by Edith Layton
“Longer than you think if you leave now,” Crispin said. “London is not safe at night, and I’m willing to bet that your `acquaintances’ are lurking in some alley between here and your lodgings, eagerly awaiting your return. Be my guest tonight, sir. I think you’ll be more comfortable with me than with them.”
“Yes. Likely. Thank you,” Philip answered thoughtfully, and finished his drink as Crispin summoned a footman to show him to his bed.
It was long after the man had gone when Crispin finally spoke again. He stood at the hearth and gazed into the leaping flames. His face was set in lines of wretchedness such as Wrede had never seen, and only the flickering light gave it any illusion of expression.
“What am I to do?” Crispin said at last. “When I had nothing, I had everything and didn’t know it, because I was free. Now I have everything but my freedom. Oh, God, Wrede, what can I do?”
“Wait until morning,” his friend urged him. “Things always look better in the light.”
“Imprisonment will look better?” Crispin murmured, and then said with a pained smile. “I suppose you are right. There is nothing left to do tonight.”
*
When Dulcie tried the door of the room in which she was closeted, she was relieved to find it locked. She had no idea whose room it was. It seemed too ornate to be his, but then, the men in his world dressed better than the women in hers, so she could not be sure. There were rich rugs and glossy tabletops, and everything seemed to be wrapped in silk or edged with pearls. The room was warm and sweet-smelling, and the flames of the fireplace were reflected in the mantel of dappled pink marble.
In fact, the furniture was so beautiful she was afraid to sit down anywhere. Dulcie took one look at the high bed that dominated the room and backed away from it. It was very inviting with its plump coverlets and pillows, its silken canopy and gorgeous curtains, but she didn’t dare approach it. Why had he locked her in this room? She doubted it was so that he could come back and ravish her. Kill her, possibly. It was clear that he found the idea of being married to her distasteful, and she guessed it would be even worse if he came back to find her in that magnificent bed, as if she were waiting for him. She sank into a chair by the fire and hung her head in her hands, suddenly realizing that she didn’t know things could possibly be worse.
Later on, she heard noises in the night, and woke from her troubled sleep in the chair. Nothing moved in her room but the last logs crumbling in the dying fire. She listened closely, trying to pick up any other sounds in the velvety night. She thought she heard men’s voices, low and busy, coming from the hall outside her room, but the walls were too thick for her to hear more than the steady rumbling of deep voices. Then there was nothing again except the frightened beating of her heart.
She settled down in the chair again, her cheek snuggled against the brocade back. He was not coming in. No one was coming in. She might be held here forever, alone and in the dark. Somehow, exhausted as she was, that seemed the best solution she could imagine. And so she slept.
CHAPTER 6
She woke to find two round-eyed maids and a grim-faced housekeeper staring at her.
“There’s soap and water in the dressing room,” the housekeeper said as soon as she saw Dulcie’s eyes flutter open. “Towels and perfumes as well. We’ve brought chocolate, tea and coffee, biscuits, toasts, and jellies for you. They are here on the table. More substantial fare awaits you downstairs in the dining room, if you wish it. I shall freshen your dress for you if you’ll remove it.”
Dulcie shook her head dumbly. She would have nothing to wear if she took off her dress.
The housekeeper’s mouth thinned further. “Very well. The viscount will see you in his study at noon. It lacks an hour to that…my lady,” she added, as though the words had been pulled out of her mouth with tongs. She shepherded the maids to the door and left Dulcie alone again.
Dulcie was awed by the magnificence of the water closet in a corner of her dressing room and spent some time inspecting a cleverly fashioned skirted chair that concealed the chamber pot. The porcelain from which it was made was of better quality than the dishes she usually ate from. There was a huge hip bath, and a counter laden with soaps and powders as well.
