“My lord, you seek to shock me with your bold statements, when I invited you here to show my parents that you are not mad, so please behave.” He halted mid-chew, and she gulped. “I do not mean to offend you, but should His Grace enact his dubious scheme, we may need my parents’ support. Given His Grace told my father that you are mentally unsound, I must prove otherwise. They must see for themselves that you are no different than anyone else.”
“And here I thought it was my estimable company you desired.” The frown returned, and she bit her tongue, because she did not want to hurt him. “You should have told me I was to perform, tonight. Pray, how am I to acquit myself, Lady Arabella?”
“Act natural, and do not be vexed, my lord.” She set down a piece of shortbread and reached across the table. To her relief, Anthony touched his fingers to hers. “Just be yourself, because your inclinations always do you credit, and we do this to ensure our future.”
“I can manage that, and you are wise beyond your years.” His professed confidence did not fool her for a second, given his pained countenance, and she longed to hug him. “But I submit this would be unnecessary if I still had my other arm. No one would question me. No one would view me as unfit, in any capacity. But because I am less than a man, I must be mad.”
“My lord, you must stop looking to the past, because your history is written and cannot be changed, but that does not mean that your destiny is set in stone and you are done on this earth.” Arabella chose her words carefully, because she honestly believed Anthony underestimated himself. “There is more to you than a single limb, and I would caution you not to define yourself by what you lack, because you are a better man than you realize. You need only stop looking over your shoulder and turn your eyes to the present and what looms on the horizon, to grasp the reins and charge forth.”
“You expect me to forget what I was once, because you flatter me?” His scowl indicated she angered him, when that was not her aim, so she sought to soften her response, at the first opportunity. “I am to ignore the life I enjoyed before the war?”
“My lord, you mistake me, given I suggested no such thing.” She quieted and smiled, when her father peered in her direction. For Anthony’s sake, they had to maintain the image of a normal, happy couple. “Please, I would not set myself at odds with you, when I am not the enemy. If we are to defeat His Grace, we must combine our efforts. As a partner, you should know that I would never stop fighting for you, should His Grace take you from me. Regardless of what he promises, no fortune, townhouse, or rank will sway me from my purpose, which is to defend my husband and the family we create.”
Again, he held her stare, and she could almost sense him tugging at her. Indeed, he wanted to hold her as she yearned to hold him.
“Formidable.” Narrowing his gaze, he shook his head. “You are formidable, Lady Arabella. If only we had your fortitude in France, we might have been home much sooner.”
“Do you mock me?” She was more than a little hurt at his perceived jest. “Because we are in serious trouble.”
“I thought so, when I arrived this evening, and I apologize for that.” Reaching for her, he toyed with her fingers. “But I am not so afraid, anymore. In fact, I believe we will be just fine.”
“How can you say that, when you know what His Grace intends?” Surreptitiously, she glanced at her parents, but they were diverted by their dessert. “Must confess the situation keeps me up at night, and I am consumed with your wellbeing.”
“Well, at least you are thinking of me, while you rest between the sheets.” Anthony waggled his brows. “There is that. But you need not worry, because I will speak with my father and sort out the matter.”
“How I wish I had known you, before the war.” Once again, the invisible but nonetheless potent connection drew her to him, and she studied his blue eyes, the clarity of which never failed to steal her breath. “When I am alone, I imagine such grandiose notions of you, not that you are any less a man, now, because I would argue quite the opposite. I think you brave and strong, every bit as formidable as you believe me.”
“Praise, indeed, my lady.” The mantel clock chimed the hour, and he pushed back his chair and stood. “It is late, and I should depart.”
“Must you?” She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him with her, so she could protect him. “But you didn’t finish your syllabub, and you didn’t take a brandy with Papa.”
“I had quite enough, Lady Arabella.” To Mama and Papa, Anthony said, “Thank you, so much, for a lovely evening. Indeed, I cannot recall enjoying such a pleasurable meal and most excellent company.”
