The Unmarriageable Collection (Books 1–3)

by Lancaster, Mary

  “Yes, my sweet, it was.”

  The kiss had so shattered her, it had never entered her head that it could mean nothing to him. Hurt pierced her sudden happiness, letting some of her foolish certainties seep away.

  He seemed to tear his gaze from hers. “Live for the moment, Henrietta. You are too young to make plans.”

  “I have not asked you to marry me,” she retorted.

  His lips twisted. “Well, if you were ever foolish enough to want to, no one would allow it.”

  He was right, of course. But he liked her. She knew he did. It was there in his eyes along with the pain he was so good at hiding. And so, she would take his advice and live for the moment. Which didn’t mean she couldn’t ask questions.

  “I expect you have loved many women.”

  His eyes gleamed, as she’d known they would, at the utter impropriety of her question. “Being so old? There have been women, yes, but I doubt anyone would dignify such relationships with such a word as love.”

  “Like Lady—” she began and then, catching the expression in his eyes, broke off.

  “And you, Miss Maybury?” he inquired, with a hint of mockery. “Have you found no one to love among your many suitors? Or was your heart given long ago to some poor stable boy who worshipped you?”

  “I think the stable boys all worshipped Thomasina. She was older and prettier.”

  A hiss of laughter escaped him. “You have an answer to everything except the question I asked.”

  She considered. “I would not have liked you to kiss me if I’d loved anyone else.”

  The smile in his eyes died slowly. “You have no understanding, for example, with Lord Rudd?”

  “Of course not.” But he had brought reality back. The reality where she would be expected to marry Lord Rudd or someone very like him. Not share adventures and exciting kisses with a banker turned smuggler. Or was it the other way about? “I’m living for the moment.”

  His smile caught at her breath all over again. “That’s my girl. And now, I fear, our dance is ending.”

  Did he share her disappointment? It was hard to tell. He was a man too used to keeping his own secrets.

  “Then you must return me to Mama to receive all my scolds.”

  The music came to a close. The warmth of his arm at her back vanished as he bowed and she curtseyed. And then she placed her hand delicately upon his sleeve and they walked across the room to her mother.

  Matthew still stood beside her, scowling, but Lady Overton herself was deep in conversation with Lady Manson, who appeared to be an old acquaintance. She glanced up and nodded distantly as Cromarty bowed to her.

  He bowed again to Henrietta, with a subtle wink that made her smile. After which he cast a quick grin and a flick of his eyebrows at Matthew and sauntered off. At least it smoothed Matthew’s frown.

  “You made me look a bit of a dolt,” Matthew accused her. “There was I holding out for our dance and you swanned off with him!”

  “It was simplest and stopped the argument,” she countered. “Mama would never have ruled in your favor anyhow. Nor in Captain Cromarty’s,” she added fairly. A quick glance showed her the blond man approaching once again, but she let her gaze drift over him before she rose to her feet, all but dragging Matthew with her. “Matthew is taking me for a turn around the ballroom,” she said hastily when her mother glanced up. “Shall we bring you some lemonade? Or a glass of wine? Lady Manson?”

  Both ladies declined, and she and Matthew started off, tracing the quieter path around the outside of the room.

  “What did you tell Mama about him?” she demanded.

  “Nothing. She never asked me.”

  “Then he’s just the man who rescued Minnie,” she said in relief. “But Lady Carew is another matter. I don’t believe she is at all discreet, for she called me her ‘little feather’.”

  “No one will know what she means,” Matthew said comfortingly. He frowned. “Not sure I do.”

  “Yes, but I would avoid her, for God alone knows what she might call you.”

  “I doubt a woman like her would even notice a man like me.”

  “I think she notices all men.”

  “Well, she certainly notices the captain, for I saw her watching you dance with him. Oh, Henrie, I have to tell—”

  “That blond man is still watching me as if I’m his dinner. What is the matter with him? Apparently, he’s related to the earl, too.”

  “He is. Charles Cromarty.”

  Her eyes flew up to Matthew’s face. “Cromarty!”

