The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness

by Tamara Lejeune

  “Shut up!”

  “Are you going to sit until morning with your pistol on your knee?”

  “No,” she said. “I will be going to bed soon. I am building a tower of books outside the closet door. At the very top, I am placing a china cupid. If you try to escape, the cupid will fall and break. The noise will wake me, and then I will accidentally shoot you.”

  “You have just given me a viable alternative to marrying your sister.”

  “The marriage would still take place,” she said. “I wouldn’t shoot you anywhere important. In the arm or, perhaps, the leg. I daresay the ride to church would be rather uncomfortable for you.”

  “And after the wedding?” he went on presently. “Shall we all live together in one house? You and Prudence and me?”

  “Certainly not. Try to get some rest, Mr. Purefoy,” she said coldly. “Tomorrow you begin your honeymoon. Where will you go? Paris? Venice?”

  “Farnese.”

  “Farnese? Where is that?”

  “It’s my name,” he told her. “I am Mr. Farnese now, not Mr. Purefoy. Farnese is my mother’s name. Are you so very sure your sister wants to marry the penniless bastard of an Italian opera dancer?”

  “There!”

  “There?” he repeated, puzzled. “There where?”

  “It was rhetorical,” she explained. “I have finished stacking my books and the china cupid is in place. Now I am going to bed. Good night.”

  “Good night, Patience. Or should I say Pazienza?”

  “Why on earth would you say that?” she asked crossly.

  “That is your name in Italian,” he explained.

  “So?”

  Max sighed. “Good night, Patience.”

  “Good night, Mr. Purefoy.”

  When Patience opened her eyes, sunlight was streaming into her room from the window. The chubby china face of a cherub looked back at her from the other side of the pillow. With a gasp, she sat up. The books she had stacked so carefully against the door of the water closet were still stacked against the door, but now the door was open. Somehow, he had pushed the door open without knocking them over.

  Jumping out of bed, she accidentally sent the china figurine flying. It crashed to the floor and shattered to pieces. Paying it no heed, she ran to her sister’s room.

  Prudence was awake already and seated, half dressed, at her dressing table. Her maid was fixing her mistress’s hair while Pru powdered her own bosom. “Good heavens, Pay!” Pru said, as Patience burst into the room. “You look simply awful. Didn’t you get any sleep at all?”

  “I fell asleep. I’m sorry, Pru! I lost him.”

  Prudence turned. “Who, Pay? Who have you lost?”

  “The groom, I’m afraid.”

  Pru laughed lightly and turned back to the mirror. “Don’t be silly, Pay. He’s only just arrived. He is in the drawing room now, waiting for us. I’ve decided to wear blue,” she went on, setting down her powder puff. “Married in blue: your love will always be true. Wait! Where are you going?”

  “The drawing room,” Patience answered. “I should not let him out of my sight until you are safely married.”

  “You are not fit to be seen,” cried Pru. “Patience, I insist that you go to your room and splash a little water on your face. You look like death warmed over. Did you sleep in those clothes?”

  Patience had not changed her clothes since dressing for the theater the night before. “Yes,” she said. Closing the door, she walked resolutely to the drawing room.

  Max was standing against the fireplace, studying the various cartes de visite that Pru had displayed on the mantel like miniature trophies.

  “I thought you had run away,” she said.

  He spun around at the sound of her voice. “You look awful,” he said.

  “How did you get out?” she demanded.

  “I went out for the morning papers.”

  “I didn’t ask why you went out,” she said crossly. “I asked how. Oh, never mind! Prudence is almost ready.”

  “You’ll be glad to know I reentered the house very properly by the front door. Briggs let me in. I assume you don’t want the servants to know I spent the night locked in your privy?”

  “I don’t care,” she said wearily. “I just want this over and done with.”

  “So do I,” he said, producing a folded newspaper from behind his back. “I’ve taken the liberty of marking the pertinent columns.”

  “What is this?” she asked, taking it from him.

