Two Wrongs Make a Marriage

by Christine Merrill

  His old self goggled at the sight of it, wanting to rush to the refreshment room and fill his pockets with cakes, hide wine bottles under his coat and perhaps tuck bread and cheese up his sleeve, then run before the nobs got wind of his presence and tossed him back into the gutter.

  Instead, he took a sip from his wine glass and gave a spare smile and approving nod. Such luxury was nothing less than Kenton expected. It was good to have the help of a wife, to make the ball go as it should. And Thea, bedecked in a silk gown the colour of the champagne he was drinking, showed no agitation. He must take his cue from her. ‘It looks well,’ he said.

  ‘Is that all you have to say for it? Well?’ He had said something to offend her, but for the life of him did not know what.

  ‘It looks as a ball thrown by the Viscount of Kenton should look,’ he replied cautiously.

  ‘Of course it does,’ she agreed. ‘Such entertainments and their preparation do not intimidate me. This one will be a highlight of the social Season.’ She gave a critical glance to her surroundings, showing none of the hesitance that she had displayed when Jack had attempted to school her in her part of their scheme. Perhaps things would go better than he expected. The creature before him was beauty and confidence personified, and not the scared little girl he had seen in their rooms an hour ago.

  Then she gave him an angled look of disdain. ‘That is, of course, if I can refrain from choking each time someone calls me by my title.’

  From her other side, the Earl of Spayne leaned closer and murmured, ‘If you do, I shall simply tell them that you cannot believe your luck. And that I am quite charmed with you, despite the idiosyncrasy. Accept it or not, my dear, you are my daughter-in-law.’

  Thea smiled and, for some reason, Jack found it annoying. Hadn’t he told her the same often enough? No matter who he was, she was safely Lady Kenton. Apparently, the words coming from ‘an actor’ meant far less than those coming from a peer. He swallowed his irritation and smiled back at her, smothering the strange, boyish eagerness to catch her attention again. ‘There, see? You have nothing to fear, just as I promised.’

  ‘Other than debtor’s prison, of course.’

  ‘I am Kenton, just come from the East with pockets full of riches. This evening is nothing we cannot afford,’ he reminded her.

  ‘You are an actor, aren’t you?’ she said, with a sarcastic flutter of her fan. ‘To tell such lies with a straight face.’ The look she turned to him was pleasant, but distant. So much colder than it had been when she’d agreed to the marriage, but totally appropriate for a society couple. Even if they were newly married, polite people simply did not make fools of themselves over their own spouses.

  He squeezed her hand and smiled as though her snub did not bother him. ‘Come, let us greet our guests.’

  They lined up properly beside the earl and went through the laborious task of greeting the people invited into their home. Jack put on his best smile, reminding himself that this, as all things were, was a performance. He was Kenton. And Kenton was a gracious host.

  And his guests responded well to it. He thanked God on several occasions that, after memorising as many plays as he had, keeping straight the names and titles of the ton was hardly an effort. On several occasions, he even managed to correct his wife, who had memorised Debrett’s as a schoolboy might learn his Latin.

  It was not until the earl’s brother appeared that he felt his character wavering.

  ‘Henry.’ Spayne’s bow was stiff.

  The man before him was a younger, paler copy of the earl, blue eyed and fair haired, but with none of Spayne’s easy charm. On de Warde, the blue eyes looked cold and the hair was smoothed back with Macassar oil until it seemed as dark and unctuous as its owner. De Warde answered with a nod. ‘George.’

  And how was Jack to play this? His plan required that he be the naïf, eager to be led by his worldly uncle, so that he might turn the tables unexpectedly later.

