When a Lord Needs a Lady

by Jane Goodger

  Katherine gave Marjorie the basic outline of the feud between her mother and Mrs. Von Haupt. “I’m afraid Claudia is a victim of her mother’s ambition and resentment.”

  Marjorie sat stunned during the telling of the story, then she grasped Katherine’s wrist and let out a small squeal. “The Von Haupts are coming to this party,” she said.

  Katherine closed her eyes. She and her mother would have to spend an entire week with a false smile plastered on their faces, pretending that they weren’t bothered by the presence of the vicious pair. Pretending to be friends. It would be excruciating. “I knew they were in England, but I had no idea they were planning to attend this particular party. I suppose we’ll just have to grin and bear it. We get along quite well publically, you see. Even though it’s fairly well-known my mother and Mrs. Von Haupt are not friends, they do their best to hide that fact.”

  Katherine let out a sigh. This week was going to be torturous.

  Joseph Winn and his family had lived on Avonleigh land for three generations. He was seventy-two and his sons were gone—one in Yorkshire working the coal mines, the other in Boston. Mr. Winn had lost his right thumb and index finger last winter, and though he’d been trying hard to make his rent, it was clear he could not.

  And his wife, Minnie, was outside Graham’s study wearing her Sunday best. He knew some of his contemporaries would have told the old couple to go live with one of their children, to leave the land for someone who could work it and pay their rent. He knew most would. But he had a soft heart as his father had, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to.

  “Please send Mrs. Winn in, Roger,” he said to his secretary, who lifted his head up as if it were weighted down. The old chap had probably been asleep. Another inheritance from his father. He watched with fondness as Roger creaked his way over to the door, shuffling steadily but excruciatingly slowly. Hell, he couldn’t fire Roger because he couldn’t afford what the younger secretaries were now demanding for salaries.

  “Mrs. Winn,” he heard Roger call in his fragile voice. It sounded as if at any moment his voice box would break permanently, leaving him with a mere whisper.

  He waited only a brief moment for Mrs. Winn to appear, fear and determination in her brown eyes. Standing, he directed her to a chair in front of his desk, where she sat, clutching her carpet bag fiercely, not even looking around.

  “How may I help you?” he asked.

  “Rent’s due, my lord. Can’t pay it.”

  “That’s four months now, is it not, Mrs. Winn?”

  “Five.”

  “Ah.” He pretended to look in his ledger. “Yes, I see it is.” He gave the carpet bag a long look, wondering what delights it held for him. Last time it was eight pair of itchy woolen socks. The time before that a rather handsome scarf—he planned to wear it this winter. Twenty jars of honey, ten jars of preserved strawberry jam, all given to him over the months in lieu of rent.

  She reached into her bag and pulled out a wooden object with holes in it. “It’s for yer pipes, my lord. A pipe holder. Rosewood, Mr. Winn used. Very nice indeed and very precious.”

  Graham stood and walked over to where Mrs. Winn sat clutching the pipe holder in her ruddy hands. He took it from her, examining it closely. It was really quite lovely, with a finely carved hunting scene across the front. “Very well. It’ll do nicely to hold my pipes. Consider your rent paid, Mrs. Winn.”

  She relaxed slightly, as if in a thousand years he would not accept her gift for rent. Lifting her chin and meeting his eyes—hers softening just slightly—she stood. “Thank you, my lord. We’ll make rent next month, I’m sure.”

  “I have no doubt, Mrs. Winn.”

  She gave a small curtsy, then turned and left. Graham placed the pipe holder carefully on his desk, letting one finger drift around one of the holes created for a pipe. It would hold five pipes. Too bad he didn’t smoke.

  “Sir, Lord Willington is here,” Roger said.

  “Alone?” Graham asked, with a small amount of mock fear.

  “Very, sir. Shall I send him in?”

  “Yes, thank you, Roger.”

  Moments later, John Atwell, Viscount Willington, stepped through the doors, smiling as if he were about to encounter a roomful of willing women—not Graham. Graham frowned.

  “Cheerful as always, I take it?” the viscount said, throwing himself down into the chair Mrs. Winn had just vacated.

