With her cursed luck, she half expected him not to show in the morning.
McCalpin reached behind his back and pulled out a small rectangular pillow. Without dropping his gaze from Claire, he lobbed the pillow and hit Emma square in the face. “Quit teasing her, Em.”
Emma tossed her head. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“I’ll take you to any bookshop you want tomorrow without time restraints to make up for it,” McCalpin said.
“Prepare to be gone all day on a grand adventure, dear brother. I’m hunting for Jeremy Bentham’s first book of essays.”
“The philosopher?” William scratched his head. “McCalpin, why do you do this to yourself? God knows, once she sets her mind to acquiring a book, she’s like a terrier and won’t let go.”
McCalpin’s full attention settled on Claire. “Are you acquainted with Pembrooke?”
“Not really.”
“Why did he announce this supposed engagement?” McCalpin pressed.
“I have no answer. We’re just acquaintances. He must want something, but your father says he’s wealthy and well respected.” Claire’s hold on the pillow in her lap tightened. “What do you know about him?”
McCalpin leaned against the chair and relaxed, but the intensity in his blue eyes never wavered. “We belong to the same clubs. For years, at White’s he had a table reserved every day at three o’clock. Most days, Lord Paul joined him for a drink. If he didn’t attend, Somerton joined him. Never all three together.”
“There’s bad blood between Somerton and Lord Paul,” said William. “After Lady Alice’s death, Pembrooke let the table go. Now, he only socializes with Somerton. What caused the break with Lord Paul has never been discovered.”
“Let’s finish this tomorrow when we’re rested.” Claire caught a glimpse of the sky from the window where the moon reigned over the night. A hefty dose of contentment swept through her at the sight. Tonight, she could concentrate on Pembrooke.
Emma leapt from the sofa and settled into one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. “Oh, we don’t mean to keep you, but I must share something.” She curled her long legs under and continued as if she hadn’t heard Claire’s request. “Tonight, Lady Lena told me Pembrooke has an arrangement with Monique LaFontaine.”
McCalpin heaved a heavy sigh. “Em, for heaven’s sake, that’s not an appropriate subject to discuss in mixed company.”
“I’m sure William’s tender ears have heard worse,” Emma countered.
Will shot a devilish grin to his sister. Emma straightened in her chair. The two siblings baited each other relentlessly. Even though they argued with an annoying vigor, they were close.
Emma focused once again on Claire. “How will you manage a mistress?”
“Don’t be naïve. There’s nothing to manage. Whether he keeps a mistress is simply a tale batted about by people who have nothing better to occupy their minds.” She, above all people, knew how gossip was woven into a false truth.
When she had sought refuge in Pembrooke’s arms to escape the storm, he had accepted her without question and had stayed by her side. Even when her deepest fears were exposed, he hadn’t questioned why—he had protected her.
How he had handled the gaping bystanders in the garden when he defused her broken engagement and claimed her for his own was unforgettable. The man had been magnificent in his command. She would be forever grateful he had shielded her from the scandal as best he could. The least she could do was to return the favor and safeguard his reputation.
“Claire, I’ll discover if he has an arrangement.” McCalpin reached over and grasped her hand. “If it’s any comfort, I haven’t heard such rumors.”
Emma cocked her head and knit her eyebrows together. “What if it’s not a rumor? Now who’s being naïve?”
Claire bit her tongue hard to stop the doubt that skipped across her thoughts. Pembrooke had never explained his reasons for the proposal. What right did she have to question his motives, as long as he came to her tomorrow? It shouldn’t matter if he kept a mistress. With a resigned sigh, she knew it made a world of difference. Granted, her overriding goal was a marriage that would provide her with her own family and respectability. Nevertheless, she’d not marry if Pembrooke carried on with a member of the notorious demimonde behind her back. No matter how desperate, she’d not marry under such circumstances. What remained of her reputation, she’d protect fiercely.
Since Archard, she had never expected to have a husband in love with her. Pembrooke’s arms around her had been an unexpected comfort, one she would not share with another.
