Aunt Ginny stood and put her hand over her mouth.
“No, no. You misunderstand. He never harmed me. In fact, when we first arrived at Pemhill, he went out of his way to be considerate. I went to Wrenwood by myself, and Alex brought me home.” She closed her eyes at the memories of Alex holding her tenderly in the portrait gallery. “He was kind and attentive when I was distraught.”
“Let’s go back to Pembrooke.” Aunt Ginny spoke in a measured cadence. “Help me understand. What about this revenge?”
“I don’t know much more.” Claire stumbled on the next words, as she didn’t want to reveal Alice’s secrets. “I thought he was falling in love with me. He was the one who placed the bet at White’s.”
Her aunt and uncle shared a look that Claire didn’t understand. Aunt Ginny’s left eyebrow shot up. “Are you sure?”
“He didn’t deny it—” Claire’s voice finally broke, and the tears slid down her face. “I’m at a loss. I was so foolish. I fell in love with him.”
She crumpled into her aunt’s outstretched arms.
As Aunt Ginny patted her back, she whispered, “You’re home, sweetheart.”
In a deceptively gentle voice, Uncle Sebastian said, “Claire, I’ll personally tear the bastard apart, limb by limb.”
Chapter Twelve
After forty-eight hours in London, Alex had reached his capacity to endure much more of the city or Somerton. The demands on his time, namely the frequent and plentiful tasting of his wife’s family’s excellent whisky, did not allow him to refine his skills as a gifted conversationalist with his uninvited guest, the earl. There were more exciting entertainments, such as staying upright, watching the room spin, and, in general, feeling disgusted with himself.
The study stopped revolving when Somerset blocked his view.
“Enough, Pembrooke.” The earl scrunched his nose and turned away. “You smell like a sewer. Have you bathed since we returned?”
Alex jerked forward to grab Somerton’s neckcloth but missed it by inches. Or was that feet? The distance was hard to judge. “Get out.”
The earl narrowed his eyes and stepped out of Alex’s line of vision. When had the bastard turned so ugly? What women saw in him was beyond comprehension.
“I don’t have time for this,” Somerton groaned. “I’m too old to play nursemaid, and you’re long past childhood. More importantly, you’re incapable in this condition to make amends with your wife or put your life in order.”
The room grew silent. Alex closed his eyes to enjoy the peace, but the ache that had seeped into every inch of his body returned. Claire was gone, and the weight of the loss crushed his chest like a boulder.
Alex growled but downplayed his displeasure when Somerton returned and escorted him to the kitchen. He’d put the earl to use. His whisky supply was running low. Somerton could fetch another bottle from Simms. Once they’d crossed the doorway, an oaken tub filled with water came into view.
“Is it laundry day?” Alex’s confusion increased when his most trusted servant Simms stood at attention beside the tub.
Somerton bent down and threw him over his shoulder. Before Alex could protest, the earl tossed him in the tub.
The shock of the cold water was enough that he sobered—somewhat. “What the bloody hell, you sniveling sloth!” Water sloshed on the kitchen’s slate floor, running as fast as his mouth. “You son of a one-legged whore, what do you think you’re doing?”
Somerton checked the time on his precious pocket watch. “You cannot delay the inevitable. The longer you wait, the harder it will be. Go see her!” Somerton’s roar caused Alex to lose his hearing for a moment.
By the time his ears had started functioning again, Somerton was long gone. A subdued Simms stood at the door. “My lord, I took it upon myself and asked the earl if he had any objection to keeping the remaining supply of the marchioness’s family spirits at Somer House.” Concern added to the deep crevices etched across the loyal fellow’s face.
Alex shook the water out of his hair and heaved a sigh. The insufferable Somerton was correct—again. He needed to get his house in order today. “You have my gratitude. But I’ll let you go without a reference if you allow that foulmouthed bastard in my home again.”
