Salisbury nodded.
“Yet you don’t love her.”
The marquess nodded again. “Your perception is amazing.”
“Apparently not,” Drew slurred and slipped off his stool, only to be caught under the arms by his cousin.
“Edgy,” Drew murmured, evoking the old nickname Edgeworth had always hated. “When did you get here?”
“A moment ago.” Edgeworth glanced at the marquess then back at Drew. “No more ale,” Edgeworth said. His face was dark, his tone darker.
“The ale, my good man, was for my complete and utter astonishment in finding out that the woman I love―whose heart I thought I broke―only dallied with me because she seems to have a liking for men of the ton who will better her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Salisbury reached out and pushed Drew back as he started to lean forward. “Did you not see her stricken face?”
Drew squinted and tried to recall her exact look. He’d seen something, but now it seemed more like guilt than the hurt he had earlier believed. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”
“Then let me explain it to you in terms that will soak into your soggy brain. She loves you. If you didn’t see the truth on her face or hear it in her voice, then you are blind and deaf.”
Drew stood and dusted off his overcoat and trousers. He needed to finally put Char out of his mind, and talking about her with the man she intended to marry tomorrow was not the way to do it. He started to turn away but paused. Something did not make sense. “Why are you marrying Char if you think she loves me?”
Salisbury held up four fingers. “Four reasons. The woman I really love won’t marry me because my father threatened to destroy her father if she did. Lottie is the perfect weapon to get revenge against the old bastard. She’ll marry me to get revenge against you, and she doesn’t have to worry that her father will be hurt. We both win.”
“Her name is Charlotte,” Drew said evenly, the soft haze of ale fading under the bright glare of awareness. “What’s your fourth reason?”
“Her reaction to you tonight confirmed what I had suspected.”
“Which is?”
“You hurt her so badly that I’ll never have to worry she’ll fall in love again. I don’t want a wife who loves me. I want a friend and someone to give me my heir. My love is reserved for Marianne, and I fully intend to somehow convince her to become my mistress since she refuses to be my wife.”
Drew’s mind turned with possibilities and tentative hope. Maybe Salisbury was dead wrong about how Char felt regarding Drew, but if the man was right… “What if I can convince Marianne to marry you? Will you cry off with Char?” Drew asked, reaching for a chance to secure the woman he should have never let go.
“Impossible,” Salisbury said. “My father will dismiss Marianne’s father as his solicitor and make sure he’s never hired anywhere reputable that’s close to his family again.”
“I’ll hire her father,” Drew said, hoping if what he was planning worked, he’d still have the money to carry out his promise. If not, he’d get on his hands and knees and beg his grandfather to hire the man. Danby, the old goat, owed Drew at least that much for producing such a pompous, overbearing son as Drew’s father.
Salisbury shook his head. “I already offered to hire her father. He won’t take charity or help.”
“He’ll never suspect it’s either. Leave it to me.”
Salisbury slowly nodded. “I suppose there’s no harm in trying. The wedding is at ten in the morning at my townhome on Church Street. “You recall where I live?”
“I do. If I’m not there by ten—”
“The wedding will proceed as planned.” Salisbury stood and put on his overcoat. “Ten is plenty of time to see Marianne and her father. Marianne is always at Madame Marmont’s dress shop by seven sharp. You should be at Mr. Marchinson’s home by seven. If I know Marianne’s father, he’ll make quick work of speaking to you and send you fast on your way, either good or bad. I’ll not embarrass Lottie by holding up a wedding for a woman who, in all likelihood, will not be coming.”
Drew took the glass of water that was raised to Edgeworth’s lips out of his cousin’s hands.
“Do you mind?” Edgeworth growled.
“Sorry, Edgeworth, but I need to get sober.” Drew quickly drank half the cool liquid.
“You need to do more than just get sober.” Edgeworth waved Drew’s offer of sharing the water away. “If you intend to win back Miss Milne, you need to damn well stay sober.”
“I completely agree,” Drew replied.
With a snort, Salisbury put on his hat and eyed Drew. “I sincerely hope I see you tomorrow.”
