Lady And The Cad

by Murray, Tamela Hancock

  “Really?” She folded her arms. “Then is that all you have to say?”

  “I cannot imagine a question much larger.”

  “What? No argument about how wealthy I will be or how I will finally enjoy full respectability as the lady of Sutton Manor?” she asked. “Come now, surely a man with your talent for verbosity can do better.”

  He puffed up his chest and cleared his throat. “I believe few words will suffice when the party to whom the question is posed is already well aware of the facts.”

  “So you say,” she answered. “And you think I should not feel the least bit of remorse if, by accepting your offer, I would be displacing your poor brother and his wife.”

  He hadn’t thought of that possibility. “I assure you, I will not leave my brother and his wife, and certainly not little Cecilia, without a home.”

  She looked about the room. “Then you expect to live here?”

  Following her gaze, Cecil noted that he had well provided Olivia with the funds to supplement her existing furnishings. Italian tapestries that he had especially imported as a gift for Olivia’s last birthday decorated the freshly papered wall. Tomorrow, the maids would set the Persian rugs he bought for Olivia back on the shining floors.

  “Would living here be such a terrible fate?” he asked.

  “I suppose not.” She shrugged. “Though this is not a manor house.”

  “But this house is the home of your childhood, right in the center of the city you love.” His eyebrows rose. “I have no recollection that you ever harbored a desire to experience the joys of country living.”

  Olivia twisted her mouth, a sure sign that she couldn’t argue.

  “And I doubt you would care to ensconce yourself in my small bachelor’s room here in the city.”

  “I am aware of where you spend most of your time, and I assure you, I would much prefer to remain here in my own home.”

  He felt a victorious smile touch upon his lips. “Good. All is settled.”

  “No. All is not settled. My answer is no.” She set her thin lips into a hard line.

  Surely he had heard incorrectly. “No?”

  “No.” She stood up as though the motion would give her fortitude. “I am honored by your request, late though it is, but I cannot accept.”

  Rising from his seat as etiquette required, he tried to think of reasons why she would rebuff him. “So you have a better offer?”

  “I have had many offers, but none as fine as yours,” she said. “No, I simply do not wish to marry.”

  “What an odd thing for a woman to say.”

  “As you have often noted yourself, I am a most extraordinary woman.”

  “In many ways.”

  “The primary consideration is that I have the means to live as I wish, and I wish, at this time, to live in my present circumstance.”

  So she was rejecting him? Never in the history of his bachelorhood had he been spurned twice in the course of one evening. Cecil searched for a response but found none forthcoming. How could a spinster not wish for the utmost in respectability? She had never acted as though he repulsed her. What was keeping her from accepting his proposal?

  He searched for a ray of hope in her answer and, when he found it, reached skyward with his words. “But you do not say you will never marry me. Just not at the present time.”

  “I suppose I did say that.”

  “But I do not understand. If you are insistent upon living as you presently do, what circumstance would cause you to change your mind?”

  She looked him over in the way that he had seen her study a vase or other objet d’art she contemplated purchasing. “Perhaps I might reconsider if you meet certain conditions.”

  Certain conditions? How dare she make demands upon him, the Earl of Sutton! Why, he would not stand for it!

  Or would he?

  He had to know. “What conditions? I ask only out of sheer curiosity. Do not expect me to meet your demands. I have many other eager prospects, you know.”

  “Indeed.” Her icy tone indicated that Olivia was well aware of the juicy tidbits of gossip about him that had been a consistent source of rumor since his discovery of the pleasures of gambling, wine, cigars, and the fairer sex.

  “My conditions are not small, but they will be well worth pursuing,” she explained. “First, you must give up your trips to the gaming tables.”

  “The gaming tables? But my dear, they are a harmless diversion. And I almost always win.”

  “So you want me to think. Do I look like a fool? Even if you do win, I know you spend most of your winnings treating the house to a round of ale. And speaking of ale, you must drink considerably less than you do at the present time. A glass of port for dessert each night is enough for any respectable gentleman.”

