The Perfect Bride

by Brenda Joyce

  Rex breathed. He smiled at Devlin. “I’ll be a moment. I don’t know if you are acquainted with Clarewood, but there is a matter I wish to discuss with him.”

  Devlin’s eyes changed. They went from bland to brilliant, then he turned his gaze upon the duke. “What are you drinking?”

  “Cabernet,” Rex said. When Devlin left he limped over to Clarewood. Tom slowly lowered his news journal. “Mowbray.”

  Tom Mowbray stared. “Rex.”

  Rex did not care for his tone or the familiar address. He realized he had not spoken to the man in nine years. He hadn’t even glimpsed him in half that time. Mowbray appeared different, somehow, and not just because he was older and leaner. “May I assume you received my letter?”

  Mowbray stood. He remained handsome, but his face was gaunt and hard, when in youth it had been soft and full. Even his eyes seemed hard. “I vaguely recall some such missive.”

  Rex’s temper ignited, but he only smiled. “I wish a word with you…Tom.”

  Mowbray jerked. “You do comprehend that it is Clarewood, Rex. It is Clarewood or Your Grace.”

  So this was how it would now be, Rex thought, surprised and disturbed. “It wasn’t ‘my lord’ when we stood side by side in Spain, killing Frenchmen and watching our comrades die.”

  “Those days are long gone,” Mowbray said with disdain. “And I do not have a moment. I am running late.” He tossed the journal onto the tea table, preparing to leave.

  Rex wanted to seize him—and he actually wished to strike him. Instead he said, very low, so no one might overhear, “I am calling on Stephen.”

  Mowbray whirled to face him. “I think not,” he exclaimed.

  “Unless you take him from town, I have decided that the status quo is no longer satisfactory.”

  Mowbray’s eyes widened—and chilled.

  “I do not mean I wish to make any shocking announcements,” Rex said grimly. “But I wish to meet him. I wish to visit. I can no longer wait.”

  Mowbray stepped closer and said in a harsh whisper, “I will not have any changes to our arrangement.”

  “I don’t want to make substantial changes. In every way except the natural one, Stephen is your son. However, I have some rights. And originally we did agree upon some visitation.”

  “You gave up any rights long ago—as you should have done—to further Stephen’s future! I will not become a laughingstock now,” Mowbray said, his voice low and harsh.

  Rex did not care for his attitude. “I am surprised you did not state that you had no wish to jeopardize Stephen’s future, too.”

  “I have raised him as my son. I have given him every privilege. I will not have old rumors resurrected now.”

  “That is not my intention,” Rex said grimly, shaken. Did Mowbray care for Stephen as a son? Until that moment, he had always assumed so, for otherwise, Mowbray could so easily declare the truth. Now, he was stunned, uneasy and uncertain. “I merely wish to visit. We are old friends. I saved your life in the war—it is public knowledge. One day, Stephen will learn of it. I have every reason to visit Clarewood and that is what you may tell Stephen.” He hesitated, his pulse pounding. When Mowbray stared, appearing repulsed, he added, “You owe me.”

  “Like hell I do,” Clarewood said. “It’s been ten years—my debt is paid.” He seemed furious. “Call then, if you wish. But do not think to make a habit of it.” He stalked away.

  Rex stood there, aware that now he was perspiring. What had happened to Clarewood to change him from a carefree boy into a hard, cold man? He only cared for his son’s sake, for Mowbray was barely recognizable.

  Still, he had taken the man by complete surprise. However, had Tom bothered to begin a discourse by mail, that wouldn’t have been necessary.

  Clasping his crutch far too tightly, Rex turned back to his stepbrothers. As he sat, Sean skewered him with his pale gray eyes. “What is between you and Clarewood?”

  “We are old friends,” Rex said, avoiding eye contact. “I haven’t seen him in years, not since we served together in the war.”

  “That was a very friendly reunion,” Sean said drily.

  Rex smiled at him. “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “Hardly—my chair is facing that way.”

  Rex realized that was true. “I thought to renew an old acquaintance, but Clarewood has changed drastically.”

  “He’s a cold, hard man,” Devlin said. “I have had dealings with him. He seems quite embittered. Didn’t you save his life in Spain?”

