A Marriage of Rogues

by Margaret Moore

Mrs. Wessex would no doubt blanch as white as a bleached sheet if she knew the sort of “education” Thea had received in addition to reading, writing and etiquette. “I think her wish to rise in life speaks very well of her. I’m going to give her a chance. If she proves unsatisfactory, we can advertise again. I shall write to her at once offering her the position.”

  “As you will, my lady,” Mrs. Wessex said with obvious reluctance.

  “Yes, as I will,” Thea firmly replied.

  * * *

  When Dev entered Dundrake Hall by the entrance nearest the stables the next morning, he was surprised to find Jackson waiting there again.

  His first thought was that the duchess had come to pay a gossip-gathering call and the butler wanted to warn him. “What is it, Jackson?”

  “Mr. Bessborough has arrived and wishes to see you at once, sir.”

  He’d been expecting a letter from his solicitor in response to his own, not a personal visit.

  He handed his hat and gloves to the butler. “Where is he? The study?”

  “Yes, Sir Develin.”

  “Has he been fed?”

  “Yes, Sir Develin.”

  “Good.” He started for the study, then paused and looked back. “Where is Lady Dundrake?”

  “I believe she’s still in her bedroom, sir.”

  “Ah.” It would be better, perhaps, if Roger and Thea didn’t meet, at least not yet.

  “Mr. Bessborough and I aren’t to be disturbed, Jackson, by anyone,” he added with emphasis.

  * * *

  When Dev entered his study a few moments later, the broad-shouldered solicitor who was five years his senior rose from a chair by the fireplace. Dark eyebrows lowered, chiseled features grim, Roger looked as stern as the late baronet when he faced Dev. There was one distinct difference, though—the solicitor’s eyes were a startling shade of bright blue.

  Roger was also impeccably turned out, his black, waving hair brushed back from his high brow, his face closely shaven, his shirt white as new-fallen snow, his cravat dark as his jacket and trousers and tied with skill. He wasn’t exactly a handsome man, but his imposing build and lean, angular features, like he’d been carved out of granite, made him a man one looked at twice. Or, if he regarded you as he was looking at Dev, feel as if you’d been caught committing a heinous crime.

  “How was the journey from London?” Dev inquired. He tried not to sound anxious, but he was as tense as he’d ever been facing his irate father.

  “Uneventful,” Roger replied, ignoring Dev’s gesture suggesting he resume his seat. “I came as soon as I could after receiving your letter.” His frown deepened. “You should have told me you were thinking of getting married.”

  “There wasn’t time.”

  “Did you have to marry the young woman?”

  Dev realized what he was getting at. “She’s not with child.”

  “Then why the need for such haste?”

  He was sweating like a horse after a long race and blushing like a lad. “Need? There wasn’t exactly a need.” Not on his part, anyway. “I was weary of being chased by a pack of marriage-minded young ladies and their mamas at every ball, party or fete.”

  “Yes, I can appreciate that burden,” Roger said with what might have been a hint of sarcasm. “And you should have an heir.”

  Dev ignored the possible sarcasm. “Exactly.”

  “Since you’ve never mentioned your bride’s name before, I assume she’s of recent acquaintance.”

  “Very recent.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  “I played cards with her father.”

  Roger’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Played—or gambled?”

  “Gambled,” Dev confessed.

  “And he introduced you?”

  Dev’s cravat suddenly felt a bit too tight. “I met her after her father left the country.”

  “Who introduced you?”

  “She introduced herself.”

  Although Dev would have thought it impossible, Roger looked shocked. “She introduced herself? Where?”

  “Here.”

  “In the village, you mean?”

  Dev cleared his throat. “No, here at the hall.”

  “She was with friends of yours? Mutual acquaintances?”

  “No.” Gad, he hadn’t expected an interrogation. “We married very soon after we met.” No need, surely, to say it was the day after. “What do the exact circumstances matter?”

  “Perhaps they don’t,” Roger replied. “I assume some of your friends know her or her family.”

  “I doubt it. She grew up in Ireland. Her father’s in DeBrett’s, though. I looked.”

  “And who told you that?”

  “She did,” Dev replied, his frustration growing along with his defensiveness. After all, he wanted to ask Roger about the possibility of getting the marriage annulled, not—

  “Are you quite sure this woman is who she claims to be?”

  Dev regarded Roger with stunned amazement. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Since you met the young lady through no mutual acquaintance, how can you be certain she’s Lady Theodora Markham?” Roger replied. “Or that a Lady Theodora even exists? I, too, checked DeBrett’s and while there was a Sir John and his wife, I saw no mention of children. I also took the liberty of asking a few acquaintances in legal circles and only one had heard of a Sir John Markham. That Sir John had been threatened with debtor’s prison over the matter of several pounds owing for lodgings.”

  Dev felt sick to his stomach. “It didn’t occur to me that she could be anyone else,” he admitted. “But why would she claim to be Sir John Markham’s daughter if she wasn’t? She would have nothing to gain by it. The man was a gambler and impoverished.”

  “She got you, didn’t she?”

