by Cheryl Holt
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she grumbled. “I’m too fatigued to put up with your high-handed manner, and I won’t beg as if I’m a peasant currying your favor.”
Completely perplexed, he frowned. It had never occurred to him that she might not wish to wed him.
Every female in the kingdom would give her right arm to be in Lily’s shoes. Didn’t she comprehend how lucky she was? She ought to be glad! She ought to be down on her knees and thanking him!
His temper sparked. “You will not refuse me. Cease your theatrics.”
“What theatrics would those be?”
“As you mentioned, I am Earl of Penworth. I have presented you with a marvelous opportunity. I’ve proposed, and you will accept.”
“Aren’t you the same man who always lectures about status and rank?”
“Well, yes, but I’ve changed.”
“Really?” Her incredulity was blatant and annoying.
“Yes.”
“You’re telling me that—practically overnight—your opinions have been altered. You’re totally unconcerned about background or heritage. It doesn’t matter to you in the slightest.”
“No.”
She studied him, her gaze intense and bewildering. “I don’t believe you,” she said.
“You . . . you don’t what?”
At being confronted by her obstinacy, he couldn’t muster a coherent thought.
He had changed. He had!
After his experiences with Esther and Edward, with Violet and Barbara, his focus had been transformed. Rank was an idiotic measure by which to judge a person, and his arrogance on the subject was at an end.
He’d been on pins and needles, eager to share his new insights with her. He felt reborn, as if a terrible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She knew him better than anyone. How could she not see the difference?
“I love you,” he declared.
“You do not.”
“I do!”
“You’re embarrassing me. Please stop.”
She pushed by him, and he was so stunned that he let her go. He assumed she’d realize she was being foolish, that she’d halt and give him the answer he sought, but she didn’t.
“Lily!” he snapped, aggravated in the extreme.
She whipped around. “What?”
“We are not finished discussing this.”
“Yes, we are. I’ve told you before that I plan to wed a husband who loves me, who’s proud to have me.”
“I love you!” he shouted. “And I’ll always be proud of you.”
“Was I—or was I not—just with you when you denied me over and over to your stepmother?”
“I was toying with her, trying to get her to let her guard down so she didn’t murder you. I didn’t mean what I said.”
“You claim that now, but if I relent and marry you, I can predict exactly how I’ll end up.”
“How is that?”
“I know your kind. I’ve worked for you people all my life.”
“My kind?” He’d never been so thoroughly insulted.
“You’re snobs. Currently, you’re suffering from some ludicrous bohemian notion about lowering yourself through matrimony. I haven’t a clue as to why. Perhaps you’re wracked with guilt over ruining me. Or perhaps it’s simply a cavalier whim. Whatever is driving you, you’ll get over it.”
“You don’t think I’m sincere?”
“I’m sure you’re not. If I accept, it will soon dawn on you that you made a mistake, and then where will I be? I won’t place myself in such an untenable position.”
She stormed off, and he loitered in the hall, feeling as if she’d ripped out his heart and stomped on it.
Footsteps sounded behind him, and he glanced over to see Barbara approaching.
On noting his baffled expression, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I proposed to Lily, and she said no.”
“She refused you?”
“Yes.”
“Did she inform you as to why?”
“She wants to marry for love, and she insists I’m a snob who would never genuinely care for her.”
“She said that to you?”
“Yes.”
Barbara laughed. “Ooh, I like this girl. I really, really like her.” She gave him a commiserating pat on the shoulder and walked on.
“DO you, Edward, take Miranda to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Edward didn’t reply, and Miranda peeked up at him, an evil grin on her rosebud lips.
John whacked him on the back, the force of the clout hard enough that he stumbled forward and jostled the vicar. Since it was a man Edward didn’t know and had never previously met, he didn’t apologize.
The fellow was drunk anyway, and John had bribed him. Edward wasn’t even certain he was actually a minister.
“Say, ‘I do,’” John commanded.
Edward whirled to face him. “Can we talk about this?”
“We already have.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Don’t go through with it,” Esther barked from behind them. “This isn’t the Middle Ages. Even this stupid oaf”—she rudely gestured at the vicar—“wouldn’t dare coerce you into it.”
“Mother, be silent!” Edward growled.
“Yes, Esther,” John concurred, “be silent or I’ll gag you, too.”
Her hands were tied, courtesy of John, who’d declined to come within a hundred yards of her unless she was fettered.
Edward was twenty-seven years old, and he’d always been a dutiful son. He had respected and honored his mother, only to learn that she was mad as a hatter. It was a terrible blow, and he still wasn’t sure how to deal with her.
Captain Bramwell butted in. “Could we finish this? The tide’s about to turn, and we’ll need to make way.”
They were on Bramwell’s ship, anchored out on the Thames. Edward and Esther were bound for Boston, but they might have been flitting off to the moon. The locale was that remote and exotic.
John had given him a choice: marry Miranda and sail off to a new land, or stay in England to be beggared while watching his mother hang for the attempted murder of a peer of the realm.
“I won’t be quiet!” Esther fumed.
