“My lord, if I may,” her father said, stepping forward. “I could see my way clear to increase her dowry.”
“Would it bring in five thousand a year?”
Her father bowed his head and she ached for him. “No, my lord. A thousand, perhaps two at best.”
“Then regretfully it will not suffice. Besides, my father no longer believes Mary will make an exceptional marchioness. My family does not tolerate scandal. I do not wish to fall out of his favor.”
“I can hardly blame you for that,” she said.
“I wish you the best.” With a perfunctory nod, he strode from the room.
She thought she should have felt bereft but all she felt was exhausted beyond belief.
“I should not have allowed you to stay,” her father said.
“It doesn’t matter. Someone was already watching. I need to let Sebastian know—”
“Mary.”
“A letter. That’s all. But he needs to know there may be a spy in their midst.”
“Send your letter, then pack your things. We leave in two days.”
“And then?” she asked.
“I’ve not yet decided.”
“I don’t wish to return to the nunnery.”
“I don’t wish to send you back.” He poured brandy into his glass and downed it. “Mary, I know you considered the nunnery a punishment, but I didn’t know how else to protect you. You were such an impulsive child and headstrong. I was afraid you’d confront Lord David.”
She hadn’t half-thought about it. “So you believed me?”
“I know as a lad he enjoyed pulling wings from flies. But you see I’ve never been good at confrontation. All we had were words that you might or might not have heard.”
“I heard them.”
“If he knew he might have seen you as a threat. The night you went to his ball … I didn’t want you to go but Fitzwilliam insisted.”
So he’d capitulated. It hurt to realize how weak he was. She had always loved him, thought him a giant among men. But he was so easily dwarfed.
“Were you going to leave me at the convent forever?”
“I don’t know what I’d planned. I was too far into the drink by then. Didn’t want you to see me. But your aunt, bless her, she took matters in hand. The drink calls to me so much, Mary. I was so pleased when Fitzwilliam showed an interest in you. You would be in Cornwall. Safe. I never thought to marry you off as a way to protect you. But your aunt had the right of it. But with the Pembrook lords back now, they can fight their own battles. Lord David will leave you be.” He refilled his glass and downed the amber liquid. “You were deserving of a better father. I will talk to my nephew, make him understand that he must give you a yearly sum.”
With her father’s lack of forcefulness, she wasn’t certain how well that would go.
“Perhaps when we return to Willow Hall, we can put our heads together and come up with something,” she offered.
Nodding, he turned once more to his brandy. She had never before felt like such a burden. She rose gracefully and glided from the room, leaving him to his demons. She thought she would have made an excellent wife to Henry VIII, facing doom with her head held high.
“One of us has to marry her.”
Settled in chairs in the sitting area within Sebastian’s bedchamber, neither Sebastian nor Rafe blinked at Tristan’s pronouncement. Tristan stood at the fireplace, his arm pressed to the mantel, his thumb rubbing on the marble as though he’d discovered a bit of dirt that simply wouldn’t go away.
Sebastian had yet to leave his bedchamber. He was healing slowly and he exhausted easily. He’d asked Tristan to scout around and determine if Mary’s reputation was safe.
Apparently it wasn’t.
“Suppose we could play a round of cards,” Rafe began. “Loser gets saddled with marriage.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you to cheat,” Tristan said.
“Question is: would I cheat to win or cheat to lose?”
“We are not going to decide this with a game of cards,” Sebastian growled. “Besides, the decision has been made.”
“Oh?” Tristan arched a brow. “And who’s it to be then?”
“You. You’re the one who allowed her in here and then let her stay.”
He’d expected his brother to protest. Instead, he simply gave a curt nod. “Right, then. I’d best go ask for her hand while she’s still in London. Word is that her father is sending her away.”
He’d taken but two steps before Sebastian ground out, “Damn you, Tristan. You know it will be me.”
Sporting a mocking smile, his brother returned to the fireplace. “For a moment there, I thought you’d regained your teasing nature.”
He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed initiating a good jest. “You’re the one with the teasing nature. I was ever the more serious. That was how she told us apart.”
“I suspect it went deeper than that.”
Perhaps, but Sebastian was in no mood to explore what might have been. Instead he looked over at Rafe. “I assume you’re not madly in love with her.”
“Wouldn’t matter if I was. Marriage is not for me.”
He almost asked Rafe to explain, but the younger seemed intent on remaining a mystery. Sebastian shifted his attention to Tristan. “Would you give us a moment?”
“Without my feelings being hurt.”
Tristan was making a point. Sebastian suspected his twin was growing weary of Rafe’s moodiness.
“I’ll have a carriage readied for you,” Tristan continued as he strode from the room.
Now that Sebastian was alone with Rafe, he wasn’t sure what he wanted—needed—to say. “While I was fevered, I dreamed that you hovered over me and commanded me not to leave you.”
Rafe lifted his broad shoulders in a careless shrug. He was only twenty-two but his eyes made him appear older, perhaps even older than Sebastian. “Tristan thought you might die. So I came.”
“I would have taken you with me if I could, but if we remained together we had a better chance of discovery, and I feared that would lead to our deaths.”
