Throughout the remainder of the journey home, Trevor had wondered if Caroline would still possess the effortless effervescence he found so appealing, or if she would conceal her guileless nature behind a bilious curtain of conventional conduct. The mamas of the ton had a way of stifling any inherent qualities in young ladies that most men deemed conducive to a pleasant union. To his infinite thanks, it seemed his intended would suffer no such deficiency.
Because the minute they locked gazes, Caroline had fallen flat on her derriere. Perhaps when next they met, he should offer to soothe what he considered a superior posterior. Staring out the window overlooking Park Lane, he chuckled. The chime of the mantel clock heralded the evening hour. After checking his appearance in the wall mirror, he headed for White’s.
The private rooms were filled by the time he arrived at the popular gentlemen’s club. Locating an empty chair in a quiet corner, Trevor procured a copy of The Times, ordered a brandy, and lit a cigar. He was half finished reading a lengthy article detailing the latest events from the front when a familiar baritone rang in his ears.
“Good God, my eyes must be deceiving me for I have yet to take a drink this night.”
Peering beyond the edge of the paper, Trevor smiled at the friendly face of the lone person he could always count on to be happy to see him. “Markham, you devil, how are you?”
“So it is you, Lockwood?” Lord Everett Markham glanced left, then right. “I am not hallucinating?”
“Aye, it is I.” They shared a vigorous shake. “And in the flesh no less.”
“Come now, how long has it been? Five years? Six?” Everett pressed a fist to his chest. “I say, I think I will have a drink. The shock, you know.”
“Still possessing a flair for the dramatic I see.” Trevor clucked his tongue. “Some things never change. You have not, by any chance, taken up a career on the stage?”
“Perish the thought.” Everett grimaced. “Though I daresay my antics pale in comparison with those of my brother.”
“Commiserations.” He frowned, and then waved down a passing servant. “Shall I order you a brandy?”
“By all means.” Markham commandeered a chair and hauled it to the corner. “Make it two.”
His classmate from Eton had long suffered in the shadow of his elder sibling, Charles, Earl of Woverton and future Marquess of Talbot. Being the second son had rendered Everett invisible to his parents, who focused their attentions and affections on the heir apparent. For them, abandonment was common ground, and as such, they had been joined at the hip since they were in shortcoats.
“Tell me.” Resettling himself in his seat, he stretched his legs. “Your parents, are they in good health?”
“I assume they are in very good health, but I do not have much contact with them nor do I care to. But let us leave that behind. So, what brings you to London? When last we spoke you swore this town off for eternity.” Everett arched a brow and grinned. “I do not suppose you have decided to fulfill your duties as earl and get yourself leg-shackled?”
Lips compressed, Trevor bit his tongue and looked his friend straight in the eye. The jaw-dropping expression with which he was rewarded proclaimed the truth had dawned.
“Marriage? You?” Markham blinked. “You can’t be serious.”
“But I am.”
“Truly?”
“Indubitably.” Trevor chucked his shoulder. “What say you, old friend? Will you stand with me as I take my vows?”
“Bloody hell.” Everett drained his glass in a single healthy swallow and solicited a refill. “I would say you have spent too much time at sea, and the salt water has corroded your brain.”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Come now, wish me merry.”
“I can see it now. Perfume and petticoats.” Markham wrinkled his nose. “Forget about patronizing the gaming tables.”
“I resent that, Everett, really I do.” Trevor snorted. “I can promise I will suffer no such demise.”
“How is that?” His friend rolled his eyes and appeared quite skeptical. “The vicar’s noose has claimed bigger men than you, if you do not mind my saying.”
“No similar fate shall befall me, because I have a plan.” He gazed at the polished toes of his boots. “I have devised a strategy that will allow me to continue with my life as I see fit, despite taking a wife.”
“You are serious.” Everett drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket, patted his brow, and narrowed his stare. “What did you do, compromise her?”