To Edward’s stunned surprise, John grabbed a kerchief from his coat and stuffed it in Esther’s mouth. The twins giggled. The assembled sailors looked the other way, pretending to see nothing.
“I’ve had about all of you I can stand,” John told her. She choked and sputtered with rage, but he ignored her and spoke to Edward. “What’s it to be, dearest brother? Will you say I do? Or shall we go back to shore so I can file legal proceedings against you and your mother?”
“You’re being cruel,” Edward seethed.
“Yes. Deliberately so.”
“You always hated me.”
“I never did. I merely wanted you to grow up and take responsibility for your actions.”
“At least let Mother remain in England. She doesn’t wish to go.”
“She’s a menace, and she’s proven herself to be dangerous. I won’t have her in the same country as me.”
Esther was stamping her foot, malice in her gaze, as she tried to get John’s attention. When that didn’t work, she lunged toward him. Not that he had to fear her.
He had brought two burly footmen as bodyguards. They’d wrestled her—manacled—into the longboat, then hauled her up onto the ship like a bucket of potatoes. The brawny pair kept themselves between her and John, and they easily held her at bay.
Edward frowned at her, at the twins who were both traveling with him, at his mother again.
What a pitiful group! The voyage would be lengthy and tedious, and after they arrived in Boston, life would be no better.
How could John be so callous? How could Edward sway him?
“Give me another chance, John.”
“I’m counting to ten,” John replied. “If I haven’t heard the words I do come out of yo
ur mouth, I will assume you refuse to continue, and I will proceed accordingly.”
John paused, then began. “One, two, three ...”
Edward was boxed in, out of options. He wasn’t about to dawdle in London as John humiliated him to the entire world. Nor could he allow Esther to be prosecuted. Edward wasn’t particularly fond of her, but he wasn’t such an ingrate that he’d throw her to the wolves, either.
“The twins plan to kill me,” he hissed at John, “once they have their dowry. I’m convinced of it. Don’t you care?”
“They won’t kill you,” John scoffed.
“They will!”
“If anything ever happens to you, I’ll hunt them down and make them pay. Do you understand me, Miranda?”
He and Miranda shared a charged look, then Miranda clutched Edward’s arm and simpered, “I have no idea what Edward is talking about.”
“Your concerns are unfounded, Edward,” John said. “Now, what is your decision?”
There was no hope for it. Edward had no friends or allies. He was shackling himself to a girl he detested and being forced out of England—with his crazed mother in tow.
Had any man in all of history ever suffered so hideously? Had any man in all of history ever been so despicably treated?
He spun to the vicar.
“I do.”
With his capitulation voiced, the vicar raced through the vows, and Edward’s fate was sealed.
Bramwell had mentioned that they would be sailing south, taking advantage of the prevailing winds and balmy temperatures. They would stop at some of the West Indian islands prior to heading up the American coast.
Perhaps Edward would be able to sneak away. He would flee the twins and his mother, would vanish into thin air and leave the three of them to their own devices. It would serve them right if they wound up together. Esther had displayed bloodthirsty tendencies, and the twins would meet their match in her.
“Good-bye, Edward,” John said. “I’m sorry it had to end like this.”
Unaffected by events, John shook hands all around, then he and his bodyguards started for the rail, eager to climb down to the longboat that would row them to shore.
“John!” Edward called, terrified by his departure. “Would you like me to write?”
“Wait a year or two, would you? Let my temper calm before I have to hear how you’ve settled in.”
“You don’t want to hear how I’m faring?”
“Not really.”
It was the saddest remark ever, and Edward was on the verge of tears. Had John no feelings? Wouldn’t he miss Edward? After all they’d meant to each other, how could he be so heartless?
John gave a jaunty salute, aimed at Bramwell, who returned it. Then, without another word, he clambered over the rail and disappeared.
Miranda leaned in and whispered, “Let’s go below to our cabin and consummate the union.” She glanced over at her sister. “You can come, too, to help me.”
“Did you pack the riding crop?” Melanie asked. “He needs to be punished for being disrespectful to you.”
Edward gulped with dismay as Miranda led him toward the hatch.
“I don’t want to be here,” Lily muttered.
“But I insist,” Barbara responded. “If you are to be my social secretary, you must learn the names and faces of those with whom you’ll be dealing.”
“I’m not comfortable in this sort of company.”
“Honestly, Lily, you sound as if I’m torturing you at the rack when I’ve simply requested that you join me at my supper party. Stop complaining. If I didn’t know better, I’d imagine you were distressed at being in such close proximity to John.”
“I won’t deny it. I hate having to associate with him, and in light of our lurid past, everyone is staring at me. I loathe being the center of attention.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why does John’s presence upset you so much? If you’re as indifferent as you claim, why would it matter that he’s standing across the room? Just ignore him.”
“I can’t. He keeps looking at me.”
“Don’t look back.” Barbara handed her a glass of wine, and oddly, she stirred the red liquid with her finger, as if mixing something into it. “Drink this,” she ordered. “You’re entirely too nervous. These people are John’s friends and peers. I won’t have them thinking I’ve hired a ninny.”
