Michael turned to her and she had to look away from the anger in his eyes.
“How dare my father treat you thus.”
His anger proved what an honorable man he was, but Beth knew what she had to do. “It is how it should be. The duke has given us the excuse to call off the engagement.”
“Beth, no. My father is a snobbish idiot. There is no one who is good enough to marry his son.”
She pressed his hand to silence him. There were too many ears around. “Give me a few minutes to freshen up and then you can take me home. It is time to return to reality.”
“I will not stand for my fiancée to be treated like this.” His voice was tight, harsh.
She leaned close. “I’m not your fiancée.”
With that she turned and made her way to the retiring room. She needed a moment of peace to gather her wits and lick her wounds. She entered the opulent room and found it blessedly empty. She sat in one of the chairs and buried her face in her hands but the tears didn’t come.
The rational side of her brain told her things couldn’t have happened in a better way. She’d been given the cut direct from the Duke of Stafford. If he did not approve of the match it was doomed. She could break off the engagement and disappear to her house in Holborn and Michael could marry where he wished. But, dear God, it hurt. She wrapped her hands around her stomach as if she could hold the pain back. It hurt so much.
“Miss Bishop, isn’t it?”
Beth looked up from her seat to find Lady Cassandra Hamilton in the room. Her dark eyes glared at her, her pert nose in the air. The woman had come to do battle and Beth was too wounded to fight much longer.
Chapter Twenty
Langston was so furious with his father he could hardly contain the urge to punch something. Stafford had gone too far this time and Langston was done. He waved down a footman. “Where is the Duke of Stafford at this moment?”
The footman paled. “In the card room, my lord.”
Michael moved toward the room, his only intent to pound some sense into his father. How dare he treat Beth lower than a bug beneath his foot. Perhaps she wasn’t a titled lady or a member of the ton, but she was worthy of at least his politeness and respect.
He ached that Beth had to endure this degree of snobbishness. He also realized his own pride had brought this upon her. Like a child wanting a toy, he’d pushed to have her as his. He was just as much to blame as his father, but he had changed. He realized the only thing that kept them apart was an outdated class system.
“Langston, you can’t go in there half-cocked. It will only make matters worse,” St. Clair said grabbing his arm.
“I have to deal with my father.”
“Think about what you are doing. Already the gossips are flaying Miss Bishop as an upstart, fortune hunter, and worse. To approach him here will only make things worse. Do you want the papers flaunting a family argument across the gossip pages tomorrow?”
“Did you see what he did to her? He cut her in the middle of a ballroom. Cut her because she was with me. How is that right?”
“He cut her because of her class. Not because of you, but if you go in there defending her, you’ll only incite a riot.” St. Clair grasped his shoulder.
“Perhaps it’s time to incite a riot. What he did was wrong.”
“I’m not defending him, just trying to have you see reason. You will only hurt Miss Bishop more if you continue in this manner. Come with me. You need a drink.”
Michael followed St. Clair into the library, anger still churning up the acid in his stomach. The blinders had been ripped from his eyes. He’d looked around that ballroom filled with people he’d known his whole life and felt betrayed by every single one of them.
The library was dark and quiet, the book-filled walls muting the noisy ballroom. He collapsed into a leather chair and buried his face in his hands. He had thought bringing Beth here would show her she could fit into his world, but the worst had happened. She’d been ostracized. “What was I thinking to bring her here?”
St. Clair handed him a glass of whiskey. “You love her and want to find a way to make it work. I’m just not sure it will.”
“You don’t seem to have issues with those idiots out there.”
St. Clair sipped his whiskey. “I have more money than the King of England, so your type tolerate me. Miss Bishop is poor and a woman. Women can be the most vicious especially to one of their own sex.”
“Her father was a baronet.”
“In society’s eyes, she isn’t worthy to become a duchess. If you marry her, she might be accepted but not welcomed. She’ll be tolerated as will you. I’m not sure you realize how difficult it is to always be looked down upon by your so-called betters.”