“We are honored you consented to join us.” Papa crossed the room and shook Anthony’s hand. “Your coach is parked at the curb, and I will see you to the door.”
“Oh, no, Papa.” Arabella shot to the fore. “Please, allow me to escort Lord Rockingham, given it is my duty.”
“I can deny you nothing, my dear child.” Papa chortled. “Perhaps, Lord Rockingham might accompany us to the Promenade, tomorrow.”
“What a wonderful idea.” Arabella bounced and peered at Anthony. “Say you will, my lord, else I shall be disappointed.”
“What man could resist such a request from his beautiful betrothed?” She gripped his arm, and he clucked his tongue. “Of course, I shall be too happy to escort Lady Arabella.”
“Then it is settled.” She drew Anthony into the hall. “I shall return in a moment, Papa.”
In the foyer, her fiancé glanced left and then right, before pulling her close. The kiss, hard and fast, did not appease her, and she held tight, while she made improper advances on his person. She didn’t think he would complain, given his encouragement.
When he ended the glorious tryst, she clung to him. Shaken and vulnerable, she held tight to the lapels of his coat and gasped for breath, as did he.
“You know, I am beginning to wonder why I ever objected to our marriage.” Anthony caressed her cheek with his thumb. “If I knew you could kiss like that, I should have insisted on hasty nuptials.”
“My lord, I am a woman of many talents.” She relaxed, when he claimed another kiss. “However, I never counted kissing among my abilities, due to my lack of experience, thus I wonder if it is to your expertise that you owe your thanks.”
“I would argue my partner makes the difference.” How his carefree demeanor worked on her, easing the tension of the evening, and she yielded to his infectious spirit. “Until tomorrow, lady mine.”
“I’m yours, my lord.” She opened the door. “Never forget that I am on your side, and we will triumph over His Grace.”
“My dear, I don’t want you to fret about my father.” Anthony tapped her nose. “Because I promise I will speak with him before our wedding, and resolve our differences, so everything will be perfect for our special day. You have my word.”
She perched on the first step, and he skipped to the sidewalk. “But, my lord—”
“It will be fine, my lady.” After saluting, he boarded his equipage, and she backed into the house.
While Arabella didn’t share Anthony’s optimism, she could only hope he was right.
Chapter Eight
It was late in the evening when Anthony walked into a private room at White’s, where the Mad Matchmakers, as Arabella called his friends, waited. On normal occasions, such as those moments when his father was not trying to commit Anthony to an asylum, the gathering often devolved into a ribald but harmless contest of recounted audacious seductions and exaggerated claims regarding the length and inventive use of their most prominent protuberance.
Not so that night, given his reason for summoning them.
As expected, his fellow wounded veterans did not disappoint him, and they lounged in a circle of high back chairs and quieted when he entered. The collective of quizzical expressions gave him pause, because he knew not where to begin his sad tale.
“Is it that bad?” Beaulieu inquired and shoved a crystal balloon of brandy into Anthony’
s grasp. “You look like you could use a drink and, please, don’t tell me you changed your mind, and you intend to fight the marriage after all our hard work to secure Lady Arabella’s submission. I am not half so sure we can find another impressionable female to take you.”
“In all honesty, I am not sure Lady Arabella submits to anything or anyone.” Smiling, Anthony reflected on their heated exchange at her home, where she engaged him as an active participant in their games. “In fact, she is no follower, because she keeps pace with me, better than any woman of my acquaintance.”
“Oh, I say.” Greyson grimaced. “Not that I am shocked, but did we fail in our one and only attempt at making a match, when I thought it a triumph?”
“I told you we never should have got involved in the first place.” Warrington shook his head. “Matchmaking is women’s work, and we do not wear skirts. What is next, a trip to a modiste and a lesson in embroidery?”
“Come now. Why so cynical, when you have such lovely knees?” Ever the wit, Lord Michael snickered. “Indeed, I hope you will help me snare a bride, because I have always wanted to marry a charming debutante and raise a family, and who better to be involved in my selection than my lifelong friends?”
