Andre at last gave a tiny shrug. “Claudette wished to do so, but I could not expose her to such scandal.”
Bella waved aside his lofty morals. Principals were all very well, but there were times when the cost was too high. “What is a brief bit of gossip when compared to a life of misery?” she demanded.
He gave a slow shake of his head, clearly reluctant to dredge up his buried pain. “Even if we did, I have no fortune to support us.”
Bella swallowed a sigh of exasperation. For one illogical moment, the image of Lord Brasleigh rose to her mind. He would never allow conventions and expectations to keep him from the woman he loved. He would charge into her life and sweep her into his arms without regard to what others might think. She swiftly banished the unnerving thought. Andre was of a far too malleable nature to make such a stand. At least, not without a bit of prodding.
“Perhaps you should consider supporting yourself,” she carefully suggested.
His brows drew together as he allowed himself to consider her words. “You mean to have a career?”
“Is that so much worse than losing the woman you love?”
There was a long silence, and for a moment Bella feared the timid young man would decide that her suggestion was too daring. After all, it would not be easy for them to turn their backs on their families and social positions. It would be a high price to pay, even for love.
But just as she prepared herself for disappointment, a slow smile curved his lips. “There is my cousin. He offered me a position at his bank, but of course, Mother forbid me from even considering his request.”
“It is a beginning,” she softly encouraged him.
He abruptly grimaced. “Mother.”
Bella shuddered to think how the overbearing woman would react to learning that her son had eloped with a penniless miss and intended to work in a bank. Still, the woman could not be any more unendurable than she was now. Andre might as well have one woman in his life that loved and cared for him.
“Yes, she would be gravely disappointed, but you cannot live your whole life to please her.”
“She does have her own income,” he murmured.
Bella smiled wryly. “I would also suggest that you choose a home without an extra bedchamber.”
“What?” It took him a moment to realize her meaning. “Oh . . . yes.”
Feeling a prick of guilt at her unkind regard for Madam LeMont, Bella turned her thoughts to more important matters. “So you will consider my idea?”
“Of course. It is what I want more than anything,” he said in low tones. “But what of you?”
A mysterious smile curved her lips. “I do have plans, but first I must get to London.”
“As do I,” he agreed, not pressing her for further details of her own future. “But I do not see how that will be possible. Lord Brasleigh is likely to have us both thrown into the nearest dungeon when we confess there is to be no marriage.”
Bella’s smile widened. “But we are not going to confess.”
“No?”
“No. We are going to announce that we wish to go to London to prepare for our wedding.”
* * *
Much to his valet’s dismay, Lord Brasleigh had thrust aside the valet’s efforts to produce a gloriously complicated knot in his cravat and instead settled for a simple style that was reflected in the unadorned black coat and formal knee breeches he had chosen for the evening’s entertainment.
He had not been looking forward to the dinner and modest ball that Lady Stenhold had insisted upon hosting. He had been a guest at such rural homes in the past and discovered that the local neighbors often treated him with an uncomfortable awe or encroaching friendliness that set his teeth on edge. But throughout the day, he could not deny a growing anticipation.
More than once he had attempted to convince himself that it was nothing more than a natural desire for a bit of entertainment. What gentleman wouldn’t be eager for conversation and dancing after so many days in the country? Especially a gentleman accustomed to the endless delights of London.
But as many times as he attempted to reassure himself that it was all quite reasonable, he couldn’t entirely deny that in the back of his mind was the delicious image of waltzing across the floor with Bella in his arms. With a sharp shake of his head, Philip left his chambers and made his way down the long flight of stairs. He was obviously in need of returning to London where beautiful women were ripe for the plucking.
On the point of heading to the front drawing room, he halted when the door to the library was opened and Bella stepped into the hall. Although he had seen her only a few hours before, he discovered his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her attired in a shimmering champagne gown that floated like a mist ofgold about her tiny frame.
She was so lovely.
Achingly, heart-stoppingly lovely.
With an effort, he attempted to concentrate on her words. For goodness’ sakes, he was not some moonling in his first throes of calf love.
“My lord, may I have a moment alone with you?”
He raised his brows in surprise. “Egad. You wish to speak with me alone? I almost fear what you might have to say.”
Surprisingly, she failed to rise to his bait and instead regarded him with a steady gaze.
“Actually, I believe you will be quite pleased with my announcement.”
A twinge of genuine unease stirred in his heart. She wished to please him? The world must be coming to an end. “Very well. Shall we step back into the library?”
“Yes.”
Turning, she entered the vast room and moved to perch stiffly on the edge of a sofa. Philip’s unease only deepened.
“A brandy?” he inquired.
“No, thank you.”
“I think I should have something to fortify me.” Philip headed directly for the sideboard to pour himself a healthy measure before turning to face Bella. “So, what is this announcement?”
He heard her draw in a deep breath. “I wish to tell you that I have had a change of heart.”
“A change of heart?”
“Yes.”
“In regard to what?”
“To my marriage to Andre.”
Philip nearly dropped his glass at her shocking words. “You must be jesting.”
