A Marriage of Rogues

by Margaret Moore

  “Exactly, in the flesh,” her father answered with a nod, “although pretty pickled flesh it was. I gather you’ve been a thorn in his side, the pair of you.”

  “You could say that,” Dev agreed. “I didn’t realize he was in Ireland.”

  “I take it he hopes nobody does. You might want to send somebody after him before he sails for South America or some such place once he sobers up. If he sobers up. And if the drink or a fall or a fight doesn’t kill him first.

  “Still, the man did me a favor. He made it pretty clear you’re happily married. ‘Like something out of a stinking ballad,’ was his kind way of putting it, so I thought since things seemed to have come right for all of us, I’d risk a visit. I got him to tell me where you were, and here I am!”

  “Things have come right, Father,” Thea assured him. She smiled at Dev. “They couldn’t have come out any better.”

  “Thanks to your bold daughter,” Dev added.

  She reached out and clasped Develin’s hand. “I took the chance to have something I always wanted. You could even say I gambled, and won.”

  Her father rapidly shook his head. “No more talk of gambling or games of chance, if you please.”

  Laughing, Thea hugged her father again. Dev wasn’t quite so ready to believe the man could give up the vice that had ruled him for so long, but this wasn’t the time to voice those doubts.

  “I think we could all use something to drink,” he said, heading for the brandy.

  “I won’t deny it’s not easy keeping away from the cards,” Sir John admitted after they’d all had a sip of brandy. “But I’ve managed so far.”

  “And if you live with us, we’ll help you keep that vow,” Thea said.

  Perhaps it was time to voice those doubts, Dev thought, until Sir John shook his head and said, “Oh no, no! That would be too much. I couldn’t impose on you like that. Besides, I’ve got my job in Ireland to go back to. I can’t let O’Muckle down, not after he took a chance hiring me.” The older man got to his feet and pulled his daughter to hers. “Come on, my lovely girl. Let’s get back to the ball. I feel like dancing a jig! We’ll have to be careful, though. We’ve got my grandchild to think of!”

  * * *

  The next morning Jackson informed Dev that Mr. Bessborough wished to speak with him in the study. Wondering what had happened to delay Roger’s return to London, Dev found his half brother pacing beneath the portrait of the man he so resembled in feature, if not at all in nature.

  “Good morning,” Dev said, stifling a yawn. It had been a long night and he hadn’t fallen asleep until the wee hours. “As pleased as I am to see you, I thought you had to return to London right away.”

  “That was before your father-in-law made his sudden and unexpected appearance,” the solicitor replied, looking even grimmer than the late Sir Randolf’s portrait.

  Dev held up his hand. “Before you say another word, I have no doubts that he’s Thea father and I believe his explanation for his apparent disappearance.” He told Roger where Thea’s father had been and what he’d been doing, finishing with the news that Leamington-Rudney had fled to Ireland.

  “I had heard the viscount had left London and was likely trying to get outside the reach of British law. I’ll send my men to Limerick at once to try to prevent that and bring him back to London,” Roger said.

  “And if you’ve missed him? Will that be the end of the suit?”

  Roger’s jaw clenched. “Unfortunately I fear not even the lack of a defendant will entice Lady Caroline to drop the suit.”

  “If Caroline’s so much trouble, you could always suggest she find another solicitor,” Dev said, watching his half brother carefully.

  He was rewarded by the slight flush that colored Roger’s cheeks. “I may have to do that,” he said. “However, I didn’t come here to discuss Lady Caroline. I’m concerned about the unexpected return of your father-in-law. Do you think he intends to ask you for money?”

  “Actually no, I don’t. And he seems quite determined to go back to Ireland.”

  “For your sake, I hope he does,” Roger said. “Now, since I really do have business I must attend to, I should be on my way. Don’t hesitate to contact me if Sir John tries to wheedle money out of you.”

  “I will,” Dev assured him.

  * * *

  Some months later, after Leamington-Rudney had been found and rather forcefully persuaded to return to London, Sir Develin Dundrake and his wife stood in the village church preparing for the baptism of their son, a squirming bundle of joy to be named Paul Roger John. Although little Paul was undoubtedly the most wonderful child the world had ever seen, Thea was nevertheless concerned that he would cry. Develin was too happy with his son to be worried about such a minor catastrophe. Little Paul could raise the roof with his howls and that would be all right with Dev.

  Lady Gladys was there, too, for she was to be little Paul’s godmother, a request that had left her silent before she burst into tears and nodded her agreement. At the church, she hovered over the infant like an overly enthusiastic angel, paying little heed to any of the other guests, including the Marquess of Haltonbrook.

  The young Apollo had taken the request to be godfather with a little more aplomb, but no less delight, and seemed as determined to maintain an air of dignity as Gladys was to forget it.

