The Luck of the Bride--The Cavensham Heiresses

by Janna MacGregor

  “As do I, my lord.” March pushed her anxiety aside. This was a night to celebrate, and she didn’t want any of her self-doubts to color her happiness for her sisters’ successes.

  The earl escorted her back to her sisters where he took Julia’s hand for the following set. Faith had promised to dance with Lord Haledrone. Dr. Kennett had worked miracles with Faith and her leg. No one would be surprised if he made an offer for her beautiful sister.

  Soon, March stood alone, but she didn’t feel lonely. Instead, she gazed about the dance floor with the knowledge that tonight signaled the next phase of the Lawson sisters’ lives, one that promised a bright future. A sudden serenity, almost a lightness lifted her spirits higher, one she recognized as pure unadulterated happiness.

  Michael was the cause. He’d made their dreams come true. Her mood suddenly buoyant, she had to find him and thank him. When she turned, everything within her stilled. Lady Miranda stood before her.

  “Miss Lawson, may I have a word?” Her honeyed voice carried softly without the malice she’d possessed at the dressmaker’s shop.

  “Of course.” It would do no good to refuse the woman, yet that didn’t keep March’s wariness from sounding the alert. This woman didn’t think very highly of her or her sisters as was evidenced by her comments at Mademoiselle Mignon’s shop. Whatever she wanted to say, March wouldn’t let it ruin her wonderful evening.

  Lady Miranda dipped her head with a hint of shyness. “I wanted to apologize for what I said that day at Mademoiselle—”

  “Please, my lady, there’s no need. Let’s not mention it.” The night certainly was turning into one filled with surprises.

  “That’s very gracious,” the young woman offered. “Perhaps I might call on you this week.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” March’s gaze swept through the ballroom. She found Michael still conversing with his father and Lady Miranda’s father. Whether Lady Miranda truly wanted to start anew or it was an effort to bring her into the marquess’s good graces made little difference. The young woman would be a part of Julia’s social acquaintances, and March didn’t want for any ill will between Lady Miranda and her to jeopardize Julia’s new life.

  As she chatted with Lady Miranda, a commotion arose in the front of the ballroom. There were so many people crowding the front that March didn’t pay much attention. The clucking and squawking of discontented voices grew louder until it sounded like a pandemonium of parrots had taken over the ballroom. She chanced another glance. Her cousin Rupert was storming across the ballroom with two men on either side of him. One was the host of the evening, the Earl of Carlisle, and the other was his heir, Lord Radley.

  She smothered a cry, and her gaze flew to where Michael had been in conversation. Neither he nor the duke were anywhere in sight.

  Her cousin was less than fifty feet from her and making his path quite clear.

  He was coming for her.

  Desperate to find Michael, she searched the ballroom perimeter. In every corner, she found only strangers and acquaintances. Even her sisters and Lord William were absent. Her heart pounded against her chest with such force she was certain her ribs would crack.

  She pivoted on one foot to search behind her, but a gloved hand grabbed her upper arm and swung her around. As if Rupert wanted her to fall, he pushed her away.

  “You lied to me,” he snarled. “You lied to all of us.”

  Too consumed with trying to stay upright, she backed away from him.

  Lady Miranda gasped and inched away from March as if to protect herself from the carnage about to spill on the floor. Guests moved closer to the spectacle, their croaking murmurs growing in volume. With their formal wear, the crowd resembled a gathering of carrion-eating ravens ready to feast.

  “What are you doing?” March hissed. She had little option but to force him to withdraw before he embarrassed her sisters and Michael. He’d done a fine job of disgracing her, so there was little she could do to save herself.

  Rupert ignored her and addressed the crowd that pressed closer. “This woman has been stealing from my cousin, Lord Lawson, and his fine sisters. It’s been going on for months, and unfortunately, the Marquess of McCalpin’s been a victim too.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but her cousin continued his diatribe.

