Daniel had seen his mother’s delight, her hope that he would do as they considered he should and produce an heir as soon as possible, and he’d simply let their conversation flow over him. He didn’t let himself think about it all until he’d returned home to the quiet of his own house — a house that felt as empty as he did, as void of any joy.
“I still can’t quite get over it,” he muttered, smoothing a wrinkle out of his carefully tied cravat. “I can hardly imagine marrying, let alone someone I have never met.”
He’d agreed to it in the end, of course, aware that if he did not then his father could simply remove a large part of his fortune and even change his will, should he feel that Daniel was not behaving in the way the heir to the title ought to. Daniel was well aware that each duke before him in recent history had taken on the title already married, with the majority of them having a son already produced. His father had told him of this a great many times, but it still had not affected Daniel’s outlook.
“What if she is ugly?” Hudson contemplated, and Daniel rolled his eyes as he accepted a drink from his friend. “I doubt that. I have to take her to bed and, given how much my father wants the heir to be produced, I doubt he would saddle me with an unattractive wife.”
Lord Hudson grinned, sending a ripple of irritation through Daniel. His friend was enjoying this situation far too much for Daniel’s liking.
“And she has agreed to all this, I presume? You are not going to have some flighty young thing changing her mind the moment you scowl at her?”
Daniel snorted, loudly. “I highly doubt it. She is to be the Duchess of Ware one day. What kind of young lady turns such a title down?”
Hudson nodded slowly, his smile fading. “You do not mean to attempt to scare her away, do you now, Ravenhall?”
“I am angry, true,” Daniel replied, crossing his arms. “It is not what I wanted — not yet anyway. I have my own life to lead, and now it seems as though my father is desperate to take that away from me. Besides that, after Laura … well. I do not think I will prove to be the husband this young woman is looking for. I shall not pretend to be someone I am not, however, and if she still wants me once she knows the way of it, then so be it.”
“Your father is desperate to maintain the family line, as you yourself will be one day,” Lord Hudson replied, firmly. “Besides, many gentlemen find themselves in your situation and do very well out of it. It takes a great deal of effort to secure a wife, you know. You should be relieved that you do not have to parade yourself through society and choose a lady for yourself! The moment you set foot at a social event, they will be swarming around you like river rats, all seeking to cling to you.”
“And only interested in me because of my wealth and title,” Daniel finished, with a dullness settling into his voice. “Yes, I know.” A memory of his entry into societal events rose, of the days when he enjoyed the attention, though it had been caught by one beautiful woman in particular, who had loved him for who he was and not the title he held.
At least, that was what she’d always told him and he’d always believed it since he loved her in return.
Overwhelmed by frustration, he thrust to his feet and stormed toward the door, growing angrier with himself with each step. He’d never before questioned Laura’s words, nor her affection for him, so why was he doing it now? Was it because he was to find himself married in a few short weeks? Or was it because he was growing colder and more cynical as the years passed, burying himself in his hatred of Lord Northcliffe?
“No more dawdling,” he said sharply, as Lord Hudson stared at him in surprise. “Let’s go. The last thing I want is my father to complain that I am late.”
Hudson shrugged, threw back the rest of his brandy, and set the glass down. “As you wish,” he murmured, eyeing Daniel carefully. “Are you sure you’re all right, Ravenhall?”
“Yes,” Daniel replied, tightly. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
The ball was already in full swing by the time Daniel and Hudson arrived. While the sight of lords and ladies in all of their finery twirling around the room in front of them made Lord Hudson grin, it filled Daniel with a certain amount of dread.
“Capital!” Lord Hudson exclaimed, rubbing his hands. “This should do me very well. Lots of young ladies to dance with, plenty to drink, and a card room should it all get too much.”
He slapped Daniel on the shoulder, trying to get him to smile. “Stop looking so beastly or you will frighten away your bride long before she has the chance to get to know you,” he continued, as they joined the line to greet their hosts. “You have to try to smile a little bit, Daniel. The poor creature’s going to be terrified of you.”
Daniel didn’t care. He hated this, hated being here and being so on display. Turning his attention to Lord and Lady Fauconberg, he thanked them for their invitation and commented on how beautifully the room was decorated, how elegant Lady Fauconberg looked, and how wonderfully the orchestra played. The words came easily to his lips, as he was fully in the knowledge that he was expected to give such compliments before excusing himself. It was how a gentleman such as he was meant to conduct himself and while his feelings on the role had changed, Daniel had never forgotten his training.
“Thank you, Lord Ravenhall,” Lord Fauconberg murmured, as Daniel made to step away. “I do hope you have a very enjoyable evening.”
There was a glimmer of a smile on the man’s face, which Daniel caught just as he turned away. A heaviness settled into his heart. Apparently, Lord Fauconberg was aware of what Daniel was here for — and if Lord Fauconberg knew, then his wife knew too, and that meant within a day or two, London would be alive with the news that Daniel, the Marquess of Ravenhall and heir apparent to the Duke of Ware, was engaged.
He swallowed, hard. It was all becoming too much.
