The Earl's Inconvenient Wife

by Julia Justiss

  ‘I expect not. He’d be more likely to relegate her to the country, where she could cause him no embarrassment. And use her dowry to fund portions for their children and improve his estate.’

  ‘Probably,’ Giff agreed. ‘Though I imagine she will eventually end up wedded, for those reasons and more, she’s hoping to delay matrimony—at least until after she’s had a chance to travel.’

  ‘I wish her well in her ambitions, then,’ Miss Avery said as they approached the tea table. ‘I’ll let you return to your...unusual charge. And thank you for a most...illuminating conversation.’

  ‘A pleasure, as always, Miss Avery,’ Giff said, relinquishing her arm. A blatant falsehood, that compliment, he thought as he walked away, conscious of a deep relief at having, he hoped, permanently escaped Miss Avery’s matrimonial manoeuvrings.

  However, he couldn’t help worrying that, despite her fine words, his revelations had deepened Miss Avery’s jealous dislike of Temperance Lattimar.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Three nights later, Temper sat reluctantly in the carriage being driven to a ball being given by Lady Arnold, aunt of the snide Miss Avery. When informed of the invitation, she’d initially protested to Mrs Moorsby that she’d rather not attend an event honouring a female she actively disliked, only to discover that not only she and her chaperon, but Lady Sayleford herself, were to attend.

  If her imperious sponsor intended to grace the ball with her presence, Temper knew there was no way she could avoid it.

  With Lady Sayleford settled in the carriage beside her, Mrs Moorsby on the backward-facing seat beside Giff, her sponsor turned to Temper.

  ‘I realise you are not happy about attending Lady Arnold’s ball—and, no, Angela didn’t convey your feelings to me. I’ve heard that Miss Avery has been unpleasant to you on several occasions. However, Lady Arnold is a friend of long standing and I could not slight her by failing to appear—or failing to bring along the young lady I am sponsoring. I understand Miss Avery has made overtures to you, too, Gifford, although I expect a gentleman of your address can sidestep them handily enough, if you choose.’

  To Temper’s amusement, Giff first looked as surprised as Temper had been—honestly, Lady Sayleford and her sources of information were uncanny!—then grimaced. ‘I did choose, and I hope I have “sidestepped” as diplomatically as possible. However, I would not have avoided the ball. Despite her obvious chagrin at my making my, um, lack of interest known, Miss Avery said she hoped we could remain friends.’

  ‘With friends like that, I’d watch my back,’ Temper murmured.

  Giff smiled wryly. ‘I intend to, being no more trusting of her good will than you are. But I encountered her coming out of Hatchard’s yesterday and she pressed me to agree that I would be attending tonight’s affair. Though most of the time, she grates on my nerves, I have to admit having a little sympathy.’

  ‘Because her father is to remarry?’ Temper said. ‘I suppose I can sympathise with her desire to be wed and gone before that happens—if she weren’t so blatant about her need to attach someone. After all, it would be hard for anyone to watch her mother displaced.’

  Giff gave a short laugh. ‘Impossible, for her. It was all I could do to remain polite, after she began ranting about what an embarrassment it will be for Ben’s father to marry the “low-born governess” who was his former mistress.’

  ‘She dared to criticise Mrs Tawny?’ Temper said indignantly.

  ‘Miss Avery is rather...intemperate,’ Lady Sayleford said. ‘But she’s correct that, on the face of it, the Viscount is making a mésalliance. Though Miss Avery may neither know—nor would she probably care—Angelica Tawny was the woman Chilford intended to marry. Only a sudden reversal in the fortunes of the estate he was to inherit and severe pressure from his family to marry an heiress forced him to marry Miss Avery’s mother. Nor did he know at the time of his wedding that the woman he loved was carrying their child.’

  Temper shook her head. ‘You really do know everything about everyone. I think it’s marvellous that, after loving each other for so long and so faithfully, they will finally be able to claim the joy they deserve.’

  Lady Sayleford nodded. ‘As do I—and that is one wedding I shall be delighted to attend. Robert Avery did his duty, but a chilly business it was. There was no pretence of love; I don’t think they’d met more than a handful of times before wedding. His family got a much-needed influx of cash for the estate and his bride the guarantee that she would one day become a viscountess.’

