by Jane Lark
He felt as though her fingers clasped his heart.
When the introductions were complete, he turned to her. “Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Then may I escort you to fetch some supper before the performance recommences.”
“Thank you, yes.” She smiled, and then turned to excuse herself from her dull friends.
Drew’s world flooded with a light only Mary could bring to it.
He helped her fill a plate, ignoring his friends, who were clustered in a corner about poor Miss Smithfield and another young woman, positioning himself so Mary could not see.
They sat at an empty table, but within minutes it filled up, mainly with her family. Firstly her cousin arrived, Lady Eleanor and her husband Lord Harry Nettleton. Drew knew Lord Nettleton, although not well. Mary’s mother and her aunt, Lady Wiltshire, then also orientated in their direction. So, therefore, did Mary’s father, and Lord Wiltshire, the Duke of Arundel, her uncle. He gave Drew a measuring stare as he held out a chair for his wife.
When Pembroke saw Drew seated at the table, though, he turned to another, gripping the Duchess’s elbow.
The final seats were taken by another aunt and uncle, the Duke of Bradford and his wife.
When the time for introductions came, Drew cringed internally; his instincts prickling with a desire to run. This was an endurance test, but his determination set. He’d survive it for Mary.
Her father watched, hawk-like, as Drew answered questions and participated in the conversation as best he could, while Mary glowed beside him, like the sun, burning bright and keeping him warm. It was novel indeed to have watched her seated among her family like this, as an outsider looking in, and now to be within.
He actually enjoyed himself as Lord Nettleton shared a joke and the table broke into laughter. Then the bell rang, indicating the performance was about to recommence.
He’d never attended a musical evening. He’d expected to be bored.
He rose and offered his arm to Mary, then led her back into the hall among her family. Mary’s father sat on the other side of her, and Drew had her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Pembroke, beside him. The lady he’d propositioned once.
She kept her distance, leaning against Pembroke’s shoulder, her fingers clasped about Pembroke’s as they rested on his thigh. The man must have some redeeming qualities because she still looked in love with Pembroke.
Drew lifted his right leg, his body jolting a little as his broken rib jarred, and set his ankle on the opposite knee. Then he reached for Mary’s hand and wove his fingers through hers, leaving their joined hands in her lap.
“I did not think you were attending,” Pembroke whispered in Drew’s direction.
Drew turned, lifting one eyebrow. He was here to be with Mary, he’d no intention of making the place a battleground. “I changed my mind.”
“John,” Pembroke’s wife dug an elbow in her husband’s ribs.
Smirking, Drew looked away. At least Pembroke’s wife was sensible. Mary squeezed Drew’s hand. Drew looked to see the same tone he’d heard in the Duchess’s voice, reflected in Mary’s eyes. He smiled, determined to restrain himself. He’d come here to continue making peace with her, not start another fight.
He looked forward as a harpist began to strum. Mary’s shoulder touched his arm, her delicate weight leaning upon him.
That tight restriction clenched about his heart. It hurt that she did not believe he loved her, that she thought him a rogue, a wastrel, and a fortune-hunter. He’d come to prove those things were not who he really was.
He wanted her to trust him, to rely on him, to lean upon him emotionally. The fact that she leaned upon him physically gave him hope that one day she’d do more.
When the harpist sang, the music actually reeled him in. Perhaps his awakening emotions gave him new ears. Music had never touched him before. The woman’s voice was haunting. A piano concerto followed, and then the night’s entertainment was closed by a soprano, who again was outstanding.
Letting go of Mary’s hand, he applauded the performers with the rest, before everyone stood to leave.
Drew possessively rested his hand at Mary’s waist as they filed from the row, and noticed Marlow look down at his hand, then up to Drew’s face, but her father said nothing.
“Will you ride home with us, Lord Framlington?” The Duchess of Pembroke’s voice rose behind him. “We were to take Mary, we could take you both?”
Her words were an olive branch. He was willing to accept it but he wished Mary to be reliant on him not her family. He turned, smiled and bowed to Pembroke’s wife. “Your Grace, thank you, but I shall take my wife home. We can hire a hansom.”
Pembroke eyed Drew hard.
Drew turned to Mary. “I’ll take my leave of my friends, then we’ll go, if you’ll excuse me a moment.”
Her eyes opened wider at the mention of his friends but she did not deter him, merely nodded and turned to her father.
Drew could not see them in the room, and Miss Smithfield stood with her parents. He presumed they were in the card-room then and headed there.
“I cannot believe Mary would take a man like Framlington willingly. Do you think he forced her?”
Looking sideways, Drew sought the owner of that voice. It came from a group of young people, Mary’s friends. They’d not noticed him.
“Emily said she ran away with him, and now Mary told her not to trust any of his friends, or even Lord Framlington himself.”
“Have you seen his black eye? It’s a beaut. I heard Marlow did it. He caught them up, knocked the hell out of him and forced him to wed her there and then.” The last came from a tall young gentleman – one of Farquhar’s boys. Drew knew the family, far too well. His mother was a friend of Drew’s mother.
