A Bride Worth Taking (Arrangements, Book 6)

by Rebecca Connolly

  “That would follow, yes.”

  Kit ignored his impertinent twin. “I think… I need to stop resenting her so much. Not everything she does is an evil.”

  “Don’t go soft, now,” Colin protested, grinning as he relaxed in his chair.

  Kit snorted and shook his head. “I will do no such thing. I don’t have to be nice to her, I simply need to stop being malicious. Does that make sense?”

  “Oddly enough, given your situation, yes it does.” Colin sat up just a little bit. “In fact, Derek says…”

  Kit held up a hand, silencing him. “I am not interested in what Derek has to say on the topic of my marriage,” he warned.

  “The more you cast blame on others, the less you can see it in yourself,” Colin said quietly, staring at Kit with sober eyes.

  He sniffed, shaking his head again. “I don’t need lectures, Colin.”

  “Then what do you need?”

  Kit exhaled heavily, rubbing his hands together again. “I have no idea.”

  “Right,” Colin drawled slowly. He waited for a long moment, watching Kit with an inscrutable expression. Then he sighed heavily. “So we’re going to have a baby…”

  Kit laughed suddenly at the thought, and, grateful for the change in topic, he started to let his brother know just what he thought of that.

  It was full dark when Kit ventured back into the Berkeley Square house, having made very little progress with Rosie at all, but at least she had hugged him farewell.

  It was not much, but he had to start somewhere.

  Rosie, it seemed, did not forgive easily, not even for her brothers, and it would take some time to set her to rights once more.

  Perhaps she was more like him than they had previously thought.

  His conversation with Colin had replayed over and over in his mind, and he knew what he needed to do. He had to know what people were saying, not for Marianne’s precious curiosity, but for his own means. If there was anything he could do to salvage her reputation for the rest of the world, he would have to know just what they thought.

  He jotted down a quick note and handed it off to Pearce, who had long been used to running these sorts of errands for him, and then they both left the house, going in opposite directions.

  The London streets were dark and cold, and yet he could not feel it. While he had fully expected others to have jaded opinions of Marianne, he had not realized just how shaped by them his own had been. But he, at least, could change himself. After all, there had to be something in Marianne that was still worth loving if he could not let her go.

  Or was there?

  It did not matter, he supposed. He was married to her, and that was something he could not change. Whatever his feelings, he would most certainly have to desist with the childish behavior himself and start acting like a married man.

  He reached the designated place, long ago established for him, and did not have to wait long for his companion to show.

  “My congratulations,” the man said in a Cockney accent, strolling into the opening of the trees, “though I am surprised.”

  Kit looked at his oldest friend, no longer shocked by the cheap clothing or disguises, or speaking in accents in all ranges and tones. He had seen and heard the most extraordinary things with this particular friend over the years.

  “Gent,” he greeted simply.

  His friend removed the cap from his head, shoving it into the back of his trousers. “What can I do for you?” he asked at once, his voice returned to his usual tone and accent.

  Softly, Kit told him the basics, knowing that he would know the details of everything else soon, if he did not already, and he knew he’d been right to fear when there was no shock, awe, or dismay.

  “I think you will find worse tales than the truth out there,” his friend said, nodding slowly.

  Kit winced and pinched at his nose. “I need to know for certain.”

  The Gent pressed his tongue against his lip and raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

  Kit nodded rapidly. “All of it.”

  “You’ve never wanted to know all of it before.”

  “She was never my wife before. That changes things.” He looked down at his boots for a moment. “Who else should know but her husband? If I cannot bear it, who can?”

  “I am not your personal gossiping harpy, you know,” his friend said lightly, trying for teasing. “I actually have duties to see to. Important ones on very high levels.”

  “Rafe…” Kit murmured, raising his eyes to plead, knowing using his real name was not supposed to occur under these circumstances. “Please.”

  Rafe exhaled slowly, then gave him a tight smile. “Of course, Kit. You should hear from me in a day or two.” He waited a beat, then said, “The Gardiner’s party should be small enough for you to take her out. See what the tone is in her presence.”

  Kit nodded obediently, a small portion of the weight being lifted from his shoulders.

  “You have time before the Season,” Rafe reminded him. “We can clear up a good deal before then.”

  “But I should be concerned,” Kit said. There was no question of that, and he was not asking.

  Rafe pulled his cap back out and tugged it back into place, becoming the Gent once more. “You would not have married her if you did not know she would need protection.”

  Kit nodded again. “Thank you, Gent.”

  He touched the brim of his hat. “You know where to find me.”

  Kit watched his friend disappear into the night, and then, breathing a little easier, started the walk for home once more.

  There was work to be done.

  Chapter Seven

  It was even worse than she had imagined it to be.

  Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had been welcoming and warm, but even they had exchanged a surprised look at seeing her arrive with her brother and his wife. A warm press of hands, a fumbling of her name, and before any faux pas could be committed, Annalise had linked arms with her and begged them to excuse them to the other rooms, where she had seen a friend.