  ‘A cold bargain indeed,’ Temper said. ‘Although I bet it’s one her daughter would jump to accept.’

  Lady Sayleford nodded. ‘I’m afraid the elder daughter possesses the same cold, self-interested viewpoint her mother had. So I would second Miss Lattimar’s advice that, if you have...disappointed her, Newell, deal cautiously with Miss Avery.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Godmother, I shall be on my guard,’ Giff assured her.

  Just then the carriage arrived at Lady Arnold’s town house, an imposing edifice in Berkeley Square quite as elegant as Lady Sayleford’s home. ‘Certainly looks as though she comes equipped with a dowry large enough to tempt someone,’ Temper remarked as the ladies exited the carriage.

  ‘What a shame she would come with it,’ Giff murmured in her ear as they walked in.

  * * *

  After greeting their hostess and her protégées—Miss Avery’s brittle smile in response to her curtsy sending a little frisson up her spine—Temper put thoughts of the unpleasant young woman behind her. Freed by Lady Sayleford, who told them that, having put in the obligatory appearance, she intended to leave within the half-hour, her party went off to find more amenable company.

  She was delighted to discover Miss Henley and her mother along with Lord Theo and some of his more dissolute friends. As the dancing began, though she never lacked for partners, Temper did notice that some of the more respectable young men who had flocked to her at other social events kept their distance.

  Miss Avery had spread her tales well. Once she caught the girl’s gaze resting on her—gloating, perhaps?—but as the tale-bearing served Temper’s purposes, she was happy to allow Miss Avery her triumph.

  Besides, if her satisfaction over diminishing the number of Temper’s admirers distracted her from taking retribution against Giff for rebuffing her, it was more than worth it.

  Having sent Miss Henley off with Lord Theo, Temper had chosen not to dance this particular set so she might watch Giff take the floor with Lady Constance. Intelligent, lovely, a keen horsewoman, with her father’s political connections, she would make Giff an admirable bride.

  A notion Temper ought to embrace with more enthusiasm, she’d been telling herself when she noticed Solsworth approaching.

  Was the young man as brave as she’d thought? Or just rebelling against his mama’s attempt at control?

  ‘So good to see you this evening, Miss Lattimar,’ he said, bowing at he reached her side. ‘How is it that you seem to be more beautiful every time I see you?’

  ‘It must be the healthy benefits of racing in the park,’ Temper replied drily.

  Laughing, Solsworth said, ‘I only wish I could have seen it! A nasty piece of work, Lord Alfred. How clever of you to have found a way to exile him.’

  ‘I hope he remains exiled,’ Temper said. ‘In any event, I shall take care to be well chaperoned everywhere I go.’

  Perhaps by mutual design, she’d had no trouble avoiding Miss Avery all evening. But not unexpectedly, with the ‘catch of the ton’ conversing with her, as the set ended and the dancers moved off the floor, Temper saw the girl walking towards them. And automatically stiffened.

  ‘I hope you are all enjoying the evening,’ Miss Avery said, addressing herself to the group of dancers now congregated near Temper. ‘My aunt has just informed me that the musicians will be taking a short break. Wit
h lanterns lit along all the garden paths, it’s quite lovely. She recommends that the guests go out and enjoy a bit of fresh air. Mr Newell, perhaps you would escort Lady Constance? And, Lord Theo, why don’t you continue to squire Miss Henley?’

  With some amusement, Temper waited to see if Miss Avery’s good will would extend to pairing her off with Solsworth—and wasn’t at all surprised to discover it wouldn’t.

  ‘I’m afraid your mother has delegated me to ask that you attend her, Lord Solsworth,’ Miss Avery said to him with an apologetic smile. ‘May I escort you back to her?’

  There wasn’t much Solsworth could do to refuse, short of calling Miss Avery a liar. Bowing to the inevitable, he gave her a short nod. ‘Of course, Miss Avery. I imagine my mother is in dire need. As usual.’

  ‘Miss Lattimar, I’m sure one of the other gentlemen will offer you their escort. You are enjoying the party, too, I trust?’

