The Marriage Lesson

by Victoria Alexander

  If she could double what she had to date received, her funding would take her as far as Italy. If she lived frugally, she’d be able to remain there for at least a few months. After that . . . She shrugged. Well, uncertainty was the nature of adventure, wasn’t it?

  She folded the paper, grabbed her wrap, peered out of her bedroom door, then slipped from her room and took the servants’ stairs to avoid any chance encounters with anyone—especially Thomas.

  Thomas.

  She sighed in spite of herself. How had she been so foolish as to think she could share his bed and not want more? And indeed he did offer more. Or at least marriage. His persistence was unyielding and so was her refusal.

  It would be so easy to give in and be his wife. But now that she’d discovered the reality of love, she would not marry a man who did not love her. She would not become her mother. There was nothing more to say.

  She left by the servants’ door and headed for the corner where the hired carriage she’d arranged for this morning would be waiting.

  She was determined to enjoy this time with Thomas. Helping him write his poetry and joining him in his bed. The arguments between them were as enjoyable as the laughter. It really was an adventure, if not one exactly as she’d expected. And she would remember their days together always.

  Odd, how an emotion she’d never particularly considered now seemed to fill her every waking thought, ruling her life and her dreams.

  Chapter 14

  . . . still, Lord W refuses to believe that I will not marry him. His persistence is at once gratifying and unsettling. But I cannot be the woman he wants. And I shall not settle for a man who does not return my affection. I am well aware of the foolishness of my attitude, given the precarious nature of my future. If I have nothing else left, I have my pride.

  And my heart . . .

  The Absolutely True Adventures of a Country Miss in London

  “There’s a lord to see you.” The older man’s crusty voice drifted back to Thomas over the noise of the press. Pennington’s description was apt. The man did indeed resemble a gnome. He stood in an open doorway a few feet in front of Thomas. “Says his name is Helmsley.”

  A long moment later the gnome grunted and turned to Thomas. “Don’t just stand there, go on in.”

  The office was small and cluttered. A tall, powerfully built man rose to meet him. “Good afternoon, Your Lordship. I’m Ephraim Cadwallender. Please have a seat.” Cadwallender waved at one of two questionable chairs that occupied the tight space. “Pardon the disarray.” He shrugged and settled in the other chair. “Now, then, how can I help you?”

  Thomas sat on the edge of the chair. His voice was firm. “I wish you to stop publishing The Absolutely True Adventures of a Country Miss in London.”

  “You do?” Cadwallender laughed. “Why would I want to do that?” He narrowed his eyes. “Or, more to the point, why do you want me to do that?”

  Thomas drew a deep breath. “Because I intend to marry the young woman in question.”

  “The country miss?” Cadwallender studied him for a moment. “Then you are—”

  “Lord W? Not precisely, of course, but he is apparently based on me.” Thomas paused. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

  “I have been corresponding with her. I do know where she lives. The rest I could guess at. It’s gratifying to know I was right. I do like to know who I’m dealing with.”

  Thomas huffed. “You do realize the Absolutely True Adventures are not absolutely true, don’t you?”

  “I’d be surprised if they were.” He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Miss Smythe—”

  “Miss Smythe?”

  “That’s the name she uses. I didn’t think that was absolutely true, either.” He picked up a pen and tapped it absently on the desk. “The Adventures are boosting my circulation every week they appear. Why should I jeopardize that?”

  “I have a proposal for you.” Thomas paused to let his words sink in. “A very lucrative proposal.”

  “Go on. You have my complete attention.”

  “I have made inquiries and have discovered you lease this building. I have also found it can be purchased for a high—yet, given the circumstances, acceptable—price. I propose to buy it and sell it to you for a nominal amount.”

  Cadwallender shook his head. “I’m afraid that even at a bargain price I do not have the funding at the moment—”

  “Then I will lease it to you and allow the rent to accrue toward purchase. Or”—he leaned forward—“I have a number of other commercial properties in the city. You are welcome to see if there is another building that would suit your purposes even better.”

  Cadwallender whistled long and low. “That is quite a proposal, my lord.”

  Thomas considered the other man thoughtfully. His solicitor’s report, although admittedly hurried, had been quite flattering. Cadwallender looked like an excellent investment. He’d been in business for about four years. His reputation was honest, his debts minor. Thomas’s blood quickened.

  “I can make you an even better offer. I’m willing to invest in Cadwallender’s Weekly World Messenger. The investment to include a better facility and a considerable sum of money.”

  “And all I have to do in return is stop publishing Miss Smythe?” Cadwallender said slowly.

  “I’m talking about a partnership.”

  Cadwallender opened his mouth.

  “A silent partnership,” Thomas said quickly. “Indeed my only request in terms of what you print is that regarding Miss Smythe.”

  “Why would you want a silent partnership with me?

  “You’re smart. You’re ambitious. In short, you’re a good investment. We can both profit.”

  “Let me make certain I understand this. If I continue to publish Miss Smythe, my circulation will continue to grow and I will ultimately be quite successful. If I stop, you will provide the funding and facility.” He glanced at Thomas.

