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A MERRY CHASE
Victoria Malvey
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Contents:
Prologue
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24
Epilogue
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Prologue
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London, England
May 1813
"You can't be serious." Laurel Simmons struggled to understand what her fiancé, Archibald Devens, was telling her.
"I must say, Laurel, you're not taking this as well as I'd hoped," Archie drawled.
"That's all you can say? You tell me you're ending our engagement and you think I'm acting poorly?" she asked incredulously.
"I'm not ending our engagement," he pronounced shortly. "merely delaying our marriage for a few years."
Her emotions raced from sadness to confusion to rage. Unfortunately for Archie, it was rage that stayed with her. "I cannot believe you expect me to agree to sit back and wait patiently while you flit about Europe."
Archie released an exasperated sigh. "You are simply being difficult, Laurel. I've already explained to you that I need a few years to experience life."
"I thought you wished to experience life with me," she said, unable to hide the pain in her voice.
"As did I," he agreed, "but now that I've inherited the title and estates, there is no need—"
Though Archie broke off his explanation, his meaning remained perfectly clear. "No need to marry for money now that you have inherited it, is there?"
His silence answered for him.
Closing her eyes, Laurel felt her heart split within her chest. From the moment she'd seen Archie, so handsome, so charming, she'd fallen in love with him and had decided in an instant that he was the perfect man for her. Though her father had urged caution, the heady taste of love proved too much of a lure for her eager seventeen-year-old heart.
Slowly, she raised her eyes to him again, seeing all too clearly the flush of agitation upon his features. The sweetness of first love began to harden within her. "I won't wait for you."
"Very well," he said stiffly, tugging down upon his vest. "If you are going to be so unyielding about this matter, Laurel, I'm not certain we'll be able to continue our relationship."
Laurel rose to her feet, facing Archie as an equal. "Consider our engagement over."
The flash of relief in his gaze chilled her to the core. "If that is your wish," he began smoothly, "then I shall make it known that you cried off, leaving you blameless and, hopefully, your reputation will remain unsullied."
"Does it really matter?" Laurel didn't understand how she could have been so silly, so foolish, not to have seen the shallow man lurking beneath the charming façade.
Archie cleared his throat. "No, I suppose it doesn't."
"Indeed," Laurel murmured, unable to keep from studying Archie. His true nature seemed so obvious to her now. Despite all of his flattery, all of his professions of undying affection, Archie was simply a fortune hunter.
A fortune hunter who now, having come into money of his own, had no need of marrying a fortune.
Slowly, Laurel turned away from him. "Goodbye, Archie," she murmured coldly.
"I wish you wouldn't be so difficult about this, Laurel," he protested, placing his hands upon her shoulders. "I've never had financial freedom before and I merely wish to experience some of the pleasures money can provide before I settle down to a staid, married life."
Stepping forward, Laurel shrugged out from beneath his touch. "What would you like me to say, Archie? Thank you for breaking my heart?" She drew back her shoulders. "It would be best if you left now."
Archie's heavy sigh feathered against the nape of her neck. "I shall miss you."
She flinched at his statement … and wished she hadn't. More than anything, Laurel wanted to cut out the softness inside of her, the innocent, gullible core that had believed in such an arrogant creature like Archibald Devens. Only one thought had the power to calm her.
She'd been saved from making a terrible mistake; she had time now.
Time to erase the mistakes of the past and to harden herself against ever making them again. Lifting her chin, Laurel glanced over her shoulder at Archie. "Good-bye," she said again, adding a harshness to her voice that brooked no argument.
"Au revoir, Laurel," Archie murmured in a tone which would have once melted her. "I wish you the best."
A moment later, Laurel heard Archie walk out of her life. He wished her the best, did he? A strangled sound rasped from her throat and she pressed her fingers against her mouth to keep from crying.
No, she would not spill any tears over that arrogant man. Instead, she would tuck the pain deep into her heart and never forget the invaluable lesson Archie had just given her.
After all, things could have been far worse.
She could have married the bastard.
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Chapter 1
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London, England
April 1816
Enjoying a snifter of brandy at White's, Lord Royce Van Cleef relaxed against his leather chair, perfectly content to be alone. Suddenly, much too suddenly, his reverie was interrupted. His contentment disappeared as he watched his three friends approach.
"I say, Tewksbury, what are you doing here off by yourself?" asked Lord James Edridge, the boldest of the three.
"Wallowing in the solitude," Royce murmured, taking a sip of his drink.
Lord William Mull, an old friend from Oxford, shook his head, sending a lock of thick brown hair across his brow. "You're seeking solitude?" He snorted in disbelief. "Hardly likely. You've never been known for quiet reflection. Hell, Van Cleef, your wild exploits are legendary. Why, everyone knows that a party isn't considered complete without the ever-entertaining presence of the wicked Earl of Tewksbury."
"Yes, our dear Royce sets a standard of sowing those proverbial oats to which most men can only aspire. Being among that number, it only enhances my enjoyment of your company, Royce; I never know if I might learn some trick for charming the ladies," his friend, Steven Morris, finished in his usual verbose style. Smiling, Steven gestured to a nearby chair. "Do you mind if we join you?"
