Miss Quinn's Quandary

by Shirley Marks

  “Married!” Dorothea’s voice carried on the wind. She met his gaze and glared daggers at him. Her reaction to the circulating rumor was not at all the picture of loveliness Randall was accustomed to seeing. She broke off her stare and fell into her mother’s arms. “He used me, Maman,” she sobbed.

  Randall heard Sir Thomas turn away and snicker. “I’m afraid you’re in for it, my man.” He gave Randall a clap on the arm and left.

  From years of experience, Randall knew Sir Thomas was right when it came to the ladies. A slight uneasiness came over him. He wondered what it was he was in for. Bracing himself with both hands on the railing, Randall once again faced forward. Then he saw her.

  With new set composure and her head held high, Dorothea strolled toward Randall. “You’ll be sorry for doing this to me,” she threatened and stalked away.

  He knew she would not be speaking to him again. It was really over between them. When Randall thought the trip could not get any worse, he saw Larissa heading in his direction.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Would you be so kind as to tell me—”

  “Please,” he shushed Larissa and led her toward the great awning, now deserted, in the center of the boat. The faces of the servants remained impassive, unaffected by the latest gossip sweeping the vessel.

  “I need a drink.” Randall wished he could order a whiskey. The strongest drink he could find was punch. He eyed the fury that clouded Larissa’s usual lovely visage and added, “I trust you are in need of one as well.” He drained the first glass and offered the second to her.

  “I don’t want that.” She pushed the glass away.

  “Well, best not let it go to waste, then.” He downed the contents of her glass. Larissa’s horror, which Randall saw depicted in her eyes, replaced the anger of only minutes before.

  He held his eyes closed for a few moments and prayed for calm. “Now, you may continue,” he prompted. “But quietly, please.”

  Larissa glanced around her and saw no one. She leaned closer to Randall.

  “Who is that Sir Purvis Archwald?” she demanded, her eyes boring into him. “He cannot possibly be who I think he is.”

  “And why not?” Randall was certain she also remembered Sir Purvis as the foxed passenger in the coach to Oxford.

  “But really? The man was unconscious.”

  “Obviously not as unconscious as we had thought. Shall we get some fresh air?” Randall offered Larissa his arm. He ignored her protest, linked her arm with his, and held her hand in the crook of his arm.

  Larissa struggled to free herself from Randall’s hold, but to no avail. “Do you mind? I wish you wouldn’t force yourself upon me.”

  “Have you noticed we seem to be very much alone?”

  “Alone? What do you mean, alone? The boat is filled with guests.” The puzzled expression grew once she noticed their isolation. They were seemingly quite alone aboard this large water vessel. “Where is … where has everyone gone?”

  “They’re about, I can assure you,” Randall softened his voice. “Watching every move we make.”

  Larissa’s eyes widened.

  “You should show some enthusiasm,” he prompted.

  “Why?”

  “You do share the company of your new husband.” He performed a dazzling smile, placing himself on display for all who cared to see.

  “You’re as bad as they are.” Larissa glanced around, imagining the guests whispering and chuckling at her expense. “You cannot take all this seriously.”

  “We are as good as wed in the eyes of Society,” he assured her.

  “But Society rumors do not a marriage make,” she retorted.

  “How true, how true. Who do you think the members of Society are going to believe, Sir Purvis, confidant of the Duke of Clarence, or us?”

  “Will you not even try to deny it?”

  “How can I?” Sir Randall shrugged in defeat. “Call every member of the ton a liar? I think not. The thing is as well as done. In an hour, word will have traveled up and down the Thames and by tonight all of London will know. We’d look the fool to deny it.”

  Larissa hadn’t realized. Was High Society so powerful? From the look on Sir Randall’s face, she assumed it was, for he would not lift a finger to fight it.

  “Whatever are we to do?”

  Sir Randall stared at Larissa, smiled that disarming smile of his, and said, “We continue to pretend we are married.”