“I can’t lose her, St. Clair.” Michael tossed back the whiskey letting it burn its way down his throat and settle in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Allow me to take Lady Bishop and her daughter home. Stay and put out the fires. You’ll have to deal with your father on your own terms. If you plan on marrying this girl, then prepare for the worst. Eventually, Society does forget our origins when title and money are involved.”
“You make us sound like a shallow lot.”
St. Clair shrugged. “Most are. I was luckier than Miss Bishop. I had nowhere to go but upward. She was in society before, then reduced to working for her bread, only to be rescued by you. See it from her eyes, Langston. She probably did not move in these circles when she was a debutante and she lost even that. Now you are expecting the ton to treat her as if she were already the duchess.” St. Clair shook his head. “It was a recipe for disaster.”
“I have created a hell of a mess.”
“Yes, you have.”
Michael played with the glass in his hand, his brain racing for a solution to fix this bloody mess. He had caused Beth this pain, this embarrassment, and it gutted him. Would she ever forgive him? But there was one thing he could do tonight. “I have to deal with my father tonight. I cannot let him think he can get away with treating Beth in this manner.”
“Deal with him if you must, but make sure Miss Bishop isn’t here when you do it. She will be the one who suffers the consequences of your actions.”
Michael slumped in his chair. “I don’t understand why this has to be so complicated. I love her. I want to spend my life with her. What is wrong with that?”
“Spoken like an entitled gentleman. This is how the world works. Like marries like. Those who don’t, suffer. People don’t want their world polluted by inferior blood unless there is a great deal of money at stake.”
Michael glared at St. Clair, not wanting to accept his view could possibly be the truth. “That’s a very cynical view.”
“Very few of us cross the class lines. The reason it’s not done very often is because it’s hard and it’s painful. Think about it. How would you feel if you had to live like Miss Bishop has? If you were reduced to a mere hundred pounds a year or less? No servants, no fine chef. You’d have to build your own fires and make your own bread. How would you cope?”
“Probably not as well as Beth has done.” He closed his eyes, picturing her making tea for them. “She is amazing.” Pride filled him as he thought of all she had accomplished despite her difficulties. “Why can’t we celebrate those who overcome?”
“You can, just move to America.” St. Clair said easily. “It’s said there the self-made man is celebrated.”
Langston looked at his friend. “I’m surprised you’ve not gone then.”
“I prefer to push the limits of society here. There is a great deal of satisfaction to be gained at shoving Society’s hypocrisy up their own arses,” St. Clair said with a smile. “Besides, this is home.”
Michael pulled himself up from the chair. “I best find my father and deal with that outcome. Thank you for seeing Lady Bishop and Beth home. I know Beth will want to escape as quickly as possible. I will have to find some way to make this up to her.”
“Of course. I’ll take care of it.” St. Clair said. “If you do decide to pursue her, prepare yourself. It won’t be easy for either of you.”
Michael nodded. Never in his life had he been so ashamed of being titled, something he’d come by because of his birth, not through any work on his part. He wanted so badly to walk away from all of it, but he couldn’t. There were tenants who depended upon him, there was work that needed to be done in the House of Lords. He could not walk away, but he couldn’t go on as if none of this had happened. He had changed. His first step in acting upon that change would be dealing with his father.
What the man did was beyond the pale. Stafford had preyed upon an innocent woman.
Michael stood and faced St. Clair. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being a friend regardless of how snobbish I’ve been.”
St. Clair laughed. “Someone had to open your eyes to a larger world. I had hoped it would be me, but I think Miss Bishop is the true catalyst.”
Michael had to agree. He followed St. Clair out of the quiet room and into the hallway. St. Clair moved toward the stairs and the retiring room where Beth was and Michael made his way to the card room. If his father was still at the ball, he’d be there. The man couldn’t resist the game. It has been the problem all along and the reason Stafford had pushed for him to marry a wealthy heiress, so he could replenish the coffers from his father’s addiction.