  But as he watched and his wife blanched at the prospect of facing the man, Kenton, damn his chivalry, would not be contained. The vermin before him had blackmailed his father near to bankruptcy, tricked his father-in-law and made vile suggestions to the woman who had become his wife. He was suffered at this event for the sake of the family connection, but it was little more than that. Kenton allowed his natural distaste to shine through the courtesy. ‘Uncle de Warde, how nice to see you, again. Aunt de Warde.’ The woman beside him looked almost colourless, her lips thin and bloodless, thinning even more at the sight of Cynthia, who she must know was a rival, even if an unwilling one.

  ‘Kenton? In my memory, I have not seen you at all.’ Uncle Henry was cold in response, making it equally clear that there would be no love between them.

  ‘It is hardly a recent acquaintance,’ Jack said with a tight smile. ‘I do not remember it, but Father assures me that you attended my christening.’ Let him think that Jack viewed the separation as rudeness. ‘And, of course, you know my wife.’

  ‘The lovely Cynthia.’ The lecher smiled a little too broadly at the sight of her. Instead of warmth, the grin gave him a wolfish air that obviously made Thea uncomfortable. But manners won out and, though she insisted she did not like to lie, she managed a more lifelike smile than Jack could have done. ‘Mr de Warde.’

  ‘And how are your parents, my dear, dear girl?’ He continued to hold her hand as he spoke, as though prepared to receive bad news and offer comfort.

  ‘Quite well,’ she said, smiling brightly. Again, it was a social lie, a falseness that did not trouble her. ‘They will be here tonight.’

  ‘They are probably happy that you have made such a fortunate marriage. And to so prestigious a family.’ The man was staring at the Spayne emeralds now, where they rested on Thea’s breast, looking for all the world like he could not decide whether he wanted the frosting or the cake beneath.

  ‘It was a love match,’ Jack said drily. ‘We are both very happy for it. And they have had other good news as well. They are soon to be blessed.’

  There was the slightest twitch of surprise from de Warde, as though he wondered what the secret might be. But Jack made no move to elaborate, looking past him to the people behind. ‘Now, if you will excuse us, Uncle, there are others waiting to speak with us.’

  ‘Of course.’

  When de Warde had moved on, and Thea could manage a word, she half turned to him and muttered sotto voce, barely moving her lips lest another might hear, ‘You were very rude to Mr de Warde.’

  ‘Because I do not like him.’ And neither did Kenton. It was quite the easiest part of the role. ‘But you will go to him shortly and smooth his feathers again with your good manners, just as it is your instinct to do. Apologise for my temper. Make peace with him. Then, remember what I have told you to say. Get the story out as best you can, then you are free of my plot.’

  ‘That is all,’ she said like a muttered prayer.

  ‘That is all.’ For tonight, at least. But she must take the hurdles one at a time. There was no point in frightening her with the whole course, just yet.

  * * *

  Thea waited until all the guests were properly welcomed and enjoying themselves, then allowed herself a moment to survey the scene again. It looked just as it should be. It made her wish that Miss Pennyworth could see her and assign some kind of a grade to it, for it was proof that all her education had served a purpose, no matter what Jack might think. She was sure that he could not have managed it, even with the help of his loyal servants. And it surpassed anything her mother might have managed, for the Spayne name had opened the guest list to the heights of society that her father’s meagre title could not access.

  Would that it were all that was expected of her. She was quite exhausted already, wishing only that she might lie down after, or at least enjoy what she had done. But how could she, knowing that the worst of the night was still ahead?

  She scanned the mob for Henry de Warde, remembering the lines that Jack had written for her and th
e need to deliver them spontaneously, and yet word for word. The ideas seemed to contradict each other. How could a rehearsed scene appear fresh? And why was not the consummate actor here to help her through them? She glanced furtively about, praying that he would come back for the end of this. But he was already out of the room and halfway down the hall. He had been no use in the receiving line, of course, behaving exactly the opposite of how he had promised her he would, putting de Warde on guard against them and making her job even more difficult.

