by Amy Corwin
Uncle Cyril stood up abruptly, surprising them all. He slammed his book down on top of Aunt Mary’s sewing. “I had not expected such a poor—that is, such an answer. Well, the matter is settled then. I trust it will be to everyone’s satisfaction.” He made the statement sound as if satisfaction was the last thing everyone would eventually feel. Clearly, his wife had outmaneuvered him in the selection of Lord Arundell’s bride. His compressed mouth and wrinkled brow revealed his bitterness over his defeat all too clearly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other matters to which I must attend.”
Glowing with a broad smile, Aunt Mary nodded. “Of course, my dear. I am sure we can do without you for an hour or so. Is that not so, my lord?” When her husband had gone, she settled back in her chair. “You will want a quick, private wedding, of course, my lord. Our dear Miss Stainton is in mourning—she so recently lost her father, after all. But despite her grief, I am sure that being settled will be a marvelous relief for her. Her future is assured, now, and there is nothing more to worry over.” She leaned over and patted Dorothy’s arm. “Is there, my dear?”
“Is there not?” One of Lord Arundell’s dark brows rose. He exchanged glances with Dorothy and gave her an imperceptible shrug.
“Of course not. Although she has been extraordinarily brave, I am sure she must admit that it is never the best of circumstances when one is dependent upon the goodwill of others—even if those others are family. Is that not so, Dorothy?” Aunt Mary asked with a complacent smile.
“I suppose so,” Dorothy replied, feeling ill. A quick wedding? How quick? I barely know him!
Her heart thudded against her ribs. Doubts swirled around her now that she’d given her answer. What had she done? What if Cecilia’s fears were not entirely groundless?
After all, what did she really know of him?
“Not that we wish to lose you so soon, Dorothy. However, I’m persuaded that you understand our situation quite well. Three girls on the threshold of coming out…” Aunt Mary heaved a sigh. “It would be excessively awkward to almost double that number to five. And you shall be of such great assistance to your cousins as Lady Arundell.”
Great assistance? Arundell would believe they were all dreadful social climbers if Aunt Mary didn’t stop! Dorothy’s gaze caught Lord Arundell’s cynical glance. She winced.
He looked away, his face unreadable as he stood.
Both ladies leapt to their feet.
“I noticed when I arrived that Miss Stainton was preparing to go for a walk. Perhaps she would allow me to escort her?” Lord Arundell asked, just as if he’d sensed her need to escape from her aunt’s triumphant glance.
Or perhaps he truly was cruel as Cecilia feared and after sensing Dorothy’s nervousness, decided to enjoy her discomfort.
“Of course—you are betrothed, after all,” Aunt Mary gushed. Then with a giggle she said, “Though we must still observe the proprieties, of course. Take Elsa with you. Or Cecilia. Or any of the girls, for that matter.” She waved a hand. “You have so much to discuss, after all.”
“Thank you.” Dorothy moved toward the door on numb limbs, her mind whirling like an autumn leaf on the wind. Why couldn’t she think? She simply couldn’t seem to bring order to her thoughts, especially when the knot tightening her stomach warned of approaching disaster.
Polite habit saved her from making a fool of herself, however. Murmuring her thanks, she accepted her bonnet, gloves, and a light shawl from Elsa. She moved without clear thought and didn’t resist when Lord Arundell took her arm and led her down the front steps.
His forearm felt like a bar of iron beneath her hand. Her stomach fluttered, and she had a moment of panic as she stumbled through a few of his polite questions. If she were asked what words she had uttered after she spoke, she couldn’t have answered.
She hoped he wouldn’t conclude that she was nothing short of an idiot.
She couldn’t stop worrying, however. Why the rush to marry? Why did he agree to Aunt Mary’s suggestion? Was he really so desperate for his five thousand pounds and the possibility of an heir? Was it true that part of his inheritance depended upon his begetting a son? Had what she’d overheard been true, after all?
