“It is a good thing I packed for a week, then,” Josiah observed.
“Yes,” Stephen said. “I need you to ride to London tomorrow. I will give you notices to be sent to the newspapers. And you will go to Grosvenor Square and tell Higgins to open up the viscount’s apartments. I will be taking up residence there for the rest of the season, while the Somervilles stay in the town house.”
Josiah shook his head. “Your stepmother will not like having you in her house.”
Indeed, Stephen and his stepmother, Caroline, had never been fond of each other. Not since he was a young lad of seven and his father was exhorting him to be kind to the lady who was to take the place of his own mother. They had detested each other at sight, and the birth of her own son, George, had only served to cement Caroline’s dislike for her husband’s eldest child. Over the years he had learned to disguise his dislike under a mask of formal politeness. But even his father had recognized the tension, and when Stephen turned twenty, his father had presented him with the house on Chesterfield Hill, enabling him to set up his own residence.
When his father had died two years later, Stephen had briefly contemplated moving into the house in Grosvenor Square, but he had soon decided against that. Caroline’s influence was felt in every room of the house, and it seemed too cruel for him to ask the newly made widow to vacate the house she had loved so well.
Seven years had passed, and Caroline was still firmly entrenched in Grosvenor Square. Indeed, she hardly ever left London, where she played the role of a fashionable widow to the hilt. She ignored Stephen entirely, unless there was something she wanted from him, and then she would send for him, crying pretty tears and begging him to take care of her, painting herself as a poor widow, left helpless by his father’s untimely death.
There had seemed no good reason for him to challenge the status quo, but now his engagement gave him the perfect excuse to assert his rights.
“My stepmother has reigned as Lady Endicott long enough,” Stephen said. “It is time I took control of my inheritance. This will give her time to get used to the idea. After all, when I do marry, she will be forced to give precedence to my bride.”
“She is not going to like it,” Josiah repeated.
“Then she can leave,” Stephen said firmly. “Since she is so attached to her son, she can join him in Brussels.”
Or there was the dower house in Eastbourne which had been left to her outright, not that he expected her to tamely accept such banishment. But even the threat of such should be enough to ensure her compliance should she prove difficult over his presence in what she perceived as her household.
Not to mention what the news of impending marriage would do to her composure. For he had no intention of telling Caroline that the engagement was merely a ploy. Let his stepmother suffer a little, believing that her reign as Lady Endicott was about to end. It would be fitting punishment for her role in this debacle, since she bore her own share of blame for the flaws in George’s character.
Four
Papa invited Lord Endicott to stay with them as their guest, but the viscount politely refused and, instead, stayed at the inn for the two days it took for Papa and Mama to prepare for the return to London. He behaved most civilly, as if he were, indeed, a suitor come to visit his intended’s family. He dined with them that first night and spent the evening playing draughts with her sisters.
The next day he accompanied her on a stroll through the village and then spent the afternoon closeted with her father in his study. When she asked what they had discussed, her father had said only that they were discussing the terms of the engagement. Which was ridiculous. What was there to discuss? It was not as if they truly intended to go through with this marriage.
But perhaps Lord Endicott simply wished an escape from the females of the household. Though he was too polite to say so, she sensed that he found himself overwhelmed by the Misses Somerville. Certainly it was unlikely that he had ever before sat down to dine at a table with eight women and only one other gentleman.
On the morning of the third day, they left for London. As the carriage rolled down the driveway, her sisters waved energetically and shed copious tears, some of sorrow and some of envy.
Diana rode with her parents in the hired carriage, while Lord Endicott chose to ride his horse alongside. He saw to all the details of their travel arrangements, and under his management the journey was accomplished with remarkable ease. When the carriage broke a wheel, rather than becoming angry or frustrated, Lord Endicott simply took charge. He sent the coachman for help and in a short time had arranged conveyance to the nearest village. There they dined in a private room at the posting inn, while the village smith repaired the wheel. By the time they were done with their lunch, the carriage was ready for them. All arranged in quiet efficiency and with little fuss.
Really, her fiancé was a very useful sort to have around. The type that would be handy to have in a crisis if one were traveling in the uncharted wilderness. Though he seemed to lack the adventurous spirit required to undertake such journeys. So unlike his brother in so many ways. With George she had felt an instant connection. Within mere moments of meeting they had been chatting away as if they were old friends.
With Lord Endicott it was different. He was always polite, of course, but underneath there was a reserve that kept the world at a distance. From time to time she would find him gazing at her, when he thought she was unaware. Such looks made her uncomfortable. They made her feel as if he was judging her. And she could not help wanting to know what he thought of her, though she knew by now that even if she asked, he would not tell her.
On the evening of the second day, they reached London, and Lord Endicott guided the carriage through the busy streets to the town house at Chesterfield Hill. Their arrival had been expected, for the windows were ablaze with lights. As the carriage drew up to the stairs, the front door opened, and servants hurried out to open the carriage door, while others began unloading the luggage.
Lord Endicott dismounted, and as a servant held his horse, he accompanied them inside.
