“I don’t give a damn about your conscience, Sebastian. Annul the damn marriage.”
“I can’t.”
“Why? Are you afraid that Rachel won’t wish to marry you when she realizes you’ve been married to her sister all of this time and you’re hoping that if you secure Belle a good match that she’ll be more inclined to rekindle the relationship?”
“She’s already married,” he said tightly. Not that he gave a hang one way or the other.
“And widowed.”
Sebastian stared at the man.
“Don’t think that I haven’t learned that you were supposed to be stealing away with Rachel until Belle got in the way.”
“Let me make this clear now so we don’t have to have this discussion again, I have no interest in throwing Belle over to marry Rachel.” Nor did I truly wish to marry Rachel back then, either. But there was no reason to say that. That would just be cruel.
“Then prove yourself. Annul your sham of a marriage and let Belle be free of you to marry who she pleases.”
“Tell me, sir,” Sebastian said, steepling his hands in front of his chin. “Why is it that she doesn’t know that we’re still married anyway? Were you hoping to keep her bounded off into the country where she could never learn the truth of it?”
“No,” he snapped. “I wanted her to get married. And your father wants an heir. That’s why we—” He broke off, but it didn’t matter, he’d said enough to confirm all of Sebastian’s suspicions.
“Do not worry yourself, Mr. Knight. Belle will make a good match this Season I guarantee it.”
“What reason do you have to even care?”
Sebastian shrugged. “It’s quite simple, really. We’re friends. I was there when this scandal was created and I…er…wasn’t there when she had to bear it. I’d like very much to be a friend to her now and help her make a good match.”
“What qualifies you to know what a good match for my daughter is?”
“What qualifies you?” Sebastian challenged. “Belle was of an age where she could have come out before the whole Gretna Green incident, but she’d never mentioned to me that she was going to London. And believe me, I spent enough time in her company that if you’d planned to take her, she’d have said something.”
Mr. Knight’s nostrils flared. “There wasn’t a reason to. Rachel was betrothed to my second cousin, Lord Yourke. Belle was too young…and spirited. She wouldn’t have had a successful Season, I assure you.”
“Well then, we are in perfect agreement, Mr. Knight. I shall make it my duty to see to it that Belle has a successful Season—”
“That is not your right,” Mr. Knight shouted.
“I am her husband,” Sebastian declared, jabbing a finger at his chest for emphasis. “My involvement in her affairs trumps yours and I assure you she will be happy with her match at the end of the Season.” He stood and ushered a red-faced Mr. Knight to the door. “Now that we have that settled, if there isn’t anything else I can do for you, I shall bid you farewell.”
Mr. Knight looked at him as if he might like to rip Sebastian’s head straight from his shoulders.
Sebastian kept his calm and offered the man a smile.
His fatherin-law bristled, then marched out of the room.
Sighing with relief, Sebastian flopped down in his chair.
“I don’t want her.”
Sebastian snapped his eyes open. He’d quite forgotten that Giles was still in the room with him. Sebastian shifted and tried to act affronted, though he knew if he’d seen that display and knew he’d be doomed to a life with that ogre for a fatherin-law, he wouldn’t be too thrilled at the prospect of marriage, either. “Why not?” he asked with a forced smile.
Giles shook his head slowly. “She’s yours.”
***
The following morning, Sebastian shoved his list of three names into his breast pocket and started for the townhouse where Belle was staying only three blocks from him. The weather was warm, so he decided to walk.
Nearing the red brick front of the small townhouse Mrs. Finch was renting for their Season, he briefly considered using the window again, but thought to act civilized and try the door this time. If, however, she’d told her butler not to let him in, he would use the window. She could count on that.
“Good morning, my lord,” Mrs. Finch, Belle’s chaperone greeted him in loud tones after he was shown into the drawing room with no protest at all at the door.
“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Finch,” he said loudly before taking a seat on the world’s most uncomfortable settee on the opposite side of the room.
“Lovely weather, isn’t it?”
To oblige her, Sebastian made a show of looking out the window then nodded. “Indeed.”
It was hard to tell what Mrs. Finch thought of him. He was titled and reasonably wealthy, after all; but there was the minor issue of his past scandal involving Belle and the fact that Mrs. Finch had probably heard some very unfavorable things about him over the years with Belle as her companion.
He was spared from having to speculate further on the disconcerting topic when Belle practically floated into the room wearing a lavender morning gown with darker purple lace sewn around the cuffs of her sleeves. Her skirt was so voluptuous he’d have believed her if she said she’d stuffed a cloud under the fabric.
He immediately stood and greeted her, noticing how her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. She was still apprehensive around him, it would seem. Not that he could blame her entirely. He couldn’t, but he’d have to ignore it.
He waited while she took her seat then resumed his.
“I’ve come up with a list of three names,” he murmured without preamble just low enough to evade Mrs. Finch’s hearing.
She lifted a single, dark eyebrow. “Possible names for your firstborn?”
“No. Potential husbands for you.”
Her face went red and she cast a quick, not-so-discreet look to Mrs. Finch who seemed to just smile and nod. “Must we discuss this now?”
