Revenge Wears Rubies

by Renee Bernard

  But writing Galen felt like an impossible choice, so she abandoned the idea.

  She said nothing during the carriage ride to the next party, quietly sitting in the corner and reliving in turn her first kiss and her last, marveling that one could experience so much and still be so naïve. Before long, they’d arrived at Lady Pringley’s great home, and she was forced to banish Mr. Hawke from her thoughts.

  Even so, as the evening wore on, it was more and more difficult to cling to any hope at all, as inevitably her recent engagement came up with varied looks of pity and curiosity from the other guests. When she spotted Lady Pringley heading her way, she despaired at the lack of time to make any subtle escape.

  “Miss Moreland! What news! I only just learned of your misfortune and would have called on you, but it has been such a whirlwind this year—and my cousin’s daughter is planning a wedding, so you can imagine the upheaval!” She seized both of Haley’s gloved hands into hers and then openly evaluated her evening gown. “I thought it plain from a distance, but my goodness, the drape of that cloth is so elegant that I am forgetting to breathe!”

  It was a ridiculous compliment, and Haley forced herself to smile. “As usual, your ladyship is too kind.”

  “Nonsense!” She squeezed Haley’s fingers, her look changing to vitriolic sympathy. “What mortification! To be sloughed off by a man like that!”

  Haley’s chest flooded with panic, unsure for a fleeting second to which man Lady Pringley referred.

  “An industrialist! I’d sooner see you married off to a shop-keeper, and I imagine your father is feeling nothing but relief at this narrow escape.” Lady Pringley released her fingers to allow her to snap open her fan for effect. “I said nothing earlier, to shield you of course!”

  “Mr. Trumble is a fine man, and I wish him every happiness, Lady Pringley. I’m sure that is what you meant to say, was it not? That you wish him every happiness?” She held her ground, unwilling to play some spiteful game of gossip and libel to appease her host. I’ve done enough to harm poor Mr. Trumble without listening to this horrible woman!

  Lady Pringley’s eyebrows arched, reassessing her young guest. “Yes, something quite like that.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping so that no one else would hear her. “Whatever the cause, he has left you in a terrible position. One only speculates why your father would have allowed such an uneven match in the first place, and if, as most people begin to suspect, your family’s finances are not solid, then you may be hard-pressed to find a gentleman willing to risk so much as a single waltz, my dear Miss Moreland.”

  Haley gasped, unsure of how to answer, but then Lady Pringley went on with a cruel smile. “But I like you, so here is a small bit of priceless advice. Start crying ‘foul!’ whenever Trumble is mentioned and you may divert enough attention away from your father’s wallet to yet ensnare a willing fool.”

  Haley was speechless as the woman straightened up, artfully fanning herself as she sailed off to another cluster of guests near an open doorway.

  “Miss Moreland?”

  Haley turned, only to find herself staring at the center of a man’s chest where she’d expected a face. She looked up to take in what was undoubtedly the tallest and broadest gentleman she had ever met. “Yes.”

  “Miss Haley Moreland?” he asked again.

  “Yes.” She curtsied, some of her humor returning. “I believe so.”

  “I’m afraid we’ve not had the pleasure and . . .” He sighed. “I am not a man for these formal affairs.”

  “No? You seem to be holding your own better than some.” She tried to offer him some encouragement. For all his intimidating size, she was amazed at how cautious his stance, as if he were expecting a firing squad instead of a room full of dowagers and debutantes.

  “I meant to introduce myself. I’m Michael Rutherford.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Rutherford?” His hand swallowed hers, but his grip was as cautious as if her bones were made of glass.

  “Well enough.”

