The Irish Earl

by Patricia Bray

  “Of course, of course,” her uncle said. “Anyway, it is not her fault. I place the blame on her father. What kind of man would leave his fine English estates to go wandering off to the far corners of the globe? And dragging his daughter with him, exposing her to the most uncivilized elements. It’s no wonder that Felicity has picked up some odd notions of behavior.”

  Kilgarvan felt a pang of sympathy for Lady Felicity. It was clear that the duke, though not a cruel man, nonetheless considered his niece to be an unwelcome burden. He wondered if Felicity’s eagerness for marriage stemmed from her wish to escape.

  “Do I have your blessing to ask Felicity for her hand?”

  “Yes, yes, I have told you as much,” the duke confirmed. “Mind you, my man will want to meet with yours to discuss marriage settlements and the like. I would be remiss in my duty if I did not see that suitable arrangements were made for her jointure, and for the children, should there be an unfortunate demise.”

  “Of course.” He had expected no less.

  Five

  Kilgarvan took his leave of the Duke of Rutland. As he exited the study, he saw a footman leaning against the paneled wall of the hallway.

  “Lady Felicity would like a word with you, my lord,” the footman said, hurriedly straightening up.

  And he would like a few words with Lady Felicity as well.

  “Lead on.”

  The footman led him upstairs to a small sitting room. The door was open, and he could see that Lady Felicity was inside, seated on a small sofa, reading.

  The footman cleared his throat. “Lord Kilgarvan,” he announced.

  Lady Felicity laid her book down carefully, then looked up at him. She gave him a welcoming smile, much as if he were any casual acquaintance come to call.

  “Thank you. That will be all, James,” she said, dismissing the servant.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Felicity,” Kilgarvan said. He glanced at the book, surprised to see that she had been reading A Tour of Ireland by Arthur Young. So she thought to learn about his country, did she? It would not take her long to realize that the Ireland he knew was not to be found in any book.

  “Good afternoon. I take it the interview with my uncle went well?”

  “Yes.”

  She waved her hand to indicate that he should take a seat, but he did not want to sit. He was too restless to be still.

  “Would you care for refreshments? Tea, cider or something stronger? My uncle’s cellars are quite fine.”

  “No, nothing.”

  He looked at her, and then at the door, which the footman had left open. Walking over to the door, he closed it firmly. It would give the illusion of privacy, although he had no doubt that everyone in the household, from his grace down to the boot boy, knew precisely why he was here.

  Crossing toward her, he rested one of his arms on the back of a chair. “His grace was kind enough to give us his blessing.”

  “Of course. I assume he also told you how relieved he was that someone had come along to take me off his hands?”

  “He did not say that.”

  “Not in those precise words, but I will wager that the sentiment was there.” Felicity gave an ironic shrug of her shoulders. “But I take no offense. Our temperaments were too dissimilar for us to rub along well together.”

  There was a moment of uncomfortable silence; then Felicity spoke again. “So now, why are you not happy? You have the look of a man who is having second thoughts.”

  “Not precisely,” he said, wondering how to put his misgivings into words.

  “Have you thought of some reason we will not suit? You can still cry off, and there will be no more said of the matter.”

  He could still cry off, she said, as if he were some nervous schoolgirl who did not know her own mind. He did not like the role that she had placed him in.

  “Before we agree, I want to be certain we understand each other. This will be a marriage of mutual respect and friendship. A marriage of convenience, as it were.”

  “And?”

  “I would not agree to this if I thought you had formed a tendre for me. A marriage where only one of the partners feels love is doomed from the start.” He felt ridiculous even saying the words.

  “I assure you, I am not the least romantical in nature,” she said in far too cheerful a tone. He could hear the laughter that lurked behind her words. “A marriage of convenience is all that I seek as well.”

  Her answer galled him. There was no need for her to sound as if it was impossible that she had fallen in love with him. He had been told that he was quite handsome, and there was more than one woman in Kilgarvan who would be disappointed that his bachelor days were over.

