Saying no wasn’t an option. Even questioning whether or not it was the best course of action had only been to humor her. She’d do anything that was required to ensure her family’s safety, even if it meant forfeiting her own. And if there was one thing she was entirely certain of, Cornelius Garrett was a danger to her. The walls she’d built around herself, to protect herself and to cage that part of her that longed for adventure and excitement and passion, those walls all but trembled in his presence and had from the moment he’d stepped into their little cottage.
“Then we are betrothed,” she agreed solemnly.
“So we are, Primrose. So we are.”
Chapter Nineteen
Freddy entered the Assembly Rooms wearing the same cool and slightly condescending smile that he adopted for all social gatherings. His late arrival was by design. He’d wanted Miss Wyverne to wonder if, perhaps, he did not intend to show. As much as he needed her fortune, he would never be the sort of man who would kowtow to a wife. It was best to begin with her knowing that, fortune or no, she was the lucky one in their arrangement.
Pausing inside the door, he waited to be announced. His name echoed throughout the chamber. If people whispered more than they once had at his entrance, if a few turned their backs entirely, he didn’t much care. He wasn’t there for them anyway.
Casually clandestine, he scanned the room and found his quarry. Wallflowers were never difficult to locate, after all. She wasn’t an unattractive girl, but she was quite plain. Her unremarkable brown hair was swept back from her rather unremarkable face in a style that was much too severe to ever be flattering. Wire framed spectacles perched on the end of her nose and her gaze was downcast, fixed on her hands folded primly in her lap, resting on the pale ivory muslin of her gown.
Seated, her figure was not objectionable, at least. She was neither fat nor rail thin, and had pleasant enough curves. But her limp, when she walked, and the cane she was forced to use obviously detracted from any of her more redeeming assets. But he wasn’t there because he was smitten with her. He was there because he required the hefty marriage settlement that would accompany her. He’d have bedded an ogre at that point if it would get the creditors off his back.
Freddy appreciated the power of anticipation. Miss Wyverne knew why he was there. So did her father. But he saw no reason not to reclaim some of the power for himself. Instead of walking directly to her, he made it a point to speak with friends and acquaintances, to flirt for a moment with a woman who had once been his lover. Even as he continued to move in her general direction, he made no effort hurry there.
“Oh, good heavens! Lord Samford, how wonderful to see you here!”
The exclamation came from behind him. Turning, he smiled at the sight of Leticia Posenby. She was a friend of his younger sister’s, out a year before her, and the silliest of silly geese to ever grace society. She hadn’t sense enough to know she should not be so obvious in her regard for him. But he’d use it to his advantage.
“Miss Posenby, I am delighted to find you here. Tell me your dance card is not yet full!”
“It isn’t. I’m free for the next set,” she said.
She was likely free for all the sets. Pretty but dull, she lacked the wit or the fortune to be truly successful in society. But she was pretty enough and graceful enough to spark envy in Miss Wyverne. That was all he required of her.
“Then we shall dance with more joy and abandon than any other couple present,” he said.
She blinked up at him, dazed. “Oh, dear. That sounds delightful.”
“It will be, Miss Posenby,” he vowed. “It will be.”
Offering the girl his arm, he led her toward the dance floor and didn’t bother to look back at Miss Wyverne. He didn’t need to wonder if she was watching. He could feel her piercing gaze on his back. Facing Miss Posenby, he smiled with all the charm he could muster, uncaring that he was making her feel as if he had intentions toward her or a tendre for her that simply did not exist. She was a pawn, after all, and pawns were meant to be sacrificed.
*
She had refused more laudanum. Despite her obvious pain, she’d been far more distressed by the confusion it caused than by any physical discomfort at the result of her injury. Cornelius had given up arguing the point and conceded that she could skip it provided she could go back to sleep without it, but if she were awake for more than an hour, she’d take another dose of the foul liquid. That agreement had been hard won.
Now, as he watched her slumber fitfully, Cornelius felt the corners of his lips tug upward in a reluctant smile. No doubt she had willed herself to sleep. If there was one thing he was quickly learning about Primrose it was that she had a will of iron. The thing he remained confused of was whether she feared all men, just him, or if it was something in herself that prompted her panicked response. Regardless, he’d seen the fear in her eyes and he had to wonder if it was something they would ever truly overcome. For his part, most of the women of his acquaintance were overjoyed at the prospect of marriage. Or perhaps it was simply the prospect of weddings? Maybe the marriage itself took second place to lavish breakfasts, cakes and a new gown and pretty posies.
Women were an enigma to him, but none more so than the one he was now set to marry. Marriage. He had only a faint recollection of his parents together. From what he could recall, his father and mother had been fond of one another, but he could not say whether his father had been faithful to his mother or whether she had even desired that he would be so. It obviously had not been a great love, but he didn’t think they were entirely without regard for one another. Though in the aftermath of her death, his father’s self-destructive behavior and willful hurling of himself into every form of debauchery might have been grief. Or it might simply have been the freedom to do so without a wife to embarrass and scoldings to suffer.
