The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness

by Tamara Lejeune

  “Drink this,” he said calmly. Helping her sit up, he handed her wine in a cracked glass. As she took the glass, he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. It smelled strongly of shoe polish and tobacco. “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” he told her firmly.

  “I know that,” she said. “But I have seen one all the same. My father is here. I mean, his spirit is here. He has come back from beyond the grave! He must have something very important to say to me.”

  “No, Patsy,” he said gently, again pressing her to drink from the glass.

  “He is here!” she insisted. “Max, I tell you: I saw him! I am not mad.”

  “I’m not your father, child,” said another voice. Its owner sat down on the other side of the table. “I am your uncle, Ambrose Waverly. I’m sorry I gave you a fright,” he added.

  Patience shook her head rapidly. “No! You’re dead.”

  “So is your father, if it comes to that,” said Ambrose Waverly. Impatiently, he looked at Max. “I say! You told me she was a sensible young woman.”

  “I am a sensible young woman,” Patience said indignantly.

  “Well, then!” he said. “Cease your prattle! Arthur is dead, I suppose, but I am very much alive. Heavens! Did Arthur never tell you he had a twin brother?”

  Patience shook her head. “My father never mentioned you,” she said. “He never spoke of his family at all.”

  Ambrose, Lord Waverly, grunted. “No? Well, he wouldn’t, would he? We never got on. I suppose he blamed me for having been born first.”

  “That does not sound like my father,” Patience murmured.

  He looked at her keenly. “You have a twin sister, I believe, or so Campbell tells me. Does she ever resent you?”

  “No,” said Patience, glaring at Max, who could not help rolling his eyes. “Of course she doesn’t.”

  Lord Waverly grunted.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Patience said tentatively, “but if you are not dead, sir ...”

  “Of course I’m not dead!” he snapped.

  “Then who was it they pulled out of the river?” she asked. “Who is buried in your grave?”

  “An excellent question,” said Max, sitting next to her on the settle.

  Lord Waverly looked annoyed. “How should I know? Whoever he was, he was a thief, and I’m not sorry he’s dead. Why should I be?”

  “If you don’t know him, how do you know he was a thief?” Patience asked reasonably.

  “He had my watch in his pocket, didn’t he?” said her uncle. “That’s what it said in the newspapers, anyway. Well, I didn’t give my watch to him. Ergo, he must have been a thief. Still, he did me a favor. I was very glad to hear that I was dead. My debts had become quite tiresome!”

  “Yes, I know,” Patience said dryly. “As your heir, I was called upon to pay them!”

  “As my heir, I’d say it was the least you could do!” he retorted.

  “So you decided to play dead in order to escape your creditors,” said Max. “It would appear the jig is up, my lord. What now?”

  “What do you mean the jig is up?” Lord Waverly squawked. “You ain’t going to peach on me, are you?”

  “We can’t go on pretending that you’re dead, Uncle,” said Patience.

  “I’d liefer be dead, if you don’t mind,” he replied. “Look here, you can keep the title. Just sign the sale papers.”

  “I see,” said Max. “The sale was your idea.”

  “I can’t sell something that doesn’t belong to me!” Patience protested. “Why don’t you sell the place yourself? It’s your property, not mine.”

  He looked at her as if she were an imbecile. “I can’t sell it; I signed an entail when I was just a nipper. My hands are tied. You haven’t signed any entail, have you?” he asked sharply.

  “No.”

  He beamed at her. “Good girl! Then you can sell it and give me the money.”

  “Uncle! That would be fraudulent.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Oh, I see! You want a piece of the action. Well, I won’t give you more than five percent.”

  “I don’t want money,” Patience laughed.

  “Well, of course you don’t,” he said. “You’re an heiress, aren’t you? And your husband is rich as Midas, too. Why do you begrudge me a mere ten thousand? I must have something to live on.”

  “You must have something to live on because you are alive,” Patience pointed out. “Be glad of that, Uncle.”

  He made a face. “No, I must stay dead. I owe Sir Charles Stanhope more than this place is worth.”

