The Madcap Marriage

by Allison Lane

  Hillcrest nodded in relief.

  “This way, my lord,” said Helen, stepping in to cover further awkwardness. “Miss Pauling, Mrs. Everly.” She led them from the library.

  Rafe collapsed, too shaky even to pour brandy. What had just happened?

  Impossible as it seemed, Alice had succeeded where he had failed. She had forced Hillcrest to accept reality. How had she – a negligible female – managed it?

  But on second thought, that was precisely why she’d succeeded. For ten years, Hillcrest had championed her as the ideal woman. Faced with a scold, he’d had to choose between admitting he’d misjudged her and recognizing that times had changed while he wasn’t looking.

  He had chosen the lesser of two evils.

  Yet that spark of hope was again kindled. All his life Rafe had yearned for Hillcrest’s approval. Such a little thing, for he could not believe that he was evil incarnate. But Hillcrest had steadfastly refused.

  Stop this! he ordered himself.

  Hillcrest had extinguished that hope too often to allow it to rise yet again. The man could abandon their battle only by admitting that it served no purpose. But Hillcrest hated to lose. Even his wife’s death hadn’t stopped the fight.

  Don’t fall into the same trap. By locking him out, you become as hardheaded as he.

  His conscience was beginning to sound like Helen, but it was right. If he ignored this overture, he was no better than Hillcrest. Though dropping his defenses would likely lead to new pain, he had to try.

  * * * *

  Helen wished they had a larger crowd for dinner. The antagonism between Hillcrest and Rafe was so thick it was visible. They’d kept it under wraps during their brief meeting in the library, but dinner would last two hours, with port to follow. Would Alex provide a buffer, or would he fan the flames to annoy Rafe?

  The drawing room was bursting with tension when she arrived.

  “I hope the rooms are to your liking,” she said, joining Hillcrest and Alice by the fireplace. Rafe was entertaining Mrs. Everly near the window. Alex had yet to appear.

  “Lovely, thank you,” said Alice. “Your home is beautiful, Mrs. Thomas.”

  “Quite impressive,” agreed Hillcrest.

  She nodded graciously, accepting a glass of sherry from Frank, who was acting as butler until Robert returned. “I can offer a tour tomorrow, if you like. Of this wing only, though. Much of the house in uninhabitable. Father hoped to restore it, but his health failed before he could realize the dream.”

  “Will you take that on?” Hillcrest fingered his glass.

  “I don’t know. We will conserve it, of course. I replaced the roof a year ago to halt water damage in the Tudor wing. But I doubt we will ever need enough space to justify restoration.” She caught Rafe’s eye and willed him to join her group. He delighted her by complying.

  “Your wife offered us a house tour,” said Alice.

  “You should enjoy that. This wing was updated only ten years ago. Pay particular attention to the bathing chamber in the master suite and the lift system between the kitchen and butler’s pantry. You might wish to add such conveniences to the Grange.” He switched his gaze to Hillcrest. “Mrs. Everly informs me that Alice will come out next Season.”

  “She thinks it necessary.” He obviously didn’t agree.

  “And so it is.” Helen nodded. “How else is she to find a husband?”

  “If I might make a suggestion,” said Rafe carefully. “Alice must have a female sponsor. Without one, she cannot be presented at Court and won’t receive the proper invitations.”

  “If you are suggesting your wi—”

  Rafe interrupted. “Lady Alquist would be perfect. She is a fixture in society, highly respected, and on good terms with the best hostesses. Introducing a young lady will keep her busy, easing her return to town now that Alquist is gone. And her support will erase any lingering suspicion of Alice.”

  Helen stifled a gasp. Was he trying to start an argument? While pressing Hillcrest’s sister-in-law into service made perfect social sense, Hillcrest blamed her for his wife’s intransigence.

  “But—” Hillcrest’s protest halted when Alex appeared in the doorway. “Good Lord! What happened to Portland?”

  Leaving Rafe to explain, or not, Helen crossed to welcome him.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he murmured.