Love wasn’t something he’d considered as part of his future, but marriage hadn’t been either. For what it was worth, he desired her, he admired her. He found her compelling and intriguing. But he didn’t know if that constituted a foundation for love or simply infatuation. Regardless, he hoped that they would at least deal reasonably well with one another and not embark on a life of misery and strife together. As goals went, it was modest, but only on the surface.
Cornelius didn’t know how to be close to people. It was one of the many reasons that he was so astounded and curious about the relationships between the Collier siblings. He didn’t have the same ease with Nicholas as they did with one another. He had few close friends aside from a few school chums he now saw very infrequently. It had seemed easier in the aftermath of the scandal to simply remove himself from society other than that of his newly found half-brother and the few individuals that were part of Nicholas’ circle.
In retrospect, it was easy to identify the cowardice in his actions. The word burned in his mind, representing a weakness in himself that he despised. It was also one that he meant to eradicate. If his plan to secure the safety and security of Prim’s future, as well as Lila’s and the others, they would have to go back into society. The more people who knew her, the more people there would be to question if something terrible should happen to her, was all for the better. She needed enough attachments within the ton that she would become untouchable for Samford.
The thought of Samford made him furious. With his earlier fear for her, the shocking realization that they’d very nearly been murdered while in his charge, he hadn’t yet let the emotion of it all take him over. But in that moment, had Samford been in front of him, he would have put a pistol ball in the man just as he had Grantham five years earlier. To protect her, he would do what he swore never to do again. He would take a life if need be.
Prim stirred, rolling from her back to her uninjured side. In the process, she came to face him, offering ample opportunity to study the delicate symmetry of her features. Yes. He would do whatever was required to protect her. And perhaps they did not love one another, but she was not immune to him. Of th
at, he was certain. Whatever the source of her reluctance to embrace the carnal aspect of their marriage, he would conquer it. Because somehow, in the short span of time he had known her, possessing her had become as imperative to his continued existence as the very air that he breathed.
Chapter Twenty
Lord and Lady Wolverton returned to Wolfhaven just as Prim and Lord Ambrose were preparing to depart. Prim hadn’t been quite certain what to expect, having invaded the home of an earl and his countess. But the remarkably pragmatic Lady Wolverton was a revelation.
“Oh, dear. We need a traveling gown for you. That will never do. And mine would look like they were made for a child on someone with your enviable figure,” Lady Wolverton said softly as she tugged at her lower lip in a thoughtful manner.
“I will be fine in the gown borrowed from your maid,” Prim insisted. “You’ve been far too kind already.”
Lady Wolverton waved a hand dismissively at that. “Do you know that my husband rescued me running from my abductors in the woods that bordered this estate? Then, his late wife’s clothes were still here and could at least be cut down for me to wear. Sadly, we’ve gotten rid of all her things—for obvious reasons—and now I wish I had at least kept some of them. They would have fit you perfectly… because you cannot leave this house in the company of the lord you are betrothed to looking like a housemaid.”
Prim’s eyebrows rose in shock. “I did not tell you that we were betrothed!”
“My dear, you have spent two nights unchaperoned in this house with Lord Ambrose. Of course you are betrothed. He is a gentleman and anything less would be unacceptable,” the countess said softly. “Now that I think on it, I believe that I have some things stowed in one of the other bedrooms that belonged to my sister-in-law, Elizabeth! She’s much closer in stature to you. They are somewhat out of date and had been intended as a gift for my maid as they would not fit her own. I’ll have them fetched and we’ll get you turned out in a somewhat presentable fashion.”
“It isn’t necessary, Lady Wolverton. We are only returning to Avondale.”
“We are not, actually,” a deep voice interjected from the door.
Prim looked up to see Lord Ambrose standing there. The sunlight filtering in through the windows struck the dark waves of his hair, showing the hints of copper hidden in the depths of it, along with a few stray strands of silver. “I don’t understand… are we to head for Bath then?”
“No. We shall go on to London. I’ve sent word to Aunt Arabella and to your sister to apprise them of our plans. They will join us in London before the week is out,” he answered. “Wolverton was kind enough to lend us the use of his carriage. Something about repaying an old debt, I believe he said.”
Lady Wolverton smiled rather enigmatically. “Your father was a very dear friend to my husband,” she offered by way of explanation. “Will there be a large wedding, Lord Ambrose, or a private ceremony?”
“Private, I think,” he said. “Though I daresay a wedding would not be remiss. Perhaps, we shall plan a celebration of our nuptials at a later date. If so, we shall be certain to send an invitation to you and your husband.”
“Am I to have no say in this at all?” Prim demanded, furious that he and Lady Wolverton seemed content to discuss the matter as if she were not even present.
Ambrose glanced over at her. “You already did have a say… and you said yes, for reasons we both are well aware of. I don’t need to remind you, Primrose, that it is in everyone’s best interests to behave expeditiously.”
He didn’t, of course. She remembered that conversation only too well. With it came the memory of another encounter, the one with Lord Samford and the cold hatred in his eyes when he had spared a glance at Rowan. “Of course.”
“There is a modiste on Bond Street… Madame Le Faye. You will go to her and tell her that I have sent you. She will find something appropriate for Miss Collier to wear as a bride. It would not do for her to marry a peer in a cast-off gown,” Lady Wolverton said.
