“Ah yes,” Harrington said, with a solemn look upon his face, “Mothers-in-law can be quite the challenge to a harmonious home life.”
The whole group, married gentlemen and bachelors alike, laughed at this. Harrington raised his glass and the rest followed suit, “To mothers-in-law!” he said. “May we have the strength to endure their interference!”
Michael was reminded that when he was wed to Lady Paulina, he would not have a mother-in-law with whom to contend. Harrington made it sound as though this was a lucky thing, but he felt quite sorry for Lady Paulina, imagining her someday expecting a child and not having her own mother to offer wisdom and support.
Of course, he would have a formidable father-in-law, one with whom his own father was often at odds. It would be his mission to build a bridge between the two gentlemen, and the two estates. He supposed that was rather a lot to be going on with, and perhaps it was a good thing that he would not have to contend with a mother-in-law as well.
Harrington was now telling a story of his own mother-in-law, the Duchess of Somerset. She had come to visit her daughter and son-in-law after the birth of their first child, and had disapproved of the design choices they had made in their London townhouse.
She had not kept this opinion to herself, as Harrington believed would have been the polite course of action. Instead, she had ordered the servants to rearrange all of the furniture in several rooms. She had even attempted to rearrange the nursery before Harrington’s wife had told her mother that she must stop it or go home at once.
“I must admit, I cannot compete with a story like that!” Wessex said, in-between peals of laughter. “My mother-in-law has many strong opinions, but she merely tells us about them and does not seek to enforce them upon the staff.”
“Well, that is quite an improvement over my situation,” Harrington agreed.
Wessex smiled wistfully and continued, “Clara is sometimes overwhelmed by her mother, but in the end she is always happy to spend time with her.”
It was obvious from his tone and facial expression that Wessex would have tolerated all manner of obnoxious behavior from his mother-in-law, so long as it made his wife happy. Michael felt a pang of envy for the love that Wessex and his wife shared, the kind of love that he did not believe he would ever share with Lady Paulina.
Not long afterwards, the gentlemen parted ways, wishing each other good night. Norwell and Harrington departed for their homes in town, while Michael and Wessex climbed the stairs to their rooms at the club. They agreed to meet for breakfast the following morning before setting out for the day.
* * *
The following morning, Michael woke early from a fitful sleep. He could not remember his dreams, but he recalled a sense of dread that had threatened to consume him. It was too early to go down to breakfast, but he could not get back to sleep.
Michael picked up a volume on the history of the Royal Navy. It would not have been his first choice of reading material, but it had been left in the guest room by its last occupant. Michael had begun reading it when he arrived the previous day and had been surprised to find the subject quite interesting.
He initially found it difficult to concentrate on his book, but after a few moments, Michael was once again absorbed in the subject matter. He was intrigued by the idea of an organization in which one might rise above the station to which he was assigned at birth.
Of course, officers bought and sold their commissions, but enlisted men were sometimes able to rise through the ranks based solely on their own merits. If only poor Mabel had been born a boy, perhaps she could have joined the military and improved her situation when she grew up. As a girl her options would be more limited, and Michael supposed that the best thing for her would be to marry well. I suppose that marriages of convenience are not limited to the aristocracy.
When it was finally time to meet the Earl of Wessex for breakfast, Michael was relieved to put aside thoughts of Mabel’s future. His muscles were stiff with fatigue after his poor night of sleep, so Michael took a moment to stretch before dressing for the day.
This took him several minutes, and Michael was a few minutes late for his meeting with Wessex. When he came downstairs to the breakfast room, he found his friend already sitting at the table with a pot of tea, reading the morning edition of the newspaper.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Wessex,” he said apologetically as he approached the table.
“No need to apologize, Somerwich!” his friend replied kindly. “I’ve just been reading about the news from Paris. It appears that the Bourbons have been displaced by Napoleon Buonaparte, which does not particularly surprise me, though I dare say it must have come as a shock to them.”
“Hmm…” Michael said, not knowing what this news might mean for British interests. No doubt his father would have a strong opinion on the matter. “What do you make of this development?”
“Well, I believe that it is too early to say. We shall have to see how things develop over time. For now, there is more rumor and speculation than solid fact,” Wessex said, looking thoughtful. “In my experience, no good can come from acting on incomplete information.”
“I suppose that is quite wise,” Michael said, pouring himself some tea from the pot that Wessex had offered. “What will you advise in the House of Lords?”
“I’m not entirely certain that the Lords will need to address the matter at all,” Wessex said, his tone nonchalant. “If it comes up, I will advise that we wait for more complete information before making any decision.”
Michael sipped his tea quietly. He had little to contribute to a discussion of British politics, and even less to a discussion of French politics. He thought for a moment about how he might bring up the subject he actually wished to discuss.
