by Regina Darcy
The doctor looked more than satisfied. “Then I need not worry about your memory,” he declared, closing his bag with a snap. “Although I can offer you laudanum if the pain should become too difficult for you to manage.”
She shook her head firmly, and then instantly regretted doing so. “No, I thank you,” she replied rather hoarsely. “I will not require laudanum, sir. Thank you for your assistance.”
The doctor smiled at her again and made to leave, which only filled Nora with a sudden, strangling panic.
“Might you tell me where I am?” she asked, resisting the urge to grasp the doctor’s hand. “This is not a place I recognise.” She could tell that she was in someone’s home, but to whom it belonged, she had no idea.
The doctor looked askance at forgetting something of such great import and came hurrying back to her side, shaking his head to himself.
“I do apologise, Lady Drake,” he exclaimed at once. “You are in the home of the Marquess of Fareshire, my lady. It was he who came upon you with the young boy, Charles. Charles Hastings is the Marquess’s nephew and, I believe, his charge. So you see, Lady Drake, you have done the marquess a very good turn indeed.”
Nora felt herself grow cold, barely able to murmur her thanks. The Marquess of Fareshire? It could not be so! Fate could not be so cruel, not when she had already endured more than her fair share of trouble due to a dismissive and uncaring father. And yet, it seemed, she was trapped in the Marquess of Fareshire’s home, unable to escape until she had met the man and been thanked for what she had done.
Nora felt the walls begin to close in around her. The pain in her head grew all the more, as well as the unsettling urge to flee. It was quite useless, of course, for she had nowhere to go and certainly could not walk the streets without her bonnet and gloves – for the wrath of her father would come down on her head if he discovered she had done something so improper – which meant she had very little choice in the matter.
“He has been sure to treat you with all propriety,” the doctor assured her, as he opened the door. “Good day to you, Lady Drake. Do send for me if you should require my services in the next few days, although I hope you shall not.”
“Thank you,” Nora managed to say, before the doctor stepped out of her line of vision, leaving another gentleman in his wake.
The gentleman who had come to her rescue.
He was younger than Nora had expected her betrothed to be, with broad shoulders and a strong back. The smoothness of his forehead told her that he was, as yet, untroubled by years, and the light in his eyes brought her a sudden, momentary pang of delight – which she immediately discarded. His hair, a dark molten brown, was slightly dishevelled, which perhaps suggested that he had run his hands through it a number of times in his concern for either his nephew or for her. There was no flicker of recognition on his face, which meant that either he had not heard the doctor or that he did not recall the name of the lady he was to marry.
As their gaze locked Nora felt herself stiffen. His eyes were oddly compelling, almost magnetic.
“My lady, you cannot know how glad I am to see you so recovered,” Lord Fareshire began, with a beaming smile. He turned to one of the maids who had been hovering nearby and clicked his fingers. “Tea… and something to eat. And a glass of water.”
The maid hurried away and the Marquess sank into a chair opposite Nora, whilst another maid took her place in the corner, for propriety’s sake. Nora struggled to allow her eyes to fasten onto the man she would one day call husband, finding herself drawn to his handsome features and yet repelled by his character. A gentleman who would marry a lady he had won in some kind of gamble was not a gentleman she wished to acquaint herself with.
But she had very little choice, just as she had been denied her own choice so many times before. Settling her shoulders and trying to ignore the thumping in her head, she looked over at him with a feeling of resignation settling over her.
“Lady Eleanor Drake,” she said with a small sigh. “I did not know if the doctor had made the introductions yet.”
Again, there came not even a small flash of recognition.
“Lady Eleanor,” the Marquess began, suddenly getting to his feet and reaching for her hand. “I cannot express the sheer gratitude that is, at this very moment, coursing through every part of my being. You saved my foolish nephew, who has sworn never to run from me again.” He swallowed hard, pausing for a moment. “When I saw you holding him, the visions that flashed into my mind were all too terrible to contemplate. I am most deeply sorry that you were injured in your attempts to rescue my nephew, although I am glad to hear that there will be no lasting damage.”