  ‘Very much, Miss Avery,’ Temperance said, having to work to keep the irony from her voice.

  ‘Not as much yet as I hope you will,’ Miss Avery answered, with an enigmatic smile. ‘Shall we be off, my lord?’

  Accepting one of the several offers made after Miss Avery’s departure, Temper walked out to the garden, trailed by Mrs Moorsby and a small party of friends. The cool air and the scent of night flowers’ bloom were refreshing after the closeness and heat of the ball. It wasn’t until they heard the musicians begin to tune up did the guests begin to trickle back into the ballroom.

  The gardens being extensive and the light thrown by the torches limited, Temper had seen neither Miss Henley nor Giff with their partners during her own walk. Back in the ballroom, she looked about for them, hoping Miss Henley had enjoyed Lord Theo’s amusing attentions—and wondering if Giff had found Lady Constance’s company as appealing as her credentials to become his wife were impressive.

  She ought to be happy for him if he had, she thought without enthusiasm.

  Before she could locate either him or Miss Henley, Miss Avery came rushing up. ‘Oh, Miss Lattimar, there you are! I’m afraid there’s been an accident—nothing serious, but Miss Henley twisted her ankle while walking down one of the garden pathways. I’ve had her conveyed to a bedchamber, but she refused to let me summon her mama, saying Lady Henley would make too much of a fuss. She asked if you might attend her? If it’s not too much of a bother, of course.’

  How like Emma Henley to not wish to be a ‘bother’, Temper thought. ‘Of course I’ll go up to her. If you’ll excuse me, Mrs Moorsby?’

  ‘How kind of you!’ Miss Avery said. ‘I’d escort you up myself, but—’

  ‘No, you mustn’t abandon your guests,’ Temper said.

  ‘Thank you for being so understanding! I’ll just have a footman show you the way.’ After summoning one of the liveried servants hovering at the edge of the ballroom, Miss Avery hurried off.

  ‘I’ll go check Miss Henley’s ankle,’ Temper said to Mrs Moorsby. ‘If it is too painful for her to be able to return to the party, I’ll come fetch you, so we may find her mother to have her taken home. Tell Mr Newell what happened, when he returns.’

  ‘I certainly will inform him. Poor Miss Henley!’

  With a nod to her chaperon, Temper walked off with the footman.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, as he escorted Lady Constance up the garden stairs into the house, a footman stopped and bowed to Giff. ‘Mr Newell?’

  After his nod, the servant continued, ‘I’m to inform you that one of the guests, Miss Henley, has injured her ankle. Miss Lattimar has gone up to attend her and asked that you come assist.’

  ‘Of course! Poor Miss Henley. If you would excuse me, Lady Constance?’

  ‘Naturally. I hope Miss Henley isn’t seriously hurt! Do send for me if I can be of any help.’

  ‘Thank you, I will.’

  Lady Constance could be a help—in so many ways, Giff thought with a sigh as he followed the footman down the hallway and up the stairs. She had every requirement a rising Member of Parliament could ask for in a wife—beauty, breeding, impressive family connections and a large dowry. In addition, she was well spoken, intelligent and, though she was by no means as blatant as Miss Avery about indicating it, he could tell she found him appealing.

  Unfortunately, he felt not a particle of inclination to pursue her. After Temper, she seemed so...placid.

  Probably any woman would seem less dynamic in comparison with the erratic blaze of energy that was Temper. But when he married, he needed a wife who was serene, well behaved and diplomatic—not given to the impulsive, potentially disastrous schemes of his best friend’s little sister.

  Such as that race in the park with Wendemere.

  A few minutes later, he reached the upper floor where the bedchambers were located. Indicating the correct door, the footman bowed and walked away.

  After rapping softly, Giff walked in. ‘Temper? How can I help?’

  From somewhere on the far side of the room, he heard Temper answer, ‘That’s a good question.’

  Peering in the dimness of the darkened chamber, he could just make her out, walking back from the adjacent sitting room, carrying a candle. He went over to meet her, glancing around as her approaching light illumined the bed and the armchair by the hearth.