  He could not shake the feeling that there was something more to Lady Felicity’s marriage offer than she had told him. But he dismissed such thoughts as pointless. Knowing that the marriage had been her idea, rather than his, had made him uncomfortable with the proposition. His current hesitation was simply a sign of how little he liked feeling that he had lost control.

  He took a deep breath and thought of Miss Sawyer. Compared to Miss Sawyer and her esteemed mother, Lady Felicity was a paragon of virtue. He should be counting himself lucky, not looking to find fault where there was none.

  “Very well then, Lady Felicity, I ask that you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage.” Even as he said the words, he hoped fervently that he was not making the biggest mistake of his life.

  “You honor me greatly, and I will be pleased to accept your offer,” Lady Felicity said, as if the match had not been her idea in the first place. “And since we are to be wed, perhaps you should call me Felicity.”

  “Then you should call me Gerald.”

  He felt suddenly at a loss. This match was all that he had hoped, all that he had worked for over the last months. And yet Felicity’s acceptance seemed more like a trap than the promised salvation. It was no wonder that the young bucks referred to marriage as a sentence for life.

  “Your uncle suggested that I speak with you to set a date for the wedding.”

  “I am in no haste. It makes no difference to me if we marry tomorrow by special license, or in a year’s time,” she said.

  He knew she was referring to his earlier insinuation that she was seeking a hasty marriage to cover a pregnancy. In his heart he did not believe that she would do such a thing, and yet it was the most logical reason he could think of for her to propose marriage to him, rather than to one of her numerous suitors.

  “There will be rumors enough over the wedding. A special license would only add fuel to the fire.”

  She nodded. “Indeed. I am not averse to a suitable period of engagement. But there is one condition. You are to remain in London while we are engaged.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I will not allow anyone to say I have been abandoned,” she said.

  “I would not do that.”

  “Not willingly, no,” she conceded. “But you have said yourself how little taste you have for life here in England. And if you were to return home, even for a short visit, you would find matters that needed your attention. And a short visit would stretch into weeks, and then I would have to count myself fortunate if you managed to return in time for the wedding.”

  He could feel himself flushing as he realized that there was a grain of truth in her words. Still, he would not let himself be dictated to. It would set a poor precedent for their marriage.

  “I will remain in England,” he said, wondering if she would notice that he had not promised to stay by her side in London. “And we will be married as soon as the banns may be called.”

  He could not afford to be away from Kilgarvan for the entire summer. Nor could he wait a year, as she had proposed. The mortgages would fall due in barely two months. And while some of his creditors might be willing to wait for payment, he could not delay them long. Better to be married now and to pay them off, rather than risk losing Kilgarvan.

  “Three weeks fr
om this Sunday will be the end of June, and near the end of the Season. That will suit me well.”

  And it would suit him. With luck he would be back in Kilgarvan by early July. That would give him most of the summer to begin the long-awaited improvements for the estate. Perhaps he could convince Dennis to return sooner to begin hiring workers and laying in the provisions they would need.

  “If you will see that the announcements are sent to the papers, then I will have Lady Rutland see to the details. It is short notice, but once she is over her fit of vapors I am certain that she will rise to the occasion.” Felicity paused, a crease appearing on her brow. “Shall I send an invitation to your mother? Or is there anyone else you would like to send for from Kilgarvan?”

  He shook his head. “My mother resides in Dublin, with her sister and brother-in-law. But she is a poor sea traveler, and will not wish to make the trip.”

  “If you give me her direction, I will invite her anyway, for courtesy’s sake,” Felicity said firmly.

  “Do that.” He smiled, thinking of the commotion that the invitation would cause.

  “Pray tell, what is so amusing?”

  “I was just thinking how astounded my aunt and uncle will be to receive the news of my wedding,” he confessed. “They had sponsored my trip to London, but never in their wildest dreams would they have imagined that I would return with a duke’s daughter.”