Drew watched the marquess depart. How would it be for Char, so warm and loving, to be married to such an indifferent man? The question left him cold, but he did not order the usual whiskey to ward off the chill of his past mistakes. It was time to face what he’d become and set his life, and Char’s, to rights. He hoped he could do it in the short time the marquess was giving him.
Of course if it looked like Marianne and her father would not cooperate, Drew could abandon his plan and simply go to Salisbury’s house to make Char understand he loved her and wanted to be with her. The problem was, Drew had a terrible suspicion convincing Char he loved her was going to be as easy as convincing the Devil to give back a soul. Impossible, without first walking through hell. Char, no doubt, would be more than happy to light the fire under his arse and dance gleefully around the blaze as he burned.
The next morning Drew rose well before the sun had banished the darkness from the sky and dressed quickly. He went to wake Edgeworth, but the distinct sound of feminine laughter coming from his cousin’s rented room stopped Drew in his tracks. Good old Edgeworth had found a willing wench, as usual. A smile played at Drew’s lips as he imagined the sound of Char’s laughter, husky with desire for him. He prayed that would be a sound he would once again hear in reality and not just in his fantasies. Worry about the looming wedding plagued him, and he poked around the inn until a maid directed him to where Edgeworth’s coachman was sleeping. Drew awoke the snoring man, who managed to hold his tongue but shot Drew disgruntled looks as he readied the horses amidst the impatient sound of foot tapping.
Drew didn’t blame Roberts for being annoyed at being awoken at such an ungodly hour. Only people tipped in the head got up this early, and Drew was tipped—dangerously so—by love. He loved Char, and he had failed her once, failed them both, but he was going to do his damndest to set things to rights. Once the carriage was on the way, Drew was certain he would relax a bit, but as the carriage rumbled down the silent streets of London, he found himself clenching his jaw in anticipation of trying to convince Marianne’s father to accept employment with him.
Two hours later, Drew whistled a merry tune as he left Mr. Marchinson’s home. He held a letter in hand from Marianne’s father to his daughter, encouraging her to accept the Marquess of Salisbury’s offer of marriage. Convincing Mr. Marchinson to come and work for him had been surprisingly easy. Of course, it had helped that the man had a fervent dislike for his current employer and had tried unsuccessfully, because of the Duke of Sandbridge’s meddling, to find new employment.
Drew grinned at his own genius in telling Mr. Marchinson that he had been suggested for the position of solicitor by his grandfather. It had been a gamble that Grandfather and Mr. Marchinson had business dealings, but the gamble had been correct and it paid off. As the carriage pulled up to the front of Madame Marmont’s dress shop, Drew hopped out into the sunshine before his gaping coachman managed to get down from his perch in front of the horses.
“Be prepared to leave quickly,” Drew advised as he bounded up the five steps to the modiste and rapped on the door. Pulling out his fob watch, he checked the time. He had less than an hour before Char would belong to another man. Perspiration dampened the back of his shirt and trickled down his forehead. This was ridiculous. Salisbury’s townhome was only four streets away. There w
as plenty of time. Yet anxiety coiled through him, twisting his insides into knots. He probably wouldn’t relax again until the wedding had been stopped, and he was holding Char in his arms.
Impatience exploding, Drew rapped on the door again. When no one came, he reached for the handle to give it a try, but the door swung open as his fingers grazed the brass.
“My lord?” A slender, young girl with light blue eyes and a rather homely face bobbed a curtsy. “May I help you?”
“Are you Marianne?”
She nodded.
The chit certainly wasn’t the beauty he had been expecting to find, but who was he to judge what manner of woman had stolen Salisbury’s heart? Drew had learned many things the hard way in his life, and one of them had been that a beautiful face did not equate to beauty on the inside, though Char was certainly both. Impatient to leave, and sure Marianne’s protest would quickly die once she read the letter from her father, he reached for her with one hand and thrust the letter at her with the other. “I need you to come with me,” he said, pulling her down the stairs.
“What?” She reared back and jerked her arm. “I’m not going anywhere.” He winced at her shrill tone. Salisbury was in for an earful if he ever displeased this woman.
