A Match for Mother

by Mona Gedney, Kathryn Kirkwood, Regina Scott

  The earl took his leave of them at the bottom of the staircase and Claire and Miss Fellows managed to traverse the distance to the ladies’ withdrawing room without being observed. Once Claire had summoned one of Lady Bollinger’s maids to see to the mending of Miss Fellows’s gown, she left the girl in her capable hands and exited the chamber with a grateful sigh. She was about to make her way back to the ballroom when the earl stepped out from a nearby alcove and took her by the arm.

  “La, sir!” Claire gave a shaky laugh. “You startled me!”

  “Then we are even, for you startled me in the garden. Come with me, madame. We have much to discuss.”

  Claire was silent as the earl led her to a small sitting room. He poured her a glass of sherry without bothering to ask whether or not she wanted it, handed it to her with no preamble, and gestured toward a settee. Rather than object to his obvious conclusion that she could do with a taste of spirits, Claire took the seat he indicated and found herself sipping the sherry gratefully.

  “You claimed to be my fiancée.” The earl took a seat on a neighboring chair and swirled the brandy that he had poured for himself. A ghost of a smile crossed his handsome face and he regarded her with amusement. “Whatever possessed you to come up with that, Lady Radcliffe?”

  Claire shrugged, taking another fortifying sip of her sherry. “It was obvious that Miss Fellows thought to trap you into marriage and I did not wish to see you so ill used. I also wished to avoid such a scandal at my daughter’s engagement ball.”

  “And you thought that if you claimed to be my fiancée, I could plead a previous commitment?”

  “Precisely.” Claire nodded. The sherry she had consumed had created a warm glow throughout her body and she found that she was much more relaxed than she had anticipated. “I saw Miss Fellows follow you into the garden, you see, and my daughter had previously informed me of her desperate need for a husband.”

  “So you thought to save me from her clutches, Lady Radcliffe?”

  “Indeed.” Claire nodded again. “It does sound ridiculous when you state it in that manner, but I did not wish to see you forced into marriage.”

  “And you gave no thought to your own reputation?”

  Claire watched his brows rise with the question and she was puzzled. “Of course not. It was not my reputation at stake, sir. It was yours.”

  “I beg to differ, Lady Radcliffe.” The earl took a healthy sip of his brandy. “Your reputation shall surely suffer when it becomes known that you are engaged to a known rake.”

  “But it will not become known. Miss Fellows has promised not to divulge it.”

  The earl chuckled ruefully. “I fear you are wrong, Lady Radcliffe. As we sit here quietly conversing, the news of our engagement is sweeping through the ballroom.”

  “But how can that be? Miss Fellows has given her word not to betray us.”

  “You are truly an innocent!” The earl threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Miss Fellows may not intend to betray us, but mark my words, she will let it slip. She will trust one friend with the news, swearing her to silence. And that one friend will tell another. This is the manner in which on dits begin, Lady Radcliffe. Our engagement is simply too juicy a tidbit to stay secret for long.”

  Claire’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He was right, of course. “What would you wish me to do, Lord Sommerset?”

  “Do? Why, nothing, my dear.” The earl began to grin. “We must keep up our pretense for the remainder of the Season and then you shall cry off.”

  Claire opened her mouth to object, but she quickly closed it again. If she admitted that she was not engaged to the earl, he should be fair game for Miss Fellows’s scheme.

  “I assume this is acceptable to you, Lady Radcliffe. Unless, of course, you are in the market for a new husband and our counterfeit engagement will stand in your way?”

  “Oh, no!” Claire shook her head quickly. “I am most definitely not in the market for a husband!”

  The earl raised one eyebrow. “Are you certain, Lady Radcliffe? I assumed that to be the reason your daughter was sending a stream of eligible gentlemen your way.”

  “That is her reason, but I have no intention of marrying again and I have told her so countless times. Unfortunately, Willow will simply not cease in her matchmaking schemes.”

  “She shall be required to cease now.” The earl chuckled. “She cannot attempt to make a match for a mother who is already engaged.”

