Sunday's Child (Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Book 1)

by Rosemary Morris

  Tarrant looked down at Helen. “Pennington, you are despicable. If you ever attempt to harm my womenfolk again, you shall suffer the full consequences of the law regardless of any possible damage to their reputations. Your age and title will not protect you.”

  An idle threat? To denounce Pennington to the authorities would be to ruin Helen’s reputation. Few would be charitable enough to believe she escaped unscathed from her abductor’s clutches.

  A small sound escaped Helen. Hands held out she stepped toward Langley. “Thank God you came.”

  “Miss Whitley, you must offer Langley your sincere congratulations,” Pennington said, spite written on his face and gleaming in his eyes. “He is betrothed to Miss Carstairs.”

  Helen halted, her hand covered her mouth.

  Langley stepped forward. “This is to remember us by.” With a deft movement he raised his sword and, with it’s tip, cut the earl’s cheek. “This is only a fraction of what you deserve. Believe me, madman, in future, if you ever give Miss Whitley cause for complaint, I will not be so forbearing.”

  Tarrant cupped Helen’s elbow with his hand. “Come, we shall soon have you safe with your sisters.”

  “How did the earl contrive to kidnap you?” Tarrant asked after they were seated in his father’s coach.

  “A maid came with a message saying my mother was dying and that Georgianne would meet me outside where a coach waited to take us to Tarrant Manor. The woman helped me to dress. Like a fool, I hurried outside. The earl’s men grabbed and gagged me before they manhandled me into the coach. Of course his lordship is crazy to have taken such a risk. He could have been seen from the windows.”

  “Thank God Bab saw you.” Langley gripped his sword hilt. “I could kill the old scoundrel for forcing you to undergo a terrible ordeal.”

  Although Helen’s lips quivered, she sat straight, her head held high. “How kind of you to have come to my aid with Cousin Tarrant.” Her smile seemed false. “I congratulate you on your betrothal to Miss Carstairs.”

  Tarrant guided Helen to the coach in which Georgianne awaited her. As soon as she saw her sister, Helen burst into tears. “Y...you cannot imagine…I thought he would—”

  “Hush,” Georgianne said. “You and Bab shall go to our grandparents in Northumberland. Grandfather will know how to protect both of you. I doubt Pennington will venture so far north.”

  * * * *

  Certain his butler and other servants sniggered after the major and the viscount departed with Miss Whitley, Pennington hurried to the parlour, where he swallowed several glasses of brandy. Damn the wench and her sisters. Was it true his youngest son married and fathered a son? If so he would have no need of Miss Whitley. How dare the girl reject him? He grinned. In her own way she was as spirited as her older sister. Throughout her ordeal she remained silent and cold as ice. Once the wedding ring was on her finger he would have enjoyed melting her.

  Conscious of pain, he pressed his hand to his cheek and scuttled across the room to look in the mirror over the fireplace. He removed his hand and stared at his bloody reflection.

  “The swine’s marked me for life. I will make him rue the day,” he gibbered, although in the back of his irrational mind he knew how ineffectual he was. “Even if I pay with my life, I shall have either the damnable black-haired filly or her sister. Whichever one I bed will squirm. I shall be revenged.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Seated in her aunt’s drawing room, Georgianne perused The Gazette. She caught her breath while she read: Miss C…was of late seen intimately disposed with Lord L…wedding bells are considered imminent. She blinked. So far as she and Tarrant knew, matters had not been settled between Miss Carstairs and Langley.

  She rose from her somewhat uncomfortable chair made in the Chinese style and went to the library. There, she discovered Sir James, Tarrant, and Langley taking their ease by a cheerful fire, glasses of wine at hand, the rust coloured velvet curtains drawn to block out the night sky. When she coughed to announce her presence, Sir James sat straighter while her husband and his friend stood to make their bows.

  Tarrant raised his eyebrows. “My dear?”

  She waved a hand at him and Langley. “Please be seated. I am sorry to interrupt you, gentlemen, but I thought Langley should read the gossip in The Gazette without delay.”

