Jilted By A Cad (Jilted Brides Trilogy Book 1)

by Cheryl Holt

  “No,” Peyton said, “but thank you all for coming.”

  “Do you feel older?” Evan asked.

  “Yes, definitely.”

  “Do you feel smarter?”

  “No, definitely not.”

  People laughed and toasted him again.

  Evan’s sister, Amelia, was hovering by Peyton’s side as if she belonged there. The party had been her idea. If it had been left to Peyton, he’d have been drinking at his favorite club.

  But Evan had nagged about how Amelia had been eager to arrange it, how it would make her happy, and Peyton hadn’t had the heart to refuse. She would deem the event as a sort of trial run where she could prove to him that she was prepared to assume the duties of wife and countess.

  By consenting to the party, Peyton was encouraging her, but he never could hurt her feelings, and he couldn’t deduce how to gently apprise her that he might not wed her after all. Despite what reason he might supply, she’d be gravely insulted. She’d believe it was because of his ascension to the title—that she’d once been the perfect candidate but wasn’t now—and he’d never convince her otherwise.

  She had Evan’s same black hair and blue eyes, and she was twenty-two, thin and petite, very pretty, smart, educated, and vivacious. And she was very independent. If she had an absentee husband such as Peyton who sailed around the world for lengthy stretches of time, she would have no difficulty managing on her own.

  Her husband wouldn’t have to worry about her. She’d be fine, but did he want a bride who’d be fine without him? Wasn’t he more conventional than that? Wouldn’t he rather have a wife who desperately needed him to be the man of the house?

  Who could guess? Marriage was a mystery, and matrimony could end up being a blessing or a trap. No fellow could ever be sure of how it would unravel.

  “I’m starving,” he murmured to her. “Will supper ever be served?”

  “Your butler, Mr. Newman, informs me he’ll seat us in half an hour.”

  “I may waste away by then.”

  “I will hold you up so you don’t collapse.”

  She grinned up at him, appearing impish and merry, and he grinned too. It was impossible not to like her, and he liked her very much, but if he didn’t watch himself, he’d be marching to the altar with her very soon. He wouldn’t be able to avoid it.

  She’d arranged a sit-down meal for twenty, then she’d invited another hundred or so to stop by later for dancing and cards. It was all very formal, very fancy, his guests dressed to impress, their jewels dazzling.

  It was a crowd of the rich and glamorous, so the conversation seemed more fascinating. A small voice in his head whispered like a warning, This is your life now.

  It wasn’t necessarily a bad notion. Was it?

  “When are you going back to the navy, Peyton?” Amelia asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “My brother claims you’re being a big baby about it, and you can’t make a decision on any topic.”

  Peyton snorted. “Well, it’s easy for him to be firm on a topic. It’s a bit trickier for me.”

  “I wish you’d be happier about all these changes that have been thrust on you.”

  “I’m happy enough.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re scowling at everyone.”

  “I didn’t realize I was, so I’ll force myself to look more pleasant. Since you worked so hard on this party, I can’t have people thinking I’m miserable.”

  “It was no bother. In fact, I enjoyed it. I’m delighted that you gave me the chance to pamper you.”

  “Am I being pampered? Is that what’s happening?”

  “We’re all here to remind you of how splendid you are. That sounds like pampering to me.”

  “I suppose.”

  He was searching each of her comments for veiled meaning, and he hated to be so wary. He liked her, and she was a terrific person, but anymore, he was suspicious of every remark from a female.

  Was she auditioning her organizational skills? With her quip about his not returning to the navy, was she trying to ascertain when he might be available for a major occasion? Their wedding perhaps?

  He smirked with aggravation. There were no hidden depths with her. They were friends. They’d always been friends. She wasn’t angling for him to place a ring on her finger. She was simply chatting.

  “There’s a new theatrical play opening tomorrow night,” she said. “I’m dying to see it.”

  “Let me guess why you’re telling me: You’d like me to escort you.”

