by Megan Bryce
TABLE OF CONTENTS
* * *
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Epilogue
Copyright
One
Jameson Pendrake, the fourth Earl of Nighting and one of the finest catches in all of England, lay supine on his sofa watching his best friend defend Jameson’s dignity. Jameson’s honor had fled some years back, but Robin was supremely confident that there was still something left to defend. Robin’s sister, Amelia, knew better and she stuffed a pillow unnecessarily hard under Jameson’s head as she argued.
“Of course he let her. He deserved it.”
He had tried to do the right thing. Fix a mistake that should never have been, but was he thanked for it? No, he was unmanned for his efforts. Kneed by his dainty bride-to-be and left groaning on the floor. How, how, could a woman who weighed less than one of his hunting dogs have felled him so effectively? So embarrassingly.
He could only agree with Amelia. He had deserved it.
Robin, ever-faithful, disagreed. “No man deserves that, and not a one would allow some chit to do that on purpose. She surprised him.”
Jameson interrupted their conversation. “Amelia, dear. Perhaps the pillow would help more somewhat closer to the injury in question.”
He received a slap on the arm for that impudence. In truth, she shouldn’t be privy to his injury at all, but it was hard to keep secrets and adventures from her. It always had been and he was unsurprised to learn she hadn’t grown out of that talent.
“When was the last time you were able to surprise Jameson? Never would be my guess.”
“And I am not a petite blonde to whom he was engaged. I would tend to think the company would put him at ease.”
“A woman who he’d just left at the altar? I personally think he should have expected a lot more.”
Jameson stirred, shifting the pillow into a more comfortable position and belatedly worrying that Amelia might indeed think he deserved more. She could do much more lasting damage than Miss Underwood.
“To be accurate, Amelia, I didn’t leave her standing at the altar.” Which was why he’d reacted much too slowly when his gently-bred bride had gone for the jewels. In truth, he’d figured she hadn’t even known what went on in a man’s pants, but then he’d forgotten she had four brothers. Who would come a-calling sometime this afternoon, he was sure.
Amelia’s eagle-eyes snared his. “To be accurate, Jameson, one day before the wedding is not sufficient notice for a soon-to-be ex-bride. The only silver lining in this cloud is that she’ll realize you did her a favor before too long.”
Jameson saluted her with his glass. “With friends like these...”
A tribute to her mood that she didn’t smile. “You know it as well as I. The only one unwilling to face the fact that you would make a lousy husband was the poor girl.” She surveyed his prostrate form and clapped her hands. “Well, no real harm done. I shall make a call on her this morning. No doubt she’ll realize how close she came to disaster. By this afternoon she’ll think it was her idea to call it off.”
Robin sputtered, “No real harm done? Just look at the poor boy!”
Jameson personally agreed with Robin. He did feel rather ill.
Still, if anyone could fix this predicament it was the dragon. Amelia had a way of making even the most resolute fellow change his mind. And resolute had never been a term he would have described Miss Underwood as. Even so, he feared she would not easily come to see his desertion as a kindness. “Good luck, my dear.”
She took his glass from him and handed it to Robin. “Luck? My dear, you’re a wastrel. I just need time. Robin, please keep him at least halfway sober. He’ll need what little wits he has to keep out of a duel.”
She swept from the room, a hurricane on a mission. He was fortunate indeed that she was on his side.
Robin sat slowly, a frown marring a perfectly good cravat. “I say, she treats you very ill. Why do you keep her around?”
“Why do you bring her? I haven’t the energy to keep her away. Besides, it’s quite refreshing having someone around not blind to my faults.”
“Oh, I say. You may have a few eccentricities, but I wouldn’t call them faults.”
“You have proved my point, old chap. Now, if you would please refill that glass for me. There’s a good fellow.”
Men.
Lady Amelia Delaney had never been clear on why they thought they were in charge. She would rectify that if she wasn’t so busy with the two she had. Point in case, today’s little adventure. If anybody had asked her, meaning Jameson and he hadn’t, she’d have told him long ago that Clarice was not the right girl for him. She did remember saying something about that but since he hadn’t bothered to mention his intentions until after he’d proposed, it had done little good. And if he had thought at all, he might have asked her the best way of ending the engagement. She would have suggested ending it a little earlier and perhaps would have included a horrendous carriage accident that left him out of commission for a few weeks. With the right persuasions, Clarice would have ended it herself.
Funny though, Clarice’s last act had shown she was made of sterner stuff than Amelia had first thought. Not the best way of making a man change his mind, but it did make him stop and think for a moment. Of course, Jameson would never fall twice for that trick. Pity. His injury would give her a few hours of knowing where he was and limit the damage he was inflicting on the world at large.
Amelia arrived at the Underwood household at the best of time. By the exhausted look of the butler she gathered the explosion had already occurred. All that was left was to sweep up the pieces.
The butler informed her that Miss Underwood was out, and Amelia informed him that if he wished sanity to rule the household anytime soon, he would show her in.
