by Cheryl Holt
“I know how you behave!” Miss Barnes chastised. “You provoke him on purpose. You enjoy it. Well, I say, enough! From both of you.”
“Miss Barnes,” Edward said, “you have some gall to lecture me.”
“He is the only child you have left! How can you act as if he doesn’t matter?”
“He doesn’t ... matter. Not anymore. His misdeeds have guaranteed that he is nothing to me.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, but I do. Good day.”
Edward swept by her and headed for the front door, where the butler stood ready with his hat and coat.
He put them on slowly, absurdly hoping that Jordan would rush out to apologize, but as footsteps sounded, he glanced over to see that it was Miss Barnes chasing after him.
“Don’t go away angry,” she said. “He’s not serious. He intentionally baits you, and you fall for it every time.”
If only it were so.
“He’s extremely serious, Miss Barnes. He revels in discord.”
“You’re so wrong about him. I wish I could make you understand.”
She was so loyal, so fierce in her desire to protect the slothful scalawag.
How sad that she was not the Barnes bride Jordan would marry. If she had been, he’d have selected a wife who possessed some maturity, some grit and sense.
“I’ve known my son much longer than you. If he’s convinced you that he has any redeeming qualities, he’s fooled you better than a charlatan at a fair.”
He stormed out to his carriage and climbed in. As the driver clicked the reins and the vehicle pulled away, he peeked out the curtain, thinking Jordan might have relented, that he’d have come outside to wave good-bye, or that he might at least be watching from a parlor window.
But there was only Miss Barnes, hovering alone on the stoop and looking as if she’d just lost her last friend.
“LORD Redvers, may I speak with you?”
Jordan glared at Victoria, who was summoning him from down the hallway like the angel of death. He cringed, having forgotten Lauretta’s warning that scandal was brewing.
Mary had run after Sunderland and disappeared, and Jordan was searching for her. He hadn’t the energy to fuss with Victoria.
He was hung-over, hadn’t washed, eaten, shaved, or slept, so he was in no condition to spar with her. Mary’s continued residence at Barnes Manor was dependent on his comments, and in his reduced state, he couldn’t do her justice.
“I’m sorry, Victoria, but I’m having the worst morning. We’ll have to talk later.”
“No, I am sorry, Redvers, but this has to be now.”
“I’m feeling particularly ill. I’m going back to bed.”
“If you don’t attend me—this very second—you may return to London immediately.” She was impossibly regal, bent on destruction.
He fumed, knowing he had to converse. It was her home. It was her daughter and stepdaughter. He was a guest, and an unpleasant one at that. He could do as she’d asked or he could leave.
He followed her into the library. She sat behind her massive oak desk and he sat across from her.
“I will come right to the point,” she said, “and don’t lie to me. You’ve exhausted my patience and abused my hospitality. I would just as soon toss you out on the road as have you as my son-in-law.”
“Is this my official welcome to the family? If so, you could use a bit of work on your delivery. I found it to be a tad harsh.”
“Don’t be smart with me.”
“I don’t have to stay at Barnes Manor. If you’d rather I go, I will. I’m happy either way. There are plenty of rich girls in the world, but only a few men who will be earls. What shall it be, Victoria? Should I stay or not? Should I marry Felicity or not? The choice is yours.”
He sprawled in his chair, his feet stretched out, the very picture of nonchalance.
She scowled, assessing his disrespectful posture, his sneering expression. If she thought she could intimidate him, she was sadly mistaken.
Much of his life had been spent seated across from Sunderland at a desk similar to this one. He’d endured this type of distasteful discussion a thousand times.
“I will ask this question once,” she said, “and I expect the truth.”
“What is it?”
“Are you having an affair with Mary?”
He had to give her credit. She was very cool, very composed, although he imagined if she’d been holding a pistol, she’d have shot him through the middle of his black heart.
Answers—all of them false—flitted in his head, and as he hesitated, she added, “Before you reply, you should know that I have a reliable witness, so it’s useless to pretend to have virtue.”
He let out a heavy breath, feeling as if he was perched on a cliff and about to jump off.
“All right, I don’t deny it.”
“Where do you come by the gall to insult me in such a fashion?”
“I won’t explain myself to you. Nor will I talk about my relationship with her.”
“Could she be pregnant?”
His pulse raced. “I doubt it.”
“But she could be.”
He merely shrugged, and she was silent, pondering, calculating the odds as to how he could be coerced.
“I heard your father shouting,” she mentioned.
“We have a habit of loud discourse.”
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the volume ensured that I couldn’t help it. I know that you’ve been disinherited, so your financial situation is even more dire than it was when you first arrived.”
“My fiscal state has always been dire. Nothing has changed during these weeks at Barnes Manor.”
“You probably haven’t the coach fare to take you and your friends back to London.”
“Actually, we came in my carriage, remember? Mrs. Bainbridge has been extremely adept at hiding it from my creditors. It hasn’t been seized.”
“That’s neither here nor there. You had said that I had a choice to make, but in fact, you are the one with the choice. I ask that you make it immediately.”