  “Just one glass of port? How about two? Two glasses aren’t so much.” He held up his thumb and forefinger and brought them an inch apart. “They hardly hold this much.”

  “If that were true, then five glasses would be sufficient. Which makes me believe that your port consumption should be measured in drops, not by the glass, since you can certainly procure a large glass for yourself and fill it to the brim.”

  No answer formed upon his lips. She knew him too well.

  “Then there is the issue of your smoking. I would prefer that you not smell up yourself and my home with the stench of tobacco.”

  “Stench?” he protested. “Why, I buy the finest tobacco available.”

  She sniffed as though smelling spoiled mutton. “It all stinks.”

  “But I wear a smoking jacket,” he pointed out.

  “And yet the smell of tobacco clings to your skin and hair.” She wrinkled her nose.

  He swept his hand toward the fireplace. “Surely you mistake the scent of the wood burning here for my tobacco.”

  “Which does not explain the peculiar odor in the summer.” She paused. “Also, you must improve your table manners.”

  He placed his hand on his chest. “But my dear, I do possess the finest in table manners. After all, I am a titled gentleman.”

  “You certainly do possess table manners—table manners acceptable in a tavern.”

  Cecil shook his head. “My dear, I had no idea you were aware of the proper etiquette employed in a tavern.” He clicked his tongue to mock her.

  “And finally, your eyes must rove no longer. They must be focused on me exclusively.” She folded her hands at her waist and studied him. “Those are my demands.”

  At that moment, he wanted to throw himself on her mercy, hoping she would change her mind. How could he give up every amusement he enjoyed in life just so he could sire a legitimate heir? Many of his friends fathered broods of children by mistresses and wives alike without breaking stride. What right did she have to ask him to do otherwise?

  His reasoning supplied him with the courage to challenge her. “And if I do not accept your conditions?”

  “I shall call upon one of my other potential suitors to act as my unofficial host for future events.”

  He formed pictures in his mind of the other suitors Olivia meant. If there were others, they were the epitome of discretion. He decided to call her bluff. “Other potential suitors?”

  “Lord George, for one. He was quite charmed by my conversation this evening.”

  “My dear, how could you make such an error? I have always considered you much too sophisticated to mistake the impeccable manners of a gentleman for a serious flirtation.”

  “I have made no mistake. You are correct. I am sophisticated. I can read a man very well. And I know his interest in me could be developed into something more interesting—with the first bat of my eyelashes.”

  “And an expensive bat that would be.” He chuckled. “I have a notion as to how much I will need to settle your accounts for this evening’s entertainment alone. You say you have the means to live alone, and I am well aware that you do. But entertaining on the lavish scale you desire and appearing in the elaborate s
ilk gowns you enjoy,” he said, letting his gaze sweep over her costly gown, “would consume your fortune too quickly to assure you would not live in poverty in your old age. While I can envision your devout cousin Eunice content in such circumstances, I cannot imagine a woman such as yourself finding peace and solace living with the discipline of a Spartan.”

  To remind her of his ability to secure luxury, he chose that moment to meander over to the liquor table so he could pour himself a large glass of forbidden brandy. He took her lack of objection as a sign that she was thinking about the life she proposed to throw away. Cecil turned toward Olivia, swirled the amber liquid in the snifter, and took a gulp as he looked at her through the glass. “So. Are you so sure your friend Lord George would be willing, or able, to fund your taste for luxury?”

  “I am quite certain that Lord George has the ability to fund any luxury he desires,” she protested. “Now, I ask you, am I to assume from your brazen consumption of brandy that you are not up to my challenge?”

  “Up to your challenge? Are you implying that I do not have the will or the ability to change my ways if I choose?”

  “I imply nothing. I only want to know if you accept. Otherwise, I will consider myself a free woman.”

  How dare she deliver him an ultimatum!

