The Baron's Betrothal

by Maggi Andersen

  “I must apologize for what occurred, Colonel,” Guy said. “It was not my intention to involve your daughter.”

  “I depended on my sister to take care of Horatia in my absence.” Cavendish shook his head. “I would never have allowed her to come to London had I known she would be placed in such danger.”

  “I quite agree with you,” Guy said wearily. “But Horatia is quite spirited.”

  The colonel grimaced. “Too true, my lord. I can hardly blame my sister, or indeed you, can I, when Horatia rode my stallion around the countryside without my knowledge? And goodness knows what else.”

  Guy moved painfully on the seat as the gash over his ribs throbbed. A good thing that Hetty’s father didn’t know the whole of it.

  The colonel’s fingers formed a steeple. “I wish to offer my condolences on the death of your brother. A tragic affair.”

  Guy nodded. “I would like to discuss it further with you, Colonel. But not now, you understand.”

  “But of course. Horatia mentioned some special mission for the government. I trust that is at an end?”

  “My involvement certainly.”

  “Good. Mr. Fennimore had expressed some doubt as to your claim to the title. I’m pleased that business is also now settled, as I’m sure you must be.”

  “I’m eager to put my estates in order,” Guy said.

  “Excellent. Quite right. Horatia is returning to Digswell with me today as Mrs. Illingworth and I are to marry in a week.”

  “Congratulations to you both, sir,” Guy said.

  Colonel Cavendish climbed to his feet. “Horatia is anxious to speak with you. I admit to being very angry when she came home dressed in that manner last night, without even shoes on her feet. I led her to believe I opposed your marriage. I do not.” He frowned. “She is impulsive, but a good girl, of whom I remain very proud. You must begin the way you wish to go forward, Baron. Lay down some rules.”

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself, Colonel,” Guy said, shaking the Colonel’s hand. He suddenly felt lighter. He didn’t want a marriage governed by rules, but he and Hetty did need to talk.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The bookroom door opened, and her father emerged, followed by Guy. He looked serious and very pale. Hetty leapt to her feet. Guy took her by the hand. “I must speak with you.” With a nod to the others in the room, he drew her into the empty bookroom and shut the door.

  His dark eyebrows beetled. “Do you realize how dangerous it was for you to become involved in this affair? And after I asked you never to do it again.”

  “I do.” Hetty blinked as his angry gaze sliced into her. “I don’t think you’re about to thank me for it,” she said, attempting a little humor.

  It didn’t work.

  “Promise me that you will never to do anything like that again.”

  “To be honest, I’ve had quite enough excitement of late—”

  “Promise me.” He tipped up her chin and searched her eyes.

  “I promise,” Hetty said, and her lashes swept down, to hide her absolute relief to find him alive and relatively unscathed.

  “Good. Come and sit down.”

  Seated beside him on the small sofa, she inspected him. His features looked finely drawn, making him appear even more elegant and devastating. He moved awkwardly as if in pain. She had a strong urge to hug him, mother him, make love to him. The force of her feelings turned her breath to a deep sigh. “Did that brigand, Smith, shoot you?”

  “No, he did not.”

  “But you are hurt.”

  “A mere graze.”

  “I can see the pain in your eyes, and your jaw is working. You do that when you’re distressed.”

  “Of course, I’m distressed, Hetty. I don’t want a wife who goes off half-cocked at every little thing.”

  She huffed at the unfairness of it, but she would not cast the blame at Genevieve. Except for the smelly disguise, she had been eager to join her. “I didn’t go off half-cocked, as you put it. But I have no desire to take such risks again.”

  “You will accuse me of being overly protective. But I am not about to apologize for it.”

  “You have no need to worry,” she said, tracing a finger over his tense jaw. If Guy was ever in trouble again, how could she keep such a promise? But there was no sense in telling him now. She prayed there would never be a need for her to break it.

  One heavy brow slanted in disapproval. “Don’t make the mistake you can fool me, Hetty.” He framed her face with his hands and planted a hard kiss on her mouth.