“You could have put us all on one ship.”
“And if it sank in a storm, who would have been left to take back from Uncle what he stole? By separating there was a chance that at least one of us would survive to have retribution.”
“Who would have cared? Land. Title. They’re not flesh, they’re not blood.”
“They’re our heritage.”
“So is our blood.” He averted his gaze. “We’ll never agree on this. It’s in the past. It’s pointless to argue over what we cannot change.”
“I won’t ask for forgiveness because I don’t believe I did anything that requires forgiveness. I did what I thought was best at the time. Perhaps with age or experience I would have made different choices.”
Rafe shifted his gaze over, pinned Sebastian with it. “Will you be able to say the same about Mary?”
“No. From her, I do hope to one day earn forgiveness.”
A corner of Rafe’s mouth curled up. “I’m glad to hear that. I was beginning to think you considered yourself without fault.”
“Hardly. I have many and can only pray that Mary will not suffer overmuch because of them.”
And he could only hope that she would accept his offer of marriage. He’d spoken true. He didn’t think he owed Rafe an apology but that was not to say that guilt didn’t gnaw at him on a daily basis. Now he would add Mary’s ruination to his list of regrets. Mary.
A woman whose misfortune it was to serve as his savior.
“If Fitzwilliam truly loved you, he’d have stood up to his father. He’d have found a way to have you,” Alicia said.
She’d arrived an hour earlier to assist Mary with her packing, but all she’d done so far was sit on the bed and watch.
“He never claimed to love me,” Mary told her.
“But he asked for your hand in marriage.”
“I suspect he loved
the idea of my dowry. Besides, you’re quite right. He should have stood up to his father. That bothers me more than his lack of love. To think that he would not have been his own man, that he would have been under his father’s thumb”—she shivered thinking how easily her father capitulated on matters—“marrying him would have been a dreadful mistake.”
She didn’t want to contemplate that she felt this way because of Sebastian. He was his own man, made his own decisions, stood his own ground. Of course, his father was dead, but she couldn’t imagine that he would have allowed his father to decide how he would live his life.
“I hate that you’re leaving. The Season is not yet over,” Alicia lamented.
“For me it is,” Mary assured her. “You should have my gowns. They will require a bit of adjustment in the length, but I’ll have no need of them.”
She could see her cousin struggling with being both joyous at the additions to her wardrobe and sad because of what gaining them signified.
“It’s just not fair,” Alicia said.
“I knew what I was doing. I knew it was foolish. I knew it would have repercussions.”
“Then why do it?”
How to explain? Mary stopped folding the nightdress. She should have had the maids packing for her, but she’d needed something to occupy her today lest she go insane with the waiting for tomorrow. Silly girl to spend her time here. She should go to the park and enjoy what she could of London while she was still here. “They’re so alone here, Alicia, when they shouldn’t be. They did nothing wrong, yet everyone looks at them with suspicion and doubt. Their uncle’s word holds more weight than theirs. They are strangers in this world into which they were born. When I saw how ill Sebastian was, how much he suffered … I simply couldn’t not be there. For all intents and purposes everyone else had abandoned them and I won’t.”
“That’s what Fitzwilliam should have said to his father. Something along those lines.”
“If he believed in me, then yes, I suppose he should have.”
“Mama is striving to convince Uncle to let you stay with us.”
“She’ll have no luck there.”
“Did you love him?”
“When I was a child, yes.”
Alicia puckered her brow. “I thought you only met Fitzwilliam this Season, at the first ball.”
Mary slammed her eyes closed. Why were her thoughts constantly turning to Sebastian? “Yes, you’re quite right. I was fond of him. I don’t know if I loved him. It seems to me that if I did, I’d be stretched across the bed weeping.” She plopped down on that very bed beside Alicia. She adjusted the feather pillows behind her back. “I should be inconsolable, shouldn’t I?”
“If you loved him, I should think so. May I be honest?”
“Are you implying that in the past you’ve been dishonest with me?”
Alicia gave her an impish grin. “Never on purpose, but this matter, well … I never thought Fitzwilliam was quite right for you. He is just so terribly … staid. He’s rather like a boiled egg. Anytime you crack it open, you know exactly what you’re getting.”
“A boiled egg. How flattering. And what sort of egg should I marry?”
“I’m not certain you were meant for an egg at all. Christmas pudding, perhaps. You never know what you’ll dish out.”
Mary giggled, then leaned over, and hugged Alicia tightly. “I shall miss you and your wisdom.”
“The boring balls will be frightfully more boring.”
She drew back. “So few are left that it hardly signifies.”
A brisk knock sounded on the door before her aunt waltzed in.
Alicia popped off the bed as though someone had pinched her bottom. “Did you have any luck?”
“I’m afraid not, no.” Aunt Sophie glided up to Mary and took her hands. “Your father wishes to see you in his study. You will want to straighten up a bit as Keswick is there as well.”
“What does he want?”
“I’m afraid he didn’t confide in me.”
To say good-bye perhaps? Had he heard that she was leaving? Or had he come to let her know he was well on the way to recovery and she would have to inform him that she would be returning to Willow Hall?