“What is it?” he inquired, though he already knew.
“You will propose to Felicity at once. Then we will send a messenger to Town to bring back a Special License. I will host a small ceremony, tomorrow morning in the front parlor. The dowry money will be transferred into your bank account tomorrow afternoon.”
“Or ... ?”
“You and your companions can depart within the hour.”
“An interesting conundrum,” he mused.
“You’ve been wasting my time.”
“I certainly have.”
“And you’ve toyed with Felicity’s affections.”
“I wasn’t aware she had any.”
She ignored the rude remark.
“You have exactly sixty seconds to decide what you will do. If you don’t propose, I have several maids waiting out in the hall. They will go upstairs and pack your bags.” She smiled a grim smile. “Your minute starts now.”
They peered at the clock over on the mantel.
He should have been frantically reviewing his options, but all he could think about was how she’d bested him.
Yes, in his drunken stupor, he’d whispered some half-baked promises to Mary, but he couldn’t keep them.
It would be lovely if the world were a perfect place, if he could snap his fingers and have the cash to purchase a house, to feed and clothe and support her. But he didn’t have any cash, and he never would unless he took drastic measures.
She had an absurd fantasy where they ended up together, and it had been humorous to encourage her, but it was a pipe dream. He possessed every flaw his father bemoaned and many more besides. If she joined him in his disreputable life, she’d be miserable forever, and he couldn’t do it to her.
She was the only person he’d ever known who genuinely liked him. She saw someone who didn’t actually exist, but it was the man he wished he’d been. He
wanted her to always envision him that way: as noble and decent and worth having.
He loved her.
He loved her because she made him laugh, because she made him happy. He loved her because she’d brought him joy and serenity. He loved her because she loved him, because she looked at him and saw something of value, something splendid and fine, and when he found her to be so extraordinary, he simply couldn’t ruin her future by marrying her.
As he understood all too well, he would be the worst husband in history, so he had to let her go, had to relinquish any ridiculous notion she might have fostered that they could thrive in matrimony.
At the moment, she assumed she wanted to wed him, but time and distance would quell her attachment, and gradually, she’d come to her senses. She’d realize how lucky she’d been to evade a connection with him.
She’d be glad. She’d grow to comprehend that he’d done what was best for her, that he’d done the only thing he could.
While he’d been in ominous fiscal shape before Sunderland’s appearance, his situation was now bleak beyond words. He would never inherit a penny from Sunderland, and he had to stop hoping for a different conclusion.
Though he’d bragged to Victoria that he’d simply pick another rich girl, it wasn’t likely to happen. He’d struggled to find an heiress other than Felicity, but Jordan was a renowned scoundrel. No sane father would agree to a match.
Victoria was the sole parent he’d encountered who was greedy enough to have him in the family.
There was only one way to proceed, only one choice to be made.
The minute ticked to an end.
“What is your answer?” Victoria queried.
“Yes, I’ll marry Felicity tomorrow—on one condition.”
“What is it?”
“That you let Mary remain here—without penalty or reprimand—until I can make arrangements for her.”
“What sort of arrangements?”
“Once Felicity’s dowry is settled on me, I’ll move Mary to London. I’ll buy her a house and hire her a companion. You obviously detest her, so she’ll be out of your hair.”
“You would continue your affair?” Victoria looked as if she might faint. “After you wed Felicity?”
He hadn’t really thought through what he planned. He was like a blind man, groping around in the dark. He didn’t even know if Mary wanted to live in London, but he felt he had to try.
When she was apprised of his approaching nuptials, she’d be terribly hurt, and he owed her a resolution better than the one she faced.
Victoria scoffed, then shook her head.
“No, Mary will not go to London with you. I will not have Felicity disgraced.”
“How would Felicity be disgraced?” he asked like an idiot.
“How!” Victoria gasped. “You are a notorious reprobate. People would be aware that you married one sister while dallying with the other. Felicity would be a laughingstock, and I won’t have it. She will endure much in being shackled to you, but she shouldn’t have to endure that.”
“Then what do you suggest we do about Mary? Think what you will of me. I’m a cad; I admit it. The liaison was begun at my instigation and pursuit. I won’t have her blamed, and I won’t leave her here to suffer your wrath.”
“I don’t see that you have any other option.”
“If we can’t come to terms about her, then I shall bid you farewell, and there will be no wedding.”
A tense standoff ensued, and eventually, she capitulated.
“You win. Mary will go to my cousin’s until we learn if there is a babe.”
“If there is?”
“I know of a home for unwed mothers where she can reside during her confinement. As the birth nears, I’ll contact you. I can place the child up for adoption, or I can deliver it to you or your father. You can do whatever you like with it.”
“And if there is no babe?”
“I will provide her with a small dowry, so she can marry and get on with her life.”
“Why can’t she stay at Barnes Manor?”
“I assume you and Felicity will visit occasionally. If you do, Mary cannot be here. The insult to Felicity would be too great.”