  “Perfect timing, actually,” she replied. “I’m counting on you to temper any arguments.”

  “Then you will be disappointed. Hillcrest and I nearly came to blows at our last meeting.”

  “Alex…”

  “I’ll be a gentleman, but I can’t speak for him. He is an arrogant ass.”

  “Does the man have nothing but enemies?” But they’d moved too close for him to respond. “Miss Pauling, this is Mr. Portland, third son of the Earl of Stratford. Miss Pauling is Lord Hillcrest’s ward, now that Lord Pauling is gone.”

  Hillcrest interrupted before she could present Mrs. Everly. “This is the last place I expected to see you, Portland.”

  “But then, you know so little about me.” His tone could cut glass.

  “So it seems.” Hillcrest met his eye. “Upon reflection, I found your comments informative.”

  “I apologize for any rudeness,” said Alex.

  “It was necessary.” Hillcrest dropped his gaze to the carpet. “I would not have listened otherwise.”

  Rafe’s eyes bugged out. Even Alex seemed surprised.

  “I knew your father at school,” continued Hillcrest, shaking his head. “Quite a scapegrace, as I recall.”

  Alex laughed. “Still is on occasion.” He launched into a tale of the family’s last Christmas gathering.

  Rafe drew Helen aside. “Alice has bewitched him.”

  “Be glad. When Alex told me they’d nearly come to blows at their last meeting, I feared the evening would end badly.”

  “Believe me, I am very glad. But I’m also amazed. Look at him.” He nodded toward Hillcrest as the man laughed. “In twenty-eight years, I’ve never seen him smile, let alone laugh.”

  Alice joined them. “I’m so glad this is working. I was terrified that coming here would make matters worse. Even after he saw the size and magnificence of Audley Court, I wasn’t sure he would believe you.”

  “We are grateful,” said Helen.

  Alice blushed, then turned to Rafe. “Over dinner last night, I accused Hillcrest of knowing nothing about you. To prove it, I declared you were interested in politics. So if he asks, don’t be surprised.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “I didn’t. Are you truly interested?” She laughed.

  “Yes, for all the good it does me.” He turned to Helen. “Hillcrest will live forever, and no one will sponsor me for Commons.”

  “Reformer?” She smiled when he nodded. “Then you must know Mr. Bigelow.”

  “Of course, though I’ve not seen him in some time. I heard he was ill.”

  “Very. He is retiring, which will leave his seat open. Talk to the landowner in his borough. There’s only one.”

  “How do you—” He stared. “Audley?”

  She nodded as Frank announced dinner, then mentally kicked herself. Offering to fulfill his dream seemed too much like a bribe. I don’t like threats, and I don’t like bribes…

  She hoped her rash words would not hand him another grievance.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Helen led Alice and Mrs. Everly to the drawing room for coffee. Dinner had gone better than expected, though two hours of tension left her limp. Alex had carried most of the conversation, often including the entire table in his comments to cover the deafening silence elsewhere. Without him, suspicion and lingering antagonism might have erupted into argument.

  Her own plans risked raising acrimony, but this might be her only opportunity to question Alice about Rafe. She had tried to push the past aside, yet the memory of him kissing Alice lingered. Loving him wasn’t enough. She must lay her distrust to re
st. It grew from her own defects, not Rafe’s – her parents had warned her so often about her faults that it was difficult to believe anyone could want her.

  “You must have been horrified to discover that Mr. Thomas had wed me,” she said baldly as she poured Alice’s coffee.

  “Surprised,” admitted Alice. “But also glad.”

  “Glad?” She added sugar to Mrs. Everly’s cup, then poured her own.

  “Your marriage set me free.” Alice frowned. “May I speak plainly?”

  “I would prefer it. My position is odd.” Telling the truth was the only way to exact truth in return. “I know very little about Mr. Thomas. And much of what I know seems contradictory. Your betrothal, for example. I first heard about it after we were wed.”

  “Because it did not really exist.” Alice sighed. “I was told from birth that we were betrothed. When I was old enough to realize what that meant, I protested. I rarely saw Rafe and didn’t much like him. Frankly, his reputation terrified me.”

