Clarinda simply shook her head from side to side, not quite believing the scenario her dead husband was describing. “How do you even remember that far back?” was all she could think to ask in response.
David straightened. “Trust me, sweeting. When you’re dead, you can remember everything,” he claimed with a raised eyebrow. “Makes me a bit ashamed, in fact,” he added, a hand going through his hair so it was left in unruly spikes atop his head.
“What are you saying?” Clarinda wondered suddenly, becoming alarmed at her husband’s strange words.
“Daniel was supposed to have been born first,” he replied, his matter-of-fact tone making the statement sound not quite as ridiculous as Clarinda was imagining. There was a sort of whoosh sound just as he finished the admission, as if he’d been harboring the truth for all his almost forty years and was relieved to finally be able to speak the truth.
“Really?” Clarinda managed to reply, keeping her expression in check. “And ... how do you know that?”
David uncrossed his arms and let out a ‘huff’. “When mother’s water broke, Daniel was asleep, so I took his place,” he said with the sort of nonchalant attitude he’d adopted for most of the conversation.
Clarinda blinked. And blinked again. “The way you just said that ... are you sorry for having been born first?” she wondered, not quite sure what she should say.
Good grief, when had David lost his mind?
Probably when he died, a part of her brain argued. The other part was telling her she had lost her mind.
David shook his head. “No, Clare, I’m not,” he said suddenly, his face brightening. “I probably even managed to get in the last kick as I was on my way out.” He said this last with a hint of pride.
Her mouth open once more, Clarinda regarded David with a scowl. “So, why are you telling me this now?” she countered. Was he telling her so his conscious would be clear? Burdening her with the truth of his existence, of his having stolen his brother’s birthright so he could, what? Rest in peace?
David sighed, his shoulders suddenly slumping. “Don’t you see, Clare? You were always supposed to end up with Daniel. He was supposed to be born first. He was supposed to be the earl. He was the one who courted you and asked for your hand in marriage. I just ... took his place in every step of our lives,” he admitted with a shrug. “Now that I’m dead, I want to set things to right.”
Shaking her head in disbelief, Clarinda wondered when she might wake up. Because David’s claims were starting to make sense, and she was suddenly questioning everything she’d been led to believe by the man who stood before her. And when did he stand up? she found herself wondering. She was sure he was sitting on her bed just a moment ago.
“I love you, Clare. Truly. The hardest thing I ever had to do was ... die, since I knew I would have to give you up. And I can’t even do that very well,” he added with a mischievous grin as he motioned with his hands to indicate the body that stood before her. “But now that I am – dead, that is – it’s Daniel’s time to take his rightful place as earl.”
Clarinda’s eyes narrowed. “What about the twins I carry? What if one is a boy?” Clarinda quickly countered. Daniel wouldn’t be the earl if she gave birth to a male heir.
Taken aback at the reminder of the impending birth of her twins, David took an uneven breath. “Well, since they’re both girls, they won’t inherit, of course,” he answered in that matter-of-fact tone he was so good at using. “I absolutely adore that my daughters will look just like their mother, by the way,” he managed to get in before leaning over to lift Clarinda’s suddenly slack jaw back into place with his forefinger. “But your next set of twins will be Daniel’s, and they’ll both be boys.” He paused for a moment as he watched Clarinda’s face take on a second look of shock. “Don’t faint on me, sweeting. They won’t come for almost two years,” he commented with a wave of his hand.
“Twins. Again?” Clarinda whispered, her hand moving again to rest on her belly.
“And just wait until they start fighting with one another. Then you’ll know I was telling the truth about Danny and me,” David seemed to brag. He sat still for a moment, deep in thought.
When had he taken a seat back on the bed? Clarinda wondered suddenly.
“As I was saying,” he spoke with a finger in the air. “It’s Daniel’s time to take his rightful place as earl, and time for you to be his countess. Think about it. You won’t even have to change your name!” He said this last as if he had just then realized the coincidence of he and his brother sharing the same last name and the same title.
Clarinda regarded him for a very long time, shaking her head, as much in disbelief as in astonishment. When she didn’t make any attempt to reply, David moved so he was sitting next to her and took one of her hands in his. “He loves you, Clare. He always has. Longer than I have, in fact.”
Clarinda’s head seemed to loll to one side. “So, you weren’t the one who asked for my hand in marriage in Kensington Park?” she managed to get out, her eyes suddenly limned with tears. Oh my, the awful things I said to Daniel! The awful way I treated him!
David sighed. “No.” He was quiet for a moment. “I wanted to, though.”
“And you weren’t the one who courted me?”
David closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. Daniel did all of that.”
“And you weren’t the one who came into my bedchamber every night and made love to me?”
David’s eyes widened with alarm. “That most certainly was me!” he countered, his face displaying a look of stunned surprise.
Clarinda bit her lip to suppress the smile that threatened.
“Well, except for that one time,” David added with a shake of his head.
It was Clarinda’s turn to look stunned. “What? When?” Her eyes were wide with disbelief. A frisson shot through her entire body, as if it remembered perfectly well when such an event had occurred. She shifted slightly on the bed, as if she was trying to shake off the troublesome memory.
