"You don't wish to meet your prospective bride?"
"It is unnecessary that I do so," Rochford replied. "I only desire that she be biddable and beddable. I won't suffer a shrew or a hag. Other than that, I care little." Rochford picked up a quill, dipped it into the ink pot, and began striking names from the list. He then handed it to Nick.
Nick glanced down at the three remaining names—Lady Albinia Albright, eldest daughter of the eponymous marquess; Lady Georgiana Throckmorton, youngest daughter of the Earl of Westmoreland; and . . . the last made his pulse come to life with a deafening roar: Lady Mariah Morehaven, Baroness of Morehaven in her own right.
Nick stared dumbly at her name, his pulse hammering. "Is this the order of preference, my lord?" he asked carefully.
"Not precisely. I seem to recall we have a mutual acquaintance in Lady Mariah," Rochford said. "I am informed that her father has recently passed on, which compels her to wed. I briefly considered making her an offer once before, but her conversation was so lackluster that I lost interest. Nevertheless, she was passable in every other capacity. You may begin with her, Needham. She has inherited extensive properties in addition to a large fortune, which makes her the obvious choice. Unless you discover some other defect in her, you may move forward on my behalf."
His chest seized at the realization that Rochford had already set his sights on Mariah.
Dear God in heaven, did ever a man suffer such a wretched conundrum?
CHAPTER NINE
"Love’s a malady without a cure."- John Dryden
Russell House, Bedford Square—Three weeks later
"MARIAH!" Lydia exclaimed, taking her cousin into as close an embrace as her great belly would allow. "I am so happy you have come!"
"How could I not when you have asked me to be the godmother? Lyddie, you are big as a house!" Mariah declared with a laugh. "Are you quite sure you do not carry twins?"
Lydia scowled. "Marcus boasts that I carry triplets. The beast has already christened his three unborn sons Maxim, Maximillian, and Maximus. 'Twill serve him right if I birth a daughter."
"How soon, Lyddie?"
"The doctor has said another fortnight at least, but the midwife believes it could begin in a few days with the full moon. I hope my daughter will wait until then. I would hate to miss the celebration."
"What celebration is this?"
"Next week there is a grand gala at Richmond House in Whitehall. The king was so distraught about the debacle at Green Park that the duke has taken it upon himself to host a private performance at his home."
"What debacle?" Mariah asked.
"Have you not heard about it?"
"No, I rarely read the London papers. What happened?"
"It was the command performance of Mr. Handel's musical tribute to the peace signing last autumn. It was to be a very grand affair with a one hundred-piece orchestra and a spectacle of illuminations. So great was the anticipation that the dress rehearsal at Vauxhall shut down London Bridge for over three hours! The papers estimated a crush of twelve thousand!"
"Twelve thousand!" Mariah exclaimed. "I can't even imagine so many people gathered in one place. What then happened at Green Park?"
"The weather was atrocious. The illuminations were rained out, and then in the middle of the musical performance, the pavilion caught fire! It was an utter disaster! The king was said to be disconsolate over it.”
"According to Lady Russell, his privy council called a special meeting specifically to come up with something to restore his good humor. They have decided to put on a gala at the Duke of Richmond's home on the Thames. Bedford is to provide the orchestra, directed by Mr. Handel himself, and the Duke of Montagu is arranging the illuminations. The king knows nothing of their plans. It will be a great surprise!"
"How exciting," Mariah agreed. "But is it advisable for you to go out among so many people in your condition?"
"Marcus and I had a battle royale over it, but we finally struck a compromise. We will make the briefest possible appearance at the party and then observe the illuminations from a distance. We will travel by private barge as we should also be able to hear the music since sound travels so well across water."
"That sounds ideal—to be able to enjoy the celebration without fighting the swarms of people."
"I know how much you dislike crowds, Mariah, but I'm afraid you will have to accustom yourself to them if you will be staying in London."
Mariah sighed. "You must know how much I dread what is to come."
