“Yes, I know.”
“Do you?” He lifted his brows.
Miss Croft turned to lean her shoulder against the seat and her head on the cushion so that she was facing him. “I believe everybody in London knows where The Marquess of Spencer and his family live.”
She knew who he was, then. “And how is it that we’ve never met before, Miss Croft?”
She shrugged but did not lift her head. Her blink was a bit too long. She must be sleepy as well. “I suppose with all the lovely ladies of the haut ton surrounding you, you could hardly be expected to remember one ordinary debutante in her first Season.”
“Nonsense. I would have noticed you immediately.” It was impossible that they’d been at the same functions and he’d never seen her. Why, her eyes alone would have arrested him with simply a glance. He yawned. “Did you attend Lady Mattingly’s Ball?”
She nodded.
“Of course you did. All of London was there. Quite a crush, wasn’t it?”
“Very crowded, indeed.”
He studied her. “I find it shocking that I do not remember you. Did you play the pianoforte? Or sing?”
“You would certainly have remembered if I did, my lord. I am quite dreadful when it comes to the musical arts.”
He scanned his mind, trying to place her singularly lovely face at the ball. “Describe your gown.”
“Blue.” Her lips twitched the slightest bit, which he found extremely adorable.
“I have heard ladies go on for hours about the most minuscule details of an article of clothing, and all you have to say is blue?”
She shifted her head and blinked a few times as if trying to keep herself awake. “The gown was neither pastel, nor vibrant. Rather a regular color of blue. The style was not daring, nor was it frumpish. Lace adorned the sleeves and neck, but it was not extravagant, just lace. And I wore a gold ribbon in my hair.”
“Ah, there is a very important detail that I believe you deliberately omitted. The gold ribbon.” He waggled his brows.
“And even with such a sensational accessory, you do not remember me, my lord.” She pouted her lip.
He could tell she was teasing, but he wished he could say he’d seen her. For the life of him, he’d never laid eyes on the woman before this night. “If I had, I would have not forgotten.”
She glanced at him and then away, and he wondered if in the flickering light of the lantern he had seen color rise in her cheeks. She pulled her cape tighter around her shoulders and settled back on the cushion. A small smile pulled at her lips. “Perhaps they should install water features at society gatherings. They seem to bring out one’s best attributes.” She closed her eyes as she spoke, and her words came slower and grew softer. “And in the future, we should be sure to recognize one another at any event, but only if we are dripping wet.”
He chuckled to himself and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking it would be lovely to dance with Miss Croft at a ball. He would pay a visit to her family tomorrow to make sure she was well, and then visit her as soon as he returned to London in a few weeks. Perhaps take her for a ride through the park or to Vauxhall Gardens when it was not a muddy bog hole. His thoughts grew more colorful and less defined. He imagined how it would be to dance with Miss Croft in her blue ball gown. She was surely a fine dancer. And her small size would fit perfectly into his arms. He found it harder to catch the images as they swirled in his head. Perhaps they would even waltz at the Prince Regent’s ball. Or any ball really, as long as there was music and blue gowns and miles of golden ribbon.
A bang jarred him from his stupor. He squinted against the sunlight streaming into the carriage and tried to remember where he was. He must have fallen asleep. How long had he slept?
Miss Croft sat up, and Jonathan was suddenly completely awake as he remembered where he was and whom he was with. At the same time, he realized she’d been leaning against him as the two slept together. Her hair, dry now, was mussed, and she rubbed her eyes sleepily, looking from him to the carriage doorway.
A red-faced man stuck his head through the opening.
Jonathan twisted. He thrust an arm in front of Miss Croft to protect her from the intruder.
The man looked between them, his eyes pulling into a fierce scowl. “What in the blazes are you doing with my daughter?”
Chapter Two
Maryann blinked at the bright sunlight that came through the open carriage door behind her father. As her mind cleared, the impropriety of her situation immediately became evident, and she sat up as straight as possible on the leaning bench, folding her hands in her lap. She’d spent the night alone in the company of a man! Her face burned. Not just in his company, but nestled against him with her cheek on his shoulder.