She was, of course, shown in to the small breakfast room where Clarice and her mother sat, dejected and red-eyed. Clarice’s light green day-gown was rumpled and a multitude of handkerchiefs littered the table.
Clarice’s eyes widened and she jumped to her feet when she saw Amelia. Hope and anger warred on the girl’s face and Amelia sighed at the callousness of men and the delusion of women.
“Has he sent you to get me back?”
Amelia appraised her coolly. “My dear, you floored him with one smartly-placed knee. I believe the furthest thing on his mind is how to get you back.”
Her mother’s sobs burst free from her handkerchief. Clarice sniffed mightily but kept her face in line. “Then why are you here?”
“To commend you on your forthright action. Indeed, I believe many men will think twice about jilting their brides in the future. And for your extraordinary luck in ridding yourself of an unsuitable husband.”
Her mother sputtered into action. “Unsuitable? Unsuitable! Lord Nighting is one of the most eligible bachelors in all of England. He would have made Clarice an excellent husband if she hadn’t mauled him.”
“It was an accident! I was angry!”
Amelia sat comfortably and poured herself a cup of tea. “Ah. Well, I would keep that bit of information to myself if I were you. An intended kick to a gentleman’s nether regions is entirely different from an accidental one. You wouldn’t want your dance partners afraid you had no control over your limbs.”
Her mother hiccuped a laugh. “Dance partners? Why would they take the chance.”
“My point exactly. Since most of the ton knows Lord Nighting, it shouldn’t be too hard to convince them he deserved it. What we don’t want is for other men to be afraid they’ll get the same treatment. It would b
e quite distressing for them, and unnecessarily ruin your chances for a good match. By the by, dear, I think from now on we should say the kick was intended, the location was not. It will be much easier for everyone to forgive a dainty kick to the shin that went misplaced.”
Although she would not care to wager how long that delicious bit of gossip would circulate. Jameson was a particularly virile specimen and Clarice’s unmanning of him straight from a comedy.
“It is no good, Lady Amelia. I have been jilted, ruined. No man will want to marry me now, let alone dance with me.”
“I disagree. First of all, no one knows that he jilted you. And if we work this right no one will ever believe it. Despite what your mother thinks, Lord Nighting is not fit for marriage. At least to a sweet, beautiful girl like you. He is enough to break anyone and the fact that you attacked him will only prove what the ton has known all along. A woman must take matters into her own hands when dealing with him.
“No, my dear. After tonight’s festivities, where you will be happy and Jameson will be in hiding, the ton will embrace you and place the blame where it is due.”
Clarice sat slowly, eyeing Amelia. “I thought you were his friend.”
Amelia paused with her cup half-way to her mouth. “Of course I am. Once he hears my plan he will thank me kindly for alleviating the pain he so carelessly created.”
After she persuaded him, of course. Jameson was no more fond of being made a fool than any man. However, he would not be going anywhere today to contradict the rumors she would be starting. If his injury did not keep him at home, she would.
Clarice stared down at the table. “Is there no chance...”
Amelia stifled a sigh. Despite his reputation, Jameson was not insensitive. He would not have wanted to hurt the girl and he’d done what he thought was best. In this instance, Amelia agreed with him; if not, she would have marched him to the altar herself. But Clarice was much too demure to ever be able to handle him; their aborted marriage would not have been a happy one for either party.
“Do you love him?”
“I thought I could. Someday.” She looked at her mother out of the corner of her eye and blushed. “He is very handsome.”
Her mother’s sobs continued noisily. No doubt she had pictured her golden-haired grandchildren in detail.
“There are other handsome, less aggravating men, Clarice. Life with Jameson would be one frustration after another and you deserve someone gentler. Someone who will put your wishes ahead of his own, and who would not need to be hit over the head to see your point of view. I’m afraid Jameson thinks he always knows best.”
Clarice’s eyes flashed. “Did he think this was for the best then?”
Amelia said gently, “Yes, he did. Else he would not have hurt you so.”
“I would not like to think I was so wrong about him. That he hadn’t cared for me at all.”
Amelia glanced at Clarice’s mother, then stood pointedly. “I believe fresh air would do you good, Clarice. Would you take a turn with me out to the garden?”
Amelia did not know if intelligence or kindness made Clarice agree, but she came. It was possible she simply wanted to get away from her mother; it was blessedly quieter outside.
Clarice was quiet as they walked. Amelia was not heartless, the girl had taken a fairly fatal blow. Without her intervention the girl would no doubt end a bitter spinster, ostracized from polite society. Jameson was a scoundrel. However, he did have his reasons, and Clarice deserved to know them.
“Have you heard the gossip of Jameson, my dear?”
Clarice looked startled. “Gossip? Has he done something dreadful?”
Amelia hid her smile. Jameson had really made this too easy. Even his devoted—well, recently-devoted—bride was willing to believe the worst of him.
“Not anything recent, although I will rectify that today, but from his past. About his parents?”
Clarice frowned and said slowly, “No. But there can’t have been anything too terrible about them. Father would never have agreed to the marriage if there were.”
