Maryanne scowled at him. He was repellant. He deserved to be castigated the way everyone did poor Werner. Yet, his title made him immune to such niceties as good manners and decent behavior. Where Werner had to be better in every way than any man present here tonight, simply to be considered half as good, Freddie could be an out and out bounder and nobody cared. They flattered him and even admired his rakish ways.
Maryanne could kick herself for thinking, even for a moment, that he had heard what she said the other night, that she had seen the vaguest flicker of the boy he once was. She had been cruelly mistaken. He would not change. He probably could not change, not now. “If you will excuse me, Your Grace,” she said. “I must meet Lady Helena.” She swept past him, not caring if he protested. He would not be so uncouth as to try and stop her here amongst so many people. Even Freddie had limits to what he might do.
Maryanne hurried across the ballroom. Helena was sat at a table in the corner, nursing a small glass cup of punch. She looked a little preoccupied, her brows scrunched together in a thoughtful frown. “Better than Almack’s?” Maryanne asked with a grin, hoping to lighten her friend’s mood.
“Much,” Helena said. “It actually tastes of fruit.” They giggled. “I saw you got stopped by Freddie.” Helena raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, he didn’t want anything, just intended to cause a little mischief no doubt,” Maryanne said breezily, but even she couldn’t pretend that there was something about Freddie that still made her heart hurt. It was as if each time she saw him she was sixteen, unwell, and having to face the idea of being far away from him and her family with no clue as to when she would be permitted to return home.
Of course, Maryanne had finally been allowed to leave Switzerland. But it had been a year later and Freddie had grown up and apart from her. He had become someone she barely recognized, nor did she want to. His big, warm heart had become cold and unyielding. Once a sensitive and thoughtful boy, he had become a surly and selfish man. He sought out adventure and sensation rather than the connection and knowledge he had once craved. Maryanne couldn’t help it, even after all this time, she missed him.
Helena’s face had dropped again. She suddenly looked dreadfully serious. “Whatever is the matter,” Maryanne asked, sitting down and taking her friend’s hand.
Helena stared at her. “Dear Maryanne, I truly do not know how to tell you this and nor do I want to be the one to do so, but someone must before it is too late.”
“Tell me what? You can tell me anything. Do not tell me that Lord Percy has not proposed after all, that all those rumors were for nothing? If he has broken your heart, I will give him a piece of my mind.”
Helena sighed heavily. “No, well, I mean yes, dear Geoffrey has indeed asked for my hand and I did say yes. It was dreadfully romantic, even though I knew he meant to do it. He took me out onto the terrace just half an hour ago, got down on one knee, and begged for my forgiveness for not having asked me first. There were candles and flowers everywhere. He had the string quartet play the loveliest tune as he did it.”
“Oh, I am so happy for you,” Maryanne cried, “but, I do not understand, dearest. If he has asked and you said yes, why do you look so dreadfully unhappy?”
“Because he told me something that is going to upset you dreadfully,” Helena admitted.
“Then do not tell me it,” Maryanne said breezily. She wanted nothing to spoil her friend’s night nor her own.
“I wish I could not, I wish I could forget what he told me, but I cannot. Maryanne, he said that Mr Callender is a cad. That he has been trying to lure you into marriage, because he owes money all over town and needs to wed someone with a fortune, and fast, to appease his creditors.”
“Don’t be silly. I am sure he must have got mixed up,” Maryanne said dismissively. “Mr Callender is a wealthy merchant with an entire fleet of ships. He clothes every woman of means in London.”
“But he is also a gambler,” Helena said sadly, “and already married.”
“Now, that is simply nonsense. Mr Callender is no such thing.” Maryanne was no longer being dismissive. She was desperately trying to shut out every word her friend had uttered. It could not possibly be true. Mr Callender was simply too sweet, too kind, and too generous for any of what Helena had said to be true. If it was, it would make him worse than Freddie.