Her gaze never wavered. “Not at all.”
Philip carefully set aside the brandy, his stomach clenching with an odd sense of dread. For weeks he had battled this willful minx, determined to see her wed. The mission had indeed taken over his entire life. Now, he regarded her with a wary disbelief. “This is very sudden.”
“Not really.” She gave a tiny shrug. “Over the past few days I have spent a great deal of time with Andre. I have discovered that we have much in common.”
Philip should have been delighted. Instead his brows snapped together. “And what of your protests that you only wished to marry for love?”
“You have made such an opportunity impossible, my lord.”
Philip flinched at the bald statement. How could he protest? It was no less than the truth, as unpalatable as it might be. He felt his heart clench, wondering why he was not celebrating his moment of triumph.
Could it be that he did not wish her to wed Andre? Had he come to realize the timid young man and his harpy of a mother were not worthy of Bella? “I did ask if you wished a season,” he reminded her stiffly.
Her expression became mocking. “After you have already selected my husband? That seems rather absurd.”
“It will give you an opportunity to become more comfortable with the thought of marriage. Besides, you would no doubt enjoy the various entertainments to be found.”
Somehow, he expected her to leap at the opportunity to postpone her wedding. Surely, a few days with LeMont could not possibly have made her anxious for marriage? The gentleman might be decent enough, but he was no Byron. Still, the stubborn jut of her chin refused to waver.
“I have no desire for a season, but I will re
quire a trousseau. I presume I shall be allowed to travel to London for a proper dressmaker?”
How could she be thinking of dresses? he wondered with a flare of restless dissatisfaction. “Have you given this proper thought?” he abruptly demanded.
“Me?” She jerkily rose to her feet, her expression annoyed. “I had no intention to wed. You are the one who arranged this match.”
“Yes, but there is no great urgency,” he inanely argued.
“I thought you wished the wedding to be held in June?”
“That was before you disappeared. It will be difficult to make the arrangements before the end of the summer. It might even be best if we waited until next spring.”
He was attempting to be as generous and understanding as possible. Precisely what she claimed she desired from him. But with her usual perversity, she appeared remarkably annoyed with his concessions.
“I have no desire for a lavish wedding. A simple ceremony will suit both Andre and me. There is no need to wait.”
There is every need to wait, Philip seethed. With every passing moment, he was becoming more certain that he had made a mistake in choosing LeMont as her husband. “I will not have my ward married in a shabby fashion.”
She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Very well, my lord, but I must still go to London to begin making plans.”
He wanted to continue the argument, but he could already hear the sound of guests arriving. He would have to postpone his desire to call off the wedding until a more appropriate moment. “We will go to London at the end of the week.”
Fifteen
Sipping his brandy, Philip brooded on his current ill humor. It was absurd. Now that he had returned to London, he should be devoting his attention to the vast stack of invitations littering his foyer, or indulging his senses in the practiced delights of Miss Ravel. Instead, he was attempting to drown his thoughts in this exclusive gentleman’s club.
What the devil was wrong with Miss Bella Lowe? For weeks, she had pouted and raved that she had no desire to wed Andre LeMont. Now, as he slowly began to accept that he had acted rashly, she was suddenly determined to marry the jackanapes.
Good lord, the man was not worthy of her. She needed a gentleman who could appreciate her impetuous nature and shrewd intelligence. A gentleman like . . . himself.
A sharp pain jolted through his body as he raised his glass and drained it in one gulp.
Fool. Fool. Fool.
He was Bella’s guardian. What sort of guardian longed to seduce his own ward? To make her his wife and fill her with his children? He was beyond reproach.
Leaning forward to pour himself another healthy measure of the fiery spirit, Philip abruptly became aware that someone had halted beside his chair. Turning his head, he regarded the intruder with a fierce scowl. The scowl was only mildly tempered by the realization of who was impinging upon his privacy.
“Good god, Simon,” he said. “What the devil are you doing here? I thought you were in the wilds of Devonshire?”
“I was,” Simon retorted with a grimace. “And I must warn you that my travels have left me in a foul mood.”
“It cannot be any more foul than my own.” He waved a slender hand toward the wing chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Have a seat.”
Simon settled his tall frame into the supple leather and motioned for a hovering servant. “Your best brandy,” he commanded. “And plenty of it.”
“Yes, my lord.” The uniformed man bowed and walked toward a heavy side table. In the blink of an eye, he returned with a crystal-cut decanter and glass.
“Devonshire not all that you wished?” Philip demanded as he watched Simon pour himself a drink and promptly toss it down his throat.
“Devonshire was fine. It was my ill-tempered shrew of a neighbor that was impossible.”
Philip’s elegantly handsome features tightened. There was an edge to his friend’s tone, and a hectic glitter in his eyes that warned him what was troubling him. “A female, I presume?”
Simon poured another measure of brandy. “Claire the bloody cat.”
A cat? He was upset over a cat? “Pardon me?”
“Miss Blakewell,” Simon muttered in explanation. “An unruly, ungrateful spitfire with the manners of a street urchin.”
