Mallory shook her head and laughed. “I don’t think there shall be much of a frenzy around me. I’m no classic beauty as my sisters were, and I’m told that my dancing skills are inadequate. My parents think these young men will run from me in horror.”
“Mallory.” The edge to her mother’s tone halted all conversation between her and Parsons. “You needn’t discuss our plans with the servants.”
Parsons’ demeanor instantly turned icily dignified and he cast her the same bland, politely distant gaze that he used to greet acquaintances who came to the door.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully as did the next morning’s appointment with Madame de Bressard, the best modiste in town. Mallory had been measured, pinned, poked, and tugged at for several hours, and been shown fabrics in colors and materials that made her eyes pop in wonder, until it was time for her and her mother to walk to nearby Abbingdon’s to meet her sisters for tea.
Mallory scanned the elegant tea establishment for sign of Alicia and Dierdre. She spotted them immediately, for Alicia had on an iridescent turquoise gown and her blonde curls had somehow acquired a reddish tint. Dierdre’s gown was an eye-catching green-striped affair, and her hair was also less gold and more red than she remembered. Was this the current rage in London? Were all women of fashion coloring their hair? “Ugh, what did they do to themselves?”
Her mother shot her a frown. “Mallory, mind your business.”
“But they look ridiculous.”
“Be quiet,” her mother said, taking her by the elbow and dragging her toward their table. “They look wonderful. After all these years of lessons, have you learned nothing?”
“Apparently not.” Mallory’s gaze was suddenly caught by a movement at a back table. At first, she wasn’t certain what had unexpectedly drawn her eye. Then she saw a head of golden hair and broad shoulders that could only belong to Lucien. What was he doing here?
As he rose, so did the rest of his party.
Her mother peered across the room and gasped in delight. “What a wonderful coincidence. Why that’s Hawthorn. Ah, I see he’s made amends with Lady Heloise. The older gentleman must be her father.”
Mallory’s heart sank into her toes. Oh, Lucien. What have you done?
There had to be a logical explanation for why he was here with Horrible Heloise.
Heloise took notice of her at that moment and cast her a gaze as sharp and deadly as the strike of a venomous viper. Mallory clutched her mother’s arm. “Mama, I’m spent. Can we not give our apologies to Dierdre and Alicia and go home? We’ll see them in a few hours for theater and supper.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, child. Stop pouting and come along. Perhaps Hawthorn and Lady Heloise will acknowledge us. What good fortune. Everyone in here will take notice of us.”
Her mother slipped out of her grasp and now had her by the elbow, dragging her forward toward their table and directly in the path of Lucien and Heloise.
Mallory swallowed hard and tipped her chin upward in the hope of appearing undaunted by the unexpected presence of the man she had trusted and admired most of her life.
Heloise ignored her, turning her brittle smile, that everyone else found charming, on her mother instead. “Lady Goodell, how lovely to see you again. Hawthorn mentioned you would be arriving in London. Unfortunately, we haven’t the time to pay a formal call on you. Perhaps on your next visit.” When Lucien moved away to call for their carriage, Heloise giggled coquettishly and whispered loud enough for Mallory to hear, “Although we may be on our honeymoon tour by then.”
Her mother and sisters gushed over the news while Mallory sank into her seat and tried not to burst into tears. She needed to accept Lucien’s decision, but her mind and stomach revolted at the thought.
His meetings with creditors must have gone badly, and after weeks to dwell on his situation, he had obviously decided to go with his original plan and marry Horrible Heloise.
Her stomach was still roiling as Lucien returned.
At first, she refused to meet his gaze. When she finally did look up, she was startled by the coldness in his blue eyes. “How could you?” she mouthed, while the ladies were busily discussing the latest fashions.
He frowned at her, pretending not to understand what she was talking about.
She could not question or confront him while they were surrounded by everyone, she understood that. Perhaps he would pay a call on her later to explain. She silently chided herself for being so foolish as to believe that love could fix everything.