Drew touched the paper in her hand. “If you’ll just read this letter from your father, you’ll understand everything.”
“Help!” she screamed, jerking free from him and darting back into the shop.
For a moment he considered that it would be most ungentlemanly of him to drag her bodily from this place, and then he made a lunge for her and wrapped his arm securely around her waist. Gentlemanliness be damned. He’d spent a year in hell without Char. He wasn’t going to let some skittish chit cause him to spend the rest of his life in misery. Salisbury was in love with a loon.
“Cease your screaming,” he demanded, and when she failed to do so, he gently placed his hand over her mouth. She kicked back, missed his jewels by a nerve- shattering inch, but landed a hard kick to his inner thigh. He held on tight, prepared to drag her to his carriage and calm her on the ride to Salisbury’s home, but something sharp raked across his arm, ripping the material of his overcoat and leaving a stinging trail on his skin.
“Damnation!” he shouted, releasing her and staring down at the torn material. “You’ve ruined my coat and tried to cut me.”
“You—” The woman waved a pair of shears at him. “You left me no choice. You’re trying to abduct me.”
Drew frowned. Technically, he was trying to abduct her, but only because she’d forced him to it. Frustrated, he jerked a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to help you. Salisbury is about to marry the woman I love because of your stubbornness.”
“Who is Salisbury?” she asked with a furrowed brow.
Drew jerked backwards, feeling as if she’d just punched him in the chest. “Aren’t you Marianne Marchinson?”
“No. I’m Marianne Smith. Miss Marchinson is in the back with Madame Marmont.”
Of all the astonishingly bad luck. “Please,” Drew implored, “I must speak with Miss Marchinson.”
The woman nodded and motioned for him to follow her. “There.” She pointed. “Just down the hall.”
That was all the information he needed. He strode past the woman, towards the sound of feminine voices, and burst into the room. Two women, one plump with salt and pepper hair, and one tall and willowy with honey-colored hair, stood pinning a dress. Drew let out a relieved sigh, which brought two surprised gazes to his face. He strode to the young woman with the fine-boned face and large brown eyes, positive he had the correct woman this time, but just in case— “Marianne Marchinson?” he asked.
She took a pin from between her lips. “Yes. May I help you?”
“I sure as hell hope so.” He shoved the letter at her. “The woman I love is about to marry Salisbury, because he’s lost all hope that you’ll marry him.”
Miss Marchinson’s face drained so quickly of color that Drew placed a steadying hand on her elbow in case she fainted. The woman gripped his arm. “When?”
Drew took out his fob watch and blinked in disbelief. His watch displayed the exact same time it had when he had first arrived here.
Fear and dread pumped through his veins in a spurt, and his heart lodged in his throat. “What time is it?” he asked, tapping on the face of his watch. It was definitely broken. Curse his father. This blasted watch had been a gift from the fiend. Drew shoved the offending piece back into his overcoat pocket. “The time,” he demanded at Miss Marchinson’s bent head.
Her gaze met his, the letter in her hands shaking. “My father truly wrote this?”
Drew nodded, unable to share in the obvious happiness infusing the woman. “I must know the time.”
“It’s five past ten, my lord,” the older woman, Madame Marmont, he presumed, answered.
He tugged on Miss Marchinson’s elbow. “Come,” he said gruffly on a swell of emotion. “If you’re the praying kind, then start praying.”
“I don’t know why I thought praying would work for me,” Drew growled as he glared up at the large offending snowflakes falling from the sky that had made what should have been a quick jaunt to Salisbury’s home a long, tedious drive. Impatiently he held out his gloved hand to help Miss Marchinson descend the steps of the carriage.
“At least the snow was not so heavy as to stop us from getting here,” she said with a smile. Drew could tell from the trembling of her lips that her smile was forced.
“Come,” he said, trying to instill a note of confidence into his voice though desperateness had been clawing at him since he had realized they would never make it to Salisbury’s anywhere near ten.