  “This woman is a fraud, an embezzler, and is using my poor little cousin, Lord Lawson, as a shield to hide her nefarious purposes.” His voice grew louder as the audience kept expanding into a huge circle around them.

  By then, Faith and Dr. Kennett had forced their way to the front of the group. Julia and Lord Queensgrace had followed. March had to force herself to breathe as the cold knot inside her chest tightened. Her heart thumped madly as if encouraging her to pick up her skirts and run away.

  Rupert closed the distance between them with an unholy gleam in his eyes as he glanced at Julia with Lord Queensgrace. It became readily apparent Rupert would not stop and planned to destroy her before the assembled crowd. Never before had she felt so defenseless as she searched the faces among the throng, praying she’d find Michael.

  Her cousin tightly gripped her arm again. With a tug, he forced her closer, and the odor of sweat surrounded her. For a moment, all she could think of was whether her beautiful gown would survive his contamination.

  “Ladies and gentleman, this woman is not who she represents herself to be,” he boasted.

  Julia bravely stepped forward. “Rupert, stop.”

  Lord Queengrace stood directly behind her in support.

  Rupert ignored them all. “She’s immoral and a sinner. She’s tainted my family with her filth. She represents herself as a Lawson, but her actions prove otherwise. She’s allowed a known sodomite to live with her and corrupt my cousins.”

  She tried to pull herself from his grasp. Desperate, she needed to escape the sea of faces that twisted in contempt and disgust. The seconds turned into hours as her cousin continued to berate her.

  Where was Michael? Surely, someone told him that she was being destroyed in front of the entire room.

  The only sound that rang in her ears was Rupert’s continued sermon on her wicked immorality.

  “She’s a bastard fooling us all. It’s a lie she’s the eldest of Lord Lawson’s proud and noble family.” His cool, bug-eyed glare continued to assault her. “And I have the proof.”

  The words, sharp as an arrow, took perfect aim and pierced every piece of her self-control. The hard pounding of her heart stopped as her entire world exploded into a million pieces.

  * * *

  The ugly rant grew louder and harsher the closer McCalpin came to the altercation taking place center stage in the ballroom. The orchestra still played, but no couples danced.

  “Pardon me. Let me through please.” Desperate to reach March, McCalpin pushed his way through the densely packed crowd. He managed to bump into quite a few gentlemen, but thankfully didn’t step on any ladies’ toes. He continued his litany of apologies, but that was the least of his concerns. His only path was to find March and the madman, who continued to hurl his unrelenting chant of ridicule.

  The crowd parted slightly, allowing Julia’s pale face to come into view. McCalpin continued to press toward the center until he caught sight of March’s raven-dark tresses, the soft curls about her head as familiar as his own hands.

  With a face white with shock, Faith stood on one side of March. She stepped forward to face the man who was berating her sister, but Queensgrace, next to Julia, put his hand on Faith’s shoulder to stop her progress, the act so protective that it caused McCalpin’s blood to pound. An unholy demon rose in strength, and the urge to rip the miscreant who insulted March grew stronger. He fisted his hands and shouldered his way to the front.

  The sight made him want to roar.

  March, his March, stood cornered like a fox before the hounds, who were masked as the demigods of society. Except for her sisters, everyone else stood by as she was torn to shreds.

  H
er eyes narrowed in pain, and she glanced his way not seeming to recognize him. Her crimson cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Frantic, her gaze shifted from face to face as if seeking escape.

  Faith and Dr. Kennett shifted so McCalpin could stand beside her. The raw need to take her in his arms overpowered him, but he fought back. He couldn’t offer her comfort until he stopped the massacre that was tearing her apart.

  He stopped slightly in front of her so Rupert Lawson directed his tirade at him. “What is the meaning of this?” he snarled with his best sneer.

  The crowd immediately stepped back at the words. No one wanted to be in the direct path of his anger. He surely resembled a roaring fiend, and he didn’t give a farthing.

