Guilty Series

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  Shocked, Lucia could only stare at him. “Six weeks? I am to meet a man and become betrothed to him in the next six weeks?”

  “Given your situation, time is of the essence. Your father’s wishes are clear. In addition, I have duties elsewhere, and you—”

  “I am to be rushed into matrimony so that my father’s schedule and your duties do not suffer?”

  He met her gaze with eyes as cold and hard as steel. “No, you are being rushed into matrimony because of your own indiscreet behavior, which could have ruined not only you, but also your half sister.”

  That stung, mainly because she could not deny it. Lucia pressed her lips together and said nothing.

  “The news of your exploit with Princess Elena has already appeared in an Italian scandal sheet,” he went on. “It is inevitable that news will eventually reach here. It is hoped that your other past indiscretions, including your attachment to a French blacksmith, will not come to light.”

  Useless to explain to this man that she had loved Armand. He would not understand. She’d wager he had never been in love in his entire life. “And your point?”

  “Rumors have an unfortunate tendency to grow and feed upon themselves until any shred of the truth is lost. The only way that will not matter is if you marry as soon as possible and marry well. Your father is offering an enormous dowry and annual income for you and your children, which helps. In addition, it is still the London season, so many suitable gentlemen will have the opportunity to meet you.”

  With each dispassionate word he spoke, Lucia could feel her ire rising. “I am to be paraded before an audience of men, and you are to choose one desperate enough and greedy enough to take me off my father’s hands for the price of a dowry and income! I—” She broke off, anger and humiliation choking her. She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure, but it was impossible. “I am not to be sold, nor even given away. No, a man must be paid to take me. No wonder you require only six weeks.”

  Not a muscle moved in the man’s face. Lucia decided he wasn’t quite human. Marble, perhaps, but definitely not human.

  “I perceive your resentment,” he said, “and it is understandable. However, you will not be paraded anywhere. Before consenting to an alliance, any man is going to want to spend some time with you and become acquainted. It is not uncommon for a young woman to bring a dowry and income to marriage. And as for the time frame, we have already discussed that. Your father’s requirements are clear—”

  “Cesare has never cared about me. I have seen my father half a dozen times in the whole of my life. Who is he to say I must marry? And who are you to be his minister of alliance? What gives either of you the right to dictate to me or control my life?”

  Sir Ian looked at her with the patient expression of an adult tolerating the tantrum of a petulant child, which only enraged her more.

  “While you are becoming acquainted with suitable gentlemen,” he said with infuriating calm, “I will do what I can to contain the damage and prevent your reputation from becoming soiled here in Britain. However, I am no Hercules, and I have no desire to clean the Augean stables. From now on, you must be impeccable in your behavior. Given your illegitimacy, your mother, and your past, if you do anything further to damage your reputation, even I may not be able to save it.”

  “What a tragedy that would be.”

  Once again, a hint of impatience marred the diplomat’s smooth, polished countenance. “Young woman, do you not understand the seriousness of your circumstances? Your reputation is teetering on the verge of collapse, casting shame upon yourself, your father’s house, and your country. I advise you to behave yourself. Is that clear?”

  Mother of God, here was one more person to order her, control her, mold her, restrict her. Could she not simply live her own life? “How could it not be clear?” she said with a mocking smile. “You explain it all so diplomatically.”

  Her sarcasm was ignored. “Good. Now, there is still the matter of your mother to be discussed.”

  Lucia’s pasted-on smile vanished at once, and she tensed with foreboding, knowing she was about to hear more horrid pronouncements about her life and her future. As if what she’d heard already wasn’t insulting enough. “What about my mother?”

  “You cannot go on living with her. I will make arrangements for you to stay with suitable people—”

  She sat bolt upright on the settee. “What?”

  “You must realize you cannot continue to stay under your mother’s roof. This is an unacceptable environment for any young woman about to be launched in English society. I have no doubt your mother would agree with me. In any case, you will be severing all ties with your mother—”

  “I will do no such thing!”

  “You must. Your husband will require you to do so in any case.”

  “Any man who marries me accepts my mother. It is as simple as that.”

  “No, it is not as simple as that. Your devotion to your mother is admirable,” he said, sounding anything but admiring, “but no British gentleman will tolerate it. Just the fact that you have been living with Francesca at all is bad enough, but every moment you continue to reside with her further damages your reputation.”

  Lucia wondered what would happen to her reputation if she slapped Britain’s most famous ambassador across the face. She folded her arms, set her jaw, and said nothing.

  He gave a heavy sigh, watching her. “Miss Valenti,” he said in the wake of her silence, “it is highly inappropriate for me, as a gentleman, to speak of such matters to you, but I fear I must. Your mother is under the protection of Lord Chesterfield, a man to whom she is not married. It is he who pays for this house. Your mother is a demimondaine and is not accepted in good society. No gentleman is going to marry a young woman who keeps company with a courtesan, even if that courtesan is her mother.”

  “I will not marry a man who does not accept my mother,” she said through clenched teeth. “I could never love such a man.”