With Alicia’s assistance, she prepared as quickly as possible to meet with her father and their guest. The pink dress she chose was unadorned with a high collar and long sleeves. Everything was left to the imagination. Rather than put up her hair, she simply pulled it back and tied it in place with a ribbon. She wanted to more closely reflect the girl of the moors rather than the lady of London. She wanted it to be a comfortable parting, so she felt no need to fancy herself up. She wasn’t attempting to impress anyone.
When she strolled into her father’s study, she realized the same couldn’t be said of Sebastian as he turned from the window to greet her. He wore a dark blue jacket over a striking red waistcoat. She was so accustomed to him striving not to draw attention to himself that it seemed slightly out of character, but it was the perfect foil to his pristine white cravat. He was freshly shaven with no shadow across his jaw. His once unfashionably long hair had been expertly trimmed. He bowed his head slightly. “Lady Mary.”
“Your Grace. I’m glad to see you so recovered.”
“I still have a way to go I think, but at least I’m well on the right path, thanks in large part to your tender and generous ministrations.”
Blushing, she turned to her father who stood near the fireplace, an amber-filled glass in hand. No fire burned, and yet his forehead was coated in dew. He took a quick swipe at it with his handkerchief before downing the liquid courage in his glass, and she wondered why he felt a need to shore himself up.
“His Grace has asked for your hand in marriage,” her father said as though she’d spoken her musings aloud.
She jerked her gaze to Sebastian. He met her regard with a steady one of his own, although he looked far from happy.
“I’ll leave you two to discuss things,” her father said, setting his glass aside before striding toward her. He stopped just shy of her. “Under the circumstances I encourage you to accept.”
He was offering her the illusion of choice, for she saw in his eyes that he would take the matter out of her hands if need be. He was worried about her future. And who would have her now?
The snick of the door closing vibrated through her almost like the ringing of a death knell. She thought back to the night she and Sebastian had kissed. When he had blanketed his mouth over hers, he’d caused her to lose all sense of propriety. She couldn’t deny that she became lost in the sensations he elicited, but that was hardly enough to indicate that they were well suited to marriage.
“Your marriage at the end of the month can go on as planned, with just a different groom at the altar,” he said quietly.
“You consider that a proposal?”
“I’m attempting to make right a wrong that was done to you.”
“A wrong I brought upon myself.”
“I kissed you in the garden.”
“Which Fitzwilliam forgave. He forbade me to see you and I went to see you because of the awful rumors that you forced yourself on me.”
“And stayed to nurse me back to health.”
“My choice. You should not suffer because of it.”
“How in God’s name do you think I would suffer if you were my wife?”
“I bring with me scandal.”
“You are no more notorious than I.”
She bit her lip, gave a curt laugh. “I suppose our notoriety is tied together, isn’t it?”
“Very much so.”
“Do you love me, Sebastian?”
“Did Fitzwilliam?”
He sounded truly baffled as though the thought of someone being madly in love with her was beyond the pale. It irritated.
“He had a care for me.” She strolled to the window and gazed out. “What are your plans?”
“To marry you.”
His tone yielded no doubt. She might ha
ve laughed, relaxed, welcomed the notion of marriage to him if she heard even a hint of teasing. “I meant beyond that.”
“Return to Pembrook with as much haste as possible.” He removed something from his pocket, unfurled his fingers to reveal a disgustingly filthy bit of rag.
She wrinkled her nose, but then she paused in wonder at the frayed and faded ribbon that held everything together. It was nearly white but once it had been a bright yellow. “My ribbon.”
“It holds the soil from Pembrook, soil I took that night. It is all that kept me alive, all that kept me going through the interminable years when I fought to find my way back. I could smell the richness of the dirt, the centuries that my ancestors had fought and died there.” He closed his fist around it, clutching it tightly. “It’s everything to me, Mary. It’s all that mattered.”
The daughter of an earl, she appreciated the value of land and titles, but for Sebastian, it almost seemed to be an obsession. Family, flesh, blood, his brothers. Surely they mattered more.
As though reading her thoughts, he said, “All that my brothers and I endured was so that I would one day again have Pembrook in my hands. It is now mine, and I will let nothing—no one—deprive me of it. As my wife, you will share this with me.”
“I don’t know that I can love it as you do. It is a harsh foreboding place, and with your uncle’s dealings, it has such a sordid history.”
“It is my home.”
Those few words, succinctly spoken, said it all.
“And what of us?” She shifted her gaze and found his on her. As always. But there was no warmth there, no yearning. He had erected a wall to his soul that she doubted she had the power to break through. “What do you envision for us?”
He looked away then. She watched as he tightened his jaw. “I know I am not your first choice for husband, and I rue the circumstances that forced you to have to choose me at all. But I will do all in my power to see that you never regret it.”
Choice. Choose. Words that had no meaning. She was already considered on the shelf, and it would no doubt take years to put this incident behind her, for another gentleman to gaze on her and think her worthy. She would be far older, and perhaps wiser. Perhaps not.
She Tempts the Duke Page 20