Lydia took her hand. "I know, dearest, but this is the perfect opportunity to introduce you to London society. Moreover, all the eligible gentlemen of the ton will there. I promise that Lady Russell and I will do all that we can to help you find the right one."
"I thought I already had," Mariah said sadly.
"You still haven't told me what happened between you. I thought you and Mr. Needham had an understanding."
"We did but it . . . expired."
Lydia looked confused. "Expired?"
"He asked me to wait one year and made me promise that I would look for another if he did not return to claim my hand within that time. We corresponded weekly for over six months. I cherished every precious letter I received from him, but then they started arriving with less frequency. At first, I thought it was the unreliability of the foreign mail, but then I also noticed a difference in his tone. His letters became shorter. He spoke more about the present and less about our future. It was as if he was emotionally withdrawing from me. It was then that I started to wonder if his sentiments toward me had changed. Then, three weeks ago, almost a year to the day we sealed our bargain, I received a letter stating that he released me from my vow." She fought the quivering that had begun in her lip and blinked fiercely against the threat of tears. "I can only presume by his actions that he has indeed found someone else."
Lydia's eyes widened. "You cannot know that, Mariah! Perhaps he was only thinking of you?"
"I wonder if he's thought of me at all," Mariah replied bitterly. "I believed he truly cared for me, but the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that he only cares about himself and what other people think of him."
"That's harsh, dear. Why would you say that?"
"If he truly loved me, wouldn't he set his pride aside to be with me?" She continued with an angry sniff, "I hope his infernal pride keeps him warm at night."
"Come," Lydia hooked her arm through Mariah's, "I will take you to your room and then I will show you the nursery."
***
White's Gentleman's Club, Mayfair
"Needham!" The moment Nick entered the room, Marcus strode past the tables of gamesters with arms extended. "What a fortuitous meeting! Pray tell me what brings you back to London so unexpectedly?"
"Business of a most disconcerting nature," Nick replied soberly. "I am so glad to have found you here."
"It is lucky indeed. Lydia and I only arrived from Modena a fortnight ago. Lydia refused to give birth outside of England. She believes it would make our sons less English."
"Sons?" Nick gaped. "As in more than one?"
Marcus grinned. "I'll let you be the judge when you see her. Indeed, there is even a wager placed in the betting book about how many she carries." He inclined his head to the table displaying the infamous tome. "So how do you fare under Rochford, Nick?"
"It took a while for him to look beyond my batting ability to my actual qualifications, but now he has gone so far as to entrust me with some business of an unusually personal nature."
"Unusually personal? Intriguing. Come, man." He laid a hand on Nick's shoulder. "Let us repair to a quiet corner for a drink, and we'll talk."
Marcus led Nick to his corner table, where a servant poured a generous amount of deep amber liquid into two glasses. Marcus offered the first to Nick, who slouched back in his leather-covered chair to take in the once-familiar surroundings—the low murmur of voices, broken by an occasional laugh, the distinctive riffle of cards, and t
he rattle of dice boxes from the next room.
Accepting the glass, Nick inhaled deeply of the smoky, sweet scent. "Brandy? You have given up port?"
Marcus grinned. "As our esteemed Dr. Johnson would say, ‘Claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy.’ Now that we are no longer at war with France, I am endeavoring to make up for eight years of deprivation. It's a pleasure I have sorely missed, but it is still a far second to the company of my best friend. So what is this personal business that has you overset? Does Rochford desire you to play pimp for him?"
Nick almost laughed aloud, so close was Marcus's jibe to hitting the mark. "Not quite, but very close," he answered. "He has appointed me his agent in a mission of matrimony. He has promised me a position in the department of my choosing if I successfully negotiate his marriage."
"Matrimony? Is that all?" Marcus's laugh echoed through the chamber. "And precisely why is this so disconcerting to you? Isn't this precisely what you'd hoped for—an opportunity to advance?"
