Chapter Seventeen
Upon returning to London, Corinne quickly discovered that everyone had assumed she’d been visiting friends in the country. Even her sister and brothers believed the story her parents had circulated.
Her parents’ reception was decidedly cool. She discovered she’d lost any goodwill her father had had toward her. She was no longer his pet. He had expected her to obey and she hadn’t.
Neither parent asked where she’d been. Her mother, of course, continued on as if nothing had happened, but sometimes Corinne felt her father watching her closely.
She had surprised him. The thought amused her, since her will was as strong as his own.
Of course, the servants had also been instructed to keep a careful eye on her. There were four days until her wedding. Days filled with fittings, details, and last-minute dinner parties to celebrate the coming nuptials, occasions that forced her to sit beside Freddie.
Corinne would have played her part. After all, she was waiting for Will. She would have been docile and obedient until that time, but Freddie couldn’t leave well enough alone.
He brooded. If she had been enamored with him before—and she certainly hadn’t been—his brooding would have put her off him completely. And he would stand by her side as tenaciously as a dog guarding his bone. His hand would wander to her shoulder, her arm, her waist.
Corinne was becoming quite adept at avoiding his touch. She would step forward, step sideways—and always wearing a smile.
He tried to take her aside, inviting her out on the terrace or cornering her during soirees. Corinne managed to put him off. After all, if she stood her ground, he couldn’t force her to do anything, short of picking her up and carrying her out of the room, which he wouldn’t do in front of all society.
That didn’t stop him from making promises. Every chance he could, he’d whisper, “You will be mine, and then no one can stop me from doing what I wish with you.”
Corinne kept the smile on her face, her belief in Will unshakeable . . . until Lady Rumsman’s luncheon.
Lady Rumsman was a distant family connection who held a weekly salon where many of the great Whig thinkers of the day gathered and impressed each other with their wit.
Although Lady Rumsman and the duke of Banfield shared the same political persuasion, she’d never been particularly fond of him. However, she was a great admirer of Lord Bossley, and for that reason had insisted on honoring Corinne with a luncheon the day before the wedding.
Lady Rumsman had little regard for the duchess of Banfield’s intelligence and assumed Corinne was equally guilty by association. Corinne’s sister, Belinda, had known the affair would be a bore and had suddenly come down with a headache.
Corinne tried to have a “headache” as well, but her mother forced her to carry on. The two of them sat side by side at the luncheon table, being talked over by the other gentlewomen, all of them bluestockings and many of them bores. When addressing a comment to Corinne, they spoke slowly and overexplained matters.
However, over creme tarts, Corinne learned that the earl of Bossley’s foster son had been named a traitor and a price had been set on his head by the Crown.
The Crown. There would be no safe place for Will.
For a frightening second, Corinne feared she would swoon. “He’s not,” she heard herself say.
The two women who’d had their heads together looked up in surprise. “I beg your pardon?” one asked.
“The Reverend Norwich,” Corinne said. “He’s not a traitor. In fact, I doubt if you could find a more honorable gentleman—” She broke off. Felt her mother frown. Knew these women would not give Will quarter.
“Lord Bossley has charged Mr. Norwich himself,” one of the ladies replied. “Singled him out. Very embarrassing for the family, but most honorable of Lord Bossley.”
“Well, no good deed goes unrewarded,” Lady Rumsman opined crisply. She was wearing a dress of puce silk, a silly color that truly was giving Corinne a headache every time she looked at the woman. “Bossley found his foster son begging in the streets of Barbados, starving to death, and this is how his lordship’s kindness is repaid. That is why I refuse to give so much as a penny to the urchins. Thankless creatures.”
“He’s not a traitor,” Corinne insisted. She had to be true to Will. She had to be. And Lord Bossley had reneged on their bargain. He wanted Will gone. Turning him over to the authorities was against what they’d agreed.
“You would counter the sworn statement of such a prestigious nobleman as Lord Bossley?” a woman across from her asked.
“I would,” Corinne answered. “Oh, yes, I would,” she reiterated as her temper started to mount.
“Corinne,” her mother said in warning. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “The weather is quite nice—”
“Give her her head, Your Grace,” Lady Rumsman said, cutting Corinne’s mother off. “What do you know about Bossley’s foster son?”
But before Corinne could defend the man she loved, a servant entered the room bearing a note on a silver tray.
“What is this?” Lady Rumsman demanded and took the note. She set her spectacles on the end of her nose. “Ah ha,” she announced after a quick perusal. “Our conversation is timely.”
Lady Rumsman lowered the note and looked around the table, her gaze settling on Corinne. “I have intelligence here from Lord Bossley himself. Lady Corinne and anyone else who cares to plead the case for this ungrateful cur of a foster son may do so on the morrow. That is when he’ll go before the Magistrate.” She held up the note. “You see, my lady, the traitor Norwich has already confessed.”
“Confessed?” Corinne repeated in disbelief.
“That’s what Lord Bossley informs me,” came the reply. “Turned himself in—oh, wait, you wouldn’t be able to defend his reputation, since you will wisely be marrying Lord Sherwin tomorrow.”
