A Marriage of Inconvenience (Endearing Young Charms Book 5)

by M C Beaton

  “He’s bringing some tart back.”

  “Heggzactly.”

  Feeling that he had found out enough and considering the ale poor stuff—Biddle did not consider drinking ale as drinking—he rose to his feet and made his way out into the London streets. But the taverns were somehow more welcoming than ever, and Biddle persuaded himself that he needed a reward for his efforts.

  Lord Harry was preparing to go out to the opera when Biddle lurched in and fell on the hall floor. “What did you find out?” demanded Lord Harry, shaking the old man by the shoulder.

  “He consorts wiff whores,” slurred Biddle and closed his eyes.

  “Leave him alone,” said Captain James. “We’ll be late.”

  “I suppose there is no use in trying to get sense out of him,” remarked Lord Harry bitterly. “What a useless old fool. I should have known he would get drunk. No sovereigns for you, Biddle.”

  He turned away and drew on his gloves.

  “ ‘Ere!” Biddle sat up in a panic that almost sobered him. “I earned it, so I did. He sleeps wiff half the Cyprians in London, that he does. Must ha’ one coming round. Ordered ‘is carriage for quarter to five in the morning. Told the servants to keep below stairs for the rest o’ the day.”

  “Traveling carriage?” demanded Lord Harry.

  “Naw, curricle. Where’s me money?”

  Lord Harry tossed down two sovereigns that Biddle fielded expertly, then he slowly collapsed back on the floor and was soon snoring.

  “So what does all that mean?” demanded James.

  “Something important, I think,” replied Lord Harry. “I’ll think about it some more at the opera. Where are my parents?”

  “They’re not going. Your father said he could not stand the caterwauling, and the countess agreed to keep him company.”

  Isabella could not help contrasting her own sorry state with that of Lucy’s. Lucy, who had announced her engagement to the Chadburys, was happy and radiant, and the captain’s eyes were glowing with pride and love as he looked down at her. Isabella could only be grateful that Lord Harry was quiet and thoughtful. She had expected him to start the evening in his usual way by making insulting remarks about her dress. The Chadburys were disappointed not to see the Tremaynes, Mrs. Chadbury in particular. She was anxious to have the matter settled before her husband changed his mind. She suggested in a whisper that they should tell Isabella now, but her husband said severely that they would call on the Tremaynes on the morrow, and she must be content until then.

  “Two weeks until our wedding,” said Lord Harry suddenly as he was leading Isabella into their box at the opera. She looked at him, startled, and then realized she had put the idea of the actual wedding so firmly from her mind that she had almost forgotten it was to take place so soon.

  The opera was a new one by a Signor Belotti, and there did not seem to be anything about it to take Isabella’s mind off her predicament. In the light of the huge blazing chandelier that hung down from the roof of the opera house, she could clearly see Lord Rupert in a box opposite. She looked straight at him and then slowly nodded her head. He smiled and raised his hand. Lord Harry noticed that exchange, and his eyes sharpened.

  Isabella sat with her head bowed until the interval. She had done it. She had, by that simple nod, agreed to run away with Lord Rupert. Captain James, despite his own happiness, noticed how quiet and miserable Isabella was and experienced a feeling of impatience at Lord Harry’s behavior.

  At the interval when Isabella was talking to a friend of the Chadburys, James whispered to Lord Harry, “In faith, you are capable of driving that girl into anyone else’s arms. If you are not behaving like a fop, you are behaving like a sullen pig, and so I tell you. Tell me, Harry, did you never court a woman?”

  “I suppose I must have done.” Lord Harry raised his thin eyebrows. “Why do you ask?”

  “As you have not yet released Isabella from an engagement she so obviously loathes, then one must assume that you want her. So if you want her, try courting her.”

  “Tsch!” said Lord Harry moodily and wondered how it would feel to land a punch full on Lord Rupert’s nose.

  There was a ball after the opera. Lord Harry, waltzing with Isabella, found himself thinking of what James had said. Isabella’s steps were not light. Her feet seemed to drag, and she made conversation in the way that she had been trained to do but barely seemed to hear his answers. He praised her gown and her looks, and she said in a dull voice, “Thank you. You are most kind,” but he could have sworn she had not heard a word he had said.

  His conscience was really hurting him now, and he tried to tell it savagely that his behavior had been justified. Isabella Chadbury was nothing more than a cold flirt. But there had been nothing of the flirt about her in London. He alone was to blame for her interest in Lord Rupert. And how happy she had been at the castle when she had run off across the grass with Lucy. There was one way to lighten her darkness, and that was by telling her that the engagement was at an end. But that would leave her free to marry Lord Rupert Fitzjohn, and that she must never do.

  So while Lucy and her captain circled the floor and gazed into each other’s eyes, Isabella and Lord Harry moved mechanically to the music and wished the ball would end.

  It was Mrs. Chadbury who, thankfully for Isabella, said she must go home as she had the headache. Isabella promptly said she would accompany her.