  She had seen no one, but had been observant enough to know that things were only going to get worse, and her kind heart had wished to spare the Gardiners any discomfort and Marianne any distress.

  That had been the easiest maneuvering of the night.

  The Gardiner’s small ballroom had been opened up into a very comfortable space for any who wished to sit and socialize or for those who felt more inclined to dance, and some of the younger guests had proceeded to dance a great deal, accompanied by Lord Viskin, of all horrid things.

  But even Lord Viskin would not be tempted by Marianne.

  Indeed, the entire room had been whispering about her as she entered, and it had not stopped.

  She had no idea what to expect from her first venture into society. She had always known there were people who would say horrid things about her, or anyone, and she had never paid them any mind. She did not have the time, energy, or desire to think on them. But she did very much care about the general opinion of Society as a whole, and the select few whose opinions had come to matter very much.

  She could hardly leave after being here for only an hour, but how long could she sit and be so mortified?

  What had possessed the Gardiners to invite Lady Cavendish? While not as vile as Lady Gerversham, she was a notorious gossip, who had no notion of what whispering was or what ought to be discussed in situations such as these. And though she had not Tibby’s range or influence, a great many people listened to her. And they tittered and whispered, and none of it was kept from Lady Cavendish.

  Marianne was now, it seemed, rather notorious.

  No one seemed particularly offended by her presence, but neither was she being approached. The only person who had spoken to her since she arrived was Annalise, and she had just been called away by Duncan about some matter. People were looking and whispering, even those that were dancing, and they spoke of her elopement, her now infamous marriage to a man she did not e
lope with, and various details about said elopement, some of which were true.

  “The window, I heard tell. She made a rope of bedsheets.”

  “For pity’s sake, Frank, she is not your brother.”

  “Marianne Bray would never use the window. She has a terrible fear of heights.”

  “Broad daylight. Mrs. Gordon was asleep when they left.”

  “They had to marry her off at once. Marksby fled the country before her brother’s wrath.”

  “Did you know she got married in the same bedsheets from the inn?”

  “Oh, now you are being ridiculous.”

  “I thought she had more sense than that.”

  “No sense.”

  “Marksby?”

  “Desperately in love.”

  “She was ruined. Entirely ruined.”

  “Ignore them,” hissed a voice near her.

  Marianne turned her head slowly to see Mary Harris taking the vacant seat next to her, and she blinked uneasily. “What?”

  Mary took her hand and glared around the room fiercely. “Ignore them. All of them.”

  “I can’t,” Marianne whispered, feeling a faint tremor coursing through her arms and legs. “How can I? It’s true.”

  Mary gave her a very severe look, and Marianne saw the delicate jaw of her friend work for a moment. “A young woman I like very much once told me to never let them see your distress,” Mary reminded her firmly, her clear blue eyes steady and even.

  “That girl ran away with a man who would have ruined her,” Marianne whispered, the fabric of her gloves suddenly feeling like shackles on her skin.

  “You are more than that,” came another voice from the other side.

  She turned to see Susannah Gerrard, her new sister-in-law, taking up position on the other side. She had apparently foregone convention by going out so near her confinement, which had probably driven Colin mad.

  “What are you doing here?” Marianne managed to squeak. “Your baby…”

  “Would want me to support his aunt,” Susannah finished with a kind smile. She leaned back a little with a wince, then made a stubborn face across the room, no doubt at her husband. “I may be uncomfortable, but I believe the entire room is at the moment.”

  “I should go,” Marianne murmured, adjusting her skirt. “I am ruining everything.”

  Both women held her in place. “No,” Mary ordered. “That was not what Susannah meant.”

  “Marianne Bray? I happen to know she tried to run off with George Oliver only last month. It’s habit for her now.”

  Marianne closed her eyes slowly, surprised to find moisture beneath her lids.

  “Idiot,” Susannah hissed under her breath. “As if anyone ever listened to Lord Darlington’s opinion on anything.”

  “And George Oliver?” Mary added with a snort. “Please. The man isn’t even in England right now, he’s on the continent with his sister.”

  “But it’s being said,” Marianne whispered, feeling ill.

  “You knew people were going to talk,” Mary murmured, rubbing her hand softly. “You know better than anyone how hard this would be.”

  “But now it’s me as the target,” she told her, opening her eyes again and gasping softly when a tear fell.

  Mary wiped it away immediately and shook her head slightly. “Smile. Or pretend one.”

  With great effort, she curved the corners of her lips a little.

  “There,” Mary praised with a smile. “Now you merely look tired.”

  “Where is Duncan?” she asked, looking around.

  “All of the men are somewhere,” Susannah said with a slight wave. “Even Derek and Nathan came.”

  “Not Lady Whitlock or Lady Beverton?”

  Susannah shook her head. “Their babies are so young still, they most likely will not do much until the Season starts. But Kate says David is easy enough that she could leave him with Alice and be comfortable.”

  Mary laughed, but Marianne was completely lost. “Who?”

  Susannah gave her a look. “I was under the impression that you knew everything.”