"Because it's a veritable devil's bargain, that's why! His first choice of bride is Mariah."
Marcus paused, glass raised to his lips. He took a swallow and carefully set it down. "Mariah Morehaven? Lydia's cousin?"
"Yes. And I am in dire need of a friend's counsel."
Marcus's smile dimmed. "Are you indeed? I knew you were taken with her, but did you and she have some kind of understanding?"
"Of a sorts," Nick replied. "But only weeks ago, I wrote to release her from her promise."
"You did? Why would you do such a stupid thing?" Marcus asked.
"Because I'm a bloody dolt! I'd had too much to drink and was feeling sorry for myself. I essentially commanded her to seek someone else because I didn't want to ruin her life waiting for something that was never going to happen."
Marcus took a slow sip. "I hate to be the bearer of ill-tidings, but she seems to have taken you at your word."
"What do you mean? Have you heard something?"
"More than that, I'm afraid. She's asked my mother to help her find a suitable husband."
Nick stiffened. "She would act so soon?"
"Her mourning period has ended, and you released her. How long do you expect her to wait?"
"I . . . I . . ." Nick found himself at a loss for words. Why was he so distraught when she was only doing what he himself had made her promise to do?
"If it makes you feel any better, I believe her circumstances oblige her to act. Mama informed me that her father's will demands that she wed within a year of his passing or forego a large portion of her inheritance. You must go to her and tell her you're a bloody jackass and then beg her clemency."
"To what purpose? I am in no better position to offer for her than I was a year ago."
"Do you fear she would refuse you?"
He shook his head. "She said she would have me."
"Then take your bloody head out of your arse and ask her!"
"And become precisely what I despise? I have no respect for men who wed women for their money."
"Do you intend to squander her fortune?"
"Of course not! Were I her husband, I would do my very best to make her life happy and comfortable and secure. I would ensure that her tenants' needs were met and that her estates and investments were managed with the greatest prudence."
"Would you keep a mistress?"
"I have never done such a thing, even as a bachelor. I could never break faith with the woman I love."
"Then you are already superior to almost any other man she might marry. Do you suppose Rochford will give up gaming or mistresses for her?"
"Not bloody likely," Nick scoffed. "I won't have it, Marcus. I'm not about to give her up to some worthless sod who will only hurt her."
"Then what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm damned if I know." Nick took a long drink of brandy, shutting his eyes to the slow burn as it slid down his throat. "Rochford sent me here. Honor compels me to do as I promised him. I can't betray his trust, Marcus, but I'll be damned if I'll let him have her. There is no question in my mind that she would be desperately unhappy with him."
Marcus thoughtfully swirled the liquid remaining in his glass. "Then who is to say she would even accept him? If you were to propose on his behalf and she refused the proposal, you would have no option but to find Rochford another bride."
Nick frowned. "You aren't suggesting sabotage?"
"Nothing of the kind, my friend," Marcus replied lazily. "There is absolutely no need to besmirch the prospective groom. You only need to allow the facts to speak for themselves. You must simply present the reality of what a marriage to Rochford would be."
"Marcus, you are a bloody genius!" Nick exclaimed. "I was so self-absorbed in my misery that I couldn't see the obvious." Nick drained his drink and set down the glass with a sigh of relief. He finally had some semblance of a plan. Now all that remained was its execution. Nick waved his hand as Marcus reached to pour another drink. "I haven't time, I'm afraid. 'Tis four days’ travel to Derbyshire. I must be off at once."
"Derbyshire would be a wasted trip," Marcus said.
Nick froze. "What are you saying? Has she already accepted someone?"
"Not what I mean, ol' man. Mariah isn't in Derbyshire."
"How the devil would you know?"
"Because she's due to arrive in London today. She will be staying with my mother at Russell House."
"Why the hell didn't you tell me to begin with?" Nick snapped.
"Marcus's mouth stretched into a slow smirk. "Because you didn't ask me."
