“That is overly generous of you, Lady Aloria.” Ruby released her husband’s arm and clapped with delight. “I do believe Lady Haversham and the children will be overjoyed at the timing of your gift.”
“The time is now.” It was exactly what Aloria needed. She’d move past the betrayals of the Duke of Wolfeton on her own. “And, Mr. Jakeston, my father says your shipping endeavor is becoming fruitful in the best of ways.” It was the height of impropriety to mention business dealings, but what was one to discuss when topics such as weather and fashion ran out?
“Lady Aloria.” He issued a small bow before continuing, “I fair very well, thank you. Please give your father my best and thank him for his support.”
“I surely will.” Her father had assisted Harold Jakeston and his brother when they’d aligned to ferry cargo to and from France. It had been a successful arrangement for many months. “It was lovely to see you again.”
Moving on, they only nodded to known acquaintances until they reached the Davendore box, just as the performers took the stage. The play was a tragedy, much as was the tendency—and this did not disappoint. Aloria laughed throughout the first act at the outrageous stunts of the characters, but she noticed a drastic turn toward the severe when the curtain lowered at intermission.
“Come with me, Aloria,” Delilah pleaded. She was surprised her friend was able to keep still for so long. “Please, let us acquire a drink before intermission ends. Say it is okay, mother?”
Her imploring look, which had been on Aloria, now turned to her mother.
“Of course, but,” she paused to wag her finger at her daughter, “you must return before intermission is over—and for heaven’s sake, do not hang all over Lord Canterbourne.”
“Did you see him?” she yelped. “Is he here?”
“Lord have mercy on that man’s soul,” her mother whispered. “Do go, my dear.”
They only made it a few yards before Aloria heard her name called.
Turning to greet whomever it was, she wished she would have kept her head down, played like she hadn’t heard her name, and hid the remainder of the evening.
As it turned out, she now faced the Duke of Wolfeton in all his well-tailored glory. The man simply didn’t understand that she did not want to see him or talk to him today—or any day.
Unfortunately, her manners were better than his and dictated that she play nice. They would surely have tongues wagging if she confronted him here. Instead, she gave him a slight curtsy and an indifferent, "My lord.” Her insides feeling anything but indifferent.
The man looked downright jovial. His smile—showing perfect teeth—beamed.
She hadn’t the foggiest idea what he was smiling about.
“Lady Aloria.” He offered his arm, which she didn’t take. “Walk with me.”
“Oh, I most certainly cannot abandon my dear friend,” she protested, reaching for Delilah—who was suspiciously missing from her side. With a quick turn of her head, she spotted her horrible friend a few feet away with Canterbourne. Could the night get any worse?
“Lady Delilah appears in no need of a chaperone at the moment,” he whispered knowingly, as if they had a secret, just the two of them.
Which they most certainly did not.
“My Lord Canterbourne!” A voice called to Aloria’s left and she cringed. Visibly cringed. “Dandy great coincidence seeing you and Lady Delilah here. And Wolfeton!”
As was his habit since their scandal, Lord Plumberly failed to acknowledge her or so much as glance her way. It was childish and hurtful. If it weren’t completely lacking in decorum, she’d kick him in the shin. She still hadn’t any notion why he’d added his name to her dance card at her ball. Thankfully, she hadn’t had the need to ever find out.
No one greeted him in return, which delighted Aloria. She smiled internally, least Marcus think the smile was meant for him. Delilah and Canterbourne were focused on each other, and Marcus still stared at her, his grin never dimming.
“Ah, so where are you chaps headed after the play ends?” Plumberly raised his brow in question, but again, neither of the men answered—his question hanging in the air. “I was thinking about going to White’s myself. You have a membership, right, Canterbourne? Maybe a few hands at the card table?”
The scene before her was laughable, for the only person looking at Plumberly was the one person he would not make eye contact with.
“My, my!” a stuffy voice called. “Tell me it isn’t so…Plumberly and Portly reunited and back in love?” Lady Gwendolyn flounced—that was the only way Aloria could describe her—as she stepped between Aloria and Marcus, her evening gown twirling about her legs before settling. Mentally, Aloria counted her one good deed—in return for her lovely dress—was not smacking the woman. “I knew I recognized the fondness returning the other evening.”
Aloria at once noticed Lady Gwendolyn’s dangerously low neckline, with a large ruby perched solidly between her pushed-up breasts. She wondered if the woman did not have a mother or father—or aging aunt—to dissuade her from leaving her home in such a wanton dress.
This night was turning into anything but the anonymous evening she’d planned. The night and conversations were supposed to revolve around Delilah and her future, not Aloria’s past.
She scanned the milling crowd, expecting to spot Danderfur lurking in the shadows, as he was the only missing piece to the tragic comedy that was her unfortunate life thus far. It would have been wise to call off sick as her mother had.
For a moment, she pondered that this might be why her mother avoided ton gatherings outside the controlled environment of her own home.
“I shall alert the paper immediately.” Lady Gwendolyn clapped with merriment. “The pair of you will have delightfully fat babies!” She laughed at her own comment—the cackle of a witch, if Aloria were to voice her opinion. Which she didn’t because that would only insight the woman to spout more hateful comments.
