After Catherine’s death, he had determined never to marry again and in the intervening years, he had seen nothing to change his mind. And yet here he was contemplating that very act. It was true that it had been thrust upon him and that there had been no other honorable choice, but he was discovering that the notion of marriage to Eleanor Anslowe did not fill him with quite the distaste and resentment he should have felt. He must be mad, indeed, he finally decided. Why else was he viewing this turn of events with such cheerful acceptance?
His cheerfulness fled the instant he was let down from the Anslowe coach and prepared to mount the steps to his townhouse. He paused, staring at the disappearing coach, the events that had been set into motion last night flooding back. His stepmother would be inside, no doubt frantically waiting for news of her daughter. He made a face. Regrettably, he had nothing to tell her about Elizabeth and he was confident that the announcement of his impending wedding was not going to be met with resounding acclamation. Quite the reverse. Lady Wyndham might yearn for him to marry, but it was clear that she already had his bride picked out—a bride who would be biddable and bow to her stepmama-in-law in all things. He doubted that Miss Anslowe would be a young woman who would meet with his stepmother’s approval. He grinned. No, definitely not. Miss Anslowe’s intelligent eyes and sharp tongue made it clear that she was not a meek and malleable creature who could be easily manipulated by his stepmother—or anyone else, for that matter. He shook his head. His domestic life was certainly going to be very, very lively during the coming weeks. Uncertain whether to laugh or curse, he mounted the steps and entered the house.
Julian had expected to be met by a hand-wringing Lady Wyndham and he was astonished that the first person who rushed up to meet him was Elizabeth. The heavy front door had barely shut behind him before Elizabeth, her brown eyes full of anxiety, the skirts of her primrose muslin gown billowing out behind her, catapulted into the grand foyer.
Relief washed over her features as she ran up to him and flung her arms around him. “Oh, Julian!” she breathed, her expression contrite as she hugged him. “I am so sorry, so very sorry, that mother sent you off on such a sleeveless errand! When I returned last night from Ranelagh Gardens—” She stopped at the look on his face. She smiled wryly. “Yes, that is where I went last night instead of the Ellingsons’ ball. It was to Ranelagh Gardens that Captain Carver escorted me, not Gretna Green! Even without a storm in the offing, I knew that we would be late and that Mama would not approve of either the lateness or the place—even if dear Millie was with us, and so I left her a note so she would not worry.” She sighed. “I never dreamed that she would think that I would be so foolish as to run away with Captain Carver or that you would allow her to bully you into coming after me.” She dimpled. “I am flattered that you would do so and I thank you very much for being so kind.” Her eyes danced. “You should have known better, however—as you have told me often enough, I am much too expensive for the likes of a mere captain.” She tried to look demur but failed miserably.
Julian burst out laughing. “Baggage! I spent a most miserable night because of you, but I am glad to see that my estimation of you was correct.”
She grinned at him. Taking his arm and pulling him toward the front salon, she said, “I imagine you are longing for your bed and bath, but come in and tell Mama that all is well. She has been terrified that you will be in a raging temper when you discover that your gallant actions were all for naught.” Glancing up at him, she asked, “Was the weather very bad? And are you very angry with Mama?”
He wasn’t and that startled Julian most of all. He would have assumed that his reaction upon discovering that there had been no reason at all for his journey through the storm—a journey that had led to his subsequent engagement to a young lady who obviously did not like him—would have been one of fury. He discovered instead that he was not at all angry with Lady Wyndham, in fact, he had a notion that he should thank her. And again it occurred to him to wonder if he had gone mad.
Patting Elizabeth’s hand where it lay on his arm he murmured, “Nay, I am not angry with your mother. And, yes, the storm was very bad.”