  “I’m faint with relief that you don’t have your brood with you. How many do you have now? Twelve?”

  “Four,” his friend said happily.

  John’s giddiness at his happy life was nauseating at times, but as Graham had few friends, he tolerated the man’s incessant smile.

  “What brings you to my home?” Graham asked, moving back behind his desk.

  “Just passing through,” John said idly, glancing around the room with measured nonchalance.

  “Passing through Northumberland. No one passes through Northumberland.” Graham pointed this out with a weary sigh.

  “Well, Avon, my wife has put me on a mission. I’d like to apologize in advance for what I’m about to say. I do have business in London, which I know is in the opposite direction, but even so I don’t want you to think I took this trip solely to badger you.”

  “I am beside myself to hear what you have to say,” Graham said dryly, and John grinned.

  “We’ve heard you’re planning to marry. Congratulations.”

  “Oh, good God.”

  John leaned forward. “Hear me out, Avon. Do you really know what marriage involves? You have to spend time with them. A lot of it. And not just in the bedroom.” Graham nearly rolled his eyes at the silly grin that appeared on John’s face. Hell, the man had been married for nearly ten years. “Parties, balls. And when you have children, well, you’re bonded together with a permanence that’s difficult to comprehend. I cannot imagine spending all that time with someone I disliked.”

  Graham gave his friend a level look. “I adore my soon-to-be fiancée.”

  John laughed aloud. “Perhaps you didn’t know, but my mother has met her, Avon.”

  “I see. Then let me clarify. I adore my soon-to-be fiancée’s money. She has quite a lot of it, apparently. I would like to put the record straight, however. I have made no offer. I haven’t said the word wedding or marriage or bride. But the girl’s mother is in a mad frenzy to get us down the aisle. And to be honest, at least financially, the sooner the better. If I can stomach it all.”

  John became serious. “Is it really so bad?” he asked.

  Graham gave a short nod. “Did you see that woman who just left? She’s one of my tenants. Lovely woman. She makes wonderful jam. Which she uses at times to pay rent. This month it was this pipe holder.”

  “I didn’t know that you smoked a pipe.”

  “I don’t. I have one tenant who gave me a pig. His only boar, mind you. Makes it a bit difficult to breed pigs when you don’t have a male. So I nicked the thing’s ear and put him back where he belonged. They think it’s a strange pig—and a miracle at that—that wandered into their garden. They think this, because I made a big show of saying how delicious their pig tasted when I roasted it.” Graham shook his head. “These people are old and poor and their children are leaving their farms to make real money elsewhere. Their homes are in disrepair, their equipment outdated, and I cannot afford to replace it, so it’s no wonder their children leave. If I have to marry a disagreeable woman to help them, I will. But I haven’t decided on which disagreeable woman, so you may relax.”

  John slapped his hands on his knees. “All right then. I did what I set out to do. Melissa will have to be satisfied with that. I could use a brandy.”

  “I could use two. Tomorrow I’m headed to Briarbrook for a week of torture. Care to join me?” Graham stood and walked over to a half-full decanter and poured two glasses.

  “I’d love to, but cannot. Once I’ve concluded business in London, it’s back home for me. Melissa’s expectin
g again, and, well, I’d like to be home.”

  A jab of something that might have been envy struck Graham hard but he resolutely pushed it down. “Then home you should go,” he said, handing him his snifter.

  Graham felt John’s eyes on him and tried to ignore him as the sharp smell of the liquor filled his nostrils and he took a long drink. He knew John was about to begin some sort of speech on how wonderful it was to find a woman to love, a woman who when you left her, all you could think about was the next time you would hold her in your arms. He’d felt that way, briefly, just last week. He still couldn’t believe how he’d acted, felt. Stupid to fall for anyone, but particularly stupid to find oneself infatuated with a servant.

  “You know, Avon, the right woman can make you happy. I thought you and Laura might end up together.”

  “Truly? She’s happy with Brewster, isn’t she?”

  John shrugged, and that told Graham all he needed to know. “Have you ever found anyone who even vaguely made you happy?”

  “Good Lord, you’ve turned into a woman.”

