by Stacy Reid
“No.”
“Papa, please. If you would meet with him again, you would see what a kind, sensitive, and amiable gentleman he is—”
“Mr. Atwood’s only prospect is a distant baronetcy with little income to support a family. When you marry Lord Vale, you will be a countess,” he said forcefully.
Adel was too stunned to point out that he was only a baronet. In desperation she gripped his fingers. “Papa, if you do not agree on Mr. Atwood. At least give me a few more months to secure another suitor. If I’ve no offer by the year end I will…I will marry your choice.” She almost choked on the words.
“You had a late coming out because of your mother’s passing. I regret that deeply for I feel with her guidance you would have garnered an attractive offer. You’ve attended three seasons and no man wants you with the small dowry I can provide. Five hundred pounds is not enough to tempt any man.”
She flinched and released his arm. She heard what he had not said. Her dark, unfashionable hair, too-rounded hips and bosom did not tempt a man, either, nor the fact that she could read and write in several languages, and cipher.
“You are not to partake in any dances with Mr. Atwood or partner him in any of the parlor and outdoor games. Lord Vale will announce at tomorrow’s ball the news of your engagement, and it would not do for his fiancée to make a hash of things by being silly with another man.”
“Papa—”
“Do you understand me, young lady?”
She pressed a finger to her forehead, and it did nothing to stop the sudden ache pounding through her temple. “Papa, society will speculate on the sudden engagement. He has not been seen escorting me in the country or in London. As far as society knows, we have not been introduced. It is best the earl courts me for several months before there can be talks of an engagement.” Her stomach tightened in knots at the very idea of being in the earl’s presence, but she must do something to discourage her father. Then she would have at least some weeks to figure out how to extricate herself from the earl’s grasping and lascivious clutches if her scheme tonight failed.
“I’ve already given Lord Vale my blessings. It would be dishonorable of me to importune him to change his mind because of your feminine nerves. I expect your obedience or you will gain my severe displeasure.”
Severe displeasure? “And I fear you have lost my good opinion,” she said hoarsely, fighting the urge to cry. “You are supposed to protect me, Papa.”
“I am protecting you,” he said stiffly. “I am doing all in my power to secure your future since you have little thought for it or for your sisters’ and brothers’ future. A connection with the earl will go a long way toward establishing their prospects.”
Of course, my life is not my own. “Mamma would never have pledged me to man who has no respect or affection for me.”
He blanched, but she turned away, and hastened into the night.
She could no longer afford to possess the doubts she had in her heart. She had to act, and it must be tonight.
Chapter Two
“It’s the mad duke.”
The ton was nothing if not predictable. The lone whisper was the indication the rest of the throng needed to take it upon themselves to revisit his past.
“He confessed to his good friend, the Marquess of Westfall, that he killed his wife. It was the talk of the town a few years past.”
Edmond Elias Rochester, the Duke of Wolverton, ignored the gossip that erupted in his wake and moved with purpose toward the corridor that would lead him to the Gladstone library. The ton normally watched him like a hawk, searching for a reaction whenever they whispered too loudly of his supposed insanity. Would he lash out and prove his affliction? They were sorely disappointed every time.
“He lost his heir as well.”
A too-loud gasp sounded.
Though he ensured his countenance was cold and uninterested, their words were like a dagger to his heart. He had certainly been responsible for the death of his wife and son. The guilt and pain was always waiting to strike, reminding him that he had no right to peace or happiness. It was a pain he lived with every day, and it was this rabid interest and speculation in his life that had seen him largely shunning society for the few years since their deaths.
He’d only ever traveled to London for the opening of parliament when he had been careful to avoid the balls and entertainments of the season. He had little interest in such affairs. House parties, in particular, struck him as tedious, even though his experience of them was limited. His sole purpose tonight for being at the Gladstone country home was to finalize some settlement negotiations. When not rubbing reluctant elbows with the bon ton, Edmond was fairly content to bury himself at his estate in Hampshire with his daughters.
Sarah and Rosa. Rage and regret kicked him in the gut, hard and brutal. He had been so damnably blind to their needs. His daughters had been going through governesses like sand through a sieve. The tutor he’d resorted to hiring also seemed at his wits end. No one could tolerate their antics for long, and it had taken him too long to realize they required the comfort and guidance of a mother, and the stability of a normal family life. After losing Maryann, Edmond had vowed never to take another wife. What a damnable ass he had been.
Memory had finally pierced through the cold fog of his misery. He did not need to engage his heart with his next duchess. There was certainly no need for him to ever risk the torment of loss that still haunted his sleep and waking thoughts. The ton mocked any hint of tender emotions between man and wife, thinking it very unfashionable. He’d broken the mold once and married for such sentiments, this time he would do it for very sensible and pragmatic reasons. Many in the ton had such uncomplicated marriage arraignments, and he would simply seek a similar situation for the benefit of his children.
Ignoring the eyes of the multitude of guests and returning a few nods from other gentleman, he made it to the entrance hall and headed directly to the library. Lord Gladstone, the man he was visiting to negotiate with, acknowledged his presence with a nod, then the earl made his way from his guests towards Edmond.
