“She has elegant, smooth blonde hair,” Hazel chimed in, proud to know something her parents didn’t. “My friend Fiona saw her at a ball and said she had long, white-blonde plaits upon her head like a crown, light and shining like a princess. She’s pale and tiny as a china doll, and has pretty blue eyes. She also said Townsend asked her to dance at five different balls before he got a place on her card.”
“That’s gossip,” Elizabeth said, frowning at her sister.
Meanwhile, Wescott tried to shove down rising panic. Why, half the women in England were blonde with blue eyes. But with smooth, white-blonde hair? Tiny like a doll?
Lost outside the theater in a fire?
“I think...” His voice trailed off with the weight of what he had to admit, the weight of what he’d done the previous night. “I think...”
“You think what, darling?” his mother prompted.
“I think I may have seen Lady Ophelia outside the theater. But something awful has happened. A terrible mistake has been made.”
His parents exchanged shocked looks. “What do you mean?” asked his father. “What sort of mistake?”
He couldn’t speak for the enormity of the situation. Lady Ophelia, making her debut in the opera. The inn, his seduction...
By God, the blood on his cock. His hands curled into fists. She hadn’t been on her courses. He’d seduced away her virginity thinking she was some willing trollop, then dropped her off on the edge of a park in a goddamned opera costume and wig.
“Darling?” his mother said in a soft voice. “What has happened to Lady Ophelia? You must tell us.”
He gave a pointed look at his sisters. “Perhaps...in private.”
“Must we go to the kitchens again?” Elizabeth asked, not at all happy.
“I think that might be best. We haven’t eaten all morning, from worrying about your brother. Ask cook for a delicious pie,” their mother said, shooing them to their feet.
As his sisters left, Wescott sat with his head in his hands, wondering how to begin his confession. He had a reputation as a rake, yes, but this was several steps beyond.
“The good news...” He sighed, lifting his head to meet their concerned stares. “The good news is that I’m quite certain Lady Ophelia wasn’t harmed in the fire.”
The bad news was that he’d harmed her another way, and would pay the price for his undisciplined behavior. He’d had no business seducing her, whether actress or lady or both.
Chapter Four: Necessary Arrangements
An hour later, Wescott sat across from his parents in his father’s ducal carriage, freshly bathed, groomed, and attired in his finest embroidered coat and whitest, most starched cravat. His unfashionably long hair was pulled back in a neat queue, and he wore the diamond tiepin and solid gold rings he always took care to remove before a rollicking night at Pearl’s.
He and his parents didn’t speak to one another as they rode toward Grosvenor Square. What was there to say? He’d told them everything, from Lady Ophelia’s rescue to his misconceptions about her state in life, to the fact that he’d done an “unforgivable thing” during their stay at the inn, which his parents understood without him going into detail.
They were embarrassed, he was ashamed, and now things must be put right, no matter how delicate and humiliating a situation it was. It showed the depth of their parental love, that they accompanied him on this errand to the Earl of Halsey’s, where he must offer to marry the daughter he’d disgraced. He’d seduced away Lady Ophelia’s virtue with the greatest pleasure. Now he must put up with a great deal of pain.
And this pain would not stop with him, or his parents. No, the pain and embarrassment would extend to Lady Ophelia and her well-respected family, and to Lady June, whom he could no longer marry, when he’d given her every expectation he would. It would extend to Townsend, who’d nursed a deep tendre for Ophelia for months now. All of this, because she’d looked so lovely and needful after her nightmare. A sigh escaped his lips.
His mother looked up at him. “You mustn’t seem reluctant to do your duty, dear,” she said quietly. “No matter the circumstances.”
“Yes,” his father agreed. “Don’t be a churl.”
“I’m only...” He cast about for the right word to describe his feelings. “Beside myself. I’m so sorry for what I did.”
“It’s not us to whom you must apologize.” He heard the sharp edge to his father’s comment. “You must make amends to the lady. Going forward from such a misstep...it will require great attention to her feelings.”
