Earl of Oakhurst

by Madeline Martin

  “It’s well and good with me.” Lady Oakhurst warmed under her grandson’s concern. “Though you should know it’s terribly unsightly.”

  “I assure ye, I’ve seen worse.” Lord Oakhurst winked at her and settled into a chair some feet away.

  It was an odd thing to be in someone’s private quarters, being that it was so intimately personal. Penelope put aside her genteel modesty and focused instead as a physician. She gently lifted the lavender silk of Lady Oakhurst’s gown to reveal a naked foot.

  The older woman flushed with embarrassment. “It pains me terribly.”

  “Wearing a slipper would most likely make you lose consciousness.” Penelope studied the pink, shiny skin along the side of Lady Oakhurst’s foot, relieved to find it was absent the bony knob of a long-term sufferer. “You needn’t apologize. How many days has this bout been affecting you?”

  “Five,” Lord Oakhurst replied for his grandmother. It was then Penelope noticed him leaning forward to watch what she did. “Is there a wrap? A poultice? Anything that might help?”

  “She is nearly at the end of the worst of it,” Penelope explained. “Generally an attack will last seven days at most.” She went on to detail remedies that proved most efficacious: drinking tart cherry juice once a day, avoiding rich foods and spirits when possible, introducing light exercise once the pain dissipated. In the meantime, she provided them with a tonic of meadowsweet root and a drop of poppy juice to take the edge off the pain and delivered a dose to demonstrate how much to give.

  It was not Lady Oakhurst who listened intently to all of the discourse of instructions, though she did bemoan the bit about rich food and spirits. It was Lord Oakhurst who followed all of the details and nodded his ascent to ensure it would happen.

  He accepted the tincture with thanks. “I appreciate ye taking time from yer day to share yer knowledge with us.”

  His compliment was considerate and greatly appreciated. It was not often she received praise for her hard-won learning. Not when so many people were opposed to seeing a woman in a man’s role.

  “It is kind of you to look after her,” Penelope said. “Most would abandon the task to their servants.”

  He glanced regretfully at Lady Oakhurst whose eyes had gone somewhat glassy with the effects of the poppy juice. “I have abandoned her long enough already.” He indicated the door and followed Penelope to it. “I’ll no’ make that same mistake again.”

  She allowed him to lead her from Lady Oakhurst’s Chamber.

  “I should like to speak with ye on another matter, if ye can spare a moment,” he said.

  “Of course.” Lady Penelope faced him in the quiet hallway.

  He was taller than her by at least a good foot, which put her brow somewhere around the middle of his broad chest. She noticed his height when they’d danced together, but hadn’t appreciated it the way she did now when they were alone.

  “I dinna mean to cause offense,” he said in a low voice. The delicate burr of his brogue hummed in the air and tickled through her veins. “But what I mean to ask ye is quite improper.”

  4

  MacKenzie had carefully considered what exactly he would say to Lady Penelope once he had her alone. It had all gone perfectly in his mind. Until the very moment when he needed to open his mouth and say it aloud.

  “Improper?” She tilted her head with evident curiosity.

  “Aye.” He shifted his weight. “Ye see, I’ve no’ gone to yer da first. I dinna want him to make a decision for ye.”

  Any tension in her expression smoothed. “Whatever you mean to ask me, you’re off to a good start.”

  He shifted his weight back to the other foot and his thoughts all jumbled together. Good God. Why was he so bloody nervous? It was only a damn marriage proposal.

  The only one he’d ever done.

  To a woman who had rejected every other man who had asked her.

  Bloody hell.

  Her brows pinched together. “What is it you mean to ask me?”

  “Will ye marry me?” The question came out in a clumsy tumble that made him wince inwardly.

  She blinked in surprise. And no wonder. No doubt the ungainliness of it hit her like an unexpected blow.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said slowly.

  “That dinna come out right.” He smiled apologetically, which she returned with a look of brilliant relief.

  He steeled himself for the second round. He’d lied to Runners on whisky runs, smooth-talked his way around rough situations, and gone this long without letting a woman rattle his nerves like a bad toss of dice.