  He had seen Olivia act in vindictive rage before. If he didn’t make the attempt, she would make him the laughingstock of London. She would gossip to everyone they knew that he was too weak to so much as try to change. By the time she was through with him, everyone, including the servants, would be laughing behind his back. Besides, a man of his intellect could find ways to break her rules without really breaking them.

  The love he once thought he felt for Olivia dissipated in light of her new demands. Perhaps when he was through, he would throw Olivia to that dog George.

  He finished his brandy in two swallows.

  “Very well. I accept your challenge. In one year, I shall return to you a changed man.”

  Three

  Eunice awoke in a large canopied bed with a soft down mattress and a warm comforter the color of gold. Why did her stomach knot in fear?

  Suddenly she remembered. Olivia’s devotee had tried to kiss her in the garden. While Eunice didn’t regret rebuffing Cecil with a slap to the cheek, she knew the act would not be without consequences.

  “Heavenly Father,” she whispered, “forgive me. I pray I did nothing untoward to invite Cecil’s attentions. Help me to be demure and focused on Thee. In the name of Thy Son, Jesus, amen.”

  How could she face her cousin? She wished she could slink out the back door, unnoticed as though she were the scullery maid, and disappear into a crowd on a back street of London. But she could not. She was a gentlewoman, a position of birth that required her to act as one.

  Strong sunlight peeking through the cracks in the draperies indicated she wouldn’t be able to avoid Olivia much longer. For a brief moment, she hoped she could hide behind her aunt’s skirt. Brightened by the idea, she rose and rushed to the bedroom next door.

  Eunice knocked, but her aunt didn’t answer. She pushed the door open and peered into the dim room. A large lump underneath blue bed coverings indicated that her aunt still slept. She approached the bed and shook the sleeping figure.

  “Auntie? Are you awake?”

  The old woman snorted and turned over in bed.

  She shook her again. “Auntie May? You should be getting up. It must be well past the breakfast hour by now.”

  Aunt May groaned, then answered without moving. Her voice was muffled by the covers. “Food! No food. My stomach ails me, it does.”

  “Perhaps fortification would make you better,” Eunice prodded.

  “Noon. I shall eat at the noon hour. Tell Cook to prepare leg of mutton, parsnips, and oyster soup.”

  “Auntie, we have no notion what they serve here. This is not Dover. We are at Olivia’s, remember?”

  “She has any food she wants,” Auntie argued. “Let me be.”

  Sighing, Eunice returned to her own room, dillydallied through her morning toilette, and, for more reasons than one, took extra time with her morning prayers. Perhaps Olivia would grow impatient and begin her day without her.

  Such was not to be. When she made her way downstairs much later, Eunice found Olivia sitting in the dining hall, taking her place at the head of the table.

  “Ah, there you are. I was beginning to fear I would have to eat breakfast alone.”

  “I beg your indulgence. I meant not to delay your breakfast.”

  “But you did not.” Olivia set her linen napkin in her lap with flourish. “I usually have it brought to me in bed, you know, but when I have guests, I partake here.”

  Eunice took a seat beside her cousin. “I trust my appearance here does not disappoint you, then.”

  “It does not. And in turn, I trust you enjoyed yourself last night,” Olivia observed.

  “Indeed.”

  “What a sluggard of a hostess you must think me,” she noted without displaying an ounce of sincerity. “I fully intended to bid you good night, but you and Aunt May disappeared so soon.”

  “Oh, no. We fully understood that you needed to tend to your other guests, of which there were many. I do not recall ever being in such a large crowd.”

  “I do suppose life is different in Dover.” Olivia smiled. “So did you find the ball to your liking?”

  Eunice wished she could be honest. How could she tell her cousin that the man Olivia loved tried to kiss her in the garden? She searched for something, anything, to say. “The food was exquisite. I have never seen such succulent treats. The tables practically groaned in agony.” She paused. “That is, until your guests descended upon them with abandon.”