Elizabeth stopped and stared up at him. “I must say, Julian, that you are taking this rather well. I would be furious to have spent the night riding through a storm, only to have discovered that there was no need for it. I am so glad that Flint caught up with you with mother’s message to return home. I’d hate to think of you still riding madly toward Scotland.” At Julian’s start of surprise, she said, “Surely you didn’t think that we would let you continue on your journey without trying to send word to you that it was no longer necessary? Just as soon as I returned home last night and had calmed Mother, we sent him after you. You had almost three hours head start on him and unless you stopped along the way, we didn’t think he would overtake you until late this morning—if then.” Suddenly realizing that Julian was home, long before he should have been, she frowned. “Flint did find you, didn’t he?”
“Er, no. We can only hope that he will enjoy the Scottish countryside—or did one of you think to give him alternative orders, should his mission not be successful?”
“Of course! I am not a complete ninny. I told him that if he had not managed to catch up with you by this morning that he was to turn around and come home.”
“Leaving me to continue onto Scotland?” he asked dryly.
“What else could we do? There was no reason for two of you to be haring off all the way to Gretna Green. Besides, I knew that if you found no trace of me by morning, that you would know further chase was futile and return home anyway.” She glanced at him, a tentative smile curving her mouth. “So all is well that ends well?”
“From your perspective, yes.”
Elizabeth frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Only that it was a most momentous night for me.” He sighed. He had hoped to put off explanations until later in the day when he was more in command of his senses, but it seemed he could put paid to that plan. And a few more besides, he admitted wryly, thinking of Talcott’s mention of the hunting season. “Come along, let us go find your mother. I have an announcement to make that will affect all of us.”
At Julian’s entrance, Lady Wyndham rose to her feet from the chair in which she had been sitting. Her cheeks pale, one hand pressed against her bosom, she exclaimed, “Oh, I know that you have every right to be furious with me, Julian, but please, please try to understand my feelings last night. I was an utter fool, but I was blinded by a mother’s love for her only child. Surely you can understand?”
“It is all right, Mama, he is not angry with you,” Elizabeth said quickly. Crossing to her mother’s side, she urged her to return to her seat.
Lady Wyndham ignored her and, looking at Julian, said dramatically, “If you wish never to lay eyes on me again, I will not blame you.” She glanced away and bit her lip. “We have no place to go, but if you cannot find it in your heart to forgive me, we shall remove ourselves from your sight this very afternoon.”
“Oh, don’t talk fustian, Diana,” Julian begged. “I am in no mood for you to turn a simple misunderstanding into a playhouse tragedy. I am partly to blame—I should have read the bloody note. I’m sure that I would have put a different interpretation on Elizabeth’s words and would not have gone tearing off into the teeth of a storm. We are both to blame for me spending a deucedly uncomfortable night. I forgive you. I am not angry with you. I understand your emotion. So I beg you, let us put it behind us.”
“T-t-that’s very h-h-handsome of you,” Lady Wyndham stammered. A dazed expression on her face, she sank back down in her chair.
Elizabeth had taken the chair next to her mother. Holding Lady Wyndham’s hand in hers, she asked, “What is it that you wanted to tell us? You said that you had an announcement to make.”
The room suddenly felt stuffy and Julian was aware of a hollow feeling in his chest. Both women were staring expectantly at him and he cravenly considered postp
oning the moment. To what avail? he asked himself. There was no answer. He cleared his throat. “I am to be married,” he said baldly. “To Eleanor Anslowe. On Wednesday next.”
“What?” shrieked Lady Wyndham, jumping to her feet. “Surely my ears have deceived me? You could not possibly have said that you are going to be married and to-to-to Eleanor Anslowe.”
“Married, Julian? You?” demanded Elizabeth, staring at him big-eyed. “I did not know you were contemplating marriage. And to Miss Anslowe? I didn’t know that you had even met her.”
“Oh, I have met her, all right,” Julian admitted. “And it is true that until, er, very, very recently I had never considered marrying again.” He glanced at Lady Wyndham’s stunned features. He was not fond of lying, but he saw no reason for the ladies of his household to know the whole truth of his decision to marry. In fact, for the success of his marriage and Miss Anslowe’s comfort, he could think of several very good reasons why they should not be told the truth. Yet, they had to be told something. Inspiration struck and he added, “Actually, it was your mother’s idea.”