Her sisters believed wealth and status were the paths to a happy life.
She could not bear to accept that they were right. “How could you?” she mouthed again and received an even more confused look from him.
Were all men dullards when it came to women? What was so difficult to comprehend? He’d been caught with Heloise.
Did he expect her to ignore the obvious and proceed on her merry way? First of all, she had just arrived at Abbingdon’s. Second of all, he was the one who was taking his merry leave of them.
After Lucien, Heloise, and her imposing father had departed, Mallory was left to sip tea and nibble on cake that sat dry in her throat, while her mother and sisters went on and on about the handsome couple and took odds on when their nuptials would take place.
“He’s a duke and she’s the daughter of a duke,” Alicia said with a shake of her garish, red curls. “They cannot possibly pull off the grandest wedding London has seen in a decade in anything less than a year.”
Dierdre begged to differ. “Hawthorn needs her dowry now, but Lady Heloise’s father is a sly fox and will not turn it over to him until the ceremony is done and over, and his daughter has the wedding ring on her finger or some such other wedding token to prove it. I say that he will marry her in under three months.”
Their mother took a sip of her tea and then cleared her throat, as though about to expound on the conversation. Mallory leaned forward impatiently. Her mother was quiet for an irritatingly long moment, and finally spoke. “He will obtain the special license and take her as his wife before the month is out. Mark my words. Before the month is out.” She nodded to emphasize her point.
Mallory ought to have kept quiet, but she didn’t. “I wager he will never marry her.”
Which earned her scowls from her sisters and a sharp chastisement from her mother. Were she younger, she would have been sent off to bed without her supper. “The stars belong in the night sky, not in your eyes,” her mother said, repeating the words she often said whenever Mallory took on that moon-eyed expression. “Hawthorn did not offer for Alicia. Nor did he offer for Dierdre. He certainly will not offer for you.”
“He will.” She tipped her chin up. He has. But she could not let them know. They wouldn’t believe her anyway.
“Perhaps he will climb up the balcony, a Romeo to your Juliet, and declare his undying love for you.” Dierdre thought herself quite witty and laughed at her own declaration.
Alicia, surprisingly, was not laughing. “Mallory, I hope he will. But do not count on it. Dreams are wonderful, but they rarely come true. Keep your heart safe. Do not let any man trample it.”
There was a quiet desolation to Alicia’s words.
“Oh, Alicia.” Mallory reached over and hugged her fiercely. “I’ll keep it safe. It shall only be given to a man worthy of my love.”
Alicia kissed her cheek. “Sometimes I think you are smarter than all of us. Just be careful with Hawthorn. He is not in a position to choose freely. Although I believe that if he were, he would be wise to choose you.”
Her mother held up a gloved hand. “Alicia, do not indulge your sister’s whimsical notions.” And that put an end to the discussion.
But Mallory was heartened by her sister’s unexpected support.
Now, all she had to do was convince Lucien.
But how was she to do it with his estate in ruins and Horrible Heloise clinging to his arm?
Chapter Nine
Lucien
was not certain why he had decided to attend the theater this evening, only that he’d heard Mallory was to be there with her family and he seemed unable to wait until tomorrow to see her. Whether he would have the chance to speak to her was another matter, for the Goodell’s box was on the opposite side of the theater from his own.
Perhaps he would do so at intermission.
Or if he ever came to his senses, he would quietly take his leave once the curtain was drawn and the play began.
What was wrong with him? When had his head ever been so filled with nonsensical romantic yearnings? He could not recall a single time in all his years of sowing wild oats. But the need to look his fill, to satisfy his baser urges by soaking in the lush curves of Mallory’s body, the sensual tilt of her mouth, the sparkle in her emerald eyes, was simply overwhelming. While his urges were most definitely crude, his sentiment was not. Mallory meant the world to him. If she ever agreed to marry him, theirs would be a love match.
He’d had his fill of casual affairs and in generally behaving badly. Unless it was to behave badly with Mallory, which did not count since he was determined to marry her.
