When Julian Markham drove his curricle into the stable yard at Strickland, he felt as if he had come home. The groom who took his horse greeted him like a prodigal son. After saying that Mr. Davenport and Lady Alys had gone to Dorchester for a farm fair, he gave a broad wink and added that Miss Meredith was at home.
Obviously everyone in the place knew what was between him and Merry. Julian wondered if the servants had been laying bets on whether he would return. If only they knew how much he had been longing for this moment!
He took the front steps two at a time, knocking impatiently on the door and being admitted by one of the housemaids. Before he could even ask for Miss Spenser, Merry herself appeared in the entryway from the back of the house, a basket of fresh-cut flowers on her arm. In the moment before she recognized him, he saw the grave sadness in her wide blue eyes. Then her expression changed, her lips parting with shock.
Julian’s confidence had taken a beating in the last weeks. A note of uncertainty in his voice, he asked, “Are you glad to see me?”
With a wordless cry of happiness, she sped into his waiting arms, her flowers going flying in a shower of bright colors. While the housemaid watched with shy approval, Julian and Merry lost themselves in the sweetness of reunion, their voices incoherent, their joy palpable as they tried to hug every bit of each other at once.
When Julian returned to awareness of the outer world, he led Merry into the drawing room. He did not want an audience, even an approving one.
In the bright light he saw tears on her cheeks. He drew out his handkerchief and blotted them tenderly. “What’s wrong, Merry? Has something happened here?”
She shook her head energetically and gave him a crooked smile. “I’m sorry to be such a watering pot. It’s just that I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”
He did not reproach her for lack of faith. Instead he settled them on the sofa and put an arm around her. As she pulled her legs up and tucked herself under his arm, he said, “I’m back, but not so good a bargain as I was at the beginning of the summer.”
At her questioning glance he continued, “You were right about how the world would see this match. I spent weeks arguing with my father, trying unsuccessfully to talk him around, but he was absolutely adamant.”
Julian’s mouth tightened as he recalled his father’s remarks. Lord Markham had serious financial objections to the match, but much of his obduracy stemmed from the fact that Merry was living under Reginald Davenport’s roof. Julian had offered to bring her for a visit so that his father could see her suitability for himself, but the viscount had flatly refused to receive a female that he characterized as “a fortune-hunting hussy.”
Merry sat upright, her golden hair haloing her distressed face. “Julian, I can’t let you become estranged from your family.”
He laid a gentle finger on her lips. “Isn’t that a decision I should make? Believe me, Merry, I know what I’m doing. My father can cut off my allowance, but he can’t forbid my marriage. He can’t even disinherit me from the title. And he certainly can’t change my heart.”
He took a deep breath, then plunged into his most important news. “One reason I was away so long was because I was looking for a position. A cousin who never got on with my father helped me find a post in Whitehall. With that and a small legacy I inherited several years ago, I can support you. We won’t be rich, but we’ll be comfortable. That is,” his voice hardened, “if you still want me.”
That was the moment when Merry realized that Julian, the confident, handsome man of the world, needed her as much as she needed him. Taking his face between her small hands, she kissed him on the lips, tasting his warmth and tenderness and desire, and matching them with her own. She whispered, “How can you doubt it?”
As Julian pulled her slim body into his arms, he knew that Merry was more than worth what he was giving up.
Whoever said that it never rained but it poured was correct, Alys decided, though coming home to find Julian and Merry cuddled blissfully on the sofa was considerably more pleasant than being attacked by a gang of assassins. She and her companions had spent hours in Dorchester, giving depositions and dealing with the aftermath of the attack. Reggie had been grim, Wargrave philosophical as he commented that it always took more time to clean up after a battle than it had to fight it.
The earl had arranged transport to Glouchestershire for his newly acquired employee and the man’s ragged little family. When last seen, the Willits were sitting down to a substantial meal at one of the best inns in Dorchester, still not quite believing their change of fortune.