Suddenly, Cecilia’s fears seemed real enough to make Dorothy’s double in a flood of heart-pounding horror. Her fingers felt icy despite her gloves. Perhaps Lord Arundell truly did murder his older brother to gain the title and now needed the money to go with it. If so, what could she reasonably expect from him?
Many wives simply disappeared into the depths of the country, never to be seen again. And if she vanished, who would protest? Grace and Martha might be concerned, but after all, what could they do but write a few letters? Eventually, they would assume that she was angry at them for some obscure reason and give up.
She flicked a sideways glance at him from under the brim of her bonnet. Her pace slowed. His free hand pressed her fingers more firmly into the crook of his arm, as if aware of her sudden impulse to run back to the Polkinghorne townhouse and amused by it. He might be undeniably handsome, but could she trust him? There were many handsome scoundrels. A square chin might be described as a hard, stubborn one under the right circumstances. A charming exterior could hide the devil’s own temper. Cecilia had commented more than once that he was a difficult man who seemed impatient with fools.
But everyone played the fool at one time or another, and Dorothy was no exception. Sooner or later, that steel core that even she had sensed in him would reveal itself. Perhaps that is what had happened to his brother. The previous Lord Arundell might have angered his brother and paid the price.
“You are very quiet, Miss Stainton,” Lord Arundell remarked as they waited at a corner for a curricle, driven by a weedy, weak-chinned young man, to rattle past them.
“I am sorry, my lord. I am distracted…”
His arm tightened momentarily before he stepped off the curb and guided her into the busy street. “No doubt. The offer of marriage must have seemed sudden.”
“Extremely sudden,” she agreed as she lifted her skirts to step up to the crowded walkway.
The passersby buffeted them. Speaking loudly to be heard, fashionable ladies and gentlemen negotiated the street, many of them appearing to be heading in the same direction as Dorothy and Lord Arundell. The hour for promenading in Hyde Park—to see and be seen by the bon ton—was fast approaching. Dorothy’s back ached with tension. Noise echoed from every corner. Snatches of conversation, laughter, hawkers selling their wares, and the clatter of horses and carriages bounced off the brick buildings and increased in volume until her ears rang.
She couldn’t think for the cacophony. She desperately wanted to be alone to consider—surely it was not too late to say no. If it were a simple matter of the five thousand pounds Aunt Mary owed to Lord Arundell, well, then he could have her portion and be done with it. She’d never expected to inherit anything, and in fact, didn’t know if she truly was going to inherit anything. Her uncle had not said a word about it.
This entire plan might be one of Aunt Mary’s schemes to get out of her debt of honor.
“Miss Stainton, are you quite well?” Lord Arundell asked as they strolled into the park. “Or did you find my comments too impertinent to deserve a reply?”
When she glanced up, amusement glittered in his brown eyes. “Comments?” she asked before she realized it revealed that she had not been listening to him.
“You seem distracted.” He guided her to a bench, whisked his handkerchief over the wooden seat, and gestured for her to sit down. “If you wish to share your concerns, I am happy to listen.” His mouth twitched. “Though I cannot promise you that my replies will be helpful ones.”
She sat down gratefully, gripping the ends of her shawl between her hands. The soft fabric tightened over her shoulders like a warm embrace, returning a small measure of confidence to her.
“I—well, this was rather sudden, my lord,” she said, flicking a quick look at him as he sat down
beside her.
“You must wonder why, when we hardly know one another.”
“It does seem… odd. Although one knows, of course, that an earl has a duty to marry, after all.”
“Yes. After all.” The words, although spoken mildly, sounded bitter.
“You must have been here for the Season. Surely, there were other women more appropriate…?” Her question dropped off into a vague mutter as she tried to find a delicate way to state her doubts.
“You do not believe we will suit?” he asked abruptly, slicing through her concerns to the heart of the matter.
“I—I do not know, my lord.”
“You seem sensible enough. I thought we should deal admirably together.”
Sensible? That was hardly flattering. Did he even find her attractive? A wistful longing for a compliment, no matter how small, that wasn’t also applicable to a pair of shoes stole over her before she could control it.