“It is true,” Helena assured her, “every word of it. Geoffrey got Mr Pooley to check everything once he found out. Nobody wants to believe it. After all, Mr Callender has given his vows to almost every man at White’s, including him. None of them will ever get paid.”
Maryanne felt as though the ground had suddenly become unstable. Her legs felt like jelly. She was mightily glad that she was sitting down, but she longed to get away, to be somewhere quiet where she might think about everything Helena had just said. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. She lurched to her feet and fled the ballroom, seeking the peace and quiet of the terrace. All the people she had to pass to reach the French doors seemed indistinct, blurs of light, her head was swimming so.
The air was cool and she took deep lungfuls of it as she reached her haven. She leaned against the balustrade, but her legs felt so weak, too weak to hold her slight weight. She sank down to the ground, clutching her knees in front of her and sobbed, wracking, wrenching sobs that made her ribs hurt. It wasn’t real. None of this was real. In a moment, she was going to wake up and find it was all a bad dream.
Maryanne heard the turning of a door handle behind her and the sound of a door opening. “Lady Maryanne?” a male voice called into the night.
“Go away,” she said, recognizing it at once. The last thing she needed now was to have to face Freddie Kerslake. She didn’t doubt that he would take great delight in seeing her brought low.
“I couldn’t help but notice you leaving. You trod on my foot,” he said, shutting the door behind him and coming closer. He had a glass in his hand, filled to the brim with claret. He handed it to her. “I thought you might need something a little stronger than the punch.”
She took a sip. It was fruity and rich, but it burned the back of her throat a little. She had never really acquired the taste for wine. “You might be right.” She took a deep gulp, then another and another until the glass was empty, gasping as the potent beverage warmed her throat and chest.
“Helena told you?” he asked gently, hunkering down beside her.
“So, you knew as well?” she asked. He nodded. She expected him to look exultant, but he looked strangely sad. “Why did you not tell me then?” Who else knew?” she demanded.
“Would you have listened to me?” he asked gently. She shook her head. “I thought not. I went to your Papa. It was why I came to your house the other day.”
“And he didn’t tell me, either?”
“Given that, you’ve ignored him every time he tried to warn you off the man, can you blame him for not wanting to have you shout him down again?” Freddie asked.
Maryanne supposed that he was right, though she would not give him the satisfaction of hearing her say it. “So, you roped in poor Helena. She just got engaged and then you gave her this to bear? She should be in there, dancing happily with Lord Percy, not sat in a corner fretting about how much she has just hurt her best friend.”
“Yes, she should and for that very reason, you should come inside. You should show her just how brave and incredible you are. This is Christmas and, though I know this probably does not seem much of a gift at the present time, you will see in time that we have all done you a good turn this day.”
“I do believe that already,” Maryanne admitted, “but it is still too painful. I am not sure I can go back in there and paint a smile upon my face as though there is nothing wrong.”
“Then you aren’t the girl I thought you to be,” Freddie said. “My Maryanne was always fearless. She would not ever let a mere man upset her so.”
Maryanne knew he was teasing her, but there was something comforting about his
calling her ‘my Maryanne’. “I stopped being that girl a long time ago,” she said sadly.
“And I that boy, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still in there, as you so wisely pointed out just the other night,” Freddie said softly, his eyes full of unexpected compassion. “However, if I know you, and I know you think I do not deserve that right any longer, I believe you would not wish for such a worm as Callender to see you broken. I fully recommend we show him that not only do you not care about him or about his lies but that you have already moved on.”
“However am I to do such a thing?” Maryanne asked, then gave a wry laugh as she saw Freddie’s eyes sparkling with devilment. “I think I see your plan.”
“There’s my girl,” Freddie said, a roguish grin upon his lips. “By dancing with me, you not only make Callender jealous as I am absolutely the pinnacle of everything he despises yet so desperately wishes to be, but you also give dear Lady Helena permission to take the pleasure she deserves too.”
