Love with the Proper Husband

by Victoria Alexander

  Forever.

  It had the loveliest sound to it.

  The girls too were happy. They quite liked their new life and their new home and appeared at last to like their aunt as well. Gwen had just finished wishing them a good night, leaving them in the capable hands of their Grandmama Pennington, who took great delight in ending each day with a story. She too seemed content these days.

  Gwen swept into the parlor and pulled up short. Marcus and Berkley and a stranger quickly got to their feet.

  “Gwen.” Marcus stepped toward her, an odd look on his face. “We have an unexpected guest.”

  “So I see.” She cast the visitor a welcoming smile.

  He was tall and rather attractive and struck her as vaguely familiar although she was certain they had never met.

  “Allow me to present my wife, Lady Pennington. Gwen.” Marcus’s voice was controlled but there was an uneasy glint in his eyes. “This is Lord Townsend. Your cousin.”

  Shock stole her voice, and for a moment all she could do was stare. A myriad of intense emotions swirled through her, none of them logical. So this was the man who had taken her father’s title and her home. She knew full well her reaction to his presence was irrational: her cousin had done nothing untoward, indeed, nothing whatsoever to deserve her enmity save be her father’s only male heir. He was as much a victim of society’s rules as she. Although it was hard to think of someone who had reaped nothing but benefits as a victim.

  “Lady Pennington. Cousin.” He stepped toward her, and she noted he had the decency to realize this meeting was not especially easy for her. “I regret that we have not had the chance to meet before now.”

  She drew a long, steadying breath, lifted her chin, and held out her hand. She managed to keep her voice calm and her hand steady. “As do I, my lord. It is good to meet you at last.”

  The room itself seemed to let out a sigh, as if it, along with its inhabitants, had held its breath in anticipation of her reaction.

  Townsend took her hand and gazed into her eyes. “Please call me Adrian; we are family after all.”

  “Yes of course,” she murmured. He bore a familial resemblance to his sister, but the features that were not the least bit attractive in a female were quite handsome in the masculine version. She withdrew her hand and cast him a pleasant smile. “I must say, your visit has taken me by surprise.”

  Berkley snorted, then coughed apologetically.

  “I apologize for the lateness of the hour. I only returned to England recently and…” Townsend glanced at Marcus.

  “Gwen,” Marcus said coolly, “Lord Townsend is here about the girls.”

  Her heart stilled. “What about them?”

  Marcus’s expression was matter-of-fact, but concern showed in his eyes. “There is apparently a problem as to their guardianship.”

  She took her cue from her husband and forced a calm note to her voice, ignoring the knowledge in the back of her mind that, for once, Albert had been right. “What sort of problem?”

  “He seems to think he should be their guardian,” Berkley blurted, then winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  “I see.” The level tone of her voice belied the churning in her stomach. “And why is that, my lord?”

  “Adrian, please.” Townsend had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “It has come to my attention, cousin—may I call you Gwendolyn?”

  “You may not,” she said without thinking, ignoring Marcus’s warning glance.

  “Very well.” Townsend nodded. “Lady Pennington, when I returned home, my sister informed me you had taken charge of your nieces. At first I thought that was as it should be. You are their closest living relative.”

  “Indeed I am.”

  “However, information I did not have then has come to my attention, and I now believe it is in their best interests”—Townsend drew a deep breath—“that I take them into my keeping.”

  “No,” she said without hesitation. “Absolutely not.”

  “What is this new information?” Marcus said quickly.

  Townsend hesitated. “The Loring children are the beneficiaries of a substantial inheritance. As head of the family, I am in the best position to oversee their finances as well as provide the proper atmosphere for their up-bringing.”

  “With you and your sister?” Gwen cast him a scathing glare. “She doesn’t even like them. How can you possibly think growing up in a place where they aren’t liked or truly wanted for that matter would be best for them? For anyone?”

