“Have you looked for it?”
“Bien sûr! I look every day.”
“Perhaps I…”
“No!”
“There’s no need to snap my head off.” She pushed out her bottom lip in thought. “I can’t anyway, I promised Father I wouldn’t go out alone again.”
Guy’s eyes widened. “He knows?”
“Yes. But not that I rode The General.”
“He will find out.”
“Most likely.” She would probably confess it before long. “What will you do?”
“I plan to search further for my papers then travel to London to see my solicitor. After that, I will pay Eustace a visit.”
“What will you tell him?”
“I’ll inform him of my new will, which disinherits him from all my unentailed fortune. I cannot stop him from inheriting the Hall though, unless I leave behind an heir. I shall also tell him of my plan to marry as soon as I have established my identity.” He gazed steadily into her eyes. “I can do nothing until I find those papers.”
“I’m sure you will have no trouble finding a suitable bride. You are, for the most part, perfectly acceptable.”
“For the most part?” He raised a dark brow.
“You are attractive, undoubtedly. And a baron...”
He gave a cautious laugh. “I seem to detect a ‘but’ in there somewhere. Unless my English...”
“Don’t try and fudge,” she scoffed, looking at her hands. “Your understanding of English is excellent.”
He took her chin in his big hand and turned her head to meet his gaze. “Then what?”
She tried to ignore his touch, which always caused her breath to quicken. “Your bride would have to be prepared to obey her master in all matters. Merely sit and embroider and keep the hearth fires burning, whilst you have shooting parties and visit your club in London and…”
His blue gaze heated, and he gripped her shoulders hard, making her wince, more from his closeness than discomfort. “Mon dieu, but you are a tease, Horatia!”
She wriggled out of his grasp. “Fanny Kemble is the perfect choice. She is so very sweet natured. Is it to be Fanny?”
“Non! Fanny? Where did that harebrained idea come from?”
“You have flirted with Fanny every time you’ve been in her company.”
“Flirted? I? Mon dieu! What about you and that échalas, Oakley!”
“You are not exactly short yourself, my lord.” Beanpole did describe tall, thin Frederick rather well, and she stifled a giggle. “Frederick called today while I was out,” she said coolly. “He has asked me to marry him.”
“He has? Impudent man.” His eyes narrowed.
“Father likes him.”
He gave a derisive laugh. “Since when do you rush to obey your father?”
She firmed her lips. “I refused Mr. Oakley.”
“Kind of you, you would fatigue him to death within the first year.”
“I don’t believe I would. In fact, I might reconsider. You are behaving like a bore, my lord.”
He took her hands. “Let’s not quarrel, Horatia.” His eyes softened. “You might help me.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not in a position to ask anyone to marry me. But I have need of a fiancée. It will give Eustace something to think about. He is very fond of you. Would you agree to it? It would be only for a period of time, until I am in a secure position to marry.”
She stared at him. “You wish a false betrothal?”
“Oui.”
“But what would my father say?”
“He doesn’t need to be told the truth of it right now. I know you don’t wish to marry, but you want to go to London, no? This offers you a good reason to visit. You won’t remain bound to me, and if something should happen to me, you are free.”
It was duplicitous, but he was right. For Eustace to learn her happiness depended on Guy would give him pause, if he was behind this. But if it wasn’t Eustace who on earth could it be? She buried the thought as disloyal. Father would agree at last to let her go to her aunt. And as Guy’s fiancée, she would have much more freedom. She gazed into his eyes. She must keep it a business arrangement. She couldn’t bear it otherwise.
“No lovemaking,” she said, wishing to make it clear before she weakened. “A business arrangement only.”
“If that is your wish,” Guy said, lowering his gaze.
“Look at me, Guy,” she demanded. “I must have your word.”
“You have my word.” He held out his hands with a virtuous look she didn’t trust. “No lovemaking unless you desire it.”
She wasn’t sure she liked the way he said that. It sounded like a challenge. She shrugged it off as excitement gripped her. London. “Very well.”