  God, she smelled good. Garden-grown roses, the kind that smelled sweetest in the morning with a frosting of dew on their open petals.

  A frosting of dew? What the devil was the matter with him?

  “Ye need to wed,” he said carefully. “So ye can return to the hospital, aye?”

  The skin around her eyes tensed, but she did not stop him.

  Be calm, MacKenzie. He weighed each word before he finally spoke again. “If I dinna find a new wife, there will be expectations that I resume my cousin’s betrothal to Lady Judith.”

  Her mouth quirked. Ah, so she at least understood his predicament.

  “Ye’d mentioned ye thought it cruel to convince a man to wed ye simply so ye could return to the hospital.”

  She nodded, as she no doubt recalled their conversation.

  “I dinna want a wife, but I need one,” he said finally.

  “I see.” Her pale blue eyes were sharp with intelligence and had not once left his face as she listened to his terribly awkward proposal.

  “Ye would have yer freedom to return to the hospital, and comfort in that ye are knowingly with a man ye dinna have to love,” he said.

  “And you would be released of the obligation to wed your cousin’s fiancée by marrying a woman you do not have to love,” she concluded.

  A woman he did not have to love. Aye, that was exactly what he wanted. For where there was love, there was pain.

  Like Lady Judith had hurt him so long ago by choosing Gilbert’s title over MacKenzie. Like all the fickle women who fawned over MacKenzie once he was heir presumptive. He didn’t want a woman who was only interested in him for title or money, and he certainly didn’t want a woman who would put his heart at risk to get it. Not again.

  The tension bled away from MacKenzie’s shoulders. “Aye. That’s it exactly.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Would I be required to attend balls and social gatherings?”

  “God, I hope neither of us have to,” he muttered. “However, I suppose some will be required from time to time. Only those of great import.”

  She leaned her head to the side as though conceding to the logic of his begrudging point.

  A maid came down the hall and MacKenzie pressed his hand to Lady Penelope’s lower back to guide her toward the stairs so as not to arouse suspicion.

  “Would children be required?” Lady Penelope asked quietly as they descended the stairs one slow step at a time.

  “Nay.” MacKenzie offered a silent apology to Gemma, who no doubt would love children in the house again. A marriage such as the one he was contriving with Lady Penelope would do best without offspring.

  “Good.” Lady Penelope offered a flash of a smile. “And what of me? Will you dictate my comings and goings?”

  MacKenzie shook his head. “But if ye take a lover, I’d prefer ye exercise discretion.”

  He would in no way force Lady Penelope to be intimate with him, not physically or through marital coercion.

  She chuckled at that. “There will be no lovers. I have no interest in such things.”

  “Everyone has interest in such things.”

  She stopped at the landing and turned that bright, intelligent gaze on him fully once more. “I do not.”

  “Verra well.”

  “And you will, as well?” She flicked her stare away briefly, the only indication thus far of any discomfort
with their discussion. “Be discreet with your lovers, I mean?”

  The idea of taking a woman to bed while married to another did not sit well with him. And yet the thought of never again having a woman in his bed held even less appeal.

  What the devil was he getting himself into?

  He nodded.

  “There we have it,” she agreed. “I shall be happy to marry you.”

  “Would you prefer that I get a special license?” he asked. “Doing so would allow the affair to be more private.” Not only would the license allow them the ability to have the wedding performed away from prying eyes, but they could have the ceremony whenever they bloody well wanted. No waiting on banns to be called, or any other such nonsense.

  “That would be ideal, thank you.” Lady Penelope held out her hand to him. She wore no gloves this time and he noted the slenderness of her long fingers that tapered at the ends. “Then it appears we have an agreement, Lord Oakhurst.”

  He took her hand in his and found it cool against the heat of his own palm. He leaned over and kissed the tops of her small knuckles. “I’ll see to it once I’ve spoken with yer father.” The fresh rose perfume of her teased at his awareness once more.