“We will see to it,” Ambrose answered. “If you are free, Primrose, I thought we might walk for a moment in the gardens before we depart.”
“Of course,” she agreed, wondering what pressing details he did not feel he could reveal in front of their hostess.
Lady Wolverton draped a borrowed shawl over Prim’s shoulders, the fine paisley a sharp contrast to the rough woolen dress that one of the maids had given her to wear as her traveling costume had been beyond repair.
Following him from the room, she stayed close to him on the stairs, taking them more slowly than necessary. But as she was still feeling somewhat dizzy from the blow to her head during the carriage accident and from being abed for two days, it was a welcome respite. Once they were clear of the house, walking along a graveled path in what had obviously once been a lush formal garden and was well on its way to returning to its former glory, Prim stopped. She stood in the center of the path and demanded, “What was so pressing and what required such discretion, Lord Ambrose?”
“As we are to be married by the end of the week, Primrose, I think it is time you called me by my given name… Cornelius.”
“Tell me what has happened, Cornelius,” she insisted.
“I’ve received a letter from Nicholas just this morning, delivered by one of his grooms who rode out before dawn to bring it here. Samford has gone to Bath. That is why we are making for London now. It’s better to move quickly before he has a chance to regroup and plot another attack. Apparently, there was quite a scene at the Assembly Rooms last night. He miscalculated the desperation of Miss Wyverne to be his bride and his tactics to inspire jealousy in the girl have apparently turned her off him entirely, according to the gossips at any rate. That means he will have to persuade her, somehow, that he’s not the bounder he appears, or he’ll have to find a new heiress altogether.”
“Then he will be entirely too busy to pay any attention at all to Rowan or to me! There is no need for us to proceed with this farce,” Prim stated. If that sentiment prompted a spark of disappointment to bloom within her she would not give it credence by acknowledging it.
“On the contrary, Primrose. There is every reason to continue as planned. If he can turn the tide with Miss Wyverne, any further setbacks would surely prove permanent. That makes Rowan’s existence, and yours, an even greater threat to him than before. Fredrick Hamilton is an innately vain creature, Primrose. He is wicked to the core and assumes that all others are like him. He will never cease to see you and Rowan as threats because, if the tables were turned, he would be using that information to its full financial advantage.”
There was a universal truth in his assessment. Wicked people always saw their own wickedness in others. It was that which allowed them to continue their misdeeds without guilt or fear of reprisal, because they believed, inherently, that they were “normal.” Hadn’t she witnessed that herself as a child with the men that her mother would entertain? Men who would look at her with their wicked intentions written plainly upon their faces and their seemingly impervious beliefs that she welcomed such attentions.
“I see. Then we shall proceed as planned,” she conceded, ignoring the renewed fear she felt at the prospect as well as the conflicting relief. Her thinking was so muddled by him that she no longer knew what she wanted!
He reached into his pocket and produced a small leather-covered box with an ornate clasp. “I returned to Avondale this morning and retrieved it. The ring belonged to my mother. It was one of her favorites and I thought it would suit you.”
Prim released the clasp on the box and raised the small coffin-shaped lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a pretty gold band set with a generously-sized sapphire ringed by small diamonds and flanked by pearls. It was the loveliest thing she’d ever seen. It would certainly be the loveliest and most valuable thing to ever grace her person. “It’s too much!”
“You don’t like it then?”
“Of course, I like it! It’s beautiful… but
this ring is worth more than I can possibly imagine.”
“I didn’t give it to you because of its worth, Prim. I gave it to you because my mother treasured it. And when I was a boy, she told me that I should one day give it to my bride.”
His bride. “You should not have to marry me out of obligation. You should be able to marry who you choose, where your heart leads,” she whispered hoarsely. “Your mother would likely have been mortified to see you tying yourself to the bastard daughter of a doxy!”
“I am marrying as I choose, where my heart has led me. I will finally be part of a family, as I’ve always wanted. As to the other, you are not your mother. Her sins are no more yours than my father’s are my own.”
“And yet we both struggle to atone for them, do we not?” Prim walked away from him then, easing herself down onto the small stone bench nestled against the hedges. “You behave properly and above reproach because you’ve no wish to be compared to a man who couldn’t be bothered to behave appropriately or responsibly in his life. And I—”
The silence continued for a moment, until he prompted, “And you what, Primrose?”
“And I avoid men. I avoid being alone with them. I avoid conversation and flirtation and entanglement. I have spent my life doing everything I can to discourage their interest because I am terrified that I will make her mistakes and find myself in some dingy room begging for the scraps of a man’s love or worse—bartering my body and the shattered bits of my soul for a few coins.”
Those words, the broken admission that she’d dared only whisper to her sister, hung between them. Not even the distant sounds of birds calling could break the spell of silence. After a long moment, he took the box from her, lifted the ring from it and placed it gently on her finger. When he did so, he finally spoke, his words a solemn vow. “That will never be your fate, Primrose. On my soul, it will not be. You may count on one thing… I will see to your welfare. You and your siblings.”
The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (The Lost Lords Book 6) Page 13