Simms wrinkled his brow. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I believe you were the foulmouthed bastard.” The butler straightened his jacket. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
* * *
It didn’t take long for the news to sweep through London that the Marquess and Marchioness of Pembrooke were apart, which made Claire’s decision for her first official outing with Aunt Ginny and Emma relatively easy. She chose a ball hosted by Lady Downing. It was a medium-sized affair with three hundred in attendance. An event that size allowed her the freedom to mingle if she chose without the constant fear of facing questions about Alex or the curse. Tonight, she’d determine the damage caused by his actions.
In the carriage, her aunt leaned over and gave a light pat to Claire’s knee. “Promise you’ll find me if you’re uncomfortable or want to go back to Langham Hall? McCalpin and William are attending and will keep an eye on you and Emma.”
Claire felt the corners of her mouth turn up. “I’ll be fine. I shall follow Emma’s lead this evening. The only ones who might pester me are the young ladies asking if I could introduce them to my male cousins. I’ll be nothing more than a chaperone tonight.”
“You deserve some entertainment. I’ll see Sebastian dances with you,” Aunt Ginny declared.
After greeting their hostess, Claire followed Emma to her circle of friends. She knew most of them and would venture to the chaperone’s corner only if she wanted a reprieve from the crowd.
Claire waited while Uncle Sebastian was deep in conversation with a political crony. From nowhere, Somerton appeared. “Lady Pembrooke, may I have this dance?”
Claire hesitated a moment. “That would be lovely.”
To refuse her husband’s best friend in front of the others would set off a firestorm of rumors. She allowed the handsome earl to lead her onto the floor. Inwardly, she groaned when the first notes from the orchestra flooded the room. How unfair that her first waltz as a married woman was with a man not her husband. Her small sense of contentment for the evening fled. Her mood turned as fickle as a dandy’s taste in fashion. She didn’t want or need Somerton to take tales of her woe and loneliness to Alex.
“You look lovely tonight. I regret I didn’t have an opportunity to tell you good-bye at Pemhill.” His smile was charming, but she felt none of the flutters and skips she’d experienced in Alex’s arms.
With an impartial eye, Claire scrutinized the earl. With his golden hair and straight Nordic nose, he was by far the most handsome man in attendance. The color of his eyes matched the aquamarine of her dress. As they made their way across the ballroom, the ladies of the ton seemed to sigh in unison. They rolled their fans in an attempt to capture his attention while longing painted their faces.
His seraphic looks had no effect on her. Over the last couple of days, her heart had told her everything. She was in love with Alex. She could never stop those feelings no matter how hard she tried.
“You could enchant any man here tonight.” Somerton’s voice was sinfully deep and rich, designed to make a woman’s heart melt. “Have you been well?”
Claire looked deep into his warm eyes to decipher what trickery he played. “Of course.”
“Pembrooke is in town,” he said.
“Is that the reason for this dance? Did he send you as his emissary or his mole?” Claire kept a slight smile pasted on her face for the benefit of the crowd, but she prepared herself for any cajoling he threw her way.
“Are you always this direct?” A true smile broke across his face that made him even more handsome. “I have a new appreciation for what has made Pembrooke so befuddled.”
“You must practice that drawl on a daily basis to attract women.” Unfortunately for him, she was immune. “You didn’
t answer my question. Did Alex send you?”
A barely perceivable flash of pain dulled his beautiful eyes. “No. I’m here on my own accord. May I be frank?”
Claire nodded.
“Alex has been drunk … since you left Pemhill. His anguish over you is inconsolable.”
His words caught her full attention. At the same time, she allowed herself a small dash of hope. She didn’t offer a response for fear she would reveal her true feelings for Alex. She would not allow him to manipulate her again.
Somerton took a breath and continued, “I’ve never seen him like this, not even when his sister passed. What you overheard in our conversation—”
“My lord, I appreciate your efforts, and the dance has been quite lovely.” She’d not listen to another word, certain her newly covered wounds would reopen and bleed onto the ballroom floor. Claire took her hand from his shoulder and attempted to withdraw her other from his, even though the waltz still played and dancing couples surrounded them.
Somerton tightened his grip almost to the point of pain. “Shall we continue outside?” Without waiting for her agreement, he whisked her out a set of open doors onto the balcony.