  Rex stiffened, but smiled. “I carried him from the field when he could not walk. So yes, I suppose you could say that I did.”

  Devlin sipped a whiskey, his eyes impossible to read. And Rex realized his stepbrothers, both very astute men, were suspicious of him now. He changed the subject. “Will you spend any time at Adare this summer, Sean? I intend to go up for a bit after I leave town.”

  Sean smiled, as if he knew evasion when presented with it. “We haven’t made our plans for the summer yet.” Then, his gaze directed somewhere behind Rex, his eyes widened. “Your friend Dashwood has just come in.”

  It was very hard for Rex to sit still. Blanche’s image now filled his mind, bringing a tension he did not want. He regretted sitting with his back to the room, and slowly, he turned.

  Dashwood stood not far from where he sat, surrounded by two young friends, the men laughing and boisterous. Rex had forgotten that the man dressed impeccably and was rather attractive and athletically built. He took in every detail of his appearance, the crisp white shirt, the custom suit, the polished shoes, and he was filled with loathing—and even jealousy. For the first time since hearing that Blanche was engaged, it crossed his mind that she was probably already sharing Dashwood’s bed.

  He could not stand the notion. He saw red.

  “So you’re the fortunate sonuvabitch,” his friend chuckled, pounding his back.

  “No, he’s the unfortunate sonuvabitch,” the dark gentleman laughed.

  “I am fortunate, not unfortunate, Will.” Dashwood laughed, too. “And we have just begun to draw up the contracts.”

  Rex now turned fully, staring. So it was about to be official, he thought grimly.

  “Maybe you are as mad as she is,” the first rogue said loudly. “Fortune or not, I would never condescend to marry such a woman.”

  Rex froze. He was disbelieving. Were these morons discussing Blanche? Were they loudly declaring her mad?

  “I am not condescending,” Dashwood said with a grin.

  “Oh, so she’s not bonkers?” Will asked slyly.

  “Oh, she’s as mad as a loon. I saw her in a fit, firsthand.” Dashwood lowered his voice. “And that suits me well, boys. That suits me well, as a madwoman has no right to such a fortune, if you comprehend my meaning.”

  He saw red again, but this time, it was blinding.

  Sean seized his arm. “Don’t.”

  Rex took his crutch and tapped Dashwood on the back—not pleasantly. And he stood up.

  Dashwood turned, his eyes wide. He saw Rex and his gaze narrowed. “De Warenne,” he said coolly. “May I assume you wish to offer me congratulations?”

  Rex smiled—then took his crutch and slashed the other man behind the knees. Dashwood went down on his back, head thudding on the floor, while Rex grasped the back of his chair to avoid crashing over himself. From his prone position, Dashwood looked at him, stunned. Then he growled, “You bastard.”

  “Lady Harrington—your future wife—is not mad,” Rex said coldly. “And I suggest you reconsider your engagement if you are so disrespectful of her.”

  Dashwood crouched and leaped up. Rex tried to move out of the way, but too late. Dashwood caught him by the arm and the two of them went down on the floor, grappling like schoolboys. Dashwood wound up on top.

  Rex tried to turn aside to avoid the blow and Dashwood smashed his fist into his mouth. Rex wedged his crutch between them and jammed it upward. Dashwood howled as his genitals were struck. An
d then numerous hands were tearing the two men apart.

  Rex stood with the help of his stepbrothers, touching his bloody lip. Dashwood crouched on his knees, holding his groin. Panting, Rex said, “Lady Harrington is a dear friend of this family. I suggest you reconsider all of your plans. We will not allow her to be abused by you, sir.”

  “Let’s go,” Sean said in his ear.

  “You will pay for this,” Dashwood panted. “And she will be my wife—we are signing the contracts tomorrow!”

  Rex froze, the urge to turn back and pummel Dashwood consuming. Sean jerked on his arm. Devlin knelt beside Dashwood. “I’d reconsider if I were you, my lad.” He smiled and stood. “Let’s go.”

  Rex left White’s, Sean and Devlin on either side of him.

  REX STOOD BY THE WINDOW in the family room, a brandy in hand, not having taken a sip. He stared out at the star-studded sky, the incident with Dashwood replaying in his mind.