Nora regarded Lord Fareshire for a moment or two, finding him to be quite sincere in his expressions, wondering if he did truly care for his nephew in the way he expressed.
“Might I ask what you were doing at the docks?”
His question was mild and innocuous enough, but despite that, Nora felt heat climb into her cheeks. She had very little intention of telling him the true reason for her presence at the docks, and so struggled to come up with an excuse. A lady of quality wandering around without a chaperone at the docks had brought her many strange glances, and at times, she had wondered if one of the men she had seen as she passed might follow her. How many times had she cursed her foolishness at shaking off her maid’s company, her idiocy at coming to the docks unaccompanied with very little idea as to where she was going?
She had believed that she would be able to find a sea captain who might take pity on her and allow her passage in a few days’ time, but to do that she had first to find a sea captain. What had made it all the worse was that she had very little idea of what a sea captain might look like, or where she ought to go should she be offered safe passage. Nora recalled just how unsettled she had felt as she’d walked along the docks, growing cold with fear as she realised what men might do to an unaccompanied young lady of quality. She had been foolish and headstrong, rushing into a situation that she had thought might be her way out of her marriage to Lord Fareshire, but which now, she saw, would only have brought her more difficulty and pain.
“I was lost,” she stammered, aware that her cheeks were heating. “I lost my maid and found myself alone.” She looked at him. “Then I saw your nephew, although there was no one with him.”
A faint accusation stung her words, which to her relief, gave her the exact outcome she had hoped for. Lord Fareshire latched on to what she had said about young Charles and immediately began to explain.
“My nephew, Charles Hastings, is also my ward,” Lord Fareshire said, letting go of her hand and spreading out his own. “His parents were killed some years ago in a terrible accident on their way to London. He remained at home with his nurse, being but two years of age, and I took him as my own since that time. However, he has proven to be something of a troublemaker, for this is not the first time he has tried to escape from me – although he has always been found or returned of his own accord.” His head dropped to the floor for a moment, and he shook his head. “I do not think Charles will try to run from me again.”
“Is he afraid of you?”
The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them, and Nora stared at the Marquess in horror, wondering if he would think her awful beyond words. She did not apologise, however, suddenly terrified that the young boy was afraid of the Marquess, which would tell her more about the gentleman she was to marry.
Lord Fareshire’s head shot up, although he did not appear angry. “No, I do not believe so,” he said calmly, as though he could understand her reasons for asking such a thing. “The boy has a thirst to know all there is in the world and has more questions in him than I could ever answer. He does not appear to care about his own safety and will often wander away without being deliberately insolent.” A small, half smile tugged at his lips, softening the marquess’s expression. “I find him quite frustrating, Lady Drake, but I cannot help but be fond of my brother’s
son. To know that you are the one responsible for saving his life…” He trailed off, his eyes back on her own. “You do not know what a precious gift you have given me. If there is anything that I might do for you in return, Lady Drake, as foolish as it may sound, you need only ask.”
Nora swallowed hard, looking back at the marquess steadily. There was something so open about his expression, and he had spoken to her with such vulnerability that Nora felt as though he were revealing his true self to her.
There did not appear to be any guile in him, nor did he seem to be calculating and careful. She was quite sure that he had very little idea as to who she was, even though he was to come to dinner in two days’ time.
“Thank you, Lord Fareshire, you are very kind,” she managed to say, struggling to find the resolve to do what she must. “I do, in fact, have one suggestion that I might make to you.”
Appearing a little astonished, the Marquess leaned forward in his chair, clearly eager to hear what he might do. “Anything, Lady Drake.”
“Wonderful,” she replied practically, trying to hide the tumultuous emotions twisting all through her. “Then you can tell my father, the Duke of Hainsworth, that you will not marry me after all.”