“Why not?”
Keeping her head tilted where Mrs. Finch couldn’t see her expression, Belle cut her eyes toward her chaperone.
“She can’t hear me clear over here.”
“You don’t know that.”
He shrugged, then looked in Mrs. Finch’s direction. Then, in his usual tone said, “Say, do you like to eat pickled pigs feet?”
Belle looked like she was trying to keep a straight face, and the left corner of her lips twitched slightly when Mrs. Finch nodded and said, “Of course, dear.”
“All right,” she said in a hushed whisper.
Sebastian straightened. “All right your choices are—”
“Pardon me a minute. My choices?” She crossed her arms. “I didn’t realize it would be you and your infinite wisdom that would pick my husband.”
“Of course it is.” Sebastian shot her a grin, then seeing as how her lips were still pursed, he cleared his throat and said, “Belle, I looked through Debretts last night and of the dozens of names I found, only a handful were suitable. I think it’s best we stick to one who is already suitable instead of you trying to reform one.”
She quirked a brow. “Are you saying I couldn’t?”
“Not at all. I just don’t think one of the ones who need to reform would be worth your time.”
Silence engulfed them.
Had he just complimented her? Moreover, had he meant it? He shook his head to clear the thought. Belle was his friend. He was supposed to think highly of her. There was nothing more to it than that.
“Anyway,” he continued, “the three I think would suit you are: Sir Wallace Benedict, Sir Michael Smythe and Giles Goddard.”
“No. No. And no.”
“Why not?”
She looked at him as if he were the stupidest man in existence. “Sir Wallace Benedict has been jilted thrice and is rumored to still be madly in love with the first lady to do so, only agreeing to marry the other two be
cause they’d each trapped him then abandoned him. My life is exciting enough already, I don’t need that kind of excitement to add to it.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I had no idea your life was so exciting.”
“I’d wager there’s quite a lot of things about me you don’t know,” she returned.
“All right, so you’re not so interested in a thrice-jilted baronet. What’s wrong with Sir Michael Smythe? He was knighted just last year for his bravery.”
Belle cocked her head to the side. “I do wonder how you’d know that, seeing as how you haven’t even been in this country for at least five years.”
He shrugged. “News does travel to the continent. It might be delayed, but it still reaches there.” Especially when one has paid people to keep him apprised of what all was happening in England. He’d paid extra for any information available about Belle, but she didn’t need to know that. “So what is it about him that disqualifies him from your list of potential husbands?”
A light patch of pink stained each of her cheeks. “He’s…he’s…he’s…”
“Yes, he’s a he,” Sebastian agreed, making a rolling motion with his hand.
Her blush grew deeper. “Actually, he is not what he seems.”
Sebastian made his eyes flare wide and turned his head to the side. “Is he really a she?”
She swatted at his arm. “No. Stop that.”
“Then what’s the problem? Everything I’ve ever heard about him has been very positive.”
“Then you haven’t heard everything,” she said flatly.
He stared at her. “Does that mean you don’t believe everything that you read?” Especially the articles regarding yourself?
“You of all people should know I don’t read gossip articles,” she said in a tone that would suggest she was trying to sound offhanded. Unfortunately for her, he’d spent too much time in her presence growing up that he heard the edge she tried to hide.
“So then are you telling me you’ve seen him do something…er…less-than-gentlemanly that would suggest he’s not a good husband for you?”
She dropped her gaze to the floor. “Can we please just cross him off the list?”
A dull ache that Sebastian couldn’t name formed in his chest. “Belle, did he do something to you?” The room began to spin around him as he waited for his answer. If Sir Michael Smythe did anything at all to her, Sebastian would destroy him. Then, himself. It was his responsibility to protect Belle. He was her husband still. That hadn’t changed because he was commanded out of their house and blackmailed out of England. “Belle, tell me now, what did that man do that makes him an unsuitable husband?” He no longer cared if Mrs. Finch could hear their conversation. He needed to know.
Belle swallowed audibly and refused to meet his eye. “He and Rachel…”
“Are lovers,” he finished for her.
She gave a simple shrug and looked down at her hands. “Apparently not everything made it to the continent.”
He chuckled. “No. I guess not.” He straightened. “How long?”
“Three months. But three months or three years or three encounters, it matters naught. I don’t want to marry a gentleman who’s carried on an affair with my sister.”
“You married me, didn’t you,” he teased before he could think better of it.
Her eyes widened. “You and Rachel…did you two…”
“No.”
She blushed and shook her head ruefully. “Not that it matters so much, I suppose. We didn’t share intimacies, either.”
Except kiss. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he thought better than to remind her of their blacksmith wedding ceremony. He ran his hand through his hair. “Belle, about my arrangement with Rachel—”
“I’m glad you agree Sir Michael’s affair with my sister puts him firmly out for being my potential suitor.”
He frowned. She clearly didn’t want to hear what he had to say, and it was for the best. His attempt to soothe her pride would likely only make things worse between them. “Giles Goddard?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t even know who that is.”