“It is a shame young women are kept so ignorant. I believe a great many surprises could be lessened if we were simply informed. However, this happened a long time ago. Mayhap the only person it still affects is Jameson.”
Amelia sent a prayer to the skies, hoping one day Jameson would forgive her, then said, “His mother killed his father and then took her own life.”
Clarice gasped, but Amelia simply nodded. “He was... indiscreet.” She glanced at the girl, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain mistresses and the reason for them. Fortunately, Clarice blushed. Tomorrow would have been her wedding day after all and what little instruction she’d received was apparently enough.
“They fought. A vicious physical fight that ended with both of them at the bottom of the grand stairs. Jameson’s father died there and his mother was paralyzed on one side of her body. Her face frozen in a mask of hate and terror.”
Amelia still remembered Jameson arriving soaked and frightened, muddied and sobbing. He had run miles through London to get her father, but it had been too late. When her father had returned, Jameson in tow, he had forbidden his children to go anywhere near the place. Amelia still wished she had obeyed. The sight of Lady Nighting’s face had haunted her nightmares for years.
“His mother lived for two more months, then wheeled her chair into the pond and drowned.” Amelia glanced at the girl’s green face. “I wish she had died the same night as the Earl. For two months Jameson lived alone with her, looking at her, listening to her. Hate had poisoned her and she did all she could to make sure her son would be nothing like his father.”
She had succeeded, though Amelia suspected not in the way she meant. Jameson knew his father to be cold and dutiful, and Jameson was anything but. Amelia suspected Lady Nighting had meant for Jameson to not give in to his animal flesh. But twelve year-old boys rarely took things as planned. No, Jameson stayed far from responsibility. His engagement to Clarice had come as a shock, the ending of it much more in character. If he had no wife, he had no fear of humiliating her. It would be too easy to humiliate Clarice.
“What was his father like?”
“Gray and dreary. I believe the only exciting thing he ever did in his life was have a mistress. However, when an earl loves his mistress more than his wife and child, more than duty, he can forget that other people’s opinions matter. His mistress became an increasingly common sight around town. On his arm, in his carriage. Lady Nighting was whispered about, laughed at, humiliated, pitied. She had been a very beautiful woman and I would think the pity was what would have stung the most.”
Clarice looked at the garden, unseeing. Up until now, the poor girl had probably pictured the laughter of the ton, not the pity.
“I believe you’re right, Lady Amelia. Pity... Pity might indeed be worse than laughter.”
“Laughter is a comment on the past, my dear, while pity is a comment on the future. One can learn from the mistakes of the past, but how can one defend oneself from the future?”
Clarice stopped and looked her fully in the eye. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to understand that Jameson was afraid he would do to you what his father did to his mother. That is why he ended the engagement. And also understand that he doesn’t realize that by ending the engagement he has done exactly what he feared. To him, this is the lesser evil.”
Clarice looked away, her small fists clenched, and Amelia gently covered one with her hand.
“I also want you to understand that he is correct. What you are feeling and what you will go through is a tenth of what his mother went through. And you at least have the opportunity to undo the damage before it is too late. To change the laughter and the pity to something else entirely.”
Clarice voice was very small as she asked simply, “How?”
Amelia linked her arm through Clarice’s. “Gossip is a game, my dear. And the winner is almost alwa
ys the first one out of the gate. We shall start a little rumor that you were the one who ended the engagement. That’s it. The rumor mill will do the rest; I’m sure they will come up with something suitably horrific. And tonight you will be happy and relieved and looking for a replacement.”
“Do you really think this will work, Lady Amelia? Even if everyone believes I threw him over instead, that won’t make me look very attractive as a partner.”
“I dare say you will have ten marriage proposals in the next week. Never underestimate the allure of a challenge.”
The poor child still looked unhappy. She was not grasping her good luck as quickly as Amelia had hoped.
“My dear, let me be the first to tell you that life with Jameson would be one frustration after another. There is nothing wrong with that, but some, if not most, personalities are poorly suited to that lifestyle. You need a calmer husband, and I would advise you not to accept any proposals that come in the near future. Let the hot-heads weed themselves out and then find a decent man to spend the rest of your days with.”
Clarice sighed, looking out at the distant sky. “I don’t think I shall find anyone quite like Lord Nighting. He is so very handsome. And charming.”
Amelia nodded. “He is. But so is the devil. Now off you go. Tonight you must look radiant. You must look as if the future is before you and you never realized how wonderful it was going to be.”
“Thank you, Lady Amelia. I truly wonder if this will work, but I do feel better.”
“Don’t thank me, Clarice. Thank your knee.”
The brothers of Miss Underwood could only be described as fops. Jameson wondered briefly where she had learned that move, as he doubted it was from them. But maybe they’d been wilder and less inclined to giggle when they were younger.
They came sooner than he’d expected and he’d not got around to informing the butler to keep them out. Thankfully, Robin was still around, but after the first cries of horror and dismay he’d realized they were more upset with him for disturbing their breakfast than with jilting their sister.