  “The Times, I think, gives the most accurate account. If you would be good enough to read from here to here. And again, from here to here.”

  Patience did as he directed. “Your uncle has done it then,” she murmured. “You are disowned. I am—I am very sorry.”

  He raised his brows. “You are sorry? I thought you were very much in favor of the idea.”

  “I am not sorry for you, Mr. Purefoy,” she explained coldly. “I’m sorry for your uncle. He has some affection for you, I think. I’m sorry for Mrs. Drabble, too. The poor woman was distraught. I’m sorry for all the people you have hurt. But I am not sorry for you.”

  He regarded her impassively. “Would you be good enough to show the notices to your sister? She very well may change her mind about marrying me.”

  “She will not be pleased, I daresay,” said Patience, “but nothing can change what has happened between you. You have put the cart before the horse, as your uncle put it. She is determined to marry you. If you are hoping to weasel out of it—”

  “I was not aware that ‘weasel’ could be used as a verb,” he said. “Let me put it another way,” he went on as she glowered at him. “I will not marry your sister until she is acquainted with all the facts. If she still wants to marry me after you show her this, then, of course, I will marry her. She has the right to know whom she is marrying, surely. Why do you hesitate?”

  “I will show it to her,” Patience said coldly. “But it will not make any difference.”

  With newspapers in hand, she marched back to her sister’s room. Pru was now fully dressed in a gown of ice blue satin.

  “Lord, Patience!” she exclaimed irritably. “You look worse than you did before.”

  “I have news, Prudence,” Patience said. “It concerns your husband-to-be. Would you like to read it for yourself ?”

  “What about Max?” Pru said sharply. “Tell me at once.”

  “Very well. His uncle has disowned him, has declared him illegitimate.”

  “What?” Pru cried, snatching the newspaper from Patience’s hand.

  “His parents’ marriage is null and void,” Patience went on dully. “He is stripped of his name, fortune, and any hope he had of becoming Duke of Sunderland.”

  Pru took up the story, her eyes glued to the newspaper. “The duke is no longer responsible for his nephew’s debts! His grace gives him no allowance. From this day forth, he refuses to acknowledge his brother’s natural son. He is ruined. Max is ruined.”

  She looked up from the newspaper, round-eyed. “But I never meant for this to happen! Ruined! He is not to inherit? Not the title, not anything?”

  “Not a penny,” Patience answered. “Of course, this changes nothing for you. You still have to marry Mr. P—Mr. Farnese.”

  “Mr. who?”

  “Farnese. That is his mother’s name. The only name to which he has any claim now. He wanted to make sure you knew before the wedding.”

  “Wedding?” Pru gasped. “There isn’t going to be any wedding!”

  “Now, Pru,” Patience admonished her. “I know it’s a shock, but the carriage is waiting to take us to St. Bride’s. There’s no reason to delay the wedding.”

  “What wedding? You keep talking about a wedding!” Pru angrily tore silk flowers from her elaborate coiffure. “You said you would never force me to marry against my will. You said we could bring charges against him. I’ve given the matter some thought. And I think we should bring charges against him, just like you sai
d.”

  Patience shook her head. “I was angry. I spoke foolishly. Of course you must marry him. You have had intimate relations with him. There may be a child, you know.”

  “There is no child,” said Pru. “I never had intimate relations with that man.”

  “What?” cried Patience.

  “He never touched me. Now get me out of this dress!” Pru snapped at her maid, who stood rooted to the spot, listening with great interest.

  “You would not tell such a wicked lie, surely,” Patience said slowly.

  “Was I lying then, or am I lying now?” said Pru. “I guess you’ll never know!”

  “Are you saying you made the whole thing up?” Patience said angrily. “You lied to me!”

  “You lied to me first,” Pru returned. “You stole him from me. All I did was steal him back. Well, I don’t want him now. You can have him.”

  “But he confessed in his letter,” Patience said slowly.