  “Gwen.” Marcus placed a quieting hand on her arm and directed his attention to Townsend. “I am more than capable of overseeing whatever this inheritance amounts to. If you are concerned as to my honesty, you should understand my own finances are quite respectable and in order. However, I am more than willing to sign whatever legal documents you feel are appropriate to ensure their legacy remains intact for their future.”

  “I do appreciate that, my lord, but there’s far more to all this than simply money.” Townsend chose his words with care. “Paul Loring, the girls’ father, was a friend of mine. In point of fact”—Townsend’s gaze met hers—“I counseled him against running off with your sister.”

  “How very thoughtful of you.” Sarcasm dripped from Gwen’s words.

  “Do not take my comment in a manner in which I did not intend, Lady Pennington.” Townsend narrowed his eyes. “I had nothing against your sister. We had never met. At that time I had little specific knowledge of your branch of the family. As you are well aware, our connection is very distant. In truth, not until your father’s death did I discover I was his only heir.

  “Nonetheless, from what Loring told me of the matter, I did know your father was set against a match between him and your sister. Paul was my friend, and any marriage that did not have the blessing of family seemed to me ill-advised. Besides, he was but twenty years of age and far too young, in my opinion, to wed. Regardless, he paid no heed to my concerns.”

  Townsend’s gaze met hers. “Do you know anything of your sister’s husband?”

  “No.” Gwen clasped her hands together in an effort to stifle the panic building inside her. “I was but a child when Louisa married. I barely even remember her.”

  “I see.” Townsend considered her thoughtfully. “Paul Loring was the youngest son of the Earl of Stokes. As such, he could not inherit the title, but he was the beneficiary of a substantial fortune through his mother’s family. I don’t remember the exact details, but I do recall it was rather unusual. At any rate, wealth, youth, and love can be a powerful combination. He and your sister were gone before anyone knew what they were about.”

  Berkley’s brow furrowed. “I dimly recall hearing about this. It was quite a scandal, if I remember.”

  “As interesting as this is, Lord Townsend,” Marcus said, “I do not see where it is pertinent to our current discussion. I concede that you were Mr. Loring’s friend. But Lady Pennington is the children’s aunt.”

  “Yes, of course. However…” Townsend pulled a folded paper from his waistcoat pocket. “I have recently come into possession of a letter from Paul—Mr. Loring—apparently written some years ago.”

  “And?” Fear gripped Gwen’s heart.

  “In it he requests that, if anything should happen to him or his wife, I should take custody of his children.” Genuine regret shone on Townsend’s face. “I am sorry.” He handed the letter to Marcus.

  “I don’t believe a word of it.” Gwen crossed her arms over her chest. “Even if I did, you cannot come into my home, announce you have my nieces’ best interests at heart, wave a letter that may or may not be legitimate, and, oh yes, mention they have a considerable fortune you would be all too happy to mind for them, and expect me to simply say, ‘Of course, cousin dear, you may have these children to do with as you please.’ ”

  “That’s enough, Gwen,” Marcus murmured, his attention on the letter in his hand.

  “It most certainly is not.” She glared at him. M
arcus ignored her. “It’s not nearly enough.” She turned her attention back to Townsend. “Well, you can’t have them. I absolutely will not permit it.”

  “Nor will I.” Berkley stepped to her side.

  “Marcus?” Gwen snapped.

  “In a moment.” Marcus studied the letter. “I want to finish this.”

  “Lady Pennington. Cousin.” Townsend stepped toward her. “Do understand, as you have said, you were a child when Paul and your sister married. How could you expect any man to entrust the future of his children to someone he had never met? He only wants what is best for them.”

  “As do I.” Gwen’s voice rose. “And what is best for them is to remain exactly where they are. They are well provided for here with people who care for them. Nor shall they want for anything in the future. And they are happy. Happiness, cousin, is a rare commodity in this world, particularly when it comes to those who have no say in the running of their own lives. Children, and more to the point, female children. I will not let you take that from them.” She turned toward her husband. “Tell him, Marcus. Tell him he can’t have them.”