Claire yawned. “Let’s talk tomorrow. Shall we?” She had dropped her tone and was hopeful the hint would do its magic. She would never rest if Emma continued to dredge up old tales.
Emma stood and stomped her foot. “What if he makes you a laughingstock?”
Claire groaned. “Many consider me such already.”
Emma bristled with outrage but continued, “How can you dismiss this so easily? What if he’s nothing more than a contemptible rogue?” Emma stood at attention much like a field marshal rallying the troops for a take-no-prisoners battle. “He frequents gambling hells and never attends society functions. What suitable husband does that?”
“Contemptible rogue or not, perhaps we should hold our judgment. He sounds like a jolly entertaining fellow to spend time with,” William added.
Emma didn’t bother to hide her attack. She hurled McCalpin’s pillow at William, where it landed at his feet. “We’re talking about Claire’s future. Be serious, for once.”
“I’m not privy to his exploits in gambling hells. Besides, your father thinks he has admirable qualities.” Claire knew there was no use arguing the point, but she had to explain. “He just came out of mourning for his sister. I have no other options.”
“Claire, you have choices. You always have. We’ll not let Pembrooke or that ridiculous curse force you into marriage.” McCalpin stood. “He all but disappeared from town after his sister’s death. I didn’t hear one mention of him or the rest of his family while they were in mourning.”
“Nor I.” William joined his brother. “We’ll see what we can discover.”
With an exaggerated puff, Emma blew a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. “Dreadful business about Lady Alice. His other sister, Lady Daphne, just arrived into town, too. I’m anxious to see her.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I believe Lord Pembrooke is honorable. He knew about Lord Paul and offered to help me before anyone saw us.” Claire softened her voice. “He could have made an excuse and walked away when we were discovered.” An honorable man would protect his wife from ridicule. She had to believe Pembrooke would give up his mistress, if she existed.
“I hope for your sake he is, Claire. You deserve only the best.” McCalpin turned to leave, with Will following suit. “We’ll bid you good night.”
Emma narrowed her eyes, as if debating whether to accept Claire’s argument. A simple shrug of one shoulder signaled her surrender to the challenge. With a quick spin, she made her way to leave. “When you marry, I’ll miss”—she turned from the door—“these talks.” Her voice wobbled. “I don’t want you hurt anymore.”
Claire jumped up from the sofa and gathered her cousin in her arms. “Sweetheart, don’t worry. With my history, you might have me until you marry.” She had made her voice light, but the familiar dread emerged from its dark cave inside her chest to keep her company. She pushed it aside. She had more important things to consider.
After the door closed, Claire made short work of preparing for bed, then drew the draperies around her bed-frame. Settled under the covers, she caressed her lips with her fingers. Might a kiss from the “contemptible rogue” be so different from that given by any other man?
She had come close to discovering the answer tonight. He would have kissed her if they hadn’t been interrupted by Lord Honeycutt. Surrounded in the safety of his embrace, with all her attention narrowed o
n him, she had forgotten the storm completely. When had that ever happened?
Pembrooke’s offer of marriage might change in the light of day. No doubt his friends and others would encourage him to avoid her and the curse. Proof once again that romance and love were fairy tales. She didn’t believe in them, at least not for herself. The only reasonable expectation was respect and honor from her husband.
If Pembrooke’s mettle had him somewhere other than her doorstep tomorrow, she hated to think of the ramifications.
She dared hope he was the answer to her prayers. Otherwise, she’d be crushed by the curse and completely ruined.
* * *
Alex descended the main staircase of his town house. He had important matters to iron out at Langham Hall, namely negotiating his marriage to the lovely Lady Claire Cavensham. His butler, Simms, stood at attention beside Somerton.
“Ready?” Somerton checked his pocket watch, not hiding his irritation. The earl had been Alex’s friend since their early years at Eton and knew him better than anyone.
“In a moment.” Alex was not worried. He had fifteen minutes to walk the two blocks to Langham Hall.