Ah, so it was a woman, Philip concluded. And a woman much like Bella Lowe, if he did not miss his guess. “Did I not warn you that it was safer to battle Napoleon than to battle the wiles of a cunning female?”
“I will certainly drink to that.” Simon emptied his glass. “What of you? How could your mood be foul when you have been surrounded by the comforts of London and the lovely charm of Miss Ravel?”
“Unfortunately, I just returned to London. I was called away.”
“Called away to where?”
“Surrey.”
“Good God, why?”
Philip’s lips thinned. “My ward.”
“Ah. I thought she resided at your estate?”
Philip could not halt his sharp laugh. “It is a long, unfortunate tale. Let it just be said that at the moment I would like nothing better than to lock her in a cellar and toss away the key.”
Simon lifted his glass with a mocking smile. “Hear. Hear. To deep cellars with thick doors and . . .”
A sudden disruption across the room had Philip turning to discover Huber discretely attempting to turn away the unsteady form of a drunken guest. A flare of disbelief raced through him as he recognized Lord Wickton. With a frown, Philip rose to his feet, and in the same motion as Simon, moved toward their friend.
“Stand aside, Huber,” Lord Wickton was demanding in thick tones.
“My lord, please.”
“Stand aside or be prepared to defend yourself.”
Realizing that Barth was more than a bit bosky, Philip firmly grasped him about the shoulders. “Good God, Wickton, come along.”
Too muddled to argue, Barth allowed himself to be led toward the distant corner, not even protesting when Simon pressed him into a seat. “Challmond? Brasleigh?” He attempted to gather his composure. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Clearly the same thing you have been doing for quite some time,” Simon informed him.
Barth shrugged, then gave a smile as his gaze landed upon the decanter beside the chair. “Ah . . . brandy. Just what I need.”
“Coffee,” Philip corrected as he whisked the spirits out of the reach of the foxed nobleman and handed it to the hovering Huber. “Now why are you not in Kent with your new bride?”
“There is no bride,” he snapped.
Philip and Simon exchanged a startled glance.
“I thought the marriage was arranged?” Simon retorted.
“As did I.” Barth allowed his head to lay back and closed his eyes. “Unfortunately, the bride has decided that she prefers another. And I must say I do not blame her. He is an absolutely brilliant gentleman without a fault to be discovered. And believe me, I have tried.”
“That is rather a bad break, but she is not the only maiden in England. You will soon find another bride,” Philip attempted to console him.
“Oh, yes, there are no doubt any number of maidens willing to become the countess of Wickton.“ Barth opened his eyes, his expression harsh with pain. “A pity I do not bloody well want them.”
Philip shivered even as he forced himself to give another laugh. “Well, are we not a sad trio? What happened to the ‘Casanova Club’? Love them and leave them wishing for more?”
“It is all that gypsy’s fault,” Barth muttered. “Her and her devil’s curse.”
“Absurd,” Simon denied.
“Then you have not tumbled into the stormy seas of love?” Barth challenged.
“Love?” Simon appeared as if he had been struck by lightning, but before he could confess what had caused such a stark expression, a servant halted at his side.
“My lord.”
“Yes?” Simon demanded.
“A message has bee
n delivered for you.”
“Thank you.”
Philip and Barth waited in silence as their friend swiftly read the missive and then abruptly crushed it into a tight ball. “Damnation!”
Philip was instantly concerned. He did not like seeing his friends so obviously at the mercy of their emotions. No more than he enjoyed being a prisoner to his own. “Troubles?”
“It is from Locky.”
“Locky?” Barth hiccuped. “Where the devil is he?”
“Devonshire. I have to leave.”
“Wait.” Philip reached out a hand to halt his impetuous friend. “Is there something that we can do to help?”
“As a matter of fact, you can wish me luck,” Simon said in soft tones. “I am off to win the heart of the woman I love.”
Philip could only watch Simon stride from the room with a distinct pang in his heart. A pang that might have been envy. At least he was in the position to proclaim his love. Unlike himself.
“The woman he loves?” Barth intruded into his thoughts. “Poor sod. Where is that brandy?”
“I believe you have indulged enough for one evening.” Philip returned to his own seat and glanced at his decidedly foxed companion.
“Oh, no, I have not indulged nearly enough.”
Philip frowned. “What troubles you?”
“Isa Lawford troubles me,” Barth muttered.
Good gads. Another brave member of the Casanova Club ruined by a female, Philip acknowledged.
“I thought you did not wish to wed the chit?” Philip retorted. Certainly Barth had never hidden his dislike at being forced down the aisle.
“I was a bloody fool.”
“Then you wish her to be your wife?”
“Yes.”
Philip slowly leaned forward. His own life might be in chaos, but there was no reason for Barth to suffer. Not if he could help. “Do you love her?”
“Love?” Barth closed his eyes. “What is that?”
“How do you feel when you are near her?”
“As if my guts are being twisted into a knot. Is that love?”
Here Comes the Bride Page 47