  His words startled her. How far would he go to perpetuate this lie? He certainly could not compare this circumstance with the one at The Blue Boar Inn. Spending one night at an obscure posting house and prolonging the pretense of marriage in London were two entirely different matters. In the country, only a few people had known of their nonexistent nuptials. How unfortunate for them one of those passengers happened to be Sir Purvis Archwald.

  Disembarking now was out of the question. Larissa sat with Sir Randall, isolated, on display under the scrutiny of the other guests. She and Sir Randall on one side of the craft and the remainder of the guests on the other, all but pointing at the two of them.

  “I do so wish to put on a convincing show,” Sir Randall informed her.

  “What on earth for?” Larissa could see Sir Randall’s eyes linger, not on her, but past her. “What is it? What are you looking at?

  Sir Randall laid his hand along her neck and jaw, preventing her head from turning. “It’s Lord Langleigh and the Earl of Westmont,” he whispered.

  “But, what if they.” she began, turning to peer over her shoulder.

  “No, don’t look.” Sir Randall bent forward and took her mouth with his. It was a complete and effective way of silencing her. Larissa had melted with his touch. And with his kiss, she found she was losing her ability for rational thought.

  “Really.” she gasped, pushing away from him. “You must stop.”

  “May I remind you, you’re the one who dreamed up this little tale. It was all because you didn’t want to sleep in a barn. You wanted a warm room and a bed. If you will recall, it was on your behest I played along, not because of any perverted pleasure on my part. Well, madam, this is what has resulted. You have made your bed and I am to lie in it with you.”

  She knew, of course, he meant figuratively. “Is there nothing we can do to stop this?”

  “Nothing I know of. Any ideas you may have on this matter will be more than appreciated. No, no. On second thought, it was your idea that placed us in this predicament. I think it best if I think of a way out.”

  “What are my aunt and your uncle going to say when they return?”

  Sir Randall lounged back, resting his arms on the railing. Looking far too comfortable in Larissa’s mind. “It would be fair to guess they will wish us the most sincere felicitations.”

  As soon as the barge docked, she and Sir Randall wasted no time in thanking their host and leaving the premises for Rushton House. When they stepped onto the front walk, Laurie pulled the door open to greet Larissa and Sir Randall. She could feel the weight of public scrutiny lift from her shoulders once she passed through the portal into the safety of the house.

  “Shall I instruct Mrs. Drum to bring tea to the parlor?”

  “Yes, Laurie, thank you.” Sir Randall shed his gloves and handed them to the butler along with his hat.

  Larissa observed Sir Randall watch the butler with more than a passing interest. She led the way up the stairs to the first floor and moved on into the parlor.

  The ever-efficient Mrs. Drum bustled into the room with her usual vigor. Instead of the endless prattle she usually delivered along with the tea service, she kept silent. Larissa opened her mouth to comment on the oddity, but with the lift of Sir Randall’s eyebrows she refrained.

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Drum, we’ll pour.” Sir Randall dismissed the housekeeper. She curtsied and took her leave. “The servants know,” he whispered.

  “What? How can you tell?” Larissa asked.

  He made a careful insp
ection of the doorways and listened for whispers more quiet than their normal hush. “It’s what they haven’t said,” he explained. “It’s a minute difference in their behavior, but it’s there.”

  “Really? You would think they, above all, would know. They see how we live,” Larissa’s voice grew impatient, insistent. “They must know the truth.”

  “And choose to ignore it.”

  “Why would they disbelieve what they know is true?” Larissa began to pace.

  “Who can say?” Sir Randall settled on the sofa and helped himself to tea. “Would you care for some?” He lifted the pot, offering to pour her a cup.

  “How can you sit there and calmly take tea?” she scolded. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned?”

  “Of course I’m concerned.” Sir Randall took on a serious tone. His attention settled to the plate of assorted breads and cakes. “At the moment, what truly concerns me is the lack of apple tarts. They’re my favorite.” He sorted through the lot, making a thorough search.

