Father, what have you gotten me into?
Chapter Three
Jason bowed to Lord Greely and kissed Lady Greely’s bejeweled hand as he passed through the receiving line before entering the crowded ballroom.
He’d been back in London for five days, and the whole wedding ceremony remained a blur. If it wasn’t for the letter from his solicitors advising him he was now in possession of everything the fifth Earl of Coventry had owned, he would think the entire thing had been a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare.
He spotted Drake and made his way across the room. Jason smiled and nodded to several debutantes, some barely out of the schoolroom. They grouped together, tittering behind colorful fans while their eager mamas eyed him speculatively. As always, young matrons cast sultry glances his way, searching for a new body to warm their beds. The Season was in full swing.
“I see you’re back in town,” Jason nodded at Drake and the young woman clinging possessively to his friend’s arm.
“Yes, the sire didn’t require my attendance for long.” Turning, he said, “Miss Spencer, may I introduce the Earl of Coventry. Coventry, Miss Spencer.”
“Miss Spencer.” Jason bowed and accepted her hand. “Your servant.”
All golden curls and blushing cheeks, Miss Spencer giggled, and holding her fan with one hand, made a curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”
Good heavens, is this one even out of the schoolroom?
“I was just explaining to Miss Spencer how m’sire is working with his man at Manchester to increase production.”
“A subject I’m sure Miss Spencer is totally enthralled with,” Jason said wryly.
Miss Spencer looked from one man to the other, her dimples flashing. Whatever humor Jason meant to inject into the conversation went completely over her charming, fluff-filled head.
“Oh, here’s Freddy to claim me for the next dance.” She curtsied again and put her hand out to her partner, Lord Gilchrist.
“How’d the wedding go?” Drake said as soon as the blushing Miss Spencer was out of hearing.
“Damned if I know. It went. That’s about all I can say. I assume I’m married because I got a letter of congratulations from the solicitors.” Jason crossed his arms and leaned against a wall, surveying the room.
“You mean you weren’t sure before?” Drake’s eyebrows rose.
Jason snatched a glass of champagne from a passing footman. “Not completely, no.”
“Can I inquire as to how a man gets leg-shackled and isn’t too sure it actually happened until the solicitors congratulate him?” Drake slanted him a look, then downed the last of his champagne.
Jason tugged at his cravat. “I was a little bit under the weather, so I don’t remember too much.”
“Under the weather? You mean you were ill−or foxed?”
“Foxed,” he mumbled.
“What do you remember?”
“Waking up—alone. Fully clothed, and in possession of one very large headache.”
“Ah, no wedding night to burn into your memory?”
Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “Apparently not.”
Drake grinned, clearly enjoying his friend’s discomfort. “Did Lady Coventry blast you the next morning, or is her ladyship of the chilled silence set?”
Jason shook his head.
“Lucky you. She should have had your hide. Where is the lovely lady now? I’d like to meet her.”
“Still at the Manor.”
Drake studied him for a minute and shook his head. “You said you would do that, old man, but I didn’t believe it. You really are a bastard, aren’t you?”
Jason shrugged, not viewing this as a problem. Except the knot where his stomach used to reside reminded him that Drake was more than likely correct in his assessment.
“And I suppose you ran right back to the voluptuous Lady Sheridan as soon as your feet touched the ground in London.”
“Don’t sermonize me, Drake,” he snapped. Lowering his voice, he added, “Actually strange, that.” Jason grabbed another glass. “I haven’t had any interest in seeing Selena since I got back.”
Noting Drake’s mocking lift of one eyebrow, he continued, “I had grown tired of her before I left.”
They stared over the ballroom, studying the fresh young things on the marriage mart as they whimpered and giggled at the attention from men searching for wives this Season. Jason shook his head. Young and innocent. Was his wife the same?
“How were you able to convince Lady Coventry to stay there while you returned to London?”
“I didn’t.” In response to Drake’s questioning glance, he continued, “I woke up alone and left before we had any conversation. In fact, I never spoke with her at all.”
Stunned silence followed Jason’s words. “Bastard doesn’t even begin to cover it, my friend,” Drake sneered as he made a move to go, but Jason grabbed him by the arm.
“I don’t exactly feel good about what I did.”
“I should hope not. But what do you plan to do now?”
“I’ll give her some time to calm down, since I assume she is not too happy with me. Then, I’ll take a trip to Coventry and see what we can make of this whole thing.”
“Just let me know before you leave. As your closest friend, I feel it’s my duty to notify the physician and have the bandages ready.” Drake gave him a slap on the shoulder. “I’m off to find Lady Elyse for the next dance.”
Jason regarded Drake as he made his way across the ballroom and bent over the hand of a young debutante. He shuddered, in some way grateful to Lady Jane for freeing him from the claws of marriage-minded young ladies. Nodding at various acquaintances and dodging Lady Belford heading in his direction dragging her youngest daughter, he turned and strolled toward the gaming room.
Hours later, riding home in his carriage, Jason loosened his cravat, and tried to picture the wedding he barely remembered. It startled him to realize he couldn’t even remember Lady Coventry’s face. He recalled nothing about her, except that she had dark hair and came up to his shoulder.