  Lawson’s eyes flashed red. Filled with hate and anger, his demeanor bore a striking resemblance to a rabid dog, ready to attack anything or anyone. “My lord, it’s most fortunate you’ve arrived. You above all others have been duped by this woman’s immorality.”

  The crowd murmured again.

  Lawson took it as encouragement and continued, “She’s a bastard and has been masquerading as the head of the family.” His mouth edged up in a mocking smile. “She was born a bastard and has no rightful claim to any of the family’s wealth or resources.”

  “Leave now before I rip you to shreds and carry you out piece by piece.” He kept his voice low, but the guttural threat must have reached Lawson’s ears since the man leaned back in response. McCalpin leaned forward. The unmistakable smell of depraved determination laced with sweat permeated the area.

  Lawson leashed his raging anger. “I have proof, my lord,” he offered solemnly. “A vicar from Chelmsford brought the evidence to my attention. The marriage record of the prior viscount and his wife clearly indicates that this woman isn’t who she claims to be.” He sniffed his dismissal at March. “She’s duped us all, I’m afraid. She stole from you, from Lord Lawson, and from his sisters. Indeed, by this woman’s lies, she’s injured my family.”

  The words seemed to have awoken March from her trance. She moved quickly so she stood between McCalpin and Lawson. McCalpin put his hand on her arm to draw her back behind him, but she shook off the effort.

  “You are despicable and speak nothing but lies,” she hissed. Her voice was soft, but the outrage was loud enough that he and Lawson could hear it. “I’m not surprised you’d say such vile things to me, but you’re hurting my sisters, and not to mention Hart.”

  Lawson licked his lips. “The truth of your sins and Pennington’s behavior shall not be hidden.”

  Pennington. Victor Hart was Victor Coeur Pennington. The air collapsed in McCalpin’s chest. Years ago, a huge scandal erupted over the close ties Pennington shared with the second son of the previous Marquess of Haviland, Lord Erlington. Now it all made sense what March had let slip in the yellow salon when Hart had left to attend his dying friend.

  It made little difference at this point. McCalpin’s only concern was to remove Lawson from the premises and calm March and her sisters over the devil’s dramatics.

  His father and William had managed to break through the crowd and reach their sides.

  “McCalpin, I grow weary of this man’s presence.” His father’s gaze pierced their host, Lord Carlisle, who stood by Lawson’s side. “Why hasn’t it been removed?”

  “Forgive me, Your Grace,” their host offered. With a snap of his fingers, two footmen appeared and grabbed Lawson by the arms to drag him out.

  Lawson shook them off and bowed to McCalpin’s father. “I’ll leave you peaceably to your evening, Your Grace.” With a growl he continued, “I’ll bring my proof to you, Lord McCalpin. Rest assured, I’ll not let this lying woman steal from you any longer.”

  As the footmen escorted Lawson out, McCalpin turned to March. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, but her face looked brittle as if it had cracked into a thousand lines of grief ready to crumble. The temptation to sweep her into his arms and caress her soft skin became overpowering. However, since they were in a ballroom where every guest had their attention glued to them, McCalpin tamped down the urge to offer such comfort.

  His father leaned close to March and smiled. “It would be best if you and McCalpin dance. You need to show these people that nothing is amiss.”

  Trust his father to provide wise advice.

  “Come, March, it’s a waltz,” he whispered. The orchestra had already started the opening bars.

  She let him lead her out to the dance floor, but he wasn’t certain she was even cognizant of where they were or what she was supposed to do. Still pinched in pain, her face was frozen, and her movements were stiff as if still in the throes of shock.

  He coaxed her into position, and the music swelled in volume. Few couples joined them on the ballroom floor as the crowd seemed to wait with bated breath for another catastrophe to befall her.

  She stared off into the distance, not focusing on anything, her limbs rigid in his arms as he twirled her around the floor.

  “March, look at me,” he demanded.

  The low command finally broke through whatever wall she’d erected to protect herself. Her brown eyes brimmed with uncertainty.