“This is Mr. Barnes, the butler, and his wife, Mrs. Barnes, the housekeeper. They will see to your comfort,” Lord Endicott said. “And these are the Somervilles and their daughter Miss Diana, who is to be my wife.”
Diana blinked in surprise, but fortunately no one seemed to notice. His wife. It sounded strange, but she supposed she would have to get used to it.
“It is an honor to have you here,” Mr. Barnes said.
“Come now, you must be weary after all that jolting around in the carriage,” Mrs. Barnes said, helping Mrs. Somerville remove her cloak. “Let me show you to your rooms. The maids are bringing hot water for washing, and then there is supper waiting for those that are hungry.”
Suddenly hot water and the prospect of a soft bed sounded incredibly wonderful to Diana, as if she had been traveling for two weeks instead of a mere two days.
“I will leave you in Mrs. Barnes’s capable hands,” Lord Endicott said. “Miss Somerville, may I call upon you tomorrow afternoon? Perhaps we could take a drive in the park, if you are not too fatigued.”
The viscount was wasting no time. In the afternoon the park was certain to be crowded with members of society. It would be their first public appearance and a chance to see if society accepted the fact of their engagement.
“That would be lovely,” Diana said.
“Until tomorrow, then,” Lord Endicott replied, and with a bow to her parents, he departed.
“How could you do this to me? Have you no regard for my feelings?” the dowager Lady Endicott demanded. She had pounced upon him the moment he entered the Grosvenor Square residence, practically dragging him off into the Chinese parlor, with its crimson-and-gold-patterned walls and vast collection of tasteless oriental knickknacks.
“Good evening, Caroline,” Stephen said. Yes, the journey was pleasant. Yes, I am well, he said to himself, but he knew she had no interest in such subjects.
“You made a fool out of me,” Caroline said. She stuck her lower lip out in a pout. At the age of seventeen it might well have been attractive. Now that she was perilously close to forty, it only made her look ill-tempered.
Not that his stepmother looked old. On the contrary, she had retained her slender figure. In a candlelit ballroom, with her still-golden curls and carefully rouged cheeks, she might well pass for a woman of thirty. It was only in the sunlight that her true age showed, just as it was only with her family and the servants that she allowed her shrewish nature to appear.
She was dressed uncommonly finely, in a low-cut evening gown of the finest French silk. No doubt she was planning on going out that evening. It was a shame that she had not already left.
Stephen sat down and stretched his legs out before him. After two days in the saddle, he wanted nothing so much as to strip off his clothes and sink into a hot bath. But he knew from long experience that Caroline would insist on having her say. Better to get this over with now.
“What have I done to upset you?”
Caroline stood over him, glaring, and then whirled away, the fabric of her gown swirling around her. “You made me look like a fool. Today, at Mrs. Hendrick’s breakfast, that harpy Louise Richman insisted on being the first to congratulate me on the good news. Of course, I had no idea what she was talking about. Imagine my mortification when she revealed that the notice of your engagement had appeared in the morning papers.”
Stephen sighed. “I trust you managed to escape with your dignity intact?”
Caroline sniffed. “Of course. I am no green girl, after all. I told Mrs. Richman that it was a longstanding engagement, and I was merely surprised, having expected the notice to appear next week.”
Stephen nodded. “That was clever of you.”
“But it was all your fault. You could have told me. You owed it to me to tell me first. I am your father’s wife, after all.”
His father’s wife. George’s mother. That was all she had ever been to him. Not once in the past twenty years had he ever been tempted to call her Mother. He swallowed against the sudden bitterness that rose in his throat.
“I sent a letter with Josiah. Did you not read it?”
Caroline shrugged, waving one bejeweled hand. “If he gave me such a thing, I do not remember it. Really, I was in such a pet when he told me you intended to open up your father’s apartments. I knew it must all be some sort of dreadful mistake. Those rooms have not been used in years. I cannot possibly expect to get them ready. Josiah tried to insist, but I sent him packing.”
Stephen sighed again and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He could feel a headache coming on.
“You sent him off,” he repeated. “My valet.”
“Yes. I knew it was all a hum. Why would you want to stay here, when you have your own perfectly adequate town house?”
Caroline dimpled at him prettily, as if he were one of her cicisbei. Her smile slipped as he maintained his silence.
“My fiancée, Miss Somerville, and her parents are in residence at Chesterfield Hill,” he said, summoning up his patience. “And as for this house, I believe it is mine as well. It is high time that I took up residence here. And it is perfectly suited for hosting a ball to celebrate my forthcoming marriage.”
His stepmother was silent, and he could not resist adding, “Do not worry. We do not plan to be married until the autumn. There is no need for you to vacate the viscountess’s apartments until then.”
He took a certain satisfaction in seeing Caroline’s face pale as his words sank in. Really, she was quite a foolish woman, and for the ten thousandth time, he wondered what his father had ever seen in her.