Chapter Five
“A very enjoyable dinner, Your Grace, I thank you.” Edward hid a smile as the Duke nodded, turning away from him almost as quickly as he could. It was clear that the Duke of Hainsworth did not delight in his presence, given that he was, in fact, the Duke’s main political rival. And yet that brought Edward a few moments of pleasure. It had been wonderful to win that bet last week, where he had won possession of the hand of the Duke’s daughter in marriage, but such had been his delight – not to mention the copious amount of liquor in his belly – that he had quite forgotten the chit’s name.
“A truly wonderful dinner,” some of the other gentlemen murmured, as they rose from the table.
“I thank you all for your attendance,” the Duke replied gruffly. “Now, shall we make our way back to the ladies?”
Edward rose from his chair and followed the Duke from the room, finding this evening to be a mixture of both confusion and delight. Eleanor Drake was, in fact, quite a delightful young lady by all appearances, although there was something in her eyes that he could not quite make out. She, of course, had barely looked at him, and he had chosen not to allow his eyes to linger on her so as not to make her uncomfortable.
Having been invited to dinner some days ago, in order to meet his betrothed, Edward had been expecting a quiet evening. However, the Duke clearly did not wish for his company and so had invited a good twelve other guests, which made fifteen sitting at the table. It had meant that Edward had not yet managed to speak to Lady Eleanor for more than a moment.
Walking into the drawing room, Edward felt his eyes drawn to the lady in question the moment they walked in. She was seated at the pianoforte, clearly having expected them, and she smiled at her father as they took their seats.
Edward frowned. The smile did not reach Lady Drake’s eyes, which meant that she was not as happy as she seemed. Then again, that might come from nothing more than an anxiety about playing for the assembled company, which he was quite sure, could make any young lady of quality nervous.
“My daughter, Lady Eleanor Drake, will now play a selection of pieces for us,” the Duke said grandly, looking over his shoulder at Edward. “After which, I am sure that some of the other young ladies would also like to perform for us.”
This was met with a smattering of applause, which Edward did not join. If the Duke meant to show off his daughter’s qualities to Edward, he need not trouble himself. The truth was, Edward was more than delighted with Lady Drake, for how she had saved young Charles from a decidedly watery end, he felt more than respect for her. She was truly wonderful, as far as he was concerned, and there was a beauty about her that did not come just from her delightful blue eyes and golden crown of hair. Edward was quite certain that she would indeed make him a very good wife – and all that stood in his way was the fact that Lady Drake had asked him not to do such a thing.
As the music began to drift across the room, Edward found himself lost in thought. He recalled how astonished he had been when she had revealed the truth of her identity to him. His breath had been pulled from his chest, his mouth had fallen open. She’d looked back at him, her gaze firm and cheeks a delicate shade of pink. When he had questioned her further, she had declined to say more, simply stating that she had been given no choice in the matter and that this did not please her.
That, at least, he could understand, but then again, he could not sympathise with it. It was the way of the ton for daughters to be given to gentlemen chosen by their parents, and most went without complaint.
Apparently this was not so for Lady Drake. She had glared at him as he had shaken his head, stating that he could not do what she had asked of him since the agreement was already in place. To refuse to marry her would mean that the deal was null and void, which meant he would receive no monetary compensation in place of the marriage. The sheer displeasure in her face had torn at him, and for a moment, he had found himself wanting to do as she asked, only to close his mouth tightly and remain resolute.
He needed a wife. Charles needed a mother figure in the home, and he was quite certain that Lady Drake would do that job marvellously. Besides which, he himself required a wife to produce the next in line, and Lady Drake was the daughter of a Duke, which would be a wonderful addition to his family line. She was, he was certain, all that he would require and more.
However, that would all fall by the wayside if she hated him for forcing her to do what she clearly did not wish to do.
A ridge appeared between Edward’s brows as he continued to regard the young lady, finding her playing to be without fault. She had her eyes closed, clearly lost in the music, and as the final piece came to an end, Edward felt his own eyes drift closed, his heart almost painful with a great swell of emotion.