“Somerwich,” Wessex said. “I can see that something is troubling you. Please, tell me what is on your mind.”
“Ah,” Michael said, chuckling to himself. “I see that I shall never beat you at poker—my face is too easily read.”
“That is certainly true,” Wessex said. “However, you are avoiding my question. What is troubling you?”
“I expect that I shall be married quite soon.”
“Congratulations!” Wessex said, looking genuinely happy for his friend. “Who is the lucky lady?”
“Lady Paulina Manning, the daughter of the Earl of Cublertone,” Michael said, sounding distinctly less enthusiastic than Wessex had.
“You do not seem particularly excited by the prospect,” Wessex observed.
“I must admit that I am not.”
“I have heard that Lady Paulina is quite beautiful,” Wessex prompted.
“Yes, she is very lovely,” Michael sighed. “And she is well-mannered and has had the best education. She will make a perfect wife, and is well prepared to be a Countess when the time comes.”
“I see,” Wessex replied. “You can find no reason to object to the match, but you do not love her.”
“Yes, exactly!” Michael agreed. “I should like to be in love with my wife. I must admit that I often feel quite envious when I hear you talk about your marriage to Clara.”
“Is there any possibility that you might come to love Lady Paulina in time?” Wessex asked.
“I suppose that anything is possible, but it is difficult to know what might happen,” Michael said, feeling exasperated.
“Well, none of us can know the future.”
“Of course not,” Michael agreed, “but with Lady Paulina, I feel as though I do not know the present. She does not seem to like me, no matter how charming I try to be.”
“A lady who is immune to your charms, Somerwich?” Wessex exclaimed in mock confusion. “Is there something wrong with her?”
Michael laughed at this. “I do not think that there is anything wrong with her. Perhaps she loves another, or is not interested in romantic love. Whatever her reasons might be, she is quiet and reserved with me to the point of making our conversations uncomfortably diffi
cult.”
“I see…” Wessex said, thoughtfully. “Might it be that she is, in fact, very interested in your advances, but does not wish to appear overeager?”
“Yes, I had considered that possibility,” Michael said, remembering his conversation with the tailor the previous day. “I suppose that it is possible, but there is really no way to know. And even if this does prove to be the case, how can we develop a relationship if she is afraid to speak to me?”
Wessex nodded at him, thoughtfully. “That would certainly be a challenge,” he agreed.
The two gentlemen sat in silence for a moment, sipping their tea and eating toast and sausages that had been served to them a few minutes earlier.
“Listen, Somerwich,” Wessex said a few moments later.
“Yes?”
“Lady Paulina may or may not have any romantic feelings for you. If she does not currently, they may develop in time. She is beautiful, and courteous, and everything that a proper wife ought to be.”
“That is true,” Michael agreed, feeling somewhat disappointed to hear Wessex, of all people, taking this position on the matter.
“However,” Wessex continued, much to Michael’s relief. “I have to assume that you are talking to me about this, rather than Harrington or anyone else, because you have a desire to marry for love. Am I correct in that assumption?”
“Yes,” Michael admitted. “If I felt any spark of mutual affection between myself and Lady Paulina, I think that I could be happy to know that there was a possibility of falling in love in time. However, as it stands now, I do not think she cares for me at all, and I do not think that I could tolerate a lifetime of indifference from my wife.”
“Many gentlemen in our position tolerate exactly that,” Wessex replied. “Harrington seems happy enough with the arrangement.”
“He does,” Michael agreed. “Harrington has always been a practical sort of fellow above all else, but I do not think that I would be happy with an arrangement such as his.”
“Nor would I,” Wessex said. “I am quite glad that I insisted on marrying for love. But, as I am sure you remember, there were consequences to that decision as well.”
Michael knew that there had been quite a scandal at the club when Wessex’s engagement was announced. He also knew that the news had caused a rift between Wessex and his father, who had died not long after.
“I recall,” Michael said, quietly.
“Is there someone in particular that you wish to marry instead of Lady Paulina?” Wessex asked.
Michael thought for a moment, and an image of Lady Paulina’s pretty maid flashed into his mind, but just as quickly he dismissed it. There was no denying that she was pretty and had an air of curiosity about her that he found alluring, but in truth he barely knew the girl.
“There is no one,” Michael said, firmly. “But I have not given up hope of meeting such a person!”
“Always the optimist!” Wessex observed.
“There is to be a masquerade ball at Cublertone Manor next week,” Michael said. “Perhaps behind the safety of a mask, Lady Paulina will be a bit more forthcoming if she does have any romantic feelings for me. After that, I shall know whether there is any hope for us at all.”
