by Emily Royal
The door opened, cutting them short, and a deep voice spoke from behind Jeanette.
“I’d thank you not to insult the woman who’s to become my wife.”
Caroline colored and looked away, but Elizabeth stood her ground.
“Have you lost your senses, Henry? She’s not even wearing your ring.”
Jeanette’s skin prickled at his proximity, a visceral reaction as his masculine aroma caressed her senses. Her needy body tightened in anticipation of his touch. But when he placed his hand on her shoulder, her body relaxed. She dipped her head until her chin touched the back of his hand, and he drew in a sharp breath.
“You’re wrong, Lady Elizabeth.” He took Jeanette’s hand and deftly lifted one of her fingers, slipping a cool metal band over it. She looked down and gasped.
A huge emerald winked at her. A rich, imperial green that had been cut into multiple facets, each one reflecting the light as she moved her hand.
Lady Elizabeth leaned forward. “Surely that’s not…”
“My grandmother’s ring.”
“Good heavens!”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed, etched with acidic lines, her downturned mouth rendering her features quite ugly.
“I’m sure you wish to give my betrothed the honor to which she is due,” Henry said.
He drew Jeanette’s hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against her skin. She turned to face him, but he was watching the two women, his smile widening as they lowered into a curtsey, muttering their congratulations.
“Sanderson, please see the ladies out.”
“With pleasure.”
After the door shut behind them, Henry dropped Jeanette’s hand as if it burned him and moved to the door.
“Lord Ravenwell?”
He stopped, his back to her, and his shoulders rose and fell in a sigh.
“Henry?”
He turned to face her. “What do you want?”
“To thank you.”
His eyes hardened. “For what? The jewelry?”
“No. For standing up for me.”
“You gave me no choice.”
“Why? Because you were the first to … to take me?”
“No, madam. As I’m sure you’re aware, your family have already capitalized on the situation and issued the announcement.”
He drew a sheaf of paper from his jacket and thrust it toward her. She unfolded it and read the words written under notice of births, marriages, and deaths.
Sir Robert and Lady Mariette Claybone are delighted to announce the engagement of their eldest daughter, Jeanette Frances, to Henry Philip Edward John Drayton, Lord Ravenwell, heir to the dukedom of Westbury.
A bitter laugh burst from her lips. “I should rejoice that Mama and Papa recognize me again now their prize cow has been auctioned off to the most sought-after bull in London.”
“Prize cow indeed. You’re to be congratulated on your success. I could never have parried so swift a blow.”
“But…”
He held his hand up. “I’d advise you to speak no more on the matter.”
Turning his back once more, he left the room. Shortly afterward, she heard him speaking to Sanderson before the main door opened and shut.
Her blood turned to ice. He thought she’d deliberately set out to ensnare him. His eyes which had burned with passion for a fleeting moment when he’d taken her against the wall in this very room now only burned with hatred.
*
Henry waved away the carriage and strode along the street. Fresh air and exercise might not remedy his predicament, but at least they were good for the body.
How could he have been so foolish! He must be the laughing stock of his friends, having handed himself on a platter to the daughter of a farmer and his overbearing wife.
Life at the top end of society afforded no pleasures for him.
But it was at least safer than the bottom end. Yet more women had gone missing. The authorities showed little interest, declaring that fewer whores in London meant less disease on the streets. Didn’t they realize, or care, that the sustained increase in abductions displayed a distinct pattern?
And now he had this cursed marriage to contend with which would divert his energies away from hunting the perpetrators. Only that morning, Sanderson had gleaned fresh information. A sailor he’d bribed with too much ale had spoken of a woman’s involvement in the abductions. It only confirmed his suspicions that women possessed a deviousness surpassing that of the worst men.
Last night Betty had greeted him unenthusiastically. The women she employed were terrified, unwilling to engage with anyone other than established clients. Perhaps it was time he took Edward into his care. He was no longer safe there. Unlike others of his rank, Henry didn’t view his son solely as the product of a mistake, even if his unfortunate mother had been careless.
Poor Jenny. At least she’d died of natural causes, giving birth to the child. Her beauty, once so clear in his mind, was a distant memory; the unremarkable face of one of the many women he’d enjoyed. Lately, when he tried to recall her features, they’d been replaced by those of another. A lovely face but with sharp, clear eyes, deep green with flecks of gold pulsing in their depths.
Curse her!
A smile crept across his mind. If Jeanette had trapped him into marriage, then he must show her the duties he expected of her. Rather than idle her way through life at his expense, let her care for the unwanted son of a prostitute, the lowest possible class of human being. Perhaps then she might regret this marriage as much as he.
With renewed vigor, he strode toward his lawyer’s offices. Time to secure the special license and get this marriage over and done with.
The light was fading on his return to his townhouse. Usually quiet, unless he was in residence hosting one of his infamous parties, the house was alive with activity. The upstairs drawing room windows blazed with light. What was she up to now?
Sighing, he entered the hall.
“I said get out!” a voice screamed, the country accent rendering it unmistakable. Good heavens, must he endure that for the rest of his days?