“You agree?”
“Yes.”
“Bon!” He jumped up and kissed her hand. “I thank you with all of my heart. Now I must go. I will return to ask your father tomorrow.”
“Ask my father?” She clearly hadn’t thought it through.
Oh dear.
Chapter Ten
Her father’s enthusiastic reaction to Horatia’s engagement caused a heavy sinking sensation to settle in her stomach at yet another falsehood. Not so Guy. He discussed Horatia’s dowry and the marriage settlement with her father in the library. That done, he and her father shared a joke while discussing salmon fishing and crop rotation. A good deal of bonhomie and laughter emerged from the library along with the smoke.
Guy prepared to ride off for his daily search of his portmanteau. Whether he found it or not, he planned to depart for London first thing the next morning, this time in the carriage with a footman riding shotgun. They would see each other when Horatia went to her aunt’s the following week. He gazed down at her as they stood together by the front door.
“You needn’t look quite so pleased at this ruse.” She wished him to suffer at least a twinge of guilt like she did.
His lips curved upward, and a dimple appeared near the corner of his mouth. His charming smile caused her to take a steadying breath while she tried to focus on the fact he was neither a little repentant nor her true beau.
“Goodbye, fair Horatia.” He bent his head and dropped a feather-light kiss close to her mouth before she could turn her head away. “I’ll count the days until I see you in London.”
Horatia glowered at him; he’d come close to breaking the rules of their agreement already. “You plan to stay with Eustace?”
“I am invited to put up with a friend, Lord Strathairn, as my townhouse is unavailable.”
“You might improve matters if you stayed with Eustace.”
His eyes clouded. “I don’t believe Eustace and I shall ever be friends. Even if he is innocent, he has doubted me from the first.”
“But, Guy…”
He scowled. “I expect to be given the benefit of the doubt. You have given it. Why can’t he?” She opened her mouth to argue in Eustace’s defense, and he shook his head. “Horatia, I suspect as a wife you will give a man little peace.”
Incensed, she fired back, “Well, it’s a good thing we don’t really plan to marry, wouldn’t you agree?”
He gave her a look that was annoyingly inscrutable. “You think so?”
“You are so stubborn. There seems to be no possibility of persuading you to be reasonable.”
Adroitly ignoring her accusation, he took her hand and held on to it, stroking her fingers with a thumb. “I’ll have to see about a ring.”
“But the arrangement wasn’t to go that far,” she said breathlessly, distracted by his words and the touch of his fingers on her skin. “I mean, I understood it was to be temporary, a matter of days or so and made known to Eustace and Father only. And that you would make some excuse for the delay in placing the announcement in the newspaper…”
His blue gaze locked with hers. “It must appear real. And remain in place until all things are set to rights.”
Disconcerted, she tried to dis
cern what he was thinking. “But how long might that take?”
“I thought spending a season in London would appeal to you.”
“It does. London offers so much. My aunt’s poetry readings particularly.”
He firmed his lips. “Poetry is all and good, but it pales beside life experience, Horatia.”
“And real life sometimes pales beside poetry,” she said coolly.
He arched a brow. “That would depend on what one experiences, I should image. And with whom.”
Her cheeks heated. “Miss Fanny is in London. You might call on her. I can give you her direction.”
“I would be pleased to,” he said. “I like Miss Fanny.”
Horatia watched him ride away. London and its charms awaited her, with the promise of a visit to the museum and the Tower, art galleries and literary soirées, plays and the opera. The prospect should thrill her. Instead, she turned away troubled. She doubted they would extricate themselves from this fine mess without someone hurt. She prayed it wouldn’t be Guy, but it was just as likely to be her.
In the parlor of her small townhouse in King Street, Mayfair, Aunt Emily expressed her delight at having Horatia stay for the whole season and how excited she was at the news of the engagement. “A baron no less,” she repeated. “Nuptials between gentry and the aristocracy happen, of course, but a love match is rare.”
Unable to weave a web of lies, Horatia fell silent.