For some unexplained reason, a pair of unusual-colored eyes, awash with tears, kept hovering in the back of his mind. Had there been spectacles in front of them? He frowned and cursed his inebriated state.
He’d been told Lady Coventry was his father’s goddaughter, but how did that relationship come about? Was the old Earl friends with her father, or mother? Were they in some vague way related? What made the woman agree to marry a stranger?
He knew he had treated her badly, and hardly like the gentleman he’d always thought of himself. Maybe in a few weeks—or months—he’d travel back to Coventry. He ought to contact his solicitors in the meantime to make sure she had everything she needed. She may have been unwanted, but she was still his countess.
…
Olivia surveyed the library and realized this was her life and it would only be what she made it. If the man was not interested in her, or her company, then so be it.
She moved to the immense desk and sat in the chair Lord Coventry should be occupying. There should be things to keep her busy. For one, the tenants to visit, even if her husband wasn’t here to introduce her. Meetings with the housekeeper, cook, and gardener would take up some time.
The darkness and stodginess of the countess’s bedroom depressed her. She would have her things moved out of the chamber while she redecorated. Bright colors to dispense with England’s dreary weather. Cheerful wallpaper and lighter furniture would give it a look more suited to her.
Another chore involved her father’s papers and books she’d had shipped from Italy. Over the years, he’d accumulated a vast amount of paperwork from his research. Perhaps she would take the time to go through his things, possibly put them in some order, and donate them to the University of Milan.
Yes, her life could be full. Olivia rested her crossed arms on the desk, and laid her head on them, closing her eyes.
Then why do I feel so discarded?
> Unwanted by the man with broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes in a remarkably handsome face. His dark hair had fallen in waves across his forehead. And he had been so foxed he could barely walk.
Olivia stood and walked to the fireplace to stare at the licking flames. She missed her father, and thoughts of him brought a smile to her lips. He would spend hours each day on his research into the ancient Romans. Dinner had always been a lively affair, with him enthusiastically relating what he’d discovered that day. His excitement would cause Olivia and her mother to exchange amused glances.
As a girl, Olivia had been quiet and serious until she had discovered music. When she played the pianoforte she lost herself, and as her skill grew so did her confidence. Her mother had engaged a music master who had worked with her until she had reached her eighth year, when her father, Lord Margate, had moved his family to Italy so he could continue his research. There she had resumed her musical training, studying under an Italian tutor.
It was five years after they settled into their comfortable home on the outskirts of Rome that Lady Margate had died, along with the baby boy she had delivered two months early.
Devastated, her father withdrew from his daughter, concentrating solely on his work while Olivia lost herself in music. When she reached her fifteenth year, feeling guilty at his lack of paternal interest and guidance, Lord Margate arranged for Olivia to study at a boarding school in London. A scant two years later, he’d summoned her home where she was shocked to discover that he had become a virtual recluse.
Although she had shown promise as a classical pianist, Olivia had assumed the running of her father’s home and had put her dreams behind her. After three years, restlessness had settled in, all the way to her bones. She had feared that life would pass her by while she cared for her father’s house and had no life of her own.
About two months ago, Lord Margate had answered her unspoken concerns when he summoned her to his library. “My dear, I’ve arranged for you to be married.”
She’d stared at him with growing horror. Her father never did things lightly and once he decided on a course of action nothing swayed him.
“I don’t understand, sir, has someone offered for me?”
“Yes. Well, not exactly offered. Your betrothed is your godfather’s son.” He pushed back from his desk, glanced briefly in her direction, then rose and began to pace. “I know my announcement comes as a surprise to you, but it’s for the best.”
“Father, no one arranges marriages anymore.” She sat with her hands clenched in her lap, the only outward sign of her distress.
He stared at her for a moment. “Don’t fool yourself. Most marriages are arranged. Perhaps not with a total stranger, but certainly the matches made among our class are done with parental nudging.”
“Yours wasn’t,” she said quietly.
Turning away from her, Lord Margate stopped and gazed out the window. “Yes, you are right, Olivia. Your mother and I had a love match.” He faced her once more and sighed. “But that is rare. Very rare.”
“I don’t understand. Why this man—a stranger to me? And why now?”
Releasing his breath, he smiled. “I know the Earl of Coventry quite well. We were very close at one time, which is why he is your godfather. Even after we left England, he and I corresponded regularly. I know the type of man he is and the type of man his son would be. He will be kind and thoughtful, and see you are well taken care of. You’re nearly one and twenty, and need someone to look after you, provide you with children. And you need to return to England where you belong.”
“I have the feeling you’re not telling me everything. Why now?”
Lord Margate sat in the chair next to her, and enveloped her ice cold hands in his warm ones. “I did a great disservice to you, keeping you away from your home all these years.” He put his hand up as she started to protest. “No, hear me out. You should have been in London for a Season, presented to the Queen, and attending balls and parties. I lost interest in everything when your mother died, for which I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Now it’s too late.”