Though, no one would have listened if she did hurl an insult back.
“Come, Marcus,” Lady Gwendolyn said, making a grab for his arm. “You may escort me to my seat.”
“I will be escorting you nowhere, not tonight or any day hence.” Lady Gwendolyn recoiled in shock. “I will depart with the lady I choose, and that, Lady Gwen, is not—nor will it ever be—you.”
Delilah and Canterbourne took their eyes off each other and settled their gazes on Marcus.
“And you, Lord Plumberly,” Marcus turned a stealthy look to the gentleman Aloria had once thought to spend her remaining days with. “You are a nitwit.”
Marcus stepped toward the man, and for a moment Aloria thought she would grab his arm to bring him back, let him know the man meant nothing to her, and his horrid treatment of her was so far in the past that it was as if it had never happened.
“You passed on the opportunity for a future beyond all you deserve—all that any man present deserves—and not a piece of me resents you for that.” Marcus poked his finger into the man’s chest as he spoke each word. “For now, I have the occasion to convince Lady Aloria that I am indeed the only man for her.”
Aloria stared at everyone but the Duke of Wolfeton.
Chapter Fourteen
The crowd around Marcus went silent, staring at him in awe.
Except Aloria.
She stared between Gwen, Delilah, Canterbourne, and Plumberly.
He wanted to ask Plumberly why he continued to stand before him, stock-still with astonishment.
If Marcus was the man he claimed to be, he would challenge him to a duel; show the coward he could not treat a lady with such vagrant disregard and get away with it. It was inconceivable a duel would change Aloria’s feelings about him, the centuries of proving one’s mettle by brute force were long over. A lady sought words more than actions.
All he was focused on was Aloria—and gaining her forgiveness.
Something he was worthy of now.
He only prayed he could put into words everything he longed
to say, the many realizations that had come since their short acquaintance started.
“Lady Aloria.” Marcus offered his arm to her, starting over. “May I escort you to your box?” He had no idea who she’d arrived with or where her chaperone was, for he suspected that Delilah and she had not come alone.
She still refused to look at him, which he deserved…and it gave him time to take in the sight of her. Truly look at all the magnificence that was Lady Aloria. The occasion to do so before had been limited.
Her fashion sense was on the demure side, which he favored as opposed to the almost scandalous dress of women like Gwen. Her gown, gathered about the waist, accentuated her curves in the most pleasing of ways.
Her brown hair, not too dark but definitely not blonde, was piled on top of her head, exposing her supple neck. When she was his duchess, he’d adorn her neck in the finest gems he could buy. He would have teardrop earrings crafted to match—and maybe a bracelet as well.
He watched her chin lift as Gwen, recovered from his words, stared daggers; her rage ready to boil over.
But his Aloria would face the opposition head on, as she’d done many times before in her life.
He wanted to tell her she wasn’t alone, and if he had his way, she’d never be alone again.
He willed her to look at him. To really see the man he believed himself to be. To realize that he was deserving of her.
But again, why would she think his intentions anything more than selfish?
Much had changed in the last several hours—he was still wrapping his mind around everything—and he needed a moment to tell her.
He no longer needed anything from her—and still he desired her. His financial problems had been solved by the least likely person he’d ever known.
His late father, the previous Duke of Wolfeton, had made one smart decision in his life.
And that had been to sponsor Lord Sothary’s venture to the Americas.
As far as Marcus had been able to assess, his father had taken the last of their money and given it to Sothary, a newly appointed baron, and had then forgotten about the whole affair. Maybe he was too used to failing at everything to keep record at that point—or maybe he’d perished before noting the investment in his journal.
Hell, the possibility existed that he was too drunk to even remember handing over the money.
Marcus didn’t know.
One thing was for certain, Lord Sothary had honored his side of the venture, seeking out Marcus even though he knew of the previous duke’s passing a few years before.
And now, Marcus was free to court Aloria without any doubt of his intent, and all the time in the world to convince her of his honorable purpose.
But telling her proved difficult if she wouldn’t give him a moment of her time. He’d underestimated her anger toward him.
In the back of his mind, he replayed Lady Garland’s words, ‘Do not give her time’ and ‘You can want a person, but also equally need something from them.’ Or maybe he was remembering the conversation that best fit the outcome he desired.
Either way, he was here, as was she.
He only needed to rid himself of Plumberly, Gwen, Daniel, and Delilah.
To his dismay, no one budged. Daniel, Delilah, and Plumberly stared at him. Gwen stared at Aloria.
And Aloria had become preoccupied with a pleat in her dress.
The crowd around them thinned as people returned to their boxes—or the general seating area—to watch the second act of the performance.
Shortly, the six of them would remain with only passing vendors to notice.
For the first time, Aloria looked at him, and he saw the pain in her expression, the desperation of her stance…and her resignation. He would not let her crumble.
She was everything Delilah and Gwen would never be; confident, compassionate, and accepting of her own abilities. Aware of whom she was and what she had to offer another. Which was why she was so upset with him.