  “Oh, that! He wrote that to me months ago. I kept his note for sentimental reasons. I didn’t expect it to be so useful. Of course, I never expected my own sister to betray me.”

  “That note was his apology to me,” said Patience. “The roses were for me.”

  Pru scoffed. “Oh, Pay! Not everything is about you. Although, when you think about it, all of this really is your fault. If you hadn’t stolen him from me, I would never have retaliated, and none of this would be happening. His uncle would not have disowned him.”

  Too weary for anger, Patience closed her eyes. “And my note? You added the postscript, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I read your note,” Pru said, her face twisted by pent-up fury. “That is how I found out what was going on behind my back! It was the easiest thing in the world,” she boasted. “When you left the room, the seal on your note was still warm. I simply peeled it off and put a new one in its place when I was finished. I could not believe my eyes when I read it! When I think of how you pretended to hate him—! And all along, you wanted him for yourself!”

  “No,” Patience protested. “It wasn’t like that at all. I never meant to hurt you, Pru.”

  Pru became shrill. “Never meant to hurt me? You knew I liked him!”

  Patience stared down at her hands. “You are right,” she said, after a moment. “I should have been honest with you. Mr. Purefoy has been making love to me since I met him that day at Tattersall’s. I should have told you, but I didn’t. I am sorry.”

  Pru snorted, but did not otherwise respond.

  “But it doesn’t change the fact that what you did was very, very wrong, Pru,” Patience went on. “Mr.—Max could sue you for slander. Could sue us for slander,” she added miserably. “We will have to make peace with him.”

  “He would not dare!”

  “Think of what he has lost because of us!” Patience said. “Yesterday, he was the Duke of Sunderland’s heir. Today, he is penniless. If I were he, I would sue. We will have to negotiate some sort of settlement with him. But, first, we must beg his pardon.”

  Pru bristled. “Beg his pardon! No! Never! He should be begging my pardon, as you did. I am the wronged party.”

  “Your revenge was perhaps a trifle disproportionate,” Patience said dryly.

  “I don’t care if he sues us,” Pru declared. “I would rather die than apologize to him. Anyway, he should be too ashamed of his own behavior to sue anybody.”

  “Bitterness is no defense, my dear. He has not broken any laws. In a court of law, we would be at his mercy. And think of your reputation, Pru! It would be better for us, certainly, to settle with him now.”

  “If he dares to sue me, I shall stand up in court and accuse him all over again!” Pru declared.

  “Prudence!” said Patience, shocked. “You will do no such thing!”

  Pru’s eyes flashed. “I shall! He’s not going to get away with what he did to me. If he sues me, I shall defend myself.”

  “Prudence, you cannot mean what you are saying. It is against the laws of God as well as man to bear false witness against your neighbor.”

  “He’s not my neighbor.”

  “Of course he is,” Patience snapped. “It’s not meant to be taken literally, you know.”

  “Well, if it’s not meant to be taken literally, what is there to worry about?” Pru wanted to know.

  “Oh, my God,” Patience muttered under her breath.

  “Now you’re taking God’s name in vain,” Pru chided her. “Isn’t that like pointing out the mote of dust in your neighbor’s eye or something?”

  Patience controlled her temper with difficulty. “He is waiting in the drawing room. We must go and tell him something.”

  “You go,” Pru said carelessly. “I have nothing to say to him. This is all your fault, anyway. Who should clean up the mess but you?”

  Patience frowned at her. “You know, Prudence, if this goes to court, I am not going to lie for you. I will tell the truth.”

  “You would not give evidence against me,” Pru said confidently. “Not for him. He used you, Patience! Remember what Lord Milford told you! Max only pretended to love you to win a bet. For that alone, he deserved to be ruined.”

  Patience flinched. “I had nearly forgotten that,” she said quietly.

  “Oh, dear,” Max said, as Patience entered the room. “Is it as bad as that?”

  Patience could not meet his gaze, she was so mortified.

  “Let me guess,” Max said quite cheerfully. “She doesn’t want to marry me, after all?”