Corinne went very silent. Will had given up? There must have been more. There had to be.
And how was he going to come for her before she married Freddie? He couldn’t do anything if he was in the gaol.
“We are all foolish when we are young,” Lady Rumsman said to no one in particular. “It’s wise of you, Your Grace, to be marrying your daughter off to Lord Sherwin. He’ll teach her some sense. And when his father leads our goverent, we’ll all have the benefit of that good sense. Sense and civility. That is what we need in this country. Lord Bossley understands the importance of rank and privilege.”
Corinne could not wait to leave. She needed time alone, to think. Did no one see through Lord Bossley? Did they all assume he was the image he wished to convey? Or were they hiding fatal flaws as well?
Of course, Lord Bossley thought he had the best of her, but he was wrong. If his lordship stood before her, she would tear out his evil heart with her bare hands . . . and do the same for his lying tongue.
Out on the street in front of Lady Rumsman’s house, Corinne decided she had to run. She had to see Will, to do what she could for him.
She started off walking down the street at a brisk pace. Her decision was so abrupt that the footmen who seemed to dog her every step were caught off guard—and she was free.
“Corinne,” her mother called.
There was no stopping. Corinne could turn her back on everyone for Will.
But then her father’s footmen caught up with her. They surrounded her, blocking her path.
“My lady, you need to return home with us,” one of them said.
“I don’t wish to,” she replied with a sinking heart.
“You must.”
Her mother slipped past them. She put her hands around Corinne’s shoulders. “Please, Corinne. No scenes, no scandal. Not here.”
“He’s in prison,” Corinne said to her mother. “I love him.”
Her mother looked around as if fearing som
eone could overhear them on the street. “Yes, dear. Yes, yes, now climb in the coach. You will accomplish nothing by running through the streets of London like a madwoman.”
She was right.
Corinne was silent on the drive home and quickly escaped to her room. Perhaps there was a way she could leave the house unnoticed? Unfortunately, her new maid—Hattie was her name—would not leave her alone. And footmen lingered in the hall and patrolled the street and small garden of the town house.
She was trapped. Caught.
Lord Bossley had won . . . and she was going to marry Freddie.
For a frightening moment, she contemplated taking her own life . . . and realized she couldn’t. Will would have been disappointed in her if she had.
But her courage was beginning to fail.
That night after dinner, when the family shared a moment in the sitting room, her father singled her out. “Is everything as it should be?” He’d been watching her closely, even with his paper in front of him.
Here was her opportunity to tell her father the truth of what had happened, to warn him of what sort of man Lord Bossley was.
At the same time, her inner sense of things warned her to be cautious. Will had confessed and he shouldn’t have. It didn’t make sense.
What if he needed her silence?
“It is.” She ducked her head, hiding behind the pile of correspondence conveying well wishes. Her hands shook. She tried to keep them steady. “All is good.”
Belinda and her children were entertaining the rest of the family. No one seemed to be paying attention to Corinne and her father—and yet she knew everyone watched.
“You have changed while you were gone from us,” the duke said.
“The people of Ferris were kind to me.” She shuffled the letters around, attempting to look busy. “I became quite”—she paused, searching for the right word—“involved in their daily lives.”
“You did not become involved with Bossley’s foster son, I hope.”
There it was, the source of her parents’ fears. Corinne had assumed they’d known about herself and Will. They didn’t . . . or were they pretending? She didn’t trust anyone.
“I’m surprised you ask,” she challenged.
Her father studied her a moment. “Bossley spoke to me—in confidence,” he said as if to reassure her. “He fears his foster son was not the gentleman, or clergyman, he would have wished.”
It had been on the tip of Corinne’s tongue to proudly announce that Will was her lover, or was that what Lord Bossley wanted? So many intrigues . . .
“He’s wrong. Mr. Norwich is the most noble, amazing gentleman of my acquaintance.”
“So he had you,” her father surmised.
Corinne shot him a sharp look. Guilt brought heat to her cheeks. She should have steered him away from thinking the worst of Will.
He nodded as if to confirm her conclusions. “I am your sire,” he said. “Of all my children, you alone insist on going your own way . . . but I am here to protect you, Corinne. I would not want you to embarrass our family. I know you are set against this marriage, although I chose Sherwin because I believe he affords you great opportunities—”
“Also for yourself.” She couldn’t resist speaking out.
“Yes, for myself as well,” her father agreed. “However, you are my blood. And in spite of being a woman, you have a good sense of things. There are times when you have understood what the rest of us failed to perceive.”
“I am like my grandmother,” she stated as confirmation.
He leaned away from her. He had never admitted to his mother’s gift of “knowing.” “Possibly,” he said, the best concession she would ever receive from him.
“Then listen to me when I say this, Father—you must keep your distance from Lord Bossley,” Corinne warned. “He is not what he seems.”
“Is that what Norwich told you?”
She pinned her father with her gaze. “It is what I know.”
“It’s too late to change the wedding. It must be done.”
Corinne leaned forward. “You fear his reaction if we cry off,” she said.
“Of course. I’m a man of honor,” he said.