  Claire began to see the humor of their situation and she laughed with delight. “You are quite right, Lord Sommerset. If we do not admit that we are not engaged, Willow shall be foiled. But what of you, sir? Will our counterfeit engagement disturb your plans?”

  “Quite the opposite, dear lady.” The earl shook his head most emphatically. “It shall be of great benefit to me as it will serve to keep the conniving mamas and their eager daughters at bay. You see, Lady Radcliffe, I share your sentiments regarding marriage.”

  “Then you do not intend to marry, either?” Claire was a bit surprised.

  “Not at this time, no.” The earl stood up and crossed to her, extending his arm to draw her to her feet. “I find that I am delighted to have declared for you, Lady Radcliffe.”

  Claire smiled up at him. “And I am delighted that you have done so, Lord Sommerset.”

  “John.” The earl corrected her. “If we are engaged, you must call me John.”

  Claire’s smile grew wider, thankful that her impulsive action should prove to be of benefit to them both. “Yes, John. And you must call me Claire.”

  “Claire.” The earl smiled back. Then he slipped both his arms around her and gathered her close to him. “I believe it is customary for a gentleman to kiss his intended bride?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Claire obediently raised her face, anticipating a chaste kiss upon her cheek. But instead of touching her cheek lightly with his lips, the earl cupped her chin quite firmly in his hand and placed a kiss upon her lips.

  His kiss was initially polite, a mere brush of his lips against hers. But then it deepened and Claire drew her breath in sharply. Despite her intentions, she began to respond to the sweet pressure of his mouth against hers. Kissing her dear husband had been most pleasant; Claire had enjoyed it thoroughly. But the Earl of Sommerset’s kiss was so passionate, it took her very breath away.

  Was she becoming unhinged by the events of this startling evening? Claire gave a swift, fleeting thought to her own sanity, but she found it impossible to concentrate when the earl’s warm lips demanded her full attention. A soft moan escaped her throat and then she was returning his kiss with a passion she had not known she possessed.

  Their kiss seemed to last forever, the melting of two souls in a fierce, searing heat. Their bodies cleaved together, his hard and strong, hers soft and womanly, until Claire no longer had any sense of where she ended and where he began. When he released her at last, Claire discovered that she was quite breathless and she clung to him, her senses reeling. He also appeared shaken, and they stared at each other in amazement.

  After a moment of silent bemusement, the earl released his hold on her and took her arm quite properly. “I do believe that our counterfeit engagement should prove to be quite interesting, dear Claire.”

  His voice shook slightly and Claire discovered that she could not find hers at all. She merely nodded, a telling blush settling on her cheeks.

  “Shall we return to the ballroom to accept our congratulations?”

  Claire nodded again and found just enough of her voice to say, “Yes indeed, dear John.”

  THREE

  “Is it true, sir?”

  “Indeed it is, Hartley.” John Pierpont, the Earl of Sommerset, grinned as he nodded to his loyal retainer. Hartley had served his father before him; that gave him a certain license to ask questions that would be considered impertinent if they had come from another member of the staff. It seemed that word of his impromptu engagement on the previous evening had reached his va
let’s ears. This did not surprise John in the slightest as Hartley had a sister in his Aunt Marcella’s employ.

  “I do not believe that I have made the lady’s acquaintance.” Hartley’s statement was properly formal.

  “That is not surprising, for neither had I, until last night.” John’s grin grew wider at his valet’s shocked expression. “Please ring for my coffee, Hartley. I intend to pay a morning call on my fiancée and I shall leave it to you to see that I am properly dressed.”

  As Hartley hurried to the clothes press, John belted his dressing gown and strode to the small study that adjoined his bedchamber. A cheery fire had been laid in the grate and he took a seat in his favorite chair. His pot of strong coffee arrived almost instantly, proof that Hartley had alerted the kitchen before he had climbed the stairs to his master’s chambers. John poured out a cup of the bracing brew that he had learned to enjoy in his mother’s country, and sipped it gratefully as he stared thoughtfully out the window that overlooked the quiet residential street.