He entered the room closing the door behind him. There were several tables set up with card games. Smoke hung heavy in the noisy room. The clink of decanters against glassware pinged through the noise of overloud laughter. Men of his class doing what they did best— drink and gamble away what little they had. Was this what becoming a gentleman was about?
Langston found his father at one of the tables in the back of the small room playing cards with a few of his old friends. As Stafford threw his hand down in disgust, Michael moved to his side. “A word, sir.”
Stafford looked up and frowned. “Whatever it is can wait. Can’t you see I’m playing here?”
“More like losing more of my inheritance from the looks of it. This won’t take long, but it will not wait.”
The cold fury in Langford’s voice had Stafford cursing as he pushed himself away from the table and stood. “Let’s get this over with.”
It was the kind of comment Langston was used to from his father. The duke still considered him an inconvenience unless he complied. Langston led the way to another corner of the room where they could talk privately, but he felt every eye in the room on him. They were as bad as women waiting for a juicy bit of news. He was so sick of it all and couldn’t wait to escape.
“Say what you’re going to say and then go dance with the Hamilton chit. Her father is still waiting on the proposal.”
Langston tightened his arms, afraid he would slam a fist into the man’s face. Losing his temper, punching his father in the card room of the Danielson ball was not going to help Beth. He glared at his father, his chest back, head high. “Your behavior toward my fiancée is not acceptable, Your Grace. I will not tolerate it.”
“That guttersnipe is no more your fiancée than I am. The announcement was fake, put in by her mother.”
Michael shouldn’t have been surprised his father knew this. “How did you find out?”
“Do you really wish to know?” Stafford laughed. “I see from your expression you do not. No one tries to force a Stafford to marry.”
“Except another Stafford.”
His father laughed and Langston wanted to grab him by the throat and throw him against the wall. Langston leaned close and kept his voice low. “Hear me well, Your Grace. I plan to marry Miss Bishop. Disown me, gamble away the family fortunes. The only person you are hurting is yourself. I will not dance to your tune any longer.”
“You will have nothing.”
Langston shrugged. “So be it.”
“You’d give away everything for what? Love? Mark my words in five years you’ll be regretting you made such an inappropriate match.”
Langston straightened and pulled on his waistcoat. “I doubt that. You see, Your Grace, that woman has more compassion, more strength in her little finger than you and the rest of our lot have in our combined spines. You hide behind entitlement thinking you can shape the world any way you want. It is 1825 and the world is changing, father, and if you don’t change with it, you’ll be left behind.”
“I will not be spoken to in this manner,” Stafford roared as his face turned red.
Michael glanced around the room and found every man’s eye upon them. “Careful father, you’re playing to an audience.”
“This is not over. I will not have my orders disobeyed.”
“I’m no longer a child under the bully’s thumb. Do what you wish. I’ll not change my decision. Good night, Your Grace.” He moved to cross the room, glaring at anyone who glanced his way. He was so sick of the lot of them. He was angry with himself for following in his father’s footsteps instead of being his own man.
He longed to see Beth to make sure she was well, that she didn’t take what these fools thought to heart. He hurt for her, and he knew she had been right all along about the ton’s reception of her. She knew this would blow up in their faces, yet he had to push. He had to prove her wrong. All he had done was hurt her further. He’d be lucky if she ever forgave him.
Chapter Twenty-one
Beth rose from her seat and faced Lady Cassandra Hamilton. The woman was beautiful and Beth felt dowdy and plain next to her. Would Langston marry this woman if his honor had not provoked him to marry her? Doubts crowded into her brain, but she pushed them aside. This young woman in front of her stood as if to do battle with her. Did she not realize the war was over? Beth would creep back into her little house on Red Lion Square never to be seen again. “Yes, I am Miss Bishop. And you are?”
