Unleashing the horses from their traces single-handedly proved to be a rather more exhausting procedure than Marcus might have imagined, but, being reluctant to rouse any of the grooms or stable lads from their hard earned slumbers, he doggedly persevered with his self-imposed undertaking until all four animals were unharnessed, rubbed down, watered and safely in their stalls. Only then did he turn his attention to the problem of getting himself into Bradfield Hall without waking up the entire household—as hammering on the great oak front door or tugging at the bell-pull would most surely do.
The Hall, as he knew, would be well and truly secured against intruders—thanks to the diligence of Warren, his father’s major-domo, who took a personal pride in seeing that every one of the Hall’s many entry points was safely locked and bolted before he retired for the night. Since it was now close to three o’clock in the morning, Marcus doubted that anyone in the house would still be awake.
Looks as though it’s going to have to be the well-tried route of previous misadventures, he thought gloomily, as he made his way round to the rear of the building, past the succession houses and into the neatly kept kitchen gardens. Thank God the clouds have blown away. At least I’ll have enough light to see by should I happen to fall and break my neck!
Eying the ancient walnut tree that stood in the centre of the garden with a certain amount of trepidation, for it was a good many years since he had been obliged to use this method of entry into his bedchamber, he was heartened to observe that the single upper branch that reached as far as his windowsill still looked strong enough to support his weight. Whether he was still sufficiently agile to accomplish the tricky manoeuvre remained yet to be seen. His bedroom window, he was relieved to note, had been left in just the way he always demanded, revealing a welcoming gap of two to three inches in its top sash.
Unbuttoning his jacket, he flexed his shoulders and, after taking a deep breath and casting up a prayer to the heavens above, swung himself up onto one of the walnut’s lower branches and started to climb.
Some ten or so minutes later, his hands and face having both been badly scratched in the process of achieving his goal, he found himself balanced somewhat precariously with his left knee on the windowsill of his bedroom and his right foot perched on the none too steady branch of the tree, whose ominous creaking sounds were beginning to cause him serious concern.
Reluctantly letting go of his secure hold on the branch above his head, he grappled feverishly with the window’s lower sash, eventually managing to hoist it upwards sufficiently to allow him to haul the upper part of his body across the opening where, breathless from his exertions, he remained motionless for some moments, both legs still dangling limply over the outside sill.
A sudden noise from within the room had him lifting his head in alarm, whereupon, gathering up the remains of his strength, he started to heave himself over the windowsill—only to find himself being grasped by the seat of his breeches and dragged with considerable force into the room, to be dropped, face-first and none too gently, onto his bedroom carpet.
‘Righto, my lad,’ came Giles’s unruffled voice close to his ear. ‘That’s quite enough of—Good God! Marcus?’
‘Get your knee out of my back, there’s a good chap,’ begged the Viscount, gingerly rolling himself over and up into a sitting position as soon as his startled brother had gathered enough wits to comply with his request. ‘Obviously not quite as fit as I thought I was,’ he added wryly.
‘A good deal more dicked in the nob though, it would seem,’ retorted Giles, as he reached out a hand to help Marcus to his feet. ‘I took you for a burglar, you blithering idiot! What the devil do you think you’re at, sneaking into the house in this underhand manner? What’s wrong with the front door, may I ask?’
‘As it happens, I was doing my best to avoid waking the entire household,’ returned his brother irritably, peeling off his soiled and ripped jacket and shirt and tossing them to one side. ‘So, unless you want the whole lot of them down on our heads like the proverbial ton of bricks, I suggest you try and keep your voice to a minimum.’
‘Yes, but why are you here?’ asked Giles, lowering his voice but still staring at Marcus in confusion. ‘Last I heard, you were off to do the pretty at the Crayfords’. The fragrant Miss Pendleton-Flint give you your marching orders, did she?’
‘You could say that, I suppose,’ muttered the Viscount abstractedly, as he threw himself down onto his bed to lie glowering at the silken underside of his tester. ‘Seems I lost my temper, somewhat, and made a fool of myself into the bargain!’ Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up with a rueful half-laugh. ‘Can’t think what’s got into me of late—I don’t usually behave in such a crass manner—must be getting old!’