  “I’m glad that’s settled,” she said with a sigh, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “There’s another thing. And this is most important. I want you to understand what marriage to me will be like. In the future, I’ll need to travel to inspect my other properties and take my place in the House of Lords. And then, we will attend the London season. But for now, I wish to remain in Digswell.”

  Guy was too honorable ever to cry off, but did he still want to marry her? Or had she driven him away by going off half-cocked as he put it? Distress tightened her rib cage. “Papa insists on me going home with him today.”

  He nodded. “To attend his wedding.”

  “And afterward?” she asked, needing him to say the words.

  “We shall marry as soon as possible.” A smile lingered on his lips. “I find myself becoming very impatient, Hetty.”

  Her breath quickened as she looked into his hot blue eyes. “Oh, yes, Guy.”

  Guy eyed her carefully. “I shall purchase a special license from Doctor’s Commons and visit St. Georges to set the date.”

  Hetty grew hot. A poker seemed to have lodged in her spine. Her fear that she would become the subject of drawing rooms and be snubbed was bad enough, but not at her wedding. “Very well.”

  His dark eyebrows rose. “You’re happy to be married in London?”

  A baron should marry at St. Georges, Hetty knew. “I am, it’s just that, it will be such a big affair and will take much organizing, then be weeks away.” She glanced at the black armband he wore, feeling he might prefer a quieter ceremony in the little Digswell church. “Of course, I want it, if you do, Guy.”

  “Perhaps in the circumstances we should marry in Digswell,” Guy said, a smile tugging at his lips.

  Relief threaded through her. “Oh yes. Perhaps we should.”

  Guy laughed and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. “As we both reside in Digswell, the banns can be read next Sunday. As soon as your father returns from his honeymoon, we shall marry.”

  Her aunt knocked on the door. “Luncheon will be served directly.”

  Hetty sighed. Now that her aunt had decided to be an assiduous chaperone, Hetty felt like a rabbit being watched by a hawk. “We are to marry in Digswell, Aunt.”

  “That is good news. I shall have to consult my fashion magazines. I wonder what brides are wearing this season?” Aunt Emily disappeared again.

  Hetty met Guy’s gaze and laughed.

  *

  Eustace took Guy aside. “I’m sorry we got off to such a bad start.”

  “You were right to be cautious,” Guy said, not wishing to stir the waters, although the man’s ungenerous attitude toward him still rankled.

  “And I’m aware of your disappointment concerning the condition of the hall.”

  “I’ve become more aware of the problems here in England,” Guy said, striving for diplomacy.

  Eustace shuffled his feet and refused to meet Guy’s eyes. There was not going to be an explanation or a sincere apology. He obviously struggled to come to face his culpability. “I will leave Rosecroft after I attend your wedding.”

  Guy had a grudging sympathy for him. It couldn’t be easy to leave the home he’d lived in for the last thirty-odd years. “You are family and will always be welcome under my roof, Eustace, as I’ve been at pains to tell you.”

  Eustace’s lips firmed in a determined line. He s
hook his head. “Now that my health requires the constant attention of a doctor, I shall remain in London.” He smiled. “You are to bring your new bride home to Rosecroft Hall, Guy. You don’t need Horatia’s old godfather lurking in corners.”

  Guy returned the smile. “But you will visit us. I know she would wish it.”

  “Once in a while perhaps, to visit friends. There’s another thing I should mention. When a thief began stealing from the big houses in the county, I sent paintings and statuary to London for safekeeping. Some Meissen and Sévres china, too. I will have it returned.”

  “Merci.” Guy bowed, marveling at his ability to hold his tongue. Relieved that some had survived being sold to finance Eustace’s gambling debts, proved by the wagers and iou’s he’d found in Eustace’s library drawer, he decided never to utter a word of reproof. Hetty loved her godfather, and who was he to try to change it?

  “Ah. I see luncheon is served,” Eustace said with obvious relief as the maid opened the dining room door. “Emily tells me we’re to have mulligatawny soup, a collection of breads, and salad. I confess to being rather peckish.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve encountered mulligatawny soup,” Guy said. The food the English ate still had the power to surprise him.