“Wolverton,” Lord Gladstone greeted, falling into step beside him.
“Gladstone, pleased to see you.” Edmond wanted to waste no time with inane pleasantries. He had corresponded with the earl and had made an offer for his daughter, Lady Evelyn. He remembered her vaguely from a few years ago, and she had appeared a likable young lady, a bit too cheerful, but she had a pleasant countenance. The reports from her father also boasted of a young woman of sense and intelligence. She spoke three languages fluently, was adept at painting and playing the pianoforte.
A hard smile twisted Edmond’s lips. She was perfect. She would fill the void he needed, without overtly tempting his baser needs. Female companionship was a comfort he had eschewed since the loss of his wife. In fact, the reason Edmond had even made an offer for Lady Evelyn was because he was certain he would feel nothing physical for her.
They entered the library.
“Brandy?” Gladstone asked, strolling to the sideboard.
Edmond inclined his head and the man prepared two glasses. Discomfort was evident in every line of the earl’s posture. Awareness stirred, and Edmond gritted his teeth in denial. “Is your daughter aware that I am here?”
The earl handed him the drink with a sigh. “No.”
“I made arrangements to return to my estate in a few days’ time.”
“I would urge you to stay for the duration of the house party. There will be a game of croquet on the lawn tomorrow. We plan hunting on Friday, and a ball tomorrow night. I’ve also heard my daughter mention a few parlor games and tricks. Take this as an opportunity to get to know her,” Gladstone urged.
Edmond took a sip of his brandy, considering the earl. The man already knew Edmond’s terms. “No,” he said flatly. “If you have changed your mind, say so, and I will do what needs to be done and find another.”
Gladstone grimaced. “Do not be hasty. My counte
ss has summoned Lady Evelyn.”
There was a guarded note in the man’s tone that had caution settling in Edmond’s gut. He studied the earl and he did not like the guilt he saw on the man. Hell. “Is Lady Evelyn even aware of my offer?”
A tic appeared on Gladstone’s forehead and grew more pronounced as the silence lengthened. “No,” he finally muttered, tugging at his cravat.
Edmond lowered his glass of brandy slowly. “We have been negotiating the terms of the marriage for two months now and you have not seen fit to inform her?” Never would he have acted with such callous disregard for his own daughters’ emotions. You have done worse, his conscience reminded him, and he ruthlessly repressed the guilt.
Before Gladstone answered the door burst opened, and in swept Lady Evelyn.
“Father, is all well? Mother—”
Dark green eyes widened when they landed on him and she inhaled audibly. A blush climbed her cheeks and Edmond wondered if he’d ever seen a more becoming young lady.
“Forgive me, I was not aware you had company.”
She was a beauty with her gold spun hair and elegant carriage. Why was she in her third season without any offers? Could it be the ton was aware of her father’s impoverished state? The earl thought the knowledge well hidden. If not for the thorough investigation Edmond had launched into the background of the families his mother had suggested for a potential alliance, he would not have uncovered their state.
He admired her beauty as one would a stunning jewel, but she roused no feeling of passion in him, and that was what he wanted. Swift introductions were made, and she dipped into a graceful curtsy.
“Your Grace, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
She paled after her father exited the library with vague murmurings. The man was careful to leave the door open a crack.
“Your Grace, I…I…” She took a deep breath and pasted an obviously uncomfortable smile on her face. Knowledge and distress gleamed in her eyes.
It was his turn to tug at his cravat. “Lady Evelyn.” Blast the man. Her father had certainly made a hash of things. Edmond had not envisioned the evening like this. He had expected the young lady to have been informed of his generous offer and be eagerly awaiting his presence. Where was he to start? The earl should have already laid the groundwork and prepared her for the responsibilities she would soon assume.
Lady Evelyn watched him with an air of anxiety. It was impossible for him to sprout the required foolish sentiments and artful flattery. Sudden impatience bit at him, and he wanted the encounter over. “I have asked your father for your hand in marriage, and he consented,” he said without any finesse.
She paled alarmingly and swayed.
He stepped forward with a muttered curse, alert in the event she swooned. Now he was making a hash of things. His mother would be appalled at his distinct lack of care for the lady’s sensibilities. There was no doubt she would blame his conduct on his deliberate and frustrating absence from the whirl of polite society.
Her throat worked on a swallow. “You wish to marry me?”
“Yes.”
Her lids lowered, shadowing her expressive eyes. “Why?”
“I am in need of a wife, and you are desirous of a husband.”
Her head snapped up and a startled laugh escaped her. One of her hands fluttered to her throat. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I have no need for a husband, and I am certain I can choose my own.”
He shrugged, unconcerned with coddling her delicate sensibilities and unable to pretend otherwise. He’d never been the one to be hypocritical. But I could be caring. “Then your father is in need of money.”
She flinched, but offered no protest. The lady was indeed aware of her father’s precarious finances.
“I see,” she said quietly. “And if my affections are otherwise engaged?”
Edmond took a swallow of his brandy and regarded her closely. “Your father told me you were without attachment for any young man. Are you saying your affections are engaged?”
Her throat worked, but she remained muted.