“I know.” He resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. “I acted in such grievous misunderstanding. I had no idea who she was.” He didn’t know why he repeated it again. He’d told them already. “I didn’t know. I didn’t mean any harm.”
“You’re certain you didn’t force her?”
His father’s words hung in the air, suffocating him within the coach. He hadn’t, had he? He reached to open the window, to let in some air, as he thought back over the previous night’s seduction.
“I didn’t. She never tried to stop me. It’s only that...well...” He tried to relax his hands, but ended up fisting them again. “I’m not sure she knew what she was trying to stop me from. But she was not upset. She didn’t... I swear that I didn’t...” His voice cut off; he was unable to say more.
“My dear.” His mother placed her fingers over his. “Whatever happened between you, it cannot be undone. You’re doing what you must to protect her from the repercussions.”
“If she’ll even want that. Perhaps she wished to marry someone else. Perhaps she and Townsend had an understanding.”
“I believe Townsend was one of many vying for her affections.”
He hoped his mother was right. “I don’t want to hurt her any more than I already have,” he said.
“You must take care you don’t,” said his father. “Or you’ll have me to answer to. You shall walk into Halsey’s house and offer for her hand with the greatest respect and sincerity, and hope that he accepts your suit without boxing you upside the head, or taking a cane to your back.”
“As for Lady Ophelia...” His mother straightened her shoulders. “I shall welcome her to our family with such affection that all the rest shall be forgotten. She’ll be happy as your wife, I’ll make sure of it. She’ll not know a moment of regret.”
“I believe it shall be Wescott’s job to keep her happy,” his father said. “And I trust he’ll manage it, starting with your behavior toward her this day. It’s best to begin a marriage in accord. Although...” He gave his wife a wink. “We began in the worst of circumstances, didn’t we, Gwen? And we survived well enough.”
“Indeed.” She smiled in reply. “You see, Jack, good marriages start in all sorts of unfortunate ways.”
He’d been a young man when he first heard the story of his parents’ marriage, the way they’d met a mere day before they were to wed. His mother, according to the oft-repeated tale, had written a hysterical letter to her father only a few days later, begging him to come fetch her.
“One positive note in this debacle is that you must hold some attraction to the young lady,” said Wescott’s father.
There seemed no need to answer, considering what had transpired between them. He flattened his lips in a line.
“I’m sure she’s lovely.” His mother squeezed his arm. Wescott wished he shared their positivity. The truth was, he hardly knew Lady Ophelia. He’d fallen for her in darkness and whispered fears. In morning’s light, all of it had seemed a dream.
When they pulled up in front of Halsey’s Grosvenor Square mansion, the dream became all too real. Riders and carriages dotted the courtyard, the remnants of a nightlong search for the young lady of the house. The Arlingtons were met inside the door by a red-faced father, before any of them could produce calling cards.
“If it isn’t Mr. Jack Drake,” Lord Halsey said in a grating voice. “My son has just left to visit your town house, Wescott, and
slap a glove in your face.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir.” Wescott spoke in conciliatory tones, even as a flush heated his cheeks. “I’ve come to offer my deepest apologies to your daughter, and to make things right.”
“Make things right, indeed.” Halsey was spitting mad. “As if such a thing is possible. My daughter is hiding upstairs, destroyed by the shame and ignominy of her experience last night. You took her to an inn, then rode her home through London in the morning for every Tom, Dick, and Harry to gawp at.”
“Sir, I—”
“What’s more, you were too cowardly to bring her to her doorstep. What sort of gentleman drops a lady off unaccompanied at the edge of Hyde Park and continues on his way?”
“Sir, she asked me to take her there. I didn’t know—”
The Duke of Arlington’s deep voice sounded from beyond his shoulder. “My son did save your daughter from the fire, Halsey. Perhaps we might sit down and discuss things, since nothing at this point can be changed.”