  Olivia’s laughter echoed in the dining room as she added salt to the egg in her bone china eggcup. “Yes, I am known for the food at my parties.”

  “I can see why.” Eunice tapped her egg and removed the cap. “I am afraid Auntie overindulged.” She dipped a finger of toast into the egg and took a bite of the yolk-soaked bread, eating slowly so she could savor the rich flavor. Olivia’s cook had completed their plates with warm herring, potatoes, and tarts of minced meat fruit. If Olivia’s cook made a habit of preparing such splendid fare, Eunice didn’t wonder why all of London was eager to be invited to sup at this house. She made a mental note to eat small portions so as not to make the same error as her aunt.

  “Overindulged? The poor dear. Surely now that you have come into your inheritance, both of you will soon become accustomed to the finest foods.” Olivia took a sip of tea. “The finest available in the empire, that is.”

  “I doubt I shall instruct our cook to prepare anything so succulent for everyday fare,” Eunice informed her. “We are to be stewards of the property God lends us during our short stay on earth.”

  “You say that now, but you will be surprised at how quickly one’s constitution will begin to require fine food once one has tasted of it.”

  “Then I shall keep my fare simple as always, especially for Auntie’s sake.”

  “So her overindulgence explains her absence this morning?”

  “Yes. Her stomach felt a bit sour.” Then, realizing how ungrateful she must sound, Eunice added, “We are not as privileged to enjoy such delectable foods often.”

  “I would rather eat a tiny bite of the finest bread than a loaf of what will do for the peasant classes.” Olivia stirred her tea. “Our aunt will recover soon enough.”

  “Indubitably. By your leave, she has requested that I instruct Cook to prepare leg of mutton, parsnips, and oyster soup for luncheon.”

  “For Aunt May, I will be happy to inform Cook about her wishes,” Olivia agreed. “But for now, I am glad we have this time together. So now, don’t be shy. Tell me what you really thought of our little gathering?”

  “I thought it quite grand.”

  “If only you could tarry here in London, I think you would soon find a husband. You turned more than
one head last night.”

  “You flatter me,” Eunice said. “But I care not to find a husband. At least, not in London.”

  “So you think someone in the country would be more suitable?”

  Eunice remembered the pretentiousness of most of Olivia’s friends. “Perhaps.”

  “Ah, a simple country squire, then. Or a vicar?”

  “Whomever my Father in heaven plans for me. Or perhaps no one at all.”

  “No one at all? I do not believe you. You are not unconventional as I am, Eunice. You would never be happy alone.”

  How did her cousin see right through her? Uncomfortable, Eunice paused by drinking another sip of tea. She deflected the attention to Olivia. “But you are not alone.”

  “If you mean I am courted by Cecil, yes. That is the rumor.”

  Eunice wasn’t sure how to respond. Surely her cousin was sophisticated enough to know who courted her. London society, with its inability to say what it meant and its constant intrigue, was all so confusing.

  “In fact,” Olivia continued, “he asked me to marry him last night.”

  Eunice gasped. “Indeed? When?”

  Olivia’s cup of tea, destined for her lips, stopped midstream. “When? Does it matter?”

  She hurried to find a reasonable response. “I–I thought I might have missed the announcement of your betrothal.”

  “No.” She drank, then set her cup back into its saucer. “He asked me rather late in the evening. After supper.”

  After he had tried to kiss her in the garden? Whatever was the man thinking?

  “I wish you all the world’s happiness,” Eunice managed to utter.

  “Thank you. I’m sure I shall have that.” She paused. “Since I told him no.”

  “You told him no?” Eunice wondered why Olivia could turn down a man she supposedly loved. The previous night, they had seemed companionable enough, comfortable with each other in conversation as old friends. Another thought struck her. Perhaps that was really the way their relationship had developed—into one of friendship rather than romantic love.

  “Does my answer to him surprise you?”

  “I admit, it does.”