  John laughed and raised his glass as if admitting this flaw. “No, I’m worse. I’m a converted man.”

  “It just so happens I did meet someone. Recently. But she wasn’t suitable to marry.”

  “Oh? Tell me more.”

  Graham shrugged. “I met her in Brighton. She was lively. Lovely. And I wanted to make her my mistress. But before I could ask her, she left. I don’t know where the devil she is. And even if I did, I don’t think I’d pursue her. I don’t think she’d agree.” He took another long drink. “It was foolish,” he said softly.

  He refused to look at his friend’s eyes, because he feared what he might see—pity.

  Chapter 6

  Katherine stood with her new friend, Marjorie, punch glasses in gloved hands as they surveyed the room they’d just entered. It was the reception, the evening set aside for old friends to meet and new friends to be introduced. The Haverslys were gracious hosts, known for their fun and elaborate house parties, which were always well-attended affairs. Marjorie, as Katherine was quickly learning, had a closet full of exquisite gowns. This evening she wore a dress with intricate, gold embroidery on the bodice and a robin’s-egg blue skirt. Katherine had never seen anything like it. The small bustle in the back of the gown was of the same rich embroidery as the bodice.

  Katherine’s own dress was much plainer, a simple peach-colored gown with delicate brown lace along the neckline and sleeves that reached just past her elbow.

  “Let’s see who we have here this evening,” Marjorie said. “Ah, there is the gouty Lord Mandeville. He’s a widower and a baron. I crossed him off my list years ago. Too old and his breath is foul enough to curl your toes. Sir Robert Browne. He’s the tall one talking to Lady Wellsworth in the horrible green gown. He’s rather nice, but, alas, no title. And . . .” Marjorie let out a small gasp. “It’s Lord Avonleigh.”

  Katherine was suddenly more alert. If Lord Avonleigh were here, that meant Gray was also somewhere in this house. She felt her entire body flush. “Where?” she managed.

  “That beautiful brooding man in the corner. The tall one. His waistcoat is deep burgundy. Every girl I know, including me, has tried to get his interest but to no avail. Apparently our pockets aren’t deep enough.”

  Katherine followed where her friend was looking and stared with disbelief. “But that’s . . .” she said, her breath leaving her. Gray.

  “That’s who?”

  “The one Claudia Von Haupt has set her sights on,” she said, recovering quickly. That devil! She simply could not believe her eyes. There he was, Gray, the man who’d kissed her senseless, who made her act so recklessly, the man who’d said he was Lord Avonleigh’s valet. He stood looking bored, almost angry, among a group of men, while her heart pounded painfully in her chest.

  “From what I’ve heard, they merely need to sign the contract. Her father is on his way from New York to do just that. And do you know from whom I learned this tidbit?” she asked with a gleam in her eyes. “From Miss Von Haupt herself. She was quite giddy with the news when I saw her earlier. Certainly you’ve heard of him if you’ve been in England more than a day.”

  “I have. Of course. The famous Miserable Marquess.”

  “And you know the story?”

  “That he will marry the first girl he smiles at? Yes, I’ve heard it. I don’t put a bit of stock in it, however,” she finished darkly. She narrowed her eyes, remembering the easy way he’d smiled at her when he thought she was a maid. She wondered if he would have smiled as broadly had he known she was one of the title-hungry heiresses he held in such contempt. Or perhaps he had known and was simply having a bit of fun with her.

  Then, as if he were truly feeling the daggers that were flying from her eyes, he looked up and froze. His beautiful eyes narrowed, then widened, before he turned fully toward her, shock registering in his face.

  And that’s when Katherine knew. He hadn’t known who she was. Just as she hadn’t known who he was. They began walking toward each other, leaving behind curious companions, until they met nearly in the center of the room, completely oblivious to anyone else at the gathering.

  Katherine lifted her head and smiled. “Lord Avonleigh. What a surprise.”

  He seemed slightly confused, until she saw realization appear on his face. “Miss Wright, I presume?” He lifted one elegant eyebrow.

  And then in unison: “Did you know?”

  And again: “No, I didn’t.”