Marcus was willing to accept everything—to love and cherish her for whom she was, not what her dowry professed she was worth.
In his heart, he’d never have taken Aloria to be his wife based on the interest in her father’s cargo ships.
He kept his arm outstretched, willing her to take it—to tell him there was a chance, maybe not today, but one day. A hint that she’d listen and forgive him.
It was much like their first evening together. He’d professed that she’d make him the happiest man in all of London if she just took his arm—but now, the tables had turned. His happiness would only come from hers. If she took his arm, he’d do everything in his power to make her the happiest woman in all of England proper.
“Please, let us go…” And to his immense shock, she stepped toward him and set her hand on his arm. That was all the initiative he needed to pull her close. “…before I do something likely to cause yet another scandal.”
Marcus didn’t say another word as he walked away with Aloria on his arm, straight from the theatre. He called for the Canterbourne carriage. He wouldn’t ask her to sit through the remainder of the play, for she appeared to be only partly keeping things together. If she were upset by his forthright decision, he would bring her back another night to see the performance.
Right now, he wanted her away from the cruelness of Gwen and the indifference of Plumberly.
Neither spoke.
Aloria stared straight ahead. He wondered what went through her mind. She had every right to be angry with him, hurt by Gwen, insulted by Plumberly, and disbelieving of Lady Delilah. If Marcus hadn’t been there, not a single person would have come to her rescue. Again.
Maybe Delilah was accustomed to Aloria taking care of herself, allowing others to speak to her in such a horrid manner, but that was done.
It was past time Aloria cared for herself and not allow such harm to befall her only to make those around her happy.
Thankfully, she hadn’t fled.
Marcus would have been hard-pressed to decide to follow her or stay to defend her.
A footman offered her assistance into the carriage, but Aloria didn’t release Marcus’s arm. Stepping forward with her, Marcus handed her into the waiting vehicle before entering behind her.
Upset as she was with him, she apparently needed him close in this moment—and he’d stay with her as long as she desired.
She chose the forward facing seat and sat directly in the middle. Reluctantly, Marcus took her unspoken cue and sat across from her on the emerald velvet cushion. His position brought into focus the extreme odds of her dress color to the emerald velvet of the seat. It was much as he viewed their lives. While she’d spent years pursuing the favor of society, he’d chosen a reclusive lifestyle. She had grown up in a loving home with parents who did their best to make her feel cherished and appreciated. And in contrast, after his mother passed, Marcus had spent years on the coattails of a father who cared so little for his son and their family legacy that he’d spent every feathering they had.
His breath hitched when he took in her face. The sorrow her eyes held, the defeated slump of her shoulders, and the way her fingers worried a seam in her dress. He felt a physical pain inside at her dejected attitude. He wanted the confident demeanor back he’d witnessed at the ball when she’d challenged him to demand what he wanted and not take no for an answer. He’d even enjoy the girl he’d spent a few private moments with in her bedroom. While she’d been irked at Gwen’s cruel words, she’d still been daring, able to see the situation for what it was.
Gwen had projected her own insecurities onto Aloria because she felt threatened by the beauty Aloria presented—and she must have instantly known that he’d under no circumstances be hers again. It was puzzling to him that Gwen imagined, after everything she’d done—the grief she caused—that he’d see fit to resume their relationship or begin any semblance of friendship.
Especially after meeting Aloria, Gwen and what she represented did not appeal to him.
A woman
who played games and toyed with his emotions on a daily basis could not make him happy. A happiness he believed possible when he looked at Aloria.
Aloria appeared wounded and tiny across from him. He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him, embrace her, and whisper all of the wonderful things he knew to be true about her in her ear. All the positive things no other had taken the time to discover about her. And he sensed there was more still to her that he hadn’t been allowed to learn as of yet.
Years would not be enough.
Decades, maybe.
What Marcus knew for certain was that he wanted the time with her, desired her above all else.
He needed to make her believe.
Rapping his knuckle on the side of the carriage, he yelled out the open window to the coachman. “The Pool with haste, Mitton,” Marcus called, confident the man needed no further explanation. Next, he turned to Aloria. “Do hold on, Aloria.”
Before he could say anything else, the coach slowed and turned around, heading back in the direction they’d come from. There was an easy way to prove he cared, that his intentions were not based on what he needed, but all about what he wanted. Now and forever.
Aloria’s arm swung out and she held herself upright as the coach straightened out and headed toward the Port of London.
Her father may deem it inappropriate for females to visit the port or know about business ventures, but he wanted things to be different between him and Aloria.
“Where are we going?” She looked up from under lowered lashes, as if waiting to assess his answer. “Lord and Lady Davendore will worry.”
“We will make one stop and then I will bring you home, I promise. We will not take long.” Marcus hoped after she saw what he’d seen earlier in the afternoon she’d reconsider listening to him. Then they could return to her family’s home to talk, or he would leave if that were what she demanded. “I must show you something.”
“Whatever is so important that needs attending this late in the evening?” Leaning toward the window closest to her, she peered out, her brow furrowing. “Are we headed toward the port?”
The Siege of Lady Aloria_World of de Wolfe Pack Page 9