Caroline had been so caught up by her affronted dignity that she had not realized what his engagement meant to her. On the day he married, there would be a new Lady Endicott. A woman who would reign as mistress here at Grosvenor Square, as well as at the family estate in Eastbourne. Caroline would be relegated to the position of dowager viscountess, and a guest in her stepson’s home.
“The season is nearly over. I cannot possibly arrange a ball on such short notice,” Caroline objected.
“I beg to disagree. I was thinking of the second week of June, and that should give you more than sufficient time to plan such an event,” Stephen said. “Of course, if you find the task beyond you, I am certain I could rely upon Miss Somerville and her mother to make all the necessary arrangements.”
“There is no need for that. If you insist upon this folly, then I will do what is necessary. And I will not have another woman running my house,” Caroline said.
“This is my house, as you may recall,” Stephen said. “And I do insist.” Which was a rarity in their relationship. In the past it had always been easier to let Caroline have her own way in all things. There had been few things that he wanted strongly enough to challenge her over. But this was different.
“And this young woman? Do I know her? What of her family?”
It was clear that whatever gossip was circulating had not yet reached Caroline’s ears. Which was strange, for he knew she was friends with some of the most avid gossips in London. Then again, even such ladies would no doubt have hesitated before telling Caroline of a scandal involving her beloved son. Not to spare her feelings, but more because they knew she would not believe them.
“Miss Diana Somerville is a young woman from a good Kentish family—an original really—and I know you will find her quite charming,” he said. He hoped Caroline was intelligent enough to heed the subtle warning in his words. He would tolerate no unpleasantness from her toward Miss Somerville.
“She sounds dull,” Caroline said. “Is she pretty at least?”
“Very,” he said, though he had not given the matter much thought before. Still, as he conjured up her image in his mind’s eye, he knew he was right.
“And how did you meet such a paragon?”
Stephen smiled. “If it were not for George, I would never have met her.”
Caroline stared at him openmouthed in surprise.
“And now, if you will excuse me, I need to wash off the dust of the road,” he said.
“You cannot stay here,” she said. “Your father’s rooms are not ready.”
There were a dozen bedrooms in the house, but no doubt if he inquired, she would claim that none of these were suitable either and blame the lackadaisical staff. When the truth was far simpler. He tasted bile again as he wondered which of her lovers she had been entertaining in the rooms that had been his father’s. No doubt she wished him gone so she could remove all evidence of her indiscretions.
“I will stay at the club tonight,” Stephen said. “But you can tell the servants that I will be returning tomorrow. And if all is not in readiness, I will begin asking questions until I find the reason why. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly,” Caroline said. “And there is no reason to take such an uncivil tone. I am only thinking of your comfort.”
The day Caroline gave a thought to his comfort was the day that hell would freeze over. And with that bleak thought, he bade her good night and took his leave, before he said anything that would permanently sever their relationship. Not that he cared for himself, but Caroline’s public support would be vital to ensure the success of the engagement. A quarrel with her now would serve no purpose. He had endured her scorn and contempt for years; another few months were no great burden to bear.
But after the engagement was over, he would make it clear to Caroline that he was no longer prepared to turn a blind eye to her indiscretions. Nor would he allow her to blithely rule over what, by right of inheritance, was his. He had indulged her and his half brother long enough, with disastrous results. Now it was time to reclaim what was his.
Five
“I still do not understand why you feel compelled to go through with this sham engagement. You said yourself that Miss Somerville’s virtue is intact. Surely there was no need for such dra
stic measures,” Tony Dunne said.
Stephen shrugged. How could he explain what he himself only half understood? “It seemed the right thing to do.”
After all, it was clear that George had intended to seduce Miss Somerville. Forcibly, if necessary. Only her quick wits had saved her. And even then, George had done his best to blacken her reputation, providing his cronies with so-called proof that he had won the wager by taking a young lady’s innocence. Someone had to protect her, and there was no one else willing or able to take on the task.
“I do not like this,” Tony Dunne said. His face was still troubled, and he rubbed one hand over his chin. “I wish you had spoken to me first, before you went to Kent.”
Stephen had known that Tony would be upset to see the news of the engagement in the newspapers, which was why the morning after his return he had come to call upon his friend. But unlike his stepmother, Caroline, he knew that Tony’s distress came from genuine concern and the fear that his friend had done something rash, something that would turn out badly for all concerned.
“What if this girl changes her mind and decides she wishes to be a viscountess in truth? What will you do then, if she refuses to break the engagement?” Tony asked.
“Then we would be married, of course,” Stephen said. He had always known such was a possibility from the moment he had made his offer. Strangely the thought did not distress him, although he could understand why Tony Dunne was concerned. Then again, Tony had yet to meet Miss Somerville.
“But I doubt very much that such will come to pass,” Stephen explained. “I do not meet Miss Somerville’s requirements for a husband.”
Tony lifted one eyebrow. “And those are?”
Stephen shrugged. “I am entirely too conventional for her tastes. Respectable. Conservative. Dull, one might say. But my greatest failing is that I have no wish to drag my wife on a trip through the jungles of India or the wild rivers of Brazil.”
The Wrong Mr. Wright Page 4