by Anna Bradley
Finn stared at her, once again shocked into silence. She didn’t want to be a marchioness? It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. His preference for Lady Honora, his mistress, his shocking preoccupation with silk scarves and blindfolds—she could have given any number of reasons to justify jilting him he would have no choice but to accept, but that?
“Doesn’t every lady want to be a marchioness?”
She let out a heavy sigh. “No, they don’t. But even if I did aspire to the title, I wouldn’t…I don’t want to be your marchioness. I won’t be—that is, I don’t think I can do justice to it, or to you.”
Finn continued to stare at her, amazed. She was beautiful, accomplished, clever—a diamond of the first water. Why should she think she wouldn’t make a worthy marchioness? “I don’t understand. I chose you because I believe you’d bring honor to the title.”
“No. That isn’t why you chose me. I heard you say it yourself, Lord Huntington. You chose me because you want a lady with no inconvenient passions, no troublesome temper, and no surprises hidden under the surface. At one time I thought I could be that lady, but now…well, that’s not me, and it never can be. I can’t be the perfect marchioness, and I’ll only make us both miserable if I try.”
“What kind of lady are you?” It wasn’t what he’d meant to ask, and even as the words left his mouth a part of Finn hoped she wouldn’t answer. She wasn’t his—not yet, and right now, that was the only answer that mattered.
“The kind that doesn’t become a marchioness. If we marry, you’ll regret me as your choice, Lord Huntington. Not today, perhaps, but someday.”
Finn didn’t argue, because he couldn’t deny it was true. He wanted someone predictable, steady, who’d behave with propriety like a marchioness should, a lady who’d never surprise him, and never challenge him. That was why he’d chosen Miss Somerset in the first place. Because she was naïve, docile, predictable—
Except she wasn’t, and she never had been. She was intelligent and complex, intriguing and spontaneous, and in Finn’s eyes, it made her a less suitable choice for a wife, not more so.
They stood there in the middle of the room for a long, silent moment after that, until Finn roused himself, and cleared his throat. “These ladies who don’t become marchionesses, Miss Somerset. What do they become?”
But he already knew the answer. The ton wasn’t kind to young ladies who flouted the rules. Waywardness led to gossip, and gossip led to ruined reputations.
She shrugged, but the gesture looked forced. “Spinsters, I suppose.”
A strange feeling coursed through Finn then, something more hopeless than anger, or even regret, because whether she ended up a spinster or the wife of a man who didn’t care for her, it would be less than she deserved.
But she’d have him, because she had no other choice, and neither did he. “A spinster, ridiculed and sneered at by the ton. Such a sad fate, for a lady who could be a marchioness.”
A smile drifted over her lips, but it was a sad one. “I’m willing to take that risk.”
Finn turned away from her, but when he reached the door to her bedchamber, he looked back, and his gaze caught and held hers. “I’m not.”
Chapter Eight
“There’s something shocking going on, and I demand to know what it is at once.”
Lady Annabel stepped from the breakfast-room onto the back terrace and gave Charlotte and Julian, who were seated at the table, an expectant look.
“What is it this time?” Charlotte was pouring more tea, and Julian was turning over the pages of The Times. Neither of them bothered to look up.
“Whatever do you mean, this time?” Lady Annabel dropped into a chair and held her teacup out to Charlotte. “This is the first interesting thing I’ve seen since I arrived in Hampshire. Goodness, the country is dull.”
Charlotte raised an eyebrow at her. “You only arrived yesterday, Annabel.”
Julian peered over the edge of his paper, his lips quirking into a grin. “Shocking events seem to sprout from the ground at your feet, Lady Tallant, so I can’t say I’m surprised to find you’ve already stumbled across one. Go on, then. What is it? Did you see the butler kiss the housekeeper?”
Lady Annabel’s eyes widened hopefully. “No, indeed, but if they’re having a scandalous liaison, I’ll be sure to watch more closely.”
“Not so much a liaison as a marriage. Ten years now, I believe.” Julian gave Lady Annabel a teasing smile.