Her brow wrinkled in irritation. “I am Lady Cassandra Hamilton, but you know that, don’t you.”
“Perhaps.” Beth strove to keep her tone cool, her demeanor bored. “If you will excuse me, I must attend my mother.”
“A moment, Miss Bishop.” It was a command, not a request. This woman was used to getting her way.
“If you insist.” Beth knew she was rude, but rudeness didn’t seem to matter these days if the actions of the Duke of Stafford were any example.
“I hear you are engaged to Lord Langford.”
Beth drew herself up and raised her chin. While she might be ending the engagement, and have no desire to enter into the company in this house ever again, she couldn’t help but goad Lady Cassandra and her snobbish ways. “Yes, I am.”
Suddenly, it mattered a great deal to Beth that she thwart this woman who stood before her as if she were better than everyone else in London. She put her drawers on the same as Beth did. They might be made of a finer material, but the actions were the same. Beth had suffered under this sense of not being good enough almost her entire life and she was done. Anger surged through her from the years of enduring the snide remarks and the cuts direct. She felt herself grow taller, more confident and she embraced it. This woman would not get the best of her. Not this time.
Lady Cassandra moved closer, her voice low and angry. “I don’t know what you did to force his hand, but you cannot be engaged. He is engaged to me.”
Beth laughed. “I imagine I only did the same as you. I loved him.”
Lady Cassandra laughed. “You think he will marry you for something as trifling as love? You have no idea how this world works, Miss Bishop. The agreements have already been drawn up. We are only waiting to set the date for our wedding.”
“I am sorry for you, Lady Cassandra.”
“Me, why should you feel sorry for me?”
“Because you are missing out on the one true gift given to us in this world— having someone love you. You’ll never know the joy or the comfort that can bring. If you will excuse me, now I must find my mother.” Beth
pushed past the startled young woman to the door.
“You will not have him. His father won’t allow it.”
She turned back. “You are mistaken, Lady Cassandra, if you think Langston will allow anyone to control his life and decisions, including his father. If you are looking for a husband you can lead by the nose, you are in for a rude awakening with him. He will be controlled by no one. Not you. Not me, and certainly not his father.”
Lady Cassandra lifted her chin. “Mark my words, Miss Bishop. If you choose to pursue this ‘engagement’ for lack of a better word, you and your mother will be ruined. No one will accept you. No one will call on you. The invitations will cease.”
Beth smiled. “Then it’s a good thing I put little stock in such nonsense, isn’t it? Good night.”
Beth left the room and closed the door behind her leaving Lady Cassandra Hamilton alone. She was shaking with anger. The need to escape was now paramount. If she stayed much longer surrounded by the hypocrisy of it all, she might just snap and smack someone. She moved toward the ballroom to find her mother. They’d walk home if they must, but she was leaving.
“Miss Bishop!”
Beth turned to find St. Clair walking quickly toward her. “Mr. St. Clair, what are you doing here?”
“Trying to find you. Langford asked if I would see you and your mother home. My carriage is waiting out front. I’ve already assisted your mother. She is quite upset and taking the gossip very badly, Miss Bishop.”
Beth looked around for Langford. “I was hoping to speak to Langford before I leave.”
“He is busy putting out the blazes the gossips have stirred up. Someone has let it be known your mother put the announcement into the papers. He begged me to see you home to spare you both any further embarrassment.”
Beth’s heart sank. The fat was in the fire now. She should have listened to her own instincts and withdrawn the engagement when it came out. “We should leave then.”
St. Clair offered his arm and Beth took it. He walked her toward the front of the house taking the least populated route, but they couldn’t avoid everyone. Loud whispers and comments were thrown at her and she ducked her head. St. Clair grew tense beside her. They reached the entrance way and St. Clair released her arm. “I’ll get your cloak.”
The Art of Seduction (Kings of Industry) Page 13