  “My, my, but you are so insightful.”

  Apparently, it was beyond him to rebuff her as he ought. “I haven’t been to the theater in ages. I would be glad to escort you.”

  She slipped her arm into his and nestled herself closer so her body was crushed to his all the way down. She was very shapely, and fleetingly, he wondered what it would be like to fornicate with her.

  When he recognized where his thoughts had strayed, his cheeks heated. Was he actually considering her in a carnal fashion? Was he forgetting that she’d been like a little sister to him?

  What the hell? he mused. Why not marry her? It would put an end to all these ghastly encounters where he constantly conveyed the wrong sentiment.

  “What time shall we leave for the theater?” he asked.

  “The curtain is at eight, so how about if you pick me up at seven?”

  “Will you be home before then?”

  “Yes, I’ll be home all day.”

  “I’ll stop by a bit early. I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  She froze, but didn’t inquire as to what the subject would be. Then she cast a glance at her brother, and they shared a silent message. A man didn’t stop by for no reason. A man stopped by to propose.

  Was that what he intended? Why not? As he’d told himself over and over, it wouldn’t kill him to be a husband, and she would be an excellent wife.

  Mr. Newman approached, and he noticed how she was snuggled so tightly to Peyton’s side. He frowned, then wiped his expression clean.

  “May I speak with you, Lord Benton?”

  Amelia chuckled. “He called you Lord Benton, rather than Commander Prescott, and the Earth didn’t spin off its axis.”

  “He won’t use any moniker but Benton,” Peyton complained. “I insisted on Commander Prescott, but he wouldn’t heed me.”

  “You poor thing,” Amelia mocked. “You’re rich and important, but no one will do as you bid them. How will you ever survive?”

  “What is it, Newman?” he asked. “And don’t pay any attention to Miss Boyle. She likes to be a nuisance.”

  Amelia popped in with, “May I help you instead, Newman? It’s his lordship’s birthday, and he shouldn’t have to fuss with any issue.”

  Newman was flummoxed and not anxious to disappoint Amelia which was a good sign. If the butler liked her, any marriage would begin on a smooth note.

  “I apologize, Miss Boyle,” Newman said, “but it has to be Lord Benton. Alone.”

  “Ooh,” Amelia teased, “that sounds serious. You’d better see what he wants.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He followed Newman out to the foyer, and the man halted and explained, “I didn’t feel I should mention this in front of Miss Boyle.”

  “I hope it’s nothing horrid.”

  “No. It’s just that you have a visitor.”

  “Well, I have many, many visitors tonight. The house is open to what must be half of London.”

  “I’m certain this…ah…person wasn’t invited by Miss Boyle.”

  “Who is it?”

  Newman leaned in, and when he whispered the name, Peyton could have fainted from shock.

  “She’s here now?”

  “Yes. In the kitchen.”

  “You didn’t need to hide her.”

  “With Miss Boyle appearing to be your special guest this evening, I deemed i
t best. If you’ll come with me?”

  * * * *

  “Josephine Bates! What on earth are you doing in my kitchen?”

  Jo whipped around, trying not to be incensed as Peyton Prescott rushed toward her. He was dressed in formal attire, and there was a large party in progress.

  On her trudging by the mansion, on observing the windows all lit and the wealthy, attractive people strolling in, she’d brazenly strolled in too. Mr. Newman had immediately intercepted her though, and he’d hustled her away.

  She was in the servant’s hall, sitting at their table. Footmen and maids scurried by, carrying trays of food and champagne. Even though the staff was very busy, she’d been courteously treated, supplied with tea and cakes, but her temper was on a slow boil.

  She understood that Mr. Newman had a responsibility to manage the residence, but she wasn’t a doxy who had stumbled in by mistake. During the prior occasion when she’d arrived with Lord Benton, she’d stayed in a bedchamber on the upper floors. She’d eaten supper with him in the small dining room.