  Behind him, his two brothers and two stepbrothers lounged, quietly conversing and having nightcaps. Could Blanche love Dashwood, or was she marrying for convenience and economy? Were they sharing a bed already? And was Dashwood scheming to deprive her of her fortune by declaring her insane after they were wed?

  Someone came to stand beside him; Rex tensed. He turned and saw Cliff, who smiled slightly at him. “A night for lovers,” he said. “And I am about to go upstairs and join my wife.”

  Rex couldn’t summon up a smile. “Amanda has never been lovelier or happier, I think.”

  Cliff inclined his head in agreement, and said, “And you have never been as miserable, I think.”

  Rex tensed. Cliff was but a year his junior, and in some ways, they were very close. On the other hand, they were complete opposites in character. Cliff had been a notorious rogue for most of his life while plying the globe as both a merchant and a privateer, making a vast fortune and a vast reputation for himself; Rex was a war hero, a patriot, ever dutiful as a brother and son, and he worked the land on his modest manor. While he rarely slept alone, he did not change women the way his brother had until he’d fallen for his wife.

  “I heard what happened at White’s. Clearly you remain fond of Blanche Harrington. I do not understand why you don’t do what you wish to do.”

  Rex made a harsh sound. He would never reveal that she had rejected him. “Dashwood is openly declaring her mad.”

  “I heard that, too. Someone must stop him.” Cliff smiled.

  “I believe he thinks to marry her and then legally commit her—and take sole control of her fortune.”

  “That could be his plan, but that is beyond foul. Are you certain you are not jumping to vastly wrong conclusions?”

  “I heard him. I heard him say he witnessed her madness and that a madwoman has no right to a fortune.” Rex breathed hard. “You are right. Someone has to stop him.”

  “So what will you do?”

  He stared at his brother. “I am the mad one—for I intend to meddle. I am going to tell Blanche what I heard. But she won’t believe that anyone could be so malicious—or so evil. Somehow I must convince her to jilt Dashwood.”

  Cliff smiled. “I have the oddest notion that might not be too difficult to accomplish.”

  “Blanche will not appreciate my interference…I am almost certain.” Rex turned away. He could barely imagine what their next meeting would be like. Yet in the end, he was a gentleman, for he could not allow Dashwood to go forward with such a despicable scheme.

  Cliff clasped his shoulder. “Good luck,” he said.

  NO ONE CALLED IN MIDMORNING, unless close family. Rex stepped down from the de Warenne coach in the pebbled circular drive before Harrington House. Another carriage was present, but it was too handsome and luxurious to belong to Dashwood. He wondered if Blanche owned it and planned to go out at such an hour. He wondered when Dashwood would arrive to sign their marriage contracts. If he was successful, Blanche would not welcome him into her home.

  He had been up all night, brooding. Now, a terrible tension filled him as he swung up the front steps to the imposing ebony front door of the house. Two liveried doormen stood there, as still as statues. He knocked loudly. His heart was pounding, for so much was at stake—Blanche’s future was at stake, as was her happiness. He was not deluded. He doubted Blanche would be pleased to see him, not that she would ever allow him to see any displeasure. And as well as he knew her, he could not imagine her reaction when he told her about Dashwood’s scheme. He thought she might be disbelieving. She would probably politely thank him for his kindness in calling and send him on his way.

  His heart lurched wildly, an indication that far more feelings than he wished to have for her remained. Another doorman answered and he was escorted into the reception room. Gilded chairs lined walls adorned with numerous oil paintings, and a pedestal table with a floral arrangement sat alone in the center of the room.

  He heard soft, feminine footsteps. He stiffened, his heart exploding, and apprehension consumed him. Then he was surprised, for Lady Waverly entered the room, her face tight and unsmiling.

  Dismay began. He bowed. “Lady Waverly.”

  “Sir Rex, what a surprise,” she said, sounding sarcastic.

  He stared at her. She was angry? And if so, why? What could Blanche have said about him? “I realize it is early, but there is an urgent matter I must discuss with Lady Harrington.”

  “It is ten in the morning,” Lady Waverly said coolly.