  The kiss he had shared with Lady Radcliffe had been an amazing surprise. He had intended to merely brush her lips with his, but the feel of her smooth, heated skin on his hands and the sweet manner in which she assented to his demand had unleashed a powerful force within him. He had kept a mistress in Spain and had thought to do the same in London, when he found a suitable woman who captured his fancy. Lord knew that he was no stranger to passion, but Lady Radcliffe’s response to his kiss had taken him completely unawares. Claire Radcliffe had a wealth of hidden depths and he only wished that he might plumb them. But though he was well-known as a rake, this was not a true assessment of his character. His reputation had been created by the tales of others, not made up of whole cloth. If the truth were known, John Pierpont was a gentleman and he could no more take unfair advantage of the delightful situation in which he found himself than he could teach the fish to sing or the birds to breathe water. Though Lady Radcliffe was the most infinitely desirable woman of his acquaintance and she had come quite willingly into his embrace, he could not allow himself to fully enjoy her charms. He must remain strong and not attempt to coerce this delightful and impulsive lady into an action that she should later come to regret. She had trusted him to observe the proprieties and he must be worthy of her trust.

  Though John did not regret for an instant the events that had occurred on the previous evening, he now found himself at a loss. He had never entered into an engagement before and he had not the slightest notion of how to proceed. He suspected that he should be required to gift Lady Radcliffe with a piece of jewelry to commemorate the event. At least that aspect of their betrothal should not present a problem as he had a cask of gems in his safe from which to choose.

  Thinking to accomplish this task immediately, John retrieved the cask and set it on the piecrust table by his chair. As he lifted the lid, a brilliant array of jewels met his eyes. There were diamonds and rubies, sapphires and emeralds, pearls and finely worked pieces of gold and silver. He picked up a magnificent emerald ring, thinking that it should compliment her sparkling eyes quite nicely, but he feared it was not appropriate. Emeralds of this size and quality were far too dear for an engagement present.

  John dumped the contents of the cask quite unceremoniously on the tabletop. He considered each piece for a moment and then he replaced them all in the cask. These jewels had belonged to his father’s family and it was clear that the Pierponts had been fond of displaying their wealth. He must give Lady Radcliffe something much more subtle, a gift that would please the gossips, but not be a source of embarrassment to her.

  The moment John thought of it, he returned to the safe to retrieve a cask that had belonged to his mother. The condesa had amassed an extensive collection of Spanish doubloons. One particularly exquisite coin had been fashioned into a pendant that hung from a lovely gold chain. This would be a perfect engagement gift for Lady Radcliffe as she had mentioned that she was fond of unusual artifacts from foreign shores.

  John located the pendant and replaced the casks, locking the safe securely. Though he was not well enough acquainted with Lady Radcliffe to be certain, he suspected that she should be delighted with his thoughtful gift. Of course it would be hers to keep, even after they had ended their engagement. It was little enough payment for the peace of mind he should enjoy when he was viewed as ineligible for the remainder of the Season.

  His coffee forgotten, John dropped the pendant into the pocket of his dressing gown and returned to his bedchamber. There he found Hartley engaged in the task of laying out his clothing. It was apparent that his valet had not expected to see him reappear so quickly for he gave an audible gasp.

  “I see that my clothing is assembled.” John smiled at his valet. It was no wonder that Hartley was astonished for it was John’s habit to linger upwards of an hour over his morning coffee. “I find that I am most eager to dress and be on my way to meet with my fiancée.”

  “Yes indeed, sir.”

  It did not take Hartley long to recover; his expression was carefully impassive as he went about the business of helping his master dress. John had no doubt that his whole household should soon hear that Lady Radcliffe had already effected a change in the earl’s habits, and he felt a bit guilty for misleading his loyal valet. Unfortunately, this could not be helped. The members of his staff would be quizzed by the servants of other households, and John knew that he must play the part of a gentleman in love to successfully continue the deception he had agreed to perpetuate with Lady Radcliffe.