  “Exactly. If I ever knew, I’d forgotten that Cromarty is Silford’s family name.”

  Henrietta’s head had begun to whirl. “I never knew… So, he didn’t sneak in. He must have been invited all along. Oh, Matthew, you don’t suppose Captain Cromarty is the missing heir?”

  Matthew gave a snort of laughter. “No wonder Silford’s been so mysterious about him. His heir’s in trade, and a smuggler to boot. Look, there he goes, let’s ask him.”

  Between the sets forming for the next country dance, she glimpsed the captain’s tall, straight back strolling toward the entrance. The old earl still sat in the vicinity, surrounded by people. But by chance they shifted position, a few drifting off, allowing, for the moment, a clear space between Lord Silford and Captain Cromarty.

  The captain cast a quick glance across the space and paused, for the earl had seen him. Instinct made Henrietta halt, dragging Matthew back when he would have single-mindedly pursued his quarry. For an instant, Silford and Cromarty stared at each other while those with the earl glanced in puzzlement from one to the other.

  Then Cromarty laughed, bowed, and strode off, kissing his fingers to the earl as he went.

  “He came,” the earl said, clearly triumphant. “I knew he would come.”

  Chapter Eight

  Captain Cromarty leapt up the few curved steps from the ballroom and strode along the marble passage that led to the front hall. He was in a hurry to escape, now, for any number of reasons, so his heart sank when he realized the lady walking toward him on the arm of some fashionable fribble was Lady Carew.

  He kept walking while sparing her no more than a curt bow.

  “Leaving so soon, sir?” she drawled, forcing him to halt from mere common courtesy.

  “I have matters to attend to.”

  “I would have thought there were also matters here to attend.”

  “Then you would be wrong.”

  She released the fribble’s arm. “Run along, Maury, and let me have a private word with this gentleman.”

  “Maury” looked somewhat put-out, but he minced haughtily off without demur.

  “What is it, Susannah?” Cromarty asked with undisguised impatience.

  “I merely think that since you made the effort to come, you should stay a while longer.” She smiled. “Grow used to your patrimony.”

  Patrimony,” he said contemptuously. “It means nothing to me.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Curiosity. Mischief. Now both satisfied.”

  She tapped her fan against his chest. “Wretch. I had hoped you might have come to see me.”

  He blinked. “Why would I do that? I took my congé with good grace.”

  “Edward is ill. I think he might die.”

  His straying gaze returned to her. He frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not. He is an old man and it’s his time. And then, Sydney, it could be our time.”

  He blinked. “To die? I’ve no intention of that.”

  “Of course not, you fool! Our time to be happy. Together.”

  She didn’t fool him for a moment. Before tonight, she had barely acknowledged him in front of her friends. And now, having somehow discovered his heritage, he was suddenly worthy of marriage. She probably considered the timing of Sir Edward Carew’s imminent death convenient.

  He smiled. “That boat has sailed, my dear, long since. Goodbye, Susannah.” And wit
h a nod, he strode on without once glancing back.

  It was clearly not quite so easy to escape as he had imagined. For he had just taken the reins of his horse from the stable hand when he became aware of another figure standing in front of him. The torchlight played across blond hair and a handsome, discontented face. His cousin Gareth’s son, Charles.

  “Did you come incognito, to look over your inheritance?” Charles sneered.

  “Hardly incognito,” Sydney said mildly.

  “Not staying?” Charles taunted. “He had the best guest chamber prepared for you.”

  “You have it,” Sydney offered, continuing to walk forward so that Charles had to step aside or be buffeted by the horse. “I have my own.”

  “At some sleazy inn?” Charles mocked, leaving Sydney to wonder if he knew about the Hart. Certainly, the old man had tracked him there.

  “No. On board my ship. Give my regards to your parents.”

  “Of course.” Charles’s full lips curled, though he turned and walked beside Sydney. “Where do you sail from? Southampton?”

  “Not this time.” Sydney mounted and settled in the saddle, reining in his impatient horse a moment longer. “Good night, Cousin.” He loosened the reins and let the horse take off at a gallop.

