It was time to expand his role as Lord Symington. This brief respite had restored his energy, so he would dine with the family this evening. Randolph needed a gentle push. He’d made little progress with Elizabeth in five days on his own. Or was he holding back out of ambivalence?
He frowned.
It seemed unlikely. Randolph exhibited a growing admiration for the lady fate had thrust into his arms. So perhaps it was she who needed the shove.
This situation must be settled soon. He knew too many gentlemen like Fosdale. They were autocratic and highly opinionated, expecting every order to be instantly obeyed. No matter what threats Randolph had used to gain cooperation, the earl would not remain quietly in the background much longer. He would act on his own, probably by posting banns this very Sunday. The resulting furor would cause a scandal – or worse.
Besides, their baggage would certainly arrive by tomorrow. He couldn’t imagine a longer delay despite the weather. That would add four more people to the three who already knew the truth. Even if they could explain why a lowly fellow like Mr. Randolph had his own valet, one of them was bound to slip.
So if he was to derive any entertainment from watching Randolph flounder in a morass of his own making, he must leave his isolation.
Fosdale had introduced himself two days earlier when he’d called to inquire about his injuries. They had agreed to postpone any business, but the earl had asked searching questions about Randolph. What was his exact relationship to Whitfield? What were his finances? His prospects?
He had deflected most questions and given vague answers to others, but his impressions boded ill for Randolph’s future. Fosdale’s primary concern seemed to be mining the situation to his own advantage. He cared nothing for Elizabeth, wanting only to line his pockets at her expense.
Randolph agreed. And he had vowed that the marriage contract would deny Fosdale any claim on his purse or his patronage. Watching them maneuver would be humorous.
But he had serious questions about Elizabeth, especially after meeting her father. The fruit rarely fell far from the tree, so he had to suspect her motives.
She had refused to see him, so he could not judge her character directly. Randolph was impressed, but that meant little. While he would trust his friend’s opinion of a rare book or the optimum crop rotation for his estate, the fact remained that Randolph was naïve about people – especially women. He had deliberately avoided even local society for years, content to stay in his library. So was he really seeing Elizabeth’s character, or was he merely fascinated by her professed indifference? And had that indifference arisen from her own convictions or from Randolph’s apparent lack of title and fortune?
He needed answers if he was to protect Randolph from grief. He owed him more favors than he could ever repay.
He shifted his broken arm.
Expectations for younger sons were far different from those for heirs, especially in his family. Never mind that he was wealthy enough to need no career. Never mind that his connections made him nearly as immune to criticism as the best-born heir. He was merely a second son, so his father had demanded he take firsts in all his studies, avoid any hint of scandal, and prove he was a responsible man.
Randolph had assured his success. It had been Randolph’s tutoring that helped him through school, Randolph’s counseling that guided him away from activities that would have bankrupted him by age thirty, Randolph’s intervention that dissuaded his father from buying him colors after a particularly juvenile prank exploded into scandal.
That had been his most stupid idea ever, he conceded, though a grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. He had been down from Oxford less than a month when his cousin Jane announced her betrothal to Lord Mulhouse. He had known Mulhouse in school, though the baron was some years ahead of him. Since he had never liked the man, he had taken it upon himself to investigate.
Within the week, he’d learned that Mulhouse’s vicious nature had worsened since his arrival in Town, that Jane had a marked tendre for Sir Ashley Burness, and that her father had forced her into accepting an offer that lined his own pockets.
In other words, he had sold his daughter to the highest bidder and would henceforth wash his hands of any responsibility for the outcome – exactly as Fosdale seemed to be doing with Elizabeth.
Sedge would have been angry anyway, but having Jane involved had made him furious. Yet instead of going to his father – who as head of the family might have handled it discreetly – he had devised his own way to free her. Unfortunately, in the arrogance of youth, he had failed to think beyond the denouement. Jane and Sir Ashley had escaped to Gretna Green, and Mulhouse had turned up naked on Hyde Park Corner during the fashionable hour. But Jane’s reputation had suffered for several years afterward, and Sedge had narrowly avoided accompanying Wellesley to Portugal.
Yet the memory of Mulhouse’s embarrassment and the pretended shock of several formidable dowagers could still raise a grin. Ah, youth.
He was older now, and wiser. But without Randolph, his position would be far more precarious. So he had to find out if Elizabeth might suit. If she was likely to make Randolph miserable, then he would do whatever was necessary to prevent this marriage.
Rain beat against the windows.
His concern for Randolph’s happiness did not keep him from enjoying his friend’s predicament, of course. Randolph didn’t realize it yet, but he had boxed himself into a corner. A woman who decried coercion was not going to like being deceived, and if her previous reactions were indicative, she would treat them to some rare fireworks when the truth emerged.
He headed for the door. He must notify the staff that he would dine with his host, then see what Sheldon could put together in the way of evening clothes. He lacked a proper jacket, but his white brocade waistcoat should dress up his morning coat. And he had been perfecting a new knot for his cravat. Maybe this was the evening to test it in public, if Sheldon could master it; until he regained the use of both hands, he would be tying nothing. And perhaps a different hair style. Deliberate dishabille should fit the mixed image he must present.