  He had the look of a man who would rather be up to his neck in the Thames, but she did her best not to laugh for fear of being misunderstood and hurting his feelings. “Have you—”

  “Ah! Haley! There you are!” Aunt Alice interrupted, her face flushed as she came hurrying toward them. “Your father promised your first dance this evening to Lord Willecourt—oh, my!” She stopped short as she suddenly noticed the masculine mountain her niece was addressing. “Pardon the interruption, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Mr. Rutherford, wasn’t it?” Haley tried to give the man an opening to reintroduce himself more properly, and potentially divert her aunt from her mission. Haley had briefly met Lord Willecourt earlier and her best guess put him a summer or two away from sixty.

  “It was.” Mr. Rutherford’s succinct answer gave her nothing to cling to, and Mrs. Shaw merely shrugged.

  “How nice to meet you”—Aunt Alice grasped her arm—“and if you’ll excuse us, my niece has a previous engagement.”

  Haley could only nod a quick apology to Mr. Rutherford before Aunt Alice was pulling her relentlessly toward the ballroom. “Aunt Alice!” She lowered her voice, smiling just in case anyone was watching. “Father can’t be serious!”

  “There’s no telling, dearest, but just placate the man if you can and let’s try to keep an open mind, shall we?”

  “I’m beginning to miss the days when you encouraged me to misbehave.”

  “As am I.” Aunt Alice’s look was one of sincere regret. “But even I can’t ignore the realities pressing on our doorstep. Just do your best to impress his lordship, and remember that your father loves you above all else.”

  Haley had to swallow the lump in her throat but managed to paste a smile on her face as they reached her father and the waiting Lord Willecourt.

  The instant they were home, her father summoned her to the library for a talk. “You have to move faster! Once the servants catch a whiff of all of this financial rot, the news will spread like wildfire and that will be that!”

  “I’m doing the best I can, Father!”

  “And how is that? I didn’t see anything that amounted to a single fluttering eyelash during that dance with Willecourt! Hell! Alice showed the man more warm looks and welcoming touches!”

  “Aunt Alice is closer to the man’s age! And I apologize for not flushing with womanly flirtation while a man discusses sheep breeding and hoof diseases!” Haley stamped her foot in frustration. “What would you have me do?”

  “I don’t know! Just do it faster!”

  She lifted her chin defiantly, unwilling to cower. “I am still a gentleman’s daughter and not a complete eyesore, Father!”

  “And you don’t think there are a hundred girls who can top your lineage and bat their eyes convincingly? And they have dowries to offer that no fool would overlook! A man has to marry for gain whenever he can, Haley!”

  “You didn’t!”

  “Yes, I did!” he shouted, then immediately turned the color of a beet at his inadvertent confession.

  “Y-you married for gain?” Haley whispered, sitting down as her knees suddenly felt unsteady. “But you always said . . .”

  “Your mother”—he sat down on the sofa next to her, nervously tugging at the tassels on one of the decorative pillows as he finished his story—“came with a tidy sum, and frankly, I don’t remember being all too keen on marrying. But my father insisted and the matter had long been settled between our families before I’d had my first shave. She was the catch of the county, but I wasn’t fishing. And by the time my father advised me I was betrothed, I almost made a run for it.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s true! I don’t think I spoke to her three times in my life before the wedding, I was so stubbornly determined to keep my distance for as long as I could. But then, it was done. We were married and I was sulking in a corner at the reception afterward, and she . . .” Her father’s eyes had taken on that far-off look, as he gazed into
the memory of happier days. “She started singing at the piano for the guests, and then I couldn’t seem to stop looking at her—an angel in white silk and butter yellow taffeta. And then she laughed and smiled right at me, and I couldn’t believe it! I’d been sulking! Like an idiot! And she was too sweet a miracle to hold it against me, can you imagine?”

  “Oh, Father!” She put her head on his shoulder. “Why did you never tell me this story before?”

  “I was too embarrassed! Besides, I loved her too greatly to let myself remember too often what a complete blind ass I’d been!” He put a hand on her head, smoothing out the silk of her curls. “I wanted the same happiness for you, Haley. And probably because of my own past, I was sure that it was possible, even if you were secretly digging in your heels about marrying Mr. Trumble. I thought, why not another miracle? She could just look up and think . . . him . . .” Her father’s words trailed off as he faltered, and then finally he chuckled. “The handsomest little bald fat man in all of England!”