It was only when she splashed deliciously scented warm water over her face that she really woke up. She immediately blushed, remembering the look on the maids’ and housekeeper’s faces as they’d gaped at her—as if she had to be told first off that there was soap and water available! Then Dulcie stiffened, remembering that she’d been told to go downstairs if she wanted a heartier breakfast. Which meant she wasn’t a prisoner anymore. And whatever else awaited her downstairs in this house, one thing was sure: there would be a door to the outside world. And escape.
She straightened her dress as best she could, and put her hair up with as many of her silver pins as she could find in and around the chair she’d slept in. Dulcie gave one last hungry glance at the tray of biscuits and toast, and hurried to the door. She hadn’t eaten since early the day before, but she remembered that mice got trapped if they stayed to nibble. At the last minute, however, she snatched up a particularly golden piece of toast to eat later, when she was finally on her way home. Then, silently, she cracked open the door, looked both ways to see that no one was there, and ventured into the hall and down the long stair.
The stair led to the great hall and to the front door. Dulcie sighed with relief. She would find her father, and together they would seek a way out of this. He had said that he wanted her to stay “married” to the viscount, but she was sure that idea had only come to him while they’d sat waiting in that beautifully furnished study, for she had seen the way her father’s gaze wandered around the room, pricing and estimating, and then, at the last, the way he’d watched her. Her father, she knew, had decided she belonged here, just as surely as she knew she didn’t. The viscount was as wonderfully handsome as his house, and just as far beyond her station.
Dulcie was glad the viscount had regained his fortune, and had been from the moment they’d found out, long before they’d come here. Money being lost or found anywhere had a way of making itself known to Jerome and his awful friend Harry Meech.
But that was the viscount’s good luck. Not hers. None of this was for her, and her father had to know that. Clean morning light would clear his mind further, and if it didn’t, no matter—she would never come back here. She went straight to the front door and found someone stepping in front of it before she could touch the knob.
“My lady, the dining room is this way,” the butler said.
“Ah, but—” she started to say, but he looked all the way down his long nose at her, silencing her. She thought she might reach past him and race out the door anyway, but then she saw his expression and what he was looking at. He was staring at her hand. She’d forgotten that she still held a piece of toast with one bite missing.
“This way,” he said again, and she no longer had the nerve to disagree. So, clutching the toast in front of her like a nosegay, she followed, with only one last plaintive glance at the door.
The viscount was sitting at a long table, but he rose the moment she entered the dining room. It was the first time she had seen him in true light. They’d met in a murky room that first time, and he’d glowed like_an angel then. Last night the light had been dim in his study, and the ballroom had glowed with a thousand candles that gave off an aura of golden light that would flatter anyone. Today he stood in a shaft of light from the window and the sight of him forced the breath from her.
He wore a blue coat over a pale blue waistcoat. It complemented his wide, bright, clear blue eyes, which were enhanced by long lashes and dark brows. His skin was clear, his hair shining and clean. Tall and straight and strong, refined and elegant, he was altogether the most handsome male she’d ever been so close to in her life. She was so struck by his presence that she felt as though he’d hit her.
Then she saw the expression in those amazing eyes, and k
new that he wished he could do just that.
“Mistress Blessing,” he said, and she let out her breath. He wasn’t acknowledging their bizarre marriage for a minute, and though she was glad of that, she also felt curiously insulted.
“My lord,” she said, remaining aloof but curtsying low, to show him that she, too, had manners.
He held out a chair for her. She hesitated, and then swept across the room to be seated. She moved with such exaggerated grace she was afraid she’d trip and spoil it. He stared at the piece of toast she still held as she took her seat.
“Are you going to eat that?” he asked, amused in spite of himself.
“Of course,” she said, her head still held high. And then realizing how foolish she must look trying to act the grand lady while clutching a piece of toast, spoiled it all by giggling.
It was hard for him to imagine a shy, deceitful creature who giggled. Wrede had been right, Crispin thought with rising hope: daylight was taking the sting from it. This girl was no monster. She was only young, and she had a greedy father. The problem suddenly seemed soluble. They might free themselves of it, after all. He smiled down at her.
