Oh What A (Wedding) Night (Brazen Brides #3)

by Cheryl Bolen

  “I most certainly would have!”

  “Did he attempt to set up another sort of meeting with you?”

  “I'll 'ave you know me Mr. Thompson's a gentleman who would not try to take liberties with a maiden. He did not ask if he could come to me bedchamber.”

  “Of course he wouldn't. He thinks you're a fine lady. Look at your dress.”

  Dottie frowned. “Your dress, you mean. What worries me is that when he eventually learns that I'm no fine gentlewoman, I'll lose his affections.”

  “I will own that's a possibility, but there are many facets to physical attraction, and I don't believe you could have engaged the man's affections if there had not been several things about you that appealed to him.”

  “I 'ope you're right. I know it's hard for me to understand just what there is about Mr. Thompson that has attracted me since the moment we met at the Prickly Pig. No upper servant at Devere House ever appealed to me as does Mr. Thompson. At first, it was that I found him 'andsome. I've always fancied men who are tall. But it's so much more than his physical appearance. He's got such an air about him. He's refined. He's courageous. He's . . . I think you'd use the word solicitous of my happiness.”

  Though Sophia could not agree that the valet was handsome, Thompson did possess the other traits that Dottie admired. She recalled how valiantly master and servant had fought side by side against Finkie's armed henchmen that day. “Your Mr. Thompson is brave and strong and just the sort of man a woman can lean on.”

  “When we parted, he said he 'oped you had another commission we could do together.” Dottie lowered her voice. “He said he 'oped it would continue raining so that we could ride together inside a carriage. I ain't never before longed for rain, but I do now.”

  Sophia broke out laughing. Over the many years of their acquaintance the two women had frequently lamented rainy days.

  Her mirth dissolved when her thoughts turned to William's drenching in this miserable weather. She prayed he would not be adversely affected by the intense cold and wet. It had been raining and cold on the day of their return to London, and none of them—fortunately—had suffered ill health.

  This long, rainy day that had started out so wonderfully had turned into one of the dreariest days of her life.

  After Dottie went to her own bedchamber, Sophia thought about the letter she'd written to William. She dared not deliver it—or have it delivered—tonight. Perhaps he would not be as angry the next day. Perhaps she could have Dottie relay the letter to Thompson, who could then see that William received it.

  * * *

  She awakened the following morning to the splattering of rain upon her window. Her fire had gone out, and the room was so cold that the prospect of removing herself from beneath her blankets was most unwelcome.

  Her thoughts went to Dottie, who had never for the past quarter of a century been permitted to lie in bed once the sun was up. How fortunate Sophia was to have been born into such privileged circumstances. All her life she'd been blessed in so many ways.

  Until the fateful day she'd made the disastrous decision to wed Finkie.

  This morning dear Dottie was a great deal more fortunate than her mistress. She was at liberty to fall in love with the man who owned her heart. The man returned her affections.

  Fully dressed in Sophia's pale yellow morning gown, Dottie practically bounced into Sophia's adjacent room. Sophia forced herself to sit up. “Pray, hand me my shawl. I'm freezing.”

  Dottie went to the linen press and retrieved it. “No wonder yer so cold. The fire's gone out. I'll see to it.”

  “This morning I should like for you to deliver to Thompson a note for Mr. Birmingham.”

  Though her back was to Sophia as she built a new fire, Sophia could see a corner of her mouth lifted into a smile. “It's always a pleasure for me to see me Mr. Thompson.”

  Once the fire was lit, she turned to her mistress. “Now, let me 'elp you get dressed. What should ye like to wear today?

  “The blue. I suppose I should have Devere bring me more clothes. With two of us wearing the dresses in my trousseau, there is little left in the way of selection.” She observed Dottie with an eye to how she wore a gentlewoman's dress. “By the way, Dot, that dress is very becoming on you. I've decided that whenever we leave this house and you are at liberty to speak again, you shall have all my last season's dresses to wear every day.” Sophia climbed from her bed, shivering, and moved to the fire.

