Mrs. Henley and Mrs. Renwick exchanged glances, Mrs. Renwick repeating, “Yes, a very good thing.”
Oblivious to the exchange, Daphne was looking at Mr. Weston with new eyes. The cousin to an earl? A little spurt of excitement went through her. Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was some way that this chance meeting could be turned into an opportunity for the advancement of Adrian and April into the highest ranks of the ton? Instantly, she was ashamed of herself and shook her head. She was every bit as bad as the worst matchmaking mama to be found in London. Mr. Weston had been all that was kind, and he had helped her during a dangerous time, had even risked his own life. It was very bad of her to contemplate, even for a moment, using him, or rather his relationship to the earl, for Adrian and April’s advancement, even if her motives were driven by love for her sister and brother.
Still watching him, Daphne noted that Mr. Weston was at a second fire, getting much the same treatment from Lord Trevillyan and the other gentlemen that she had received from the women. Across the distance that separated them, their eyes met. In his rumpled and stained clothing, he looked, she thought, much like a ruffian or a bandit—certainly nothing like the cousin to an earl. The thick black hair falling in tousled waves around his face and his cheeks and chin shadowed by two days’ growth of whiskers only added to the image of a lawless man. She studied him a moment, noticing for the first time the hard cut of his jaw and the unyielding shape of his chin. This was not only the polite gentleman who had kept her company these past days, but a dangerous man, too. One she would not care to cross. As she stared, his gaze narrowed, and ignoring the thump her heart gave, she sent him a shy smile before turning away to answer a question from Mrs. Henley.
Like returning heroes, Daphne and Charles were escorted back to Beaumont Place, half the populace from the beach following them home. While Daphne was touched by the concern of her neighbors and friends, she was eager, having repeatedly expressed her great and undying gratitude, to finally leave the hubbub downstairs and escape to her rooms. She felt only a slight pang of guilt at abandoning Adrian and April to the acquaintances that remained, but her siblings were proving to be adept hosts, and now that the excitement was over, everyone would be leaving. Mr. Weston and Lord Trevillyan would spend the night at Beaumont Place, and the last thing she’d done before disappearing up the stairs had been to order rooms prepared for them. Forty-five minutes later, having suffered a long, tearful scolding from Ketty while her bath water had been heated, Daphne gently dismissed Ketty and her maid. Sinking into the warm lavender-scented water, Daphne sighed with bliss, wondering idly if Mr. Weston was enjoying a similar experience. Not lavender, of course, she thought with a faint smile, but some scent that was strong and masculine…rather like the man.
Charles would have found a hot bath very much to his liking, but there was business to be attended to first. If Daphne had missed the speaking looks of the ladies and the quiet-voiced conversations of the gentlemen, he had not, and he was not at all surprised when Vicar Henley, accompanied by an uneasy-looking Adrian, asked him to join them in the library for a private word.
Beaumont Place was returning to normalcy, everyone except the Henleys, himself, and Lord Trevillyan having departed. Charles had known it was only a matter of time before he would be asked for just such a meeting. There was no question but that all the local gentry expected he would do the honorable thing by Daphne, and he was quite certain that not a few of the ladies had driven away already planning the nuptials and what they would wear to the affair.
Charles had never thought to marry, and if he had been forced to choose a bride, until the last forty-eight hours, he would have been hard-pressed to name any young woman with whom he would be willing to share the rest of his life. His lips quirked. He wasn’t certain how it had happened, but he was aware in some elemental way that Daphne Beaumont had changed all that. He was too cynical to believe in love at first sight—lust, perhaps—but he could not deny that there was something about Daphne that made the idea of marriage to her…not at all distasteful. A vision of that tall, slim body, the enticing length of leg he had glimpsed when she climbed the rocks flashed through his mind—that and the quick intelligence, the bravery he’d seen in those lovely hazel-green eyes when she’d realized her danger in the cave and had sent Adrian away. Beautiful, brave, and intelligent. A man could do far worse. He grinned. He seriously doubted that Daffy would feel the same about him—in fact, quite probably the reverse. His grin widened. Ah, there was that challenge again….