Lord Rensfield slid along the bench, moving as far away from her as the space would allow. “I beg your pardon. I did not realize we had fallen asleep. Is it indeed morning?” His voice was raspy with sleep, and he rubbed his hands over his face, then craned his neck to see through the door.
“Maryann!” Her father leaned through the doorway and reached past Lord Rensfield. He grasped her arm, pulling her up the inclined floorboards and out of the carriage.
Once outside, her father looked her over. “My dear, are you all right? Did that man . . . do anything inappropriate?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all. Lord Rensfield was simply—”
He grabbed on to her arm, leaning his face close. “Did you say Lord Rensfield?” His brows shot up, and he darted a glance toward the open door of the carriage.
“Yes, he offered assistance when the wheels were stuck in the mud. Surely Tom told you.”
Her father grew silent for a moment. “Wait by the hackney.” He gave her a small push and turned back to where Lord Rensfield was climbing out of the leaning carriage.
She stepped carefully through the mud and puddles until she reached the firmer ground of the path where a hackney coach waited. At the sound of horses, she turned and saw Tom and another servant leading the carriage horses and the earl’s fine animal toward them.
Once he was standing on solid ground, Lord Rensfield straightened his waistcoat and ran a hand through his messy hair, perhaps wondering what had happened to his top hat.
Maryann watched him for a moment, a blush stealing over her cheeks as she thought of the way he’d come to her rescue last night. She’d, of course, seen the handsome son of The Marquess of Spencer on numerous occasions, but always from a distance. They had never been introduced as their families shared few, if any, mutual acquaintances. The Earl of Rensfield and Miss Maryann Croft belonged to very different social circles.
His blond hair that seemed determined to fall where it chose, feathering messily back from his forehead, his broad shoulders, dimpled chin, and deep brown eyes had been a regular topic of discussion among her friends. But none of them ever dreamed that the most eligible bachelor in London would pay them any attention.
She thought of his silly conversation about her gown the night before as they’d become drowsy and the way he’d moved to protect her when the banging of the carriage door startled them awake just now. If she had been alone in her bedchamber, or perhaps with Jane, she would have allowed herself a dramatic sigh. He was every bit as charming as she’d imagined.
Lord Rensfield approached Maryann’s father. “And what is your name, sir?”
“Rupert Croft.” He put his hands on his hips, his eyes squinting in a scowl.
Maryann could not imagine why her father was so angry. His actions were entirely against his nature. He should be grateful to Lord Rensfield for rescuing her; not to mention, propriety dictated that he act with more respect toward a high-ranking Peer of the Realm.
The earl didn’t seem to notice her father’s aggressive posture and held out his hand politely. “Pleased to meet you. Jonathan Burles, Lord Rensfield.”
“I don’t care if you’re the Prince Regent.” He spat out the words and pointed a finger at Lord Rensfield’s f
ace. “How dare you muddy my daughter’s reputation in such a fashion? Taking advantage of her innocence.”
“Father!” Maryann could not hold back her outburst or control the scarlet heat that seared her cheeks.
The earl glanced at her quickly, then returned his gaze to her father. His courteous expression hardened. “Mr. Croft, I’ll have you know nothing untoward happened. I simply did not wish to leave the young lady alone and unprotected during the storm. I did not realize assistance would take so long to reach us.”
Her father shook his head. “A likely story. You’ve tarnished her reputation. What will happen to her now? She’s ruined.”
Maryann had never seen her father behave in such an angry fashion. He’d acted worried when he pulled her from the carriage, but now his expression seemed utterly furious. She didn’t know what to make of the change.
“I hardly think her reputation is tarnished.” The earl’s voice was low, and his brows pulled downward. “She was treated with the utmost respect while under my care.”