  “Oh, milady! That would be wonderful. Then Mr. Thompson wouldn't have to see me in drab servants' wear.”

  Sophia nodded. “I suppose by then he will know all there is to know about your proper identity, but until that day comes I shall beg you to stay my mute sister. I know it's difficult, but it cannot last much longer.” She peered at the window. “One of us must watch the window all day every day until the real Isadore shows up.”

  “I'm sure I'll know her. She must look just like you.”

  “We know no such thing!”

  Dottie's shoulders sagged. “That must be why Mr. Birmingham mistook you for her.”

  Sophia shook her head. “I believe he had no notion of what she looked like.”

  For the next ten minutes Sophia allowed her maid to assist in dressing for the day, though it mattered not what she wore. She would have to cover herself in her torn cape if she was to spend the day beside the frigid window.

  When they were finished, Dottie moved to the looking glass and peered at herself.

  “Your Mr. Thompson will be most pleased with your appearance. Now run along and deliver my letter.” Sophia pointed to her writing desk. “It's right there.”

  Ten minutes passed before Dottie returned. “Mr. Thompson assured me he would see that his master gets your letter, but he's away from home at present.”

  A deep melancholy washed over her. Though she had known William wished to avoid her, she had allowed herself to hope he would rush to her after reading the letter that revealed her tender affections.

  Seconds later, she recovered enough to think clearly. “Then if William's out, it's imperative that my brother come to me this morning. You and Thompson must fetch him.”

  “But Mr. Birmingham will have taken the coach. I fear I'd take me death of cold out in this rain and cold.”

  Sophia scribbled a note, then went to her reticule and extracted some coins, handing them to Dottie. “Thompson must procure a hackney. I've put that in this note for him.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Devere was greeting the sister who was closest to him in age. “Do you have any idea what hour it is?”

  Sophia giggled. “I will own, my dear brother, that I've never seen you up so early since you left Oxford.”

  His dark eyes narrowed. “Even at Oxford I never rose this early.”

  He came to sit next to her on the settee which had been scooted up to a window—the window from which Sophia kept peering.

  Even though he was her brother, it was impossible for her not to see why he was so highly sought after by every unmarried lady in the ton. Not only was he titled, but he was uncommonly handsome.

  He had the look of one who was accustomed to commanding. Even his height was above average, and he filled out his well-tailored clothing in an utterly manly way. He shared Sophia's colouring of deep brown hair and eyes that were almost black. There was something about his face that revealed his excellent sense of humor and his propensity to smile.

  But he was not smiling today.

  “What the deuce are you looking at?” he asked.

  Sophia turned away from peering out onto Grosvenor Square and sighed as she began to tell him about Isadore and the mistaken identities. “It's imperative that I remain Isadore until the exchange.”

  “So that's why you needed the bloody eighty thousand quid!”

  She nodded.

  “I can't lay my hands on that much money.”

  “Oh, but you must find a way. I swear to you, I'll pay it back as soon as Mr. Birmi
ngham pays me the eighty thousand. It would not be more than a week away.”

  “What do you really know about this Birmingham? For all we know, he could slay you once he gets his hands on the gold.”

  She shook her head adamantly. “William would never do that. He's an honorable man.”

  Devere glared at her through narrowed eyes. “Christian names?”

  “It's how I think of him. I assure you, he properly refers to me as Miss Door.”

  Her brother chuckled over the name Door. “How could you possibly know he's an honorable man? He's a smuggler, for pity's sake! He could end up in Newgate!”

  Sophia got up. “Pray, sit here for a moment and watch for Isadore.” She went and fetched Dottie and paraded her in front of Devere. “Dottie, I beg that you be honest. Tell my brother if you think Mr. Birmingham would take possession of the gold, then murder me.”