“I, too, shall take a wife, although not anytime soon.” Beaulieu arched a brow. “Given I still reap the rewards of gallant service, I am in no rush to the altar. However, like Lord Michael, when the day of reckoning comes, I shall rely on my fellow soldiers to aid my connubial campaign, because I can think of no more qualified judges of character.”
“Wait just a minute.” With an owlish expression, Warrington wagged a finger. “I never agreed to enter into this folly in a permanent arrangement. We were only supposed to assist Rockingham.”
“But you excel at it.” Lord Michael snorted. “Want to take a turn at ribbons?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Greyson compressed his lips. “The mere suggestion gives me a vicious case of collywobbles.”
“Serves you right, because you abandoned the right to protest, along with a great deal of pride, the moment you met with Lady Arabella and pledged your support.” Anthony inclined his head, and he could not resist poking fun at his friends. Besides, the levity dispelled some of the stress inhabiting his shoulders. “Why stop now?”
“My friends, if we are honest with ourselves, we have been ridiculous from birth.” Beaulieu appeared quite pleased with himself. “Some more than others.”
“I resemble that remark and own it, with equal estimation.” Lord Michael raised his glass of brandy, in toast. “Indeed, I am rather satisfied with our efforts.”
“Speak for yourself.” Greyson scowled. “I will take our machinations to my grave, where our embarrassing endeavors will surely haunt me for all eternity.”
“Fear not, my friend.” Beaulieu slapped Greyson on the back. “If you forget, I pledge to remind you, in the hereafter.”
“Will you be serious?” Greyson smacked a fist to a palm.
“When have I ever been serious?” Beaulieu stuck his tongue in his cheek. “And I have no intention of changing my ways, now. By the by, it may interest you to know we may have another potential customer.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Greyson echoed Anthony’s thoughts. “Who, on earth, would be so foolish to trust us to secure him a wife?” Clearing his throat, Greyson peered at Anthony. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Anthony replied, although his self-esteem suffered a direct hit. Still, his fellow veterans worked on him like a tonic. “And need I remind you I never asked you to get involved in my personal affairs?”
“It appears I am the fool.” Lord Michael propped an elbow on the armrest. “And you may mock me at your leisure, because I don’t care. I welcome your assistance in securing a wife.”
“You must be joking.” Warrington blinked and paled, as if on the verge of an apoplectic fit. “You cannot be committed to such a wild undertaking.”
“Let me assure you that I am in earnest, and I’m speaking for myself, because I am nothing if not brutally honest, but you know that.” Lord Michael grinned. “And if you are equally frank, you will admit Beaulieu’s idea has merit.”
“Not that I concede your position, because I find this discussion one of sheer idiocy, but how so?” Dripping skepticism, Greyson folded his arms. “And explain it to me as you would a child, because I am well and truly lost.”
“When have you not been lost?” Lord Michael narrowed his stare. “Consider a pedestrian query. Who would you prefer to find you a wife? Some shrewd, fortune-hunting, rank-seeking mama, who has, no doubt, stifled every natural, libidinous inclination her daughter might possess, or a man with similar reservations and objectives, as well as a keen sense of the sort of innate traits that could make a grown man cry in gratitude, regarding the female form, given we know what we want in the drawing room as well as the bedchamber?”
While the quirky cadre continued their debate on male matchmaking, Anthony stared at the sleeve pinned to the lapel of his coat and braced for the unavoidable reaction. Despite the passage of time, it surprised him how much it still hurt to recall his injury, and he wondered if he would ever get over the loss or if the wound would define him for the remains of his days. Then he remembered Arabella’s words of encouragement and gained strength from her support, even in her absence.