  The Duke of Scane thought it only natural that his son would be asked and beamed upon the congregation like a benevolent overlord. The duchess sniffed when she heard of the request but stayed blessedly silent, while Caroline conducted herself as if she’d never done anything wrong in her life.

  Roger Bessborough was there, too, although he had refused the request to be a godparent. He was far too busy with his practice to be concerned with the upbringing of anyone’s son, he’d explained, and Lady Caroline’s suit was proving particularly complicated, rather like the lady herself. Anyone watching them would have assumed they could barely stand to be in the same building. Dev, however, knew better, at least where his half brother was concerned. He well remembered what it was like to try not to fall in love with seemingly every breath.

  Even more excited and delighted than little Paul’s parents was Sir John Markham. In the years to come, as Thea and Develin’s family grew in love and happiness—perhaps aided by the supernatural powers of a piece of stale, sawdustlike fruitcake brought out on the baptismal day but never tasted—Sir John became both a friend and confidant to their children, a playmate and adviser of the best kind. He also kept his word and never played cards again.

  Of all the people in the church that day, though, none was happier than Thea. She had been determined to have a better future and had succeeded against all odds. She had a home and a husband who loved her as much as she loved him, and now a child, too.

  And none felt more blessed than Sir Develin Drake. He had cheated and acted with dishonor, yet he had been redeemed by the love of the most clever, passionate, desirable and determined woman he had ever met. No prayer he offered up could ever convey his gratitude, just as no words, no kiss, no caress could ever properly convey the depth of his love for her.

  But he tried. For the rest of his life, as long as he lived, he did his best to show her—and succeeded admirably.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story,

  you won’t want to miss these

  other great reads from Margaret Moore

  HIGHLAND ROGUE, LONDON MISS

  HIGHLAND HEIRESS

  CASTLE OF THE WOLF

  BRIDE FOR A KNIGHT

  SCOUNDREL OF DUNBOROUGH

  Keep reading for an excerpt from MISS BRADSHAW’S BOUGHT BETROTHAL by Virginia Heath.

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  Miss Bradshaw’s Bought Betrothal

  by Virginia Heath

  Chapter One

  May 1816

  There was no escaping the fact that the Marquis of Stanford was drunk. Although inebriation was a state that he was known for, even during daylight hours, the assembled guests were still surprised that he had chosen to be in that state today. While the older generation muttered that it was poor form and gazed at his new fiancée with outright pity, absolutely everyone knew that the only reason the handsome, if slightly dissipated, Marquis was marrying Evie Bradshaw in the first place was because he desperately needed her money.

  Some of the younger guests, including Evie’s two stepsisters, found the spectacle hugely entertaining. It was hardly surprising, they had muttered maliciously behind their fans, because Evie was such a Plain Jane after all and so very dull. The poor man would need all of the Dutch courage he could consume just to kiss her and that was if he even saw her in the first place because she did have a tendency to fade into the background and become invisible.

  What none of the roomful of guests knew, including her spiteful stepfamily, was that Evie was absolutely delighted that Fergus Matlock, third Marquis of Stanford, had turned up to their unexpected and impromptu engagement party completely foxed. For the sake of appearances, of course, she pretended to be crestfallen and embarrassed by her fiancé’s slurring and swaying. And best of all, she had not even asked him to arrive drunk, which was, for want of a better word, perfect. But inside her less than impressive, slightly plump exterior, Evie was dancing. And turning cartwheels. And positively whooping with joy.

  Her spur-of-the-moment plan to escape her tedious, invisible life was working. In a few hours, she would finally leave Mayfair, ostensibly to ready the dissolute Marquis’s house for a wedding, but in reality she would buy her own house instead. Independent. Uncriticised and guilt-free. The hands on the ornate mantel clock could not turn quick enough.

  The root of her current misery, her cold fortune-grabbing stepmother, marched towards her, disapproving lips more pursed than usual. Grabbing her by the arm she dragged her back into the alcove. ‘Evelyn, it is time that you put a stop to this sorry excuse for an engagement at once. Everybody would understand and your father, God rest him, would never condone it. Look at the state of that man—he is a disgrace. I simply cannot, in all good conscience, allow you to marry him.’

  ‘Fergus is probably suffering from wedding nerves. He is only a little bit drunk.’ No, he wasn’t. He was positively steaming. ‘He will not be like that for the wedding. He has promised.’ Not that there would be a wedding. This was a business transaction. Pure and simple. The five thousand pounds it had cost her was nothing compared to the price of her freedom.

  Hyacinth Bradshaw’s lips almost inverted in protest as she looked down her nose at Evie. The woman hated being thwarted, especially by her disappointing stepdaughter, and would normally deal with her quiet acts of defiance with cold, vocal disdain. Unfortunately, Evie’s surprise engagement had pulled the rug from underneath her stepmother’s feet. Hyacinth was now painfully aware of her precarious financial situation, so she had stopped shy of her usual vindictiveness in an attempt to appear like a concerned mother who only wanted what was best for her daughter. It was a façade that really did not suit her. Ten years ago, Evie might have fallen for it—would have desperately wanted to fall for it—but too much water had gone under that particular bridge in the intervening years.