  Haley laughed, then buried her nose in his coat, wishing that it could last; that this fleeting merriment wouldn’t evaporate so quickly and return them to the harsh realities ahead.

  “Marry, Haley. You must marry quickly.”

  “Who?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears. “Did you have anyone in mind?”

  He shook his head, his face betraying his fears. “Not a single soul.”

  Haley buried her face against his shoulder again, but this time it was to cry her heart out.

  Chapter 26

  Michael rang the bell and forced himself not to nervously shift on his feet while he waited for an answer. He knew he should have left a card first, but he hadn’t the time or patience for the foolish niceties that London society seemed to think vital. I’ve never understood why a man has to stop by with a card to say that he’s going to stop by. Whoever made up the rules had far too much time on their hands to sweat and worry about ten minutes of conversation where everyone generally seems to talk about the weather and nothing else.

  He rang it again, then pulled his hand back with guilty speed as the door instantly opened.

  The butler’s appraisal wasn’t as icy as it might have been, but Michael knew his imposing size took the starch out of most men. “May I help you, sir?”

  “I wish to see Miss Moreland. I mean, if she’s home, I thought I would pay a call.”

  “Is she expecting you, sir?” The butler didn’t move from the doorway, and Michael wished he’d bothered with the card nonsense after all.

  “If you’ll inform her that Michael Rutherford is here, I’ll wait.” He crossed his arms defensively and like any good soldier, held his position.

  A male voice bellowed from inside the house, and Michael tried not to smile as the butler winced. “Who the hell is it, Weathers?”

  Mr. Weathers altered his strategy quickly. “Won’t you wait inside, sir? I’ll advise the family of your presence.”

  Michael stepped in the door, straightening his coat, and offered Mr. Weathers his hat. “That would be fine.”

  The butler retreated to carry out his duties, leaving Michael as an unexpected and, for the moment, vastly uncategorized guest to wait in the foyer. To pass the time, Michael instinctively surveyed the house from a defensive point of view and inventoried the objects within view. It was an old habit, and generally useless in the urban homes of merry London, but it kept his mind occupied.

  Although, if I ever decided to try my hand at burglary, I don’t think the peerage would know what had befallen them. Not that I need to add any more black marks on my soul by taking some buffoon’s portrait of his crusty great-uncle’s—

  “Mr. Rutherford?” She’d approached him without alerting his senses, and that startled him far more than her quiet voice.

  He nodded, looking at her with a new measure of respect. That she was beautiful enough to have enslaved even a man like Galen Hawke was indisputable. But there was more to her than beauty, and Michael was glad for his friend. “Yes. We met at Lady Pringley’s party.”

  “Yes, of course. I remember you.” She stepped back, gesturing for him to enter one of the formal sitting rooms off the foyer. “But then, you are a difficult man to forget, Mr. Rutherford. Would you care to come in and take tea?”

  He nodded, stepping into the room she’d pointed to. “Yes, that’s very kind of you.” He eyed the delicate legs of the sofa and decided that he’d be better off in one of the sturdy chairs when the moment came. “I should apologize for coming without . . . I am a disaster when it comes to social rituals, Miss Moreland.”

  She smiled, ringing the bell for their tea. “I like your plain way of speaking. It’s refreshing to think that you might actually mean what you say, unlike . . . so many others. Would you care to sit?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He took the heaviest of the chairs, but even so, settled slowly and carefully to try to avoid an embarrassing bit of destruction. He was simply not built for delicate drawing rooms.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me for trying to speak just as plainly, Mr. Rutherford.” She sat across from him, a pale queen in a gown with green flowers over ivory muslin.

