Falling for the Marquess (American Heiress Trilogy Book 2)

by Julianne MacLean

  Another thump sounded over their heads.

  He had to go.

  He kissed Clara on the mouth, then backed out of the room. He noted however, that he left without his usual indulgent, flirtatious smile.

  When the news of her stepson’s sudden haste to marry the American heiress reached Quintina’s ears the next day, she gazed helplessly across the breakfast table at Gillian. Time seemed to stand still for a few seconds.

  An American. Quintina could have spit on her toast.

  All was quiet, until Gillian burst into tears and ran out.

  Quintina sat in her chair, staring blankly at the wall. She felt numb. Sick. Disgusted. How could this have happened? Marriage terrified Seger. He had never been willing to face the permanence or the commitment. Nor had he been willing to let go of the past, in particular the daughter of an insipid, working-class merchant.

  At least she had been English.

  Quintina had foolishly believed that she had all the time in the world to make Gillian the next Lady Rawdon. She had thought her niece was the only young woman with even the slightest chance with Seger because she was the only one Seger spent any time with on a regular basis—the only unmarried girl who didn’t apply any pressure, the sort of pressure that always made him rebel into extreme bachelorhood.

  Quintina had also believed that she could put an end to his engagement and send Gillian in to take over where the heiress had left off, after having lit the stove, so to speak.

  A sudden heated rage rose up inside Quintina. Gillian had been waiting forever. She’d wanted Seger since she was a girl!

  Quintina rose from her chair, picked up a vase full of flowers from the sideboard, and smashed it on the floor.

  The American. In two weeks. It couldn’t be true.

  She took a number of deep breaths to calm herself, then left the breakfast room and informed the housekeeper that she required a carriage right away. She had to send an urgent telegram to America. She could not let this marriage take place.

  Chapter 14

  Dear Clara,

  He must truly love you if he is willing to give up his way of life for you. If you want to be happy, you must believe that in your heart.

  Love,

  Adele

  Beatrice Wilson of New York stepped out of the grand ducal coach and onto the pavement. Wearing a flounced traveling gown that made her look even shorter and plumper than she was naturally, she gazed up at Wentworth House from beneath a wide brimmed, purple plumed hat.

  This was the home of a duke. Her daughter’s home. A wave of satisfaction washed over her.

  Her maid stepped out behind her just as Beatrice’s two daughters came running out the front door to greet her.

  “Mother,” Sophia said. “You’re here at last.”

  They hugged and laughed, then Clara and Sophia stepped back to give their mother room to breathe.

  “You both look beautiful,” Beatrice said. “Congratulations, Clara. I can’t wait to meet this marvelous young man you have captured, and Sophia, I must see my grandchildren.”

  “Of course. Come inside.”

  A footman took care of the trunks, while the housekeeper greeted Beatrice’s maid and showed her to her room in the servants’ quarters.

  A short while later, Beatrice was in the nursery picking up her newest grandson, John, second in line to the dukedom. “What a beautiful boy you are,” she cooed, letting him clasp her finger. “Sophia, what an accomplishment. Two sons in two years. The dowager must be pleased.”

  “She is, Mother. I never thought I would say it, but we’ve become very close.”

  Clara gathered Liam into her arms.

  “And you....” Beatrice said, turning to Clara. “You are about to marry a marquess. My two girls. What legends you have become back home. Sophia tells me your marquess is devastatingly handsome. No doubt your children will be the envy of all the mothers in England.”

  Clara smiled, wondering if the future heir to the title was already planted in her womb. “He is handsome, Mother. And charming and wonderful. I’m very happy.”

  “I’m glad. You deserve it. The world has come around right, has it not?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Clara replied, knowing her mother was referring to that dreadful time two years ago, when it felt like any hope for respectability had been lost forever.

  “How is Adele?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “Adele is having a wonderful time going to parties and balls, but she has not written off the possibility of a London Season of her own. She might wish to come next year and explore the spoils London has to offer—spoils which seem to be quite impressive, judging by what you two have accomplished.”

  She winked at Clara and swayed from side to side to rock the baby. “I’ve hired an English governess for Adele,” she continued, “and the woman is spectacular. She knows all about the aristocracy and tells me she has connections here as well. Though of course, what better recommendation can a young woman have than to be the sister of a duchess and a marchioness?” Beatrice’s eyes glimmered with pride. “I am so proud of both of you.”

  “You will be even more proud,” Sophia said, “when you meet the marquess and his family at the Wilkshire Ball. May I be the first to tell you that the date of the wedding has been moved up since yesterday? They’re going to be married next week, Mother. They are that much in love.”

  Beatrice’s mouth fell open. “You don’t say. Then it is true.”

  “What’s true, Mother?” Clara asked.

  “That it’s a love match. The newspapers in America are churning the story out like butter.”

  Clara laughed out loud. “But where would they hear such a thing?”

  “Heaven knows. The only thing that matters is that you are an American heroine.” She affectionately wiggled Clara’s nose. “I can’t wait to meet this man of yours.”

  Sophia approached and put her arm around Clara. “You will approve of Lord Rawdon, Mother. I am sure of it.”