  “Sir Charles!” Patience said scornfully. “He doesn’t even have an IOU.”

  Lord Waverly chuckled. “Yes, I tricked him proper, didn’t I? He thought I’d gone over to the writing desk to give him my vowels. But, in fact, I wrote in plain English: “Kiss mine arse”! By the time the old fool read it, they were pulling me out of the river!”

  “Oh, Uncle!” Patience chided him, though she could not help laughing.

  “I was not so clever with Lord Banville,” he muttered.

  “That was only twenty-five hundred pounds,” said Patience. “I will pay it.”

  “That is good of you,” he approved. “But it still doesn’t give me anything to live on.”

  Patience frowned. “Have you no income from the estate?”

  “A pittance!” Slyly, Lord Waverly looked at Max. “You see how it is, don’t you, Purefoy? I’m not a greedy man, I hope. Ten thousand pounds would set me up forever!”

  “Uncle!”

  “Surely that is not too much to ask?” Lord Waverly said belligerently. “After all, I am giving you my favorite niece. What say you, Purefoy?”

  Patience put her hand on Max’s arm. “I’m afraid you misunderstand the situation, Uncle,” she said coolly. “My husband is not as rich as Midas. He can give you nothing. Even if he could, I would forbid him to do so. I am not to be purchased like a head of beef!”

  “You talk nonsense, baggage,” Lord Waverly snarled at his favorite niece. “Is he not nephew and heir to the Duke of Sunderland? I daresay his income sits pretty at ten thousand a year! Of course he shall pay. And you are not yet twenty-one, I believe.”

  “What has that to say to anything?” Patience said angrily. “Do not presume that you are my guardian!”

  “I do so presume, you brazen hussy! You will be purchased like a head of beef, if I have anything to say about it. I shall be paid, or, by God, I’ve a mind to challenge this marriage. I’ll have it annulled, so I will.”

  Max held up his hands for peace. “Let us come to an understanding,” he said quietly. “My lord, we have no quarrel with you. Ten thousand pounds is more than reasonable. I will pay.”

  “What?” cried Patience. “Even if you had that kind of money, which you don’t—! Max, I forbid you to give him so much as a penny!”

  “A penny! ’Tis no more than you’re worth, too, little saucebox!”

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Uncle,” Patience told him coldly. “My husband is the Duke of Sunderland’s nephew, but he’s not his heir. Not anymore. The duke had his parents’ marriage annulled. He’s not even a Purefoy anymore. His name is Farnese. And, since I am no more Lady Waverly, that means I am Mrs. Farnese.”

  “Mrs. Farnese! What nonsense is this? This is the son of Lord Richard Purefoy and his lawful wife. There’s no annulling that marriage; ’twas attempted at the time. Even if it could be annulled, Sunderland wouldn’t do it. He’s a sentimental old fool, fond of the boy.”

  “But Max’s father was not twenty-one when he married,” said Patience, glancing at Max. “I know it is painful for you, my love, but you must tell my uncle you are not the golden goose he thinks you are!”

  “Not twenty-one!” Lord Waverly snorted. “True enough, I suppose. He was four and twenty at least. I should know, for we were at school together. Somebody’s sold you a bill of goods, my girl! I shouldn’t be at all surprised to find that your marriage is a sham through and thro
ugh.”

  “Max!”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Max said angrily. “Of course it is not a sham. Patience is my wife.”

  “Is she?” Lord Waverly wondered. “She doesn’t appear even to know her husband’s name. What did she call you? Farzini?”

  Max’s eyes narrowed. “Continue in this vein, sir, and you may well find yourself drowning in the Thames, after all!”

  Lord Waverly assumed an injured air. “You threaten me, sir? You marry my poor niece under a false name, and you threaten me? You have injured this sweet, innocent child—innocent no more, alas! You will pay dearly for her maidenhead, by God!”

  Patience dug her fingers into Max’s arm. “Max, what is he saying?”

  Lord Waverly clicked his tongue. “My poor honey! It’s the oldest trick in the book, dear girl. He only pretended to marry you. It was all to get you into bed. I don’t suppose you would have let him have you otherwise.”