Leaving Lord Trevillyan politely conversing with Mrs. Henley, April, and a plump little pigeon of a woman who had been introduced as Miss Kettle, Charles followed Henley and Adrian from the saloon.
The door had barely shut behind them in the library before Vicar Henley said, “I’m sure you realize that this is a most unusual circumstance, Mr. Weston, and I find myself in a difficult situation. As you are no doubt aware, Sir Adrian is not of age, and since this involves his guardian and it would not be proper for her to be here at this time, neither he nor she has anyone to act for them. While Miss Beaumont is of age, in a matter as serious as this, the Squire and I thought that it would be best if we gentlemen settled this between ourselves before it goes any further. At Sir Adrian’s request, I have stepped into the role as advisor to him. I hope you have no objections.”
Charles politely inclined his head. “None.”
The vicar cleared his throat. “Uh, no one believes that you acted anything less than a gentleman to Miss Beaumont during your, uh, recent ordeal, but the fact remains that you were trapped alone with her for two nights in that cave.” Vicar Henley fiddled with his cravat. “I’m sure you realize the irreparable damage done to Miss Beaumont’s reputation and that there is only one way to save her name from being bandied about in a most scandalous way.”
Charles glanced at Adrian standing stiffly by the vicar’s side, looking as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him. Charles felt for him. Young Beaumont was a nice lad, and that the boy had developed a case of hero-worship for him had not escaped Charles’s notice. Sir Adrian was being pulled two ways, not wanting to offend his hero but determined to salvage his sister’s reputation. The young man was in the unenviable position of demanding a stranger, albeit one he seemed to admire, do the honorable thing—whether I want to or not, Charles thought wryly.
Putting Adrian out of his misery, Charles looked at him and said softly, “It would give me great pleasure to make your eldest sister my bride. I can assure you that I will treat her well and that I have the means to see that she is never in want.”
Adrian’s face lit up. “Oh, thank you, sir! I didn’t doubt that a gentleman of your caliber would act any differently, but”—He swallowed and flushed, saying in a rush that would have mortified Daphne, “Thing is—you don’t kn-kn-know us, and Daffy m-m-might not be your cup of t-t-tea.”
Charles thought it interesting that Adrian wasn’t the least worried about Daphne not liking him! Deciding not to enlighten the young man on the difficulties he suspected might arise, Charles smiled at Adrian and said, “I assure you that Daffy is precisely my cup of tea.”
“Well, now,” said the vicar, “with the heavy ground out of the way, I think that we can postpone discussions of settlements and the like until tomorrow. Mr. Vinton, Sir Adrian’s man of business, has already stated that he will be happy to handle the business end of things.” He looked at Charles. “How do you propose we go on? Will you wish to be married by Special License, or shall I have the banns published? Assuming you wish to be married here?”
Charles could easily obtain a Special License, but he rather thought that in this case, the calling of the banns might be better. He half smiled. The calling of the banns would give him time to convince what he was certain would be a recalcitrant bride of the wisdom of their marriage, and considering Sir Adrian’s position in the area, it seemed fitting that they marry here in Cornwall.
“The banns will suffic
e,” Charles replied. “And I believe that Miss Beaumont would prefer to be married here.” He glanced at Adrian. “Don’t you agree?”
Adrian shot him a startled look, clearly unused to making decisions for his eldest sister. “Think you better talk to Daffy,” he said.
“I shall do so first thing in the morning.” Charles grinned at him. “At the same time I propose to her.”
Adrian grinned back at him. “I’ll warn you—Daffy’s used to having the bit in her teeth and doing as she pleases. Doubt she’ll take kindly to a firm hand on the rein.”
“That may be, but I’m sure that we shall deal well together.”
“Indeed, yes,” said the vicar. “Miss Beaumont has always struck me as a sensible young woman. I’m sure that when she considers the honor done to her by Mr. Weston, she will be gratified that a gentleman of his fortune and standing has chosen to marry her.” He smiled at Adrian. “Well, young man, Mr. Weston and I have some further business to discuss. Would you mind leaving us?”