  Thomas nodded.

  “And I will get where I want that much faster. However, my circulation will drop.” He considered the proposal, then shrugged. “Therefore . . . ”

  “You won’t do it, will you?”

  Cadwallender reluctantly shook his head.

  “Very well.” Thomas stood and stepped to the door. “You do know that I could simply purchase this building out from under you?”

  “I do. I’m also fairly certain you have more honor than most businessmen of my acquaintance.”

  “Honor has its price,” Thomas said under his breath and turned toward the door, then heaved a resigned sigh. He found few things in life as irresistible as a good investment. “Would you be interested in my proposal if it has nothing to do with Miss Smythe?”

  Cadwallender stared at him for a long, considering moment. “Very much so.” His gaze shifted to a point behind Thomas. “However, if you wish her opinion on it, she’s coming this way.”

  Thomas turned to see Marianne talking to the gnome.

  Without hesitation, he shut the door. “She must not find me here.”

  “You’ll have to hide.” Cadwallender’s voice was collected, but laughter flashed in his eyes. “I’ll open the door and you can hide behind it. Unless you have a better idea?”

  “I never seem to have a better idea when it comes to Miss Smythe,” Thomas muttered, moving into position.

  Cadwallender opened the door and stepped out. “Good day, Miss Smythe.”

  “Good day, Mr. Cadwallender.” She favored him with her most pleasant smile. “I trust you are well.”

  “I daresay I have never been better.” He chuckled and his blue eyes twinkled. “What brings you here today?”

  “I brought you the latest adventure.” She handed him the pages. “I should also like to discuss how they are selling. I plan to travel in the immediate future and I should like to know what recompense I can expect in—”

  “Blast it all.” Cadwallender frowned, yanked her toward him and quickly changed plac
es.

  “Mr. Cadwallender! I daresay, I—”

  “Quiet.” He nodded toward the door. “Be careful, but look around me and tell me if you know those two gentlemen who just came in.”

  Cadwallender’s body effectively hid her from view. She craned her neck and peered around him.

  Pennington and Berkley stood talking to Cadwallender’s elf.

  She jerked back behind him. “Good Lord! What are they doing here? If they find me—”

  “You’ll have to hide,” he said quickly. “In the office—now.”

  “Where?” She stepped inside. “Behind the door?”

  She started toward it, but he grabbed her elbow and turned her away. “No.” He shook his head. “That’s the first place they’d look.”

  “Nonsense, they don’t even know I’m here.”

  “And we shall keep it that way,” he said firmly. “Under the desk is the best spot.”

  She looked at the grubby floor skeptically. “I really don’t think—”

  “They’re coming this way,” he warned.

  She had no choice. She dropped to her knees and crawled under the desk, refusing to consider what she might encounter there. She pulled her skirts in after her, taking care to make certain nothing showed, and looked up at Cadwallender.

  He grinned down at her.

  “I do not find this one bit amusing,” she snapped.

  “Maybe not for you, although it is something of an adventure, isn’t it? Perhaps you can write about it.” With that he moved a chair in front of her to help conceal her hiding place.

  A moment later she heard him greet the newcomers. “Good day, my lords. How may I help you?”

  Someone cleared his throat. Pennington?

  “I need to reach the country miss,” a firm voice said. Definitely Berkley. “It is urgent that I speak with her.”

  “I’m afraid that is impossible,” Cadwallender said coolly. “She is adamant about remaining anonymous.”

  “Nonetheless, I need her name.” It was definitely Berkley.

  “I fear I can’t help you.”

  “He is willing to pay a great deal of money for the information.” That dry tone must be Pennington. “You see, this is not a question of idle curiosity; it has become a matter of the heart.”

  “Oh?” Cadwallender’s voice was skeptical.

  “I must find her,” Berkley said urgently.

  There was a pause. “My lord, your words have touched me deeply. I would help you if I could, but in truth I do not know her name, nor where she resides. She visits me here.”

  “That’s that, then,” Pennington said.

  Berkley ignored him. “Could you at least pass on a letter to her? I have it here.”

  “Certainly, my lord.”

  There were a few more cursory comments, then Marianne heard footsteps leading away from the office. Long moments later, the chair was removed and Cadwallender’s strong hand reached down to her. “You can come out now.”

  She grabbed his hand and he pulled her out of her hiding place and to her feet. She dusted off her skirts. “Well, that was certainly interesting.”

  “It appears you have an admirer.” He handed her the letter.

  “Oh, dear,” she murmured. How had this happened? She was the object of Berkley’s affections. The dear man would be devastated when he found out. Or would he? Regardless, it was an impossible situation. She glanced up at Cadwallender. “You will keep my secret, won’t you?”

  “Until death,” he said solemnly.

  “Excellent.” She smiled, all the while wondering how life had become so complicated.

  Cadwallender escorted her out of the office, shutting the door behind them. They crossed the shop, heading toward the front door, and discussed what payment she could expect and how soon. It was better than she’d hoped.

