Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem: A Bluestocking Belles Collection

by Mariana Gabrielle

  "You are hardly a foreigner, Lord Herrendon—Firthley. You are a Marloughe and a marquess."

  "Yes," he whispered into her ear, "but my mother was an opera singer."

  She stumbled on both her words and her hem. "An oper—I mean… goodness!"

  "Singer, my girl, not dancer," he said, steadying her. "In other parts of Europe, quite celebrated, in fact. My father was hardly the first to attempt an alliance, but was the only gentleman to be granted one. I understand my grandfather was sent quite mad by their elopement, cutting my father off without a penny, swearing to never allow him to inherit. Sadly for the last Lord Firthley, he was not able to produce the requisite spare, so upon my father's death, he was saddled with me."

  "I'm sure he would not say—would not have said—saddled, my lord." Charlotte was not at all certain of that. "I am sure he was quite pleased to know his heir was so…" She reached for the right words. "…cultured and… artistic."

  Lord Firthley threw his head back and laughed aloud, and Charlotte looked around and over her shoulder. His outburst did not go unmarked, nor had his attendance in the earliest days of mourning. She would never find a husband at this rate.

  "Artistic, indeed. You have a charming way with words, my dear." He left the conversation there, walking in silence. Looking across the room at her aunt, he whispered, "Your dragon is not looking. Shall we risk a sojourn on the terrace?"

  "Perhaps we—" There was no finishing the thought before he swept her past the diamond-paned French doors, onto the quiet terrace, remarkably free of other couples. The night was positively balmy for late January, and the sky clear enough to count the stars. Torches set along the edges of the walkway into the garden invited a promenade, but Charlotte was not so brave as to follow him into the relative darkness. She hesitated at the edge of the graveled path.

  The corner of his lips turned up. "You would travel across England on horseback through a snowstorm, yet balk at taking a few steps from a ballroom?"

  "Hush. You said you would not mention that where anyone might hear."

  "Then I believe, Miss Amberly," he said, with a devious smile, "we must move out of earshot, for I find I must discover the secret of how such a proper young woman, raised to trust in her father's goodwill, has both the spirit and temerity to race across country to escape her fate, and can charm an otherwise intelligent man to help her."

  "You are a perfect beast! A gentleman would never coerce a young lady by threat of telling her secrets."

  His voice against her ear warmed her in a way no fire ever could. "Would it really be coercion, then? There is no part of you that would like to follow me into the hedge maze and ascertain what adventures I might offer?"

  Shivering—surely due to the chill in the air—she said not another word as he guided her toward a bench just off the path. They could be seen if anyone looked closely, but were yet cloaked in shadow.

  "It is cold," she finally said, sitting, then standing, then sitting again when he did. "We should return to the ballroom."

  He shrugged out of his jacket and offered to place it around her shoulders. In horror, she scooted as far away from him as she could without falling off the end of the bench. "I cannot wear your clothing, Sir! What would people think?"

  "They would think you were chilled, and I was polite enough to accommodate."

  "Accommodate. That is exactly what they would think." Searching the darkness for anyone who might be looking or listening, she demanded, "We must return to the ballroom!"

  Standing, he restored his tailcoat to his shoulders, then offered his hand. Without taking it, she turned away.

  "No? Do you not wish to be shut of me? I confess, Miss Amberly, I am not sure how to make you happy, and where women are concerned, that state of affairs is unfamiliar."

  Her mouth opened and closed on words that would not form until she finally clenched her jaw and took his hand. As he led her back to the party, he murmured in her ear, "You may be certain, Miss Amberly, this will not be the last adventure I will offer. Might I call on you at your aunt's residence on the morrow?"

  Without saying a word, she glared at him, nodding her head.

  Chapter Nine

  The next day…

  "So, how did you come to be in London rather than Pembroke? Was Pembroke not the destination you gave while we were traveling to Bristol?"