This was a business arrangement for him, after all. The repayment of a debt, not a love match. Still, a little affection would have been nice.
Her chin rose. “I had not previously considered marriage as a mere business contract, my lord. Time might allow me to accustom myself to the notion.” She eyed him, her hands tightening around the ends of her shawl. Then in a sudden burst of ingenuity, she said, “My aunt’s decision for us to wed quietly and quickly may expose the arrangement to gossip about the necessity for such rapid nuptials. Surely, that argues for at least a small delay. Such chatter may not concern you, but I am not as sanguine about the possible loss of my good reputation, and there is my younger sister to consider. I would not have her exposed to ridicule or disdain when she comes out.”
She glanced up at him. Her stomach twisted.
A lack of expression, except possibly a faint look of boredom, covered Lord Arundell’s face. His gaze rested on the path ahead of them. If her words concerned him, he gave no sign of it. She stood up abruptly, anticipating that he might wish to leave. The toe of her shoe caught in her hem, but he reached up and kept her from falling. Thankfully, there was no accompanying sound of fabric ripping, but her cheeks felt heated as she resumed her seat next to him.
“Given your reasoning, I am curious as to why you accepted my proposal at all,” he said at last in a tired drawl. He flicked a glance at her, one brow rising. “Unless you are fascinated by the notion of becoming Lady Arundell. You had not struck me as one of those debutantes set on obtaining a title at any cost.”
Flushing more deeply, she clenched her jaw and remained silent until the surge of anger inside her subsided. “If you will remember, Lord Arundell, I have not been presented to Society, yet. I am therefore no debutante, nor am I interested in your title.”
“Is it my title in particular that fails to excite you, or any title at all?”
She looked up at him sharply, but his gaze remained fixed on the path ahead. “Any title at all.”
“Well, that is too bad, then, since I cannot simply return the honor to our monarch without insulting him.”
“Cannot, or will not?”
His mouth twitched. “Whichever you prefer, Miss Stainton. The results are the same.”
“Is that intended to convey to me that you will allow no delay, either?”
“I do not see how a delay will help either of us.” The tired note returned to his voice.
“A delay may not help your reputation, but I am sure it will do much to sustain mine.”
“My reputation?” His silky tone did nothing to disguise the steely edge in his question.
She tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a strangled, breathless noise. “Yes, well, Cousin Cecilia—” She stopped speaking in horror, pressing a hand over her mouth.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t halted soon enough. An ominous silence settled around them, although the earl continued to gaze forward, his polite mask once more turning his features to stone.
“That is…” Her words stumbled over themselves. She pressed her lips together. Anything she said would only make matters worse. She took a deep breath.
“That is… What? What has your dear cousin Cecilia been saying?”
“Nothing.” She choked out a laugh. “What could she say?”
“What, indeed?”
“Well, surely, you know…” She flicked a quick glance at him.
Oh, why had she come on this walk with him? She would have been much better off going directly to her room to think. She stood and took a step toward the Serpentine path, forcing him to stand, as well.
“Do I? Strangely enough, I find myself at a loss. Why don’t you enlighten me, Miss Stainton?” Sarcasm rippled through his words.
He knew—he had to know. He was being deliberately provocative and obtuse simply to put her at a disadvantage. Well, if he wanted to anger her, then who was she to deny him that pleasure?
“There appears to be some mystery about the death of your brother and his wife, my lord. And a little girl is presumed dead, as well. Your niece. As I am sure you are aware.” Her chin rose, and she fixed a smile on her face, even though it felt stiff and unnatural. Although the muscles in his arm turned to rock under her fingers, she didn’t remove her hand.
“Am I correct in assuming that there is a rumor that I murdered my own brother? And even had the cruelty to throw my niece into the Thames?”
“Yes. As you well know.”
Another deep silence greeted her words.
Had she gone too far? She looked at him. His jawline was hard, but he maintained their pace, even nodding and smiling politely to a few acquaintances who waved as they walked along the path branching away from their own, which ran nearer to the Serpentine. The air felt warm, and she fancied she could even smell moisture from the river on the faint breeze. A confusion of small details rushed through her mind as she tried to control her breathing and relax her tight shoulders.