Maryann could not remain silent any longer. “Father, he speaks the truth. And nobody will gossip. Few people even know the circumstance. Only the servants, and—”
“I’ll hear no more from you.” Her father pointed at her, barking his words. A dangerous look entered his eyes. Maryann pulled back, surprised by the vehemence in his expression.
He turned back to the earl. “Honor requires you to marry her.”
Maryann gasped.
Lord Rensfield did not shrink from the glare or show surprise at her father’s words. He worked a muscle in his jaw and pressed his lips into a tight line. After a moment, he turned to Maryann. “Very cunning. You no doubt planned this entire thing.”
The calmness in his voice did not match the fury burning behind his eyes. Maryann felt as though she had been struck. She took a step toward him, pressing a hand to her breastbone. “My lord, I did not. I would never . . .” Her words choked in her throat.
“Clever plan, the carriage stuck in the mud. A ruse no doubt, designed to snare an unsuspecting gentleman. And then the servant conveniently does not return until the morning. Very ingenious.” He turned away, and the muscle in his jaw jumped. “Should have trusted my instinct and kept driving,” he muttered.
“I shall expect you to do your duty, sir,” her father said.
Maryann felt tears threatening, but held them back. “No, Father.” Anger and humiliation churned hot inside her chest.
Everything had been so perfect. Lord Rensfield had come to her rescue. He’d teased her, laughed with her, they’d gotten on well, and she had thought there was a chance he might call on her. With their shared adventure, he would certainly not ignore her if they met at a ball or garden party. Perhaps he would have even asked her to dance. But it was all ruined now. He thought her deceitful, and knowing that she’d lost his good favor made a lump grow in her throat. She would not have him forced to marry her against his will. “I do not want to marry Lord Rensfield.”
“You should have thought of that before allowing yourself to be lured into this compromising position,” her father said.
“Father!” Maryann stepped toward him and laid a hand on his arm. “I was not lured into anything.” Her face burned. “It is all a misunderstanding.”
Her father shook off her hand with a forcefulness that made her nearly lose her balance on the uneven ground. She took a step back and, for the first time in her life, was frightened of the man who had raised her.
“The lady is correct, sir,” Lord Rensfield said. His eyebrows had shot up at her father’s rough treatment, but returned almost immediately. “Her reputation is intact, and if you’ll excuse me . . .”
Her father glared. “Is this how The Marquess of Spencer’s heir acts? Doing whatever he desires and taking no responsibility for it? Perhaps I should send for a constable, or maybe the newspaper would listen to my complaint. What would your father think should he hear of this?”
Lord Rensfield held her father’s gaze for a long moment. He glanced at Maryann, then back. His expression did not change, but he blew out a breath through his nose. “Very well, sir. I will act as honor requires. One of us at least knows what it is to be a gentleman.”
The earl did not glance again toward Maryann as he walked to where the servants and the hackney driver were pulling his curricle from the drying mud.
Raising her gaze, she saw a look of extreme satisfaction on her father’s face as he walked past. She felt as if the world around her had begun to shrink, and a wave of panic flowed over her.
“I shall have my solicitor draw up the marriage papers in the next few days.” Lord Rensfield did not turn when he spoke to her father.
“Tomorrow. It shall all take place tomorrow. I’ll not have you leaving town and reneging on your duty.”
At that, Lord Rensfield did turn. His gaze, which had held such warmth the night before, was cold. He lifted his chin, and his eyes were mere slits. “I am a man of honor, sir.”
Her father stuck his fists on his hips. “Tomorrow. I insist upon it.”
Maryann could not listen any longer while they discussed her as if she were a problem they were forced to contend with. Having nowhere else to go, she ran to the carriage and climbed inside, not caring that she had to hop to reach the step or that she practically tumbled through the door.