The earl had no choice but to usher them down the eerily silent hallway of his mansion and guide them into the front parlor. “Guthwright,” he barked at his butler. “No damn tea trays. No interruptions. Let no one in, particularly Viscount Murdock,” he added, naming his son.
Wescott sighed inwardly. He’d had no problem with Murdock before. Now, he was to gain a brother-in-law and enemy all at once. Lady Halsey sat stiffly on a chair by the fire, staring at him with equal parts revulsion and fury. This is the pain you deserve, he thought. This is what your rakish habits have wrought.
“It all started with a terrible misunderstanding,” his father began.
“Let your son speak,” Halsey said. “It’s him I wish to hear from, if you please, Your Grace.”
The Duke of Arlington was not used to being addressed so rudely, but in this case, he let it pass and looked at his son.
Wescott tugged the sleeve of his coat, subtly, hoping his nerves didn’t show. As a marquess of the realm and a future duke, he’d been taught right from wrong, and trained to handle himself in delicate situations. He’d learned elocution and etiquette from his parents and tutors, and been drilled in the ways of polite conduct in society. It was time to put those lessons to use.
“You see, sir, I was leaving the area of the theater when I saw your daughter in need of assistance. The fire was approaching and she stood alone in her costume. I worried she wouldn’t be able to escape in time because of her heavy skirts, so I brought her atop my horse to carry her. She gave her direction as Grosvenor Square, but I couldn’t deliver her home with the fire spreading toward the Thames, so we turned east and rode for some time. My horse began to falter from the smoke, and I thought it best to stop at some safe place.”
“And she accepted this?” her father asked in disbelief.
“She was exhausted and frightened. We barely exchanged words. I did assure her I would provide her with her own room, and that I would bear the cost, as she hadn’t any money.” He spread his hands. “I didn’t know who she was. She gave her name as Miss Layton when I questioned her. I thought she was an actress, and I could tell she was giving me a false name, so I...I also withheld my full name and title.”
“Why?” Lord Halsey’s teeth were set in a line. “Why not give your real name, if you didn’t intend her harm?”
“I’m sorry now that I didn’t. I wasn’t sure of her intentions, you see, of what might transpire if she knew my station. I thought she was an actress,” he repeated, although it seemed stupid of him now. “You must understand, it was such an irregular situation.”
“And you are a degenerate knave,” Lord Halsey snapped.
“Halsey.” His father’s voice held a note of warning. “If you want his story, he will tell it, but you won’t abuse him with name calling.”
“Is it name calling, Your Grace? Your son and his cohort are not known about town for their moral rectitude.”
“My son would have acted differently toward your daughter if she’d told him her true name and station. He’s never insulted a lady or conducted himself unlawfully.”
“Hasn’t he?” asked Halsey, turning a deeper shade of red.
“Gentlemen,” his mother said. “You are upsetting Lady Halsey.”
At this, Halsey turned to his wife and, rather than offering sympathy, attacked her with vicious scolding. “This is your fault, Greta. You couldn’t be happy until she was up there on stage before the entire ton, bringing you laud and recognition.”
Lady Halsey held a handkerchief to her lips and shook her head. “You mustn’t speak so. It was God’s plan. He gave her that voice—”
“And you used it to ruin her. If she hadn’t been at that theater, singing that blasted opera with Signore Whatever-His-Name-Is—”
“And if you’d let me wait for her backstage, rather than dragging me to the carriage, none of this would have happened,” she cried. “Why couldn’t you stay to watch your own daughter, with her beautiful soprano?”
“I couldn’t stay because of all the disgusting men in the audience gawking at her, and I wasn’t leaving you behind. It’s bad enough my daughter is on stage, without my wife milling by the alley doors, amidst all those dancers and musicians.”
His mother rose and moved to Lady Halsey, who was crying copious tears now. “Please, I’m sure neither of you meant for Lady Ophelia to come to harm. And she hasn’t come to harm. My son encountered her in her moment of need and very likely saved her life. What is that, if not God’s plan?”