Lady Annabel rolled her eyes. “No talk of marriage if you please, Captain West. The only thing duller than a happy marriage is a country house party, and I refuse to suffer both at once. But back to this shocking development I’ve witnessed. Aren’t either of you the least bit curious to know what it is?”
“No.” Julian straightened his newspaper with a brisk snap, then retreated behind it.
“Go on, then. I’ll hear it.” Charlotte waved a desultory hand at Annabel, clearly more tolerant than she was interested.
Lady Annabel nodded toward the wide lawn just off the terrace, then leaned toward Charlotte and lowered her voice. “They’re all out there together, playing at bowls.” She whispered the last word as if it were too scandalous to speak aloud.
“That is scandalous.” Julian lowered a corner of his newspaper and squinted at the group assembled on the lawn. Violet was speaking to Lord Derrick, who was standing near the green, balancing a bowl in his hand as he waited his turn. Lady Honora was wandering at the edge of the garden with Lord Huntington, her arm in his, and Iris was laughing at Lord Wrexley, who was engaged in all manner of wild antics, tossing his bowls in every direction, and falling into melodramatic fits of despair when they invariably flew wide of the jack.
“Lovely day for bowls,” Julian said. “Pity we’ll have to put a stop to it, but we can’t let them carry on like that right on our back lawn, Charlotte. The servants will gossip.”
Charlotte watched her guests for a moment, then turned back to Annabel with a puzzled expression. “Is that all?”
“Well, it looks perfectly innocent at first glance, but there’s something strange—”
“Why, it’s indecent!” Charlotte interrupted with a gasp. She patted her fingertips against her chest in feigned shock. “My goodness, Annabel. The next thing I know you’ll be telling me they’re all taking tea together in the drawing room.”
Lady Annabel frowned at Julian, who was chuckling from behind his paper. “This is Hampshire, Charlotte, not London. I’d be delighted to offer a more salacious scandal, but I’m afraid this is the best I can do. But I assure you, it’s the most suspicious game of bowls I’ve ever seen. I tell you, something odd is going on.”
Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t see what. It all looks ordinary enough.”
Annabel tossed her head. “Fine. If you insist, Charlotte. I just find it curious Lord Huntington should be sneaking about the hedges with Lady Honora, when he’s meant to be betrothed to Miss Somerset.”
Julian folded his paper with a sigh, and tossed it onto the table in front of him. “Miss Somerset is engaged with Lord Wrexley at the moment.”
“At every moment, Captain West.”
The three of them watched in silence as Lady Honora and Lord Huntington disappeared into the garden together. Iris didn’t spare them a glance, but carried on with her game with Lord Wrexley, who made no secret of his admiration for her, or his satisfaction at having her full attention.
“Lord Wrexley has been flirting with Miss Somerset all morning, and there goes Lord Huntington on a private jaunt with Lady Honora, and neither of you find that the least bit odd? Because it seems to me as though more than one party has misplaced their betrothed.”
“Now you point it out, it does look a little strange.” Julian’s eyes narrowed as Lord Wrexley slid his palm under Iris’s elbow.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,”
Charlotte began, but then her brow furrowed. “Though I’ll grant you Lord Huntington and Iris don’t behave as if they’re betrothed. I don’t think I’ve seen them exchange more than five words since they arrived, and there’s something…not quite comfortable between them.”
Lady Annabel snorted. “No, indeed. They act as if each believes the other has the pox.”
“Annabel! Hush, will you?”
“Well, it’s the truth, Charlotte. I’ve seen barnyard cats who are friendlier than those two. What do you suppose is the matter? Perhaps Huntington has jilted her now Lady Honora is free of that odious Lord Harley. Dear God, what a scandal that would be. Did Lady Chase say anything about it?”
“Not a word, except Iris had been suffering from low spirits ever since Lord Huntington came up to scratch. She suggested the house party, thinking it would soothe Iris’s nerves if she became better acquainted with Lord Huntington before they wed. Lady Chase is anxious to see the business finished without any difficulties.”
“Yes, well, it looks as if it might be finished, indeed.”