“My idea?” Lady Wyndham exclaimed, her eyes nearly starting from her head. “Have you gone mad? It is true that I mentioned the possibility of marriage to you, but it was my godchild, Georgette, I put forth as a suitable bride, not a woman who has been on the shelf for years—and a cripple in the bargain.”
“I would not,” Julian said gently, but the expression in his jade green eyes gave Lady Wyndham pause, “refer to my bride-to-be as a ‘cripple’ again. She pleases me and that is all you have to know.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said quickly. “You must forgive Mama—it is a shock.”
“Yes, yes, a great shock,” repeated Lady Wyndham, following her daughter’s lead. Curiosity rampant in her voice, she asked, “But how did this come about? You have never given a clue to anyone that you were thinking of marriage again.”
Julian had often thought that spying for the Duke of Roxbury had been dangerous. He had frequently been in situations where he had been forced to think on his feet if he wished to escape with his life, but he had never felt so exposed to sudden death as he did during the next half hour. The ladies had numerous questions and he fielded them as best as he was able. He stuck to the premise that he’d taken Lady Wyndham’s words to heart that he should marry. And that at his age, he had not wanted a very young bride. He had met Miss Anslowe several times over the years, he said mendaciously, and had been much struck by her calm, good sense and, er, deportment. When Lady Wyndham protested, he trotted forth the indisputable facts that the Anslowes were an old and respected family and that Miss Anslowe was an heiress.
By the time he escaped the interrogation and fled to his rooms, the worst was behind him. Lady Wyndham was resigned; Elizabeth, who had met Miss Anslowe several times and had liked her, was intrigued and, from the gleam in her eyes, he suspected, suspicious of his glib story. But Lizzie was a good sort and she wasn’t likely to throw a rub his way, he thought, as he sank into a tub of hot water. Besides, his story of meeting up with the Anslowes last night and of the four of them being stranded in the storm together at the abandoned toll house had been a brilliant stroke. It was true that it differed somewhat from the tale he had told the Humphries, but it held together, and he expected that there would be several versions of the story all over London in a matter of days. One more would not hurt anything and the main facts were the same: he and Nell were to be married and he and the Anslowes had been found together in the abandoned toll house.
Of course, Lady Wyndham and Elizabeth had to have an expanded version and he had gone on to explain how impressed he had been by Miss Anslowe’s uncomplaining nature and nobility throughout the night. Lady Wyndham’s words had come back to him and it had suddenly occurred to him that Miss Anslowe would make the perfect bride for him. Before he knew what had happened he had declared himself and been accepted. That story differed slightly as well, but it satisfied the ladies.
Slumped bonelessly in the deep copper tub Julian groaned pleasurably as the heated water gradually worked its magic on his exhausted body. Bliss. Sipping a goblet of warmed wine, tenderly handed him by his butler, Dibble, he decided that he might live after all. And perhaps, after a meal and a few hours of rest, he might be able to flesh out his original story. He shook his head as he recalled the tale he had spun out. Elizabeth might be suspicious, but she had thought it all very romantic and that, he thought with a grin, might be enough to keep her from asking more questions.
Despite the weariness that dragged at him, Julian was pleased with the outcome. He had gotten over the heavy ground as lightly as possible and he had stuck to the truth, or at least, the truth that would be ladled out for public consumption. The facts of his story melded well with what the Humphries had seen. There was going to be gossip and speculation aplenty, but no one could prove that he or the Anslowes were lying. Once he and Miss Anslowe were married no one would dare question the circumstances. His mouth tightened. Not unless they wished to face him on the dueling field. And he was very, very good when it came to duels.