‘Or just in love, perhaps?’ murmured his brother, not quite sotto voce. ‘It does tend to hit you like that, I’m told.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ returned Marcus impatiently. ‘Miss Pendleton-Flint and I simply agreed to disagree and that’s all there is to it.’
‘Then why are you getting so riled up about it?’ asked Giles, eyeing his brother steadily. ‘There are plenty of other fish in the sea—as I’ve heard you remark often enough in the past.’
And with good cause, thought Marcus, with a wry twist of his lips. But none of them like Sophie. He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to conjure up the image of her face. Sadly, all he achieved was a resounding echo of the hurtful recriminations that she had thrown at him. ‘I was simply trying to make the poor girl’s life a little more bearable,’ he grunted, clenching his fists. ‘It makes me really angry to think of the way that godforsaken bunch of social misfits treat her.’
‘Such righteous altruism does you real credit, bro,’ observed his brother, with a dry laugh. ‘And there was I, thinking that your interest in the female was purely carnal!’
A faint flush covered the Viscount’s cheeks as Giles’s dart hit the mark. Frowning slightly, he gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I won’t deny that I find myself very attracted to her—she is so utterly different from any other female I’ve ever come across. She is so bright and intelligent, and incredibly resourceful, yet she is constantly put upon by her employers—she even spends her own hard-earned cash on books for the schoolroom, would you believe? And yet those misbegotten savages treat her as less than nothing—it makes my blood boil just to think of it.’
Getting to his feet, he began to pace the room. ‘I just wanted to get her out of that blasted house. She deserves so much better. If you could have seen her at that tavern, Giles,’ he went on, his eyes softening at the memory. ‘There didn’t seem to be any problem that she wasn’t prepared to tackle—I swear that I’ve never come across anyone quite like her in the whole of my life. In fact, I wouldn’t mind betting that more than one of her fellow travellers could well have perished in that snowstorm had it not been for Sophie Flint’s down-to-earth capability and sheer dogged determination—she even had me milking a blessed cow—did I tell you that?’
‘I believe you may have mentioned it once or twice,’ said his brother, turning away to hide the grin that was forming. ‘Nonetheless, bro, you know the rules as well as I do—defenceless virgins are out of bounds to men of our class, and as for offering virtuous spinsters such as your little governess a carte blanche, I find myself questioning your sanity—apart from which, I should have thought that those two little beauties you already have in your keeping were more than enough for any reasonable man to contend with!’
Giles’s pointed reference to Livvy Rayner and Cynthia Bedlington brought Marcus’s pacing to a sudden halt. ‘Not that it’s any of your damned business,’ he returned curtly, ‘but it just so happens that arrangements are already in hand to discontinue both of those associations.’
Giles let out a long low whistle. ‘You’re paying ‘em off—just like that?’ he asked incredulously. ‘A touch on the heartless side after all these years, don’t you think?’
‘Heart
s have no place in business arrangements of that sort,’ retorted the Viscount, striding over to the mirror to inspect the damage to his face. Grimacing at the livid scratch across his left cheek, he picked up a towel and proceeded to dab at his blood-streaked visage. ‘Surely the whole point about setting up a mistress is that one is able to do away with all the emotional claptrap and enjoy a purely physical relationship without any unnecessary ties. Both Livvy and Cynthia were well aware that the association would end some day. And, in case you are wondering, I have made sure that neither one of them will be the loser. I have arranged to have the deeds of their houses made over to them both, along with suitably generous dowries commensurate with their past efforts on my behalf.’ A slightly cynical smile crept across his lips. ‘I take leave to doubt that it will take either lady long to find herself a new protector.’
Turning to face his brother, he offered him a slightly rueful grin. ‘In fact, one could say that both of the little minxes have been shoring up their futures at my expense for quite some time now—if the recent accounts from Rundell and Bridge are anything to go by!’