  His sound of derision was the last straw. Lucia jumped to her feet. “Yes, love. It is such an inconvenient thing for fathers and diplomats, is it not? But it is so. He will love me enough to accept my mother, or I will not marry him.”

  He also stood up. “My orders are to have you removed from this house as soon as I can make suitable arrangements for you to stay elsewhere. As for love, we have already discussed that. Marrying for love is a luxury those of royal lineage can seldom afford. You certainly cannot.”

  “You are wrong. I can afford to marry for love. I can also afford to wait as long as I must to find that love. In the interim, I can live in reasonable comfort. My mother, that wicked courtesan of whom you speak so disparagingly, is good enough at her profession to support me quite well. I will make no loveless marriage for my father’s sake or yours. And damn my reputation!”

  “You cannot hope to defy your father. You must marry.”

  “I am perfectly willing to do so. Write to my father, Sir Ian, and tell him I shall marry when I find a man I love and who loves me. That is a task I am quite capable of managing without any help from you!”

  With that, she turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Ian Moore, a diplomat? If that hateful man was a diplomat, the world was in serious trouble.

  Halfway up the stairs, Lucia turned on the landing and paused. From here, she could see the doorway to the drawing room reflected in the mirror on the wall, and she waited there until she saw Ian Moore go down the stairs to depart. Satisfied that the horrid man was finally gone, she went up to the second floor.

  She encountered her mother halfway down the corridor as Francesca came out of her room, now completely sewn into her scandalously tight riding habit.

  “Do not bother going down, Mamma,” Lucia said as she passed. “He’s gone.”

  “Without waiting to speak with me?” Francesca turned and followed her. “What did you say to him?”

  “What any sensible woman would say,” she said over her sho
ulder as she walked into her own room. “I appreciate your offer to find me a husband, but I can find him without your assistance, thank you very much. Now go away.”

  “Oh, Lucia!” Francesca groaned, closing the bedroom door behind them both. “I told you to be nice.”

  “Do not lecture me, Mamma. This is partly your fault. You should have told me he was coming here and why.”

  “I wanted to see him myself first and find out just what your father’s plans are for you.”

  “Get married as soon as possible. That is all.”

  “And does your father have a particular man in mind?”

  “No. This Sir Ian gets to choose. A gentleman, of course, a man of wealth and breeding, with an impeccable background and connections. Catholic, of course.” Still seething, Lucia began to pace back and forth in front of her bed. “You should have heard him, Mamma. He talked as if finding a husband is like choosing a horse. Hmm…good teeth, strong and healthy, excellent breeding…yes, he’ll do. Get the priest.”

  Francesca laughed. “Oh, my darling! I’m sure he didn’t mean to imply anything of the kind.”

  “Oh, yes he did. Cesare comes in August, and I am to be engaged by then to whichever appropriate gentleman Sir Ian can find. Do I have a choice? Are my wishes considered? No! A man is being paid to take me. I have never felt so humiliated.”

  She stopped pacing and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Insufferable man. So cold, so haughty. So English.” She turned her head to look at her mother as the other woman sat down beside her. “He has orders from Cesare to move me out of this house, so that I can stay with suitable people.”

  “A perfectly understandable action. And a wise one.”

  “Not you, too? I won’t go, Mamma.”

  “You cannot stay here forever.” Francesca smiled a little and reached over to brush back a tendril of Lucia’s hair. “My darling girl, ever since you arrived on my doorstep a month ago, I have been wondering what to do with you. When Cesare married and set me aside, I made him give me his solemn promise to take care of you because I would not be able to do so. You could not live with me then, and it is not good that you live with me now.”

  “But—”

  “Listen to me, Lucia. I missed so much while you were growing up, only being able to see you at school in France a few times a year. I regret that I could not see you more.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Lucia said fiercely. “When I was a child, I could not live with you. I understand that. I always understood. But now—”

  “It is no different now. It has been such a joy to have you here with me that I have been selfish, but the ambassador is right. Living here is hurting your reputation as a young lady.”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  “I do. You are a grown woman, and a woman’s reputation is everything. I know that from my own experience. My indiscretions put me beyond the pale, my parents disowned me, and I had to leave my home village. I went to Naples and became a woman on the town because I was ruined, and no man would marry me.” She paused, then went on, “It grieves me to see you starting down the same path.”

  There was a hint of censure in her mother’s voice, and it hurt. Lucia bit her lip and looked away.

  “I understand you very well, Lucia,” Francesca went on. “You chafe under rules, especially your father’s rules. But what happened in Bolgheri could haunt you forever, unless Sir Ian can prevent it. If he can arrange for you to stay with respectable people and provide you with worthy connections, your past indiscretions will not matter.”

  She turned to meet her mother’s gaze, dismayed. “You are making me go, then?”

  “I won’t force you.” She gave Lucia a rueful smile. “If I were a good mother, I would, but I am not a good mother, for I am not strict, not of a serious turn of mind, and certainly not a good moral example.”

  “You are the most wonderful mother in the world.” She watched Francesca shake her head, and she stifled any denial her mother might have made. “You are, Mamma. Do you know why? You are the only person who loves and accepts me just as I am.”