  His mother’s sister had married a Dublin merchant. Mr. Throckmorton was a self-made man, and very conscious of his common origins. Kilgarvan respected the man for his achievements, but found it difficult to like him. Mr. Throckmorton had made no effort to hide his low opinion of Kilgarvan’s father and his mismanagement of his inheritance. He had invited the dowager countess to reside with him in Dublin, less out of charity than out of his urge to gloat that he could provide for her what her son could not.

  It had been Mr. Throckmorton who had financed his nephew’s trip to London, saying that since a nobleman could not be expected to turn his hand to honest work, it was best that he find a wife who could support him. Kilgarvan could find no fault with his uncle’s logic, but the man’s condescending manner had stung his pride. This was one debt it would give Kilgarvan great satisfaction to repay.

  The news that Lady Felicity Winterbourne was to marry Gerald FitzDesmond, Earl of Kilgarvan, took London society by surprise. Although perhaps surprise was too mild a word. Stunned shock was a better way to sum up the reactions of those who read the notice in the Times.

  There were all the ingredients of high drama, or low farce. The handsome, impoverished earl was to wed the wellborn and well-dowered daughter of a duke. That alone would have been fodder for the gristmill, but the news that the wedding was in a mere three weeks’ time was enough to set tongues wagging.

  His first inkling of trouble came when he received a note from Mr. Bingham, a distant cousin who had introduced Kilgarvan to London society. Mr. Bingham congratulated Kilgarvan on his good fortune, calling him a lucky cur. In what Kilgarvan fervently hoped was a lame jest, his friend asked for the secret for courting heiresses, and closed with an offer to help Kilgarvan secure a special license, should he decide it prudent not to wait the three weeks for the banns to be called.

  Along with the congratulations came scores of invitations to routs, balls, Venetian breakfasts and the like. Hostesses who had previously refused to acknowledge his existence now vied for the chance to host the couple whose names were on every tongue.

  If left to his own devices Kilgarvan would have refused most invitations, but since Lady Felicity continued to go about in society, he found himself pressed into service as her escort, on those occasions when she requested his presence. Tonight they were to attend Lady Sefton’s rout, and then make an appearance at a ball held by the Stanthorpes. Like most routs, what should have been a glittering occasion more closely resembled a cattle market, as too many people crowded into too small a space. Ladies and gentlemen in their finest evening wear jostled and pushed each other as they ascended the stairs to the ballroom, bumping elbows with those who were in the process of trying to leave.

  After a quarter hour, or perhaps longer, they reached the top of the stairs, and entered the crowded drawing room. It was stuffy and hot, and the din of conversation was so loud it was a wonder anyone could hear themselves think.

  He could not suppress the small shudder of panic that overtook him as he surveyed the crowded room. He hated crowds, hated the pressed-in, closed feeling of too many people. His breathing quickened in his mindless panic that the air would soon run out.

  Felicity seemed to sense his distress. Linking her arm in his, she gave his hand a quick squeeze. “We will just pay our respects to the Seftons and then we may leave.”

  He nodded, knowing it would take nearly as long to fight their way back down the stairs as it had to ascend. As they made their way through the crowd, he could not help wondering what would happen if one of the ladies were to faint. Would the press of the crowd hold her body upright? Or would she fall to the floor and perforce be trampled?

  Felicity led him through the crowd toward the tall windows at the far end of the room. The windows were open to the night breeze, and presumably that was where Lord and Lady Sefton were holding court. As they moved through the crowd, heads turned to follow their progress, and though conversations paused in their vicinity, the fierce whispers resumed as soon as they had passed.

  He knew they were discussing Felicity and himself, and the rumors surrounding their engagement.

  He looked over at Felicity, but she appeared as cool and composed as if she were carved from ice.

  “How can you stand it?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “This. You know that we are the chief topic of conversation,” he said.