  Patience was on her feet. “Don’t be ridiculous, Uncle! Max, tell him he is wrong. Tell him we are married. Tell him, for God’s sake!”

  “Of course he’s wrong,” Max said angrily. “You’re my wife. Good God, you don’t actually think—!”

  Overwhelmed with relief, Patience threw herself into his arms. “Of course not! Of course, I’m you’re wife. I won’t listen to any more of this poison!”

  Max’s arms tightened around her protectively. “We’ll fix everything when we get back to London, I promise.”

  He felt her stiffen in his arms. Slowly, she drew away from him. Her green eyes were stormy with doubt. “If we are married, what is there to fix?” she asked slowly.

  He cupped her face with his hand. “It’s true, Patsy, that my uncle has not disowned me.”

  “What!”

  “He couldn’t disown me even if he wanted, which I trust he does not. ’Twas all pretense, to get rid of your sister, which it did.”

  “Oh, ho!” said Lord Waverly. “Had your sister as well, did he? The cad.”

  “Shut up!” Max snarled.

  “How dare you talk to my uncle like that!” said Patience, disentangling herself from Max. “So it was all pretense, was it? Our marriage is a sham!”

  “No,” he said violently. “I was going to tell you on our wedding day, but you would not go to breakfast with me. You went to your attorney instead.”

  She stared at him. “And after?” she snapped. “When I took you in, when you had nowhere else to go? Of course, you had somewhere to go! You had a palace! Why did you not tell me then? You must have been laughing at me the whole time!”

  “I couldn’t tell you then. You would never have let yourself love me. But you ... you loved me even when you thought I had nothing.”

  “So it was a test!” she cried, infuriated. “You have been testing me all this time?”

  “That is not what I meant. You are twisting my words.”

  “How could you do this to me?” she railed. “Your own wife? Oh, but of course, I am not your wife, am I? If I am not your wife, what am I to you?”

  “Don’t be silly!” he snapped. “Of course you’re my wife. It’s simply a matter of getting the right name on the right documents.”

  She shook her head. “Which you did not care to do before you married me! You lied to me, Max! You deceived me.”

  Her anger he could bear easily, but this weary resignation frightened him. “It’s only a piece of paper,” he said, trying to laugh it off.

  She stared at him, horrified. “Do you truly believe that?”

  “Of course,” he assured her. “We’ll have the whole thing sorted in a trice when we get back to London. My uncle knows the Archbishop of Canterbury personally. This won’t be a problem.”

  “Your uncle is used to fixing your mistakes.”

  “Yes. You’re going to feel very foolish for making such a fuss about nothing.”

  “I feel like a fool already,” she said bitterly. “Uncle, I would like to go to my room now. Suddenly, I’m very tired.”

  “Of course, my dear,” Lord Waverly said, jumping up from his seat to take her arm. “You can sleep in the room next to mine. Moffat will build you a nice fire. You can have Rufus with you, too, for extra protection.”

  “I am all the protection she needs,” Max declared.

  Patience turned on him furiously. “Think again, Mr. Purefoy! You can sleep with the cow in her bed. She’s as much your wife as I am! That is what you have made of me,” she added bitterly, “a poor, dumb beast!”

  “Oh, that is ridiculous!” Max snapped.

  “So now I’m ridiculous?” she said shrilly. “Were you ever going to tell me? Were you going to let me live my whole life in sin with you?”

  “Of course, I was going to tell you.”

  “Oh? Why? According to you, it’s nothing. Why tell me at all, if it’s nothing?”

  “Exactly!”

  Lord Waverly patted her hand. “He would have told you when he tired of you,” he declared, laying his arm across her shoulders. “Then he would have put you away quietly. That’s the advantage of a sham marriage, you see.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Patsy,” Max pleaded. “Our marriage is not a sham!”

  “Are you sure of that?” she asked.

  “Well, I am not a barrister,” he said roughly. “But it seems to me—”

  “It seems to me you don’t care! ’Tis only a piece of paper, after all! A sham either way, is that it? And if our children are all bastards, what of it? Obviously, I’m just being ridiculous!”