“You can refuse, Lady Evelyn,” he said softly, though he would hate for her to reject him without some thought. Edmond loathed the very idea of entering the marriage mart, wading through a gaggle of females and their ambitious mammas, the eventual speculation and gossips, the weeks of empty courtship, and then the plans for a wedding of the season. He had done it all with Maryann, and he would rather walk through the bowels of hell than repeat the experience.
But remember you would traverse any challenge, even slaying the devil himself for your daughters.
He closed his eyes briefly. Yes, he would. If the lady was so averse to his offer, he would reach out to the other lords with unmarried daughters on his mother’s list, or steel himself to immerse himself in a world full of artifice. It had taken him several weeks to decide on the top five families from the list his mother had provided. All had responded to his initial query with enthusiasm, but he’d selected Lord Gladstone because the man’s daughter was the only one above eighteen. Edmond already felt jaded and empty at thirty. He would loath to be aligned with a young lady he would constantly have to reassure, and one who would long for the outings and glamour society had to offer. He’d hoped for a young lady who had at least experienced several years of balls, picnics, and outings to the theatre and gardens, who would not weep uncontrollably at the thought of spending most of the year, if not all in the country.
“Is Mamma also aware of your offer?”
“Yes.”
She bit her lower lip. “I see. And how long is it since you made your intentions known to my parents?” Her eyes were wide and pleading for information.
Apparently Lady Evelyn was not swooning with joy at the prospect of being a duchess, as his mother had informed him any sensible young lady would do. “Your father and I have been in negotiations for eight weeks. I was led to believe you were aware of my offer.”
He walked to the sideboard and poured himself another generous splash of brandy. “Would you like something to drink?”
Surprise widened her eyes. “I…I…no. Your Grace, how long do you need until I give you an answer?”
“I depart in three days’ time.”
“Does your offer expire when you leave?”
“Yes,” he said flatly. He’d promised Rosa he would be home in time for her birthday. The hope and excitement that he would be there, had shone brightly in her eyes. He would not disappoint her. Though he could very well travel back to Wiltshire after. There was no need for him to disclose that to the lady, the more time she had to ponder, the more solid objections she would have for her father.
Lady Evelyn offered him a wobbly smile. “You shall have your answer by then. If you will excuse me?”
She turned hastily, but not fast enough to hide the tears glistening on her lashes.
“Lady Evelyn,” he said softly, disturbed to be an unwitting party to her distress.
She stiffened, but remained faced away.
“Yes?”
What could he say? He needed her? Not just any wife. That would surely be a lie. It flummoxed him that he wanted to offer soothing words, to reassure her that their eventual marriage would be a success for her. He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached, and the entire time she remained rooted. Possibly waiting for words that would free her from the hell he wanted to consign her. “Sleep well,” he finally said. Inadequate words, but they were all he had to give.
With a firm nod, she departed, closing the door with a soft snick.
Devil take it all.
Chapter Three
Adel now understood why men imbibed for liquid courage. She certainly felt braver and more confident. She tipped the glass, swallowing the last drop of the delicious tawny brown liquid.
“Would you like another glass?” Evie asked tremulously.
“Hmm,” Adel murmured noncommittally, feeling pleasantly languid. She gave the decanter of Sherry a considering glance.
Before she had been a wreck, nerves rioting through her veins, and she had worn the priceless carpet in her chamber to threads pacing like a caged lion. Now she was warm, relaxed, and a bit tingly. “I believe someone needs to bottle and sell this as courage. They would make a fortune.”
Evie laughed and Adel hiccupped.
“Oh dear,” her friend said softly. “How many fingers am I showing?”
Adel frowned. “You are being silly, Evie, and we have no time to waste. While I feel decidedly relaxed, I assure you I am not foxed.”
A snort sounded. “And what would you know about being soused?”
“I saw enough of drunkenness from papa after mother died.”
All the merriment wiped from Evie.
“Forgive me for dampening your happiness,” Adel said softly.
Evie rushed over and clasped her hand. “Never,” she said a bit hoarsely. “You could never dampen my spirits.”
Adel smiled. “Do you think I should change into a simple dress?”
Evie shook her head. “Your nightgown is perfect. Remember to go no farther than the door, and leave it cracked.”
“I will. Now wish me good fortune.”
Her friend’s throat worked. “Adel wait…I…I…do not believe it is wise after all, I—”
“Shush!” Adel said with a soft laugh. “Do not try to drain my hard-worked-for courage. Remember only you and your mother are to come. We want enough ammunition to encourage my father to feel obliged in accepting Mr. Atwood, not gossip fodder for your mother’s guests.” With a quick kiss on Evie’s cheek, Adel tumbled from her room, consternation biting deep. She did feel a bit wobbly? Or was it giddy anticipation of finally being free of Lord Vale?
With swift and somewhat sure feet, she followed the directions Evie had provided. The hallways were empty, but she could hear the faint din of laughter and clinking off glass from below stairs. The last time she checked, it had been half past three in the morning, but it seemed the house guests were determined to be merry until the crack of dawn. Even with such a dire assessment, no anxiety seared her. Selfish, selfish men. Ordering women to stay away from liquor fully well knowing the wondrous properties it possessed.