  “A marquess? You needn’t wonder if I will approve. Handsome or not, I will adore him.”

  Beatrice Wilson did, of course, adore him. Clara watched her mother meet Seger in the ballroom with a look of pure wonder—a look that had more to do with how handsome he was than the simple fact that he was an English lord.

  After their engagement was announced publically, everyone seemed to suddenly share her mother’s opinion. It had been many years since Seger frequented society ballrooms, and Clara guessed that most of these people were finally admitting to their fascination with him, for he was like no other man in London. He had always been a novelty, and now the powerful Duke of Wentworth had welcomed the fallen marquess into his family, and people were at last free to admire him. He was accepted.

  Clara stood off to the side alone, watching Seger dance with his cousin, Miss Flint, and watching his stepmother beam with happiness. The woman appeared pleased to see her son moving about in good society again. Clara was proud to have played a part in that.

  Just then, an attractive woman wearing a dark crimson gown, with rubies sewn into the skirt, approached her. She was Lady Cleveland and she was exceptionally beautiful.

  “You mustn’t stare,” Lady Cleveland said. “Everyone else is doing a fine job of that, and you shall have him all to yourself soon enough.”

  Clara turned to face her, and the woman raised a coquettish, arched eyebrow.

  “You must tell me how you did it, Miss Wilson.”

  Clara tried not to squeeze her champagne glass too tightly. “And you are referring to…?”

  “How you snared him. He doesn’t need your foreign money, so however did you manage to turn a man who has such a great predisposition toward bachelorhood into the marrying kind?”

  Clara could barely swallow as she gazed at the woman beside her, whose eyes
raked over Clara with a sneer. “I didn’t snare him.”

  The woman smirked. “Well, whatever you did, I could kill you for it. I only hope you will allow him some freedom eventually and won’t become one of those jealous wives.”

  Clara had to fight to breathe over the fury welling up inside her. “If you would make your meaning clear, Lady Cleveland.”

  The woman kept her gaze on the dancers as she sipped her champagne. “I thought I already had.”

  The dance ended and Seger escorted Miss Flint to Quintina, then immediately made his way across the floor to where Clara stood with Lady Cleveland.

  “My lady,” he said, bowing over her hand and placing a kiss on her gloved knuckles. “It is a pleasure, indeed.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, my lord,” she replied in a low voice that held a dozen-and-one hidden meanings. It was more than clear that these two had a history together and Lady Cleveland wanted it known. “I believe congratulations are in order.”

  “Yes, I see you’ve met my fiancée.”

  The woman gave Clara a haughty look down the length of her nose. “I have indeed. She is very sweet, Seger. Not your usual type.”

  The intimate manner in which she spoke his given name made all the tiny hairs on the back of Clara’s neck stand up. She would have liked to empty her champagne glass over the top of the woman’s head, but resisted the urge, tempting as it was.

  Seger merely watched the dancers. “It’s been awhile, Lady Cleveland,” he said.

  “Indeed, it has. Where have you been hiding, Seger? Besides the usual haunts.”

  “I haven’t been hiding at all,” he replied.

  “Then why haven’t I seen you?”

  He paused. “Because I’ve been occupied lately. But I expect you’ll see more of me, now that I am ‘out.’”

  Lady Cleveland threw back her head and laughed. “And a magnificent debut it was, Seger.” She gave his arm a little squeeze as she moved around him to take her leave. “I hope I will see you later,” she said quietly in his ear. “These things can be so frightfully dull. I may be in need of some entertainment after supper.”

  Clara watched her fiancé’s eyes follow the other woman across the room, then he picked up a glass of champagne from a passing footman and turned his attention back to her. “Clara, I feel your ire like a cold North wind.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  He glanced back at Lady Cleveland. “Don’t worry about her. She’s just bored, that’s all, and she enjoys a little competition.”

  “She said she hoped I wouldn’t be a jealous wife, and that I wasn’t your type.”

  “She didn’t mean anything by it. In fact, I would take it as a compliment.” He sipped his champagne.

  Clara watched the woman on the opposite side of the room. “She didn’t intend it to be a compliment. Not if she considers herself to be your type.”

  “She doesn’t. She’s just a friend.”

  “A friend? I hardly think so.”

  Seger downed the rest of his champagne. “So, you are going to be a jealous wife. That might be a problem, Clara. How will I ever live up to my scandalous reputation after next week?”

  Her eyes widened in horror until she realized that Seger was joking. He was gazing down at her with a teasing smile.

  “Why don’t we dance?” he said, setting his champagne glass on a tray. “Are you free for the next one?”

  “I am.”

  She followed him onto the floor and worked hard to bury her insecurities. She wanted to be close to Seger and making accusations like these would not foster a sense of confidence between them.

  She shook her head at herself. “I apologize. I didn’t like how she was flirting with you, that’s all. It was her fault not yours.”

  He drew her into his arms to begin a waltz. “Let’s not talk anymore about Lady Cleveland. Let’s talk about you. Your mother is delightful,” he said. “She is everything I imagined she would be. Cheerful, high-spirited and thoroughly American.”