“You believe I am a murderer, yet still wish to marry me?”
“Would you rather I let my cousin, or even my younger sister, sacrifice herself?” she retorted quickly.
“Sacrifice herself…” he murmured.
With a quick glance around, he pulled her into the shade of a nearby tree. Before she could protest, he pressed a hard kiss against her mouth. Startled, she grasped his lapel and leaned against him, surprised by a surge of longing that swept over her. She wanted to feel him wrap his arms around her and hold her closer. His lips were warm against hers and lingered softly before he pulled away. He stared down at her, a question in his brown eyes. Then he drew himself up stiffly and stepped back.
Flushing, she glanced around, relieved that no one was staring at them or even seemed to notice.
Looking bemused, Lord Arundell guided her back to the path and quickened their pace. “Sacrifice, indeed,” he said.
“Well, it would have been,” she replied, saying the first words that stumbled into her mouth. Her lips still felt his touch and the scent of his skin lingered, making her want to reach up and press another kiss against his neck, breathing his scent deeply while his strong arms cradled her against his chest.
His face hardened, however. Their moment of accord over. “I am obliged to you, then, for your willingness to sacrifice yourself in their stead. How kind of you. Unfortunately, under such awkward circumstances, I feel I must offer you the opportunity to back out of our agreement—”
“Back out?” Her voice rose. Back out? How could she possibly say no, now? Aunt Mary would be furious, and Dorothy refused to be one of those indecisive, undependable women. They hadn’t even bothered to find Elsa or Cecilia before they left the house. They were unchaperoned and had been seen in public.
No. Besides, she’d never been incapable of making a decision in her life and would not start now. Unless he were regretting his offer, already. The thought was so demoralizing that she stumbled again, even though the path was perfectly smooth beneath her feet.
“Do you wish me to back out?” she asked.
�
�I wish you to suit yourself.”
“That is not in the least bit helpful, my lord. Nonetheless, I already made my decision and gave you my word. My aunt and uncle are relying on me. It is not only men who believe in honoring their agreements, my lord. If it is you who wishes to rescind his offer, then do so and be done with it.”
“Since you do not object to marrying a murderer, then I do not see how I can be so ungentlemanly as to rescind the offer. Very well, Miss Stainton. You’ve had your chance to escape and shall not get another. Like you, once I make up my mind, I move forward. We shall be married in two weeks. I trust that will satisfy you?”
She could hardly refuse now. She nodded. “Yes. Two weeks. I shall be delighted.”
“I suspect you will be anything but delighted. Nonetheless, as long as you are ready at the appointed time, that shall suffice.”
Chapter Nine
Given the available facts, Marcus could only conclude that Mrs. Polkinghorne had not only been interested in paying her debt to him, but she had also been acting on behalf of her ambitious niece. The thought disappointed him. Miss Stainton had not seemed like one of those ladies who were only interested in a title and not the man carrying it.
But there could be no other reason for Miss Stainton to agree to marry a man she feared might be a murderer.
His jaw tightened as he escorted Miss Stainton back to the Polkinghorne townhouse. At the door, he bowed stiffly. “I apologize, but I must leave you here.” Would that he could leave the entire mess bundled neatly on the stoop and walk away.
“I understand.” Miss Stainton nodded coolly as the Polkinghorne maid yanked open the door. “Thank you, and good day, my lord.”
He waited until she had entered and the door was closed before he walked away.
Despite the growing attraction he’d sensed in her, Miss Stainton appeared to be no different than any other lady he’d met during the London Season.
Well, what had he expected, after all?
In the end, he would have had to pick one of them, anyway, though he’d hoped… No matter. The decision was made. The contracts could be signed tomorrow. In two weeks, they would be married, awkward though it might be once Miss Stainton realized there was more required of her than to simply enjoy her newfound social position. Her first challenge would be to overlook the disadvantage of being married to a supposed murderer.