The woman clutching Farquhar’s arm caught Drew’s eye and her mouth dropped open.
“Do you think he even intended marrying her?”
“Of course he did, at some point,” Farquhar answered. “He was after her fortune.”
His companion pulled on Farquhar’s arm.
Half of Drew wanted to laugh, the other half…
The first woman who’d spoken, squealed, her hand covering her mouth as she saw Drew approach, and Farquhar, turned scarlet.
“Your voices are carrying,” Drew stated in a hard measured voice. “If you malign a man have the guts to do so to his face and not behind his back. And if you’d care to observe what you risk, you may meet me at Manton’s practice range on the morrow, Farquhar, to see how well I shoot. Or, you may prefer, to simply not speak ill of myself or my wife—”
“We were not—” one of the young women began.
“My dear, I heard…” Drew stared at her, “and I’ll not have it repeated.” His glare travelled about the group. They were all cowed.
And these are her friends. Drew turned away and walked on.
“Can you believe he—”
“He is still in earshot Bethany, and even if he were not, I do not fancy giving him cause to call me out.” Farquhar at least had received the message clearly.
Drew saw his friends walking from the card-room.
“Gentlemen!” Drew called as he grew closer to them. “A goodnight?”
“A very good one for me,” Mark answered patting his pocket.
“A not so good one for Peter,” said Harry.
Drew looked at his best friend. “Ah, well, you can afford it at least.”
“I played ill, I am out of sorts. Your wife has shattered my hopes of the fair Miss Smithfield.”
Drew laughed. “Did you have any honest, decent hopes, you scoundrel.”
“I do not recall even mentioning decent or honest, but whatever my intent, my hopes are dashed, your wife warned her off…”
“Ah. I can explain that. She was not asleep last night, she heard you talking. I’m afraid you shot your own foot.”
“Bloody hell!” Peter barked with a laugh, drawing eyes from about the room.
“Bloody hell indeed. I took a battering for not being the author of those letters too…”
“Then we must apologise in person,” Harry stated with bravado.
“Yes,” Peter agreed, “you have to let us speak with her, you cannot hide her from us forever. Or are you ashamed of us now you are rich.”
“I am still not as rich as you,” Drew responded, “and therefore why would I have reason to cut you. Come, I’ll let you speak with her, as long as you behave.”
“I’m wounded,” Peter said, pressing his hand to his heart over his evening coat, “Do I not always behave.”
“No,” Drew answered, looking at them all, “we do not, but I have to start behaving now, I am married. So you must respect my wife when you speak to her, understood.”
They laughed, not taking him seriously in the least.
Sighing he turned, wondering if he’d just cast his marriage a death sentence. But these were his friends, who were more like brothers to him than his brothers had ever been. They were, and always would be, a part of his life. Mary had to accept that, it was not negotiable.
Her eyebrows lifted at him as she saw them coming. She blushed. Clearly she did not wish to meet them but there was a point to be made here. He’d do much for her, but he would not reject his friends.
The Dukes of Bradford and Arundel stared as Drew and his friends neared Mary’s family; wolves approaching the pride of lions.
Drew beckoned Mary, to bring her away from them. He did not fancy a full blown war beginning in the Everetts’ ballroom.
She came, although she looked nervous, but obviously his turning up here had gone some way in building bridges as opposed to hurdles.
He hoped this did not knock them down.
“Sweetheart,” he stated as she came over, “my friends wish to apologise, they did not mean to offend you last night.” She blushed harder as he took her elbow and turned her to the others.
“Lady Framlington. Felicitations on your marriage,” Peter stated with a brief bow.
“Lord Brooke.” She bobbed a slight curtsy. “Thank you.”
Drew doubted she was thankful at all.
“I’m very pleased the prose worked.” Peter claimed one of her hands, and lifted it to his lips, “and glad you deemed our dear friend worthy.”
Discomfort rippled through Drew’s nerves; he did not like another man touching her.
Mary withdrew her fingers before Peter could kiss them. “Your prose was very good Lord Brooke but I have told you before, I do not value false flattery.”
“But my dear it was never false.” Peter flirted. The hairs on the back of Drew’s neck stood up. “Now if you would simply unsay whatever it is you said to your friend—”
“Miss Smithfield,” Harry inserted. “Congratulations by-the-by, Lady Framlington.”
“You have my good wishes too. Congratulations,” Mark stated, vying for her attention as he and Harry bowed and reached for her hand. Mark claimed it first and pressed a kiss on the back of it, before passing it to Harry.
“And Miss Smithfield…” Peter prodded.
“Will have nothing more to do with you I’m afraid, Lord Brooke, if she is sensible.”
“And from that I conclude you think yourself, not sensible…” Peter’s eyebrows lifted as he glanced Drew’s direction. “So all is not roses in heaven then, Fram.” Peter slapped Drew’s shoulder. “But you are still rich…”
Drew shrugged, he would not discuss his issues with them. “But not as rich as you.” He quipped, to hide his unease.
