by Cheryl Holt
She had numerous cousins, and he might have gone to school with some of them so she would never admit to her antecedents. Her mother’s kin didn’t claim her, and she didn’t claim them. She liked Benjamin Grey, and if she explained about her relatives, he might mention her if he bumped into them. They’d scorn and insult her, would denigrate Cecil and Michael, and she wouldn’t let them humiliate her.
“My family is not of any consequence,” she said.
“Everyone’s family is of some consequence.”
“Not mine.”
She hated how he constantly shifted their conversations in her direction. He was always probing for details she was hesitant to provide, and old habits died hard. She didn’t like to talk about herself. She pushed off his lap and went over to the sideboard where their meal sat in covered dishes.
“I’m starving,” she said. “What’s for supper?”
She lifted a lid and picked up a slice of roasted beef, and as she nibbled on it, she spun to face him. He was still on the sofa, and his lazy, irreverent gaze meandered down her torso.
“If I asked nicely,” he said, “would you take off that gorgeous gown and join me in my bed?”
“No.”
“I love a woman in a beautiful gown, but I love her more when the gown is removed. I’d kill to see you naked.”
“If you want to see naked women, you should stroll through your downstairs parlors more often.”
“There are naked women in my parlors? I haven’t stumbled on any.”
“You need to go down later at night. You’ll be thrilled.”
He studied her, his assessment very meticulous, as if he was waiting for her to confess a secret. She was unnerved by his attention and not sure what to think. Was he angry with her?
She’d like to inquire as to whether she’d upset him, but if she had it would mean further personal discussions, and she wouldn’t parlay over any difficult topic.
“Your sister was irked by my visit,” he said.
“She’s always irked about one issue or another. It’s her usual condition.”
“I found it odd that she was so irritated. It’s not as if I’m a disreputable fiend.”
“She forbade me to continue staying at Grey Manor.”
“Why?” he asked.
“She feels it’s indecent and I shouldn’t consort with my betters.”
“She’s correct that it’s indecent. After all, it’s a bachelor party arranged for every debauched reason. But as for you consorting with your betters?” His gaze wandered down her torso again. “You might be my superior in numerous interesting ways.”
“You could be right,” she saucily retorted as she whirled to the buffet and snooped under all the lids. “Could we eat? Aren’t you starving too?”
“You took a horse with you,” he said, not inclined to come to the table.
“You didn’t mind, did you?” She scowled at him over her shoulder. “Your brother told me it was fine to use your stable.”
“Who rode the second one?”
For just a moment, she considered which details to reveal, but she didn’t need to conceal the fact that she had a nephew. It wasn’t a crime.
She turned toward him and grinned. “Were you afraid I was meeting a beau?”
“Maybe.”
“Were you jealous?”
“If I was I wouldn’t admit it.”
“You shouldn’t have fretted,” she insisted. “I wasn’t sneaking off with a beloved.”
“Who then?”
“I was with my nephew.”
There was the longest pause in history then he asked, “Your nephew? Not your son?”
It took her a minute to realize what he was insinuating. “Oh! You thought Harry was my child? No, he’s Lydia’s son.”
“Your sister’s boy. Not yours.”
“No,” she scoffed. “I have no children.”
“I saw you racing him in the meadow. I was spying on you.”
“I cheated to win.”
“I suspected you had.”
“He was quite vexed with me.”
“You seem awfully close to him—much closer than most aunts and nephews would ever be.”
“I like to think I am. He has a hard life. His relatives don’t like him very much.”
“Why not?”
“He’s...different from them. They’re a very stuffy, religious group, but he’s someone else completely. He’s smart and funny and grand, and they don’t deserve him.”
He was watching her strangely, and he gestured for her to come to him, but she didn’t.
“Sit on my lap,” he said. “Look me in the eye and tell me he’s your nephew, that he’s not your son.”
“He’s my nephew! Why are you being so silly about it?”
“Your sister isn’t raising him for you? It’s a common situation when a girl gets herself into trouble, and if that’s the case I’ll understand.”
“He’s not my son! How many times must I say it?”
“When you were younger, were you acquainted with my cousin, Soloman Grey?”
“If I was I don’t remember him. Why?”
“Swear to me that you never had an affair with him.”
“An affair! For pity’s sake, what is wrong with you?”
He stared at her for an eternity then nodded. “It appears you’re being truthful.”
“I am, and I’ve lost my appetite. Why am I being interrogated? Have I offended you somehow?”
“There’s no way you’ll ever make me believe your dour, nondescript sister birthed that handsome, remarkable child.”
“He takes after my father’s side of the family.”
“Who was your father?”
She glared at him. She had no idea if he’d have heard of her father, if he’d have heard of his dodgy antics or of his disgraceful demise. She had a shaky reputation simply because her father had been notorious. She enjoyed her friendship with Benjamin Grey very much, but she figured—should she reveal her antecedents—that friendship might swiftly end.