  Dottie's already large eyes rounded even more, then she faced the man responsible for her salary. “I swear to you, my lord, Mr. Birmingham do be a very fine man.”

  Sophia glared at her brother. “Dottie is possessed of unerring instincts about men. She begged me not to marry Lord Finkel.”

  Devere smiled at Dottie. “How I wish my sister had listened to you.”

  Dottie curtsied, then returned to her own chambers.

  Her brother eyed Sophia suspiciously. “Why is it imperative that you stay here?”

  She could hardly tell him that she had fallen passionately in love with the home's owner. Then her brother would know she'd behaved as a strumpet. It suddenly occurred to her that if Devere knew she'd been ruined, he could convey that information to Lord Finkel, and it might help convince that horrid man to let her go.

  On the other hand, if Devere knew William Birmingham had compromised his maidenly sister, he might insist on removing her from the suspected seducer's house. Not only that, he would then be predisposed to think poorly of William. And she couldn't have that. William was noble of character.

  Even if he did engage in activities outside the law.

  “I am very comfortable here,” she said. “As you can see, it's a fine home. And since Mr. Birmingham does not move in our circles, Finkie will never think to look for me here. I will never go back to Lord Finkel. Speaking of Finkie, what did your solicitor have to say about my . . . “ She hated to say the word. She swallowed. “My marriage.”

  Her heartbeat drumming, she eyed her brother.

  A grimace flashed across his square face. “It doesn't look good, Soph. That's why I didn't come to you yesterday. To his knowledge, the marriage cannot be broken.”

  “Even for non-consummation?”

  He shook his head. “Rutherford said he would study case law in the hopes of finding something you can use to break the marriage, but he's not hopeful.”

  “Then it's a very good thing we've been able to find out about Lord Finkel's illegal, unethical, villainous activities. We should be able to hold those over his head in exchange for my freedom.”

  Devere's brows lowered. “Pray, what in the devil are you talking about?”

  “About the list I sent you yesterday.”

  “I never received any list from you.”

  “Of course you did. Dottie delivered it during the afternoon, but you were out.”

  “What kind of list?”

  “I found on Mr. Birmingham's desk a ledger which enumerated various blackmail schemes carried out by Lord Finkel. I copied it and sent it to you. I knew you'd know what to do with that information.”

  “You mean Maryann wasn't the only one?”

  “Exactly.”

  Devere cursed under his breath. “A pity they don't draw and quarter such unscrupulous men any more. It looks as if I should join forces with your Mr. Birmingham to expose Finkel's foul deeds.”

  “When the time comes, yes. But for now Lord Finkel can't know you're the Earl of Devere.”

  He shook his head. “I almost gave away myself to your Mr. Birmingham's butler, but I caught myself just in time to announce myself as Mr. Beresford.”

  She'd hardly paid attention to her brother. She'd couldn't get her mind off why he had not received yesterday's letter. Her eyes narrowed. “My letter must be on your desk. Isn't that where Cummings always puts your post?”

  “He does, but it's not there. I read all my post when I returned late yesterday.” He began to curse, making no effort to shield her from hearing his words.

  It had been years since she'd seen her brother so angry. “What's the matter?”

  “It's that damned Finkel!”

  It was if an explosion jolted her chest. “He was at our . . . I mean your house yesterday?” If that were the case, that meant Finkie knew about William's list. Her heart roared so loud she would not be surprised if her brother could hear it. Dear God, that could put William's life in jeopardy! She distinctly remembered that her cover letter said to come to Mr. Birmingham's house.

  Now, Finkel had a name.

  Devere nodded. “I wasn't in, but Cummings said the blackguard insisted on waiting for my return. Shortly after Cummings showed him to my library, he hurriedly left the house. That no-good spawn of the devil stole my letter!”

  “He must have recognized my handwriting,” she said in a somber voice, shaking her head. “Would that I'd never met the evil man.”

  “Could you try to copy that damning list again?” he asked.