Lily sipped the wine, finding it a tad sour, but she didn’t protest. Barbara was watching her like a hawk, ready to pounce if Lily didn’t down the contents, and Lily had to admit that a bit of alcohol would work wonders for her disposition.
Since she’d spurned Penworth’s marriage proposal, she’d been prepared to vacate the premises, without having any idea where she intended to go. Barbara had intervened and given her a job.
Barbara was extremely busy with managing Penworth’s affairs and serving as his hostess, and she’d needed a competent assistant. Lily probably should have refused the post, but Barbara had offered an exorbitant salary, plus a fine bedroom suite facing out over the rear garden.
The opportunity was too good to pass up, but when she’d accepted, she hadn’t understood that Barbara would throw her into social situations with Penworth. Or that she would require Lily to dress as if she was a member of the exalted group.
Without her being informed, a wardrobe had been purchased. Her bedchamber was filled to overflowing with clothes and accessories. She’d attempted to decline the generous gift, but Barbara had scoffed at her reluctance.
Do you suppose, Barbara had scolded, that you can be employed by me, the earl’s mother, and gad about like a pauper? I won’t have you embarrassing John in those old rags.
So Lily was in the front drawing room, awaiting the butler’s summons to supper, and she was so fashionably attired that she might have been a duke’s daughter. Violet Howard could hardly have had a gown that would compete with Lily’s, and she felt conspicuous and out of place, as if she was putting on airs.
Vividly, she recollected the consequences in Scotland when she’d tried to rise above her station, and she wouldn’t behave so foolishly ever again.
She gazed about, assessing the dignitaries who were Penworth’s acquaintances. His school chum, Jordan Winthrop, Viscount Redvers, was there, with his bride, Mary. Penworth’s neighbor, Michael Seymour, Earl of Hastings, was there, too, with his bride, Jane. They were chatting with Jane’s sister, Helen, who had just wed Captain Odell, the notorious mariner in whose Scottish house the Dudleys were living.
It was an illustrious crowd to which Lily didn’t and could never belong, and she wanted to slink to her bedchamber and hide.
She’d been so wrapped up in her miserable rumination that she didn’t notice she’d emptied her glass. Barbara provided a second, stirring it as she had the first.
“How was your wine?” she asked.
“Sour.”
“Try this vintage. You’ll like the taste a bit more.”
“Is it hot in here?”
“No.”
For some reason, Lily was very warm, and her senses were enlivened. Her pulse was elevated, her cheeks flushed. Colors were very bright; noises magnified. She could hear what everyone was saying, and they were talking about her and Penworth, as if they knew a secret she didn’t.
“Lily, are you all right?” Barbara’s grin was full of mischief.
“I’m dizzy. It must be the alcohol; I don’t drink that much.”
“Have some more.”
Barbara tipped the glass to Lily’s mouth, urging her to finish.
Gradually, she noted that people were going into the dining room. Had the butler called for them to enter? She couldn’t remember.
Barbara clutched her arm and led her in. When they stepped inside, Penworth was seated at the head of the table. The other spots were taken, except for the one at the opposite end, where his countess would have sat—had he already wed his countess.
; A footman pulled out the chair as if it was meant for Lily. Barbara shoved her into it before Lily could point out that there had been a mistake in the seating chart.
She stared past the bejeweled, beautiful women and the handsome, dynamic men to where Penworth was studying her with an inscrutable smile. He lifted his brandy, tipping it toward her as if making a private toast, then he downed the contents.
Lily frowned and furtively glanced at the guests, worried that they’d observed his inappropriate gesture, but no one had.
She was shaking, so she drank more of her wine. As she did, the strangest thing happened. The world faded away so she was peering down a tunnel at Penworth. There was no sound, no activity. Time had ceased its ticking.
“Look at what Mr. Dudley has arranged for us to see,” he told her, but his lips didn’t move.
Her frown increased. Had she heard his comment in her mind?
Slowly, her view shifted, and a myriad of occasions drifted by. She recognized that they were moments in her future with John. There was her wedding day, the birth of their first child, a son. A second son followed, then two girls.
The decades surged by, their children growing, having children of their own. She and John were elderly, still together and blissfully happy.
“It’s exactly what you’ve always wanted.” He spoke in her mind again. “Say you love me, and you can have your heart’s desire.”
“I love you,” she mumbled.
At her voicing the declaration, the peculiar episode abruptly concluded, and she felt as if she was being sucked from the tunnel. She was falling and falling, and she landed—with no gracefulness at all—in a rumpled heap in her chair.
The guests gaped at her, and her cheeks heated with horror. She must have spouted aloud her improper affection for the earl. Ah! How humiliating!
The gossip about them had to stop, but if she insisted on making a public spectacle of herself, how would the scandal ever abate?
Penworth stood, and he tapped a spoon on a plate to get the crowd’s attention. All eyes whipped from her to him.
“Most of you have known me since I was a boy”—there was a general nod of agreement around the table—“so you’re aware of the changes I’ve weathered lately. I was engaged—then I wasn’t.” His friends laughed. “I finally had enough of Esther and Edward and sent them away.” A smattering of applause rang out, evidence that the pair hadn’t been liked. “My mother came back, which has been a huge pain in the rear.”