“Oh, dear.” Charlotte gave her husband an anxious look. “Julian, do you suppose there’s anything we can—”
“Miss Violet! A word, if you please?” Lady Annabel called, rising to her feet and beckoning to Violet. “There’s how you’ll get your answer. Whatever the trouble is, you may be sure Miss Somerset confided it to her sister.”
A few moments later, Violet mounted the shallow steps to the terrace, and greeted them all with a smile. “Good morning. How may I help, Lady Tallant? Perhaps you’d like to join us for a game of…” She trailed off as she noticed three curious pairs of eyes fixed on her. “What is it? Why are you all staring at me?”
“Oh, it’s nothing at all, really. Do have a seat, dear.” Charlotte waved Violet into a chair, and passed her a cup of tea. “It’s just we were wondering—”
“Whatever is going on between Lord Huntington and your sister?” Lady Annabel interrupted. “Has he jilted her?”
Violet’s head jerked toward Lady Annabel, the becoming pink color draining from her cheeks.
“If Huntington’s jilted her, then he has no business being at Hadley House.” Julian rose from his seat. “I’ll have an explanation from him this very minute—”
“No, Captain West!” Violet held out a hand to stop him. “It’s not…Lord Huntington didn’t—”
“I’m telling you, he’s jilted her.”
“Annabel!” Charlotte gave Lady Annabel a warning look, then reached out to touch Violet’s hand, her voice softening. “Violet, dear, we’re meant to be their chaperones during the house party. If something’s changed between them, you must tell us at once.”
Violet bit her lip as her gaze moved between them. “Oh, dear. I don’t like to tell Iris’s secrets, but I suppose you’ll have to know sooner or later. It’s rather drastic, I’m afraid.”
“How drastic? As drastic as being jilted by London’s most sought-after marquess mere weeks before your wedding? As drastic as that?”
Violet shook her head. “Lord Huntington didn’t jilt Iris, Lady Tallant, though in the end the result is the same. She jilted him.”
There was a dumbfounded silence as they all looked around the table, as if each of them expected the others to offer some explanation for this shocking development.
Lady Annabel was the first to recover. “You mean to say after weeks of courtship, the Marquess of Huntington—a marquess, mind you—made Miss Somerset an offer of marriage, she accepted him, and now she’s jilted him? But why?”
Violet gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. Iris refused to say.”
“Violet,” Julian began. “If you know more than what you’re saying—”
“Truly, Captain West, I only know what I’ve told you. Iris hasn’t ever kept secrets from me before, but the rift with Lord Huntington happened a week ago, and she only told Lady Honora and me yesterday, in the carriage. She wouldn’t say anything other than she jilted him.”
“Oh, dear.” Charlotte wrung her hands. “She’s encouraged his suit for weeks, and agreed to the match! What would make her jilt him now, and with no explanation?”
“I wish I could tell you, but Iris said only Lord Huntington didn’t care for her, and she’s jilted him. She wouldn’t say anything more.”
“She jilted a marquess because he didn’t care for her?” Lady Annabel’s voice was incredulous. “Oh, you can be sure there’s more to it than that. No lady refuses the chance to become a marchioness on such a flimsy excuse.”
“Yes, I think that’s true of most young ladies, but then Iris has never been much like most young ladies.” Violet paused, considering this, then added, “At least, she never was before we came to London.”
Charlotte exchanged a look with Lady Annabel. “What do you mean?”
“The shock of our parents’ deaths, then the move to London a year later…well, it wasn’t easy for any of us, but it was particularly difficult for Iris. She became a celebrated belle almost overnight, with all of London scrutinizing her every move, and, well…there are so many rules for unmarried young ladies, aren’t there? She’s been so terrified she’d make a misstep and disappoint our grandmother, I think she’s quite lost herself.”
Charlotte made a sympathetic noise, but then raised a hand to her forehead as if to hold off a sudden headache. “But Lady Chase must not know Iris has jilted Lord Huntington, or she never would have suggested I invite him to Hadley House.”