Although Giles was somewhat taken aback at Marcus’s relatively casual parting with his two paramours, both of whom, insofar as his brother was aware, had been under Helstone’s protection for well over three years, it took the Major no time at all to realise that this sudden decision of the Viscount’s was yet another indication of his growing preoccupation with the Crayfords’ impoverished governess.
‘So, having disposed of both Miss Rayner and Miss Bedlington to your satisfaction,’ he said, eyeing his brother in some disapproval, ‘I take it that you were assuming that Miss Pendleton-Flint would be falling over herself to step into the vacancy—which, I must assume from your rather crushed demeanour earlier, is the opposite of what actually occurred when you put the suggestion to her?’
As Sophie’s bitter accusations assailed his memory once again, Marcus flinched. Shaking his head in weary rebuttal of his brother’s uncannily accurate construal of that unpleasant scene, he said, ‘I’d just as soon not discuss the matter any longer, if it’s all the same to you, Giles. Suffice to say that I was deeply concerned about the lady’s situation and merely harboured a desire to see her in a more fitting environment. However, since Miss Pendleton-Flint has elected not to accept my offer of help, the subject, as far as I am concerned, is now well and truly closed.’
‘Sounds rather more than just a business arrangement you were offering the unfortunate lass, if I’m any judge,’ Giles retaliated, as he headed for the door. ‘However, enough of your problems. I fear my bed is calling me.’ Pulling open the door, he hesitated slightly, then, turning back to face his brother once more, he added, a sly grin forming on his face, ‘Although, after what I’ve gathered from your singular obsession with her, it occurs to me that you might just as well go the whole hog and marry the girl, if you want my opinion!’
‘Which I don’t!’ retorted Marcus, as Giles stepped hurriedly out into the corridor and closed the door behind him. I can just picture Father’s face if I walked in and announced my intention of legshackling myself to a down-and-out nobody who has been forced into earning her living as a governess, he thought scathingly, as he wrenched off his damaged pantaloons and dived under the coverlet of his large four-poster.
Not that there was anything at all dishonourable about having to earn one’s living as a governess, he then amended, somewhat shamefaced that such an idea should have even crossed his mind. In fact, he reflected, as the image of Sophie’s sweet smile drifted into his mind, if one were to consider it objectively, dedicating oneself to the education of young children might well be considered to be rather an honourable profession. And as for being a nobody—why, hadn’t her father been a highly decorated lieutenant-colonel in one of His Majesty’s top hussar regiments? One could hardly class such a fellow as a nobody. And, whilst Sophie’s upbringing may have been a touch irregular by conventional standards, it was abundantly clear that her parents had made no concessions, insofar as strict discipline and correct standards of behaviour were concerned—as he, to his eternal damnation, was well able to testify!
As the memory of those discomfiting episodes surfaced once more, Marcus let out a loud groan and, rolling over onto his stomach, buried his head in his pillow in an effort to blot out the deeply disturbing images that continued to assail his thoughts. But it was no good. The harder he tried to rid his head of all thoughts of Sophie, the more his wayward brain insisted upon seducing his mind’s eye with yet another tantalising depiction of her presence: Sophie in that hideous lace cap—Sophie washing dishes—Sophie throwing snowballs—feeding ducks—swans…God! Was there nothing in the world that didn’t remind him of the woman?
And then, like a clarion call, his brother’s closing shot resurfaced in his mind. He shot upright, his heart pounding in rapid disorder. Dragging in a deep breath, he flung back his bedclothes, heaved his legs over the side of the bed and, for several long moments just sat there, totally impervious to the chill night air as it wafted over his naked flesh, scarcely able to comprehend the impossible thought that had succeeded in worming its way into his brain.
‘Damned if I don’t do just that!’
No sooner had he spoken the words out loud than everything seemed to fall neatly into place. It was really quite simple, now that he had really given the matter some thought. He had to marry some time, after all; for months now his father been pressing him to attend to his duties and responsibilities as heir to the estate and, rather than settle for one of a number of mealy-mouthed, whey-faced debutantes, fresh from the schoolroom, whose names were sure to figure on his parents’ list of suitable bride fodder, he would shackle himself to Sophie Pendleton-Flint!