  Lucy was cross at having to leave so early but was soon consoled by Captain James, who said he would call for her on the following afternoon and take her driving.

  Isabella gave Lord Harry a curt goodnight and hurried off into the house before he even had time to bow to her and give her a formal farewell.

  At his parents’ house, he said good night to James and retired to his own room, but he did not go to bed. He paced up and down, turning over in his mind what Biddle had told him. Fitzjohn was a lecher. He had asked for his curricle to be ready at quarter to five in the morning. Isabella had nodded to him and he had acknowledged that nod, and he had smiled, a slow gratified smile.

  Although they had left the ball early by society’s standards, it was now three o’clock. He decided to stay awake and then walk to Malmbrooke Square to see if Lord Rupert made any move to take Isabella away. But surely he would in that case have asked for his traveling carriage. Nonetheless, Lord Harry was suddenly determined to go.

  The minutes dragged, and he half dozed in an armchair in his bedroom until four o’clock. Then he roused himself and changed quickly into morning dress and wrapped himself in a warm cloak, after stowing a brace of pistols in his pockets.

  Malmbrooke Square was not very far away. He set out on foot. He arrived in the square at four-thirty and stood in the blackness beside the railings of the square gardens, well away from the feeble rays of the parish lamps. At quarter to five, he heard the rumble of wheels and drew his hat down over his eyes so that the whiteness of his face would not show in the gloom.

  Isabella had written a tearful letter to her parents, then had changed into a traveling gown and had packed a portmanteau and two hat boxes for the journey. She half wanted to wake Lucy to tell her what she was doing, but Lord Harry was Lucy’s brother, and she felt that the girl’s loyalties would lie with him.

  She crept down the stairs. One of the hat boxes escaped her clutch and rolled to the foot of the stairs. It did not make very much noise, but to the overwrought Isabella, it sounded like thunder.

  But it prompted her to speedy action. She ran down to the hall, retrieved the hat box, and holding it and the other securely in one hand by the ribbons and the portmanteau in the other, she stepped out into the black frosty morning. She saw the carriage at the corner of the square standing under a lamp. She placed her luggage on the step and turned and closed the door with a dreadful feeling of finality.

  The curricle moved slowly round and came to a stop in front of her.

  Isabella stepped forward and looked up at Lord Rupert. “Why a curricle?”
she asked. “That will not take us very far north in this weather.”

  “They are repairing one of the traces on the harness of my traveling carriage,” said Lord Rupert smoothly. “I will drive you to my house and you may have a glass of something to warm you while the servants bring the traveling carriage round.”

  Isabella hesitated, but then slowly climbed in and sat beside him.

  The curricle moved off.

  Lord Harry stepped out into the square and watched it go. She had gone willingly, without protest. There was nothing he could do.

  “Ain’t you going arter her?”

  A voice behind him made him jump and turn round.

  Biddle was standing peering up at him.

  “What are you doing here, you old sot?”

  “Saw you go out and came arter you,” whined Biddle. “That was your lady went off with that pig.”

  “And willingly, too.”

  “Course she went willingly,” jeered Biddle. “For that snake has tricked her some way.”

  Lord Harry stood irresolute.

  “If it was me,” said Biddle, “I’d go to ‘is house and stand outside, like, see if she screams or summat.”

  The sheer idea of Isabella having to scream about anything galvanized Lord Harry into action. He set off at a run with Biddle stumbling after him, calling and protesting at the speed.

  Lord Rupert helped Isabella down from the curricle and then sharply ordered a grinning groom to take the horses and carriage round to the mews.

  “Come in, my dear,” he said opening the door to his house. “A glass of wine to warm you.”

  “If I should be seen …” said Isabella nervously.

  “It would not matter in any case as we are to be married. Just a few moments. We cannot stand here in this biting cold.”

  Isabella allowed him to usher her into the house. He led her into a library on the ground floor where a fire was burning brightly. The books on the wall had a uniform, unread look, which was indeed the case, Lord Rupert having ordered them by the yard from the bookseller.

  She crossed to the fire and held out her hands to the blaze. There was a click from behind her, and she swung round. Lord Rupert grinned at her in a way she did not like and held up the door key before dropping it in his pocket. “That should stop anyone disturbing us,” he said.

  Isabella stood staring at him.

  “Yes, my dearest, I am one of those disgusting men you so fear, who play interesting games with Cyprians on the floors of posting houses.” He drew a pistol out of his pocket. “And now, Isabella Chadbury, you are going to learn everything a prostitute knows and better by the time I’ve finished with you.”

  White to the lips, Isabella said steadily, “Why?”

  “Why, you bitch? Because you dared to spurn me, and no one insults a Fitzjohn without paying for it.”

  “Was it you who assaulted me in Cornwall?”

  “Yes, and I would have had you in that ditch if that namby-pamby milksop hadn’t come running up. Then you stuck a hatpin in me. Another thing you must pay for.” He raised the gun. “Take your clothes off. The fire is nice and warm, and the hearthrug will serve us very well.”