  "It is entirely too chilly to be out driving. Are you not solid ice?" Her hand dug a bit farther into her fur muff, flushing at Lord Firthley's shrewd question, more so when he winked at her.

  "I might have icicles hanging from my eyebrows before we return," Lord Firthley said, "which I prefer to taking tea under the eagle eye of your chaperone. Will you answer my question?"

  Charlotte pulled her muffler higher on her cheeks to hide her discomfiture. Fortunately, the sun was only a weak source of warmth, bright enough to suggest a ride in Hyde Park, but not to cut through a sharp wind. Her aunt had suggested they stay inside in the drawing room, but he was not particularly amenable, and Aunt Henny was unwilling to discourage the interest of a marquess.

  She turned away from him on the high seat of his phaeton, taking one hand out of her muff to hold on when she scooted away from him and his invasive questions.

  "You must be aware that asking a lady to divulge information she would prefer to keep private is quite rude. Or do they not teach gentlemen such things in Greece?"

  His laughter boomed across the frozen, gray landscape, no other carriages or people to delay the sound. "Another thing they teach gentlemen in Greece is that when a lady only claims the designation when it is convenient, and otherwise acts any way she pleases, the courtesies might be relaxed a bit." He clucked his tongue at the horses and curved around the path to turn the carriage toward her aunt's house. "And if a man can find a way past propriety with this particular model of lady, he has a chance at a very entertaining companion."

  "Companion?" She raised a brow.

  "What else would you have me call you? Now then, I am fairly certain your aunt had no knowledge of your plans, or I would not have had to answer for my whereabouts the night you disappeared. Will you argue semantics with me until we arrive back at your house? Shall I be forced to connive my way into a dinner invitation and ask you in front of Lady Noakes?"

  "You wouldn't!"

  "I would."

  She wished her sniff was at his ridiculous demands and not because her nose was dripping. Turning up her frozen nostrils, she finally answered, "I was to be denied my Season to marry your grandfather. I wished to make my curtsey to the queen and attend a few parties before I was forced to wed an ol…" She snapped her mouth closed before she insulted him, then thought the better of trying to be kind. "Before I had to marry a bald, wrinkly old man who would take my dowry and touch me with those hideous claws he called hands. Just the thought was… well… I'm certain you can imagine."

  "I hope never to imagine such a thing, but I find it fascinating that you have."

  Her indignant squeak was lost on him, so she marshalled her outrage for a righteous tongue-lashing. "That is the rudest thing I have ever heard! I'll not say another word to you, for you are no gentleman. Take me home at once!"

  "Never fear, Miss Amberly, we are no more than ten minutes away. For what it's worth, I do understand your reasons for leaving. I find it quite bold, and unaccountably intriguing. I am rather of a mind to…" He looked her up and down out of the corner of his eye. "Well, what I have in mind does not signify."

  "Not. Another. Word." Charlotte burrowed more deeply into her muffler and drew her collar tighter around her ears. "You are quite the worst man I have ever met."

  Chapter Ten

  January 26, 1804

  London, England

  "Your actions are reprehensible! I cannot believe the nerve!"

  Charlotte sat, head bowed, chafing under her father's screaming—and under her own remorse for causing him such trouble. If only he had listened when she told him she didn't want to marry Lo
rd Firthley, especially not to solve a political problem; it was hardly her responsibility to advance the business of the nation. He had never been so unfeeling before. But he also never screamed at her, which meant she was lucky it was he, not her mother. Her mother might actually kill her.

  "How did you—?"

  "Are you certain you wish to ask me how I knew you have been presenting yourself at parties throughout London as if you have my permission to do so?"

  "Who—?"

  "It makes no matter who! I have been up and down England looking for you. Weeks! Weeks I have been searching you out. Your mother is beside herself, can barely rise from bed, she has been so worried!"