  “A recipe the colonel brought back from India and quite hearty.”

  Still beset by low spirits, Guy returned to find Hetty chatting with Genevieve. He narrowed his eyes at Genevieve and was given a lift of her eyebrows in response. Although he was enormously fond of her, he admitted he’d feel a little relieved when she returned to France. One recalcitrant lady in his care was enough.

  Hetty rose with her sweet smile, took his arm, and they walked into the dining room together.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Hetty’s father and Marina had left to spend their honeymoon in Bath. At Malforth Manor, the wedding guests still lingered after a splendid wedding breakfast.

  Fanny promised to be Hetty’s bridesmaid. Exhibiting great determination, she’d thwarted her overbearing mother’s attempts to manipulate her into a marriage with a man of her choosing. Fanny was soon to wed to Mr. James Bonneville. Hetty was pleased for her. It seemed she’d begun to reveal more of her mother’s forceful personality.

  “Mama is furious, but once Uncle Jasper took my side, she had lost the fight,” Fanny said with a laugh. “He is the head of the family and quite wealthy. With no children of his own he dotes on me.”

  Lady Kemble detached herself from a group of ladies and came to her daughter’s side. “How very discreet, Miss Cavendish, to have kept your courtship a secret from us.”

  “It was a wonderful surprise to get your letter,” Fanny said. “But I did notice how the baron couldn’t take his eyes off you at Mother’s dinner party. Even while he danced with me.”

  Lady Kemble frowned. “Miss Cavendish has been much in his lordship’s company over the past months. She is Mr. Fennimore’s goddaughter, after all.” Her frown faded when Genevieve came to join them. “I confess to being quite envious of your gown, Your Grace. The splendid cut of the sleeves and the richness of three rows of embroidery around the hem are perfection.”

  “You are too kind, Lady Kemble,” Genevieve said.

  “I assume your modiste resides in Paris?”

  As Genevieve and Lady Kemble discussed fashion, Fanny took Hetty’s arm and drew her away. “You must forgive Mama. It is her disappointment that makes her waspish.”

  “Think no more of it, Fanny.” Hetty watched Guy over her friend’s shoulder as he talked to the vicar, at least a head taller than all the men present and by far the most handsome. Nothing could hurt her today, not even Lady Kemble’s ungenerous comments. “No doubt when your mother comes to know Mr. Bonneville, she will warm to him. Where do you plan to live after you marry?”

  “With Mama in Digswell for a time. James is to inherit from an elderly aunt, but at this moment, he is rather squeezed for funds.”

  “That means we shall see more of each other.”

  “Yes, won’t it be wonderful?”

  “Fanny? We are leaving,” called Lady Kemble.

  As Hetty stood at the door to say farewell to her friend, Guy came and slipped an arm around her waist. “I am returning to the hall.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you there tomorrow.”

  Mortified by her laxity in London, Aunt Emily seemed determined to rectify it now. She’d become as diligent as a Spanish duenna. She insisted on accompanying Hetty to Rosecroft Hall the next day which upset Hetty’s plans.

  She had hoped to have a quiet talk with Guy. Everything was in readiness—the license had been obtained, the church booked, and the settlement signed. Her pin money was most generous. There was nothing to worry her specifically, and yet she did worry. Guy had been quiet since London, and she sought his reassurance.

  Rosecroft Hall bustled with a horde of newly acquired servants as furnishings were replaced, others taken down to be laundered, windows polished, and carpets removed to be cleaned. Men on ladders worked in the grand hall. Gardeners toiled about the grounds weeding and pruning shrubs. Summer was drawing to a close.

  Guy seemed quiet. The brilliant blue of his eyes had dimmed. She searched in vain for that devastating look he used to give her, the one that made her weak at the knees without him having to say a word. She could find no spark of humor when she gently teased him. He had not come to terms with his brother’s death, and she wondered if marrying so soon was wise.