  That was when Isabella began to scream.

  “That’s it,” cried Biddle from outside the house. Lord Harry tried to run to the door but found the elderly retainer clutching his arm.

  “Let me go, you old fool.”

  “I got the key.”

  “You’ve got what?”

  “The key to the front door,” said Biddle patiently. “I nicked it off the key rack on the way out from the servants’ ‘all, I did. Saw a spare and took it.” He dug into his pocket and produced a large key with a label dangling from it marked “Front Door Spare.”

  Lord Harry seized it and went and opened the door and marched into the hall and stood listening with Biddle crouched behind him.

  Inside the library, Lord Rupert was saying, “Scream all you like. No one will come to your aid. Now are you going to do as I ask, or am I going to have to shoot you?”

  Isabella looked at him and said wearily, “Yes, you are going to have to shoot me.”

  He threw aside the pistol with a snarl and advanced on her. “Then I’ll take you by force,” he growled. “I’ll rip those damned clothes from your body.”

  There came the sound of splintering wood as the library door crashed open. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said a voice from the doorway. Isabella let out a moan of sheer relief as Lord Harry strolled into the room with a brace of pistols leveled at Lord Rupert.

  “So it’s you, you man milliner,” jeered Lord Rupert. “How did you know she was here? Did the bitch tell you? Very brave with pistols, ain’t you?”

  Lord Harry grinned, and his blue eyes flashed, “I’ll fight you, if you prefer … with my fists.”

  Lord Rupert threw back his head and laughed. “Splendid. We’ll settle this here and now.”

  Both men pushed the furniture back helped by the eager Biddle. “No,” said Isabella faintly. “You must not, Lord Harry. He will kill you.”

  Lord Harry did not hear her. Both men were engaged in stripping to the waist.

  “Don’t you worry, Miss Chadbury,” said Biddle, settling himself comfortably in a chair in the corner of the room. He poured himself a glass of sherry. “Make yourself easy. Nothing better than a good mill.”

  Isabella sat down gingerly on the edge of a chair next to Biddle who handed her a glass of sherry assuring her it was a suitable drink for ladies, and he drank it himself when he was not drinking liquor, Biddle classing sherry with ale as innocuous.

  “Strips well, don’t he?” remarked Biddle conversationally, waving his glass in the direction of Lord Harry, whose well-muscled torso was gleaming in the firelight.

  To Isabella it was all like some mad dream, the two half-naked men beginning to circle each other, the quite awful smell emanating from the old retainer. “Hey ho!” shouted Biddle. “Draw ‘is cork, Harry.”

  And then Lord Harry leapt at Lord Rupert, raining savage blows on him, while the astounded Lord Rupert was sent reeling. “Groin’ to be too easy,” said Biddle, nudging Isabella in the ribs. “He’ll finish him off any moment now.”

  Just as he spoke, Lord Harry landed a massive blow right on Lord Rupert’s chin, who stretched his length on the floor.

  “Stop sitting there crowing, Biddle,” said Lord Harry, “and tie this villain up. I want to have a long talk with him when he wakes up.”

  Biddle took out a wickedly sharp knife and began to hack the curtains into strips. Lord Harry dressed while Isabella sat there, wondering miserably whether he was about to take his revenge on her.

  But when he was dressed he came and sat down next to her. “Tell me how you came to get yourself in such a dangerous situation,” he said quietly.

  In a flat voice, Isabella told him the whole thing, of the scene in the posting house, of her fear of men, of her dread of her forthcoming marriage, and of how Lord Rupert had tricked her.

  “Why did you not tell me this before?” asked Lord Harry. “I thought you were a heartless flirt, and I only acted the part of the fop to enrage you.”

  “You succeeded very well.” Isabella put her hand up to her brow. “So well that I could not confide in you.”

  “If only you had told me …” Lord Harry took her hand in his. “As of this moment, you are a free woman. I will take you home. No one will be awake. You can simply go to bed and forget about the whole thing. No one will know. I will return here and make sure of that. Smile, Isabella. All your worries are over. I shall return to my regiment and you can forget this whole sorry episode. But there are plenty of kind and clean and decent men around who know how to love and respect a lady. Can you, for example, imagine my friend James consorting with whores? He loves Lucy truly, and she is prepared to follow him to the battle front. Such is love, something that men like this churl here know nothing about.

  “Thank you,” said Isabella
brokenly. “Oh, thank you for everything.”

  He stood up and raised her to her feet.

  “Like a play this is,” said the irrepressible Biddle. “Kiss ‘er.”

  “Impertinent dog. Watch your tongue.”

  “Well, don’t ‘e deserve a kiss?” whined Biddle.

  Isabella kissed Lord Harry gently on the cheek, and he put his arms about her and held her close. They stood like that for a long time until they finally separated, looking at each other in a kind of wonder.

  “Get a move on then,” grumbled Biddle. “Can’t stay here all morning!”