Holding back a sigh at the loss of his rare solitude, Royce accepted the company of his friends. "Not at all."
As the three men sank into their chairs, James murmured, "What a treat for me to be in the company of men." He leaned his head back against the leather chair. "Females can be so … vexing at times."
"Edridge is on the verge of an agreement with the lovely Miss Annabeth Porter," Steven explained to Royce. "From his tale of woe, I can only deduce the courtship is not progressing smoothly."
"Indeed not. Annabeth will make me crazed before I've even proposed to her," lamented James, his shoulders sagging forward.
"If you think she drives you mad now, just wait until after you've placed the ring upon her finger." William shook his head and laughed good-naturedly. "Only then will you understand the true meaning of misery."
"Misery? Excuse me, Mull, but aren't you the same chap who waxed on and on oh, so eloquently about the magical powers of love or some such foolishness. If I remember correctly, you even told us Meredith was your soul mate." Royce couldn't hide the derision in his voice. "What happened? Did your soul decide it didn't want a mate?"
Protesting swiftly, William waved Royce's words away. "Of course not. I still adore my Meredith … even if she is determined to drive me daft. It's simply that there is no end to the demands she makes of me." A horrified expression twisted his features as William confided, "I'm expected to dance attendance upon her night and day."
"I know exactly what you mea
n," agreed James. "Why, Annabeth asked that I accompany her on some dreadfully dull tour of our church gardens. Of course I didn't want to disappoint her, so I went." Glancing around, James leaned forward and lowered his voice to whisper, "I was mortified because I was the only gentleman in attendance. I felt quite the fool."
"The two of you are pathetic," Royce pronounced with a laugh. "You allow your women to lead you about as if you had rings through your noses."
Sitting up straighter, James began to sputter, "It's certainly easy for you to mock us, Van Cleef, because you've never fallen in love."
"That's true," Royce conceded with a grin. "I consider myself far too intelligent to ever believe in such rubbish."
"Are you calling us idiots?" asked William, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.
"Certainly not." Royce tipped his glass toward them. "Fools perhaps, but never idiots."
While James and William gasped with indignation, Steven burst into laughter. "Do stop teasing them so, Royce. It is most unkind," he said as he wiped at the corner of his eye.
"Oh, come now. Both William and James understand I'm jesting with them." Royce glanced at his two friends. "Don't you?"
"I'm quite certain you don't intend any offense, Royce, but I must say your attitude bothers me."
Royce lifted his brows at William's assertion. "My attitude?"
James leaned forward. "Yes. You know, Royce, it's the way you roll your eyes whenever we mention spending time choosing just the perfect gift for our ladies or how you scoff at us for swapping bits of poetry to enchant them."
Fighting to keep the grin off of his face, Royce replied smoothly, "I don't mean to insult you, James, but you're going about securing your lady in entirely the wrong way."
"Oh, do pray enlighten us," Steven urged, his voice lilting in sarcasm.
Both James and William nodded their agreement.
Looking at his friends' intent expressions, Royce was stunned that such a simple matter would escape their grasp. "It's quite obvious, really. Every time we meet, you are in the midst of concocting some sort of plan to enthrall your lady, yet you are always uncertain of her response."
"Well, of course we are," William sputtered, crossing his arms. "Ladies tend to be unpredictable."
"But that's just it, William; they shouldn't be!"
"So speaks the confirmed bachelor," James scoffed.
"Not true, James. I do indeed plan to marry." Royce took a sip of his brandy. "After all, every gentleman needs an heir."
"Oh, ho!" chuckled Steven. "Won't that be a sight to see? The polished Earl of Tewksbury leaping through hoops for his lady fair."
Smiling over the laughter of his three friends, Royce waited until their sounds of mirth faded away before clarifying, "I will never resort to such nonsense, Steven. No, instead, I shall simply approach the matter logically and eliminate any foolishness."
"Oh, is that all?" William asked, shaking his head. "And how do you propose to do that?"
Royce sat his drink down on the table next to him. "It shall be very easy, really. Catching a bride is rather like … well, like a fox hunt."
"A fox hunt?"
James's exclamation made Royce grin. "Yes, indeed. Most of you expend many hours and tremendous energy toward pleasing your lady and capturing her interest with very little reward for your efforts." He paused, pointing a finger at his three companions. "And why? Because you've all forgotten the most important rule in fox hunting."
"And that would be what?" William asked dryly. "Don't forget to wear the proper attire?"
Laughing at his friend's quip, Royce leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his lean stomach.
"No, but I certainly wouldn't discount the importance of a gentleman's appearance. After all, it quite impresses the ladies when a man is turned out well."
"Then, pray tell us, Royce, for we can't stand the suspense much longer," James finished with a smile.
Royce eyed his friends. "The number one rule in fox hunting is—know your quarry." At their blank looks, he expounded upon his point. "Think on it for a moment. How often have you spent time and money on arranging for a romantic gesture only to have it ignored? But if you'd taken time to discover your chosen lady's interests, her passions, her amusements, then you would have chosen an item which would be certain to enthrall her."