“It is a delicious-looking piece of toast,” he said. “But wouldn’t you like to try something else as well? Eggs or beefsteak? Kidneys? Porridge? Pudding? Some roast? Fish?”
She’d never seen so much food so early in the day, so she only nodded.
“Some of each?” he asked, his brows rising as he signaled to a footman.
“No, no,” she managed to say, watching the chafing dishes the footman was opening for her inspection, “just some buttered rolls. Oh, and one of those buns and some honey, yes, thank you, and some of those jellies, and a cup of tea,” she said on a sigh, hunger getting the better of shyness. “Tea would be lovely.”
Most high-born women he knew ate only lightly before noon. Only women of the lower classes were fond of beefsteaks and ale at that hour. This lovely creature was different, Crispin thought, noting that her eyes were the same color as the tea in her cup. No, he thought a second later, they were the color of the honey she was spreading on her toast. She ate with delicacy but also with enthusiasm.
Her enjoyment of food didn’t seem to have done her neat figure any harm. Her dress was badly wrinkled and cut too high over her breasts to be fashionable, but its drab color and inferior material couldn’t hide high a superior female form, with full breasts and a neat waistline. She was a lovely creature, and very much aware of him as a man. He hadn’t missed her reaction to him. That was the kind of thing a man never mistook.
She would make an excellent mistress, Crispin mused, not for the first time. But then he remembered he was planning to marry Charlotte and he was determined to stay in his own marriage bed. And so, with a sigh, he put even the idea of a mistress away.
Simply offering this girl the post of mistress might have influenced her enough to give up her claim to be his wife, but he didn’t have that choice. Fortunately he had something else to offer, something a woman from debtors’ prison couldn’t refuse: money.
He waited until she took a second cup of tea. “You slept well?” he asked, looking for a neutral topic to open negotiations.
“Oh. Yes. Thank you,” she said, blushing slightly, because he had spoken just as she was debating whether or not to try to lick a drop of honey off her forefinger, and his sudden attention had caught her with her finger halfway to her lips.
She licked her lips instead and hid her hand in her napkin. Now her fingers would be sticky, but at least he wouldn’t catch her lapse in manners.
He smiled, because he had seen her dilemma, and said, “Good. I’m glad things could be arranged at such short notice. We hadn’t been planning on overnight guests last night, you see.”
She looked stricken.
He was encouraged.
“To be quite blunt,” he added gently, “your visit came as quite a shock to me. Last night, you see, was meant to be my betrothal ball, not a celebration of my marriage.”
She grew pale, so he dared to go on. “I’d planned to marry this woman for weeks—years, actually,” he said, watching her. He paused, and decided not to mention Charlotte’s hopes and dreams. Although this pretty little thing might feel sympathy for him, women seldom felt any for the competition. “Now,” he said sadly, “I don’t know if she’ll even speak to me again. She thinks you and I are married, but we’re not, you know. I think you know that very well. And so, Miss Blessing, I ask you, what am I to do?”
She swallowed hard. “My lord,” she said in a tiny voice, her topaz eyes so honest looking in their confused sorrow that he felt encouraged, “I wish I knew. As I told you last night, I don’t want to be married to you. Really.”
His eyes grew hard, but he kept smiling and kept his voice even. “Well, then, why did you come here last night with a vicar and papers and thugs to back you up? Let’s be honest, Miss Blessing. I asked you, and ask again: what do you want me to do? I have money and influence, and I can be dangerous, but I’d rather be generous. If we can reach an agreement here and now, we can be done with this matter simply and smoothly. I’m sure if we come to terms, your father will have no choice but to accept our decision.”
“We have no choice!” she blurted.