“Gentlemen, while I am loath to encroach on your intellectual discourse regarding courtship, however entertaining I find it, I am in need of your assistance, and the situation is grave.” Anthony pondered his failed attempt to meet with his father that morning and realized he had to ensure his future wife’s safety, should his father enact his plan. “Indeed, I cannot revisit my quandary without suffering a shudder of terror and, in some respects, you are my only hope.”
“You were not in jest.” Beaulieu sobered and scooted to the edge of his seat. “What is it, Rockingham? What happened?”
“Betrayal, such as I have never known.” Swallowing a healthy gulp of brandy, Anthony steeled his nerves. “Please, bear with me, and do not interrupt, else I might lose my courage and falter.”
Recounting in order the villainous scheme devised by his own father, Anthony omitted no detail, however humiliating, because the veterans would understand. One by one, each soldier slumped in his seat, wearing the same revelatory mask of defeat. Although no one stated as much, each man could have walked in Anthony’s boots, and he suspected that uncomfortable realization brought all levity to an end.
“Well?” Anthony nudged Beaulieu. “Have you no humorous reply to dispel the dour mood, as I could benefit from some of your aberrant quips right now?”
“My friend, I am more sorry than I can say.” Given Beaulieu’s morbid expression, Anthony’s spirit plummeted to new depths. “How—and I ask this with all sincerity, but how can His Grace stoop so low as to condemn his own son to a lunatic asylum, when there is nothing wrong with you, aside from your missing arm, and then steal your heir? Must you yield even your firstborn? Have you not paid enough in the coin of flesh? Will His Grace take your dignity, too?”
“Valid queries for which I have no answer, my friend.” Anthony shook his head. “And I am unutterably confused by my father’s behavior. I knew he harbored reservations but not to this level of treachery.”
“It is because they hate us.” Greyson bit the fleshy underside of his thumb. “Did we not take the field? Did we not survive? Where is the disgrace in our service?”
“They don’t hate us, Greyson.” Anthony met his friend’s troubled gaze. “Rather, they don’t understand us. Unlike the dead, who were easily forgotten, and the whole, who simply returned to the ballrooms and blended into the crowd, we remind society of a debt they prefer to ignore. But our wounds mark us as something altogether different, and it is much easier to shove us aside, or pretend we don’t exist, than face reality and the obligation we represent.”
“So it is no small wonder they prefer to lock us away from sight, that they might abandon us,
too.” Beaulieu sneered. “But we will not go quietly into the night, and we will not be shunned, because I refuse to live in the shadows. Society waltzes through the ton’s ballrooms, on the graves of those who gave all and on the backs of those who, albeit torn and tattered, made it home, and they will recognize and honor our sacrifice if I have to run naked down Park Lane to garner their attention.”
“Well, that should provoke quite a response.” Warrington scratched his cheek. “Although I am not sure it is the one you seek.”
“Because then they will know we are crazy.” Greyson sighed and bowed his head. “And that is the last thing we need.”
“Have you a better suggestion?” Lord Michael arched a brow. “Is the sum of your contribution naught but complaints, or do you have anything constructive to add to our campaign?”
“Please, don’t fight, because we are not the enemy.” Their row brought Anthony so very low, and his spirits sank. If he couldn’t inspire his friends, how could he move his father and save Arabella? “And I am not so worried about myself as I am for my bride-to-be and my future heir.”
“Rockingham is right, and shame on us.” With trembling fingers, Warrington fumbled for his glass. “A fellow soldier comes to us for help, and we waste time making petty jokes and arguing amongst ourselves.”
“Shame on us, indeed.” With a fist pressed to his chest, Beaulieu met Anthony’s stare. “And you have my word, as a gentleman, that I shall defend Lady Arabella with my life if necessary.”
“I must confess that is precisely what I want, because I may be in no position to protect her, should my father enact his plan.” Contemplating his fate, he realized just how much he had to lose. “But what happens to me is of no account, given I am already scarred.”
“Like bloody hell.” As Anthony anticipated, Beaulieu protested. “What of friendship? What of the bonds of brotherhood, given all we have survived, together?”
The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) Page 12