  “If it's still on Mr. Birmingham's writing table I will.”

  Devere sighed. “I'll go to my banker and see if I can lay my hands on eighty thousand quid.”

  “I hope it will be needed.”

  “What if this Isadore never comes?”

  “I refuse to think negative thoughts. She must come.” Sophia knew that Isadore's coming could spell the end to her own relationship with William.

  Devere got up and strode to the door. “I understand how much you want to nullify this marriage, but equally as important is stopping Finkel from destroying more lives.”

  * * *

  At least he'd had the good sense to take the rented coach today. For a day that had begun so promising, yesterday was clearly the worst day in his life. He'd thought he would never thaw. And he was still convinced he would never find a woman more to his liking than Isadore.

  She was corrupt. She lacked fidelity. She lied. Even knowing what he knew now about her, he still hungered for the woman! She shared his taste in poetry. Everything in her bearing bespoke aristocracy. By God, the woman was lovely, and her very touch was debilitating!

  He grew nervous when he reached his house. He couldn't allow himself to see her. If she tried to speak to him, he must steel himself to turn his back on her. He would only stay there long enough to change into clothes for dinner, dinner with his brother Adam at their club.

  Drawing in a breath, he entered his home and mounted the stairs. When he reached the second floor he began to relax. Dare he hope Isadore had left? Dare he hope he would never again have to see her? The thought of never seeing her again, though, made him melancholy.

  In his chambers, Thompson greeted him and offered him a letter.

  William looked down at the feminine script. “Is it from Isadore?”

  Thompson nodded solemnly.

  He should throw it in the fire. Instead he asked Thompson to bring him Madeira, and he went to sit before the fire and find out what the she-devil had to say to him.

  Dearest William,

  I beg your forgiveness for not telling you I was married. The marriage was a grievous mistake which has cost me dearly. You must have guessed that the union between me and my husband was never consummated. You are the only man with whom I've ever lain.

  No matter what the repercussions may be, I could never regret the night I spent in your arms.

  It is impossible for me to convey the melancholy in which I am steeped. To be trapped in a marriage in which I want no part is all the more painful now that I have finally learned what it is to love a man.

  ~ Isa
dore

  He sat for a long while afterward. Were he a woman, he would have wept. The woman might be a liar, but strangely—especially considering he'd only known her for a matter of days—he believed she had written the truth.

  It was bitter consolation to know that she loved him. For he could never possess Lord Evers' wife. Even if theirs was not a real marriage.

  Chapter 11

  She'd seen him enter the house. Throughout the day she had not left the window in her chamber. When he'd come, her heart caught. The very sight of him was enough to send her pulse racing. How manly he looked as he eschewed the footman's offer of an umbrella and hastened up the steps.

  Thompson would give him her letter. Would he come to her after he read it? She sat in her chamber for a considerable period of time. Certainly long enough for him to climb to his chambers, read his post, and change into appropriate evening dress. Somewhere in that hour he must have read her letter. Or, she thought with a fissure to her heart, would he merely have thrown it in the fire?

  Finally, she heard the door to his bedchamber close. Her heartbeat accelerated. She glanced into the mirror to assure herself she looked presentable whilst listening intently to each step upon the corridor. Her breath stilled in her chest, she moved to the door, trembling in anticipation.

  He did not so much as pause but continued on the stairs.

  She slivered open her door to assure herself the footsteps had belonged to him. She could not mistake his thick golden hair as he descended the stairs. A moment later the front door closed.

  In the same way a wife of many years knows the nuances in her husband's voice, Sophia had known William was too noble to carry on with another man's wife. Nothing she could say would alter the fact she was a married woman. Nothing could mend the deep chasm between them.

  She went to Dottie. “Could you find out if Thompson delivered my letter to Mr. Birmingham?”

  “Allow me to write a note.” The maid moved to her French escritoire and wrote a single sentence upon a small sheet of foolscap. With a smile upon her slender face, Dottie then left the room.