  “I’m not sure I can right now.” Marcus looked up and considered Townsend thoughtfully. “If this is genuine—”

  “It is,” Townsend said quickly.

  “It appears fairly straightforward.” Marcus glanced at the paper again, then at Townsend. “But surely you do not intend to take the girls with you tonight?”

  Gwen gasped in horror. “Marcus! How can you—”

  “It is at least a half day’s ride from here to Townsend Park, probably longer in a carriage,” her husband continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Indeed, there is no great hurry, is there?”

  “No,” Townsend said slowly. “I suppose not.”

  “Excellent.” Marcus nodded. “Then you shall certainly stay the night.”

  “Marcus!” She couldn’t believe her ears.

  He ignored her again. “It would be best to break this news to the girls as gently as possible. Perhaps you could see your way clear to stay tomorrow as well.”

  “How can you possibly invite him to stay? You should be throwing him out. At once!” Gwen’s control broke. “Don’t you understand? He doesn’t care about them. Not really. Maybe he has some sense of obligation because of their father’s request but it’s obvious he’s only here because of their inheritance.”

  “That’s quite enough, Gwen.” Marcus’s tone rang hard and firm, matching the look in his eye, and tore through her like a knife.

  She sucked in a shocked breath.

  He wasn’t going to do anything?

  “It may be easier for the girls if they had a day to get used to the idea of leaving.” Marcus’s manner was matter-of-fact. He turned toward Berkley. “Reggie, why don’t you show Lord Townsend into the library. You know where the brandy is. I’m certain he could probably use a bit of refreshment right now.”

  He was going to let Townsend take the girls?

  Berkley studied his friend for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Of course.” He cast Gwen a quick smile of encouragement, then headed toward the door.

  Maybe she should have married Berkley—Reggie—after all. At least he showed some concern about the situation. Dear, sweet Reggie. She clenched her fists by her sides. Marcus behaved as though this was no more than a minor inconvenience.

  “I appreciate your attitude about all this, Lord Pennington,” Townsend said. “It’s damnably decent of you.”

  “Think nothing of it.” Marcus shrugged and tossed the letter casually onto a side table as if it were of no importance. “We can continue our discussion in the morning. This is obviously a matter best decided by those of us who can remain rational and assess the situation with an unemotional eye.”

  “Rational?” Gwen choked on the word. “Rational?”

  Reggie said something under his breath, and she wondered if it might have been a warning to her husband. Marcus certainly needed it. Reggie reached the door, jerked it open, and stepped aside to allow Townsend to precede him.

  “I confess, I am somewhat confused by your obvious interest in all of this, Lord Berkley,” Townsend said.

  “I am not merely Lord Berkley,” Reggie said loftily, following the other man out of the parlor. “I am Uncle Reggie.” He closed the door firmly behind him.

  At once Gwen turned toward her husband. “Rational? Unemotional?”

  “Yes,” he snapped. “Bloody hell, Gwen, we have got to keep our wits about us.”

  “My wits are about me!”

  “Then we are in a great deal of trouble!” He swiveled and paced the room. “You cannot handle a man like Townsend, who goes about waving papers that may or may not be legal, with sheer emotion. We have got to remain calm and collected.”

  “I don’t want to be calm! I want to do something. I want you to do something. Beginning with removing him from this house! Immediately.” She aimed an angry finger at him. “You’re an earl. He’s only a viscount. Can’t you have him thrown in prison or hanged or something?”

  “No, I can’t. And even if I could, what would be the charge?”

  “Abduction.” She ticked the charges off on her fingers. “Theft. Fraud. Trespass—”

  “I invited him to stay.”

  “Indeed you did.” She fairly spat the words.