And then the moment was gone. Applause came from the assembled crowd, and the Duke rose to his feet, turning to face them all. Lady Drake, clearly aware of what she was meant to do, came to stand by her father, her chin lifted. Her skin was pale and there was no brightness to her eyes. Edward felt his heart turn over in his chest, suddenly afraid that he had done the lady wrong in refusing to do as she’d asked him.
The Duke cleared his throat. “Before there is any more fine music, I must make an announcement,” he began, waiting for the murmurs of conversation to quiet. “I am certain you will all be glad to know that my daughter, Eleanor Drake, is to marry the Marquess of Fareshire.”
As one, a great many pairs of eyes landed on Edward, who felt himself grow a little hot with embarrassment.
“I am sure this will be truly delightful news,” the Duke continued, not sounding pleased in the least. “Now, take a glass of champagne from the footmen and raise your glasses in a toast.”
Edward scrambled to his feet, taking a glass and holding it in one hand as the other guests toasted both him and Lady Drake’s happiness, before beginning to talk amongst themselves. The buzz of excited conversation grew loud in Edward’s ears as he looked across at Lady Drake, seeing her wane as she accepted congratulations from various ladies and gentlemen.
“So you are the man he chose for his last daughter,” said Lord Withington, shaking Edward’s hand firmly. “At least you’re better than the last one.”
Frowning, Edward caught Lord Withington’s arm. “What do you mean?” he asked, ignoring the other guests who had come to congratulate him. “She has been engaged before?”
“Not her,” said another gentleman, interrupting their conversation. “Lady Drake’s sister, Lady Alice Drake, ran off with some unknown gentleman on the day of her wedding! Apparently she didn’t want to marry the gentleman her father had chosen for her.”
He shook his head, feeling a swift kick of disappointment. Lady Drake was not, perhaps, to be the wife he had thought. “That is rathe
r grave, is it not?”
Lady Withington, who had come to join her husband, tapped his arm with a fan, shaking her head disapprovingly. “For shame, Lord Fareshire, for shame! I would not have married the Marquess of Malford either, given his reputation!”
A stone dropped into Edward’s stomach as he stared at the lady.
“Oh, ‘tis quite true,” she laughed, seeing his astonishment. “But then again, I think Lady Alice was truly fortunate to be able to escape as she did. A very great shame about the first daughter, was it not? But that put the fear into the rest of them.”
Edward did not understand a word of what Lady Withington had just said, but he was suddenly desperate to know what she meant. But in a moment, she was gone, and another two or three gentlemen and ladies were coming to shake his hand. He had no choice but to accept their felicitations with grace and poise, but all the while his mind was scrambling with thoughts over what he had heard.
The Duke had arranged a marriage for each of his daughters, that was quite certain, but what had occurred with the first daughter? Why was it, as Lady Withington had said, a ‘very great shame’? And what was this fear that she had spoken of? Up until this moment, he had presumed that the Duke was just as any other father might be – stern and unrelenting, yet with a care and a consideration for his daughters and their futures. Was he quite wrong in that assumption?
Recalling how Lady Drake had begged him not to say a word to her father about what had occurred at the docks, Edward allowed his gaze to travel towards the lady, seeing for the first time just how afraid she appeared. She was glancing towards her father now and again, as if she was terrified she might be doing something that would merit his displeasure. Her smile was fixed, her eyes filled with doubt and concern, and Edward felt his stomach tighten with a sudden, fierce anger.
There was more to Lady Drake and to the Duke than had first appeared, and he was determined to discover what it was. If the lady was afraid of her father, if she had been coerced into this marriage with little concern for her own thoughts and feelings on the matter, then was it right for Edward to insist that they wed regardless? Did he have as little respect for her as all that? Or would he, in marrying her, be taking her away from a home that was nothing more than a prison, a home that bound her tightly with fear and hatred?