Sebastian waved his hand through the air. “No need to worry on that score. I know every naughty deed he’s ever committed—” he dropped his voice to a stage whisper— “believe me, the list is quite short.” At her raised brow, he simply shrugged and added. “He’s been a good friend of mine for a few years now.”
“Well, then that is a definite no.”
He twisted his lips in irritation. “Why?”
“Because he’s a good friend of yours and any good friend of yours is certainly not a man I wish to be leg shackled to for the rest of my life.”
Chapter Nine
Isabelle tried hard to hide her smile at the way Sebastian laughed loudly at her comment.
She didn’t have to try any longer when she noticed that Edmund had entered the room and was standing by the door, his thin, grey eyebrows raised in question.
“Edmund,” she chirped. She gestured to an unoccupied chair. “Do join us.”
Mrs. Finch turned her head. “Oh, I didn’t even see you come in. How have you been?”
“I’ve been well,” he nearly shouted then took the seat Isabelle had pointed to. “And you Isabelle?” He slowly dragged his eyes to Sebastian, then back to hers. “Have you been well, too?”
She flushed. “Yes.”
“I’ve been well, too,” Sebastian offered, eliciting an inappropriate giggle from Isabelle and a sideways glance from Edmund.
“Indeed,” Edmund murmured, a slight twitch to his lips.
“Yes, indeed,” Sebastian echoed, grinning.
Once again, Isabelle released a little burble of uncontrollable laugher.
“And just what brings you by here…again?” Edmund asked.
Isabelle could have sworn Sebastian muttered something about someone’s name—presumably his—being Belgrave, then raised his voice. “To see Belle.”
Isabelle tried not to cringe at the use of his nickname for her: Belle. It wasn’t really a name of endearment, he’d always grin and tell her he called her that because she was as loud and annoying as a bell. She stiffened. Then blinked. “Did I miss something?”
Edmund regarded her with a curious glance and she jerked her eyes away, embarrassed.
“Well, I’d best be on my way,” Sebastian said with a smile and a sparkle in his brown eyes that spoke of all sorts of mischief.
Isabelle sat frozen as he stood and made his formal excuses to the room for the benefit of no one save Mrs. Finch.
“Is he the one, then?” Edmund asked without ceremony.
Isabelle started. “Who, what one?” Why did everyone keep asking her that?
Edmund waggled his eyebrows at her. “Lord Belgrave. Is he the one you’re throwing me over for?” he teased.
“No,” she said quickly, perhaps too quickly because Edmund began to chuckle. She frowned at him. He knew of everything that had happened between her and Sebastian. How could he sit there and even suggest such a thing? “We’re just old friends, nothing more.”
“Old friends,” he repeated. “I see. So your friendship with him is the reason for the sharp banter yesterday and the coded messages today?”
She tucked a tendril of her red hair behind her ear. “I’d say that sounds correct.”
Edmund shook his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was still something there between the two of you.”
“But you do know better,” she said, scowling. There had never been anything between them at all except a form of friendship when they were younger, and that only came in the form of him tolerating her as best he could just so he’d have a playmate. For her part, she’d done the best she could making sure not to annoy him more than was necessary and not allowing herself dream up any sort of misguided notions that he might one day fall in love with her and become her husband. He was a lord and she was common, not to menti
on poor. It wasn’t done.
Truly, she’d done her best to accomplish both tasks—though not always as well as he, or she, might have liked. Though she annoyed him, he always helped her out of any scrape she got into. Just like now. Although, she must admit, him helping her snag a husband was significantly less endearing than when he’d helped her climb down from a tree he’d told her was too high for her to climb.
“Indeed.” His word drew her from her trance and he picked off a small string from his buckskin trousers and let it flutter to the floor. “And what of Mr. Appleton. Is he just a friend, too?”
She released a breath and fidgeted with the lace that circled her sleeve. All friends. Only friends. “Yes, Edmund, Mr. Appleton is just a friend, too.”
“Now, that I believe.”
She jerked her gaze to his. “What is that to mean?”
He waved her off. “Every fool can see that you and Mr. Appleton are just friends—even if he does pretend to write you poetry meant for another lady.”
She blushed. “He was just trying to save me from Sebastian.”
“Sebastian,” Edmund murmured, reminding Isabelle of a parrot. “I see that the two of you are still on very informal terms. You call him by his first name and he calls you Belle.”
“Only when he’s irritated with me.”
“I disagree. I don’t think he was irritated with you today. Or yesterday.”
She dismissed his statement with a quick shrug. “It must just be a habit he hasn’t broken.”
“Perhaps, but have you ever wondered if he spells it Belle, like the last part of your name or Bel, like the first part of his title?”
Isabelle narrowed her eyes at him. What had gotten into the man? Was he cracked? Who thought about such things? Edmund, that’s who. She shook her head. Sebastian only ever spoke to her, one didn’t think of how something was spelled while they were speaking. At least she didn’t. Edmund might be different, but she was fairly certain if he did that, he was truly a rarity. She couldn’t tell him that though.
“I’m not sure which spelling he’d use if he were to write it—” probably ‘B-e-l-l’ if she had to guess— “but I’m curious as to why you’d care.”
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