“Now wait a--”
“Lockwood, just the man I have been searching for.” Blake, with Damian bringing up the rear, folded his arms and glared at Trevor.
Cursing under his breath, Trevor stood and faced his soon-to-be-brother-in-law. “What in bloody hell do you want?”
“Come to dinner.” Blake compressed his lips. “Tomorrow, at Elliott House.”
“Perhaps I shall.” Trevor inched forward, they ended up toe to toe, and he was determined not to flinch. Blake might have rank, but he had the benefit of age and experience on the arrogant duke. “Of course, I require an invitation.”
Painfully quiet seconds ticked past.
“Ahem.” Everett broke the uncomfortable silence. “Trevor, are you not going to introduce us?”
#
The following evening, Caroline reclined on a daybed in her sitting room at Elliott House. Having failed in every attempt to read the novel in her hands, she relented and closed the book. As she stared at the cover of the old tome, she pondered the outcome of the engagement she awaited with nervous anticipation.
Trevor was coming to dinner.
Clasping her hands in her lap to cease their trembling, she reminded herself he was the same man with whom she had shared a cabin aboard ship and in whose arms she had spent the most memorable night of her life.
A night that haunted her dreams.
At sea, she had considered him an ally, of sorts. A friend, if she applied the term loosely. Trevor had treated her with kindness and charmed his way into her heart. It hurt to discover it had been a well-played deception.
Now, reluctant suitor or not, he was her enemy.
Caroline was at war and, as such, had plotted her strategy with ruthless detail. She would not be dictated to, as were most wives of the ton. Despite the accepted societal constraints, she was determined to remain her own person. And while her position required she produce an heir, she resolved not to enjoy the task.
“My lady, His Grace requests your presence in the study.”
“Thank you, Annie.” She nodded to her lady’s maid. “I shall be right down.”
Bolstering her defenses, Caroline stood, walked to the long mirror, and brushed at imaginary wrinkles in the skirts of her pale pink gown. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine,” she said to her image. “Trevor is just a man. And if all else fails, he can kill you, but he can’t eat you.”
With shoulders squared, she marched from her room and straight to the door of her brother’s domain. A footman set the oak panels wide, and she entered with the poise and ease one would expect of a duke’s daughter.
Until she caught her slippered toe on the edge of the Aubusson rug and stumbled forward.
Sitting behind his desk, Blake bent his head and covered his face with his hand. Occupying a chair at his left, her mother, God bless her, managed to maintain the smile on her lips, even though her expression seemed a bit forced. Trevor, blast his handsome hide, stood upon her less than graceful approach and had the audacity to gurgle, which carried more than a hint of laughter.
Caroline was going to kill him.
At least she would if she were not so distracted by the transformation of her rogue captain into a well-heeled English gentleman. Dressed in a precision tailored coat of charcoal gray Bath superfine, an elegant diamond pin secured the folds of his cravat. Buckskin breeches encased his muscled thighs and disappeared into a pair of polished Hessians.
With an inward smil
e, she almost asked if Trevor slept in his boots. Then she recalled he did no such thing. Before she could stop herself, the full extent of her knowledge of this man dawned, and her cheeks went up in flames. Cursing her own stupidity and those double-damned blushes, Caroline sought to conceal her malady in a proper curtsey. “Lord Lockwood, what a pleasure it is to see you again.”
Her intended swept her a refined bow. “My lady, may I say the pleasure is mine.”
Blake shifted his weight and coughed. “Uh, Lockwood, Caroline, I hate to interrupt this heartfelt reunion, but we have much to discuss concerning your return to society and subsequent betrothal.”
“After much consideration it is my most fervent hope to spare you both any taint of a scandal,” her mother inserted. “I believe such a beginning would bode ill for the union.”
“Your pardon, Your Grace.” Holding her gaze, Trevor raised his hand, as would a young fop at Eton seeking permission to speak. “But my offer of marriage has yet to be accepted.”