But David was smiling, shaking his head and smiling while he regarded her. “He’s even a better lover than me,” David murmured. “Isn’t he?”
Ignoring his question and struggling to keep her embarrassment from showing on her cheeks, Clarinda held her breath for a very long time before letting it out. “Oh.” How else was she supposed to respond to her dead husband’s comment? “David, you’re barely dead and buried. I hardly think I can even consider marrying anyone until ...”
David waved a hand dismissively in the air. “No one will notice if you mourn me for an entire year or not. They won’t even remember I died when they see you on his arm. They’ll just think he is me. All will be fine. You’ll see.”
Making a sound that could best be described as an unladylike snort, Clarinda leaned forward and buried her face in the counterpane that covered her knees. How could David be so cavalier? How could he expect she would ignore the dictates of polite society and simply remarry before at least six months of mourning had passed? And how could he have been so cruel to Daniel?
Daniel!
She should go to him. Apologize. Beg forgiveness. Yes, that’s what she’d do.
Later, though.
She was hungry again.
Chapter 23
A Marriage is Arranged in Haste
Jeffrey Althorpe, Baron Sommers, regarded his image in the looking glass in his bedchamber. Happy birthday, he thought, his mood a bit somber and perhaps even morose. The past years hadn’t been kind to his visage. There were tiny lines on either side of his eyes and mouth, his nose appeared to have extended at least a quarter of an inch, and there were what could only be described as worry lines across his forehead. When did this happen? he wondered. The late nights at White’s had probably taken their toll to some degree, and he found the days spent i
n Parliament didn’t help when issues important to him weighed heavily long after their fate had been decided.
He let out a heavy sigh, turning when the bedchamber door opened to admit his valet. “Ah, Timmons,” he murmured. He watched as the young man hurried about, retrieving breeches, a waistcoat and a topcoat from the clothes press to present to him for his approval. “Fine,” he nodded at the valet’s choices. “I’m thinking I’ll ride later, perhaps during the fashionable hour,” he added. He was suddenly feeling restless.
A knock at the door preceded his butler’s unexpected appearance. “A note just arrived for you, my lord,” the older man intoned, his voice several octaves deeper than one would expect from such a small man.
Sommers nodded as he took the note from the silver salver, turning it over to see the Earl of Torrington’s seal in the red wax. What the hell? “Thank you,” he murmured, breaking the seal and opening the white parchment. The handwriting was obviously masculine, and knowing the earl as he did, he figured the man had penned it himself rather than have his secretary write it.
I’m paying you a call at precisely eleven o’clock this morning. Be dressed and ready. Grandby.
“Christ,” Sommers whispered. What the hell? Grandby never called on him, hardly even knew him. In fact, Sommers was rather surprised the earl even knew who he was. “What time is it?” he asked, not addressing his question to either the butler or his valet.
Timmons dared a glance at the mantle clock above the fireplace. “Ten-forty, my lord,” he answered.
“No bath today. But I need a shave,” Sommers ordered, moving to take a seat before the mirror in his bathing chamber. “And make it quick. I must be in my study at ten-fifty-five,” he added, his stomach churning.
True to his short missive, Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington appeared on the doorstep of Sommers’ bachelor apartments at exactly eleven. He was led directly to Sommers’ study, where he found the baron at his desk, looking as if he’d been there for several hours reviewing the books for his estate. Grandby knew better, though.
“Sommers,” he said by way of a greeting, acknowledging the earl’s short bow with one of his own. “I see thirty minutes was enough to get you ready this morning.”
The baron regarded Grandby with a frown. “It usually is,” he replied. There was no reason to admit he had been abed until ten-thirty. “Would you like coffee? Or tea, perhaps?” he asked, remembering his mother’s lessons in civility.
Grandby seemed surprised by the offer. “Coffee, please,” he answered with a grin.
Sommers made a motion with his hand, apparently to a servant who had followed the earl into the study. “And to what do I owe the honor of a visit from you? Did you come to wish me happy?”
The earl cocked a dark eyebrow. “Did you already ask for her hand?” he wondered, his grin turning to a frown.
The question stunned Sommers. Ask for her hand? Christ! Grandby wasn’t here about his birthday. “No,” he replied carefully. “It’s my birthday.”
Grandby took a quick look at the ceiling before returning his attention to the baron. “And how many years have you been on this damned planet?” he wondered, the question tinged with anger. From the looks of the young man, he would guess he was in his early-to-mid thirties. If the man ever left White’s at an early hour of the morning, he might actually look younger than he was.
“Thirty,” Sommers replied hesitantly, wondering what Grandby was leading to. And whose hand did Grandby think he was supposed to have asked for?
Grandby gave a noncommittal grunt. “It’s time you were married,” he stated firmly.
“I agree,” Sommers replied with a firm nod.
“Time you gave up your bachelor ways, and your late nights, and your whoring and ...” He paused a moment, one bushy eyebrow cocked up. “Wait. What did you say?”