She wondered why they were fighting. Clearly, they were which was ridiculous. He seemed to presume she’d once had a liaison with his cousin, and so what if she had? She and the Captain barely knew each other, and if she’d misbehaved in the distant past, why would he care?
And talk about a double standard! He was engaged to be wed in a few weeks, but he had the gall to accuse her of immoral conduct.
“I’m going back to my room,” she said. “You’re not in any mood to have company this evening.”
“I don’t give you permission to depart.”
“You don’t give me permission?” she huffed, practically choking on her indignation. “If you assume you can boss me, you’re deranged, and I’m leaving.”
He pushed himself to his feet, and he looked positively aggrieved, but his fit of pique was idiotic and incomprehensible. She’d admitted to having a nephew and to never having dallied with his cousin. What was it about those two statements that had enraged him?
“Why is your brother using a false surname?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Michael Boswell is Michael Fenwick. Why the ruse? Is he scheming on my brother?”
“No. They’re friends. That’s it.”
“Then explain the subterfuge to me.”
“He’s protecting me.” The excuse sounded asinine.
“How is he protecting you with a fake name?”
“He was afraid if the other male guests believed I was unattached my sojourn at Grey Manor might be difficult.”
“So he’s merely pretending to be your paramour so the other men will think you’re unavailable.”
“Yes.”
“But he’s your brother.”
“Yes!”
“There’s one problem with that scenario.”
“What is it?”
“As far as I’m aware, he’s always told my brother he was Boswell. Months ago, he originally introdu
ced himself as Boswell. If he’s not plotting against my brother, why lie as to his identity?”
She sighed with exasperation, wishing she could wring Michael’s neck. She hated to be dragged into the games he played, and she hated it even more when he was exposed and she had to try to rationalize his shenanigans.
“We recently had a scandal in our family,” she said. “He’s simply using a different name to avoid embarrassing questions.”
“What sort of scandal? What did your brother do? Since he’s staying in my home and is my brother’s best new chum you’re making me awfully nervous.”
“My brother didn’t do anything.”
She went to the door and reached for the knob as he said, “Is your surname really Fenwick?”
“Yes, Captain, it’s really Fenwick. Annabel Fenwick.” She whipped around and frowned at him. “Will that be all?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You certainly know how to ruin a perfectly good supper. Would you like me and my brother to depart? Shall I track him down and pack our bags?”
Her query dangled between them, and she yearned to walk over and shake him. They should have been seated at the table, eating their food, drinking the wine, laughing and talking. Instead, they were bickering in a way she detested, and he was glowering at her as if she were a scullery maid who hadn’t cleaned the ashes out of the fireplace.
Men! Why did they have to be so bossy and horrid? Why did they have to strut and grouch and inflict misery on women?
If there was one thing she couldn’t abide and wouldn’t tolerate, it was unpleasantness and spite. It was a lesson she’d learned from her merry, lenient father. Life was short, joy fleeting, and there were such small periods where a person could be truly happy.
She always tried to be happy, and pompous, arrogant Captain Grey could jump off a cliff.
“No,” he ultimately said, “I don’t want you to depart.”
“Fine then, I won’t.”
“I’m going to London tomorrow,” he absurdly announced.
As if she cared! “Have a great trip.”
“I’ll be there overnight, and I’ll be home the following day. We’ll discuss this again.”
“I can’t wait.”
She scooted out, having no intention of ever discussing Michael with him. She never would.
And she was dying to ask him if his fiancée had any common sense. Was his blasted, beloved Veronica shrewd enough to see a libertine approaching and know she should watch out? Michael was putting himself into her circle of acquaintances, and it could never be for a valid purpose.
Well, it wasn’t any of Annabel’s business, was it? How was it her problem if Captain Grey’s betrothed was swept into a situation she should have avoided?
She’d offered to pack her bags, and he’d said she didn’t need to, but she thought she would. She thought she’d take Michael with her too. He wouldn’t want to leave, but she’d make him.
She started down the hall when the Captain called to her. “Annabel!” She continued on, and he called again. “Annabel! Would you stop?”
“Goodnight, Captain.” She didn’t bother turning around.
“Come back here,” he ludicrously said. “I have to tell you something.”
She couldn’t imagine what it might be. Would he insult her a bit more? Would he hurt her a bit more?
She hurried on, and as she slipped inside her room she actually had tears in her eyes. The oaf had her that discombobulated. She’d assumed a bond had been developing between them. She’d assumed he was growing fond and she was growing smitten.
She knew better, didn’t she?
From the outset, she should have kept her distance. She hated aristocrats. With their snobbish habits and superior attitudes, they all reminded her of her grandfather. For a few brief days, she’d forgotten her best principles, but Captain Grey had forced her to remember them quickly enough.
“Men!” she muttered aloud.
There was a reason she was an avowed spinster. There was a reason she never let anyone too close. Who needed the aggravation?
Captain Grey would probably calm down very soon. He’d realize he’d been an ass and would expect her to attend him the minute he was ready. But hopefully—by the time he summoned her again—she’d be long gone.