Somerton delivered a long-suffering sigh. “I have to be at Goodwin’s by nine.”
“What in the devil for this early in the morning? No. Do not answer. I have an excuse. You don’t.” Alex smoothed his waistcoat as Simms held out a beaver hat. Without a look in a mirror, Alex donned the hat and walked out the front door. The earl was right beside him.
“I heard you managed to become betrothed last night. How will the Duke of Langham receive you today?”
“I’m not certain. He was not pleased last night. I’ll show him my sincerity and hope that’s enough.” It made no difference to Alex. He had to marry Claire. Sunshine broke through the gray clouds and chased away the gloom of the London morning. The sun’s effects matched Alex’s mood. “I’ll not allow her reputation to suffer at my hand.” He quickened his pace.
“It’s a little late for that. This morning every gentleman at White’s had you, Lady Claire, and her curse as the topic of discussion.” Somerton pulled his hat at an angle to lessen the sun’s effect. “Do you realize what you’re undertaking this morning?”
“I assume you’re referring to Lady Claire. Rest assured, I know what I am doing. It’s the final piece. We’ll marry Friday morning and arrive at Pemhill by nightfall.”
“Marriage is a lifetime commitment.” Somerton’s voice lowered. “Seriously, perhaps you need to think this through. There’s something not quite right about her. Why has she been engaged so many times?”
“Please, Somerton, I never took you as one to believe in curses.”
“Sometimes you can be so obtuse.” The earl shook his head. “She has the worst luck of anyone I’ve seen.”
“Her luck’s about to change.”
“Don’t be an arrogant arse. It would be tragic if she were hurt again because you rushed this engagement. Just take your time and become better acquainted before marriage.”
“Don’t be an old hen. Save the speeches for when you’re in the House of Lords. She’s perfect.” Alex grinned. “I was pleasantly surprised by her person. There’s a quiet elegance about her.”
“Do you think you can come to care for her?” In typical fashion, his friend had found his jugular.
Alex released an inward groan and gritted his teeth. With a sudden stop, he faced Somerton. The sun reflected off the earl’s light hair, nearly blinding him. “It’s none of your bloody business.”
“She’ll be your wife and the mother of your children. She’ll be by your side, God willing, when you grow old.” Somerton stared with narrowed eyes, as if calculating the return on one of his complicated investments. “Neither of us witnessed sterling examples of happy marriages growing up. Your parents were indifferent to each other. My father was miserable after my birth when my mother died, and he never remarried.” Somerton hesitated. “Based upon the law of averages, don’t you think this deserves more consideration? What if she’s in love with him?”
Unease inched its way into Alex’s thoughts. He tried to tamp down the concerns Somerton had unearthed. He’d never intended to hurt Lady Claire, just safeguard her future. “Do you think there’s reason to believe she is?”
“How would I have knowledge? Lord Paul isn’t my friend either.” Somerton continued his trek. “All I’m saying is you need to come to terms with this betrayal, or your grief will never heal. You’ll continue to live in isolation. That doesn’t bode well for a happy life or a contented wife.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately? Your social calendar is nonexistent.”
“Pembrooke, that’s a poor analogy. I choose not to attend events because I don’t enjoy them and have no responsibility to attend. You do. You sit in the House of Lords, and you have a sister in her first Season. You need to make appearances.”
Alex refused to admit Somerton had a valid point. “Weeks ago, I shared my plan to marry her as the final punishment for Lord Paul. You made no objection.”
“I didn’t endorse it either. I never thought you would go through with it.” Somerton slowed his pace as he continued to offer his opinion. “Some of your most admirable traits are the deep love and sense of responsibility you bear for your family. Don’t confuse that with Lady Claire. She isn’t your obligation.” Somerton offered a grim smile. “Marriage, much less love, has never been something I understood. Nonetheless, it seems to me you should have some reason to marry her other than revenge.”