  She yearned to hold him and draw him out. If he could talk about it, surely it would be better than bottling it up inside.

  Hetty seized the moment when they all sat in the drawing room after luncheon. Her aunt and Genevieve engaged in conversation while Eustace nodded by the fire. “I haven’t seen the rest of the house. Could you show me our bedchamber?”

  He raised a dark brow at her request but climbed to his feet.

  “Where are you going?” Aunt Emily called.

  “Guy is showing me more of the house,” Hetty said, giving her a warning look.

  “I will enjoy a tour also,” her aunt said in a firm tone, rising to her feet.

  Genevieve followed along as the four of them toured the house.

  Guy threw open a door. “Eustace has kindly vacated the blue suite. The servants have made it ready for us.”

  The beautiful suite was dressed in royal blue velvet, featured a huge four-poster bed. The prospect of lying in bed with Guy made her face warm. Drawing a deep breath and trying to rid herself of the scandalous image, she walked through a door to her dressing room, a generous-sized boudoir with a huge wardrobe, bureau, and a Cheval glass. An escritoire, chair, and bookcase, was placed by the window. “I shall enjoy sitting here, looking over the park.” Hetty examined the dainty desk and opened each small drawer. She found an inkpot, sand container, blotter, and quills and ornate metal pens awaiting her use. “How thoughtful.” She smiled up at him.

  “For your writing, letters, and so forth,” he said.

  “Not to mention penning poems,” Aunt Emily said. “Thoughtful indeed.”

  As her aunt and Genevieve descended the stairs, Hetty slipped her arm though Guy’s. “We’ve missed the spring and most of the summer.”

  “We shall enjoy them all the more, next year,” he said with a tender glance.

  The love and the promise in his eyes was all she needed.

  Guy would find Vincent’s death hard because they were twins, Hetty decided. Genevieve didn’t suffer the same sense of loss. She confessed to missing her children but remained her exuberant self, contributing much to the preparations.

  Hetty was grateful for her enthusiasm and her flair. She happily granted Genevieve full rein over the decorations for the church and the great hall at Rosecroft. The wedding dress had arrived from the modiste in London to be admired by those allowed to see it.

  Aunt Emily claimed the wedding breakfast as her domain and spent time discussing it with Guy’s new chef. Still concerned about her troubled br
idegroom, Hetty was happy to leave it to them.

  Her father and Marina arrived home two days before the wedding. How fond they were of each other. Hetty was delighted that he’d married a kind and capable woman and wouldn’t be alone.

  The day before the wedding, her father called her into the library. “I hope you’ll be as happily married as I have been, first to your mother and now to Marina.”

  “I know I will, Papa,” Hetty said. “I love Guy very much.”

  “Good, my dear.” The tips of his ear tinged red as he tapped out his pipe. “I can’t prepare you for marriage as a mother might. Perhaps your aunt?” The flush spread to his neck. “But then, my sister is herself unmarried.”

  Hetty hurried to spare him. “There is no need. I am marrying a patient loving man. I’m sure I shall manage.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course, you will.” He rose, easing his shoulders with relief. “Shall we join the others for tea?”

  *

  Guy led his horse over a gate and into the fields of Rosecroft Hall as the setting sun cast shadows over the ground. After an earlier deluge, the air was redolent with earthy smells. A cold breeze touched his face. The nights had turned chilly as summer tipped into autumn. He’d arrived in England in winter full of confidence and ready to take up the mantle of a country gentleman.

  So much had happened that his dreams had lost relevance in his fight to stay alive. Now he must take up those dreams once again. He would not let Vincent’s memory destroy the present. Even though his brother had chosen to disregard it, a special bond existed between them. Through the years, Guy had sensed Vincent still lived. And now he knew his presence was gone from the earth.

  The prospect of his life with Hetty filled him with hope. He loved her optimistic nature. Once they’d married, the world would right itself. He urged his horse into a canter and rode back to the stables. His best man, John, would arrive this evening, and he looked forward to his company. Guy valued their friendship. John had trusted him and stood by him when he had little reason to do so.