  When all was accomplished but the tying of his neckcloth, Hartley turned to his master. “I shall tie the Mathematical if you have no objections, sir.”

  “Is it appropriate?” John frowned slightly. Since he had never had occasion to pay a morning call on a lady who was believed to be his fiancée, he would have to rely on Hartley’s judgment regarding matters of dress.

  “It is not only appropriate, it is de rigueur. I have no doubt that any other gentlemen who arrive shall sport the Mathematical.”

  “Then tie something else, Hartley. I should like to stand out from all the rest. And be quick about it. I must be her first caller and I should not care to be late.”

  Hartley looked as if he wished to say something, but was not quite certain he should voice his comment. The inner struggle was quite evident on his face and John gestured impatiently for him to speak. “You obviously have something on your mind. Out with it, Hartley!”

  “You will not be late, sir. Morning calls are not made in the morning. It is customary for them to take place in the early afternoon.”

  “The devil you say!” John frowned at this absurdity. “If morning calls are not made in the morning, why are they called morning calls?”

  A smile threatened to turn up the corners of Hartley’s mouth and his eyes twinkled in amusement. “I am sure I do not know, sir. It is the simply way things are done in Town. Perhaps it is because morning does not begin for the members of the ton until the sun has been up for hours. Let us not forget that they often retire in the wee hours of the morning and they seldom break their fasts before eleven.”

  John glanced at the clock atop his mantelpiece and frowned as he saw that it was only five minutes past nine. “Thank you, Hartley. You have kept me from making a complete cake of myself and I am grateful to you. You must not hesitate to tell me if I am about to do something inappropriate.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hartley nodded quickly.

  “What time do you think I should depart, Hartley?”

  Hartley considered it for a moment and then answered, “I am certain that if you order your curricle brought round at eleven, you shall be the lady’s first caller.”

  “I shall indulge in breakfast then.” John began to smile. “I had thought I should be required to forgo it, but you have convinced me that I have ample time.”

  As John made his way down the stairs to the breakfast room, he felt strangely impatient. Though he was anticipating his breakfast with a great
deal of pleasure, it would be another two hours before he should set eyes on Lady Radcliffe. He was eager to see his fiancée again so that they could plan the particulars of their most unusual and thoroughly enjoyable engagement.

  * * *

  “Be reasonable, Mother. You simply cannot marry him!”

  “You are wrong, darling. I can and I will.” Claire helped herself to one of Cook’s excellent blackberry tarts and sighed deeply. When she had left her bedchamber this morning, Willow had been waiting for her in the breakfast room. Their discussion had begun immediately and it had lasted until Claire had finished her cup of morning chocolate. Reinforcements had arrived in the form of Willow’s fiancé and Philip had added his arguments to Willow’s. Now they were seated in the Drawing Room, awaiting their first callers, and the topic of conversation was still Claire’s unexpected betrothal on the previous evening.

  The earl had been entirely correct when he had predicted that all would hear about their engagement. When Claire and John had re-entered the ballroom, all conversation had ceased for one breathless moment and then an excited murmur had filled the large room. It had been quite evident that news of Claire’s engagement to the Earl of Sommerset had swept through the crowd with the speed of lightning. Dear Lady Bollinger, always the consummate hostess, had rushed forward to lead the other members of the ton in offering congratulations. She had appeared most perplexed at this unexpected turn of events, and had invited Claire to pay a late call this very afternoon, no doubt to gamer the details of Claire’s whirlwind courtship with her nephew.

  During the frantic moments that had ensued, Claire had glanced at Willow and found a most unattractive frown upon her daughter’s face. They had departed shortly thereafter, and the short carriage ride from Lady Bollinger’s mansion to their town house had been filled with tension. It had been quite obvious that Willow had been waiting until they were alone to quiz Claire about the startling news. Claire had avoided that confrontation quite neatly by pleading the headache and taking refuge in her quarters, after promising to discuss all with Willow this morning.