  Rex realized a confrontation was unavoidable. “I am aware of the time. Again, I have a very important matter to discuss with Lady Blanche.”

  Bess stared at him, her face a mask of anger. “She is not receiving today, Sir Rex. She receives on Thursdays. You will have to come back then.”

  His temper rose. He swallowed a rude response. “Please tell her that I am here. We are friends and she will entertain me.”

  Lady Waverly placed her fists on her hips. “Actually, she doesn’t want to see you. She made that clear two months ago.”

  Her words had to be a lie; still, they stabbed through him like a knife. “When she left Land’s End, we were on good terms. I would be shocked if that had changed.” Actually, only Blanche had behaved properly, he thought.

  Lady Waverly trembled with her passion, shocking him. “It has changed! Everything has changed! Now good day, sir!”

  He did not move. “I realize she is signing marriage contracts today,” he finally said, fighting his anger. “It is urgent that we speak before she does.”

  And Lady Waverly exploded. “I won’t let you see her! She doesn’t need you here, now! You will only cause grave problems! Good day, Sir Rex,” she cried.

  He was stunned by her outburst.

  “Leave Blanche alone.” With that, Lady Waverly turned and strode away, disappearing into another set of rooms.

  Sir Rex remained shocked. What the hell was going on? he wondered grimly. And he had no intention of leaving. He glanced across the reception room. The door he had entered from remained open and he could see the front door beyond it, where the doorman was pretending not to have heard a word, just as he pretended not to know Rex stood there.

  Rex grasped his crutch and followed in Lady Waverly’s wake. He passed through two pleasant salons, hearing nothing but the sound of his own footfalls. He did not know the house, but if Lady Waverly was present, Blanche was undoubtedly with her.

  He was traversing a corridor now. Ahead, a door opened. Rex halted, not attempting to hide, hoping to glimpse Blanche. But a man dressed in the rough garb of a country laborer stepped out. As he did, Rex had a clear view of his profile before he turned away from Rex, disappearing outside through a pair of French doors.

  Rex stared after Paul Carter, Anne’s fiancé, surprised. What was the farrier doing in town—at Harrington Hall? And in that instant, he thought of Anne’s malice toward Blanche. A terrible suspicion began. No good could have come from his visit.

  And he thudded rapidly to the door Carter had left ajar. H
e pushed it open and saw a large library, painted pale green, with an abundance of seating. And he saw Blanche, seated in a corner at a small desk, sitting with her hands clasped in front of her, staring at them, like a small, repentant schoolgirl.

  His heart lurched and slammed. He forgot that she had cruelly toyed with his heart and treacherously broken their engagement. He forgot that he must despise her, or at least, have no genuine care for her. An angel sat at that desk, a fragile angel in need of his help and protection.

  And he didn’t move, aware of the fact that he still loved her—that he always had and always would. He drank in the elegant sight of her, aware he might not have such a private opportunity again. The length of the entire room separated them, but she suddenly looked up.

  Blanche gasped.

  He closed the door and limped slowly forward, his heart roaring so loudly he was certain she could hear it, too.

  She sat staring, unsmiling, her tension obvious.

  A terrible sorrow began. Why did it have to be this way? “I had hoped we could remain friends,” he said softly. But he hadn’t wanted friendship. Until yesterday, he had wanted amnesia as far as she was concerned. In that moment, he wanted to renew their friendship, if at all possible. He could settle for that small crumb.

  She swallowed. “How did you get in?”

  And now he stared, becoming stunned at her pallor and worse, the haggard look on her face. She had lost weight and she was clearly not sleeping; dark circles ringed her eyes. She looked very fragile…she looked ill. And every protective instinct he had surged forth. “Your doorman.” He smiled, showering her with all the charm he had. “Your friend turned me away but I decided to take matters into my own hands. If you are dismayed—which I see you are—I hope you will forgive me.” He held her gaze. “You have forgiven me far graver crimes.”

  She inhaled. “I can’t do this, Sir Rex.”

  He started. Something was so terribly wrong. “You cannot speak with me—as a dear family friend?”

  She pursed her lips. He saw her tremble. “It is too hard,” she whispered.