“Indeed?” Caroline stood her ground and pinned his emerald eyes with a penetrating stare. Did he think to intimidate her already? Oh, her captain would find his challenge well met. She would not falter so early in the games of love and war. “And I find it difficult to accept an offer of marriage that has yet to be made.”
“My apologies on my oversight. It would seem you are correct.” With a trace of a smile on his lips, and the devil in his countenance, her husband-to-be knelt before her. “My dear Lady Caroline Elliott, will you grant me the honor of being my wife? Will you consent to be my countess, my friend, my lover, my partner in all enterprises--and the mother of my children?”
Caroline almost choked on her tongue.
It was not the daunting list of responsibilities that terrified her, but rather the effortless ability with which Trevor made his declaration. And though she had rehearsed her reply countless times, her articulate response eluded her at the moment she needed it most. She took a minute to remind herself of her situation, of the circumstances compelling her to wed.
The bitter pill of pride formed a lump in her throat, but Caroline swallowed it. With anger and humiliation as a shield, she said, “Lord Lockwood, I would be honored to accept your proposal. I am well aware of the duties I will be expected to assume as your wife and pledge to do credit to your good name.”
“Caroline, are you sure?” Blake inquired.
“Yes,” was the only word she could manage to utter while biting back the string of curses she longed to hurl at her future lord and master.
“Rest easy, Rylan,” Trevor said, as if he sensed his soon-to-be brother-in-law’s concern. “I shall endeavor to make her happy and can assure you she will want for nothing.”
Caroline considered informing her intended that her hot-tempered sibling could not be placated so easily.
“And I can guarantee you will either make her a fine husband or a rich young widow.” Blake pounded his desk with a fist. “The choice is yours.”
Oh, how she loved her brother.
“Enough of this bickering.” Her mother stood. “We need to discuss the marriage contract and disbursement of her dowry--”
“Keep it,” Trevor stated with definite disdain.
“What?” Caroline glanced at him. “You can’t mean that.”
“It is a good deal of money, Lockwood.” Blake appeared on the verge of a fit. “I am not privy to your financial status, but my sister is an heiress. As the daughter of a duke, she must be cared for in a manner as befits her station.”
“I have no need of her money.” Trevor lowered his chin. “If you insist I take the dowry, then let us put it in an account in her name. The funds can be held in trust for our children.”
“A noble gesture, Lord Lockwood.” Her mother reclaimed her seat. “May I assume you will conduct yourself in similar exemplary fashion throughout the courtship?”
Trevor nodded once. “You may.”
A hint of a gasp slipped from her lips before Caroline could stifle it, and she cursed herself in silence. Focusing on one of the high-back chairs facing her brother’s desk, she longed to collapse, but if her enemy would take no rest, neither would she.
“Very well.” Her mother inclined her head in an affectation Caroline knew from experience meant business. “You may pay court for four weeks. We will announce your betrothal in The Times, and you can marry four weeks after that with none the wiser. To accomplish this, you will have to cut a wide swath through the ballrooms of the ton. Fortunately for us, the Season is in full swing, so your courtship will take place in view of society and must be convincing. I trust this will not be too difficult a task, Lord Lockwood?”
Trevor smiled a sly smile that gave Caroline gooseflesh. “On the contrary, Your Grace, I consider the opportunity to court your daughter a pleasure. Furthermore, in all appearances, I shall be in earnest.”
Caroline was not sure she liked the sound of that.
“Mama, what about the family?” Blake inquired.
“As Damian and Dalton already know what has happened, I think it best to include the others in our efforts. I really do not see how we can avoid it, and we could use their support. However, I do believe we can omit any reference to the fact that the relationship has already been consummated.” The mantel clock sounded the dinner hour. Her mother rose and accepted Blake’s ready escort. “Now then, Lord Lockwood, it is time to introduce you to the rest of the family.”