CHAPTER TEN
"Love works a different way in different minds,
The fool it enlightens, the wise it blinds." - John Dryden
"YOU HAVE A CALLER, Lady Mariah," the footman announced. Mariah's hands froze on her needlework. Lydia and Lady Russell raised their brows in unison as the servant crossed the morning room to offer her a gold-embossed calling card.
"Who do you suppose it could be? I don't know a soul in London." Bewildered, she accepted the card and turned it over, only to grow even more puzzled. "Lord Rochford?"
"Rochford?" Lady Russell repeated. "I thought he was in Turin."
"He was," Lydia confirmed. "Perhaps he has returned for the king's celebration? He was, after all, one of the treaty's chief engineers."
"But why on earth would he wish to call on me?" Mariah asked.
"My dear," Lady Russell began in a maternal tone, "it is hardly the mystery you would make of it. You only need ask yourself, what is the primary motive when an unwed, titled gentleman calls on an unwed, titled lady? Did he not once imply his interest in you?"
"But that was over a year ago,” Mariah said. "I have heard nothing from him since our first meeting at Woburn Abbey."
"Most men are wont to drag their feet in matters matrimonial," Lady Russell explained. "But perhaps his circumstances have changed, just as yours have."
"Yes. Mine have changed." A year ago, she would not have given the least thought to anyone of Rochford's ilk, but now, what did it matter?
"Are you at home, madam?" the footman inquired.
Mariah looked in panic to Lady Russell.
"Rogers," Lady Russell smoothly interceded, "please order some tea and show Lord Rochford to the drawing room."
"Of course, madam," Rogers bowed in reply.
"Thank you, my lady," Mariah said. "But I don't even know what to say to him."
"Then let him do the talking, my dear. Gentlemen rarely listen to a thing we say anyway. If it helps your unease, Lydia and I will take tea with you and discreetly excuse ourselves if and when it appears judicious to do so."
"You are all that is gracious, Lady Russell.” Setting down the linen gown she was embroidering for the baby, Mariah stood and shook out the skirts of her yellow chintz morning gown and removed her apron. "Should I change?"
"You look charming, my dear," Lady Russell assured her. "A gentleman should exp
ect some informality when calling upon a lady at such an unfashionably early hour. Pray greet your guest, Mariah. Lydia and I will follow anon."
"Yes, my lady." Mariah departed the morning room as square-shouldered and stiff-backed as if she were preparing to face a firing squad.
As she crossed from the back of the house to the front drawing room, she tried to conjure Lord Rochford's face and failed, surprising after having spent an entire evening in his company. She only recalled that he was tall, slender of build, and fair-haired. Yet Nick's golden-brown eyes and bare hint of a smile were still fresh in her mind.
She also recalled all too vividly the way her pulse had raced just seated beside Nick in the carriage. Tiny shivers had coursed down her spine when he'd caressed her gloved hand. And the memory of his heated kisses were imprinted in her mind forever.
The earl's touch, on the contrary, had virtually no effect on her. No spark, no connection of any kind when they had danced. She didn't understand how she could be so affected by one man and then feel nothing at all for another. She fervently wished it were not so.
Stealing a breath, she raised her chin and forced a welcoming smile to her lips, and then nodded to the footman to open the drawing room door. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, my lo—" The rest of the sentence froze on her tongue.
Though he stood looking out the window with his hands clasped behind his back, she would know Nicolas Needham anywhere. Her stomach did a somersault as he turned to greet her. "Y-you?"
"Lady Mariah." The man who stepped forward with a bow was unquestionably Nicolas, but there was something very changed about him. It wasn't just the silks and velvets he wore or the bronzed skin that gave him a faint look of a Barbary corsair. His manner was unusually formal and reserved, almost as if they were strangers.
"I-I don't understand," she began. "The footman presented me Lord Rochford's card." Her gaze desperately searched the room for the elusive earl.
A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement) Page 9