Running footsteps approached along the hallway.
An ash-blonde angel raced into the room. Or so she appeared at first glance. Second glance dropped her several notches on the social scale. Her gown was three Seasons out of date and cut far too low for daytime wear. Her hair was coiled into an evening arrangement of knots and curls that made her look like a schoolgirl playing at dress-up.
“Help me, sir!” she cried, throwing her arms around him.
The impact jarred his broken arm and called attention to several bruises. He gasped in pain, but she ignored it, burrowing closer until he had to grab her with his good arm or fall over backwards.
“He is hateful and will ruin me,” she sobbed against his shoulder.
He had hardly opened his mouth to respond when the door flew open. She had taken the time to shut it before assaulting him, he realized in growing fury. That angelic shell hid a scheming witch as unscrupulous as any he had met in Town.
“Aha!” shouted Fosdale. “So this is how you repay my hospitality! I will send for a special license immediately. No one trifles with my daughter.”
“Daughter?” drawled Sedge. “I cannot believe it. None but a serving wench or common whore would offer her wares so openly.”
The girl screeched, pulling free from his hold.
“None of that, my fancy lordling,” protested Fosdale. “I caught you red-handed.”
“Set me up, you mean,” he growled. “I’ve never seen this girl in my life, and since she was mere seconds ahead of you, there is no question of anything untoward. Except by you. Is it you who taught her to twitch her fanny so provocatively? Pandering will make your name a byword in Society.”
“Lies reflect poorly on your character,” declared Fosdale. “You will wed the girl, or I will make your infamy known in every corner of the land, Lord Symington. I doubt such dishonor will sit well with Whitfield.�
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He should have anticipated this, he realized, cursing Fosdale, himself, and fate. Elizabeth must wed the poor relation, but Fosdale could use his younger daughter to attach Symington’s title and wealth. And this one was more than willing to cooperate. Despite his insults, her eyes gleamed with triumph. Greed twisted her lips, spoiling her looks. But he would never allow this pair of leeches to succeed.
He glared at his host. Yet even as he opened his mouth to reveal their error, he paused.
He could not betray Randolph. And nothing would change even if he did, he admitted grimly. Fosdale was impoverished. Revealing Randolph’s identity would do no good, since he was already obligated to Elizabeth. But learning the truth would negate Fosdale’s promise. He would pressure Elizabeth, who might balk entirely. Or if she accepted him, Randolph would assume that title and fortune had made the difference. Suspicion would tinge their relationship for years to come. Randolph deserved better.
And exposing his own identity would reveal a new prize. His fortune was considerable, and the Marquess of Glendale held great power. If Reggie remained adamant, the title would eventually be his.
Somehow, he must escape this plot. He felt no need to wed this chit, for her own dishonor condemned her. And he had time. Another storm was battering the valley, making travel impossible. No news was likely to escape into the wider world. He would sign nothing. Either he would undo their scheming on his own, or Randolph would support his denials to Society. If Randolph’s impressions of Elizabeth were correct, she might also support him.
He was steeling himself to reply when Randolph appeared in the doorway. His expression revealed that he knew exactly what had happened – and why.
“Mr. Randolph!” Fosdale was suddenly congenial. “You are just in time to wish my daughter happy. She has accepted Lord Symington’s offer of marriage.”
“I cannot imagine why, since she has never met the gentleman, nor he her,” said Randolph abruptly.
“You should know that acquaintance counts for little in aristocratic circles, sir. Whitfield proposed the match some time ago.”
“Odd that he never mentioned it to me,” said Sedge.
“Or me,” echoed Randolph, “though we discussed every aspect of this errand for quite an hour. It is more likely that the suggestion came from you, and that Whitfield made no response because you refused to answer his questions. Since the girl acts the hussy to perfection, I can understand your secrecy. Prior acquaintance would prevent any offer.”
She gasped.
Fosdale glared, then waved his hand to dismiss the charges. “Run along, Cecilia. His lordship and I must speak in private. Randolph, escort Lady Cecilia to her mother’s sitting room.”
“I won’t go,” she declared. “But by all means, send this ignorant lout away. He has no authority to arrange my betrothal. And what does he know of life in London? I will need masses of clothes, including the finest court dress ever designed so I can make my curtsy to the queen.”
“The queen has not appeared in public since Princess Charlotte’s death last November.” Randolph’s acerbic interruption raised a flash of fury in her eyes. “Nor is she likely to, for her own health is on the wane.”
“It matters not.” She waved his objections away.
“We will settle the details in a moment,” said Fosdale. “First you must send for a special license, my lord.” He pulled a pen and paper from one pocket and a stoppered inkwell from another.
“Not today,” begged Sedge, kneading his temples as though in pain. “Mrs. Hughes was correct. I should have remained abed. I fear I have overtaxed my system.” He swayed perilously.
“Let me help you upstairs,” offered Randolph, rushing to catch his friend. Hooking Sedge’s arm over his shoulders, he led him away.