She poured herself a whiskey and sipped it down, wondering if her brother could use any assistance at his card game. That’s what she was good at. That’s why she’d accompanied him—to help him win at cards. It wasn’t to have flirted and disgraced herself with a rude, egotistical prig.
She had to get herself back on track and behave in ways that were appropriate to her life and station. She downed a second glass of whiskey then went to find her brother.
WISH YOU’D TRAVEL with me to Grey Manor.”
Veronica glared at Wesley and sighed with aggravation. “Why would I, Wesley? You told me what’s going on there, and I hardly think Benjamin would appreciate me popping in to spoil all his fun.”
“Aren’t you incensed?” Wesley asked. “He’s shaming you!”
“He’s enjoying a final bachelor fling before he settles down. Many men do the very same. I can’t fault him.”
“I could show you what he’s really like.”
“And then what, Wesley?”
“Maybe you wouldn’t marry him,” he grumbled.
It was such a sad, needy comment, and she might have mocked him for it, but he had always been so genuinely fond of her. She wasn’t a cruel person, and she couldn’t bear to hurt him more than she already had by accepting his brother’s proposal.
When she was younger, she’d actually supposed she might wed Wesley. But when his mother had approached her and offered Benjamin instead, how could Veronica have refused to seize the greater prize?
She’d been so excited that she hadn’t considered Benjamin’s sordid reputation or the prior scandal over the missing baby. She hadn’t pondered any detail except the fact that she’d be a countess.
That’s how she’d felt in the past. Recently though, she’d been feeling less sure. She’d moved from the schoolroom to her debut to her engagement. There had never been an instant in her life where she’d been free to behave however she pleased. She was about to become a respectable, married lady, but she hadn’t yet had the chance to truly live.
Benjamin was very old and very commanding, and she figured being married to him would be like being married to her father. He was stern and moody, and he never laughed or teased her or committed a silly jest just to be silly.
He was all business, all the time, and when she was around him, he acted as if she was unimportant and completely irrelevant. What would they talk about over the breakfast table?
Her greatest fear had to do with her more intimate marital duties. She didn’t understand what was required. She’d once attempted a humiliating conversation with her mother who’d claimed her husband would teach her what she needed to know.
A query to one of her friends had ended with the frantically whispered news that the physical side of matrimony was extremely shocking, involved extended bouts of nudity, and could be very painful. The prospect left Veronica faint with alarm.
She laid a comforting hand on Wesley’s arm. “You have to abandon your infatuation for me, Wesley. I’ll be his bride, and there’s naught that would keep me from it. Especially not a bachelor party.”
“You don’t care how much this will wound me.”
“I care. I simply can’t help you deal with it.”
“We were promised to each other,” he vehemently said. “When we were fourteen, we promised we’d wed when we were adults. I gave you flowers, and you wove them into a crown and wore them in your hair.”
“Wesley, I was a girl and you were a boy. It didn’t mean anything, and it wasn’t binding.”
“It meant something to me. It kills me to discover it was a frivolous vow on your part.”
“If you’re going to pout and chastise me, I’m
leaving.”
“No, no, don’t leave,” he hurriedly said. “I’ll be silent.”
“Don’t stand there glowering at me either. I don’t like it.”
They were in a grand ballroom, the place was packed to the rafters, and she’d bumped into him quite by accident. In light of his dour mood, she was certainly wishing she hadn’t stumbled on him.
She didn’t want to be informed about Benjamin’s party and would like to put her foot down about it, but she had no idea how a fiancée mentioned the topic to her betrothed. She was positive, should she raise the subject with him, he would scoff and tell her his personal life was none of her affair.
“Why are you in town?” she asked. “You’re hosting the event for your brother. Shouldn’t you be there to oversee the festivities?”
“The celebration is lumping along fine without me. Besides, my friend, Michael, was eager to attend this ball so I agreed to accompany him.”
“Michael is here?” She posed the question with much more interest than she should have displayed.
“Yes.” He scowled over at her. “Oh, that’s right. You met him.”
Not keen to seem as if she was rushing away, she paused until she couldn’t bear it then she said, “Would you excuse me, Wesley? I have to check in with my mother.”
“Can we dance later? Is your card full?”
“Yes, sorry but it’s full.” She stepped away and the crowd swallowed her up.
She’d had all of the Greys she could stomach for one evening. Benjamin was wallowing at his estate, his house filled with doxies supplied by his brother. The pathetic pair had drained all her patience.
She yearned to tarry with someone else, someone who’d be glad to be with her, who’d make her feel young and pretty and special.
She had vague memories of her encounter with Michael. She’d had too much to drink, but she recollected it as being very thrilling, very passionate. He’d laid his hands on her waist, had pressed her to the wall with his body. At least she thought that was what had occurred.
While at school, she and her classmates had constantly discussed the husbands they’d eventually have, how romantic it would be. They’d all been from the most prestigious families, had been reared with no other purpose than to marry well. But that hadn’t stopped them from dreaming of the dashing spouses who would sweep them off their feet.