He got up again and walked over to stand in front of the fireplace. “The doctors tell me my lungs are in grave danger of simply wearing out. They blame it on my cigars.” He regarded her, his gaze filled with love. “As much as I would like to send you to London to do all those things, I would rest much easier if I knew you were already settled with a husband and a home of your own.”
…
Apparently at ease with having made arrangements for his only daughter, within a couple of weeks her father had declined to a point where he was completely bedridden. He had looked so frail as he lay against the pillows, his face as white as where he rested his head. She had moved closer to him when he had waved her over. He had attempted to sit up, but she had placed a gentle hand on his chest to keep him from moving. He had grasped her hand in his. “I’ve cheated you out of so much a young lady should have. Once you’re married to the Earl’s son, you’ll be expected to take your place in society, and I don’t want you missing out on that first important year.” He stopped, taking several shallow breaths. “Please promise me you’ll not waste that year in mourning.”
She had to bend to hear his raspy voice.
“Papa, please let us not speak of this.” All the terror she’d felt since she’d learned of his illness and her upcoming marriage had washed over her. She had clung to his fragile hand, the only solid thing in the winds of change that buffeted her. He had patted her hand and had closed his eyes, the strain of the conversation showing on his face.
Instead of the two weeks she had expected to have in order to prepare herself for her marriage, she had had four weeks to settle all of her father’s matters and ship their belongings to her new home in Coventry. By the time she had set out on her journey, the Earl of Coventry had also died.
She had begun the trip to England feeling quite alone. Both men who had planned this match were deceased. She traveled to an unknown place to marry an unknown man.
Olivia’s welcome from the staff at Coventry had cheered her. Warm and friendly, they’d received her with open arms. The new Earl, however, had not been in residence, and no one had any idea when to expect him.
Before she had even settled in, the old Earl’s solicitors had called and informed her according to the terms of the will the marriage needed to take place within three days of her arrival. Stunned and confused, she had agreed to the date and time the solicitors suggested.
With no time to dwell on her marriage, and the man she would be giving herself to for the rest of her life, she had assumed her place in front of the vicar in the library at Coventry, still dressed in light mourning.
Except there had been no groom to join her. Until a pounding had erupted on the front door, and Jason Cavendish, the Sixth Earl of Coventry, had stumbled into the room—blind drunk.
Chapter Four
Olivia laid down her pen and read over the letter she was composing to her best friend. Lady Lansdowne had been Lady Elizabeth when they had been in school together in London. One year older than Olivia, they had left school at the same time. Olivia had answered her father’s summons to Italy. Elizabeth had returned home to prepare for her Season. Elizabeth’s mother had wanted her to wait the extra year so she would have her come-out with her cousin.
After a whirlwind courtship, Elizabeth had wed the Marquess of Lansdowne in a fairy- tale wedding. The friends continued to correspond, although Olivia had put off writing this particular letter. But, she reasoned, if anyone would sympathize with her plight, it would be Elizabeth. Olivia bent her head, eyes moving back and forth as she read her words.
My Dear Elizabeth,
No doubt it will surprise you to learn I am now wed. The Earl of Coventry and I exchanged vows three weeks ago. He found it necessary to return to London soon after, so I am quite alone here, rattling around in this big house.
Father passed away shortly before I left Rome for my marriage. It was
his lungs, which I think he neglected to take care of. Nothing seemed to interest him after Mother died.
I keep myself busy. The gardener assures me soon he will begin preparing the grounds for spring flowers. I long to see colorful blossoms once again. Cook and I meet weekly to go over the menu, which seems silly since I eat alone, and never had a large appetite.
The best times are when I visit the tenants. I take fresh baked breads and pastries to the families, who are grateful for my attention. The children are so adorable and make me ache for some of my own. I find the people and their cottages warm and welcoming and they always ask after the Earl. I hope he will be able to visit soon.
Now I must go and take my tea. I would so love to hear from you and how life goes in London.
Fondly,
Olivia
…
Lady Lansdowne read the letter over again, her brows furrowed. There must be some mistake. Surely Lord Coventry had not married her dearest friend. Why, the scoundrel had been at all the parties and balls she had attended since arriving for the Season. He displayed none of the behaviors of a married man. Indeed, Lady Sheridan had been draped all over him just last night at the youngest Darkin daughter’s come-out ball.
Something was not right, and Elizabeth could not sit by and not help correct it. Olivia had sounded, for lack of a better word, lost. So unlike the vibrant young woman she knew so well.
Elizabeth quickly withdrew a sheet of foolscap and began to write.
My Dearest Olivia,
Surprise cannot begin to cover my reaction to your news. Married! And to the Earl of Coventry!
You don’t mention what keeps him here in London, but now you must pack up and join us. The Season is just beginning, and there will be routs and balls and parties you must attend with us.
My dear little Evan remains in the country with his nurse. His lordship wanted me to accompany him to London for the Parliamentary session, and we both felt the air in London would not be good for Evan’s little lungs. Oh I so wish you could see how adorable he is. But then I suppose all mothers think so of their children.
Callie Hutton Page 3