The more Marcus thought about it, the more appealing the whole idea seemed. As far as he was concerned there was nothing about Sophie that might prohibit her from becoming his Viscountess. She was not only lovely to look at; she was graceful, intelligent and endowed with a rare common sense to which decidedly few females of his acquaintance could lay claim. But, above all else, she was the most fascinating creature that he had come across in all his days.
And so utterly desirable, of course. It was difficult to recall his ever having wanted any woman as badly as he wanted Sophie; his whole body ached with desire just at the thought of making her his wife. He had handed both of his regular mistresses their congées without a single pang of regret, since neither Cynthia’s pert blonde curvaceousness nor the doe-eyed Livvy’s sultry Latin magnetism had the power to captivate him any longer; only the warm glow of a pair of summer blue eyes and the promise of untamed flowing chestnut tresses now had that ability.
Sliding under the covers again, he lay back and closed his eyes, ready for sleep at last, satisfied that the only hurdle that stood in the way of his future plans was his father’s possible opposition. Once he’d dealt with that problem, he mused idly, as he felt himself drifting off to sleep, it merely remained to acquaint Sophie with his revised proposal …
As it turned out, both the Earl and the Countess were so relieved to see their elder son safely returned to the fold after such an extended absence that it was some little while before he was able to turn their attention to the subject that had been exercising his mind since the moment he had surfaced from the highly erotic dreamworld of his slumbers.
‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, in answer to his mother’s anxious query as to how long he intended to remain at Bradfield on this occasion, ‘I do have something of an announcement to make—I trust it will meet with your approval.’ Pausing, he dragged in a deep breath, conscious of the questioning stares of his listeners. ‘I am pleased to inform you all that I have decided to take a wife.’
The astounded silence that followed this declaration was broken only by Giles’s spluttering cough as the piece of ham he had been chewing became lodged in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him.
Getting to his feet and striding around the breakfast ta
ble to administer a hefty thump to his brother’s back, thereby relieving his discomfort, Marcus took the opportunity to shoot the scarlet-faced Major a warning look, indicating that he would be the one to decide about which aspects of Sophie’s history his parents might need to be apprised.
Resuming his seat, he turned to face his still stunned father and said, ‘In case you might be wondering, sir, the lady’s name is Miss Sophie Pendleton-Flint. It is my intention to bring her to meet you both sometime in the very near future. I would be glad to have your assurances that you will be prepared to receive my—fiancée—and welcome her into the family.’
A suspicious glint in his eye, the Earl regarded his son silently for some moments before saying, ‘Somewhat out of character for you, isn’t it, this sudden need to observe the proprieties?’
Swallowing the retaliatory retort that had instantly sprung to his lips at his father’s contentious barb, Marcus curled his fingers tightly round the stem of his glass. ‘Comes to all of us in the end, I dare say,’ he said, striving to maintain his temper. ‘I should have thought you would be glad to hear that I am finally prepared to meet your demands and relieve you of some of the burdens you carry.’
‘Enough, you two. I beg of you!’ interposed the Countess, reaching out to grasp hold of her son’s clenched fingers. ‘This is no time to re-enact past grievances! We must look to the future and I, for one, cannot wait to meet your chosen wife, Marcus. Miss—um—Pendleton-Flint, did you say? It is not a name I recognise—is the family new in Town?’
‘The lady is not one of the current crop of debutantes, if that’s what you’re asking,’ returned Marcus hurriedly, as he rose to his feet in preparation of quitting the room before either of his parents could embark upon a surfeit of awkward questions that he was not, in all conscience, fully confident that he was equipped to answer. ‘Suffice to say that she is twenty-three years of age and her father was, until his death at Waterloo, a greatly admired and highly revered lieutenant-colonel in one of His Majesty’s elite hussar regiments. And now, if you will please excuse me, I have a most pressing matter to attend to—I hope to be able to furnish you with further information regarding my forthcoming nuptials within the next day or so.’
Regency: Rakes & Reputations (Mills & Boon M&B) Page 41