  He straightened, not wanting to find appeal in the way she smelled. “I will call on him later today.”

  “Very well.” Lady Penelope nodded at the conclusion of their contracted union. “Good day to you, Lord Oakhurst.”

  “Good day, Lady Penelope.”

  It was most likely not the typical farewell for a couple recently engaged. But for them, it was adequate.

  She strode off, carried away by footsteps that made it appear as if she floated over the smooth marble flooring. He considered her as she departed. Gemma was right: Penelope was indeed extraordinary. She was logical and pragmatic. The ideal choice for a wife to guarantee he would never again fall in love.

  Upon taking their leave from Oakhurst Place, Penelope climbed into the carriage, nearly ready to burst with her news. She had tried to reconcile herself to the idea of marriage ever since she’d come out, but it had never settled properly on her. Though Lady Bursbury had ceased mentioning the notion of a husband some time ago, it was obvious she still hoped for a marriage for her eldest daughter.

  Finally, Penelope would be able to comply with her mother’s wishes, to complete the one act in which she’d so dreadfully failed.

  “I presume it went well based on your elated expression.” Lady Bursbury reached a gloved hand across the small carriage and squeezed Penelope’s wrist. “You’re brilliant, darling. I’m so very proud of you. If I don’t tell you often enough, I want to make sure you know it without a modicum of doubt.”

  Oh, and Penelope did know it. Her mother told her all the time. Almost every afternoon that she met Penelope at St. Thomas’s. And Penelope appreciated it every time. Every. Time. She braced herself as the coach pulled forward to return them to Bursbury Place at the end of the lane of townhouses.

  “You’ll be even prouder of me now.” Penelope gave a little bounce in her seat. Yes, a little bounce in her seat, though she could scarcely recall ever having done anything of the sort in her entire life. Truly the excitement of fulfilling her mother’s greatest wish was practically beyond comprehension.

  Lady Bursbury pressed her hands together over her breast. “Did you discover a way to cure Lady Oakhurst?”

  “It isn’t that,” Penelope said dismissively. “Although, yes, Lady Oakhurst will heal in time if she follows my instructions.”

  Confusion crinkled her mother’s brow. “Whatever could have you in such a state, then?”

  “I’m getting married,” Penelope blurted out.

  She had expected her mother to crow with happiness, for the crowning victory finally achieved. She had expected a great hug as wedding plans immediately spilled forth from years of sequestered, secret plans. She had expected, well, anything more than she received.

  Lady Bursbury blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m getting married, Mama,” Penelope repeated. “To Lord Oakhurst.”

  Her mother’s mouth worked silently for a moment before words finally emerged. “I wasn’t aware you were so well acquainted,” she stammered. “You…love him then?”

  Penelope shook her head. “No, which is why it’s so capital. He doesn’t want a wife any more than I want a husband and yet we both must wed. It’s an ideal situation to prevent us from having to hurt people who do wish a proper union.”

  The light faded from Lady Bursbury’s eyes and her shoulders drooped forward. In fact, all of her seemed to wither. Lines showed on her face that Penelope had never noticed, arching around the sides of her mouth and crinkling alongside her eyes.

  “Oh, Penelope,” she said softly. It was unlike any way she’d spoken her eldest daughter’s name before. Not with chastisement or teasing admonishment, but with genuine…disappointment.

  Penelope’s heart crumpled at the desolate sound. “I thought you’d be pleased,” she whispered.

  Lady Bursbury shook her head slowly and tears swam in her eyes. Actual tears.

  “Mama.” Penelope reached for her mother.

  “You deserve to be loved.” The carriage drew to a stop before their townhouse and Lady Bursbury touched her gloved hands to her eyes, blotting away her tears.

  The door opened and a blast of frigid air swept in. Penelope and her mother emerged from the carriage and rushed from the chill into Bursbury Place.

  “Elias,” Lady Bursbury cried as soon as they were in the townhouse. “Elias.”

  Lord Bursbury came clattering down the stairs with Penelope’s sister, Eugenia, at his heels.

