“Warrington, good to see you again. Léonie, Cornelia, this is Mr. Preston Warrington. Warrington, this is my wife Léonie and my eldest daughter, Cornelia.”
“Delighted to meet you, Mr. Warrington,” said her mother.
“A pleasure, Mr. Warrington,” said Cornelia, her cheeks burning. How she wished the earth would open up and swallow her. Or even better, swallow him.
“The pleasure is mine, to meet such lovely ladies.” He bent over their hands. “Allow me to show you to our table. My brother is anxious to make your acquaintance.”
He escorted them to a table with an excellent view of the Orchestra building, where Cornelia noticed band members gathering even as the acrobatic performance came to a close.
“Mrs. Bland is to sing tonight,” said the pleasant-faced brother, who had risen from his seat at their approach.
“William, Viscount Warrington,” said her purported suitor. “A great lover of music, as you see. William, meet Miss Hardcastle and her parents, Admiral and Mrs. Hardcastle.”
“Mrs. Bland is a favorite of mine, as well,” Cornelia offered, once the formalities had concluded and they were seated in the booth. “Her voice is lovely, of course, but the humor in her manner makes her quite irresistible.”
The viscount smiled at her, and Cornelia remembered that she was supposed to discourage the potential match between her and his brother. Well, she could hardly behave badly with her parents looking on. It wasn’t as if she wanted to like the Warringtons, after all.
Food and wine were brought to the table as the orchestra struck up a lively ballad and Mrs. Bland came to the stage front to add her buoyant lyrics to the mix.
The shepherds call me Little Sue,
Who sport and frolic round,
The rustic pleasures I pursue,
Content with me is found;
They talk of love, and call me fair,
And woo as lovers woo;
I tell the swains he must be rare,
Who marries Little Sue;
Oh rare, oh rare, he must be rare,
Who marries Little Sue;
The swain who would my bosom move,
Must be what I declare;
My lover must have sense refined,
Have wit and humor too;
The youth be gentle, brave and kind,
Who marries Little Sue;
Oh rare, oh rare, he must be kind,
Who marries Little Sue;
Oh rare, oh rare, he must be kind,
Who marries Little Sue.
Cornelia found herself clapping and singing along with the audience. She forgot about her plan to appear unpleasant—until she happened to look at her purported suitor during the last chorus and caught him staring at her with an odd look in his eyes. She knew that look. Oh dear. She would have to take her plan to the next level. It wouldn’t do to give him any hope that they had a future together.
* * *
Preston liked her. Far too much for his own good. It wasn’t just her dark good looks—she bore a strong resemblance to her beautiful mother—or her delightful womanly curves, or even that her height was perfect. She was intelligent and well-spoken, with a superb sense of humor. She was clearly her father’s daughter. Under different circumstances, he might have considered courting her. But in these circumstances, it would be unfair to do so. She deserved a true marriage, which she would never have with him. He was a travel-the-world-and-discover-new-things sort of man. He quickly tamped down the thought that exploring her might be even more delightful than exploring the pyramids of Egypt.
When the music paused for an interval, Preston asked Miss Hardcastle to walk with him—primarily because his ribs hurt from William elbowing him beneath the table. He had to admit it was better not to delay the inevitable. Presumably, Miss Hardcastle had expectations of him, and he should dash them now rather than allow her affections to grow.
Although…he hadn’t seen any signs of such from her. Merely a smile of amusement at a humorous anecdote. Rapt attention to the music and entertainment. Nothing that could be considered flirtatious. In fact, she seemed to avoid his gaze, and when she could not, her expression took on a sort of polite indifference. Ladies always took note of him. Well, not always. Sometimes they would feign a look of nonchalance for the express purpose of making their affections a challenge to be won.
Was that the case here? If so, he would have to let her know in no uncertain terms that a match between them was not in the cards.
* * *
Cornelia did her best to ignore Mr. Warrington’s nearness. Once they escaped earshot of their relatives, she whispered, “Mr. Warrington, I must have a word with you. Perhaps we could walk down the Dark Walk for a bit of privacy.”
He took a step away from her. “I, too, have something to say, but in the light, where we may be seen by everyone.”
Her mouth dropped open. Surely, he could not think… Oh, how aggravating!
“Miss Hardcastle, I am sorry to inform you that I am not in the market for a wife, in spite of what you may have been told.”
Heat flushed through her. Oh, how she wanted to box his ears. She clenched her hands into fists and knew just where to aim to make her feelings clear.
“I am sure you will make some lucky man a fine wife, but it will not be me. You see, I am planning a trip to India, and after that, perhaps even China. I would be not only a neglectful husband, but an absent one. A fine lady like you deserves better.”
Time slowed almost to a stop as Cornelia tried to turn around the direction of her thoughts. He didn’t want to marry her? He was going to travel the world and not reside in England? How utterly…perfect.
She unclenched her fist and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Mr. Warrington, I think we shall deal famously with each other. Do listen to my proposition.”