A man emerged at the top of the stairs and scuttled down like a beetle fleeing a predator. He almost collided with Henry before stopping short and offering a simpering bow.
“Lord Ravenwell! Sir, I must say how obliged…”
A curse rang out upstairs. The trader’s ears, already pink at the tips, turned a bright shade of red. As if the papers didn’t have enough material to keep their readers entertained!
“Leave us.” Henry growled.
“Of course, sir, how kind…”
Henry ignored him and headed up the stairs.
Jeanette stood in center of the drawing room, hair unkempt, face flushed, glaring at the man bowing before her. Another fawning tradesman.
“But, Miss Claybone, I was sent to offer my services. I can assure you, I’m the epitome of discretion and capable of making the arrangements for your hasty marriage.”
Who on earth had sent him? A shame-faced Sanderson appeared in the doorway. Of course. The man was capable of procuring anything, day or night. He’d even made the arrangements for Edward’s needs, intuitively knowing that Henry could not be openly associated with his son.
Now, however, Sanderson’s intuition had served him ill. Hasty marriage indeed! By this time tomorrow, every trader in London would be discussing how Lord Ravenwell had sired a child with a farmer’s daughter out of wedlock.
She might be carrying his child, even now…
His stomach clenched at the notion, and she lifted her eyes to his. A spark ignited in their depths before she resumed her attention on the trader.
“I don’t care for your tone,” she said, her voice laced with ice. “The length of an engagement bears no reflection on the circumstances of the betrothal. If you discuss the matter outside this room, my solicitor shall hear of it. You are not to cast aspersions on the respectability of Lord Ravenwell. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, yes…” In a perfect imitation of Henry’s own gesture, she flicked her hand. “…now leave.”
“But Mister Sanderson…”
“…made a mistake, which I shall discuss with him later. Now please go.”
Beating a hasty retreat, the trader barely acknowledged Henry at the door. Sanderson shifted uncomfortably, but rather than admonish him, Jeanette slumped in a chair. The actress, having finished her performance, had returned to her natural state.
“Will that be all, madam?” Sanderson said.
“Yes,” she said quietly. Rubbing her forehead, she leaned forward and sighed. “Except, perhaps, a glass of water?”
“Very good, madam.” Sanderson left the room almost as quickly as the trader.
Henry closed the door and leaned against it, watching the woman who had duped him.
“What do you think you were doing?”
Her body stiffened. “I see no reason why I should be forced to make an exhibition of myself at a society wedding. It’s a waste of time, effort, and resources which could be better spent elsewhere.”
“Don’t all ladies want lavish weddings to display themselves in all their finery?”
“I want a quiet wedding.”
“Unfortunately, you can’t always have what you want. Neither can I.”
His conscience flared as she flinched. She looked away, but not before he caught a glimpse of moisture on her eyelashes. Her body began to shake before she composed herself, the steel backbone seeming to strengthen under his scrutiny.
“All my life I wanted to marry for love, a private union between two people, not a public exhibition.”
She turned her gaze on him, a note of fear in her expression. “I’ve been denied the former, but it’s within your power to grant me the latter. I’ll hold my head high and do my utmost not to disgrace you in front of your peers. But if you want me on parade with half of London willing me to make a fool of myself, then you’re not a good man.”
Stockton’s words jabbed his conscience.
I’ve just lied to her by telling her I believe you to be a good man.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Very well, a quiet wedding it is. I’ve managed to secure a special license. We can be married within the week.”
She visibly relaxed, her lips lifting into a smile, but before her wiles could tempt him again, he retreated out of the room.
Henry didn’t see her during the evening. Sanderson informed him that she’d asked to dine alone in her room. Before he retired, he could swear he heard crying from behind her door, but when he called out, he was met with silence. What did he care if she was unhappy? She had what she wanted, the hand of a marquis, and must now reap the rewards.
Chapter Twelve
“Everything turned out for the best, didn’t it, love?”
“I wouldn’t count your ledger just yet, Papa. The cow may be here but the bull is not.”
Jeanette’s wedding day had dawned damp and cold, the streets covered in a thick cloud of mist as if Mother Nature wished to hide her embarrassment and see Jeanette married under a veil of obscurity.
Female whispers echoed in the church, spiraling up into the roof, forming a cacophony of hisses, Mama’s voice overpowering those of Jeanette’s sisters. Were they discussing her disgrace, or perhaps the groom’s failure to appear?
The church door rattled. Two pairs of footsteps, the groom and his best man, echoed along the aisle. They grew closer with each step until they stopped beside her.
The parson cleared his throat. “Shall we proceed, my Lord?”
Henry didn’t answer, but the heat from his body prickled her skin. Her arm itched, still sore from the bullet wound.
“Ahem.”
She turned her head in the direction of the cough. Henry’s best man. Cold amusement danced in his eyes. Henry might have given her the private ceremony she wanted, but he had other weapons to sting her with.
Oakville.
“What a pleasure to see you again, Miss Claybone. May I congratulate you on a successful hunt.”