  Lady Bursbury ran to him, still clad in her coat and hat. “Penelope is going to marry Lord Oakhurst.”

  He pumped his fist in the air. “I knew it. On my honor, I saw that man and knew he’d be a match fit for our Penny.”

  “No.” Lady Bursbury backed away from him, stricken. “How could you? She doesn’t even love him.”

  With that, she raced up the stairs mid-sob.

  Silence followed her dramatic departure.

  Lord Bursbury grimaced. “Well, that didn’t go as I’d planned.”

  Eugenia pressed her hand to her mouth in a poor attempt to suppress a giggle. They were all well aware of Lady Bursbury’s theatrics. Everything she did was performed with grandeur. She loved unlike any mother ever did, she gave like no one else could and cared more than it seemed possible for a soul to do. And it was all well and good until her heart broke.

  And Penelope had just broken her mother’s very large, very fragile heart.

  Eugenia pursed her lips. “Does this mean I can have my come out soon?”

  Lord Bursbury gently pushed at her shoulder, nudging her back up the stairs. “We’ll discuss it later. Go on now.”

  Eugenia twirled in her white day dress, sending the muslin belling out around her slender frame. She hummed a little song to herself and bounded up the risers, setting her auburn curls bouncing.

  Lord Bursbury beckoned Penelope to him. He took her medical bag from her, helped her from her coat and embraced her with all the love and protective comfort only a father could offer. “Is this union what you want, Penny?”

  She nodded against his large, solid chest and hated that tears prickled hot in her eyes.

  “Then your mother will come around.” Lord Bursbury pressed a kiss to the top of Penelope’s head and smiled down at her. “Trust me.”

  As always, Lord Bursbury knew his wife better than anyone else. Within an hour, a gentle rap came at Penelope’s bedchamber door and her mother entered, appearing red-eyed and regretful.

  “Might I have a word with you?” Lady Bursbury asked.

  Penelope moved aside on her large bed, sliding several medical texts with her as she did so to make room for her mother.

  “Forgive me, Daughter.” Lady Bursbury clenched at a wadded handkerchief and rolled her eyes. “You know how I can be.”

  Pe
nelope couldn’t help but smile at her mother’s self-deprecation.

  “You are so wonderful, Penelope.” Lady Bursbury’s eyes watered. “You’re intelligent and beautiful and graceful and accomplished. There’s nothing you cannot do.” She pressed the crumpled hanky to first one eye, then the other. “You deserve someone who can appreciate all those many extraordinary things about you.” She sniffled. “You deserve to be loved.”

  Penelope stared down at the text in front of her, the truth lingering on her tongue until finally, finally, after all these years, she admitted aloud her greatest fear. “I don’t think I can love in return, Mother.”

  “Of course you can,” Lady Bursbury said. “You love me and your father, and even Eugenia. In your twenty years, I’ve never doubted that.”

  “Oh, I do,” she conceded. “Yes, even Eugenia. For the most part.” She offered her mother a teasing smile to diffuse the seriousness of the matter. “But romantic love…” She shook her head. “It eludes me. The men are all so dull, so consumed with their own selfish lives: what they’ve accomplished and what they want. None of them desire anything more from a wife than a dowry; for her to be a beautiful accessory for their arm and a few children. How can I love that?”

  Lady Bursbury’s eyes narrowed somewhat in calculating consideration. It was a look Penelope knew well. And it was dangerous.

  An anxious knot twisted in the pit of her stomach. “What are you planning to do?”

  All the angst eased from her mother’s features, bringing back her usual agreeable expression. “I’m going to make Lord Oakhurst fall in love with you.” Lady Bursbury puffed out her chest like a robin who’d just plucked the fattest worm. “And in turn, you won’t be able to help but fall in love with him.”

  Penelope opened her mouth to protest, but the look of joy on her mother’s face quieted her objection.

  After all, Penelope would be able to return to St. Thomas’s once she was wed. She and Lord Oakhurst had already declared their indifferent intentions toward one another. What harm could possibly come of her mother attempting to make them fall in love?