“He’s not,” she warned.
The words lingered in the air between them.
Her father rose. He placed his hand on her shoulder, but he walked away.
Like the Greeks of old who ignored Cassandra, her father would not listen to her.
Corinne went up to her room, where she worried and paced, finally falling asleep in the hour before dawn.
“I can’t believe you slept so late,” Belinda chastised. She was a bit taller than Corinne, and childbirth had added roundness to her figure, but other than that, the sisters appeared very much alike. “There is so much to be done. I’ve ordered a bath, and Delora and Hattie will see to your toilette. Mother is busy with all the details. You know how she is when she must host anything . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Are you feeling quite the thing?”
“I don’t want to marry Lord Sherwin,” Corinne said.
Belinda made a dismissive sound. “We all know that and don’t understand why. I find him rather attractive.”
“You’ve never seen his white buttocks,” Corinne snapped and was surprised when Delora laughed. So, at least she had one ally in this house.
For the next two hours, she was surrounded by people. The wedding would be held at St. George’s Hanover Square, with the wedding breakfast to follow here at the house. The smells of cooking food mingled with that of perfume and powder.
Corinne barely lifted a finger to help. They pampered and preened over her without needing one thought or action from her—and at last it was time to leave for the church.
She went downstairs and wasn’t surprised to see her mother completely scatterbrained. The duchess stopped at the sight of her daughter. “You look exquisite,” she said with approval. “Belinda, well done. Now, come, girls, we mustn’t be late.”
“Where is Father?” Corinne asked, not seeing him in the hall. Belinda’s husband and children were there, along with two of her aunts.
Her mother made an exasperated sound. “He left earlier. Said he would see us at the church. Some messenger came, and before I knew it, your father sent word he had to leave the house on an important matter. The man has his finger in everything, but I would have thought he’d make his daughter’s wedding a priority. I just pray he arrives before Lord Bossley. We don’t want him offended.”
“I wouldn’t mind offending him,” Corinne said brightly. It was her wedding day. This might have been the last time she could express her mind.
“Enough of that, missy,” the duchess scolded and then started herding everyone into the coaches waiting at the curb to drive them to Mayfair.
Corinne moved with a sense of detachment. Her mother and sister rode with her. Her brother-in-law and the children were in the coach behind them. Her brothers and their wives would meet them at the church.
Alone with the women in her family, Corinne asked, “Are you happy, Belinda?”
Her sister frowned. “Happy, Cory? ‘Happy’ is such a funny word. Everyone says it and no one knows what it means.”
“You called me Cory,” Corinne said.
“I beg your pardon?” Belinda questioned.
“You’ve never used that pet name before,” Corinne answered.
“Cory?” Belinda shrugged. “I don’t know why I used it now. Do you not like it?”
“I do like it.”
“Well,” her sister said, as if confused by the whole conversation, “I shall call you that again.”
“I believe it sounds silly,” their mother chimed in. “And here we are at the church. Where is Banfield?” The door to the coach opened, and Her Grace was the first to climb out.
Corinn
e held back, realizing her future awaited—and here she was, placing attachment to any signs she could find that God had not abandoned her. That included her sister’s use of her nickname.
“Come along,” Belinda prodded. “This is what we do. What we are expected to do.”
The day was a good one for a wedding. Spring was in the air and huge, lazy clouds moved swiftly across a blue sky.
A crowd of the populace had gathered to witness the bridal party going into the church. They’d already watched the guests, including the Prince of Wales, arrive. They crowded the coach, Banfield footmen working to keep them at a distance, ready to gossip about the bride.
There were ooh’s and ahh’s at the sight of Corinne’s fine muslin dress trimmed in French lace. She carried her family Bible in one hand and held her train in the other. Delora had swept her hair up into a design of smooth curls held in place by white rosebuds and pearl clips.
Will would come for her. He had to.
St. George’s Hanover Square was one of the most important churches in London, albeit plain in decoration. It had a wide aisle with high box pews on either side. Those pews were already packed with everyone of importance.
Lord Bossley met them in the vestibule. He greeted the duchess warmly, gave a pat on the head to Belinda’s son, and shook her husband’s hand. His gaze met Corinne’s and he smiled, as if he knew that everything he wanted was within his grasp.
Glancing around, Corinne asked, “Where’s Father?”
“I don’t know,” Her Grace answered.
“He’s not with you?” Lord Bossley questioned. He frowned. “He hasn’t been here.”
“He left early this morning, summoned for something at Whitehall,” the duchess said. “The messenger said it was urgent. I answered that his daughter’s marriage was urgent, but no one listens to me.”
Lord Bossley grunted a response.
Reverend Hodgson, the church rector, came down the aisle to make inquiries. Upon learning that the duke was not present, he whispered to a guest or two and the word spread.
Corinne was not unhappy with the delay. Up in front of the altar, with its dramatic painting of the Last Supper, Freddie looked like he was asleep on his feet. For the first time, the thought crossed Corinne’s mind that mayhap he didn’t want to marry her any more than she did him.
The Seduction of Scandal (Scandals and Seductions 5) Page 21