It was only when she felt faint from lack of oxygen that Caroline exhaled. Everything was happening so fast, and control of her life seemed beyond her grasp. The next thing she knew, she was taking her place beside her mother in the foyer, with her fiancé at her right, preparing to receive their guests. When the Douglas family entered her family residence, she realized there was no retreat.
For good or ill, her course was set.
Later, while seated in the drawing room, Caroline inventoried their guests. Her lifelong friends were in full attendance save one; Dalton was still in Jamaica.
Aside from Blake and Caroline, Damian and his younger sister, Lady Alexandra Seymour, were there. Dalton’s older brother, Dirk, Viscount Wainsbrough, had arrived with Lance Prescott, Marquess of Raynesford, and his cousin, Lady Elaine Prescott. Admiral Mark Douglas, Lady Amanda Douglas, and their two daughters, Cara and Sabrina, were also present.
The introductions were made with polite decorum. Caroline fidgeted with anxious dread, until Trevor took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. Setting his palm to her knuckles, he squeezed as if to reassure her. The thoughtful gesture scored a direct hit to her heart and both strengthened and unnerved her.
As predetermined, Blake explained the events necessitating the gathering, taking care to place details in the best possible light. The reactions were surprisingly reticent, as everyone promised to do whatever necessary to aid the couple. When dinner was announced, she felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.
#
Trevor felt as if the weight of the world had been settled on his shoulders.
He studied his bride-to-be, dressed in a pink confection, which brought out the charming blush of her cheeks. With her hair piled atop her head, she was the picture of feminine elegance. In her current attire, no man--blind or otherwise--could ever mistake her for a doxy. On the thought, seductive images and sultry cries captured his senses. He could see Caroline, highborn Englishwoman, warm and inviting in his bunk aboard the Hera. In an instant, he found the idea of marriage more appealing.
Seated next to his intended, he marveled at the group gathered at the large table. The ease with which they conversed, the inside jokes, the moments of companionable silence all indicated a familial intimacy unlike any he had ever known.
And that left Trevor feeling quite the outsider.
The events after dinner only added to his distress.
In most English homes, it was customary for men to remain in the dining room to take their port or brandy. Late
r, they would join the women in the drawing room. He quickly learned that in the Elliot household, such was not the case.
While the elders headed for the parlor with Admiral Douglas in tow, the younger group, male and female, made for the study.
“So you seized Caroline from under Dalton’s nose?” Eyes twinkling, the youngest Douglas rocked on her heels. “Hells bells, but that is one I will never let him live down.”
“Sabrina, you mustn’t say such things.” The older Douglas frowned. “I am sorry Caroline, Lord Lockwood.”
“No need for apologies or formalities.” Amused, he bowed before the two sisters. “You must call me Trevor.”
Extending an arm, as would a gentleman, Sabrina appeared pleased when he took her hand in a firm grasp, instead of bestowing the usual chaste kiss to her gloved knuckles. “And you can call me Brie, like the cheese, you know.”
The men in their group laughed, as though this were a common occurrence. Likewise, the young ladies shook their heads in reproach.
“Are you truly blood relatives?” Trevor asked. “Or should I offer you my other leg?”
“Actually, I would say we are bound by blood.” Damian neared. “But you will have to get Caroline to share the story.”
“Oh, no,” his bride-to-be protested. “You tell it so much better than I.”
“She is right, old man,” Lance piped in. “Give it a go.”
“All right.” Damian unbuttoned his coat and perched on the edge of Blake’s large desk. The others gathered round, settling in to hear the tale to which it seemed they were all privy. Unsure what to expect, Trevor leaned against the high-back chair Caroline occupied.
“If you are to understand the depth of our bond, I should start at the beginning.” Damian sipped his brandy. “Our five families have been allied since the fourteenth century, and that allegiance is a tradition of sorts. Where most would have gone their separate ways, over time, our ties have become stronger. Our parents raised us to respect family and friendship.” Damian stared into his glass, his brow a mass of furrows.
Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) Page 11