  Katherine burst out laughing and grasped his extended hands in hers, looking up at him, completely delighted by the turn of events. Gray—no, it was Graham, wasn’t it?—threw back his head and laughed, then smiled down at her as if unable to believe his good fortune.

  “You truly didn’t know who I was?” he asked.

  “No, of course not. What a pair we are. Why did you pretend to be your own valet?”

  “Probably for much the same reason you pretended to be your own maid. Anonymity.” He smiled again, completely unaware that every eye in the room was watching this exchange with rabid interest.

  Among those staring were Suzanna and Claudia Von Haupt, the former pushing the latter with near violence toward the smiling pair in the center of the room.

  “It’s so good to—” Katherine was cut off by the sudden appearance of Claudia Von Haupt, who wrapped her hands around Graham’s forearm in a painfully obvious attempt to stake her claim.

  “Hello, Katherine,” Claudia gushed, seemingly happy to see her. “I see you’ve met my—” She put one gloved hand to her lips, as if the slip were just that. “I see you’ve met Lord Avonleigh.”

  “Yes, we met in Brighton,” Katherine said, feeling her stomach twist as all the implications of who Gray—no, Graham—was finally seeped into her mind. He’d told her himself that Lord Avonleigh was being pursued by Claudia. Obviously that pursuit had been successful. It was almost as if all her blood drained away from her head. He was going to marry Claudia Von Haupt even though he didn’t love her.

  “How lovely,” Claudia said. “It’s so nice to see a familiar face. What brings you to England?”

  “A ship,” Katherine said, and she was gratified to see not only confusion on Claudia’s face, but a quickly stifled smile on Graham’s.

  “I meant, why are you here?”

  “Why, I imagine for the same reason you are. To nab a lofty title to hang on my name.” Katherine’s voice was as brittle and bright as fine crystal. “I see you’ve found yours.”

  Claudia gave her a confused smile, obviously uncertain whether Katherine was joking with her or not. “Yes, I have.” She looked up at Graham like a woman looks at a new frock that all her other friends have been eying. “It’s not official, yet, of course, so let’s keep this between us,” she said in a whisper.

  “Of course.” Katherine smiled, and no one in the room would have guessed it was not genuine. She embraced Claudia, congratulating her warmly. “Are there any tit
led gentlemen left for me?” She looked from Claudia to Graham, seeing something momentarily dark flicker in his eyes.

  Claudia, her face shining brightly, made a great show of looking about the room at the gathering. “Lord Mandeville is looking for a wife,” Claudia said with a nod toward the gouty old man Marjorie had pointed out earlier. “Isn’t he, Graham?” She blushed prettily. “Oh, pardon, Lord Avonleigh.”

  “I wouldn’t know. However, I suppose one title is as good as another to you Americans.” He said the words drolly, with a dry wit, as if the entire conversation was so boring to him.

  Katherine nearly gasped at his words, his derisive tone. She felt a sharp pain as she realized this was the true Lord Avonleigh—jaded and slightly cruel. The man she had met in Brighton, the one who’d dragged her into a pub, who ran down the beach on a misty night, didn’t exist.

  “You are probably right, my lord. It was good to see you both again,” she said gaily. “Please enjoy the evening. I’m certain my mother is wondering where I am. Oh, and Claudia, I promise not to tell anyone the wonderful news.” She flashed a brilliant smile to Graham, then turned away, blind to all the stares that followed her from the room. She felt unaccountably like crying, as if she’d just learned Gray had tragically died. She felt foolish even to have such thoughts. Oh God, was he laughing at her right now? Sharing their ridiculous story with Claudia?

  She walked into a vacant hall and pressed her hand against her stomach, thankful to find herself alone.

  “Katy.”

  Oh God. She steeled herself. “My name is Katherine.” She turned toward him and tried not to be affected by the look in his eyes. She would not be foolish enough to believe it was longing she saw. “And you are Graham Spencer, Lord Avonleigh, the marquess who is in desperate straits and in need of a wealthy heiress. I’m afraid not even we can afford you, my lord.”

  He hardened his jaw, whether in pain or anger, Katherine was unsure. “Please don’t speak to me that way.”