  Felicity lifted her chin with the haughtiness of a duchess. “They have been talking about me since the day I was born. They will most likely be talking about me long after I am in my grave. I do not pay it any attention, and I suggest that you do the same.”

  “I will try,” he said.

  But in the week that followed the gossip got worse. Dennis O’Connor, who was used to taking his daily pint in a tavern patronized by servants at liberty, at first denied all knowledge of the rumors. But then he relented, realizing that his friend needed to know what was being said about him. According to Dennis, the gossipers were divided into two camps. One camp held that Kilgarvan had compromised Lady Felicity, or that she had compromised him. The other camp was of the opinion that Lady Felicity was increasing, and was attempting to cover her indiscretion through a hasty marriage. Several names were bandied about as possible fathers of this mythical child, though Kilgarvan’s was not among them. He, it seemed, was merely a convenience, having agreed to take on Felicity and the child in return for her vast fortune.

  The rumors made his blood boil, the more so because there was nothing he could do about it. If he tried to proclaim Felicity’s innocence, who would believe him? Moreover, would he believe himself? He told himself that he had quashed the suspicions that had arisen when Felicity first proposed this scheme, and yet the gossip left him with nagging doubts.

  He considered suggesting to Felicity that they postpone the wedding ceremony, but then thought better of the idea. Suggesting a postponement would be an insult to her, making it seem that he too had his doubts about her innocence. No doubt she would cry off, and then where would he be? He could hardly begin courting another heiress, not after his name had been linked to Felicity’s.

  No, for better or worse, he had to go through with this marriage.

  But after a week of increasing gossip, he had had enough. While dining with a friend at White’s, he had overheard Lord Manley speculating on Felicity’s morals, or lack thereof. Kilgarvan rose from his table and made his presence known, assuming that this would end the matter. But it did not. Instead of apologizing, Lord Manley leeringly congratulated Kilgarvan on his good fortune, declaring that Kilgarvan was fortuna
te not only to have found a wealthy wife, but one who had been educated in her travels and must surely possess skills not to be found in an ordinary bride.

  Cold rage filled Kilgarvan. Reaching down with one hand, he grabbed Lord Manley’s cravat and used it to haul the old lecher to his feet.

  “Apologize. Now,” Kilgarvan ordered, not loosening his hold on the man’s cravat. His left hand clenched into a fist, and he struggled against the urge to rearrange the leering features with his fist.

  Lord Manley’s face began to turn purple from the pressure on his windpipe. Realizing he had misjudged the situation, the old lecher began babbling apologies.

  Kilgarvan barely listened to what the man said. No mealymouthed apologies could make up for the slander he had uttered, yet what other choice did Kilgarvan have? Lord Manley was sixty if he was a day. Kilgarvan could hardly challenge the man to a duel.

  “Enough,” he finally said in a growl. He released his hold, and Lord Manley collapsed back into his chair.

  Kilgarvan’s eyes swept the gathered crowd. “Is there any other gentleman here who would like to comment on my nuptials or my prospective bride?”

  His blood was boiling for a brawl, but he was not surprised that no one took up his challenge.

  “Come along, Gerald,” his friend John Bingham said. “There is no sense letting an old fool spoil your evening.”

  Kilgarvan remained and ate dinner, but he knew he was poor company, and after dinner he excused himself. As he returned to his lodgings, he realized that he could not endure another fortnight in London. Not unless he intended to spend it brawling and dueling every highborn English fribble and his brother.

  It was better that he leave London for a bit and let things quiet down. It was unlikely that he would return to England in the near future, so he should make the most of this visit. He would go see for himself the mills, and factories, and other great engines of progress he had heard so much about.

  In the morning he sent Felicity a note telling her that he would be gone from London for a while. He knew he should tell her in person, but having decided to leave, he could not wait until a civilized hour to call. He was eager to flee this bustling metropolis, to see what he could of the English countryside, to breathe clean air again, and to stand where he could see the land and was not constantly hemmed in by stone and crowds.