Aunt Emily finished her tea and wandered to her desk. She picked up a quill pen and prodded her topknot with it, her gaze alighting on a piece of paper on the polished desktop. “This morning, I penned a short verse in iambic pentameter. An Ode to Spring. Would you care to read it?”
Horatia put down her cup. Having just arrived, stiff and weary, and consumed with trembling excitement at the sight of the big, bustling city, she’d never felt so little enthusiasm for rhyme. But she took the proffered page and read through it.
“It’s excellent, Aunt Emily,” she said warmly, although she found it too flowery for her taste.
Horatia wondered why Aunt Emily had never married. Had the loss of a lover caused her to fill her life with poetry, literature, and art? She must find a tactful way to ask her. Eustace had hinted at a mysterious man in her past. Her aunt tucked the poem into a book. “Stand up, Horatia, and let me look at you.”
Horatia stood and obligingly completed a slow turn, drawing a frown from Aunt Emily. “Your dress is dreadfully outmoded. That style was several seasons ago.”
Horatia grimaced. “Father has been economizing. It’s been a while since I’ve had material to make a new one.”
Aunt Emily bristled. “My brother, dear as he is to me, is parsimonious.” She made a clucking noise with her tongue. “For goodness sake, you are about to marry into the aristocracy.” She crossed the room to sort through a stack of periodicals. “The sooner we do something about it, the better.”
Her aunt selected a copy of the La Belle Assemblee magazine and handed it her. “These are the very latest fashions. Leaf through it to decide what you like. We shall have to visit a modiste. Paris fashion has taken London by storm since the war with France ended.”
Horatia admired the elegant gowns featured on every page. Might she have an outfit as beautiful as these? Perhaps one or two, for she would get years of wear out of them. She was struck by a ball gown with a stiff, ruffled collar. Extremely tall ostrich feathers decorated the lady’s headdress. “I do like this.”
Her aunt looked at the page. “Yes, well. One must not go overboard perhaps.”
“What about this sea green turban?”
“We shall discuss it with the dressmaker. She will know what is suitable for every occasion. Fortunately, you have an excellent figure.” Aunt Emily pulled the bell to summon a servant. “You can tell me all during luncheon. I can’t wait to hear how this engagement came about.”
Horatia bent her head to hide her hot cheeks. So much of this plan had not been thought through in advance. “It happened very quickly, Aunt. His lordship is in need of a wife.”
A flicker of disappointment appeared in her aunt’s eyes. “Not a romantic attachment then?”
“No. More of a business arrangement.”
“But…” Aunt Emily’s eyes grew wide. “But if that were the case, Lord Fortescue would choose a more suitable wife from the aristocracy.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t have time.”
Her aunt’s eyes became owlish. “No time? Is he in desperate need of funds?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
“Then what, is he seriously ill?” Her face took on a tragic cast. “Surely you aren’t to be a young widow?”
Horatia twisted her handkerchief. She couldn’t produce a convincing lie to save her life, and her aunt’s understanding seemed a good deal sharper than her father’s. Or were men just easier to fool?
“Horatia?” Aunt Emily’s voice lowered accusingly. “There is a story here. I wish to learn it.” She sat down and folded her arms. “Tell all.”
Horatia’s throat was dry. She had been pleading her case for over half an hour. By the look on her aunt’s face it hadn’t worked. “So that’s it.” Aunt Emily shook her head. “You have made a very bad mistake, indulging him in this, my dear.”
“But, Aunt…”
Her aunt held up a hand. “What will happen when the engagement ends? Tell me that.”
“I’ll return home.” To live with my dreams. Her reputation mattered little. She planned to become a spinster poetess with a mysterious past. Horatia blew a loose curl off her forehead. Any whiff of a scandal would only add authenticity to her purpose.
“It must be something from the baron’s past. I don’t know him well, but I can’t believe Mr. Fennimore would stoop so low.” Her aunt shook her head. “I understand your need to protect this man, but I can’t see that it’s wise.” Her brows drew together. “If your father knew—”
“Oh, please don’t tell him, Aunt. I will when it’s at an end, I promise. It shan’t be long, and I don’t want him to worry. I get something out of this too. After all, I’m here with you in London.”