  Dev felt for the arm of the nearest chair and sat heavily. “Good Lord.”

  “I’m sorry to upset you,” Roger said with more sympathy than any of his fellow attorneys would ever guess he possessed, “but you’re a very rich man with a generous heart and I know—none better—what sort of loveless life you’ve had. But if she’s not Sir John Markham’s daughter, who is she? What is she? She could be anyone, anything. Who knows what unsavory history may be discovered in time? You have your name, your rank and your future to consider.”

  “What do you suggest we do?”

  “If she’s not who she’s claimed to be and we can prove it, an annulment shouldn’t be difficult.”

  Just what he had been thinking. Although... “And if she is Sir John Markham’s daughter?”

  Roger’s dark eyebrows lowered over his aquiline nose. “What do you mean?”

  “I may still want an annulment.”

  His solicitor’s expression changed to one of slight confusion.

  “I’m beginning to think I did marry too hastily,” he admitted.

  “And now you’ve changed your mind?”

  Dev nodded and flushed under Roger’s censorious gaze. He knew from whence that condemnation came, and it wasn’t from Roger’s experience as a lawyer. “You needn’t fear she’ll suffer. I’ll ensure that she’s never poor and she’s a very intelligent, resourceful young woman. She’ll surely find another...”

  The word husband stuck in his throat and the thought of another man sharing Thea’s bed filled him a pang of jealousy so sharp it was like a knife to the heart.

  “Means to survive,” he finished, managing to sound as if his mind wasn’t tormenting him with images of Thea making love to another man.

  “Are there other grounds for annulment?” Roger inquired.

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you,” Dev replied, doing his best to focus on the legal nature of their discussion.

 
“Have you made love with her?”

  More images, but of him with Thea this time, being in her arms, her body one with his, her soft cries of ecstasy echoing in the dark. “Yes.”

  Oh yes.

  “Then unless she’s an imposter, there’s very little that can be done by way of an annulment,” Roger said. He tilted his head ever so slightly as he regarded Dev. “You could seek a divorce.”

  Divorce? “On what grounds?”

  “If you truly wanted one, I’m sure something could be arranged,” Roger answered with a hint of disdain.

  Dev had realized there would be a scandal when he ended his impromptu marriage, but he’d never considered he might also lose Roger’s respect. “I’d rather not drag my family’s name through that sort of mud,” he said by way of an excuse.

  Roger’s expression didn’t change. He still regarded Dev as he might a man who preyed on weak and vulnerable women. “You must have had a reason for marrying her,” he said coldly, “or couldn’t you seduce her otherwise?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Dev protested vehemently. “I’ve never lied to get a woman into my bed, and I certainly wouldn’t marry just for that.”

  “Then why, in God’s name, did you wed this woman and in such haste?” his solicitor demanded.

  There was no help for it. He’d have to tell Roger the truth.

  He began with meeting Sir John in the gambling hell and how the man refused to give up the game no matter how high the stakes, even when he was losing. How he’d called Dev a dishonorable coward for suggesting they stop, how Dev had done everything he could think of to get the man to quit until he’d finally walked away.

  He did not confess that he’d resorted to cheating, thinking Sir John would surely stop once he lost too much. He hadn’t counted on the man’s obsessive persistence.

  Without mentioning his regret or remorse, he described Thea’s arrival at Dundrake Hall and what she’d said about the consequences of that night of gambling, as well as the news that her father had absconded to Canada. He told Roger about the proposal she had made: that since he’d won her dowry, he should have the bride, explaining what a good bargain it would be for both of them.

  Roger’s bright blue eyes widened at that.

  “That’s how she put it to me,” Dev confirmed. “I would have a wife to run my household and provide an heir and I would be free of the marital chase, as well as having other freedoms besides, while she would have comfort and security and children.”

  Roger rose and went to the fireplace, where he stared down at the empty grate for what seemed a very long time before he turned to Dev again. “Those are the only reasons for your decision?” he asked, his deep voice low and cautious.

  “No, that’s not all. I admired her resolve, her determination to get what she felt she deserved,” Dev replied truthfully.

  “Was that all?” Roger asked, his tone the same.

  “No. I found...find...her attractive. And she can be very passionate.”

  “That would explain the making love, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  Dev wondered if it was truly possible for a man like Roger—stoic, cold, practical in the extreme—to really see, to understand how he had felt, the emotions that had driven him. The desire. The need not just for passion, but affection, too.

  But there was more to marriage than passion and mutual accommodation. “Unfortunately, however enjoyable that was, she really isn’t suitable when it comes to other aspects of being a baronet’s wife. She’s already managed to make my social life more difficult.”

  “In a way that doesn’t compensate for the benefits she suggested?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you told her you regret the marriage?”

  Dev shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I haven’t said so, but she may suspect.”

  Frowning, Roger stared at the empty hearth again, then straightened, his expression as full of resolve as Thea’s could be. “Here is the case as I see it, Dev. If she’s the daughter of Sir John Markham as she claims, there are no grounds for an annulment. You made a contract with her, and she has fulfilled the terms, or as many as she’s able to at this time. However, should we discover she is not the daughter of Sir John Markham—and we have, after all, only her word that she is—then it should be easy to dissolve the marriage.