  “That’s rather strong.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s true – which is why I was glad he wed you. Not until I talked to him at Hillcrest did I realize that Father had lied from the beginning.” Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Why?”

  “I have spent days trying to understand what happened.” Alice accepted a handkerchief from Mrs. Everly. “The facts are simple enough. Rafe first heard about our supposed betrothal ten years ago. He repudiated it, but Hillcrest did not tell my father.”

  “But he would have learned the truth the first time he mentioned marriage to Rafe.”

  “Rafe never visited Paulus Grange, and I’m not sure Papa would have raised the subject if he had.” She sighed. “Much as it pains me to admit it, Papa was completely under Hillcrest’s thumb. I loved him dearly, but he was a weak man incapable of standing up to the least opposition. So Hillcrest dictated his thoughts, directed his affairs, and made all his decisions for him. He has run Paulus Grange for years. I doubt if Papa even realized it.”

  Helen nodded.

  “I was too meek to argue,” Alice continued grimly. “Only now do I understand that I was at the end of a chain of tyranny.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you know about Lady Hillcrest?” Alice countered.

  “Quite a bit. Her sister is my godmother.”

  “Ah. Then you must know about the war.” She paused to sip coffee. “The Hillcrests fought over everything, and not just in private. Their battles were notorious and so fierce that few would invite them to social affairs. They could not occupy the same room without arguing, and they forced everyone nearby to choose sides.” She shuddered. “Neither of them ever won. She might have been satisfied to not lose, but Hillcrest needed victories. He found them by controlling Father. The more frustrated he grew at home, the more demanding he became at the Grange. Eventually Father ceased questioning any pronouncement. Whatever Hillcrest wanted, Father provided – down to choosing my governess and dictating my course of study.”

  “If Lord Pauling was that weak, why couldn’t you control him?” Helen refilled her cup.

  “His weakness wasn’t obvious, for he relieved his own frustrations by controlling me – this began long before I was born. He originally enslaved my mother, but she died before my first birthday. By the time I was old enough to question his edicts, meekness was so engrained that I could rarely ask more than a timid question, then retire – shaking in fear – when he chastised me for forgetting my place. I now realize that Father was parroting Hillcrest when he described that betrothal. He had never actually spoken to Rafe about it. The match would not have worked, so I am grateful that he wed you. It leaves me free to take control of my future.” She smiled at her companion. “Mrs. Everly is already preparing me for London. After twenty years of seclusion, I can’t wait to experience its excitement for myself.”

  Helen relaxed as the conversation turned to the delights of the Season. Rafe had spoken truly. He was more honest than any other man she knew, including her father.

  Hope kindled for their future. Her father may have been right to question other men’s motives, but she could no longer apply his suspicions to Rafe.

  The moment she was free of hostess obligations, she would retire. In the privacy of the master suite, she and Rafe could finish their discussion and consummate their bargain. Her body tingled just thinking about it.

  * * * *

  Rafe drained the last of his port and rose, signaling the end of the longest dinner of his life – though in truth, the meal had gone better than expected.

  Portland was halfway to the drawing room before Rafe reached the door.

  He nearly snarled. The man was far too eager to reach Helen’s side. The pair had laughed together often during dinner, offering a chilling contrast to his own stilted exchanges with Alice and Hillcrest. It was time Portland accepted that Helen was married. There would be no gallant swains in her future.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin when Hillcrest laid a hand on his shoulder, halting his escape. “May we talk privately?”

  Refusing would make him sound like a petulant child – Helen’s charges had echoed mockingly all evening. Perhaps she would think better of him if he faced down Hillcrest. But he wasn’t about to sit through another tirade. “Would you care for a game of billiards?”

  Hillcrest nodded. Silence marked their trek to the billiard room.

  The table was a mess, probably destroyed by Dudley. Rafe rolled a ball back and forth while Hillcrest chose a cue.

  Hillcrest seemed oddly hesitant. Half the game passed before he broke his silence. “Why did you wed Helen?”