  Max bit his lip. “I will make this right for you, Patsy. I swear!”

  Patience trembled with rage. “Stop calling me Patsy!” she howled at him.

  Breaking free of her uncle, she ran upstairs. Entering the first room she came to, she banged the door so hard that a chunk of soot was dislodged in the chimney downstairs, landing with a crash in the fireplace and sending sparks flying.

  Max turned on Lord Waverly. “You and your poisonous tongue!” he said furiously. “Now look what you’ve done!”

  “It’s no good blaming me, boy,” the baron replied. “You’re the one who put the cart before the horse. Now you have to pay. I think it’s only fair to tell you my price has gone up ... considerably.”

  Chapter 23

  Lord Waverly enjoyed the journey to London immensely. He sat on one side of the carriage with his niece and his terrier, while Max sat brooding on the opposite seat. Patience stared pointedly out the window, cold and unforgiving.

  “What a delightful conveyance!” exclaimed his lordship, bouncing on the seat. “So well sprung! One of your uncle’s, I suppose?”

  Patience turned accusing eyes to Max. “You told me it was hired.”

  “Oh, no, my dear,” Lord Waverly assured her. “If you look at the door in full sun, you can see where the crest has been painted over.”

  “Is there anything you haven’t lied to me about?” Patience demanded, glaring at Max.

  Max sighed. “I never lied about the important things,” he said wearily.

  “Just your name,” she sniffed. “Our marriage! Nothing important!”

  “I do hope we can spend at least one night at Breckinridge,” Lord Waverly said eagerly.

  “No,” Max said shortly.

  “But, surely it is not so very much out of the way,” Lord Waverly insisted. “And so convenient to London! I cannot believe you did not take my niece to Breckinridge on your way to Wildings. These roadside inns can be quite sordid. I suppose you were too ashamed to take her to Breckinridge.”

  “I did take her to Breckinridge, as it happens,” Max said tightly.

  “No, you didn’t,” said Patience.

  “Of course I did. We spent the night there. The first night of our journey.”

  Patience stared at him. “You told me that was an inn! And Mrs. Oliver? Was she not the landlady?”

  “She is the housekeeper.”

  Patience slowly turned red, thinking, he was sure, of the night t
hey had spent there together. “Does she know we are not married?”

  “For the last time: we are married.”

  “We most assuredly will not be staying there,” Patience said vehemently.

  Max bit back a curse. “We can certainly change horses and drive through the night.”

  “It’s two hundred miles to London!” Lord Waverly protested.

  Max shrugged. “What’s two hundred miles in a well-sprung vehicle? We’ll be there in two days.”

  Patience suddenly had a thought. “And my topaz?” she asked, tearing off the glove on her left hand.

  Max had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m afraid it is a diamond. But only ten carats,” he added quickly. And then, even more quickly as she began pulling the ring over her knuckle, “You swore it would never leave your finger!”

  Patience contented herself with glowering at him.

  “I can get you a topaz, if you want,” he offered. “I’d have to buy it, however, and would that not be a false economy? That ring has been in my family for three generations.”

  Patience refused even to smile at his attempt at humor.

  They did travel through the night, but, at the end of the next day, Lord Waverly was moaning so piteously on account of his carbuncles that they were obliged to stop for the night at Saint Albans. Three rooms were not to be had for the three travelers, and Max spent the night in front of the fire in the taproom.

  The following morning, they rolled into London, Lord Waverly floating in a cloud of laudanum, the boils on his bottom freshly lanced and dressed.

  The road brought them first to Sunderland Square.

  “I will take my leave of you here,” said Max, his fingers on the door handle. “I will consult with my uncle and his attorney. I will call on you this afternoon.”

  Patience shrugged. “It will be good to see my sister again,” she said.

  “Oh, yes; do give Prudence my love,” he said sourly.

  He got out and closed the door, but turned back full of hope as she opened the window.

  “Max?”

  Instantly, he caught the gloved hands clutching the windowsill. “Yes, my love?”

  “You w-will call on me, won’t you?” she said, a slight tremor in her voice.