Since his own and Alys’s life had been saved by the man’s warning, Reggie had tried to pay the Willits’ expenses, but the earl had said crisply that Riflemen always took care of their own, and that was that. With amusement, Alys had decided that in his quiet way, the earl was every bit as stubborn as his cousin.
In her capacity as guardian, Alys sat down with Julian and discussed his changed circumstances. His new position would enable him to support Merry in modest comfort, if not luxury. In the long run Merry would still be a wealthy viscountess, but that hardly mattered. The important thing was that she would be loved by a man who cared so much that he was willing to change his whole life in order to marry her.
In the midst of her happiness on her ward’s behalf, Alys felt a pang that there would be no such happily-ever-after for her. She suppressed it ruthlessly. She had long since accepted the sad fact that she was not the stuff of romantic heroines.
Chapter 22
Dinner that night was a joyous affair, celebrating both Merry and Julian’s official engagement and the miraculous outcome of that morning’s ambush. Champagne had been ordered from the cellars and the happy couple toasted, even William being allowed to drink to his sister’s happiness.
Reggie’s glass was filled with water. Alys wondered how he felt, knowing there would be a lifetime of not quite sharing such moments. If the thought distressed him, it wasn’t apparent. He seemed entirely relaxed and at ease, a genial host surrounded by friends.
Over so much chatter, the arrival of a visitor at the front door was not heard. Only after the man brushed aside the maid and stomped into the dining room was he noticed.
Alys had a clear view of the intruder. He was a solid middle-aged gentleman with a handsome, forceful face, and was clad in a caped greatcoat glistening with raindrops. Julian was seated next to her, and she didn’t need to hear him jump to his feet and exclaim, “Father!” to know that Lord Markham had arrived in pursuit of his errant son.
The room fell silent, and everyone at the table turned to look at the newcomer. A ferocious scowl on his face, Lord Markham barked, “I’ve come to put a stop to this marriage nonsense once and for all.”
Face pale but determined, Julian said, “We have discussed this ad nauseam for weeks, sir, and there is nothing more to be said. I would prefer to be married with your blessing, but the lack of it will not stop me.”
“My God, boy, have you no more pride than to marry the cast-off mistress of a drunken rake like Reggie Davenport?” The viscount shot a venomous glance at Reggie, who was sitting at the head of the table, watching with narrow-eyed concentration.
There was a moment of paralyzed silence. Before an infuriated Julian could reply, Peter leaped to his feet. Sounding like a man, not a fifteen-year-old boy, he said grimly, “My lord, you insult my sister. If I thought you would accept a challenge from someone my age, it would be pistols at dawn!”
While Peter’s phrasing might be melodramatic, there was no denying his sincerity, or his anger. While the viscount stared in astonishment at the upstart stripling, Reggie drawled, “Really, Markham, do you think I keep my mistresses under my own roof with their younger brothers in attendance? Credit me with some savoir faire.”
Remembering William’s presence, Alys turned her best governess glare at the boy, coupling it with a quick jerk of her head at the door in an order that he leave. William looked rebellious, bu
t knew better than to disobey that particular expression. Reluctantly he withdrew, probably to join a cluster of spying servants outside the door, Alys thought with resignation.
Since the men seemed to have reached an impasse, she said frostily, “You also insult my guardianship, my lord. I assure you, Miss Spenser has been raised to the most rigorous standards of propriety. Only the sad destruction of our own home necessitated our temporary acceptance of Mr. Davenport’s generous hospitality.”
Markham swung to face her. “And who might you be?”
“I am called Lady Alys Weston,” she stated in a voice reeking of grandeur. Though it was seldom necessary, Alys could act the haughty grande dame to perfection. She did so now, tilting her chin and drawing herself up to her full height, though being seated diminished the effect.
More than a little daunted by Alys’s chilly dignity, Lord Markham glanced at Reggie’s cousin and snapped, “If she’s a lady, who are you, the Duke of Wellington?”