  Marianne opened her mouth, her mind whirling with connections she would have known only days ago.

  “David is the new baby,” Susannah told her before she could even exhale. “He is almost four months now. And Alice is…”

  “A Wittinham,” Marianne recollected suddenly, nodding to herself. “She is Lady Whitlock’s niece, and the only tolerable member of that family.”

  “There she is,” Mary said proudly, squeezing her hand tightly.

  Marianne nodded again, exhaling slowly. If her mind could return to its old self, perhaps one day the rest of her would as well. And perhaps Society would let her.

  “And Moira’s little Charlotte is but two months old,” Susannah continued conversationally, her voice rising to cover the voices behind them. “But she is good natured and quiet, so I anticipate us seeing Moira before long.”

  “Polite society won’t accept her now. Not after this.”

  “And poor Mr. Gerrard will have to suffer for it.”

  “I think we need to move,” Mary murmured to Susannah, taking Marianne by the arm, and Susannah did the same on the other side.

  “No,” Marianne said firmly, trying to shake loose from their hold. “Leave me, both of you.”

  The women looked at each other, no doubt feeling helpless.

  Marianne couldn’t blame them. For all their kindness, it was not worth it. They could not keep the people from talking, nor could they change the opinions and feelings of the rest of Society. She knew only too well how damaging mere speculation could be, and the rumors would only get worse until someone else sinned worse than she had.

  Her head suddenly felt too heavy for her neck and she was tempted to sag, but years and years of training prevented her from sacrificing that bit of pride. Her feet were chilled, her fingers numb, and her cheeks burned with a heat that did not seem to reach any other part of her.

  She did not know if Susannah and Mary left or not, and it did not matter.

  Not really.

  The whispers and titters suddenly increased in volume, and her eyes fluttered shut as if to brace her for a wave of more slander.

  Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

  She opened her eyes to see her husband standing before her, hands behind his back.

  He looked as pristine as he ever had, every aspect perfect and untouchable. His strong jaw was taut, his chestnut hair perfectly placed, and his clothing immaculate and tailored with precision. His stirring eyes were fixed on hers and she saw in them a surprising amount of gentleness.

  “I cannot believe my wife has not yet danced this evening,” he murmured quietly, but others could hear him with ease, “and that I cannot allow.” He extended his hand and bowed. “Will you dance the next with me, Mrs. Gerrard?”

  There were a few hisses of surprise from around her, but Marianne could only stare at him with wide eyes. She had danced with Kit years ago, but never again since. And as far as she could tell, Kit had danced less than a dozen times since then.

  She let her composure slip a little, unable to completely conceal the hurt that she felt deep within her, the bleakness of their situation, and regret she was starting to feel creeping into her soul for this marriage, not only because of what it did to her, but because of what it would do to him.

  “I know it is not seemly for a husband to dance with his wife,” he said, his voice carefully warm, “but perhaps you might make an exception?”

  He dipped his head just enough that the message was clear. He knew what she could not say. And then he smiled.

  And it felt as if the entire room gasped.

  Marianne felt a bare smile cross her lips and she set her gloved hand in his. “If you insist, Mr. Gerrard.”

  Again came the brief dip of his chin. “I do.”

  He led her out to the dance floor where five other couples waited, wide eyed and staring.

  The music s
tarted up and Marianne stared at Kit in surprise. “This is a waltz,” she whispered.

  “So it is,” came his reply, entirely unconcerned.

  She frowned in confusion. “You don’t waltz.”

  If they had not been in public, he would have shrugged. “Tonight, I do.”

  And waltz they did.

  The room buzzed around them, but Marianne was too focused on this turn of events to listen. Kit was waltzing. With her. And he was actually quite talented and graceful, which she would not have suspected. They had never waltzed when they had danced together before, and certainly never when she had learned. She did not even know he knew how to waltz, or that he was inclined to. Some still held the belief that a waltz was scandalous, despite it being so popular recently.

  She had always assumed that Kit would be among them.

  They did not speak during their waltz, and for that she was grateful. What sort of small talk would they make at an event like this? They were a spectacle apart, together they were shocking, and for them to be willing to stand up together, knowing that, showed a complete disregard for everyone and everything else.

  In short, this could have been the miracle she needed.

  This could set her feet back on the ground.

  And if that was the case, she could most certainly be Mrs. Gerrard.

  A spattering of applause rang out when the waltz was completed, and Kit returned her to her chair, bowing deeply over her hand once more.

  “Thank you,” she murmured for him alone.

  He looked surprised, then his lips quirked a little and he nodded. He hesitated a moment, as if he would say something, but then he left, disappearing into the people lining up for the next dance.

  “Did you see that? Gerrard danced with her!”

  “I thought it was a marriage of convenience.”

  “Kit Gerrard danced with her!”

  Marianne felt the smallest bit of smiles start and it only grew when Colin started towards her, smiling as fondly as if she were really his sister.

  “Well, Mrs. Gerrard,” he said with a noted emphasis on her new surname, “would you like to dance with the graceful Gerrard twin next?”