“Hawthorn, have you come alone?” his friend, the Earl of Exmoor said, shaking him out of his reverie as he was about to enter his box.
Ah, yes. He recalled the Exmoor box was next to his.
“Indeed, quite alone. How are you, Exmoor?” He tried not to stare at the scars now prominent on his friend’s face or the cane he was using out of necessity and not as a fashion prop. Like Roarke, Exmoor had fought against Napoleon and acquitted himself heroically. Unlike Roarke, he had not come out of it unscathed. The pain he attempted to hide was etched on his face and it was obvious that he had not yet healed from his wounds of battle. Would he ever?
“Doing as well as can be expected.” Exmoor shook his head. “Trying to step back into my old life, but it doesn’t seem to want me back. Fortunately, my Sophie still wants me. Can’t imagine why, but I’m grateful for it.”
Lucien nodded thoughtfully. “Join me in my box, will you? We shall catch up on all that’s happened over these past few years.”
Exmoor glanced at his own box that was filling with his family, cousins and aunts and his married sister and her husband, all rushing to their seats like cattle on stampede. “I’d be delighted to join you,” he said with a chuckle. “I doubt there will be a chair left for me in my own box.”
Lucien was relieved that his friend had consented, for he was certain to cause speculation if he’d remained the only occupant of his. The decision to attend alone had been foolish in the extreme and he was grateful for the company. As expected, all eyes turned toward him the moment he entered.
Exmoor cast him a wry smile. “Ah, the unmarried duke attending the theater on his own. Why is he here, the crowd wonders? But I know the answer. For a woman, of course. The question is, which one? Certainly not Lady Heloise, for she isn’t in attendance tonight, and she’d be with you if she were.” Exmoor turned his chair at an angle so that it allowed him to keep his injured leg outstretched as he settled heavily into it. “So who is the young woman who has caught your fancy?”
Was he that obvious?
It distressed Lucien to think so. “No one.”
But Exmoor had no intention of letting up. He scanned the boxes on the opposite side of the theater and suddenly sucked in a breath. “Her.”
Lucien followed his friend’s gaze that was now fixed on Mallory who was simply incandescent as she entered the Goodell box and settled herself in one of the front seats. She had on a gown of shimmering lilac satin and a glow in her eyes that lit up the entire hall. “Damn it, Exmoor.”
“Who is she? No, let me guess. She’s sitting with Viscount Goodell and his wife. They are your country neighbors, are they not? Their older daughters are beside them with their husbands, so this must be their youngest. What’s her name?”
“Mallory.”
“You have excellent taste, Hawthorn.”
“I’m sorry I invited you into my box,” Lucien grumbled, not really put out, but surprised that it had taken Exmoor less than a minute to discern the truth. Although he should not have been so surprised. Exmoor was one of the smartest men he knew, and his years in the army had served to hone his already keen senses.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s nice to know that innocence survives. I’ve seen so little of it these past years.” He absently rubbed his thigh to stem the noticeable twitch to his leg. “I also hear your father left your properties in a miserable state. What can I do to help?”
Lucien turned to study him. “Nothing. I’ll work through the pile of problems on my own.”
“If anyone can, it will be you.” Exmoor nodded. “But you see, I have a fat bank account in search of investments, and rumor has it that you are seeking partners to ease some of your debt burden. Will you consider me?”
Lucien did not know what to say. He was stunned by his friend’s generosity. “You don’t have to do this, Exmoor. You’re the last person I would wish to bring down along with me. The best Hawthorn properties are heavily loaded with debt.”
“But will they turn a profit if the debt load is eased?”
Lucien nodded. “Yes.”
“Good, then let’s talk at the end of this week, shall we? Set up a meeting with your solicitors and I shall bring mine. Do you have proposals drawn up? Send them to me before the meeting. I’ll review them with my man of affairs.”