  “Oh, do stop,” she pleaded, feeling the events of the day taking their toll on her already ragged nerves. “Whatever are we to do?”

  Sir Randall sat back and lifted his teacup. “Why, finish our tea. Do have some. I’m sure it will do you a world of good.”

  “You really are quite impossible,” she huffed, disgusted with his attitude and plopped into a chair.

  With a “Sir,” Laurie announced his presence. “Would you care to peruse the invitations? We seem to have accumulated an unusual abundance this afternoon.” He had dispensed with the silver salver and lifted his full hands, producing said invitations.

  “Have we?” Sir Randall remarked. Laurie relinquished one handful into Sir Randall’s waiting hands and set the second on the table and left. Sir Randall rummaged through the pile in his hand. His eyes widened in surprise.

  “I thought everyone understood your uncle would be gone,” Larissa said.

  “They’re not addressed to my uncle, they’re addressed to us.” Sir Randall handed several to Larissa and rummaged through the others from the table.

  Larissa read the first. Sir Randall and Lady Trent, it said.

  “Vouchers to Almacks,” Sir Randall announced with surprise and tapped the parchment with his fingertips. “I’ve been on the town for the Season before, but never have I flown so high.” A burst of laughter escaped from Sir Randall.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “We are the latest fashionables.” He gave another peal of laughter. “Gad.” Sir Randall held up a golden-edged invitation. “This is for the rout at Norfolk House tonight.”

  “You’re not thinking of going are you?”

  “Why not? It’s Norfolk House. When would we ever have a chance to attend? It’s a great honor. News of our extraordinary marriage, I suppose.” A smile crossed Sir Randall’s lips. “We have captured the curiosity of the haute ton.”

  “And we shall fall out of favor just as easily, I imagine.”

  “I have no doubt,” he remarked. “Should we not enjoy every fortuitous opportunity that comes our way?”

  Larissa said nothing.

  “The Duke and Duchess of Norfolk, not to mention the other peers of the kingdom, will be in attendance.” Sir Randall went on to tempt her. His eyes glimmered, teasing in the charming way of his. “Don’t tell me you aren’t the least bit intrigued as to how the better half lives.”

  Maybe she was … just a little.

  “The Larissa I knew wanted to live and experience life. We have a chance to do all that and more.”

  More? Larissa wanted to know what that more might be. “You must already know, your uncle is an earl.”

  “My uncle, not me. Nor am I fated to inherit that much coveted title.” An anxious smile crossed his face. “Laurie, has Mrs. Rutledge arrived yet?”

  “No, sir, she has not.”

  Randall looked back at Larissa. “What do you say? I think we should go.”

  Larissa tapped the corner of a parchment on her cheek and considered the proposal. After the Season was over, the truth about their marriage would come out. The scandal would force her to live the rest of her life in the country. However, she imagined with the influence of her aunt and new uncle, they could arrange for her to marry quietly. A local squire’s son or some other suitable husband could be found. Before she faced that dreary life, she would use to her advantage all that this situation provided.

  Sir Randall was right, she’d never have a chance like this again.

  “I shall be ready to leave in an hour,” she announced.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Observing the line of carriages waiting to deposit their passengers at Norfolk House, Larissa grew impatient. “Why don’t we just walk? It’s only a few houses down.”

  “We can’t do that,” Sir Randall, who sat in calm reserve against the squabs, answered.

  “Why not?” Larissa asked, returning to her seat.

  “It’s just not done.”

  “This is preposterous.” Larissa peered out the open carriage window again and looked behind them. The long line of carriages stretched down the street and around the corner. “Society people have such odd ways.”

  When they rounded the corner ten minutes later, Larissa could see the house. The curtains were pulled back, and she saw every window ablaze with light and the crush of people inside.

  “Are we to go in there? Faith, I believe there is no room for another soul.”

  Nearing the head of the line, Larissa saw exiting guests waiting for their carriages to leave. “Look at all these people leaving.” Larissa spoke after a lengthy silence. She felt her stomach give an angry grumble. It occurred to her that in her rush to dress, she had forgotten to eat. “I hope we have not missed supper. I’m afraid my stomach would make the most undignified protest.”