The evening’s breeze was a welcome reprieve from the heat of the ballroom and the myriad eyes watching her with Pembrooke’s friend. Claire leaned over the balcony. In the distance, a long rectangular wading pool was ablaze with floating candles. Below, several couples strolled the grounds, taking advantage of the beautiful night and the romantic view. Their destination must be the secluded pathways that led to Lord Downing’s renowned topiary gardens. Concentrating on the view and the darkness would help hide the riot of emotions parading through her. She’d allow Somerton to finish and then find her uncle.
“He’s too drunk to act. He stumbles through the day and keeps to himself. His feelings for you run deep,” he whispered. The earl stood beside her and rested his arms on the stone balustrade.
Claire shook her head in disbelief. If only the earl’s words were true. “He had the opportunity to tell me everything, yet he couldn’t summon one word at Pemhill. I think you see things that aren’t there. How would you feel if your spouse married you under false pretenses, just to use you for revenge? Trust me, it’s not the strongest foundation to build a marriage upon. Why isn’t he here?” She swallowed the pain that rose in her throat.
“My lady,” he protested. “I’ve known your husband since we were both fifteen. His quest was to become a man that his father would respect. The previous marquess was a notorious taskmaster who would not accept anything except perfection from his heir.”
Claire’s chest tightened, but she tried to focus on one bubbling fountain in the distance to relieve her new unease at the earl’s explanation for Alex’s behavior.
Somerton took a deep breath, as if unsure whether to continue. “May I share something with you?” He looked back to the garden and waited.
“Please, continue.” When he turned toward her, the desolation in his eyes was unmistakable.
“When I was fifteen, I foolishly followed Lord Paul into a local pub one evening. We were all at Eton together.” Somerton looked to the ground.
After a moment of silence, Claire wasn’t certain he’d continue his story.
“The fool found a card game, and … well, he quickly ended up owing over two hundred pounds.”
“What happened?” Claire wondered what this story had to do with her and Alex.
His gaze reflected tragedy. “The man who had won the fortune was furious and threatened to kill Lord Paul for not having the money to pay for his losses. Lord Paul begged me to cover the debt with promises he’d pay me within the week.” He shook his head as if he didn’t believe the tale he was telling.
Somerton looked into Claire’s eyes and drew a deep breath. “I signed the note and stupidly thought I could believe his promise. The next week there was no money from Lord Paul. I asked repeatedly when he would have the funds. His answer was always, ‘Tomorrow.’ Finally, I was forced to ask my father for the money.” He chuckled, but the misery in his confession was visible. “My father personally appeared and paid the debt. He called me a wastrel and cut me off.”
“Did you explain the circumstances to your father?”
“I tried, but he was livid.” He laughed out loud, the sound bitter. “Within the month, I became ill. Alex found me in the stairwell of the dormitory. I was out of my mind with fever. He paid for a doctor and took me home to Pemhill for the holidays, where I recuperated. I would have died without your husband’s help.”
Claire brought her hand to her heart. “I’m so glad you survived.”
“As am I, my lady. I’ve never seen my father since.” Somerton turned and took her hand in his. “Your husband loaned me the money to start my investment work. He’s a good man. I ask as a friend. Give him another chance. You both deserve happiness.” He gave her a brisk nod. “He’ll come for you.” Instead of walking back into the ballroom, he took the balcony steps down to the lawn, walked past the wading pool, and disappeared into the night.
Claire stood alone. Somerton obviously owed his allegiance to Alex. She straightened her back and lifted her chin. The tale didn’t excuse Alex’s manipulations of her life and her dreams, even if it was for Alice.
She had learned early in life that you should appreciate what you have. Everything could disappear in a moment. She had left her own dream of a family at Pemhill along with her heart.
If only she could have left the pain there, too.
Claire straightened her dress, pinched her cheeks, and smiled. She had to survive another despicable evening alone, even if surrounded on all sides by the carrion-eating members of society.