Sommers sighed. He supposed he should have taken offense at the earl for making his state of matrimony his business, but he found he couldn’t. He’d had the idea of marriage on his mind since late December. Since the weekend after Christmas, when the massive snowstorm had buried most of England in the cold, white stuff. While most men of the ton were ensconced in their bedchambers with their wives, seeing to the creation of the next generation of the peerage, Sommers had been holed up at his country estate with several friends – all bachelors – and a deck of cards. It was the worst holiday of his life. “I agree,” he repeated.
Grandby regarded him for a long moment. “Do you have someone in mind for your baroness?” he asked then, the one already cocked eyebrow lifting nearly into his hairline.
Sommers took a deep breath and finally nodded.
When he didn’t say anything, Grandby’s other eyebrow joined the first in elevation. “Does the future Lady Sommers have a name?” he finally asked, his eyebrows finally settling into their normal location.
“Lady Evangeline,” Sommers offered, his voice barely audible. “If she’ll have me,” he added, dipping his head before meeting Grandby’s stunned gaze.
“Have you?” Grandby repeated. “Of course, she’ll have you. I’ll tell her to have you. She’s three-and-twenty and not getting any younger,” he claimed, one hand waving in annoyance.
The door opened and a maid appeared with the coffee service. She set the tray on the corner of the desk before pouring two cups for the gentlemen.
Glad for the interruption, Sommers swallowed and considered Grandby’s words. He wondered how it was the earl would take such an interest in Lord Everly’s sister. Lord knew, Lord Everly certainly didn’t. The two times Sommers had tried to bring up the topic of courting Lady Evangeline had left him frustrated and impatient with the explorer. The man might be a genius when it came to some scientific topics, but he was a dunce when it came to the matter of marriage for his sister.
The first time Sommers could ever recall even seeing the chit had been at a ball during the last Little Season. He didn’t know who she was when he spotted her standing next to a potted palm, but he remembered feeling rather jealous of the plant. The damn thing had one frond touching her shoulder, as if it had decided she was to be its next dance partner and wasn’t about to allow any interlopers. And despite repeated pleas for someone to introduce him to the tall, willowy blonde, it was well after the supper had been served before Lady Pettigrew took pity on him and made the introductions. By then, the quartet had finished playing, so there was no opportunity for him to dance with her. She seemed shy but eager to speak with him, mentioning to him that her brother would be leaving the country to study fish somewhere in Africa while she would be at the family estate in Shropshire. Sommers remembered thinking of her trapped in Everly’s country estate, snowed in and wishing for company while he was similarly trapped in Herefordshire with several bachelors. If they’d been within ten miles of one another, Sommers would have made the trek on foot to join her. Wait ... perhaps they were within ten miles of one another. Damn!
The maid curtsied and left the study. Grandby continued to regard Sommers with an expression that required some kind of response. “I shall send a note and ask if she’ll join me on a drive in the park this afternoon,” Sommers suggested, hoping that would be enough to get Grandby out of his study and on his way.
“Alright,” Grandby agreed before taking a drink from his coffee. “Given her age, I think you can forgo a chaperone, but if she insists, suggest she bring her maid,” he stated quickly. “By the end of the drive in the park, ask if you can court her, and then, when you get back to Everly’s house, ask for her hand.”
Sommers blinked once. He blinked again. “All in ... one day?”
Grandby’s eyes widened. “Yes, in one day! Today!” he responded, his patience at an end. “Get a special license and marry her next week. You’re thirty, for God’s sake. It’s time you were leg-shackled,” the earl nearly shouted. “With luck, she�
�ll be with child by the end of the month, and you’ll have an heir at Christmas.”
His eyebrows suddenly arched in surprise, Sommers stared at Grandby for several moments. “Alright,” he agreed finally. “Will you ... will you be explaining all this to Lord Everly?” he asked carefully, thinking he hadn’t had any luck securing a moment alone with the odd earl. “Despite my requests for an audience, the man hasn’t made time to meet with me.”
Grandby regarded the baron for a moment, somewhat surprised to learn that Sommers really had been considering Lady Evangeline for his baroness. “Leave it to me,” the earl replied with a nod. “Never let it be said I don’t see to my goddaughters’ welfare,” he added, rising from his chair. “Or to my own. Lady Torrington is expecting, you might have heard.”
The baron suppressed the urge to blink. “Congratulations,” he said with as much reverence as he could muster. “You must be ... ”
“Scared to death. Thrilled. Happy. Excited,” Grandby interrupted with several nods. “I am. Stedman is thrilled, too. I’ve made him a very rich man,” he added, his head still bobbing up and down.
Sommers didn’t realize just then who the Stedman was that Grandby referred to in his discussion that morning, but by that evening, he knew. Knew the man personally, in fact. For after Grandby had taken his leave of Sommers, the younger man had dispatched one of his footmen to Lord Everly’s house with a note to Lady Evangeline asking for the pleasure of her company for a drive in the park that afternoon. And his footman had returned with a note written in a beautiful, feminine hand with the simple words, “I await your arrival, Eva.”
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