“I’ve a good mind to speak to Lord Fortescue. He has placed you in an invidious position.”
The maid appeared at the door and held out a calling card. “You have a visitor, Miss Emily.”
“Now who might this be?” Aunt Emily said crossly. “I want to talk you out of this silly…” She read the card and looked up. “Just the man I wish to see. Send him in, Sarah.”
Guy entered the room, tall and imposing, a silver-topped cane tucked beneath his arm as he removed grey gloves. He was dressed immaculately in fitted buff breeches, a dark blue superfine coat and spotless linen, a gold fob looped over his embroidered silk waistcoat.
Horatia’s heart fluttered. He looked elegant, poised, and handsome. Aunt Emily rose and bid him welcome in a breathy voice.
“Delighted, Miss Cavendish.” Guy bowed as her aunt dipped into a deep curtsey. “Your niece has told me of your celebrated literary soirées. I’ve looked forward to meeting you and hope to be invited to attend when next you have one.”
Horatia rose too, clenching her hands and waiting for her aunt to inform him that the engagement must be at an end.
Guy’s gaze swept Horatia with unveiled appreciation. “How well you look, Miss Horatia. I trust you had a safe and pleasant trip?”
“Yes, thank you.” Horatia was struck by how different he seemed. Back in Digswell he was an attractive man, but here he appeared so much more commanding. Her aunt obviously thought so too. Horatia bit her lip, tamping down her impatience to ask him the latest news.
“Please do sit, my lord. Would you care for a libation?” Aunt Emily said.
“Nothing to drink, thank you.” He removed a small box from his pocket. “I wonder if I might be permitted a moment alone with Miss Cavendish?”
Horatia’s gaze flew to her aunt, who was eyeing the jeweler’s box. “Very well, my lord,” Aunt E
mily said. Amazed, Horatia watched her gather up her shawl and leave the room.
She swallowed her surprise and sought answers to the questions that plagued her. “Did you find your portmanteau?”
He shook his head.
“Oh. Have you been to see your solicitor?”
“I’ve just returned from Lincoln’s Inn. A codicil has been added to the will. I plan to see Eustace this afternoon.” Guy flipped open the satin-lined box to reveal a diamond ring, a veritable sunburst of light.
She gasped. “It’s beautiful.” He reached for her hand. Placing it in his, while fighting to control her emotions, she said, “I don’t suppose I could accompany you to see Eustace?”
“No, you may not.” Horatia’s hand trembled in his. A frisson of excitement took hold as he slipped the ring onto her finger.
“It’s a perfect fit.”
He nodded, pleased. “Good, then I guessed the size correctly.”
“How clever of you.” She turned her hand to admire the large diamond set in a cluster of smaller emeralds. She must remember it was only on loan to her.
Before she knew it, Guy had lowered his head and kissed her hard on the mouth.
“To seal the arrangement,” he said with a vulpine look.
His kiss, brief as it was, sent a pleasurable sensation coiling through her. She opened her mouth to protest and then remembered her aunt, lurking, no doubt, somewhere outside the door, and fell silent.
“Do you like what you’ve seen of London?” he asked.
“You hadn’t told me how busy, smoky, noisy, and smelly it is. Someone is always rapping on the door to offer to fix one’s chairs or sharpen one’s knives. And night is little better with the town crier tolling the hour and carts and night carriages passing the door.” She smiled. “I can’t wait to see more though.”
He grinned. “You shall.”
With a discreet cough, Aunt Emily entered the room.
“Would you like to see the ring, Aunt?” Horatia held out her hand.
Aunt Emily nodded approval. “You have excellent taste, my lord.”
“Can I persuade you both to accompany me to the Theatre Royal tomorrow evening?”
Horatia’s heart leapt. The theatre! How thrilling, but would her aunt refuse?
A Baron in Her Bed Page 11