  Neither of which was occupied by a young lady with an ailing ankle.

  ‘Where is Miss Henley?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Temper said, walking over to place the candlestick on the nightstand beside the bed. ‘Mrs Moorsby told you she’d been injured?’

  ‘No, a footman informed me as I was leaving the garden. Has Miss Henley recovered?’

  ‘Since I haven’t yet located her, I don’t know that, either. Miss Avery had a footman direct me here, explaining that Miss Henley had asked for my assistance. Not finding her in the bedchamber, I thought maybe she’d been carried into the sitting room, but she’s not there, either. The footman must have been mistaken about which bedchamber she was taken to.’

  ‘Both footmen?’

  ‘Apparently,’ Temper said drily. ‘I suppose we shall have to go search for her.’

  ‘I suppose. Although it will look a bit strange, should any of the servants discover us creeping about the bedchambers like housebreakers.’

  ‘Better that than leaving poor Emma sitting all alone in some other bedchamber, believing I didn’t care enough about her welfare to come help her.’

  Then, as if she’d suddenly realised where they were—alone, at night, in the intimacy of a bedchamber, a mere step away from the bed, Temper froze. ‘We should probably go in search...now,’ she murmured, her voice unsteady.

  Her jasmine scent filled his nostrils and he could feel the heat of her nearness. The light from the candle outlined her profile, the round of her bare shoulder above the full sleeves of the gown, the voluptuous curve of her breast.

  Desire, thick, hot, fierce, rose in his body, clogging his throat so he couldn’t croak out an answer. All he could think was how close she was, how beautiful...how much he wanted to pull her down on to that bed and kiss her.

  But to do so would be a betrayal—of her trust and their friendship. Forcing his hands to remain at his sides, he cleared his throat. ‘Y-yes,’ he stuttered. ‘We’d better go rescue Miss Henley.’

  With a nod, Temper walked past him to the door and turned the handle—only to discover the door would not open. She pulled harder, but to no avail.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Giff asked.

  She turned to him, her expression gone blank. ‘I believe it’s locked.’

  ‘Locked!’ he echoed. ‘Why would anyone...?’

  His voice trailed off as the events flashed through his mind. Miss Avery requesting that Temper assist an injured Miss Henley—a request she knew Temper wouldn’t refuse. Two different footmen, each conveying them to the same—wrong—bedchambe
r.

  Miss Avery, who believed Temper had been mocking her. She must be furious that Temper still captured the masculine attention she craved for herself, despite Miss Avery’s attempts to disparage her.

  Miss Avery who, despite his attempt at diplomacy, probably felt unpardonably insulted by his failure to respond to her advances.

  ‘It must have been locked behind me as I crossed the chamber towards you,’ Giff said, his anger rising at Miss Avery’s duplicity. ‘However it was managed, we need to find another way out—now.’

  Temper’s grim expression said she understood exactly what was at stake. ‘Agreed.’

  But before either of them could take a step, they heard the soft snick of a bolt turning in the lock. The door opened—to reveal Lady Arnold, staring at them.

  * * *

  ‘Mr Newell...and Miss Lattimar!’ Lady Arnold cried, her cheeks going crimson. ‘Despite your reputation, when Jane whispered that she’d seen you sneaking up the stairs, I couldn’t believe you would be so brazen as to indulge yourself with...with a clandestine rendezvous in my house! How could you abuse my hospitality so?’

  ‘We did not come upstairs “to indulge in a clandestine rendezvous”,’ Giff interjected, trying to contain his fury. ‘Your niece summoned both of us separately to come attend to Miss Henley, whom she said had injured her ankle.’

  ‘And if that is so, where is Miss Henley?’

  ‘A good question,’ Temper muttered, her face an inscrutable mask.

  Before Giff could answer that, a hubbub of voices approached from the stairway. A bevy of guests hurried over to stand behind Lady Arnold, their expressions ranging from shock to outrage to blatant prurient interest.

  ‘You see how I found them,’ Lady Arnold said, turning to address the group. ‘Virtually embracing in the seclusion of this chamber, behaviour so licentious I should not have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes. Never have I been so deceived and humiliated!’