* * *
At last night’s ball, Claire had enjoyed a rather full dance card. The attention had kept her numb. Afterward, alone in her bed, the hours had lasted forever. Thoughts of Alex had invaded her dreams and kept her awake. Was he well? Had he quit drinking? It would be so much easier if she ceased to care for him. The awful truth squeezed her heart. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t forget his rich scent, his expressive eyes, or the half-tilted smiles. She’d never be free of him. If Alex cared at all, he would try to see her.
The next day, Claire accompanied Emma to Lady Barrington’s garden party. As she made her way to the refreshment tent, Claire passed Lady Amelia Goodhope and Lady Georgette Dinford. They had been introduced into society the same year as Emma and had enough savoir faire to navigate the slippery path through the ton’s inner workings. The young women were completely entrenched in conversation and didn’t see Claire approach.
Lady Amelia fluttered her fan before her face and leaned toward Lady Georgette. “Did you see her? Why would she leave Lord Pembrooke after only weeks? That man is a walking dream. The curse must be true.”
“Nonsense. As soon as she said ‘I do,’ the curse was over. Now, where’s the fun?” Lady Georgette’s lips curled into the slightest hint of a cat’s tail. “My brother told me he made a small fortune with his bet at White’s. He wants to thank her personally for marrying Lord Pembrooke.”
Claire took a step in their direction, but reason pulled her back by her dress sleeves. She needed to find Emma and not waste precious time with the two girls. At least they weren’t laughing about how she’d been a pawn in Alex’s game.
Claire entered the refreshment tent and meandered around the structure as she searched for Emma. Just as she began to walk back to the party, her stomach turned inside out. Emma stood conversing with a gentleman to the side beneath a tree. She was with Lord Paul.
She flew to Emma’s side without a greeting. “Emma, Lady Lena is in need of you.”
“I’ll see to her in a moment.” Emma turned back to Lord Paul. “Perhaps one of these days I could examine your collection of logic and philosophy books?”
“Lady Pembrooke could act as chaperone,” Lord Paul declared, his attention only on Emma. “I might have that first edition you’re looking for.
”
“Oh, Claire, please say yes.” Emma’s eyes sparkled. Indeed, William was correct. Once her cousin had a book in mind, nothing would stop her from acquiring it. Even if it meant stirring up the rumor that Lord Paul had turned his attention to Emma.
“Let’s discuss it later,” Claire said.
“Good evening, my lord. I hope we’ll be able to visit again soon. It’s always delightful to find someone who shares the same interest in books.”
He delivered an elegant bow. “I enjoyed your company, Lady Emma. Thank you for the recommendation of Mr. Bentham’s works. Until the next time.”
Somehow within the last several weeks, Lord Paul had recovered his sense of style. His clothes were impeccable and immaculate.
Claire watched Emma return to the party before she narrowed her piercing gaze on him. Whatever had she seen in him to think he was suitable as a husband? “I understand you’re shopping for an heiress. I hope Lady Emma isn’t on your list.”
“Good evening, Lady Pembrooke,” he mocked with a chuckle and a slight bow. “I thought you’d be overjoyed to see me.”
“You must take some sort of perverted satisfaction in trying to rile me with your actions.” She didn’t need rumors that she was with Lord Paul or, God forbid, rumors circulating of Emma with him. If he thought Emma was a ticket to an heiress, he was mistaken. She would do everything in her power to keep them apart. She turned to leave.
“Claire, wait.” His voice softened. “You and I have a lot in common. More than you realize. We’re both victims of Pembrooke’s manipulations.”
Claire twisted to face him. “Manipulations? You, sir, are a master of such things.”
He stepped close and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell me Pembrooke shared that absurd story about his sister. You’re more worldly than to believe such tripe.”
She didn’t retreat. “I know you’re capable of anything.”
“I will not deny I knew her. Bloody hell! Pembrooke and I were friends. I never intended to betray him. I woke up, and she was in my bed. Completely distraught, she confided in me. I tried to counsel her, but to no avail.”
The Bad Luck Bride Page 22