  If she were not mistaken, Langley’s eyes hardened. She handed him the broad sheet.

  “Damnation! Beg your pardon, Mrs. Tarrant. Heat of the moment upon reading the announcement of my betrothal to Miss Carstairs.”

  “What?” Sir James and Tarrant said simultaneously.

  “Read it.” Langley passed the broadsheet to them.

  Sir James’s forehead creased. “At least the girl is an heiress—or one supposes she is because her grandmother is so wealthy.”

  Aware of her father-in-law’s disapproval of her marriage because he had expected Tarrant to marry advantageously, hot colour rose in Georgianne’s cheeks. “Miss Carstairs tricked him. Langley cannot marry her.”

  A mischievous glint appeared in Tarrant’s eyes. “Why not? Miss Carstairs is an agreeable girl.”

  She glared at her husband. “Agreeable! Tarrant, how can you say such a thing when she manoeuvred poor Langley into such a disagreeable situation. She seems both foolish and naïve. I doubt she understands the enormity of her action.”

  “It is unusual for a couple to marry for love and regrettable if one of them falls in love with someone else after marriage.” Tarrant said, his scrutiny of her face unwavering.

  Langley nodded. “True, yet it seems I must hurry to London to wait on Mrs. Bettismore. After all, I am the fool who allowed Miss Carstairs to manoeuvre him into a compromising situation.” He gripped his hands together behind his back and then paced the length of the colourful oriental carpet. “It seems I have no choice other than to play the part of a gentleman by offering for Miss Carstairs’ hand in marriage. If I do not, I shall be regarded as a scoundrel who ruined her reputation.” A sigh escaped him. “I daresay we shall deal well enough together.”

  Sir James looked at Georgianne. “No need to fret about your sisters, m’dear,” he said, obviously changing the subject of the conversation to break an awkward silence. “I have employed extra footmen to keep an eye on them as well as some burly fellows to patrol the grounds. Mind you, I doubt the earl will dare to attempt to kidnap them again.” He cleared his throat. “Shocking business which I have got to the bottom of. His accomplices have been dismissed without references. Mind you, I shall understand if you want to send your sisters elsewhere.”

  Georgianne looked from her father-in-law to her husband and back to her father-in-law. “You are most kind, sir, however I do not want to impose on you. I think it would be for the best if I send my sisters to my grandparents.”

  “As you please, my dear.” Sir James turned his attention to his son. “I daresay you and your wife will return to London in a few days. Georgianne, I must say I admire your sisters. Spirited girls. In spite of her ordeal as the saying goes, Helen is ‘as cool as a cucumber.’”

  Langley released a long drawn out sigh. “Miss Whitley is everything that is admirable.”

  * * * *

  On the day after the announcement of his betrothal in the Gazette, Langley rapped the brass knocker on the front door of Mrs. Bettismore’s many windowed house in Hanover Square.

  After a footman admitted Langley, he handed his card to the white-haired butler who scrutinised it.

  The footman relieved him of his outdoor coat, hat, and gloves.

  “You’re expected, my lord,” said the butler. “Mrs. Bettismore received your note. She is waiting for you upstairs in the small parlour.”

  “Your name?”

  “Yates, my lord.”

  He followed Yates up the stairs to an octagonal room furnished with royal blue curtains and light yellow upholstery.

  “Major, Viscount Langley,” Yates announced.

  “You may go, Yates.”
Mrs. Bettismore inclined her head. “Please be seated, my lord. For over a week, I’ve been waiting for you to call.” The ends of the satin ribbons fastening her lace cap quivered as though they matched her indignation. “How dare you take my granddaughter out onto a balcony without a chaperone. You made her the subject of gossip. I swear my page is more of a gentleman than you are.”

  “Madam, I know nothing of your page. As for Miss Carstairs, she declared she would faint if she did not have fresh air.”