“Oh, not at all,” Adrian replied, adding artlessly, “Lord Trevillyan has promised to teach me to play billiards.”
“Excellent!” said the vicar. “Since you and Lord Trevillyan will be busy, perhaps you would ask my wife to join Mr. Weston and myself.” A twinkle in his eyes, he added, “My wife will want to start planning the wedding.”
Adrian laughed and promised that he would send in Mrs. Henley.
A few minutes later, a smile on her pleasant features, Mrs. Henley came into the room and taking a seat by the fire, murmured, “I assume that all has been settled?”
Charles tugged on his ear. “Yes, except for informing Miss Beaumont of my intentions.”
“Ah, yes. Miss Beaumont has a mind of her own, but she seems all that is proper, and I am sure when the situation is explained to her, that she will be reasonable. After all, she can’t want to be looked at askance and shunned by society…nor, and probably more important to her, her brother and sister tarnished by this unfortunate affair. The tongues are already wagging.”
His eyes shuttered, Charles asked, “Do you think that our marriage will scotch the scandal?”
The vicar rubbed his chin. “In the long run, yes. There is bound to be gossip—I’m sure Squire Renwick’s wife is even now penning a letter to her sister who lives near Guildford and that Mrs. Houghton will be writing to her daughter in Ipswich all the delicious details of your, er, escapade.” He looked unhappy. “We cannot stop the news from spreading, but the calling of the banns this Sunday and the news that you are to be wed within the month will still any whispers. I think that it will be a nine days’ wonder and soon over and done with.”
Mrs. Henley sent Charles an encouraging smile. “This cannot be easy for you, the pair of you being strangers, but from what I know of Miss Beaumont, I believe that she shall make you an exemplary wife, one who will not make you regret your marriage.”
“I think we should worry,” Charles muttered, “whether Miss Beaumont finds marriage to me to her liking.”
Vicar beamed at him. “You have nothing to fear on that head. I am positive that when you declare yourself, she will be beside herself with joy.”
Having no inkling of the treat in store for her, Daphne woke just after dawn the next morning, feeling much refreshed. It was astonishing, she thought, what a good night’s sleep in one’s own bed could accomplish, particularly when one was not bothered by spirits…or whatever. Humming to herself, she slid from the bed and rang for her maid. Shortly, garbed in a blue kerseymere gown with a dove-colored mohair shawl draped over her shoulders, her hair pulled back into a neat chignon, Daphne entered the morning room. Considering the hour of the morning, she had anticipated that she would find the room deserted, and her step faltered when she spied Charles Weston standing at the window that overlooked the side garden. His back was to her, and she cravenly considered retreating, but he had heard her and swung around to look at her.
He looked, she decided, very different from the ruffian of last night. Exquisitely shaved and barbered, wearing pristine linen, gleaming boots, breeches, and a bottle green coat of superfine, he was the very epitome of a gentleman of means and station.
Walking into the room and approaching the sideboard, where she helped herself to a cup of coffee, Daphne said, “Good morning! I did not expect to find anyone up this early.”
Picking up his own cup of coffee that was sitting on the table beside him, Charles said, “I tend to be an early riser.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I trust you are recovered from our, er, adventure?”
“Oh, indeed, yes! And I must thank you again for your gallantry.” She glanced down at her cup. “It was an unpleasant experience for both of us, but your company made the entire episode less of an ordeal than it would have been.” A slight shudder went through her. “I do not think I would have liked to have been buried in that cavern all alone, and your quick thinking by requesting food and fuel for the fire just before we were trapped made it bearable.” Her gaze met his. “Thank you. My family and I will always be indebted to you for coming to our aid, and you have our…my sincere gratitude.”
“Very prettily said,” Charles replied, “but I think your gratitude is misplaced—especially when you consider the repercussions of our being locked together alone in that cavern.”
Daphne frowned. “Repercussions? What do you mean by that?”
“You don’t strike me as a stupid woman—stop and think about it. We were alone in that cave for two nights…just the two of us with no chaperon….”