Her father had trapped a man she was fond of, forcing him into an arrangement that would make him despise her. And now any chance of finding out whether Lord Rensfield could have ever cared for her on his own was spoiled. She pressed her hand over her mouth, not knowing whether a sob or her supper from the night before was trying to push its way free. She looked out the window on the far side of the carriage, wishing there was somewhere she could go. If only she could escape these men and the utter mortification that felt like a dense, cold corset twisting around her and squeezing the breath from her lungs. If she could have figured out a way to harness the horses, unstick the wheels, and drive the carriage away without the men seeing her, she would not have stopped until she reached Scotland.
Chapter Three
The next morning, Maryann looked out the same carriage window, blatantly ignoring her father, who sat across from her, and her stepmother, who sat beside her as they drove toward the church.
Her father had been quite pleased with himself when they returned home, bragging to his wife about what he’d done. His typical easy attitude had returned the moment he and Maryann left Hyde Park, and it was all too apparent that his anger at the earl had been a performance. Maryann thought he would have a promising career in the theater if he ever grew weary of his dull life in Ashford.
She’d pleaded with both of her parents to call the wedding off. But she realized they would not be moved. Both were delighted with her father’s accomplishment and refused to listen to her protests.
There was no scandal—Maryann was certain of it—and the idea of being attached to a person who was so obviously loath to be with her made her insides cold. How would Lord Rensfield treat a wife he did not want? Would he serve her with a writ of divorcement? Ignore her completely? Tell the rest of the ton how unhappy he was?
Her childish dreams of an affectionate marriage now seemed silly. She would be surprised if Lord Rensfield ever forgave her for ruining his life so completely.
As servants scrubbed the muddy boards and upholstery of the ill-fated carriage, Lord Rensfield had sent his solicitor with documents for her father to sign along with a very impersonal letter that indicated he had purchased a special license and given the location and time of the wedding.
Just thinking of Lord Rensfield’s face the day before brought a pain to Maryann’s stomach. She wrapped her arms around her middle, holding tightly to push the ache deeper inside.
Her father cleared his throat. He stretched his arms across the back of the seat, looking as happy as if he’d just placed a wager on a winning horse. “Well, my girl, I must say I’m impressed. You caught yourself a
title.”
She did not point out that if anyone had done the “catching,” it was he.
Her stepmother made a “hmph” noise. As usual, she was less than impressed with anything where Maryann was concerned. Araminta Croft was a pointy-faced, perpetually disappointed woman, who did not typically care to speak about anyone else in a positive manner. “Almost makes up for the disgrace of your mad sister.”
“She is not mad,” Maryann ground out, knowing her stepmother was hoping for an argument. “She is just troubled and needs to be with people who care about her. Shutting her into that place does not help at all.”
“That ‘place’ is no doubt where you were going last night?” Araminta said.
“The thunder. You know how it frightens her,” Maryann said. She pressed her eyes closed. “She needed me.”
Her father let out a sigh. “And Maryann loves to be needed.”
“Mind you don’t tell the earl of our disgrace. He’d not be pleased for such a humiliating scandal to blight his fine family name.” Araminta’s voice held a contemptuous tone.
Maryann wanted to say that Lord Rensfield already had a humiliating scandal, and that her family was the cause of it, but kept silent, seeing the wisdom in her stepmother’s words. She’d shamed the man enough.
“And now, Rupert,”—Araminta reached across the space to clasp her husband’s hand—“you shall not have to worry about Jane anymore.”
Maryann whipped around her head, forgetting her resolve to ignore her parents. “What do you mean by that?”
Maryann’s father kept his gaze on the street outside the window.
“Watching his daughter descend into madness has been very difficult on your father.” Araminta shook her head and gazed at her husband with pity in her eyes. “You shall have the proximity, not to mention the means to care for her—your marriage contract entitles you to a quarterly allowance that more than meets the financial obligation—and it will be much easier on all of us. I, for one, am determined to enjoy the Season without the worry that someone will discover that my stepdaughter is a lunatic.” She smiled, though her eyes remained cold. “And now that you and your sister are no longer our problem, we can afford to take a finer house and do the things we’ve always wanted to.”
Spring in Hyde Park Page 2