  “Michael,” she whispered as if suddenly aware he was there. The small silvery voice penetrated deep within his chest, and his protective instincts took over.

  What he wouldn’t give to take her away to a private place and hold her until her fright and shock melted away. He’d kiss her until she relaxed in his arms and found the comfort she so desperately needed.

  He squeezed her hand and smiled.

  She answered with one touched by sadness.

  He continued to lavish attention on her as they danced by themselves in the center of the ballroom. Time and again, throughout his life, he’d experienced a moment similar to this—a moment where everyone would silently relish his defeat.

  “Believe it or not, I know exactly how you feel. You need to show these people that Lawson didn’t upset you. Show them you don’t care. Otherwise, every paper in London will have a stinging description of what just occurred.”

  Her anemic grin only made him more resolute. He had to protect her, but the only way he could accomplish that was if she’d play along with him.

  “My cousin Claire went through something very similar when her fourth fiancé broke their engagement at the Season’s most important ball. She almost collapsed under the embarrassment, but Pembrooke swept in and declared they were engaged.” He squeezed her hand in reassurance. “I almost killed him for that, but it was a blessing in disguise for Claire.”

  As if in reflex, she squeezed his hand in return. A jolt of relief hit him, and for the first time in minutes, he relaxed and took a deep breath. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes searched his at the endearment. He smiled in reassurance as she flushed but remained silent.

  “Now Emma was a walking scandal,” he whispered.

  Lines creased her forehead as if she didn’t care for his description of his sister.

  He lifted one brow in challenge, and she dipped her head. He’d never seen her so unsure of herself, and he didn’t care for this new side of her. Always, her strength was one of her most beautiful traits, and it never ceased to enchant him.

  McCalpin leaned close. “She was caught traveling in Portsmouth with Somerton. When they arrived back in town, she faced complete ruin.”

  With a slight tilt of her head, she regarded him with a questioning look.

  “Indeed.” He nodded and leaned close as if imparting a state secret. “She survived the endless gossip posted about her wild and wanton ways.”

  The first real glimmer of hope brightened March’s face. He grinned, and she answered him with one of her own, a genuine hint of pleasure that pleased him to no end.

  “In fact, because of one scathing article in The Midnight Cryer, she ended up marrying the love of her life. To this day, she reads that poor excuse of a daily paper out of loyalty as she credits their reportin
g for her happy marriage. Sometimes good things come from the most wretched scandals.” He brought his mouth close to her ear. Her sweet scent caressed him, and he started to relax in return. “Of course, you’ll survive this too. But it’s important that you show everyone here tonight that it doesn’t matter.”

  She leaned away slightly with a beautiful grin that didn’t meet her eyes. “But it does,” she whispered. “Rupert’s lies will forever stain my birthright and legacy. He’s maligned me and my family.”

  “It only matters to the ones who feed upon such vicious nonsense,” he answered.

  “What about you?”

  “Sweet March.” He shook his head, determined to make her understand. “Not to me. Never to me.”

  The warmth in her eyes caused his pulse to race in his veins. The sudden whirl of their turn caused the train of her dress to swing in a dramatic movement, drawing their audience’s attention to focus on their dance steps. He took the distraction as an opportunity and brushed his lips gently against her head as he turned her in another direction.

  His touch precipitated a true smile, one that reminded him of the heavens opening on a cloudy day and sunshine spilling around them.

  The sound of his own laughter encircled them as the music slowed to a stop. He tucked her arm around his and escorted her across the ballroom all the while laughing, talking, and ignoring the rest of guests.

  He let out a sigh of relief. She’d survived the humiliation.

  Proving what he knew all along.

  She’d make an excellent marchioness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The following morning, three copies of The Midnight Cryer lay upon March’s bed along with Faith and Julia. The crisp snap of turning pages broke the eerie quiet. They were all speechless. Except for a couple of articles describing last night’s ball, the entire paper was a running exposé on March and her supposed lies she’d used to make her way into the Langham household.