*
As soon as Jeanette’s new husband spoke the vows, he dropped her hand, his body vibrating with barely suppressed tension as if this was the last place he wanted to be.
The party attending the wedding breakfast numbered less than ten, almost all of them from Jeanette’s side. Henry’s parents had been killed in a coaching accident when he was a child. His grandmother had either not been invited to the wedding or, most likely, had declined to attend.
After the lackluster toasts, Uncle George sidled over to her.
“Try to be happy, my dear.”
Her reply was cut short by Mama’s enthusiasms.
“Jeanette! Ma fille!”
Papa trailed behind, his face pink. Most proud fathers of brides would be inebriated by now, but Papa rarely drank. His color matched the shame in his eyes.
“Daughter, there’s so much to say…”
“No there isn’t, Papa.” She’d intended to be angry, but it was society’s fault he’d been forced to disown her.
Jane and Susan stood awkwardly at the edge of the room, overwhelmed by the surroundings. Why should Jeanette expect Papa to sacrifice their futures by tainting them with her scandal? By marrying Ravenwell, she had restored her family’s honor, or at least the appearance of it.
“If there’s anything I can do to make amends, Jeanie love, please let me.”
She nodded toward her sisters. “My future is secured, Papa. See to theirs.”
“Of course. I was intending to speak to Lord Ravenwell about it.”
Mama took Papa’s arm and ushered him toward her new son-in-law who stood by the door talking to the parson. Papa said something to Henry who cast a glance at Jeanette, his expression thunderous. Her bridal gown grew tight, restricting her movements as if to confirm she’d just placed herself irrevocably in a cage.
She moved toward the window, barely registering the footsteps behind her.
“So now you’ve secured your prey, Miss Claybone, sorry, Lady Ravenwell, do you now seek suitable quarry for your sisters so they may enjoy similar good fortune?”
Oakville smirked and raised his glass.
How had she ever found him agreeable?
“I wouldn’t call it good fortune, Lord Oakville,” she said. “A society I never wanted to be part of will be forced to welcome me. They’ll view me as a fortune hunter when I’d prefer them never to have noticed me at all.”
“Why should you care? A marchioness, with the prospect of being a duchess in the future, will be admired by everyone.”
“For what? A title?”
“Of course. My friend has been the premier catch for several seasons.”
“Is that how people in your world value each other? What about kindness? Compassion? How can anyone in command of their senses be content to spend their days sipping brandy in gentlemen’s clubs or taking tea with the worst snobs in London? Is that how you value your friend, and he you? Has he nothing to recommend him other than his title, wealth, and accomplishments in the bedchamber?”
Oakville choked on his champagne, his face turning pink.
“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish,” Jeanette said, “but I see you’re incapable of understanding me, so there’s no point explaining why I see today as a defeat, not a victory.”
He wiped his mouth, frowning. “You’re unhappy?”
“What’s this?” Mama’s voice made him jump, almost sending him into another fit of coughing. “My daughter’s unhappy because you plague her with your presence. Be off with you!”
He headed toward the footman brandishing a replenished tray of champagne glasses.
“At last,” Mama said. “I’ve wanted to speak to you all day.”
“Now you can.”
Mama’s brow creased into a disapproving frown. “You should have involved me in your wedding arrange
ments. People will think Lord Ravenwell’s too mean with his funds to give you the wedding you deserve.”
“I didn’t want a big wedding…”
“…and your dress, look at it! A complete absence of lace! You should have let me take you to my modiste. Today is partly my victory, too. We must celebrate our family’s new status. Jeanette, I’m so proud of you.”
“Why? Because I’m no longer a disgrace now I’ve married a title?”
Mama’s chest wobbled with a sigh, “It cannot harm us, Jeanette. Think of your sisters. Their station in society has increased.” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “Your papa’s business has been suffering. Only part of it is due to the scandal. It seems as if the clerk he appointed two years ago was less than honest.”
The clerk who’d replaced Jeanette when she’d been turned out of Papa’s offices to learn how to be the daughter of a baronet.
“He must restore their dowries, Jeanette. They have nothing. He’s speaking to your husband even now.”
“I hope he won’t be too greedy, for their sake,” Jeanette said. “Large dowries attract fortune hunters. I want Jane and Susan, at least, to find husbands who value something other than their ability to fund a lavish lifestyle.”
She lifted her left hand, fingering the gold band on the third finger, the symbol of her enslavement.
“It’s too much to hope my sisters could embark on a marriage built on love. I doubt such marriages exist.”
A thin hand took hers, interlacing her fingers in a gesture Mama rarely performed.
“Jeanette, despite what you think, I love you dearly. You may laugh at me, but I’ve only ever wanted to see you happy. For a woman, her only choice is to marry well. I’ve known fear, and poverty, and would rather see myself dead than have you endure either.”
“But…”
“…I know what we did to you, Jeanette. My conscience has plagued me ever since. We would have taken care of you when the tongues of society found other poor souls to carve into pieces with their spite, whether you had married or not. We did what we thought was right, and you’re in the best possible situation we could have hoped for you.”