  But now that her husband was out of sight, dear Uncle Henry was leering at her from across the room as though her recent marriage and earlier heartfelt refusal of his advances had meant nothing to him. She supposed that Jack would have viewed this as more opportunity and not a social disaster. Instincts and training promised that she was allowed to cut him, even if he was family. And he certainly deserved it.

  Instead, she put on her best hostess smile and approached him, noticing the slight widening of his eyes in surprise. ‘If I might speak to you alone, Mr de Warde, just for a moment.’ It was the last thing she wanted and she was sure that it must be obvious to him.

  ‘Alone?’ Did he suspect her already? ‘Is that necessary?’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ She glanced about her quickly, hoping the other guests were distant enough so as not to hear her bald-faced lying. ‘I merely wish to offer an apology to you for my husband’s behaviour just now. I am sure, with your renewed acquaintance, he will warm to you, just as a dutiful nephew should.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He gave her a pitying look in response, as though her optimism proved how little she knew of the subject.

  ‘I am sure of it,’ she said, giving an overly enthusiastic nod that made her feel like a badly operated puppet. Jack had ensured her that such enthusiasm was necessary. Of course, he had been staring at her bodice as he’d said it. She was quite sure that he could not have known how ridiculous he was making her.

  De Warde gave little notice of what her head was doing, focusing much lower in response to her movement.

  ‘I, myself, have recently discovered that I owe you an apology,’ she added. ‘And can think of no better time to give it than now.’

  ‘You do?’ His face tilted upwards again, brow furrowed as though he could not quite be sure what he had heard.

  ‘For the kindness you have done my father.’ The words sounded too flat, compared with her enthusiastic movement, and not very convincing.

  ‘Kindness.’ Clearly, the man could not think what he had done that might be described as such.

  ‘I did not think it so at first, of course, but Kenton has shown me how wrong I was. When I accused you of tricking my father,’ she added, throwing Jack’s words aside and padding her part so that it might be more clear. ‘When you sold him the idol that did not work. But then, it did.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ de Warde seemed to be getting more confused, and not less, as she explained herself.

  ‘I probably should not reveal too much, since it is supposed to be a secret for some time.’ For ever, perhaps. She could hardly expect her mother to accept the congratulations of society for a sham of a pregnancy.

  Now de Warde looked as though suspicion was dawning. ‘You are not saying that...’

  No, she was not. She could not. It was simply too embarrassing. She skipped ahead in the prepared speech, avoiding the most difficult line that he would have had her blurt in its full and embarrassing detail. ‘Indeed. I had my doubts at first. But now that Jack has explained it, and supplied the missing idol, and we have seen the wondrous results...’ She ploughed through the words as though they were so much rocky earth. ‘It was most kind of you, sir. My family thanks you. I thank you. And, of course, my father thanks you.’ Her own voice in her ears sounded as though she were acknowledging condolences and not celebrating a blessed event. ‘But I must say no more.’ Because she could not manage another word.

  ‘No, please...’ de Warde reached to take her hand, and she did her best not to shudder at his touch ‘...I must know everything. Surely, if I have been so instrumental in your good fortune, you must tell me the details.’

  She looked desperately across the room for her husband, praying for rescue, wondering how long it would take before she lost the last of her nerve and told the truth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jack played at being the gracious host, visiting with gentlemen in the card room and escorting ladies out on to the floor. But at the back of his mind, he was continually aware of the presence of his wife somewhere in the room. He caught occasional glimpses of her, like a bird in a forest, more glittering, more beautiful and altogether more graceful than her already magical surroundings.

  He thought of the flowing red hair, the green eyes and full lips of his wife, but transposed on to another, faraway performance of Hamlet that he’d viewed as a boy. This was even better than watching from a distance. Tonight, he was sharing the stage with a woman very like his ideal.

  The real Antonia was there, of course, almost as lovely as she had been. But now that Thea had admitted the truth, Jack could almost understand her difficulties with such a mother. Lady Banester had given him a look as she’d said his name and touched a finger to the side of her nose, as though to reveal that she knew all, but would keep the secret. But once that was done, she’d made several sly references to the truth to remind him of it. Rather than letting it go and keeping silent, she could not manage to resist the joke.