* * * *
Randolph cursed himself for being late. He should have remained near Cecilia instead of searching for Sedge; he had passed her in the hallway after discovering Sedge’s room empty. He at least should have tucked Symington’s card case back into Sedge’s pocket once he discovered how easy it was to avoid Fosdale. It might have protected him. Now they were all in a pickle.
“Are you really fainting?” he murmured once they escaped the sitting room.
“No. Merely feigning, a trick that infernal female probably knows all too well, the scheming strumpet!” Sedge straightened, fury blazing in his eyes. “Is there anywhere in this accursed place where we can be private?”
“The library. Elizabeth is the only one who ever goes there.”
“I don’t even want Elizabeth around just now,” snarled Sedge.
“She left an hour ago to tend a sick tenant. And she would not be shocked anyway. She warned me that Cecilia might be plotting your downfall. That’s why I was looking for you.”
“Why didn’t she do so sooner?”
“She posted servants to keep Cecilia away from your room, not realizing that you were too stubborn to follow orders. You can hardly blame her for not baring her family’s dirty linen to a complete stranger. And when could she have done so? Fosdale has plotted to catch her alone with Symington since before we arrived.”
They reached the library. Randolph locked the door, then led the way to the far end, fastening that door as well before turning to Sedge.
“What happened?”
Sedge explained. “There is no doubt they are working together. But your arrival helped, for I was able to avoid any commitment.”
“I can’t believe you called her a whore and him a procurer!”
“You called her a hussy.”
“She is, and an antidote as well when greed twists her face.”
“Agreed.”
Randolph sighed, pacing to the window and back. “What a coil! You are correct, though. Revealing my identity will only make the situation worse. Elizabeth is the most stubborn woman alive. She will defy her father’s orders, even if doing so damages her own interests.”
“Then how can you expect her to ever accept you?” demanded Sedge.
“Fosdale is not pressuring her at the moment.”
“He is actually holding to that promise?”
“So far, though if he learns who I am, all bets are off. Not only did I compromise her that first night, I’ve repeated the offense several times since. She changed the dressings on this beastly shoulder until yesterday, since I am not in a position to demand valet service.” He flexed the offending joint.
“He doesn’t care?”
“He doesn’t know. I doubt he has the slightest idea how she passes her time. Or how I do. He doesn’t care what methods I use to bring her round, for he only wants to get rid of her – as lucratively as possible.” His voice had taken on a deadly tone.
“You may accept marriage, but I will not,” said Sedge. “I had nothing to do with creating this mess, nor do I care to tie myself to a selfish, despicable schemer. But revealing my identity will do no good, for my position is high enough to satisfy both of them.”
A crash of thunder shook the windows. “Thank God for this storm. It gives us time, and Elizabeth told me enough that you should be able to escape.”
“How?”
Leaning against the mantel, Randolph stared into the fire. “Fosdale has already accepted another offer for Cecilia’s hand. Only the man’s trip to Carlisle prevented the settlements from being signed.”
“So how can he cry compromise? A lady betrothed has far more leeway than an innocent.”
“Which proves his lack of scruples and the dearth of honor in this house,” growled Randolph.
“But can I blame her if he forced her into staging that scene?”
“He did nothing but agree with her plan. The idea was entirely hers. You have no obligation to accept their plot.” He bit his lip. “I need to discover her feelings for this other suitor.”
“If she had any, she would not have trapped Symington.”
“Not necessarily. Whatever Fosdale’s failings, I don’t believe that Cecilia is y
our typical fortune hunter. Her goal is entrée into London society. Elizabeth claims that the girl is obsessed with ridiculous fantasies. Once we discover the details, we can debunk them and give her such a disgust of you that she will flee this match faster than she promoted it.”
“Will Fosdale allow that?”
“If he doesn’t, I will destroy him. The man is unworthy of respect.” He paced for several minutes. “I have it. When I reveal my identity, I will admit that we planned this masquerade so I could discern his true character. The match had been proposed by the previous Fosdale. Lady Elizabeth seemed everything honorable, but we had reservations about allying the duchy with a man reputed to be a cruel, scheming miser.”
“That’s good.” Sedge relaxed enough to laugh. “He will bend over backwards to protect his tie to Whitfield.”
“And find out too late that no tie exists. I will not allow him to annoy Elizabeth.”
“But what will Elizabeth think of the masquerade? If she was furious at the idea of a forced wedding, won’t she be more furious to discover that her grandfather arranged a marriage without telling her?”
“I will meet that challenge when and if it arises. And frankly, I believe her grandfather did propose such a match. Why else would Whitfield set me up like this?” He explained about the Chaucer.
“Matchmakers!” Sedge snorted.
“Short of becoming hermits, we can’t escape them,” agreed Randolph.
“Good luck. So the plan is to prick Cecilia’s fantasies?”
“Right. I will discover the details when Elizabeth returns, but for now, you had best let everyone know that Symington hates London society. It’s true enough.”
“Hate is a little strong, I believe. Disgust is closer to the truth.”
“Let’s not bandy words, Sedge. For the purposes of deflecting Cecilia, hatred may not be strong enough.”
They continued planning. Sedge would suffer a relapse that would keep him abed at least until morning. Hopefully, by then they would have specific information. If not, Sedge would content himself with contradicting anything Cecilia said.
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