  ‘Your father, God rest his soul, would not wish for you to marry such a libertine. Surely you know that Stanford is only marrying you to get his hands on your money?’ The same money that Hyacinth was determined not to lose. Money that her father’s second wife firmly believed should be rightfully hers. The money she freely spent like water whilst constantly berating her stepdaughter for everything from her appearance to her dull conversation.

  ‘Fergus is very fond of me.’

  ‘Nonsense! You have always been such a silly girl, Evelyn. Why on earth would a handsome marquis...?’ Realising her mistake, Hyacinth bit back her usually cutting criticisms of her stepdaughter’s many shortcomings. The expression on her face made it plain how distasteful she found it. For several seconds her cheek muscles quivered before she forced an approximation of a smile that didn’t quite work. ‘Why on earth would a handsome marquis, who clearly enjoys the hedonistic delights of the gaming hells and brothels, want to marry anyone unless he was seriously in debt? I am sure that if you cast your net wider you will find a more suitable man to marry, given time. This has all been so very hurried. Perhaps I could help you find him? That is what your father would wish for if he could.’ Although up until this moment, Hyacinth had been most scathing about the chances of Evie finding anyone who was desperate enough to be prepared to marry her. She was too fat. Too plain. Too dull and far too old now for anyone to wish to be saddled with her. Evelyn should be content with the life she had and she would always have a home with Hyacinth. Of course, what she would have said to Evie, if she were being completely honest, was—you cannot leave because somebody has to pay the bills. ‘Besides, this is most improper, Evie. I do not like this silly idea you have to move to his estate before you are properly wed.’

  ‘It is hardly improper. Great-Aunt Winifred is coming with me, so I will be correctly chaperoned, and there is a great deal of work to do on poor Fergus’s estate to get it to a state in which it will be presentable for the wedding. He will be staying at the inn for the sake of propriety, so you have nothing to be worried about. Besides, he will probably have to return to London almost immediately so Aunt Winnie and I will be alone. In a month, or two, I am...’

  ‘Winifred is not a suitable chaperon!’

  A little devil within her decided to have another poke to see if it could get a rise out of Hyacinth. ‘I have asked repeatedly if you and my sisters would accompany me—it would be so nice if you would. If Papa had still been alive, he would have insisted that we all travel together as a family.’ As if they had ever been a family.

  Her stepmother snorted and fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘I cannot drag the girls away from London now. Not while so much is still going on. Rose is fresh from her first Season and several eligible gentlemen are actively courting Iris. To take them away from all of the entertainments in town would be nothing short of cruel. We will come up for the wedding, of course, or when the ton retire to their country estates for the summer, although it is my sincerest wish that you will come to your senses first and call it off. You are simply being selfish leaving like this, w
ith only three days’ notice, too! I have never known such a hasty engagement. Your dear father must be spinning in his grave.’

  As Evie was a coward who never, ever argued back in case she did send her father spinning in his grave, she changed the subject. ‘This is a lovely party, Mother.’ The room was filled with Hyacinth’s cronies. Aside from Great-Aunt Winnie, Evie did not call a single person present her friend. All of her childhood friends were now married and had abandoned London years ago. Not that there had been many of them after her mother fell ill and Evie had been dragged from her own life to nurse her, then soon after had to become a nursemaid to her father as well. Clearly fate had always intended she be left gathering dust on the shelf.

  ‘It was the best I could manage on such short notice and on such a tight budget.’ Hyacinth loathed the very idea of a fixed budget. Up until Evie’s father had died, she had spent with impunity and found Evie’s control of the purse-strings galling. ‘I fail to understand why you would wish to penny-pinch for your own engagement party.’

  ‘I have hardly penny-pinched, Mother. There is plenty of everything and our guests do not appear deprived.’ And Evie could not quite bring herself to waste good money on this mockery; not when she had so many plans for her inheritance.

  ‘On the subject of finances,’ Hyacinth said too casually, ‘I am a trifle confused as to how all this is going to work, Evelyn. Running this house is expensive.’

  How many times in the last few days had they had a version of this conversation? Living entirely rent free in what was now Evie’s house in Mayfair was never going to be good enough for her stepfamily. Her father had insisted that Hyacinth should keep everything that she had been bequeathed by her first husband and had left her several thousand pounds a year, so she was hardly on the cusp of entering the poorhouse. As far as Evie could recall, she had never seen the woman spend a farthing of her personal hoard. She much preferred to leech off Evie. ‘I shall continue to pay for the staff in my absence, so I doubt that you will have to dip into your own—’