“James,” he said with a groan, referring to Exmoor by his given name, for they’d been the best of friends since their school days and Lucien was humbled by how good and loyal a friend James Brayden, the fifth Earl of Exmoor, had turned out to be. He hoped he would be as good a friend in return. “I should not say this, for you will have me by the throat once you know how vastly relieved I am that you are interested in a partnership. I spent this afternoon with Lady Heloise’s father, the Duke of Digby. He laid me on the rack and stretched me out until he’d pulled all my limbs from their sockets.”
“What did he want from you?”
“Besides my bollocks?” He shook his head and smiled wryly. “My best properties. No partnership. He’s acquired the mortgages and now has me by said bollocks. He told me that he will give them over to me - the mortgages, that is - once I marry his daughter. But damn it, James. I cannot do it.” He glanced at his friend, waiting for the spate of questions about his sanity, for only a madman would pass up such an offer.
But his friend merely grinned like a cat who’d just eaten a canary. “Now, I am more determined than ever to help you.”
Lucien arched an eyebrow. “Why?”
Exmoor’s gaze turned clouded and Lucien could see the hurt he was unable to hide. “Let’s just say, this is personal. You have yet to comment on my wounds.”
“Do they require comment? I’m glad you’ve returned to us in one piece. A little worse for wear, perhaps. But I look forward to resuming our friendship. I missed your wisdom, my friend.”
Somehow, his words had unintentionally hurt Exmoor, for the haunted shadows in his gaze intensified. “You are one of the few who will have anything to do with me anymore. Suffice it to say that Digby and his daughter do not feel as you do. They gave me the cut direct. Not that I care a whit. I don’t really, but...”
Lucien leaned closer, eager to continue the conversation even though everyone had taken their seats and the play was about to start. “What is it, James? You know I shall keep whatever you tell me in confidence.”
“I’m no longer accepted as I once was. The women now look upon me in horror. I’m a scarred beast to them. Most men feel the same way, even some I considered good friends. But the truth must be faced. I am no longer myself, no longer considered handsome. It is quite a blow to my arrogance.”
Lucien clenched his fists to stem his anger. “They are all witless fools, James. Not worth the heartache, though I can see you have allowed their shallowness to sadden you.” He glanced at Mallory, his gaze naturally drifting to
this girl he knew to be of worth. “I wish you happiness.”
“Lucien, you mistake me. I am happy. I couldn’t ask for a better wife or a finer family.” He glanced over at his overpopulated box. “But my circle of friends remains small, and I still cringe when I must meet people for the first time. Sometimes, the response I receive from a new acquaintance curls my stomach. In truth, I expect it and for the most part don’t care. But there’s a little part of me that still… it does wound my pride.”
Lucien looked across the theater to Mallory.
James smiled. “You deserve happiness as well. I wish you someone like Mallory. Will you introduce her to me at intermission? She must be quite remarkable.”
She is.
Lucien turned to face the stage as the performance began.
At intermission, Lucien and his friend made their way to the Goodell box. Lucien was relieved to find Mallory seated there with her mother. The other occupants had descended to the lobby to meet and greet their friends and enjoy a glass of plum wine that was being served for those who did not care for more potent spirits.
“Your Grace,” Lady Goodell cheerfully intoned as he entered their box with Exmoor in tow. “Ah, Lord Exmoor,” she said with far less glee, making no effort to be discreet about her displeasure. “How nice to see you both.”
Mallory’s lips were in that I-want-to-have-sex-with-you pout that always drove Lucien wild, but it meant that she was still peeved with him. Obviously, she’d misconstrued the purpose of his meeting with the Duke of Digby and Lady Heloise at Abbingdon’s earlier in the day. However, she smiled graciously at Exmoor and held out her hand so that Exmoor could take it in his and bow over it. “I was hoping to meet you, my lord. You are all the talk of the audience. A war hero, such as Lucien’s own brother.”
Her smile never slipped, if anything it grew warmer. Lucien did not realize he could love Mallory more deeply than he already did, but in this moment, his heart swelled with pride and he knew he’d chosen the best woman possible to be his wife. Now, all he had to do was convince Mallory of it.
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