“Courage, man,” Lord Hudson murmured, coming to stand by him. “I’m sure your young lady is very lovely and you will be more than happy with her. First meetings are always difficult. Just smile and say something to compliment her, request to dance and then leave her be. That will satisfy everyone and allow you to take things slowly.”
Daniel made to reply as they came to the grand staircase which would lead them down into the ballroom, but, in that one moment, his whole being froze.
He could not speak. He could not move. His hands tightened into fists, his teeth ground together, his feet felt stuck to the floor. All he could see was Lord Northcliffe, smiling, laughing, and genuinely enjoying himself, as he stood in the center of the room.
“Ravenhall?” Lord Hudson said, quietly, nudging him. “Whatever’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’ve lost your nerve! It’s only a woman.”
Daniel tried to shake his head, his mouth opening and closing, but still, he could not say a word. Lord Northcliffe was some distance away but, from where he stood, Daniel was certain it was him. Six years he had waited for this, to come face-to-face with the man who had ruined his life.
“Goodness, you are quite overcome,” Lord Hudson murmured, as some other gentlemen walked past them to descend the staircase. “Whatever’s the matter, Ravenhall?”
“There,” Daniel ground out, one finger stretching out to point at the man. “That is Lord Northcliffe, is it not?”
Hudson’s smile faded rapidly and he turned to look where Daniel pointed.
“I do not think it is,” he said, slowly, his eyes turning toward Daniel before he looked back out across the crowd. “I will confess that the gentleman looks like him but I cannot be certain. It has been quite some time since I last saw him.”
“It is him,” Daniel ground out, his hand now clutching Lord Hudson’s coat. “I would know him anywhere!”
White-hot anger began to race through him, his rage spiking as he hurried down the steps into the ballroom, not even thinking about who might be watching his entrance. All he thought of was Lord Northcliffe, all he wanted was to get to him — although what he intended to do once he did, Daniel had no idea.
“Ravenhall!”
Hudson grasped his arm tightly, pulling him back.
“What are you doing?” he hissed, dragging Daniel away from his quarry. “You cannot just go up to him in the middle of the ballroom!”
“Leave me be,” Daniel exclaimed, not caring who heard him.
His friend shook his head, his gaze resolute. “For your own sake, I cannot do that, Ravenhall. Think about what you’re doing, for heaven’s sake! You promised me you would not act without proof.”
Despite that, despite knowing that he ought not to go anywhere near Lord Northcliffe, Daniel could not stop himself. “I must,” he grated, shaking his arm free of Hudson. “You do not understand.”
Leaving Hudson behind, Daniel hurried through the crowd once more, ignoring those who tried to greet him. His mind was filled with one firm purpose, his thoughts aimed in only one direction.
“Lord Northcliffe?” he gasped, his breathing ragged as he reached the group of gentlemen he had seen talking with the man, but found him nowhere in sight.
One of the gentlemen looked at Daniel in surprise, while the others began to whisper among themselves, shooting glances toward Daniel, some amused, others somewhat fearful.
“Lord Northcliffe just left us,” one man finally said quietly, looking at Daniel with something like surprise. “He stepped out to the gardens.”
Daniel turned away without a word, going straight toward the doors that led out to Lord Fauconberg’s gardens. They would be well lit, he was certain of it, which meant that all he had to do was step out and find him there. Perhaps outside was better. He would draw less attention when he smashed Lord Northcliffe’s face into the dirt.
The outside air was cool, rushing across his heated cheeks and somewhat calming his frantic thoughts. Daniel hesitated for a moment as he hurried down the steps toward the garden paths, stopping to lean against the stone wall as he collected himself.
What was he doing? What did he intend to do? Was he really going to beat Lord Northcliffe to a bloody pulp right here in Lord Fauconberg’s gardens? Who would bear the brunt of his shame when it was discovered that he was responsible? He might feel vindicated, even relieved, but the truth would come out sooner or later and the ton would not understand his actions. He could try and explain but they would not listen, rumors and gossip would fly all about and damage his reputation irreversibly. And not only his.
His father would be shamed. His mother would lose her standing in society, dropped like a hot coal from her circle of friends. His betrothed — whoever she was — would never be able to enter London without whispers about his behavior swirling around her. His children, should he have any, would never be allowed to forget the stories about their father.
But still, he could not simply let Lord Northcliffe get away. He had to at least let the man know he was watching him.
Pushing himself away from the wall, Daniel hurried down the garden path, not seeing anyone about until his shoulder slammed into another person.
“Out of my way!” he snarled without so much as a look back, before dashing off into the darkness.
6
Christina tried to catch her breath after the gentleman hurried away on the poorly lit garden path, her chest and shoulder aching where his body had slammed, hard, into hers. He had come from nowhere, seemingly rushing down the path with such abandon that Christina hadn’t seen him until he charged headlong into her. And yet he had the audacity to tell her to move!
“Goodness, Christina!” her friend exclaimed from beside her, holding out a steadying hand. “Are you quite all right? Did you see who that brute of a man was?”
Christina took a few moments to catch her breath, holding onto Lady Beatrice’s arm.
“I have no idea, but I have no intention of letting him speak to me in such a way!” she exclaimed, fury rising as the pain abated, and she turned around to look into the darkness. “I must go and find him and tell him exactly that.”