  “I was wondering,” Cadwallender began, “have you given any further thought to the possibility of including a good murder in your stories? Sales would increase dramatically should that happen.”

  She laughed. “As much as there are any number of people I should like to do in on paper, I don’t think that’s possible. Besides, it would not be absolutely true.”

  “And we can’t have that.”

  “Although, I must admit, you have aroused my interest.” She looked up at him curiously. “What, precisely, is a good murder?”

  “Oh, something gruesome, I should think,” he said in a matter-of-fact manner. “Dismemberment is always appreciated by the public.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, a queasy feeling in her stomach.

  They reached the door and Cadwallender turned to her. “What about another suitor, then?”

  “To dismember?”

  “No.” He laughed. “To serve as nothing more sinister than a rival for Lord W.”

  “Another suitor?”

  He tapped Berkley’s letter in her hand. “It would be absolutely true.”

  “It would, wouldn’t it?” What an extraordinary idea.

  “But give this one a name; an additional initial will just confuse readers. Call him something exotic.” He thought for a moment. “The name of an animal, perhaps. Fox or Wolf or Lion or Tiger.”

  “Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully. “I shall certainly give it due consideration. Good day, Mr. Cadwallender.”

  She took her leave, her head filled with the tempting idea of introducing another character. A man dashing and romantic to counter the brooding nature of Lord W.

  If nothing else, creating such a man would get her mind off the one man who dominated her every thought. And if a second suitor indeed increased sales, she’d be on her way to a new life, and out of Thomas’s, sooner than she’d expected. Exactly as she wanted. As she’d always wanted.

  And she firmly ignored a tiny stab of pain at the thought.

  The door opened and Cadwallender stepped into the office. “She’s gone.”

  “Thank God.” Thomas stepped away from the wall. “I thought I was done for when Pennington and Berkley arrived.”

  Cadwallender perched on the edge of the desk and folded his arms over his chest. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get into this situation?”

  “I’ve been wondering that myself,” Thomas said with a wry smile.

  Cadwallender considered him carefully. “Either Miss Smythe will marry you—”

  “She will marry me.”

  “Or she will travel as she plans—”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Thomas muttered.

  “One way or another, it appears I will not have her Adventures for much longer. Your problems will be over and the stories soon forgotten. Therefore, it is in my best interest to accept your proposal.” He held out his hand.

  Thomas shook it with a firm grasp. “You shall not regret it.”

  “Not as long as you remain silent.” Cadwallender chuckled.

  Thomas grinned. “I’ll have my solicitor draw up the papers and contact you as soon as it can be arranged.”

  “In the meantime, if you can convince Miss Smythe to stop writing her stories, I’ll not protest or try to change her mind. And I shall do everything in my power to make certain her identity, and yours, are not revealed.”

  “I should be grateful for that much, I suppose,” Thomas said. “Now I simply have to convince her to give up her writing as well as to marry me.”

  Cadwallender raised a brow. “She has not agreed to marriage, then?”

  “I intend to marry her,” Thomas said firmly.

  “But she doesn’t want to marry you?”

  Thomas heaved a sigh. “She doesn’t want to marry anyone.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Cadwallender shook his head.

  “Much of this is your fault, you know.” Thomas cast him a pointed look.

  “Mine?”

  “You paid her for those bloody stories, didn’t you? You’ve given her the means for independence.”

  “Yes, I suppose I have.” Cad
wallender chuckled. “God save us from independent women.”

  “I very much fear, in this case, God has left us on our own.”

  Thomas exchanged a few more comments with the printer, then took his leave. This hadn’t turned out quite as he had expected; nonetheless, Cadwallender was an excellent investment and the day was not a complete loss.

  He strode down the street and around the corner, where he’d told his driver to wait for him. Wisely, as it turned out. And he considered once again how to lure Marianne into wedded bliss. Her sisters were right. He had to become the kind of man she’d always dreamed of.

  Not an easy task. For one thing, he couldn’t explore Africa, he had no desire to navigate the Amazon and Egyptian treasure was too far away.

  He had no illusions about who and what he was. He had a good head for business, wrote terrible poetry but was persistent about it and was obviously a failure at the guardianship of young women. His finest honed skills—perhaps due to practice—were drinking, seducing women and having a great deal of fun.

  He couldn’t be one of her blasted heroes from one of her damnable books, but he could be what he was.

  A damned fine, respectable rake.

  Chapter 15

  . . . yet Lord W’s insistence on marriage has, if anything, grown stronger. He is an obstinate man determined to have his own way. In that alone we are well matched.

  I am turning my attention toward my future and whatever it may hold. I must accept the fact that it will be a future without him in it. It is exceedingly difficult when all I long for is his embrace and his affections.

  If he would but say the right words . . .

  The Absolutely True Adventures of a Country Miss in London

  If Effington House in London was grand, even it paled in comparison with Effington Hall in the country. Inside and out.

  Marianne stood on the terrace and gazed over Effing-ton Park. It was nearly a full day’s carriage ride from London and they’d arrived yesterday well after dark, far too late to see anything at all. Now she drank in the sight.