Maryanne slapped him, playfully. “If I did not know you better, I’d say you fabricated everything just to try and make me think that you are the hero of this tale. That you did it to worm your way back into my good graces.”
“Oh, I am guilty as charged,” Freddie joked.
“But as I know that my disdain for you doesn’t worry you in the slightest,” Maryanne said, ignoring his amusement. “I can only assume that everything I have learned this night must be true. To think that I was going to elope with him this very night!” She paused, surprised that she had admitted to something so shameful to him of all people. But he did not look like he was judging her. He looked as though he truly cared like he used to and wished to be able to do anything he could to take away her pain.
“Given the circumstances, I shall dance with you,” she announced offering him her hand. “And, you must take the dances that Mr Callender had marked upon my card. I need to make my point, but I do not wish to make a scene.”
She grinned at him, but it was not a warm and friendly look. She filled it with all her venom and her anger. Freddie had set out to ruin this evening for her, for Helena, even for poor Lord Percy. He could try and convince himself that he had done it for Maryanne’s own good, but he would never have stirred himself if there was not something in it for him, of that Maryanne was certain. If she could precipitate a little revenge for everyone involved, whilst also getting some small measure of satisfaction for how Mr Callender had duped her, well, she would definitely take that opportunity.
Her revenge against Freddie would take further thought and would need to be much more diabolical. “You have caused this, Freddie,” she warned him, “and so if there are any repercussions to be had, then you can fend them off. Mr Callender might just challenge you to a duel and I can assure you that I would do little to dissuade him from it.”
Chapter Six
Dancing with Maryanne was a delight. Freddie could not ever remember enjoying a simple reel so very much. She was light-footed and executed each step with skill and precision. Each time her hand alighted upon his, he felt a frisson of sensation flood through him. His stomach was full of butterflies as though he was a greensick boy enamored of his first ever young woman. With each passing moment, Freddie was almost able to forget just how angry she was with him and enjoy himself in a way he hadn’t known in too long.
He had no doubt that they made a handsome pair as they were drawing all eyes. Freddie had to keep reminding himself to remain alert though. Werner Callender did not know that his secret was out and Freddie doubted that he would be happy to find another man had claimed his prize, especially when he found out who that man was. It would not matter to Callender that it was all a ruse, Freddie had no doubts that the man would not take the snub well.
Reluctantly, Freddie gave Captain Stevens Maryanne’s hand as the reel came to a close. “Keep your eyes open,” he whispered to the young soldier. Stevens nodded. There was not a man on Maryanne’s dance card who was not aware of the predicament, Freddie had made sure of it. He did not want her to be at risk at any moment. Freddie did not trust Callender. The man was a rat and he was cornered, the most dangerous kind.
Another three dances passed before Callender finally appeared. Without any idea of the trap that had been sprung around him, he made his way straight to Maryanne, clearly intent upon cutting in on her dance partner. Her face was tight, her body held even tighter as the weasel took her hand and kissed it. Freddie wished he was closer so he could hear her dismiss him. He did, however, have an excellent view and the man’s face was a picture as she refused to let him do so. He went puce with rage, though Freddie could see him clenching and unclenching his fists as he tried to fight the urge to strike out.
Maryanne turned back to the man she had been dancing with and Callender moved to the edge of the ballroom, his face black as thunder. Freddie made his way over to the man and stood in silence by his side, waiting. He did not have to wait long. Callender turned to him, his eyes wild with rage. “This is your doing,” he accused. “You’re the one on her card in my place, at any rate. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“Oh, I do so very much hope so,” Freddie said. “Whatever it is you think I may have done.”
“I don’t know what you have told her, how you’ve deceived her,” Callender fumed. “I won’t have you come between us, though, duke or no.”
“I have done nothing,” Freddie said, mildly amused by the man’s inability to see his own role in his downfall. “Mayhaps you should consider your own actions in life.”