* * *
Preston reluctantly allowed himself to be led down the Great Walk, well-lit as it was and suitably populated with other couples, families, and a few animated children. He was reasonably certain that any plan conceived by a young woman seeking a husband would not be of interest to him, no matter how attractive he found her to be.
“You see, Mr. Warrington, I have no wish to marry you, either,” she said.
He blinked. She didn’t want to marry him? Why not, for heaven’s sake? Did she have another suitor?
“I do not understand,” he said. “Why are we here, then? Why go to the trouble of engaging a matchmaker at all?”
She rolled her eyes. “Why did you?”
“I didn’t. It was my brother’s idea. I told him it was a damned fool idea…” He stopped in his tracks and smiled sheepishly. “Ah, your parents. Of course. But…you do not wish to marry?” In his experience, all young ladies wished to marry. What else could they do?
“I decided long ago to live independently of any other person,” she said.
He started them forward again and listened as she explained her deep commitment to the Foundling Hospital.
“You do not want children?” he asked.
She smiled, though he was certain he noted a hint of sadness. “The children in the Foundling Hospital need my love and care,” she said. “I can provide that much more effectively if I have no children of my own.”
Preston nodded politely, careful to keep from his expression the doubt he felt. A young, vibrant woman of means could easily have children and help with the Foundling Hospital. There was more to her story than she shared.
“I would simply continue with my work there,” she went on. “However, my father has been appointment to Canada as Governor General of British North America. My parents are reluctant to leave me on my own.”
Preston could well believe that. A young woman could not set up household on her own without causing a scandal.
“I assured them that I can be trusted to remain here alone to continue my activities,” she went on, “but they will not hear of it. Either I marry, or my mother will stay here and allow my father
to go alone.” She shook her head. “I cannot do that to them. They have been too often separated in their marriage.” Taking a deep breath, she looked him directly in the eye. “So I promised them I would seek a husband. What I didn’t tell them is, well, I was hoping to find a naval man like my father, who would be away for long periods of time, you see…and I would remain at home and live, more or less, as I am accustomed to doing.”
Preston could scarcely believe his luck. Her scheme was improbable, of course. Yet…it was perfect. He didn’t want a wife. She didn’t want a husband. Their marriage could be in name only, and they could live their lives apart quite happily. If she was being truthful, that is, and this wasn’t some elaborate mantrap.
“Tell me more.”
Chapter Four
Angelo’s Fencing Academy
Bond Street, London
A week later
“Word is, you are paying court to the Hardcastle chit.” The comment came from Preston’s friend George as they changed into street clothes following their sparring match.
Preston’s jaw clenched. While he found squiring Miss Hardcastle around Town quite enjoyable, he hadn’t yet come to a decision about entering into a marriage with her, convenient or not.
“Stuff it, George. I met the girl last week and we danced at the Bellners’ ball.”
They’d danced twice together, and he’d been included in a visit to the British Museum with the Hardcastle family, but hopefully George hadn’t heard that.
“Why so testy, old man? She’s a lovely girl, and quite amiable too, even when she turns down your proposal, which she has done to every suitor who has ventured to attempt it.”
Preston swallowed a smile as he considered that the lady in question had all but proposed to him.
“You, George? I hadn’t thought you were thinking of going for a leg-shackle for a very long time.”
George snorted. “Don’t be daft. Hines and Willoughby offered for her. Fredericks was so cut-up about her rejection, he bought a commission and joined the troops on the Peninsula.”
Preston whistled. “She turned down all of them? Hines I can see because he’s an idiot, but Willoughby? And Fredericks?”
George reached toward the waistcoat held out for him by the attendant. “And more besides. Word is she’s a bluestocking, a follower of that Wollestonecraft woman.” George shrugged the garment over his shoulders then clapped a hand on Preston’s shoulder. “Not a comfortable wife, as I see it. If you were looking for a wife.” He finished buttoning his waistcoat and turned to look directly at Preston. “You aren’t, are you?”
Preston tugged at his jacket. “Don’t be ridiculous,” his answer lacked conviction.
His friend stopped suddenly and stared at him incredulously. “The devil of it! You are! I cannot believe it! Preston Warrington stung by Cupid’s arrow and madly in love with one of the few women in town who doesn’t want a husband.”
Preston pursed his lips. “You are a nitwit, George. Now be out of my way before I decide to damage that pretty face of yours.”
Leaving his vexatious companion behind, Preston donned his hat and strode out of the building.
Leicester Square
London
Later that afternoon
“The provincial bonnet, I think,” said Norton, as she plucked a box from the wardrobe. “The cinnamon color goes well with your eyes.”
This was true. The pretty blues and pinks gave Cornelia a sickly appearance, but certain browns and greens brought out the vibrance in her olive complexion. She’d never minded the resemblance to her beautiful, exotic mother until the infamous day she’d discovered the reason she possessed no hint of her father’s English traits. The day she’d given up all hope of a marriage and children.
“It will do.” Cornelia rose from the dressing table. “Now bring me the pelisse and I’ll be away. Mr. Warrington is due at any moment.”
“Yes, miss. Although, they say it deepens a man’s feelings to keep him waiting for a spell.”
