished her measured diatribe.
Jane and Philippa stood in like measured silence, an affirmation of the dowager marchioness’ charges.
Chloe looked to each of them, the women in her life. “I came tonight to enlist your support in smoothing Leo’s entry into respectable Society. I never expected you, my family, of all people, should so pass judgment that you’d be incapable of extending that to him.” Bitterness lined her words. “Whether you approve or disapprove, despise him, or find me foolish for wedding him, he is my husband.” She squared her shoulders. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“Chloe,” Jane said, rushing over.
Chloe held a hand up. “I’d rather not discuss this any further. Not now.” Presenting her back, she marched off—albeit at a slower pace that her still slightly aching ankle allowed.
She exited the parlor and continued on through the corridors she’d raced as a child. And when she’d placed a sizable distance between herself and her mother, sister, and sister-in-law, Chloe let a stream of curses fly.
How dare they?
Regardless of whether or not they believed she’d made a mistake, the Edgertons had proven a loyal lot… extending kindness to those in need and forgiveness of each other. Now, they should meet Leo’s entry to the family with coldness?
Chloe scowled. She hadn’t expected them to be effusive with false joy. But a polite welcome and casual dialogue were the least they could manage for strangers at ton functions.
Outrage fueled her steps, pushing her onward and leaving her to muddle through her predicament.
As part of their arrangement, she’d promised Leo entry to Polite Society. She, however, had taken for granted her family’s assistance. What now?
The peel of children’s laughter split into her worried musings. Compelled toward the innocent expression of her nieces’ mirth, Chloe started for the ballroom. How many times had she herself sneaked about while her parents, a leading patron and patroness of the ton, had entertained guests? She reached the double doorways that hung wide open and abruptly stopped.
All the outrage and fury that had fueled her earlier movements fled.
Her niece Faith raised a rapier into position, facing her expertly positioned opponent.
“En garde,” Leo called and, leading with his front leg, thrust.
Faith re
treated, moving sideways and parrying. “Like this?”
He shook his head and stopped. “It’s like a dance. One—”
“I don’t dance,” Faith interrupted.
“So no music lessons and no dance,” he noted, brushing the loose, golden curls that had tumbled over his brow back. “Another shame. Dancing is good fun.”
“Are you going to show Faith how to dance?” Violet called from where she sat at the edge of the ballroom, her legs stretched out before her. “Because I want to learn to dance. Will you show me?”
“Dancing will have to wait for another day,” he promised. “Assume your en garde position.” Pivoting on his heel, he rocked back, demonstrating the proper positioning. “Now, lead with your dominant leg,” he instructed.
While Faith followed the quick commands, Chloe muddled through, trying to make sense of the unlikely exchange between Society’s most-hardened rake, a man called heartless by her own family and by himself on numerous scores… and her young nieces. For men who were heartless didn’t deliver fencing lessons to young girls.
“Now, retreat,” he ordered, pushing forward. He lunged, his unconventional yet effective upward positioning highlighting the power of his lithe frame.
Chloe’s mouth went dry, her body heating at the mere remembrance of his touch… his kiss…
Faith just missed the tip of his rapier and went on the attack.
“Good,” he praised. “Those are the precise movements.”
A warmth spread throughout Chloe’s chest, quickening her heart. And God help her, it was disastrous and would prove problematic from this moment on, but a small scrap of that wildly beating organ slipped away, forever lost.
“Aunt Chloe!”
Leo stopped midlunge, his gaze alighting on Chloe.
Faith’s rapier found its mark, and it vibrated upon his shoulder. “You were distracted,” she called out excitedly.
Violet hopped up, cheering her elder sister’s triumph.
Leo flashed a bashful half-grin that softened him. “My lady,” he greeted, touching the tip of his blade to his forehead.
Smile. Be casual and breezy and all things nonchalant. Chloe forced her lips up into a grin, praying that it wasn’t one of those silly, fawning ones surely worn by too many women around her rake of a husband.
The Lady Who Loved Him Page 20