"Know your quarry," retorted William, shaking his head. "You make it sound so easy."
"While you seem set on making it difficult."
Royce's quick reply brought a frown to William's face. "Words are easy, Royce. You'd find things weren't so neat and tidy if you ever set your cap upon a lady."
"I most certainly would not," Royce replied, conviction ringing in his voice. He'd spent far too many years observing the bumblings of his peers as they fell over themselves in order to please their ladies. No, he knew his way was far better … and a lot less wearying.
"You sound so certain of that fact," Steven pointed out.
"That's because I am."
"Are you confident enough to make a wager then?"
As ever, the idea of a challenge intrigued him. "A wager? About what? How often I can observe men behaving foolishly over their lady loves?" Royce rested his booted foot against the table before him.
"Hardly," snorted Steven. "I know that would be far too easy for you. No, instead I want to make a wager about whether or not your methods would be successful."
"Oh, I assure you the outcome would be most satisfying." Royce lifted his glass toward Steven. "I wish you good hunting."
"Oh, not for me." Steven's mouth tipped upward. "I want you to prove it, Royce."
Royce's foot slipped off the table and thudded to the ground. "Me?"
Crossing his arms, Steven nodded firmly. "Of course. You've said that you intended to produce an heir, so why not choose your bride now?"
"Indeed," Royce murmured, struggling to keep his poise. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down even though the mere thought of chaining himself to one woman for the rest of his life caused panic to clutch at him. Royce exhaled heavily, focusing upon his future logically. After all, he had just admitted he intended to marry. So why not accept the challenge? He could choose his bride, then prove unequivocally that his method was far superior.
Warming to the idea, Royce sat upright in his chair. "You're quite right, Steven. It is time." He held out his hand. "I accept your challenge."
Steven swung his head side to side. "Oh, no, you don't. Not so fast, my friend, for I wish to make this challenge even more interesting."
Ignoring James and William as they shifted to the edges of their seats, Royce kept his gaze firmly fixed upon Steven. "And how do you propose to do that?"
"By choosing your wife for you."
Stunned, Royce didn't know how to respond until his sense of humor came to his rescue. He burst out laughing.
"I'm quite serious," Steven returned.
Royce caught his breath. "Yes, which is why you're grinning like a fool."
"That doesn't lessen my intent." Steven looked toward James and William. "Tell me, gentlemen, don't you think it only fair that we choose his bride for him? After all the boasting he's done about the ease of his method, he's made it clear that any woman would react to his approach. Therefore, I fail to see why Royce would hesitate to accept our choice."
Eagerly, James agreed. "Indeed, Royce. We promise to choose someone of good name and breeding."
"We'll even pick a lady who is easy upon the eyes," offered William. "Come on now, Royce. Don't be a dullard. Let's have a bit of fun."
"I don't know if you'd so eagerly embrace Steven's harebrained idea if you were in my place," Royce pointed out.
"Why should the woman matter to you as long as she is a lady of quality? You've already informed us that you don't believe in love," Steven pointed out.
"True, but I have no wish to marry a shrew."
Shaking his head, William patted Royce's shoulder. "We wouldn't condemn you to lif
e with a harpy, my friend."
"I think Royce is afraid his method won't work, so he wants to choose a pliable female." James crossed his arms and leaned back.
Though he found James's challenge laughable, Royce decided to accept it anyway. What did he have to lose? "Very well then, you may choose my bride," Royce conceded smoothly. "However, I must agree with your choice and she must not only be a lady of breeding, but also one known for having an affable disposition."
Grinning like a fool, Steven thrust to his feet. "Excuse us for a moment, Royce, while my companions and I step over to the alcove to discuss our candidates."
Royce sipped at his brandy, smiling as he watched his friends argue. After only a few moments, all three men grinned and shook hands, then returned to their seats.
"Who is it to be?" Royce asked nonchalantly before taking another sip.
All three men answered in unison. "Lady Laurel Simmons."
Choking on his brandy. Royce proceeded to cough harshly. "You can't be serious," he finally rasped.
"And why not?" demanded Steven. "She meets all of your requirements: beautiful, well-bred, fine reputation, and affable."
"I easily concede those points to you, Steven, but she has also made it well-known that she has no desire to marry."
"What does that have to do with anything?" William asked, grinning like a jester. "You never made mention of their willingness to wed in your specifications for the perfect bride."
Split, gutted, and hung by his own words. Royce knew they had him.
"You must admit, Royce, everyone speaks well of her and with her beauty, it would not be a hardship to bed her," James added.
Looking at his friends, Royce considered their proposition. Laurel Simmons did indeed meet all of his specifications in a bride and from all accounts, her beauty was surpassed only by her wit. Certainly a self-confident, intelligent woman would breed strong sons.
Royce slapped the arm of his chair. "Very well, my friends. I accept your challenge." He paused, looking each man in the eyes. "With little effort and no heartache, I shall claim Lady Laurel Simmons for my bride."
A MERRY CHASE Page 1