Wescott glared at his future in-laws, wondering what God had to do with any of this. “At any rate, sir, I’ve exposed your daughter to the danger of unsavory gossip, and I beg you to let me repair my mistakes. With your permission, I’ll marry Lady Ophelia and afford her all the honor and privilege my title allows.” He saw the glint of approval in his mother’s eyes and pressed on with his speech. “Sir, your daughter is not to be held responsible for the events of last evening, nor you, Lady Halsey. The trespass was mine.”
He stood in company with his shame and faced them all: the tearful mother, the angry father, his own conflicted parents. His father spoke first.
“Well said, Wescott. Now, provided Lady Ophelia is in agreement, we should begin making marital arrangements.” The duke gave a diplomatic flourish to the succinct request. “My son will be honored to unite the Arlington peerdom with the esteemed Halsey line.”
“Lady Ophelia shall be in agreement,” said her father. “Now that you’ve left her no other choice.”
The negotiations that followed were complex, fraught, and frequently testy, but within an hour’s time, they’d drawn up a preliminary contract of marriage, including gifts, dowries, settlements, and plans for the procurement of a special license, so the wedding could take place within the week.
There was, after all, no time to delay. They’d been seen together, and gossips would talk. A story could be spun of rescue and romance, but only if they wed quickly and disappeared to the country, before the finer details were brought out. He’d been inside Lady Ophelia, had stripped her of her virginity, even if he’d pulled away before he’d spent. She must have the security of marriage.
After they put signatures to paper to seal the accords, Wescott stood and faced Lord Halsey.
“Sir, is it possible to speak with Lady Ophelia before I go?”
Halsey practically growled his rebuttal. “What for? Even if she wanted to see you, she’s in no condition to receive visitors after last night, particularly gentlemen callers.”
“He’s hardly a gentleman caller,” his father said. “They’re to be married. Let Wescott speak with his fiancée.”
Lord Halsey wasn’t happy about it, but his wife offered to accompany Wescott to her daughter’s rooms. It was a relief to leave the drawing room after so much antagonism. For him, the experience had been nearly as bad as escaping the fire.
“I’m not sure you’ll receive a warm reception,” she said as she led him up the stairs.
“My daughter’s mind is quite...unsettled...from her...your...adventure.”
Like him, Lady Halsey barely knew how to handle the situation. He thought longingly of a time years in the future, when this awkward betrothal would be forgotten, or at least never mentioned.
Lady Halsey went into her daughter’s room first. After an uncomfortably long time, during which Wescott expected to be dismissed, she reemerged and beckoned him into the outer drawing room. It was a private, feminine space, a smaller echo of the larger parlor downstairs. His bride-to-be stood looking out the window, dressed in a maidenly white gown with a pale sage sash. Her blonde, braided hair was pinned atop her head in the crown Hazel had described, baring her neck and slumping shoulders. She looked so bereft his heart thumped in sympathy.
“So...you’ve told her we’re to be married?” he whispered to her mother. He’d expected more of a reaction, at least for her to turn around.
“I’ve told her,” the woman replied through tight lips. She took up a chair near the fireplace. Wescott approached Lady Ophelia, remembering the bewigged sorceress of the night before, with her bright, full dress. Now she looked small and fragile, in her gauzy, understated column of a gown. How could this be the same woman? He clasped his hands and stopped a few paces behind her.
“My lady.”
She turned her head to the side, running small fingers over her pale throat. “I’m sorry, but I can’t speak,” she said in a whisper. “My voice has not returned.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
His own voice sounded too loud in the silent room, especially after her whisper.
“I’m sure your lost voice is only temporary. At least I hope so. At any rate...” He cleared his throat, feeling like an ass. “Thank you for seeing me. I must begin by apologizing with the most abject regret for my behavior last night.”
“Last night...” She repeated the words in a pained murmur. “I cannot think of it. I cannot even look at you.”
Rival Desires Page 5