  The widow’s eyebrows pushed their way up her parchment forehead. “You’re at fault, my lord. You shouldn’t have taken my girl out of the ballroom. No need to look so offended, I’ve no wish to argue with you.” Mrs. Bettismore tapped her closed fan on the palm of her left hand. “A man of your rank and age should have known better. Whatever the rights and wrongs, my lord, I must have your word of honour that you’ll marry my granddaughter. She’ll be ruined if you don’t.”

  Although his nostrils flared involuntarily, he managed to rein in his anger. “I agree, madam,” he said in an expressionless tone.

  Mrs. Bettismore scrutinised his face. “Her marriage portion isn’t large.”

  “It is something for our attorneys to discuss. I am able to support a wife in comfort. Moreover, I am my father’s heir and he has always been too wise to squander his fortune, such as it is.”

  “I’ll believe you.” She nodded as though she approved of him. “I admit you’ll be able to live in luxury after I’m dead. Amelia’s my sole heir.”

  “Indeed.” Langley knew his father would be delighted to add to the family coffers.

  “Aye, there’s iron works, sheep, mines, canals, and—”

  “I did not know,” he interrupted, for fear of being thought a fortune hunter. Mrs. Bettismore watched him expectantly. He must say something. “I am a fortunate man. If Miss Carstairs accepts me, I shall have a wife who is as pleasing to look at as she will be wealthy. Yet, as I remarked, the settlements must be discussed by our attorneys.”

  “I know that, my lord. Now, tell me if it’s true you have left the army and won’t go soldiering again.”

  “No, madam, Major Tarrant and I put our uniforms aside because we believe Bonaparte is as good as defeated. However, should Lord Wellington require our services again, we will purchase commissions.”

  Mrs. Bettismore smiled for the first time since he entered the parlour. “I appreciate your honesty and acquit you of being a fortune hunter.” She rang a bell.

  Langley fancied the gleam in the metallic eyes of the tigress’s head on the brass bell matched the one in his future grandmother-in-law’s.

  The butler, who must have been waiting outside the door, entered the room.

  “Yates, request Miss Carstairs to join his lordship here.” The widow hoisted herself to her feet with the aid of a walking stick. She left the room, her old-fashioned damask skirts swaying from side to side.

  * * * *

  Amelia did not keep Viscount Langley waiting long. Gowned in white cambric, both pin tucked and frilled around the hem, she stepped with deliberate daintiness into the parlour.

  The viscount bowed.

  She smiled. “Shall we be seated?” Amelia asked.

  They sat opposite each other on gilt legged chairs upholstered in expensive ruby coloured velvet.

  “You know why I am here, Miss Carstairs?”

  Breathless with happy anticipation, and with the belief she could make him love her, she continued to smile.

  One of Viscount Langley’s hands gripped the arm of his chair. “Allow me to state my case in plain terms. I am here because I was a fool to take you onto a balcony where I was seen with you in my arms. If you do not marry me, your name will be ruined. Am I correct?”

  Taken aback by his cold demeanour, yet confident her charms would change his demeanour toward her, she nodded.

  “Miss Carstairs, this is neither an arranged marriage nor one of convenience. I shall be blunt. You have not engaged my heart. I do not wish to marry you. Are you sure you want to marry me?”

  He could not mean he was indifferent to her. Every other gentleman on the brink of proposing to her had declared his love and said she was irresistible. Could his lordship be too reserved to confess his love for her? If not, why had he allowed himself to fall into her trap? Did he have any idea of how much she wanted to marry him? From the first moment she saw him he occupied her thoughts. He even appeared in her dreams. She looked into his eyes. “Yes, my lord, I do want to marry you,” she replied, certain she could win his love and be happy ever after.

  “Very well, we shall wed.”

  Amelia cleared her throat while she tried to think of something to say. Her betrothed’s roundabout proposal fell far short of her expectations.

  “Miss Carstairs, my parents will wish to meet you and your grandmother. I daresay you will receive an invitation to visit their country house.”

  Amelia studied his lordship’s austere face. Such formality. Should he not have kissed her to celebrate their betrothal? Most gentlemen wanted to kiss her.

  A horrid thought entered her mind. Could her grandmother be right? Until now, were all those who sought to marry her more interested in her fortune than her charms? Her mind altered the course of her thoughts. She sighed.