“Well, I for one, shall be waiting with bated breath to hear the results of that particular experiment,” Wessex said, giving Michael a roguish wink.
Michael laughed at this, but did not feel entirely reassured. Perhaps the masquerade ball would be a turning point with Lady Paulina, but in truth he was not hopeful about this prospect. If she remained as aloof as she had been thus far, then Michael felt sure that a marriage between them could not work.
The idea of marrying for love was appealing, but with no one in mind, this would mean delaying marriage even longer, which would be a great disappointment to Michael’s mother. Refusing to marry Lady Paulina would frustrate his father’s political ambitions, and no doubt invoke his rage. Depending on who Michael might fall in love with, he risked creating a scandal as well.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Michael went for a walk through the city. He stopped at the tailor’s shop to pick up his costume for the masquerade ball. The event was beginning to feel like the most important of his life, so much of his future hung on what might happen there.
Michael examined every inch of the costume that was handed to him, and was pleased to see that it was exactly as he had imagined it. He complimented Mr. Cummings on his fine work, and paid for his purchase.
“Thank you, My Lord,” Mr. Cummings said. “I do hope that the masquerade ball is a success!”
“Thank you, Mr. Cummings, I hope so as well,” Michael said, thinking once again about his conversation with Wessex.
Stepping out of the shop, Michael decided to take advantage of the fine weather by walking about the city some more. He would return to Hillfield Manor this evening, but he was in no particular hurry. In fact, he was eager to avoid meeting with his father for as long as possible.
Michael began walking without much thought for where he was going, pondering his own future prospects. He had come to no useful conclusions when he suddenly found himself entering the neighborhood of Stepney. He was so close to the boarding house, that he considered going to see Anne and Mabel again.
It would be highly unusual for him to visit two days in a row, but perhaps there was no need to be so cautious. He was in need of a distraction, and both Anne and Mabel seemed to enjoy his visits. Throwing caution to the wind, Michael turned into the street where they lived.
As he approached the boarding house, he noticed a man leaving. The man looked vaguely familiar, though Michael could not have said from where he recognized him. After a moment he noticed that the man seemed to be looking at him, and remembered that he had felt the same way after his last visit.
Michael decided that he could not visit the boarding house now, but he did not wish to draw more attention to himself by turning around and walking away. Instead, he bowed his head and continued walking as though he had noticed nothing. He walked past the man, and past the boarding house without looking up, maintaining an even pace until he turned the corner out of sight, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Chapter 14
Betsey awoke on the morning of the masquerade ball, filled with excitement and trepidation. Over the past several days, she had seen a significant improvement in Lady Paulina’s mood, but she knew that much depended on what transpired at the ball.
Her mistress was still determined to share one last dance with her beloved before giving up on that impossible dream and agreeing to marry the Viscount of Somerwich. In a fit of recklessness, Betsey had decided that she, too, would follow an impossible dream.
She would take advantage of the masquerade to disguise herself as a high-born lady and share one dance with the Viscount. Soon he would be wed to her mistress. If Betsey was lucky, she would continue in Lady Paulina’s service, and the Viscount would become her employer.
She knew that she was taking a terrible risk—if she should be discovered she would be sacked without question. However, once the idea had entered her mind, she had been unable to let go of it. She had spent days trying to talk herself out of this plan, but every time, she talked herself back into taking the chance.
Betsey had spent several hours every evening for the past week finishing Lady Paulina’s costume, and then working on her own. She had borrowed an old gown that Lady Paulina no longer wore. Betsey felt a moment of hesitation at this, but she knew that Lady Paulina had no intention of ever wearing the gown again, and had likely forgotten that she even owned it.
Betsey was taller than her mistress, but only by an inch or two, so she was able to add some lace at the hem to correct for this. Otherwise the gown fit her well with only minor adjustments. Most of her work was focused on embellishments that turned a beautiful ballgown into a convincing illusion.
Everyone at Cublertone Manor spent the day hard at work preparing for the evening’s festivit
ies. Mrs. Campbell had assigned tasks to everyone in the household to fill every minute from the time they awoke until the ball began.
Betsey spent much of the day with Lady Paulina, sometimes listening to her talk about her plans and anxieties for the ball, and sometimes helping her to prepare her hair and clothing. However, she spent some time outside of her mistress’s chambers, helping the chamber maids with last minute cleaning.
Mrs. Campbell had sent Betsey to the dining room to polish some silver shortly after midday. When she entered the room, she saw the chamber maid, Grace, to whom she had spoken about the Earl a few days earlier.
“Hello, Grace,” Betsey said. “How are you?”
“Oh!” Grace said, looking startled. “I am fine, Miss, and yourself?”
The Viscount Who Seduced Her (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 11