“Good heavens! Do not tell me that anyone believes….” Daphne swallowed as a vivid image of Mr. Weston being overcome by passion and violently kissing her flashed through her mind. Her cheeks burned, and looking everywhere but at him, she managed, “I think you refine upon the matter too much. No person of good sense can believe that anything…untoward occurred between us. I am not some green miss just out of the school room, and you are not….” She stopped, suddenly aware of how little she knew of Mr. Weston. Perhaps, she thought uneasily, he was a hardened rake with a scandalous reputation, just the sort of scoundrel that in his company, no woman’s reputation was safe. Which was ridiculous, she decided. After all, she reminded herself, his cousin was the Earl of Wyndham—surely that counted for something. Mr. Weston had been a perfect gentleman with her during their time together, and while she knew herself to be on the shelf and not a beauty, certainly if he had been a vile seducer, he would have made some attempt to…. Conscious of her lack of charms, the lowering notion occurred to her that the reason he had been so very polite and circumspect was because he had not considered her worthy of his attentions. She shook herself. Now, she was being silly. She hadn’t wanted him to press his attentions on her, had she? Upset with her thoughts, she said sharply, “The whole idea is ludicrous.”
“Do you think so?” Charles asked with a flick of his brow. “Certainly, the vicar didn’t think so when he discussed the matter with me last night.”
“The v-v-vicar,” Daphne stammered, her eyes full of dismay. “Oh, surely not!”
Charles walked up to her and taking her hand in his, said quietly, “I’m afraid that the answer is yes. You may not have been aware of it, but even before I spoke to the vicar and your brother, I had the distinct impression, in view of our, ah, time together, that the community is breathlessly awaiting the announcement of our betrothal.”
An expression of utter horror crossed Daphne’s face, and Charles didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. Not a vain man, he couldn’t help but be aware that the majority of the opposite sex considered him handsome and that more than one pair of feminine eyes admired his tall form and address. Having inherited an impressive fortune upon his stepmother’s death, on the Marriage Mart, he was considered an excellent catch, and for the past few years, he had been avoiding the more aggressive of the matchmaking mamas who thronged to London, hoping to find a husband for their daughters. He might not have a title or a fortune large enough to make
Golden Ball Hughes blink, but his family was aristocratic—his cousin was a bloody Earl! And these days, he was wealthy enough to support a wife, even one who might want to make a dash amidst the highest ranks of the ton. Stonegate was a fine estate, one any woman would be proud to call her home. Charles knew his own worth, and yet this hazel-eyed spinster of minor lineage and no fortune to speak of was horrified at the idea of marriage to him! He wondered if he should be insulted.
“I take it,” he said dryly, “that the idea of marriage to me is not to your liking.”
Flustered, Daphne didn’t know what to say. Any dreams of love or marriage that she may have had, she’d put from her years ago. Her brother and sister’s welfare had dominated her life, and all her energies had gone into planning for their futures. She was content in her role as guardian to her younger siblings, and at no time since the death of her young Lieutenant had she ever considered any other alternative. That her circumstances might change had simply not crossed her mind and that someone of Charles Weston’s ilk, obviously a man of fashion and prominence, might offer for her, even considering the situation, was beyond her ken.
Falling back on something he’d said a moment ago, she asked, “Adrian? Adrian knows about this?”
Charles nodded. “Indeed. You do not think I would offer for you without your brother’s permission, did you?”
“Though only a lowly female, since I am his guardian, it does come as a surprise that he is busy arranging my future,” she replied testily.
“He didn’t have a choice, and it was only proper that he be involved.” Charles quirked a brow. “After all, he is the head of your family.”
Daphne’s eyes flashed with irritation. Of all the nonsensical notions! Her younger brother, Adrian, deciding her future, when it was she who for years had made every important decision in their lives. Outrageous! Honesty compelled her to admit, “Yes, I suppose he is, but for all practical purposes, I have acted as the head of our family for some time now.” Not looking at him, she added, “And while I appreciate the niceties of the situation, I am not about to be guided in such an important matter by a seventeen-year-old boy!”
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