“What possible business is it of yours, anyway? So, Lady Maryanne does not wish to dance with me. I am sure I will be able to fix everything.” Callender seemed suddenly very sure of himself again.
“Oh, she just told you she doesn’t wish to dance with you. Goodness! That is a lot of rage you carry for such a minor snub.” Freddie couldn’t help himself, teasing the man was just too much fun.
“I love her,” Callender protested.
“What?” Freddie asked. “As you do your wife? The mother of your infant son?”
Callender’s eyes flared wide and his face colored again. “What nonsense,” he bluffed.
Freddie laughed. “Are you going to deny all your debts, too? I’d think about that before you answer, given that I am just one of the men in this room that you have given your vows to and not one of them is happy to have found out that you don’t have a sous to your name.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Callender said, puffing himself up as if he might somehow be able to talk his way out of this if he could just find the right words. But, there could never be any right words.
“I’d leave now if I were you,” Freddie said calmly. “I know that the ton have many very silly rules. But, there are a few in this set that we hold to that are rather important. The first is that we pay our debts and if we can’t we own up to it, take our turn at Newgate, or ask for help. We don’t lie about it and try to ensnare innocent heiresses into eloping with us. By the way, if you had done that, Lord Colbert would have cut her off without a penny, just to make sure you never got your hands on her fortune.”
“He’d never have left her destitute,” Callender said, his eyes full of disbelief. “You society types. You make out you’re so much better than the rest of us, but no man should leave his children in poverty.”
“What? Like your choosing, Lady Maryanne over your wife and child wouldn’t have had the same effect?” Freddie asked, incredulous at the man’s hypocrisy. “You would have ended up in jail for bigamy. Your wife would have been out on the streets, through no fault of her own, because of your profligacy and Lady Maryanne would have been shunned and dishonored. You think that you are somehow more moral than Lord Colbert?”
Callender was spitting feathers, but he could do nothing about it. Freddie hadn’t felt so angry or so full of vigor in a very long time. He almost wanted the weasel to call him out. Killing this man would bring him no small pleasure, though it
was against the law and Callender was most certainly not Freddie’s equal. It would be wrong in every way for him to agree to a duel. “Leave, Callender. Don’t try and come back. You won’t be welcome anywhere.”
“I should call for satisfaction for this insult to my good name,” Callender spluttered.
“But you know it is no slur. You cannot possibly be aggrieved that I have accused you of being who you are. There is no slander here. In truth, I have been more than generous, as has every man here. Lady Maryanne is well-liked and that a man like you could have wished her ill has made a lot of people very unhappy. If I were you, I’d leave London to be safe. You’ll never sell so much as another fur muff here again.”
Callender muttered something under his breath and clenched his fists preparing to punch Freddie. The furrier looked up at the Duke who stood more than a foot taller than him. Freddie could see him change his mind and Callender stepped back a look of intense hatred in his eyes. He turned suddenly on his heel and fled the ballroom. Freddie felt like cheering, though he did not.
Leaning back against the wall, Freddie was glad it was all over, and with nothing more serious than a stern talking to. He looked over to where Maryanne was dancing with Lord Percy. His friend smiled at him and Maryanne nodded her acknowledgement of what he had done for her. She let her head sink down upon Percy’s shoulder and Freddie was sure that she was crying for he could see her shoulders shuddering ever so slightly. This evening was now free of Callender, but there was much to be done to fill it with Christmas spirit.
The next reel was called and Freddie made his way to claim Maryanne’s hand. Percy moved to find his bride-to-be and Captain Stevens went in search of Miss Ellington. Maryanne looked exhausted. “We could sit this one out if you’d prefer?” Freddie said, looking at her with concern. Though he longed to have her in his arms again, he chose to be unusually tender and unselfish. “Now Callender has left, there is no need to try and make him jealous, after all.”
Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset Page 38