Drew practically dragged poor Miss Marchinson up the steps to the front door and promptly dropped her hand to raise the knocker and bash it against the door. After a moment where he and Miss Marchinson exchanged a pained look of hopelessness, Drew abandoned whatever remnants of gentlemanliness remained in him and used his fist to pound on the front door. Just when he had decided he may need to yell as well, the front door opened with a creak and a butler―old, narrowed-eyed and likely deaf―stared Drew down with the haughtiest expression he had ever received from any nobleman. Drew almost felt obliged to offer a quick bow. Instead, he grabbed the man’s arm, slightly gratified to see the butler’s eyes pop wide in surprise. “We’re here to see Lord Salisbury and Miss Milne.”
The butler eyed Drew’s hand distastefully, but Drew was not about to let go. If the man refused him admittance then Drew intended to push his way through even if he had to forcibly remove the aged butler from barring the doorway.
“Lord Salisbury’s left for his honeymoon,” the butler said in a bored tone.
Miss Marchinson gasped beside Drew. “We missed the wedding then?”
The butler’s mouth pinched in a strange way. “Indeed, Miss.”
“Might I have a word?” Edgeworth’s voice came from behind Drew causing him to turn and glance at his cousin. Edgeworth walked up the stairs and stood beside Drew.
Normally Drew would have joked with Egeworth about appearing out of thin air, but Drew’s humor had vanished. Char was married. He was too late. He had ruined his life with his weakness and now, even though he would give everything up for her, he was denied and sentenced to a life of misery and regret. Perhaps it was exactly what he deserved for failing her, but she did not deserve the loveless marriage she had just voluntarily entered into.
Drew dropped his hold on the butler and scrubbed a hand over his rough emerging beard. He would not let himself off that easy. The fault was his―all his. Whatever Char had done, he had pushed her too it. Miss Marchinson stood close enough to him that he could feel the trembling of her body. He would save his wallowing for later. Right now, he needed to get poor Miss Marchinson in the carriage and then home where she no doubt had her own broken dreams to attend to.
“There’s no need to go in,” Drew said to Edgeworth. “If the butler says the w
edding is done and the happy couple has departed, then let us take our leave.”
Edgeworth gave Drew a strange look. “Certainly. Why don’t you see to getting Miss Marchinson in the carriage? I just want to have a quick word with my good man here and confirm the details of what transpired for myself in case you ever wonder.”
“I won’t wonder,” Drew snapped. “Char’s married. What bloody else is there to know?”
Edgeworth just shrugged.
“Suit yourself,” Drew growled and led Miss Marchinson to the carriage.
Within moments, Edgeworth ascended into the carriage and settled across from Drew and Miss Marchinson, his expression unreadable.
“Shall we take you back to the modiste?” Drew asked Miss Marchinson.
She shook her head, silent tears streaking down her face. “My father’s please.” She swiped at her cheeks. “I’m sorry for being so foolish,” she whispered and turned her face away toward the window.
Drew squeezed her hand. “If you call being heartbroken because the one you love has married another foolish then count me amongst the foolish.” His voice was gruff on the last word. Drew closed his eyes not wanting to meet his cousin’s gaze.
Not much later, the carriage came to a stop and Drew forced his eyes open. Before he could offer to see Miss Marchinson to the doorstep, Edgeworth held his hand out to her. “May I see you to the front door?”
Miss Marchinson nodded, told Drew goodbye and took Edgeworth’s hand as he helped her out of the carriage. Drew did not argue about being the one to see Miss Marchinson safely to the door. A dark melancholy was settling over him, and Edgeworth―who knew Drew better than anyone―had probably seen the signs of the descending gloom on Drew’s face.
Drew watched as Edgeworth led Miss Marchinson to the door and stood speaking with her. Several times, Edgeworth glanced toward the carriage as if checking to see what Drew was doing. Drew laughed bitterly. Edgeworth likely thought Drew was about to pull out a hidden flask and begin a dogged quest into drunken obliviousness. The thought was damn tempting. He had utterly mucked up his life by being a selfish bastard and drinking had not helped him to fix anything. All spirits had done was make things worse. He might not have Char to change for anymore, but he was going to change and become a better man to honor her memory. He owed her that.
The Redemption of a Dissolute Earl Page 3