  “Of course I love you. That is why I advise you to go willingly. As I said, I won’t force you, but Cesare could do so any time he likes. I would fight for you, but I would lose.”

  “They are going to force me to marry, and I have no say, no voice. I do not want my husband chosen for me!”

  “There are ways around that. A woman can always choose. Make your choice and get Sir Ian and your father to think it was theirs.”

  “But I want a husband who loves me, Mamma. How shall I find a man who loves me in only six weeks?”

  Her mother smiled a little and caressed her cheek. “Any man who would not fall in love with you at first sight, my beautiful girl, is either blind or an idiot.”

  Lucia’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “You are biased, Mamma.”

  “Perhaps, but I know men. You will have them lined up outside your door.”

  “Sir Ian says any English gentleman, whether he loves me or not, will demand that I sever all ties with you. I refused.”

  “My loyal daughter! No matter what happens, I would never disown you, Lucia, but I think you must disown me. At least for now. After you marry, we shall see.”

  “What if I do not like the people with whom I am to stay?” she asked, grasping at straws. “What if they are awful to me?”

  “They could not be worse than the nuns.”

  Lucia started to argue further, but Francesca put a finger to her lips to stop her flow of protests. “I am asking you to make the most of this opportunity,” her mother said. “Go to balls and parties, meet young men, make friends, enjoy the rest of the season with respectable people and enjoy yourself. Who knows what may happen?”

  Lucia sighed. “I hate having no power over my own life.”

  “No power? What makes you think such a thing? My love, you have formidable weapons. You have beauty and you have brains and you have a kind, loving heart. When a woman has those, it is the men who are powerless. The first thing you must do is get Sir Ian on your side. You have much charm, Lucia, much magnetism. Use it to persuade Sir Ian to allow you to make the choice of whom you marry.”

  The idea of charming Sir Ian was almost intolerable. Lucia groaned. “Is there no other way?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  She sighed and leaned her forehead against her mother’s shoulder, resigning herself to the inevitable. “All right, Mamma. I’ll go, if you wish it.” She lifted her head and scowled, still compelled to stand by her convictions. “But I won’t stay with people who are horrible to me or look down at me.”

  “I’m sure Sir Ian will agree to that.”

  “And I won’t marry a man just to be respectable, ease Cesare’s conscience, and fulfill Sir Ian’s duty.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I will marry only if I am in love with a man, and he is in love with me.”

  “I understand.”

  “He’d better be enough in love with me,” she added for good measure, “to acknowledge and respect my mother.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Hope is not a consideration, Mamma. That is how it’s going to be. I just have to make Ian Moore see things my way.”

  Francesca rose. “Honey, not vinegar, darling. Remember.”

  “Mamma, I’ll smother that man in honey. With any luck, he’ll drown.”

  Chapter 3

  “Marrying for love?” Ian shook his head in disbelief as he paced back and forth in front of the fireplace in his brother’s library. “With the mess she’s in, and only six weeks to find a husband, she expects to marry for love. I ask you, how absurd is that?”

  “Very absurd indeed.” Dylan Moore leaned back in his chair and took a sip of brandy from the snifter in his hand. “And most unreasonable of a young woman to expect it.”

  The hint of irony in his brother’s voice did not escape his notice, and he flashed Dylan a glance of impatience as he pac
ed. “It is unreasonable. She is the daughter of a prince, not the daughter of a shopkeeper. And her reputation is in serious jeopardy. Doesn’t she understand that?”

  “I’m sure you made her aware.”

  “For all the good it did.” Ian turned and started back across the hearthrug yet again. “Does she really think Prince Cesare is going to put her romantic notions above international politics?”

  “Most young ladies don’t give a damn about international politics. Baffling, I know, but there it is.”

  “Given her past behavior, I suppose I should not have expected her to regard this matter with sense and judgment, but she is only hurting herself further by ignoring her position and her place in the world. Being illegitimate, she is not a princess, but she still has a duty to the House of Bolgheri. Prince Cesare is determined to get her married. She cannot hope to defy her father’s wishes.”

  Dylan laughed. “Spoken like a man who has no daughters. If my Isabel is anything to go by, the wishes of fathers don’t matter much.”

  Ian could not share his brother’s amusement. “This isn’t going to be easy, you know. British peers who are Catholic are a rare commodity.”

  “But so are worthy Catholic women to marry them,” Dylan countered with breezy disregard for the difficulties.

  “Wherever this girl goes, scandal follows,” Ian went on. “And if her religion, her tainted reputation, and her defiance are not enough cause for concern, there’s the matter of her mother.”

  With those words, he felt in need of a drink. He stalked over to the liquor cabinet. “The House of Bolgheri is a valuable connection,” he said, pouring himself a glass of port. “And she does bring an enormous income. Given that, I can convince a worthy Catholic peer with wealth of his own to marry Miss Valenti despite her past indiscretions, but the matter of her mother makes everything much more difficult. She would have to sever all contact with the woman, something she flatly refuses to do. In fact, she demands that her future husband agree to accept Francesca as part of his family. Accept a notorious demimondaine into the family? God, what a notion!”