  “Supper?” Sir Randall repeated. “Supper is not served at most routs.”

  “No supper?” Larissa sighed disappointedly. “Well, I’ll just have a few extra cakes to fortify my appetite.”

  “There is usually no refreshment of any kind served,” Sir Randall added. “Nor dancing, nor music for that matter.”

  Larissa glared at Sir Randall nonplussed. “What kind of party is this? Whatever are we to do here?”

  “One attends a rout to see and to be seen, my dear.” He smiled and gave her hand a pat. A liveried footman opened the carriage door, leaving Larissa’s reaction unspoken.

  “I say, this is a fabulous crush,” Sir Randall exclaimed after stepping into the townhouse and removing his outer garments.

  “Is that good or bad?” Larissa queried, shedding her wrap.

  “Good, to be sure.” Sir Randall cupped her elbow and led her into the queue on the staircase, moving upward. It seemed to Larissa’s dismay their waiting had not ended.

  The herd of people shuffled about the staircase, which felt smaller by the minute. Larissa had to endure countless elbows poking her in varying degrees and directions. It occurred to her this was not in the realm of what she considered fun.

  Larissa turned to look at the length of the line stretching behind them. It was still all the way out the door with no end in sight.

  “Oh!” she cried when thrown against Sir Randall. His hard chest knocked the wind out of her. Sir Randall’s hands came up behind her, pressing on her back, holding her to him. Her face was mere inches from his. “Do you mind?” she snapped.

  “I do enjoy a successful rout.” Larissa heard his words pass through a suggestive smile.

  Except he hadn’t had the mind to release her. “You did that on purpose,” she said through her teeth.

  “I most certainly did not,” he corrected, pushing her away from him. “Can’t be helped really.” Sir Randall glanced at the guests compressed around them.

  Larissa faced forward, away from Sir Randall, took a few steps forward and saw the first story landing. She allowed her smile to surface. Perhaps he had enjoyed it. Maybe as much as she had.
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  “Sir Randall and Lady Trent,” the liveried footman announced.

  On the first story landing, Lady Norfolk greeted her guests. “How nice to see you.” her voice trailed. The smile she wore did not, although she did not recognize Sir Randall. She continued in equitable tones, “You are the nephew of the Earl of Rushton, are you not?”

  Sir Randall gave a low bow. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “How delighted to meet you.” The duchess held her hand out to Larissa. “Then you, of course, must be Lady Trent.”

  Larissa said nothing, accepted the duchess’ hand and curtsied. She sensed a newfound interest surge through the duchess.

  “I do hope you enjoy my special treat for this evening.” Lady Norfolk pulled Larissa closer with her hand. “I have the legendary Briolette diamond on display.”

  “It is the only such gemstone that could near, but not surpass, your natural beauty, Your Grace,” Sir Randall said in an altogether pleasant manner. He smiled, making his already attractive face more handsome. He pulled Larissa’s hand from the duchess’ grip and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, securing it with his own hand.

  “I can see why you had to marry this rascal, Lady Trent. You could not resist him.”

  “I do continue to try,” Larissa replied, forcing a civil smile. By the curious looks surrounding them, the duchess was not the only lady who appeared to envy her and Larissa hated acting the pretense of marriage.

  “I shall conduct the viewing from the bust of Zeus in the Great Room.”

  “We shall be delighted, Your Grace,” Sir Randall replied and made a bow before escorting Larissa away.

  “You’re quite the accomplished flirt,” Larissa said.

  “That’s very accomplished flirt,” he corrected her.

  Larissa hadn’t intended the statement to be a compliment.

  “You may describe me as a lot of things, but charming must be among them.”

  “And conceited too, I imagine.”

  “There is no purpose insulting me. I am merely pointing out what is obvious.”

  Larissa regarded him with a pointed look. “What is obvious to me is that you need a healthy dose of modesty.”