  *

  Charles Cromarty stared after him, his resentment bitter and angry.

  “It makes no difference, you know,” said a voice behind him. “Whatever either of you wants, whatever Silford himself wants, the title and Steynings will go to him.”

  Charles turned to see Lord Rudd also watching the unconventional departure of the heir.

  “It makes a mockery of everyone,” Charles muttered. He knew he should keep his mouth shut on such issues. He was barely acquainted with Rudd but was slightly in awe of him for being everything he wished to be—titled, wealthy, suave, and confident.

  “It does,” Rudd agreed unexpectedly. “It’s none of my business, of course, but it goes against the grain to see such a fine property and an even finer name descend to the gutter. God knows which of his doxies he’ll install as his countess. I shudder to think of the children.”

  Charles smiled sourly. “Well, the Maybury chit seemed quite taken with him.”

  “That will never happen,” Rudd said with certainty. “What is your interest in the girl?”

  Charles smiled lasciviously.

  “I see.” Rudd pursed his lips. “You know her father is Lord Overton? You can’t ruin her with impunity.”

  “Who said ruin? Doesn’t she come with a fortune?”

  Rudd shrugged. “Barely. There are wealthier women to be had. Besides, you should know this one is mine.”

  Charles flushed. “I meant no disrespect,” he muttered.

  “I shall take that as read, since it seems we might be able to do each other a favor…”

  *

  Lord Rudd did not ask her to dance again, which was a relief in many ways, although she did find herself beside him as they made their way from the ballroom at three o’clock in the morning.

  “Miss Maybury,” he greeted her. “Did you enjoy the ball?”

  “Very much,” she said absently. “Did you?”

  “As much as to be expected. One tires of such events, especially in country houses where one cannot escape.”

  “Yes, you can,” Henrietta said. “You just need a little imagination.”

  “Like your late waltz partner? I see you did pursue the acquaintance. You must not let him encroach.”

  Henrietta smiled. “I never let anyone encroach. The gentleman you refer to merely did me a service.”

  He smiled faintly, although his eyes seemed to reflect flint. “As I have not?”

  “Lord, I don’t know. I don’t count up such things. Do you?”

  He lowered his voice. “You are learning a shrewish tongue, Miss Maybury. Be sure it does not grow sharp enough to cut you.”

  And with that, he fell back and they became separated.

  The encounter made her uncomfortable. His rudeness she did not mind—she had brothers, after all, and was used to it—although it was surprising in a man supposedly trying to fix his interest with her. But more than that, she had the indefinable feeling that she had been threatened.

  *

  The exciting events of the ball, in particular Captain Cromarty’s astounding kiss, prevented Henrietta from sleeping late the following day. She did not even want to sleep. Awake, she could remember their dance, every nuance of their conversation, the feel of his strong arms and his hard body, the wild yet tender kiss she could still imagine on her lips.

  It was too much to bear indoors, and so she dressed, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and slipped out of the house to walk. In fact, if she could just lose the sight of the house, she meant to run.

  Of course, she had no idea where Captain Cromarty was, if he was staying nearby—or even in the house!—or if he had vanished back to sea, or elsewhere. But it did enter her head somewhat wistfully that he might find her as she walked. She even skirted the edge of the nearby wood so that they would not be seen. But it was a dog that broke cover and came to a halt, staring at her.

  “Good morning to you, too,” she greeted it, holding out her hand, which the dog sniffed with a wag of his tail. He came closer to have his long, silky ears tickled.

  “Ah, that’s where the wretched animal went,” said a bluff, gentleman’s voice, and she looked up in surprise to see her host, the Earl of Silford. “Good morning, young lady. You are abroad bright and early. I hope you were not uncomfortable?”

  “Oh, goodness, no, I was extremely comfortable,” she assured him with a curtsey. “But I seem to wake up at the same time every day without regard to when I went to sleep. And it is such a beautiful morning.”

  “It is indeed. The best part of the day. I hate to miss it.” He cast a closer glance at her. “You’re Overton’s girl, aren’t you? You’ll forgive an old man who is forgetful of names and barely remembers faces.”