“So they say,” Cornelia said with a distinct lack of excitement as she strode toward the door. Mr. Warrington was the sort of gentleman she might have considered spending her life with if…things were different.
Cornelia tried to hide her somber mood when Mr. Warrington arrived and helped her up into the curricle he’d brought.
“My brother’s,” he explained. “William keeps it in Town for Joanna and the girls.”
“How very convenient. Do they come to Town often?”
“For the Season, when Joanna is not expecting. And perhaps at other times, for shopping and so on. I have been abroad throughout most of their marriage, so I can’t say for certain.”
“And she’s expecting now. I suppose they are hoping for a son this time.”
“Indeed. We are all hoping for a son. The girls are delightful, but Warrington needs an heir.”
Something in his voice alerted her to a possible complication. “You are the current heir. Are you certain you do not need an heir yourself? Because if so…perhaps we should not proceed with this marriage.”
“Not at all. If this child is another girl, well, Joanna is a good breeder. William is the responsible one who keeps the family line safe. The last thing I need is a family of my own to weigh me down.” He angled his head toward her and stared into her eyes. “But you, though. Is there a chance you might someday wish for children of your own? Most women do.”
Cornelia swallowed. Of course, she wished for children. Perhaps even with this charming man. If things were different, that is.
“I am not most women,” she said curtly. “You needn’t worry that I shall change my mind and plague you to alter our bargain. Oh, there is Lady Sefton with her daughter, Georgiana.” Cornelia made eye contact with Lady Sefton. “Good afternoon, ladies. Is it not a lovely day?”
The afternoon progressed without further reference to children or heirs, but Cornelia’s heart weighed heavy with the knowledge that circumstances precluded her from making a real marriage with the strikingly handsome man on the seat beside her. What a pity to be a wife in name only while her husband traveled the world and took his pleasures where he would.
But alas, it was the way of the world, was it not? Even in the best marriages, men weren’t always faithful to their wives. It was far more important that she could trust him not to be cruel to her. Of course, the unspoken threat of her father’s vengeance against anyone who mistreated her would probably make any man think twice about doing so, but the admiral would be an ocean away.
As her husband would be, throughout their marriage. Independence. As a married woman, I shall be free to do as I please, and that’s all I really want. Isn’t it?
Chapter Five
Leicester Square
London
Two weeks later
Cornelia held her breath when her mother’s eyes widened.
“You plan to marry…Friday next?” Her mother stumbled backward and would have fallen had the admiral not supported her. His eyes narrowed on Cornelia.
“Yes, sir, if it’s agreeable to you.” Preston, smiled into Cornelia’s eyes as he clasped her hands. “We don’t see any reason to delay our nuptials.”
Cornelia smiled back.
He is good at this. If I didn’t know better, I would believe he was serious.
She fluttered her eyelashes and flushed charmingly, both skills perfected during her years of social purgatory.
“We thought it best, Papa, so that Maman will be able to accompany you to Canada. She will have so much to do to prepare for a trip of such long duration.”
Léonie’s head fell forward. “Oh my, yes. How can I possibly do it all in such a short time? And put a wedding together too?” She turned glowing eyes to her husband. “We must begin immediately. You will wear your dress uniform; you always look so dashing. I will need a new gown, bien sûr, and Cornelia, the bride… Oh, my Cornelia is going to be a bride. But I am certain it will be too late to reserve St. George’s.
Darling, I hope you will not be too disappointed, since both your brother and sister were married there.”
Cornelia exchanged a knowing look with her father. This was her mother at her finest. There wouldn’t be a moment’s peace until the day of her parents’ departure, but the woman they both loved would be deliriously happy and that was worth a week of frenetic preparations.
Preston cleared his throat. “If it is all the same to you, Admiral and Mrs. Hardcastle, Cornelia and I would like to be married in Cheshire. At St. Andrew’s Parish Church, where my parents were married. I know it’s a tradition for the marriage to be celebrated at the bride’s parish church—”
“—but Preston’s sister-in-law, the viscountess, is with child and confined to the country, and we decided it was important for her to be present,” finished Cornelia.
Her mother’s shoulders drooped. “Not many guests will be willing to travel so far.”
Cornelia hurried to her mother’s side and hugged her. “We wish only for a small wedding, Maman. Family only. Neither of us would enjoy so lavish an affair as George and Suzanne’s weddings.”
Her mother slapped a hand to her temple. “George and Suzanne, I must contact them immediately. I do hope they will have time to make sufficient arrangements for the children. No, I hope they will bring them, because who knows when I will see them next…” She faced the admiral. “Cornelius, I’m going to Canada.”
He led her to a chair. “You are indeed, my love.” He winked at Cornelia. “Send for champagne, will you, my dear? We’d best celebrate now before your mother has time to begin organizing our lives.”
* * *
Warrington, Cheshire
Five days later
“You are to be married in two days—here?” William leaned against the divan cushion where he sat beside Joanna and locked gazes with Preston. Preston remained relaxed in his chair. “What’s the blasted rush?” William demanded. “The gel can’t be pregnant…”
Scandalous Lords and Courtship Page 50