  She’d refused to make a scene, so she’d bitten her tongue, but she was furious at Mr. Newman for acting as if she was shameful and disgraced.

  Lord Benton walked up and clasped hold of her hands. “Tell me why you’re in London. I must admit to being stunned and thrilled.”

  “I think the more pertinent question is: Why are you here?”

  He scowled. “Ah…this is my home? Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  He bent down and kissed her on the cheek, and she leapt away. Two maids were passing by, and they witnessed the inappropriate contact. Gossip would spread like wildfire that the Earl was kissing a stranger in the kitchen.

  He studied her, and his scowl deepened. “Are you angry with me? You can’t be angry. It’s my birthday. Let’s go upstairs so I can introduce you.”

  “No, thank you, Lord Benton.” She cast a scathing glare at Mr. Newman. “Your butler decided I wasn’t fit to mingle with your lofty friends, and I couldn’t impose.”

  Mr. Newman had the grace to look abashed. “I’m sorry, Miss Bates, but I thought…ah…I simply thought you’d be more comfortable if…if….”

  “Yes, I’m very comfortable, Mr. Newman.”

  “Don’t worry about any of that now.” Lord Benton peered over at Newman. “She and I have to talk. Where is a good spot?”

  “The housekeeper and I have an office down the hall. I’ll show you.”

  Newman led the way, she and the Earl behind him. He gestured for them to enter the room, then he attempted to enter too, but Lord Benton prevented him.

  “Give us a moment, Newman.” Lord Benton smiled at Jo. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”

  “I’m not hungry,” she replied, and she never liked to seem churlish, so she added, “While I was waiting for you, your servants were very kind. I’ve already been fed.”

  He said to Newman, “I’ll return to the party when I’m finished with her.”

  “I must remind you, my lord, that supper will be served in about twenty minutes.”

  “They can start without me.”

  “I doubt anyone would want that. The celebration is in your honor.”

  “I’ll try to hurry.”

  The Earl shut the door in Newman’s face, then he spun to Jo, and he was grinning his devil’s grin. His warm gaze washed over her as if he’d missed her every second. Obviously, the man was mad as a hatter.

  “This is the nicest surprise,” he said. “I can’t tell you how many times I nearly rode to Telford to find you.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you were pining away.”

  “You still haven’t told me why you’re in London. And why are you wandering the streets after dark? I realize you like to strut about on your own, but I’ll be alarmed if you’re alone.”

  There was a decanter of wine on the desk, and he poured himself a glass. He was babbling on as if all was fine between them, as if he hadn’t evicted her niece.

  Jo had been in London for a fortnight, having come to the city after exhausting every avenue of assistance in Telford. As Maud had threatened, she’d disseminated wicked stories about Jo, and neighbors had eagerly swallowed Maud’s lies.

  Jo had had enough of their cruelty and spite. She’d taken her money and Daisy and left, and she would never look back. She hadn’t seen her sister again and likely never would. Her final memory of Maud would be as she’d screamed her vicious comments in the driveway.

  Jo kept that image front and center so she’d never forget. It was fueling quite a torrent of rage. She’d lost everything, and Lord Benton was so oblivious that he was hosting a huge party. But it was his birthday. Why wouldn’t he make merry?

  Had he the slightest clue of the catastrophes he’d orchestrated?

  “Would you like a glass too?” he asked, and he dipped the wine decanter in her direction.

  “Yes, actually, I would.”

  It would occupy her hands so she didn’t wrap them around his beastly neck.

  “I remember that you like to drink wine,” he said. “We certainly enjoyed our share that lovely night when we were last together.”

  “It seems a lifetime ago.”

  “Why did you sneak off the next morning, you scamp? I was loafing in the dining room, expecting you to join me for breakfast, but you never arrived. Eventually, I sent a maid to locate you, and she found your note.” He clutched a mocking fist over his chest. “It broke my heart.”

  “Yes, it’s clear you’ve been wasting away.”