  “Gwen.” He drew a calming breath, moved to her, and took her hands. “I know how upset you are—”

  “Do you?” She yanked her hands from his.

  “Yes, I do. I too am concerned.”

  She jerked up her chin defiantly. “Are you?”

  His jaw tightened. “Damnation, Gwen, of course I am. I have come to care for those girls as if they were my own.”

  “Well, you’re certainly hiding it well.”

  “And you’re not hiding it at all!”

  For a long moment she glared at him, and he glared right back. She couldn’t remember ever having been angrier with anyone even if a tiny voice in her head noted she was indeed somewhat irrational, and perhaps calmer heads should prevail. She paid it no heed.

  He drew a deep breath. “Do try to consider the facts for a minute. Townsend’s letter appears genuine, but whether or not it is, it may have no legal bearing on guardianship. We need to determine if indeed Townsend’s demand carries any weight.”

  “And if it does?” She swallowed against the ache in her throat.

  “I don’t know.” Marcus ran his hand through his hair. “However, I do know any number of influential people who may well be able to exert some sort of influence.” Lines of worry creased his face.

  At once she realized he was genuinely concerned. How could she have doubted it? Guilt rushed through her, for a moment washing aside her fear.

  “I apologize, Marcus.” She shook her head. “I was wrong to think, even for an instant, that you don’t care about the girls. I am sorry.”

  “Well, that’s something at any rate,” he muttered.

  “What are we going to do?” She hated the helpless note in her voice but she couldn’t hide it.

  “I have a plan, of sorts. I don’t know if it will make any difference but…”

  “What?”

  “I asked Townsend to stay the night and hopefully tomorrow as well to give us a bit of time.” Again he took her hands and gazed into her eyes. “I’m going to go to London, Gwen, to talk to Whiting about all this. You may not realize it, but he is an excellent solicitor. I have no idea if he is aware of this latest turn of events. Regardless, he will be able to advise us as to our standing in this situation, and hopefully provide us with options for keeping the girls as well.”

  “Do you really think so?” Her gaze searched his.

  “I hope so.” His voice was firm. “I’ll leave for London at once.”

  “But it’s late.”

  “I can be there by midnight. I’ll get Whiting out of his bed for this. With luck I can be back by midmorning.” Marcus squeezed her hands. “You must trust me, Gwen. I shall do a
ll in my power to resolve this.”

  She didn’t want to say it aloud but the words came of their own accord. “What if you can’t?”

  “I don’t know.” He blew a long, frustrated breath. “But I shall leave no stone unturned to keep the girls with us. They have become my children, and I love them almost as much as I love you.”

  “I am so scared.” She blinked back a tear. “What if—”

  “What if all works out for the best and all this emotion is wasted?” He brushed away an errant tear. “And if the worst happens, we can always follow your example.”

  She sniffed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well”—he grinned—“we could all impulsively run off to America and become governesses.”

  She smiled weakly. “I cannot imagine you as a governess.”

  He widened his eyes with mock indignation. “I would be an excellent governess. Why, I have ready that look of outraged amusement of yours.” He pursed his lips.

  “Stop it.” She laughed in spite of herself.

  “In truth, I would probably make a better governess than you did. You may not have noticed, but I am excellent with children. The girls adore me.”

  “As does their aunt.”

  “Gwen.” He pulled her into his arms. “I promised that you could trust me and you must trust me now. I will find an answer.” His gazed bored into hers. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course,” she said with a certainty she didn’t entirely feel.

  His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he’d heard something in her voice he didn’t quite like. “Gwen?”

  “I do love you, Marcus.” She threw her arms around him and kissed him with a fierceness born of hope and fear and farewell. She drew back, swallowed the lump in her throat, and smiled up at him. “And I do trust you.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “I shall ask Reggie to stay the night as well. If you need anything—”

  “I won’t.” She stepped back. “If you’re going to London tonight, you’d best go now.”

  “I don’t like to leave you like this.”