  “I would be grateful if you would forget all the rules of polite conversation, just for this once. A soldier’s head has a bit of a struggle with all the airy small talk of the day. I had quite a headache after Lady Pringley’s.”

  She gave him a sympathetic look, almost admitting that she felt the same way after three minutes in the woman’s presence. But she honored his request and wasted no more time in getting to the question on her mind. “Very well. Why are you here, Mr. Rutherford?”

  I like you more and more, Miss Moreland. “Galen asked me to come.”

  “Then”—she stood—“you’ll understand if I ask you to leave. Good day, Mr. Rutherford.”

  Michael stood, hoping she didn’t hear the creak of his knee-caps. “He’s left London. Family tragedy is about all I can imagine that would have torn him away, and he was fairly wrecked not to be able to see you again. So, I guess . . . if I’m being shown the door, I’ve passed most of the message along that he charged me with and I’ll leave with a clear conscience.” He made an awkward bow and started to leave. “Good day, Miss Moreland.”

  “Wait.” The command was so quiet, he almost missed it, but he turned immediately.

  “Yes.”

  “What was the rest of the message for—”

  “You’ll pardon the interruption.” Lord Moreland came through the doorway, his face red with anxiety. “But unless you’ve come to propose marriage, young man . . .” He trailed off, giving Michael a hopeful look.

  “No!” Michael answered in shock. “No, your lordship!”

  “Father!” Haley’s shock was equally apparent.

  “Well, if he’s not come to court, then I’m afraid you’ll have to ask your guest to leave, Haley.” He gave her a look that forbade her to ask a single question or make any additional protests. “Now!”

  “Mr. Rutherford, I’m so sorry, but if you would be so kind. Perhaps another day—”

  “Yes, yes, another day!” her father echoed, leading them out toward the front door, rushing the giant man’s exit as best as he could.

  Michael barely managed to utter a word of farewell before the front door closed firmly in his face and he found himself exactly where he’d started, standing on Moreland’s steps unsure of what to do next.

  Ah! That didn’t go as badly as I’d imagined it would. And to think I was worried that I might be rude . . . But whatever has Lord Moreland demanding marriage proposals and throwing guests from his threshold can’t bode well.

  He retreated, but with every intention of keeping track of the family and seeing if he could discover what was going on. He would do it for Galen. He only hoped he wasn’t going to be the one to send him another bit of tragic news.

  “What’s happened? How could you be so horrible to a complete stranger?” Haley was mystified. Of all her father’s faults
, she’d never known him to be so abrupt and—odd. “H-have you been drinking?”

  “No,” he answered, “although if I had been, I’m sure even you wouldn’t blame me.” He moved to the windows and quickly began to pull all the draperies closed. “We’re leaving London immediately. It’s over.”

  “It’s . . . over?” Haley asked, just as the sound of slamming cupboards and doors became evident in the rooms above, as if every servant were running around to pack them out of a burning house. “I don’t understand.”

  “Just know, first of all, that I don’t blame you. But we are out of time, my dear. I have received the worst of news from my solicitors. My debts are going to be called in, with warrants issued, and we must return to our estates immediately unless you’d like to visit me in a pauper’s prison.” He sank down in the chair just recently vacated by Mr. Rutherford, his face in his hands. “I’m ruined.”

  Haley moved to kneel before him, doing her best to soothe him, but also to understand how things had suddenly become so dire. “Father, there now. I know we have debts, but surely we can negotiate and retrench. Things are difficult but it’s not as if we’re—”

  “Beggars?” He dropped his hands to look at her, the color in his face deepening. “We will be soon if I’ve the hand on the rudder! I’m a fool, Haley. Your father is a fool, drunk or sober, and I’m sorry for it.”

  “How can you say that? You’re not a fool!”

  “I am! I borrowed that money from Trumble and I thought if I got into a wonderful scheme, I could make it all back and more. I wanted to take the burden off of you to marry without affection! I wanted to provide for my family and be the valiant hero that saves the day and restores our honor.”