“No, Iris hasn’t told her. I don’t excuse Iris—it’s very wrong of her to keep it secret—but as much as our grandmother loves us, she can be a rather stern taskmistress.” Violet shook her head. “She’ll go mad when she finds out.”
There was another silence, then Lady Annabel sighed. “Jilting a marquess with no explanation? This will end badly for Miss Somerset, I’m afraid.”
“Iris told us yesterday she plans to encourage Lord Wrexley.”
“Lord Wrexley?” Lady Annabel asked, her tone sharp.
Violet glanced at her, her brow furrowing when she noticed Lady Annabel’s sudden frown. “Yes. It will help smooth things over with our grandmother if she has another suitor to replace Lord Huntington, and Lord Wrexley admires Iris.”
A tense silence fell over the table, then Charlotte forced a smile and laid her hand over Violet’s. “Thank you for telling us the truth. You may return to your game now. It looks like Lord Derrick is waiting for you.”
Once Violet had gone, Charlotte turned to her husband with a groan. “Goodness, what a muddle. Iris has broken with Lord Huntington, and now Lord Huntington looks as if he’s chasing Lady Honora, and Lord Wrexley is chasing Iris, and she’s encouraging him!”
“Yes, it looks as if she is, doesn’t it?” Lady Annabel was watching Iris and Lord Wrexley, a frown still marring her brow.
Charlotte exchanged a look with Julian. “You look as if you don’t approve of Lord Wrexley, Annabel.”
Lady Annabel jerked her gaze back to Charlotte. “Nonsense. I never met him before yesterday. Miss Somerset’s best chance now is to make another match. Lord Wrexley isn’t a marquess, of course, but in such desperate circumstances, an earl will have to do.”
“I only hope Lord Wrexley will do for Lady Chase,” Charlotte muttered. “She was so delighted Iris was to become a marchioness.”
“Well, I daresay two countesses are nearly equal to one marchioness.” Lady Annabel nodded at Violet. She’d accepted Lord Derrick’s arm, and the two of them were walking toward a folly at the far side of the garden. “There’s something afoot with those two, as well.”
“What?” Julian gazed after Violet with a look of dawning panic. “Don’t tell me Lord Derrick is enamored of Violet?”
“Oh, no. Not to worry, Captain West. He isn’t.”
Julian blew out a relieved breath. “Good, because two
complicated love affairs is more than enough for one house party—”
“I said he’s not enamored of her, Captain West.” Lady Annabel took a calm sip of her tea. “I didn’t say she’s not enamored of him.”
Julian stared at her with horror, then covered his eyes with his hand. “Bloody hell.”
Charlotte groaned again. “It’s like a game of blind man’s bluff, with all the players bumping into each other.”
“Or a game of chess.” Lady Annabel’s gaze drifted back toward Iris and Lord Wrexley. “Perhaps this house party won’t be as dull as I feared, after all.”
* * * *
“You bounder!” Lord Wrexley exclaimed as his ball once again flew wide of the jack. “Why won’t you do as you’re bid?”
Iris watched as the ball spun off the edge of the green. “You’re throwing it too hard, my lord.”
“It’s not my throw, I assure you. It’s the jack. It keeps moving, and I’ve no idea how, because I haven’t yet tossed a ball that’s gotten anywhere near it.”
“I noticed that, Wrexley. I don’t think this is your game. Perhaps you should leave the green before you hurt someone.”
Lord Huntington’s tone was unforgivably rude, but if Lord Wrexley were irritated, he hid it under a lazy smile. “I think I’ll have another go, if you don’t mind, Huntington. Here, Miss Somerset—is this how you hold the ball?”
Iris moved closer to study his grip, then shook her head. “I believe you’re holding it too tightly, my lord. Mind the curve, as well. It controls your direction. Do you feel the curve, just here?” She took his other hand and placed it on the ball.
“Indeed I do. Is my palm meant to cradle the curve?”
“No. The ball should rest on your fingertips, like this.” She slid the ball forward in his hand, then moved his fingers into the proper place. “Haven’t you ever played bowls before, Lord Wrexley?”