  That her mother had taken to bed was no surprise. She hardly had to be told a ribbon couldn't be matched to a reticule to find herself incapacitated. But Papa really did have more important things to do, and, until the debacle with the late Lord Firthley, had always been the one to take up on her side in every family argument. If she had threatened to run away, rather than simply doing it, he might have even understood the depth of her aversion.

  She buckled under her own remorse for causing him such trouble. If only he had listened when she told him she didn't want to marry Lord Firthley, especially not to solve a political problem; it was hardly her responsibility to advance the business of the nation. He had never been so unfeeling before.

  But wait. Taken to her bed? "So… Mother is not with you?"

  "I've sent a letter, so you may expect her within the week, and do not doubt I will hand you over to her with no compunction, you devious, deceitful girl. And this letter will not be pilfered by a thieving hoyden!"

  Charlotte drew in a sharp breath. An entire week for Lady Effingale to marshal her anger? Charlotte was no longer sure she would be standing after her mother's punishment was imposed for leaving her betrothed behind, running away with the man's heir, arranging her own presentation, and attending countless parties with one of Mother's least favorite people as chaperone. If she were fortunate, the death would be quick.

  "Thankfully, I have found a means of containing the potential scandal before she arrives and proceeds to murder. Though I cannot say I am pleased with the solution."

  "Will you send me back to Evercreech, then?"

  "And have you disappear from a posting inn like an outlaw? No. I've had an offer for your hand, which you will accept with alacrity, and you will be married within a fortnight."

  Her head popped up. "But… no! What? You can't—"

  "I can. Once you have wed, you will return to Evercreech with your husband."

  Her mouth fell open. "Ever…? No… oh, no… you cannot mean to marry me to Jeremy!"

  She would be better off marrying ten Lord Firthleys than Jeremy Smithson. She couldn't count the blood, bruises, and breaks he had left on his sister, not to mention the manner in which he made his questionable living. Her dowry would be lost in a card game in a matter of days, leaving her to starve under his heavy hand forevermore.

  "As he is the only offer you have, and certainly the fastest possible answer to the question of your inexcusable behavior, oh, yes, I do."

  "You would give me to him, after everything he has done to Bella?"

  He gritted his teeth and pointed a finger at her. "You have put yourself in this position, Charlotte Amberly, not I. Do not dare blame me for the fact you are now unmarriageable. I will ensure you live close enough for me to watch over him, and I will make his income dependent on your happiness, but you will not blame this fiasco on me. You will not!"

  The tears welling up might have been anger or fear or frustration or despair, but regardless, there was no stopping them. "He is my cousin!"

  "And a ne'er-do-well. At this point, Charlotte, that cannot be helped. As soon as anyone finds out what you have been up to—and I assure you, he will make it known within minutes of me rejecting his suit—you will be ruined. Utterly ruined. You will never be able to set foot in Town again."

  "But—" She couldn't choke out any more objections through the sobbing about to start.

  "I will listen to not another word of insolence. You will marry when I say, where I say, and to whom I say, or you will be confined to Bedlam!"

  With that, he grasped her elbow, paying no attention to the tears streaking her face. When she tried to pull herself away, his grip strengthened until she thought her arm would break. Stumbling after him to her room, then shoved without ceremony through the door, she was horrified to hear the lock turn.

  Banging on the door, yelling to be let out, made no difference. Kicking it only bruised her toe. She leaned her forehead against the door and tried to slow the tears. Weeping would not help anything. She gathered deep, sobbing breaths until the choking abated.

  "He will not change his mind, Charlotte."

  She yelped in surprise, having assumed the room was empty, jumping as she turned. Sitting quietly in a corner, embroidering, was her cousin Bella.

  "What are you doing here?" Charlotte asked.

  "Uncle Howard was concerned that Aunt Minerva would…"

  "Send you back to Uncle Jasper."

  "Yes."

  Charlotte plopped down onto the chair next to Bella's seat on the loveseat and turned up the lamp.

  "Though with all the trouble Jeremy is causing…" Bella sighed. "I'm sure my father is too busy counting your dowry to bother with me."