His thoughts strayed to Tynedale. Tynedale must be livid that the heiress had slipped through his fingers. And he would be even more infuriated when he discovered into whose hands she had fallen. Julian smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. Thwarting Tynedale was reason enough to marry Miss Anslowe, but then there was his own unexpected fascination with her. With a jolt, it dawned on him that he would have offered to marry her even without the pleasure of causing Tynedale fury.
He frowned into his wine. He would have to be careful there. He would marry her, but surely, he would not be fool enough to commit the greatest folly of all and fall in love? With his own wife? Nay.
Chapter 5
“Papa, are you very sure that I must marry him?” Nell asked quietly.
It was midmorning on Tuesday and the pair of them were in the library where Sir Edward had retreated to read his newspaper and savor the news that it contained. The earl, he noted with approval, had not wasted a moment and had managed to insert the announcement of his impending marriage to Miss Eleanor Anslowe in time for today’s edition.
“Eh? What’s that, my dear?” Sir Edward asked, the pleased glow that Nell’s future was settled apparent in his face.
Nell sighed. She hated disappointing her father, and her brothers, for that matter, and it was clear that they were all cock-a-whoop at the turn of events. Upon their arrival home, Sir Edward had dispatched a servant to find Drew and Harry to tell them to return at once to London. The twins had arrived back in London very late that evening, tired and dirty, but after a bath and a change of clothes, they’d joined their father, brother and sister for an impromptu celebration of Nell’s good fortune that had lasted into the wee hours of Monday morning. The Anslowe men had been jovial and ignored Nell’s glum countenance. But then, they would be happy as larks, Nell thought, they weren’t being handed over to a stranger!
She had not slept well and it had been well past noon on Monday before she left her bedroom. Not even the knowledge that her father had set a burly servant to guard the area beneath her window from any further intruders had calmed the turmoil in her breast. It was not intruders she feared but the future. And if she was truthful, she did not fear the Earl of Wyndham, she just didn’t want to marry him.
Nell did not deny that she had found him attractive, over-poweringly so, and there was no pretending that he was not imposing—even, as he had been when she first laid eyes on him, with a night’s growth of beard darkening his cheeks and his clothing stained and disheveled. Nor could she ignore the fact that as a prospective husband he met several of the criteria any sensible young lady, and certainly the young lady’s family, would demand. He was well born, titled, in fact, and, to make matters worse, it was an old and venerated title. He was respected in the ton. And, he was rich. Very.
All of those things were important to her father and her brothers. Sir Edward was elated that she was making
such a grand match, even if it had come about in an unorthodox fashion. She supposed, if she was fair, that she should be grateful that Lord Wyndham had proved to be honorable. And it wasn’t, she admitted, that she had found him repulsive. Quite the contrary, if she was honest with herself, remembering the unexpected thrill she had felt when his hard body had pressed against hers and his mouth had hovered so near to hers.
But all that did not mean that she wanted to marry him. She had known better than to immediately tackle the issue with her father, nor had she wanted to bring up the subject when he and her brothers had been half-drunk with relief and gratification at the lucky outcome. They were ecstatic at the notion of their sister becoming the Countess of Wyndham.
Despite taking all of that into account, Nell was not comfortable with the idea of being handed over to the earl in such a hurly-burly fashion. Marriage was for life and it was the rest of her life that they were all so busy arranging. She was grateful to the earl, but there must be another way out of the situation other than marriage. With that in mind she had waited to seek out her father until after Robert had left the house this morning. Having found her father in the library, she wasted not a moment putting forth her question.
When Sir Edward looked blank, she repeated, “Must I marry him?”
“Well, of course you must! Besides the impropriety of what happened and the Humphries arriving at a dashed inconvenient time—it is in the Times!” He stared at her. “What is wrong with you, gel? The Earl of Wyndham! Why every matchmaking mama in England has been after him since his wife died. And to think that my daughter is the one who snaffles him right out from under their very noses.”
Scandal Becomes Her Page 7