The short answer was “yes,” he had a reason. He already cared for her. Whether the feelings came from chivalry or his desire for revenge wasn’t easy to determine. He’d protect her from Lord Paul. He had failed to do it for his own sister, but Claire would not suffer the same fate. A shadow of annoyance darkened Alex’s earlier mood. “This conversation is getting monotonous.”
Somerton ignored the comment, which was typical. “Lady Claire is a lovely woman. Some fellow will be lucky to have her—under the right circumstances. I’m not convinced it’s you.”
“Last night was the right circumstance. I could not have planned it better.” Alex slowed his stride. Before him was Langham Hall, where Claire resided with her aunt and uncle.
Located in fashionable Mayfair, the mansion was one of the newer residences, specifically designed and built for the crème de la crème of the aristocracy. The large structure was a perfect example of Georgian architecture. With red brick and a wrought-iron railing around the perimeter, the home loomed like a veritable fortress.
“After last night, Langham will press for a quick ceremony, which works to my favor. I don’t trust Lord Paul. Unless he marries another heiress quickly, he’s ruined. The faster our marriage vows are said, the better.”
Somerton’s face turned to stone. He tugged the sleeves of his dark gray morning coat. “Make the attempt to woo her. The effort will provide you both an opportunity to become better acquainted.”
“When did you become an expert on courtship?”
Somerton’s lean body tightened as if he were ready for a fight. With a quick glance skyward, he appeared to reclaim his patience. “Lady Claire deserves better than what you’re offering, and so do you.” He continued to push his point. “For all that’s holy, make certain you’re on the right path.”
Alex lifted an eyebrow to halt the lecture. His friend’s worries would not squander what promised to be a spectacular day. “This is my life. I expect your good wishes at the opera this evening.”
He turned from Somerton and entered the gate to Langham Hall.
* * *
Claire stood ramrod straight and waited for Pembrooke to enter the blue drawing room. Small compared with the others, this room had been her mother’s favorite. Ivory silk covered the walls, while Oriental rugs the color of a kingfisher’s blue feathers carpeted the floor—an appropriate place for her first visit from Pembrooke. Never before had she met any of her fiancés in this room. A change
of scenery when discussing marriage might change her chance of success. For luck, she wore her favorite morning gown in a shade of emerald green, trimmed with black rosettes around the hem and sleeves. It was striking, and she wanted to look her best. More important, it gave her confidence.
Good Lord, how pathetic. Now, she was allowing the curse to dictate her choice of dresses in her everyday life.
Before breakfast, she’d contemplated how to explain tactfully, of course, that she wasn’t interested in his offer of marriage. He had no valid reason to marry her. If she rushed this engagement and it didn’t work, the curse would hang over her head for the rest of her life. But after the morning’s visit with Uncle Sebastian, she didn’t have another choice.
Last night after they arrived home, her uncle had read Lord Paul’s note. He’d immediately sent out investigators to find the man’s whereabouts. Sure enough, as Pembrooke had stated, Lord Paul sat at the Reynolds’s gaming tables.
She’d come in second to a roulette wheel.
Perhaps Pembrooke offered sage advice. Her life might be hell with Lord Paul.
Aunt Ginny broke the silence for the fifth time in five minutes. “Are you sure you don’t want me or your uncle present? I still think this is highly improper. What if you are forced into something not in your best interests?”
“I haven’t changed my mind.” Claire grasped her aunt’s small hand, its warmth reassuring. “Thank you, but I need to talk to Pembrooke. Four previous engagements do provide one with some benefit. If we come to an understanding, I’ll be living with him for the rest of my life.” She smiled in hopes of relaying a good spirit. In reality, she was desperate for this to work.
Concern lined the corners of Aunt Ginny’s eyes.
Claire gently squeezed her aunt’s fingers. “I’m wise enough to know I’m not marrying for love. Don’t worry. I’m not afraid to tell him no if I grow uncomfortable with his demands.” She released her aunt’s hand and wiped her damp palms on her dress.
The Bad Luck Bride Page 4