  A question? Rafe paused, unwilling to admit that he’d been too drunk to think past that angry vow. “She was in trouble and met the qualifications I sought in a wife.”

  “A fortune and estate?”

  “No.” His cue slipped, sending the ball sideways. Leaving the table to Hillcrest, he poured wine. “Helen is intelligent, independent, and passionate about injustice. Her fortune means nothing. I have my own. And though Audley is a fine property, I’ve little interest in it. Helen will continue to oversee its operation – much better than I could.” He added that last to needle Hillcrest, who hadn’t even let his wife supervise the household staff. But Helen was right. He shouldn’t fight.

  Hillcrest miscued. “Your own fortune? You’ve nothing but what you make gaming.”

  “Not true.” Rafe studied the table. That bud of hope urged him to be open. This was the first time in his life that he had spent more than two minutes with Hillcrest without anger, the first time Hillcrest had sought information. They might never have another chance to clear the air. Which meant abandoning barbs.

  He potted a ball and moved to line up the next shot. “Rumors rarely bear more than a passing resemblance to truth.”

  “But you do frequent the tables.”

  “So does nearly every gentleman in London. Clubs are the best place to transact business and keep abreast of current events – as you would know if you ever came to town.”

  “I’ve been to town often.”

  “Not in the last thirty years.”

  “No.”

  Rafe opened his mouth on a cutting remark before noticing Hillcrest’s fight for calm. He forced his jaw shut, refusing to be the first to lose his temper.

  “I spent as much time in town as anyone for a decade after I came down from school,” Hillcrest admitted as Rafe lined up his next shot.

  Rafe flinched, missing the ball entirely. Shock was interfering with his game. “Why do you hate town, then?”

  “Catherine had extravagant tastes. Her dowry was large, but would not have covered frivolous spending. I needed to keep her home while I rebuilt my grandfather’s fortune.”

  Rafe whipped around so fast he stumbled. Had Hillcrest actually admitted that he’d abandoned town to punish his wife?

  Hillcrest’s raised hand stopped his angry response. “We will not discuss that qu
arrel,” he said firmly. “It had nothing to do with you.”

  The enormity of the admission buckled Rafe’s knees. He groped blindly for a chair. “Why now? Why cast aside twenty-eight years of demanding my blind obedience? I can’t believe you would do that for Alice.”

  Hillcrest reddened. “Portland.”

  “But Portland hates me.”

  “Why?”

  “Long story. What did he do to bring you here?”

  Hillcrest fiddled with the cue while he studied the table. “I didn’t know his name until I ran into him after Pauling’s interment. He berated me for interfering with a Home Office investigation two years ago. I didn’t know—”

  “What happened?”

  “I had him picked up for vagrancy. He’d been hanging about like a highwayman.”

  Rafe shook his head. It was so typical – acting without asking a single question.

  “He called me the foulest names,” continued Hillcrest. “When Alice made similar complaints the next day, I realized Portland was right. I must investigate my assumptions. So I am asking for information. You cannot deny your reputation as a gamester.”

  “No, and it is true that I play often. But I rarely wager deeply, and I avoid cards unless my head is clear. For that reason alone, I win far more than I lose. But it has been ten years since I’ve relied on winnings to pay my tailor.”

  Hillcrest caught his eye for a long moment. “Why? You get nothing from me.”

  “Because you use money like a whip, attaching strings to every farthing,” Rafe snapped before drawing in his anger. He inhaled deeply. “My reputation arose from one high-stakes game ten years ago. I won ten thousand – from Portland – then hired the best man of business I could find to invest the purse. He multiplied its value many times over. My fortune now equals yours.”

  “But—” Hillcrest’s voice cracked. “Why did you say nothing?”

  “I tried,” said Rafe quietly. “But you never listen.”

  “How dare you imply—”

  “Don’t!” Rafe strode to the window, tugging the curtain aside so he could stare across the moonlit park. When he could speak calmly, he returned to the table. “Every meeting since the day I was born has been a confrontation. I haven’t the energy to fight tonight.”