“No, we must not!” Lady Beatrice cried, catching Christina’s hand. “It would be altogether untoward, and besides that, the waltz is starting soon, and you know how I love to dance. I have a set with Lord Heatheringhall, and Mother will be quite upset if I stand him up.”
“You are right. You must go dance, and I will return shortly,” Christina urged. “I will be but a moment.”
“I cannot leave you,” Lady Beatrice replied, shaking her head. “I hardly think that a young woman can do such a thing. What if you are found, alone, with a gentleman in the darkness? It is not done. Your reputation will be sullied.”
Christina did not care, especially since she was already engaged, and her betrothed had yet to present himself to her. He was clearly in no rush to meet her, as he had not even yet appeared this evening. Besides that, what was he going to do — break off their engagement? “I will simply take a moment to compose myself, and then I will make sure to slip back inside quietly. No one will be the wiser.”
She smiled at her friend, glad that Lady Beatrice was showing her such consideration yet determined to call out whoever it was that had knocked into her without any kind of apology. “Thank you, Beatrice. I will not be long, I assure you.”
She watched as Beatrice nodded slowly, a look of concern in her expression, before she made her way toward the door that led back into the ballroom. Even though they had only been in London for a few short days, Christina’s father, the marquess, had made every effort to find her a friend or two. Thankfully, Lady Beatrice Jamieson, daughter of the Earl of Broughton, had been warm and welcoming from the moment Christina had been introduced to her, and they had seen one another every day since their first meeting. They were as different as could be in appearance. Lady Beatrice had jet black hair, always piled high on her head, and was short of stature, but she made up for it with an exuberant character. She was always ready with a smile, a quick comment or a joke that made Christina laugh, pulling her out of the doldrums she’d found herself in ever since her father had told her she was engaged.
Moving rapidly down the path, Christina felt her heart quicken in her chest as the darkness pulled her in. This part of the garden was much dimmer, although Christina did not want to think as to why that might be. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she hoped desperately that the gentleman she was pursuing did not think she was seeking him out for some kind of liaison.
“Excuse me!” she called, seeing a shadowy figure moving quickly up ahead, dodging the light of a lone lantern. “I say, stop for a moment, if you please. I must speak with you.” Her frustration at being treated in such a rude manner began to rise all the more as the gentleman ignored her entirely, despite the fact that Christina was sure he could hear her call out to him.
“Ho, you there!” she called again, only to gasp aloud as the gentleman reached another she had not seen, and without stopping, launched himself at the man, throwing a punch at him.
“How dare you show your face!” The first gentleman shouted as Christina began to stagger back, her hands pressed to her mouth as she tried to hide. “I have been searching for you for six years. Six years! Do not think that I intend to let you get away now.”
Christina did not know what to do. She tried to get her limbs to move so that she might turn around and hurry away, but she felt as though her feet were fastened to the ground.
“I will do all I can to destroy you,” she heard the gentleman say, his voice loud yet rasping. “You do not deserve to live!”
“Then kill me,” came the second man’s voice, filled with an arrogance that made Christina wince. A man ought not to speak like that when he was being threatened, not if he wanted to get away with his life. The first gentleman was clearly in a state of furious rage for whatever reason, so surely it was best not to frustrate him further?
“Believe me, I want to,” the first gentleman continued, his hands grasping the second gentleman’s collar as he dragged him up to his tiptoes. “I want to put my hands around your throat and squeeze until the li
fe goes out of your eyes.”
Christina gasped, horrified, wanting to move yet fixed on the scene in front of her. She grabbed hold of the back of a bench that sat just beside the path. This gentleman, whoever he was, was clearly unstable. Threatening to kill a man in cold blood — in the middle of a ball, no less? She could not quite take it in, her mind screaming at her to get away from him.
“I will do whatever I have to in order to get you to tell me the truth, to confess,” she heard the first man say, as the second man let out a groan of pain. “But it will not be a physical punishment, believe me. I will not let your crimes sully my own reputation, nor that of my father’s. Do not doubt, for one moment, that you will be able to continue with your life as though everything is just as it seems. I know what you did, and so help me I will prove it.”
Christina sank behind the bench as the sound of a punch meeting its mark reached her ears. Glancing over at them, she saw that the second man was now doubled over, his hands clutching his stomach as the first man finally let go of his quarry, striding away from him.
Stay still, Christina told herself, trying to make herself as small as possible as she crouched behind the bench. He might not see you.
Unfortunately for her, the gentleman started in surprise as he saw her at once, and she cursed her silvery white gown. As beautiful as it was, hugging her curves and then cascading in folds down her waist, it must have shimmered in the moonlight, giving her away.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, striding toward her, as though he knew who she was. As he neared, the lantern caught his face, and Christina was taken aback by the hard edges of his features, at the way his lip curled in a near snarl. He would have been good looking, with his strong jawline, high forehead, and the whisper of hair across his chin, but his anger masked it all. She stood but shrank back, as if the darkness could keep her from him. “Why are you out here, alone?” he snapped at her.
Promise of Redemption Page 5