  He leaned on the desk, his hips balanced on the edge, and he scrutinized her intensely.

  “You’re so angry with me,” he murmured. “Why are you upset? I could have sworn we parted as friends.”

  “Some friend you are.”

  “Whoa!” he groused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “As if you didn’t know.”

  “I don’t know! What’s wrong? What sin have I committed?”

  “Will you really stand before me and pretend to be innocent?”

  “Jo, I’m not pretending. I have no idea why you’re so livid. I demand you apprise me at once.”

  “By any chance, do you recall that I have a niece?”

  “Yes, Daisy. What about her?”

  “Then you must also recall that I had a deadline of July fifteenth to remove her from your property.”

  “Yes, but we waved it, so what’s the problem? Are you having trouble with Richard Slater because if you are—”

  Jo held up a hand, stopping him. “You promised I could have more time.”

  “Yes, you can have as much as you like. It doesn’t matter to me if Daisy tarries for a bit. I’m positive you’ll work out a good solution.”

  “When did you last visit Benton Manor?”

  “It’s been a few weeks.”

  “So you haven’t checked on conditions?”

  “No, why? Has the manor burned to the ground?” He laughed as if such a calamity would be funny. “I told Richard to write me if it happened, but I haven’t heard from him, so I’m assuming it’s not that.”

  There was a chair behind her, and she slid down, her knees shaky, as if she might collapse. She gulped down her wine and placed the glass on the floor.

  She’d rented a room in a women’s boarding house. It was clean, safe, and quiet, and the price was reasonable. She was searching for a job, but so far, she’d had no luck.

  With the money from Mr. Slater, she’d be all right for several months—if she was frugal—but then what?

  She would never return to Telford, would never beg Maud for shelter or help. Her sister could wallow away the years with her horrid Mr. Townsend. Jo was delighted to be shed of both of them, but she was in a pickle.

  An upscale salon that served the richest ladies had been anxious to hire a seamstress, and she’d just interviewed for the position. She was adept at sewing, but also at shaping and redesigning the clothes M
aud used to give her. She’d thought she would be an asset to a business like that.

  But numerous other women had shown up for the interview too. It had been such a lengthy line of candidates that it had taken forever for the proprietress to speak with her. While the woman had liked Jo’s outfit very much—a lavender dress with cream colored lace on the color and cuffs—she’d been bluntly candid that Jo was too chic and stylish to be the girl she sought.

  She’d doubted Jo would stay at her post, and despite how fervidly Jo had argued, the woman wouldn’t change her opinion.

  It had been a depressing blow, and as she’d staggered home, she’d realized Benton House was in the area. She’d decided to see if the residence was shuttered, and if it wasn’t, she’d planned to ask the servants if they had an address for Commander Prescott so she could contact him.

  Mr. Slater had claimed he was at sea, and like a gullible ninny, she’d accepted the story without question. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the astonishment of learning that he hadn’t sailed off after all.

  While she’d been panicked and afraid and struggling to forge a path for herself and her niece, he’d been carrying on as he always had. He’d been celebrating his birthday.

  She must have looked particularly dejected because he laid a palm on her shoulder and inquired, “Jo, what is it?”

  “Mr. Slater told me you’d gone back to the navy.”

  “He what? What an ass. That’s not true, and he’s aware it’s not. I may return to the navy. In fact, I probably will, but nothing is definite.”

  “He said—before you departed—you instructed him to enforce the deadline.”

  He frowned, at first not comprehending. “Do you mean the July fifteenth deadline? The one where Daisy and the others had to be out?”

  “Yes, I mean that deadline.”

  “I didn’t tell him that, Jo. I never would have.”

  She gazed up at him, and her heavy burdens caught up with her. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and she swiped them away. He pulled up a chair and sat in front of her so they were very close, their feet and legs tangled together.

  “I believed him,” she miserably admitted. “Why wouldn’t I have?”