Richard stood. “Of course not, I haven’t the nose for it. I’m the Earl of Wargrave.” He executed a polite half bow. “I understand you’ve been doing some interesting livestock experiments at Markhamstead.”
The viscount was almost distracted by the reference to his beloved pig breeding, but duty held him to his purpose. “What are you doing here? They say that you cut your wastrel cousin off without a penny and told him to get out of London before he disgraced the Davenports any further.”
Richard raised his brows. “I can’t imagine how such vulgar and inaccurate rumors get started,” he said in a voice that could chip ice. “As you can see, my cousin and I are on the best of terms.”
Alys choked down a laugh. Obviously the easygoing earl had mastered the lordly manner quite thoroughly.
Beleaguered on all sides, Lord Markham paused uncertainly. Deciding that it was time to take a hand in her own fate, Merry rose and went over to him. Casting a mildly disapproving glance at the diners, she said, “You’re all being rather hard on Lord Markham. He’s had a difficult journey in the rain, and of course he’s concerned with his son’s future. What father wouldn’t be?”
Turning to the viscount, she said in her sweet voice, “You must be tired and cold. Would you like something to eat? And perhaps a glass of wine?”
The viscount wavered. The offer of food and drink was immensely appealing. This beguiling golden-haired girl was the only person present who had the least sympathy with his desire to save his son and heir from a disastrous marriage. “Are you the chit Julian wants to marry?” he asked stiffly.
She nodded, her lovely face grave. “Yes. Truly, I don’t wish to cause a rift between Julian and his family. I know how dreadfully difficult it must be for both of you.” Her voice broke. “But Julian and I do love each other so.”
Nonplussed, Lord Markham stared down into the great sapphire eyes, where tears trembled. He had come posting down to Dorsetshire immediately after learning that Julian had defied his father’s explicit orders to end his foolish involvement with an ineligible female. The viscount had expected a confrontation, but not one quite like this, where he was feeling like a brute for making this beautiful young creature cry.
For just a moment, Markham wavered. Then his resolve firmed. Of course she would be beautiful. Young men seldom lost their heads over antidotes.
Alys cast a glance at Reggie, wondering how he was taking this invasion of his home and the insults to his household. Seeing the glint in his eye, she was not wholly unprepared when he threw down the gauntlet in his own particular way.
“For heaven’s sake, Markham, don’t you lose your head over a pair of pretty blue eyes, too,” he drawled. “With Julian’s prospects, he can wed one of England’s greatest heiresses. You’d be a fool to settle for a chit whose face is her major dowry.”
Everyone turned to stare at him. While Lord Markham bristled like an angry tomcat, Peter and Merry looked wounded, Wargrave thoughtful, and Julian utterly shocked and betrayed.
Having seen Reggie’s diabolical expression, Alys had a glimmer of understanding of what he might be doing. Under the table she kicked Julian just before he could rip up at his erstwhile friend. When Julian turned to her, she shook her head in quick warning.
As Julian tried to interpret Alys’s message, Lord Markham exploded at Reggie, “I would think that even a vulgar care-for-nobody like you would realize that money is not the only, or even the most important, criterion for marriage.”
Reggie’s dark brows arched superciliously. “Of course not. There is also land, title, and influence.”
“That’s exactly what a gazetted fortune hunter like you would think,” the viscount said scathingly. “People of quality know that a foundation of mutual affection and respect is vital to a successful marriage.”
He glanced at Merry, his face softening. “It is far more important that a young woman have good sense and an amiable disposition than that she be rich. In fact, girls of modest fortune are less likely to be extravagant with their husbands’ money.”
Reggie gave a negligent shrug. “It’s as easy to fall in love with a rich girl as a poor one, and young men’s affections are notoriously volatile. In a few months the boy will have forgotten what Merry looks like.”
At that Merry frowned in puzzlement. Then her brow cleared, and a hint of smile began dancing in her eyes.
“A man of twenty-five years is not a boy,” Markham snapped. “Nor is my son a fickle, womanizing rake like you, Davenport. He is a gentleman of principle, the kind of son any man would be proud to have. Julian would never have offered for Miss Spenser unless his affections were seriously engaged.”