  “Until we have more information, you should neither do or say anything that might confirm any suspicions she may have that you wish to end the marriage. If she has defrauded you, we don’t want to give her a chance to flee. If she’s an imposter, there could be consequences for her under the law, should you choose to pursue the matter.”

  Dev didn’t want to think about other consequences. Not yet. First, he had to find out if Thea really was Sir John Markham’s daughter. “We’ll deal with that if and when it becomes necessary. In the meantime, I should act as if all is well? All?” Dev repeated with emphasis, hoping Roger would guess what he meant.

  Roger’s lips thinned a little. “Well, not all. That would serve her cause, not yours.” He frowned. “Provided you can restrain yourself.”

  “I can,” Dev grimly assured him.

  “It might be easier if you go to London for the next few weeks.”

  “If I leave, her curiosity will surely be provoked. I’ll stay.”

  Roger nodded, then said, “Has she ever asked you for money?”

  “No, not directly.”

  “Her father hasn’t contacted you and demanded money?”

  “How could he? He’s on a ship to Canada.”

  “Again we have only her word for that. From what port was he allegedly sailing?”

  Dev ran his hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know. She said he was bound for Halifax.”

  “Liverpool probably, but I’ll send agents to other ports as well. What part of Ireland did she say she was from?”

  “Dublin, I think.”

  “Try to find out for certain. Ask her questions about her family and where she’s been living and send the information to me. Any details she can supply that we can verify will help us determine if she is who she says she is or not. I shall also set my agents to finding out what they can about her.”

  Dev nodded his agreement and added, “You’ll stay the night, I trust.”

  “I think it would be best if I left without meeting your wife. If she is an imposter, she’s a clever one, and meeting her might cloud my judgment.”

  Again Dev nodded and didn’t disagree. After all, she might have clouded his.

  Chapter Seven

  A few days later, Thea sat at her dressing table staring at her reflection in the mirror while Alice Cartwright arranged her hair. The petite young woman with auburn hair had arrived promptly in response to Mrs. Wessex’s letter offering her the position of lady’s maid. From the moment Alice Cartwright took charge of Thea’s wardrobe, as well as the other responsibilities of her job, it became clear she intended to do her best, and her best would be exemplary. She had mended a few small tears in Thea’s old garments with stitches so tiny they were nearly invisible. She proved adept at getting clothes clean, too, so much so, she impressed even Mrs. Wessex, who had asked her how she managed to get out an ink stain. Apparently she had used milk.

  The only fault Thea could find with the maid—and it could hardly be called a fault—was that Alice Cartwright’s efficiency and skills meant Thea had more time to think about other things, like her husband and his changeable moods.

  She was never quite sure how Dev was going to react to anything she said or did—whether he would be glum and silent as he had been the day after they married, or apparently pleased, as when she told him about meeting the duchess. Lately he’d been charming and friendly, telling her how he had befriended the duke
’s son at school and doing a genial impression of the duke saying “the young Apollo!” like he was making a public proclamation. He had asked about her childhood and she’d told him of her days in Ireland, while he described his friends and life in London. He listened with sympathetic interest when she talked about what it had been like to grow gradually poorer, or spoke of the death of her mother, yet he never once mentioned his parents.

  But despite his genial attitude and her own amiability, he never came to her bedroom at night. Hoping he would, she’d waited and was always disappointed.

  Nor did he ever meet her for breakfast. The first morning he was absent, Jackson had stonily informed her that Sir Develin had gone for his morning ride, as he did every day and regardless of the weather.

  “You’ve lovely thick hair, if you don’t mind me saying so,” her maid ventured, interrupting Thea’s thoughts as she put the last pin into place. “Makes it easy to do.”

  Thea gave the young woman a smile. “Thank you. I’ve never seen hair like yours, either,” she replied.

  Although Alice brushed her hair into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, it waved smoothly over her scalp like ripples in a pond.

  “It’s a nuisance, m’lady,” the maid said with wry bitterness. “Like a rat’s nest if I don’t brush it a hundred times every day. Used to get me in trouble at school, that did, brushes not being easy to come by.”

  “It was difficult for you at school?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t so very bad, m’lady,” Alice replied. “At least we got to eat.”

  Thea could unfortunately imagine the sort of fare the students had been offered—watery gruel and stale bread, most likely. After such a childhood, the young woman’s genial good humor was even more impressive.

  A sound like the scratching of a mouse came from the vicinity of the door leading to the hall.

  Only one person in the household announced himself like that, the youngest under-footman. Harry seemed to think a regular knock would shock them into apoplexy.

  Alice went to the door and opened it. The bashful, blushing Harry gravely handed her a silver salver bearing a white calling card.

  Harry was normally as serious and grim as an undertaker, so it wasn’t his manner that caused Thea’s sudden anxiety. Ever since she’d encountered the duchess and her daughter that fateful day in the village, she’d been worrying they would eventually come to call—not that her maid or any of the servants needed to know that, so Thea put on a serene expression as she took the card.