  Henrietta smiled. “Of course. I confess I am the same, especially at large parties where one meets so many new people at once. But yes, I am Henrietta Maybury.”

  “I hope you enjoyed the ball.” Lord Silford began to walk, and Henrietta fell into step beside him, while the dog followed, its nose in the undergrowth.

  “Very much, sir,” Henrietta replied. “I love to dance!”

  “I hear you danced with my grandson.”

  She cast him a quick glance.

  His sharp old eyes were not unkind. In fact, she thought them rather sad. “I only bring it up because you appear to be the only lady he did dance with. And if my great-nephew is to be believed, he more or less abducted you from under the noses of everyone including your mother.”

  Henrietta laughed a little nervously. “Well, it was not quite like that. I had got into a bit of an embarrassing scrape where three gentlemen seemed to believe I had promised the waltz to them. Captain Cromarty merely cut through the argument and rescued me.”

  “To be honest, I am surprised he obtained an introduction to a young lady of your family.”

  “Well, it was a somewhat unconventional introduction. We met at the theatre one night when he was kind enough to help me catch a stray pup who had wandered inside and got lost.”

  “Then your parents do not know him?”

  She flushed. “Not exactly. You must think me a hoyden. But I assure it was all chance and Captain Cromarty has always behaved with perfect propriety.” Apart from the kiss.

  “Propriety,” he repeated, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. He refocused on her face. “Be easy, child, I make no judgements on you or him. In truth, you must know him better than I. You might say we are…estranged.”

  “I’m sorry. I believe you would like him.”

  “I’m beginning to think I might, too.” He gazed at the dog trotting ahead, but she doubted he saw it. “The estrangement is my fault,” he said abruptly. “I cast off my youngest son for disappointing me, wa
ited for him to learn sense and come back and apologize. He never did. Broke my heart, to be truthful. And now his son, my heir, hates me.”

  Henrietta regarded him thoughtfully. It struck her he had said more than he meant to. She remembered the captain’s pause as his gaze met his grandfather’s at the ball, his defiant gesture as he’d walked away. “I don’t think he hates you. I think he wants to.”

  In surprise, he searched her face. “You are rather more than a silly flibbertigibbet, aren’t you, Miss Maybury?”

  “I hope so,” she said, startled.

  “Then tell me this. Do you think he will come back to Steynings? Take his rightful place as my heir?”

  “I don’t know,” Henrietta said honestly. “You will have to give him time.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a commodity I have in great supply.”

  “I think you have enough.”

  A gleam of amusement entered his eyes. “Someone has taught you to say the right thing.”

  She laughed. “Not very well! I am usually in trouble for saying the wrong thing!”

  “You shouldn’t be. You are refreshing and intriguing. I’ll wager my grandson thinks so, too.”

  She looked away, wishing it were true.

  “Did he come to see you? Or Steynings and me?” he asked.

  She frowned at this interesting question. “He can’t have known I would be here.”

  “Perhaps,” the old man said neutrally. He glanced up at the sky, which had clouded over since Henrietta had come out. “I think that’s a drop of rain. Shall we go back and have breakfast?”

  *

  Henrietta’s tête-à-tête with their aged host did not escape Lord Rudd’s attention. Observing them walking together from his bedchamber window, he drew his own conclusions. He could no longer afford to let the grass grow under his feet. He had to make up his mind, either to walk away from the girl or tame her. Indolence urged the former…but his lust for the latter was always going to win. He had been pursuing her too long. More than a silly, naïve chit so recently out of the schoolroom deserved.

  By the time he descended to the breakfast room, neither she nor Lord Silford were there. Lady Carew, however, was the company he really sought. And she, yawning delicately behind her hand over a tiny piece of nibbled toast, was barely tolerating the company of Maurice Ashworth at her side and Mrs. Gareth Cromarty across the table from her. Apart from them, the breakfast room was sparse, save for a group of jovial, sporting types at the head of the table who he suspected were still drunk.