“Now look you, Mistress Blessing,” he snapped, his patience at an end, “I’ll beat you in this. You know that as well as I do. I have influence and power; you’ve only got false papers, an old madman, bad companions, and a disreputable past. Can you see the magistrate’s face when you confess that you married a stranger in order to leave debtors’ prison? No one in London will believe you’re a poor innocent after that. It’s a trick no matter how you dress it up, and everyone will see it!”
“Yes, and they’ll see how noble it was for you to marry me in order to earn a few coins!” she snapped back, so stung by his harsh words that she forgot her fear of him. “I may have behaved badly in order to stay out of prison, but I think anyone would understand that. But no one was trying to lock you or your father up for years! All you were after was the money. At least I was trying to preserve my father’s honor!”
“Honor?” he shouted. “Is that what you call it? I’d think there’s a simpler word for something that can be bought and sold so often.”
“I sold nothing, my lord,” Dulcie shot back. “You’re the one who was paid on the spot!”
“Oh, good morning, my children,” a voice said from the doorway.
Crispin and Dulcie stared at the giant who appeared before them. The earl of Wrede paused in the doorway. Dressed impeccably, Wrede dwarfed the butler, who had shown him in, and dominated the room.
“See? I told you, Stroud,” the earl told the butler. “I knew the happy couple wouldn’t mind my interrupting their wedding breakfast. Marriage is an odd thing, is it not? Sometimes wedded bliss sounds like domestic strife. But what do we old bachelors know? I’ll have a cup of coffee and a few of those rolls and some pastries. Thank you, yes, perfect,” he said as he took a seat between Dulcie and Crispin.
“I thought I’d come to terms with the girl,” Crispin explained to Wrede with some bitterness as soon as the door closed behind the servants, “but see how that turned out.”
“How? You looked like most married couples I’ve known,” the earl commented as he picked up a roll, “which is why I’m still single.”
“I offered her money and she threw the offer in my face,” Crispin said angrily.
“You offered me an insult,” Dulcie said, so angry that she failed to be intimidated by the awesome earl. “I don’t want your money. Can’t you see that? Can’t you make him see that?” she appealed to the earl, who stopped buttering his roll to stare at her. “I don’t want to be married to him. I’ve told him and told him, but he doesn’t listen. He locked me in a room last night when I tried to explain. Truly I don’t want this marriage any more than you do,” she told Crispin slowly and distinctly.
Knowing that he would not do her an injury in fro
nt of his friend, she went on talking while she could. “Coming here wasn’t my idea. Harry Meech and Jerome Snode got hold of my father and filled him with dreams… Well, all right, they talked about money,” she grudgingly admitted. “They said you should be made to pay for tricking me into a real marriage. Father’s very protective of me, really he is,” she insisted. “But sometimes he forgets about me when he gets caught up in his schemes. At any rate, they said you had come into a fortune and ought to be made to pay for tying me up in marriage. They said you might go ahead and marry again anyway, thinking I was nothing, but that I couldn’t marry because I was a virtuous girl. Which I am!” she added defiantly.
“I objected to their plan,” she continued. “I wanted the marriage annulled. I didn’t think it was right to make you give us money, because I didn’t think you actually knew we were getting married any more than I did. Really getting married, I mean. They said you had designs on me. I knew that couldn’t be true,” she said with simple conviction. “But my father believed it. So I came along with them, thinking that when I got here I could make them see reason, or that they’d see the truth simply by coming here and talking to you. I didn’t know my father would change his mind and decide to let me stay married to you! Never, never, never, I swear it,” she said fervently.
“You are very handsome,” she said, lowering her lashes in her embarrassment, “but I don’t belong here. I know that as well as you do. Not because I’m not a lady,” she said, her eyes snapping open, “but because I do not go where I am not asked.” She raised her small nose. “Our marriage was a mistake. You really were arrogant, you know, writing your true initials down like that. That’s just another reason why I don’t want to be married to you. I’m not a fool, or a saint. Money is lovely, but you have far more of it than I need or can imagine. And your looks don’t matter either, because I don’t like you very much.”