“You would know your own son best,” Reggie said, boredom written on his dark face. “I’ve always assumed that the reason you’ve kept him on a short leash in London is that he can’t be trusted to run even a small estate properly.”
Now Julian’s expression also changed, the rigidity fading and a gleam of unholy amusement showing in his eyes.
“You’re as ignorant as you are immoral, Davenport. In fact, Julian has prepared a brilliant plan for the management of my estate in Moreton. I have every intention of settling it on him on the occasion of his marriage.”
As Julian’s eyes widened, his father glanced at him a little sheepishly. “I didn’t want it to go to your head, my boy, but I was most impressed with your plans, most impressed. I think it good for a young man to have a few years of sowing his wild oats before taking on the responsibilities of marriage and family. But you’ve had your fling now.” He shot a venomous glance at Reggie. “And the more I think on it, the wiser it seems for you to move away from London, where there is so much bad company.”
“I suppose he can’t do too much damage to a single estate, but you’d be a fool to let him get leg-shackled to an unsuitable bride,” Reggie said with his best supercilious air, which was very supercilious indeed.
Vibrating with fury, Markham took two steps toward Reggie before stopping, his hands curling into fists. “By God, if there weren’t ladies present ... !” he snarled. “Don’t you tell me how to treat my own son, and don’t tell me what kind of female is suitable. What would a rake know about respectable women?” He glanced at Merry again. “Miss Spenser seems every inch a lady. Her birth and fortune are respectable, and she is my son’s choice. The sooner they are wed and away from your wicked influence, the better!”
He turned to Julian. “I refuse to stay one moment longer under this scoundrel’s roof. I’ve already bespoken a room at the Silent Woman. I shall expect you and your fiancée to call on me at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. We have much to discuss.” He gave Merry a last warm look. “I wish to become better acquainted with my future daughter-in-law.”
The viscount turned in a whirl of capes and marched out of the dining room, slamming the door with a force that shivered the china. Behind him he left profound silence, until the Earl of Wargrave leaned back in his chair and went off into gales of laughter. “Cousin,” he gasped, “I
wouldn’t have missed that for all the sheep in Ireland.”
As if his words were a signal, everyone else dissolved into a hilarity that was half relief from tension. Julian came around the table to give Merry an exuberant hug. Alys was tempted to do the same to Reggie, who was leaning back in his chair with a smile lurking in his aquamarine eyes. In five minutes of applied obnoxiousness, he had gotten a result that Julian had been unable to obtain in weeks of impassioned arguments.
Who said that deviltry didn’t pay?
News of Lord Markham’s visit spread through all levels of the household, producing much merriment and pride in the master’s resourcefulness. The housemaid Gillie, who had secretly watched the drama through a crack in the door, sought out Mac Cooper and regaled him with the tale when her duties were done. It had become natural to look for Mac when she had something to share. Telling him made a good story better.
Since a cold rain was falling and Gillie tired easily these days, they walked only as far as the barn. There they reclined cozily in a pile of hay while she did her best to remember word for word what Mr. Davenport had said to the Viscount Markham. Mac laughed uproariously, saying that it was one of Reggie’s finest moments. Then he regaled Gillie with several carefully expurgated stories of his master’s outrageousness.
After they were both weak with laughter, the valet rolled over and placed a kiss on the maid’s pert nose. “It seems like marriage is in the air. What do you say, Gillie girl, shall we do the deed also?”
Suddenly sober, Gillie searched his face, which was shadowed in the dim light. While their friendship had been quietly growing and deepening, he had not mentioned marriage since that time in her attic room. She found herself shy again. Unconsciously putting her hand on her burgeoning belly, she said, “I’d like to marry you, Mac, more than I ever wanted to marry Billy. But ...” she faltered a little, trying for words to express her anxiety, “I worry about whether you might resent the babe for not being yours.”
The Rake Page 31