  Clara tried to push Lady Cleveland from her mind. “My mother adores you. It was obvious the second she laid eyes on you.”

  “But does she know you refused a duke before you accepted my proposal?”

  Clara chuckled at the reminder. “I told her everything on the day she arrived. Don’t worry, she is not like Mrs. Gunther. My mother covets British titles, certainly, but to her, one is as good as any other. Precedence is merely incidental.”

  They moved to the center of the ballroom, and Seger held Clara with confidence as he led her through the dance.

  “When will your father and sister arrive?” he asked. “You’ll be pleased to see them, no doubt.”

  Despite the pleasant subject matter of their conversation, Clara began to feel a distance between them that had not existed before. She knew it stemmed from what happened the other night, when she’d made demands on him. Her displeasure over Lady Cleveland didn’t help matters.

  But perhaps this change was a good thing, she tried to tell herself. Perhaps they were moving beyond the surface flirtations and she was getting to know the real man beneath it all. Perhaps it was time to be serious.

  “They’ll be here for the wedding,” she replied, “but with not an hour to spare. My father is a very busy man. He works hard.”

  “I don’t doubt it. To have built such a fortune from nothing, he must be ambitious.”

  Was she being foolish, or did this feel like polite small talk between strangers?

  “Speaking of fortunes,” Clara said carefully, “I read, in one of the New York newspapers Mother brought, that you turned down what my father offered as a marriage settlement. It was the biggest headline on the society page.”

  Seger gazed into her eyes. “We live in strange times indeed if you learn of those details in the newspaper. How in the world did something like that get out?”

  Clara shrugged as she let him lead her through another turn. “What I want to know is why you turned it down. The newspaper called it a love match and we both know that’s not true.”

  His brow furrowed at her comment and the tone with which it was delivered. “I beg to differ. Why so cynical, Clara?”

  “I don’t mean to be. It’s just that I came here expecting my engagement to be a financial transaction, and you’ve insisted that’s not why you want me. Maybe I’m just finding it hard to believe, that it could be so perfect. I’d hate to think that you only wanted me in your bed, and now that you’ve had me, you might regret proposing so impulsively.”

  She stopped on the dance floor.

  Seger stopped, too, and he looked tired all of a sudden. His shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. He glanced around the room. “That is not the case.”

  “But why did you turn down the settlement?”

  He took his time answering. “Because I didn’t want there to be any speculation that I married you for your money. I didn’t want you to have to worry about that.”

  “Why would you think I would worry? And I thought you didn’t care what other people thought.”

  He was quiet for a few seconds. “Come, we’re missing the dance.” He gathered her into his arms again and moved across the floor.

  “I still don’t understand,” she said, knowing she should let it go. She was pushing him to talk when he didn’t seem in the mood. This—after she’d just told herself to let go of her insecurities. “It’s just not the way these transatlantic marriages are usually done,” she said with resignation.

  Seger spun her around. “You underestimate your charms, darling. And don’t worry, your father didn’t get off entirely scot-free, and you won’t have to decrease your spending. He insisted on providing you with a monthly allowance for his own peace of mind, and I agreed. You will, like your sister, have your own bank account and your own money, so you will have the freedom to spend wha
t you like without having to ask your husband for a handout.”

  Clara absorbed his meaning and gazed up at him with consternation. “No, no, that’s not why I’m asking you about the settlement. I don’t want you to think that I’m worried about my financial situation. Truly, I don’t care about the money. It’s you I want.”

  He raised a flirtatious eyebrow at her and smiled. “I’m glad. And at least we agree on one thing—that the wedding night can’t come soon enough.”

  His seductive gaze traveled over her face and caused an intense flare of heat inside her. It was the first time he had flirted with her all evening and she was surprised by how relieved she was to bob back to the surface—back to the superficiality. She was relieved that he was behaving more like his old self, the charmer that enjoyed flirting with her.

  The following week passed quickly for Seger, with decisions to make about the honeymoon and ten-dozen details about the ceremony to work out. He was glad. Glad to be busy, glad to be one day closer to the finale. He would be even happier when it was over, when all this commotion would settle down.

  He woke on his wedding day, however, to the unfortunate sound of thunder booming just over the house. Rain beat noisily against his window and poured down the panes, almost as if someone were standing on the roof, dumping buckets of water.

  He tossed the covers aside and sat up on the edge of the bed. Sleepily, he walked to the window. The fog was so thick, he could not even see the street. Lightning flashed, then thunder boomed again.

  A fine day for a wedding.

  He washed and ate breakfast in silence in his room. Calmly, he read the newspaper. An hour later, he decided it was time to dress. He was about to summon his valet when a knock sounded at his door and a footman entered carrying a silver salver with a letter upon it. A telegram, Seger discovered as he picked it up.

  It was from an anonymous person in New York.

  YOU SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THE SETTLEMENT STOP YOUR BRIDE IS A LIAR STOP YOU’RE NOT THE FIRST STOP ASK HER ABOUT THE EMBEZZLEMENT STOP