  “Why do you sigh, Miss Carstairs? I have agreed to marry you.”

  “I am thinking.”

  “What?”

  “When we are husband and wife, we will share all our secrets with each other.”

  Her betrothed looked at her with palpable astonishment. He stood, and then bowed and departed without arranging to see her in the near future.

  * * * *

  A half hour later, when Langley entered Georgianne’s elegant drawing room—with its Chippendale furniture, and a pair of blue and white Wedgwood vases on the mantelpiece beneath an oil painting of her late father in full regimentals—he was in turmoil.

  “I wish you happiness,” Georgianne said, after he confirmed the betrothal. “Miss Carstairs is beautiful. Moreover, I daresay she is accomplished and good-hearted.” She stood and advanced toward him with outstretched hands. “I shall make friends with her.” With a sweep of her hand, she indicated Tarrant, who sat by the fire. “I know how much you and my husband value your friendship. It will be comfortable for both of you if your wives are friends.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Tarrant. You are always gracious and kind.”

  Georgianne blushed. She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it when Mrs. Deane entered the room.

  “Mrs. Tarrant, have you forgotten we arranged to visit your modiste this morning?” asked Mrs. Deane.

  “I shall be ready within the half hour.” Georgianne smiled at Tarrant. “Will you dine at home tonight before accompanying me to the Duchess of Kingston’s ball?”

  “Yes.” Her husband stood as she went out of the room.

  Tarrant resumed his place by the fire. “Should I congratulate you, Langley?”

  His friend scowled. “If it pleases you.”

  “Are you sure your decision to marry Miss Carstairs is the right one?”

  “What alternative is there? I am not the man to ruin any foolish young girl’s reputation.”

  Tarrant wondered whether he should make any further comment on his friend’s damnable situation. He decided not to. “Help yourself to some wine, Langley. You look as though you need it.”

  Crystal glass in hand, the viscount sat opposite him.

  “I hope Miss Whitley and Miss Bab are well,” Langley said after a brief silence.

  “Yes, they are.” He cleared his throat. “They are about to go to Northumberland, hopefully beyond Pennington’s reach. Their grandfather, Colonel Carrington, would guard them with his life. Even today, long after he sold out, his reputation as a fierce fighting man lives on.”

  Langley sipped some wine before he spoke again. “A military family, do you think it is why your wife and her sisters are so courageous?”

  �
�Most likely, after all they grew up in houses where weapons hung on the walls, and the histories of campaigns and battles lost and won were frequently recited.”

  “You are fortunate in your choice of wife. I envy you.” Langley tossed back the rest of his wine. “I must go, however, I daresay we will see each other soon.”

  Alone, Tarrant settled back in his chair, his feet outstretched toward the fire.

  Yes, he was fortunate to have a wife of Georgianne’s calibre. He chuckled appreciatively. She often amazed him. For one thing, Georgianne ruled the household with an expert hand. In spite of her girlish appearance, she was extremely practical. Georgianne had even reprimanded Barnes for household extravagance and inefficiency. “Barnes,” she had said, “never hand the keys to the wine cellar to any of the servants. What is more, do not forget to render the accounts to me on the last day of each month. I shall scrutinise them carefully because the household expenses are excessive.”

  When his butler went so far as to hint at the matter to him, he had spoken firmly. “Barnes, any member of the household staff who objects to Mrs. Tarrant’s domestic arrangements is free to leave our employment.”

  No member of staff had left the Tarrant household by the end of April, when, satisfied with the reduction in household expenditure and the improvement in her servants’ work, Georgianne partook of supper in the dining parlour with Tarrant and Mrs. Deane.

  Mrs. Deane patted Georgianne’s hand. “My dear, do you know Princess Charlotte wrote to her father the Prince Regent asking to see a copy of her marriage contract with the Prince of Orange?”

  Georgianne nodded. She smiled as she did not know, although she was more knowledgeable than her companion because she kept abreast not only with social matters but also with politics.