  "How can they—"

  Bella just stared. "Have you ever known my father to leave a penny lay when he might put it in his pocket?"

  "Well, no, but I am his niece. How can he wish to…" Charlotte trailed off, reminded of all the horrific things that had been done to Uncle Jasper's own daughter. Far worse than marrying her to a good-for-nothing, though now that she was old enough, that day would come.

  At the look on her cousin's face, Bella said, simply, "Quite."

  "I cannot marry Jeremy!" Charlotte stood and began pacing. "How can I…?" She went to the window and pushed it open, looking to see how she could escape.

  "He has a footman posted."

  Snorting out her frustration through her nose, Charlotte slammed the window closed and began pacing again.

  "He will let you out," Charlotte wheedled. "You can steal the—"

  "I will not! You have made your own mess, Charlotte."

  "But you always—"

  "I will do whatever I can to argue your father out of this course, but I will not move against him in such an underhanded way. He has kept me as safe as he can my entire life, a debt of which I was reminded when Aunt Minerva wanted to throw me out in the snow less than a month ago. He has treated me as a second daughter, and while you may discount that gift, I will not."

  "So that is why you are here?"

  "Indeed. And with Jeremy in London, John and my father can't be far behind. I will happily stay locked in my room until they are gone."

  "But for witnessing my marriage to the brother who so enjoys beating you bloody every time he can, you mean."

  Bella winced and shrank back into the chair. "I do hope it won't come to that."

  Charlotte was having trouble maintaining sympathy with anyone unwilling to change this course.

  "Surely, Aunt Minerva won't allow it," Bella said, "She hates my father and Jeremy. She will talk sense into your father."

  "She will accept the first marriage contract offered, if it will keep her from scandal, and I've already made enough scandal for a lifetime." Charlotte snarled in a manner more fit for a mean-spirited gentleman than a well-bred young lady.

  There was no arguing the point.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next day…

  "I do apologize, my lord, Miss Amberly is not receiving visitors today."

  Alexander stared blankly at the butler. He had seen Charlotte every day for a week, and they had made plans for a trip to the British Museum this afternoon.

  "Perhaps you do not understand. I've made an appointment to see her."

  "She is not receiving visitors today,
my lord."

  "Is she ill?"

  "She is not receiving visitors."

  "Has she left a message for me? For Lord Firthley?" He repeated his name for the second time in as many minutes.

  "No, my lord. Had she left a message, I would have provided it."

  "I don't understand."

  "It is quite simple, my lord. Miss Amberly is not receiving today. Perhaps if you were to return another day."

  "I'm afraid I must insist you tell me if she is unwell."

  "I'm afraid I cannot do so, my lord. I can only say that she—"

  "Is not receiving today."

  "Yes, my lord."

  The butler wouldn't shut the door in his face, but would stand in the same position all day to keep him out.

  "Might I speak to her aunt? Lady Noakes?"

  "Lady Noakes is not receiving, my lord."

  Alexander ground his teeth. "Is anyone receiving?"

  "If you would like to wait, I will see if Lord Effingale is available."

  Charlotte's father? In Town? No wonder Charlotte wasn't receiving. He had probably horsewhipped her.

  "No. No, I will come back another day. Thank you for…"

  On the other hand, it might not be a bad idea to present his apologies and his version of things to Lord Effingale sooner rather than later. Effingale's solicitor, when he appeared with the sad news of the late Lord Firthley's demise, had been amenable enough to Alexander's lie about leaving Evercreech in the middle of the night to respond to a crisis on his estate. It would be smart to reinforce the story, and wise to thank Effingale for the discreet handling of his grandfather's death.

  "On second thought, I would like to speak to Lord Effingale, if you would be so kind." He removed his hat and gloves as he entered, handing them over with his cane as he was shown into the receiving room off the foyer. After the butler left, he strolled about the room, too keyed up to sit, but not anxious enough to pace.