  Thea had survived a lifetime of exposure to her mother’s wit. Though not really hurtful, it probably wore on the nerves of a girl with more natural reserve than her mater.

  But it did not seem to bother Lord Banester, who Thea thought she resembled. In light of his recent change in understanding, Jack re-examined his bride’s father. Despite what Thea claimed, the man held little in common in looks or personality with his daughter. He was short, round and balding, and the remaining hair was the colour and texture of straw. He was not as shy as Thea, nor as boisterous as his wife, but obviously good humoured. Given what he’d known of Antonia Knowles, Jack would have assumed the man who caught her would be both rich and powerful. But it was clear that this was not the case.

  Jack sidled closer to his father-in-law, leaning down to catch his ear. ‘The evening is going well. I am most pleased with the way Thea has handled it.’

  The man tented his fingers and drummed them together, as though he had accomplished the matter himself and was well pleased with it. ‘Indeed. It is most gratifying to see my daughter making a success of it.’ He gave Jack a cautious sidelong glance. ‘Given your reaction on the wedding day to the state of our finances, I worried that this would not be the case. It was never my intention to trick you into an inequitable match.’

  Jack swallowed the response he wished to make in favour of something more diplomatic. ‘Of course not. The matter is all but forgotten. It is trivial compared to my feelings and the acceptance of my father. He adores Cynthia, as do I.’

  Banester gave a sigh of relief. ‘That is good to know. Really, I expected no less.’ He smiled with pride in the direction of the viscountess. ‘She is all I could have hoped for in a daughter: duty combined with beauty. And manners that are the equal to any you might meet.’ He had omitted breeding, of course. But then Jack could hardly complain about it.

  ‘She is a jewel,’ Jack agreed. ‘As is your wife.’

  ‘Indeed.’ It was now that Jack saw the real man behind the doting father, for when he looked at Antonia, he seemed younger, straighter and less foolish. There was something beyond the lust that one might expect in such an unequal match. Nor was it precisely adoration, although there might have been a component of worship. It was love, plain and simple. Even after twenty years, it all but glowed from the man as he stared across the room at his wife.

  As though she could sense it, Antonia raised her head and turned to look back at him with an expression that mirrored his. Then she floated across the room to his side, as graceful as a gir
l, to put her hand on his arm. As she moved, the room underwent a subtle change, even the most jaded members of society looking on with a sort of wistfulness that Jack had not seen in them before.

  There was no doubt that the match was a success, in the home and in the ton. How could anyone, other than perhaps Banester’s stiff-necked father, refuse entrance to such a couple?

  ‘A dance, my dear?’ Banester said it not with the hopefulness of an unworthy suitor, but as a man used to getting his way, and Anontia responded with a giggle, tugging his arm to bring him to the floor.

  As though he could guess at the contents of his mind, he turned to Jack before going. ‘Over the years, I have been fond and foolish, particularly of late in regards to a kinsman of yours. But really, who can blame me? There is little I would not attempt in an effort to preserve my marriage and my family. I have been most prodigiously blessed in those areas, have I not?’

  ‘You have indeed, sir.’ Jack gave him a small bow of admiration. And the lovebirds were gone, out on to the dance floor, weaving gracefully between the other couples, but staring at each other as though they were the only two in the room.

  Which made Jack search again for his own wife. Considering their recent marriage, they should be the ones playing the young lovers. Just for a moment, he imagined an adlibbed scene between them, standing close, exchanging whispered confidences and perhaps a kiss.

  Then he remembered the need, on this of all nights, to stick to the script as he had written it. She was having problems enough performing to his instructions without him complicating matters further. When he found her, it appeared that she had been trapped by her quarry and not the other way around.