  The lightness of his tone brought her eyes up to his face briefly. To her amazement, he seemed quietly amused. His gray eyes were definitely twinkling.

  “I don’t know what to say to you, sir,” she said, her voice hollow. “My sister has admitted—She has admitted—”

  “That she lied?” he said helpfully.

  Sick at heart, Patience nodded. “She has admitted to everything.”

  “I expected as much. Yesterday, she would say anything to ensnare me. Today she’ll say anything to be free of me.”

  Patience stole another doubtful glance at his face. “I shall, of course, speak to your uncle at the first opportunity. Perhaps something can be salvaged?”

  “My uncle has already left London,” Max replied. “He has gone off to St. Petersburg.”

  “St. Petersburg?” she repeated, baffled. “St. Petersburg, Russia?”

  “He has gone there to fetch Freddie. My cousin, you know. On his mother’s side, he is a Purefoy. Which, of course, I no longer am,” Max added thoughtfully. “Now that I am disowned, Freddie is my uncle’s rightful heir.”

  Patience blinked back sudden, unwelcome tears. “I’m so very sorry. I thought you were guilty. I could not see how you could be innocent. I will write to your uncle at once. I will tell him you are innocent. Perhaps my letter will overtake him. If there is any way to restore you to your rightful place, I’m sure he will do it. You must not despair, Mr. Purefoy.”

  “Farnese,” he corrected her gently. “You may write until you are blue in the face. It will change nothing. My parents’ marriage is dissolved. I am now a bastard.”

  She winced. “Are you quite certain it is irrevocable?”

  “Oh, yes,” he replied. “It says so in the Times.”

  “Well, even if it is, which I hope it is not,” she said quickly, “your uncle, when he hears that you are innocent, will certainly acknowledge that you are his brother’s child. You may be excluded from inheriting the title, but you need not be penniless.”

  “You think I would take money from him, after what he has done to me?”

  “But it is my fault,” she protested. “He only did it because—because I persuaded him that Pru was telling the truth. Do not blame your uncle. It is my fault.”

  “I rather think it is your precious sister’s fault.”

  “No, sir. It begins and ends with me,” Patience said firmly. “I should have told her of your—your interest in me. We have never kept secrets from each other
before. When she found out about—about us—she was so hurt and angry that she struck out at you—at us—blindly. Please forgive her. She did not know what she was doing.”

  “I beg your pardon!” he said. “She knew exactly what she was doing!”

  “She did not think of the consequences. She did not know your uncle would disown you.”

  “How can you defend her even now?” he asked incredulously.

  “She is my sister,” Patience said helplessly. “She has done wrong but I cannot turn my back on her. What will you do?” she asked, after a slight pause.

  “What do you suggest? I have no name, no money, no home. My fiancée has deserted me. I don’t suppose you would care to take her place?”

  “Is that a serious offer?” she asked quietly.

  Max’s expression grew sober. “Yes. I’m sorry. It must have sounded quite facetious. Patience Waverly, will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He blinked in surprise. “You will?”

  “If you had asked me yesterday before all this happened, I would have accepted you. I can’t very well reject you now, can I?”

  “It would indeed be hypocritical,” he agreed, laughing softly with relief. “Do you know, I thought it would take a bit more persuasion.”

  He would have kissed her, but she turned her face away. “We are not married yet,” she reminded him. “I do have one or two conditions,” she added.

  “I thought you might,” he said jovially. “I am excessively fond of conditions.”

  “You must do nothing to harm Pru. You will not sue her. You will never speak of this—this unfortunate incident. When you are reconciled with your uncle, you will persuade him to keep silent as well. Nor will you seek to exact any sort of private revenge.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Second: my money is my money. You will not touch it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Third: you will get a job.”

  “What?” he said sharply.

  “You must do something with yourself. Now that you are penniless, you will need an income. Perhaps you could go into business for yourself.”

  He was scowling. “What sort of business?”