It seemed as if they were bartering over a prized cow or an African slave, and she’d rattled him with her talk of finding Mary a husband.
The notion of Mary as some other man’s wife was disturbing, but wasn’t it for the best? She’d always wanted a husband, but Victoria had refused to dower her.
If Jordan consented to this scheme, wasn’t he doing her a favor? Wasn’t he making all her dreams come true?
He couldn’t be so selfish as to keep her from marrying merely because he found the idea distasteful.
“Yes,” he muttered, “I imagine that will work.”
“Fine, then. It’s agreed.”
“It’s agreed, but not Harold Talbot.”
“What?”
“You can’t foist her off on Harold Talbot. You have to select a fellow who will be kind to her, who will grow to love her. It can’t be that hulking, offensive oaf.”
“You’re pushing your luck.”
“I don’t care. It’s what I want. She needs a husband—a decent husband.”
“I’ll see to it. Now let’s send for Felicity.”
“Why?”
“So you can propose.”
He was aghast at the prospect.
“I don’t wish to propose. You’re her mother. Can’t you tell her what we’ve decided?”
“She’s eighteen years old, Redvers. She’s had her heart set on a grand match since she was little. I won’t let you deprive her of such a wonderful part of it.”
He sighed, his trepidation rising.
Could he do this? How could he not?
It’s just a marriage, a tiny voice reminded him.
He didn’t have to like, respect, or ever spend time with Felicity. He’d have her money, but he didn’t have to have her. She could live her own life, and he would live his.
“Go fetch her,” he said.
Victoria went to the hall and whispered to a maid, then she returned to her desk.
“One more thing,” she stated.
“What?”
“You are not to meet with Mary privately again. I would have your word on it.”
Events were happening too fast. When he’d crawled out of Mary’s bed earlier in the morning, he hadn’t realized that it would be their final rendezvous.
He was dejected and miserable, every inch the despicable rogue Victoria had accused him of being. Mary would never understand, would never forgive him. He needed the chance to clarify what had transpired and why.
When he looked as if he’d protest, she said, “You’ve done enough damage, Redvers. I insist you leave her alone.”
“She’s going to be crushed.”
“I suppose you led her to believe you’d wed her instead of Felicity.”
He was ashamed to admit how he’d played on Mary’s sympathies and trusting nature. He simply said, “She’s very fond of me.”
“Typical man,” Victoria spat. “You’re all swine.”
“I have to explain this to her.”
“Then you shall do it while I am in the room as a chaperone, and I concur: She deserves to hear it from your own lying, deceitful mouth.”
“You’re a hard woman, Victoria.”
“And Mary is a foolish romantic who will have built up all sorts of fantasies about you. I expect you to courteously dash them, so she isn’t left hoping for what will never be.”
He sighed again. He was bereft, troubled, contemptible beyond bearing.
“As you wish. Let’s get it over with.”
“We shall deal with her as soon as we’re finished with Felicity.”
FELICITY walked into her mother’s library, taking small steps, prolonging the moment so she would recall every detail.
She had brought Jordan Winthrop to his knees!
Ha!
He had to be choking on his pride and conceit, and she was thrilled to have put him in his place. She wanted to laugh with arrogant glee. She wanted to twirl in circles and kick up her heels.
He and Victoria were over by the desk, seated across from each other, glaring.
“You asked to see me, Mother?” She acted shy and demure.
They both stood.
“Yes, Felicity. Please join us. Lord Redvers and I have been talking. He has something he would like to say to you.”
Felicity bit down a grin.
She knew what was coming. Victoria had warned her to be ready, and she’d been in her room for hours, dressing to perfection.
She strolled over, but as he turned toward her, she frowned.
He looked as if he’d slept in his clothes, as if he’d been in a brawl, and there was a strong odor of alcohol hovering about his person.
Was he drunk? Had he needed to imbibe of whiskey in order to muster the courage to proceed?
Ooh ... the wretch! He’d spoiled everything!
“He didn’t even shave,” she blurted out.
“Felicity!” her mother scolded. “It’s not your business to comment on his condition.”
“Well, he didn’t. He’s a mess.”
Redvers grumbled an epithet. “Let’s make this brief and to the point, shall we? Before I change my mind?”
“By all means,” Victoria replied.
“Felicity”—Redvers was curt and cold—“will you marry me?”
Felicity’s mouth dropped open in shock.
He hadn’t so much as glanced at her beautiful gown or magnificently styled hair. He hadn’t uttered a single compliment. He hadn’t spoken a civil word.
“That’s it?” she complained. “That’s your proposal?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t say what you were supposed to say!”
“I believe I remembered the most important part.”
“Felicity,” Victoria barked, “Lord Redvers has asked you a question. You must grace him with your answer.”
“But . . . but ... he has to get down on one knee. He has to take my hand and pledge his undying love. He has to tell me that I’ve made him the happiest man in the world.”
“Oh for pity’s sake,” Redvers mumbled.
Victoria growled with exasperation. “Her answer is yes, Lord Redvers. She would be honored to be your wife.”