“May we call on you at Drew’s?” Mark asked Mary.
“You have such lovely eyes,” Harry complimented.
Drew stepped closer to her. “No one is to call unless invited. Mary will not wish to be hounded by you reprobates.”
“And if you do call, she is likely to be out!” The deep pitch came from behind Drew.
Marlow.
Drew turned.
The Dukes of Arundel and Bradford stood at Marlow’s right and left shoulder.
Once again Mary became the rope in a tug of war.
Drew should have stayed away.
At least his friends recognised the moment to bow out. They withdrew, rather than begin a brawl, laughing, presumable at Marlow and his in-laws.
“Why would you subject my daughter to their lechery?” Marlow accused when Peter, Harry and Mark were barely beyond hearing.
“Papa…” Mary gripped her father’s arm.
Marlow removed her grip and instead held her hand, as both Arundel and Bradford flanked him.
What do they think I will do?
“Mary.” Drew held out his hand. This was the moment when she had to make her choice. He was all, or he was nothing to her. “I will take you home.”
To his irritation she hesitated. Drew’s jaw clenched as her father’s grip tightened about her hand.
“You’re my wife.” Drew lifted his hand higher. She had taken a vow to obey him but he wanted her to come because she wished to.
Her pale blue gaze met his, just as Pembroke joined the altercation. Then she let her father’s hand go.
“I will go home with Andrew, Papa. John.” She looked at them both. “I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
When she took Drew’s hand, he gripped hers tightly, emotion wrapping about his heart, stealing his breath.
“Good evening, Marlow, Your Graces,” Drew said. Then he turned away and pulled Mary with him.
He strode from room with a brisk stride, meaning Mary had to grasp at her dress and raise her hem from the floor to keep up.
They were watched by the entire room the full length of their flight and when they reached the door, he could not help himself, he looked back and glared at everyone who still stared.
The men of her family had huddled together in the centre of the room, forming a conference, undoubtedly planning what to do about him.
Fuck them.
He obtained Mary’s shawl and his hat and had a footman call for a hansom. The same man held the door of it as Drew handed Mary in.
When he climbed in beside her, she had pressed herself into the far corner of the small two-seater carriage, her gaze focused out the window.
The carriage lurched into motion a moment after the door shut.
There was nothing to see in the darkness of the cloudy night, but still Mary looked.
The ground he’d gained earlier had been lost.
“Why did they come? To play their games with Emily?” she said to the darkness. “Could you not have stopped them?”
He sighed.
She turned to face him, her voice growing in strength. “I was pleased to see you until you said they had come with you. How can you condone their behaviour?”
Her condemnation of them was condemnation of him, and she knew it. “Lord Brooke is not such a bad catch, he is remarkably wealthy.”
“But we both know he’s not thinking of marriage, is he?”
“If she is properly chaperoned, what does that matter? You never know, he might fall for her.” The last was a quip at his own expense, which of course she would not understand, as she did not believe he had fallen.
“But we both know that chaperones can be avoided.” Her pitch had soured “I suppose you’ve all played these games a hundred times.”
Drew turned to face her, one knee lifting onto the seat, his arm stretching across the squabs behind her. His body jolted with the damn pain from his rib. “So we are back to how many are we? Well, for your information, you are the first woman I have courted, and the first woman I have known who had any need of chaperones, and for all Peter may play around and act the fool, he’s never courted a virgin before either. Judge them how you like, but at least my friends are loyal. I caught yours gossiping about you…”
How did she have the power to make him feel like a belligerent child? Because he loved her. That was what love did. It made you weak and vulnerable. But he was not giving in yet, he was fighting for he
r.
Her gaze struck his in the lantern light of the carriage. “I suppose you frightened my friends into silence.”
“Do I frighten you, then?”
“Yes. Sometimes. Like now, when you feel threatened, and become angry with me.”
Her admission shocked him and his anger fled instantly. Lord. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to make you afraid of me.”
His hand lifted.
Without him even urging, she moved, rising and turning to sit sideways on his lap, her arms reaching about his neck as a little sob came from her throat.
Damn it. He gripped her chin and lifted her face so she looked at him. Tears sparkled on her cheeks as her long slender fingers slipped to his lapel. “How else do I make you feel?”
“Sad… I wonder if you will ever love me, or I will ever understand you, or if we can be happy.”
“I do love you,” he answered, his gaze dropping to her lips an instant before he kissed them.
Her arms came about his neck and she kissed him back, her tongue dancing with his.
He broke the kiss and met her gaze. Their lives were worlds apart. She could never walk into his but he could walk into hers. He should try. The onus to make their marriage work lay on him. “When you go to Pembroke’s house tomorrow, I’ll come too.”
If nothing else it would stop her family influencing her while he was not there.
“Do you think it wise? Papa is not very happy with you at the moment.”
“That is the reason I should go.” The familiar surge of love for her raced through his blood.
She smiled, then her fingers slipped into his hair and brought his mouth back to hers.
When the carriage pulled to a halt, they were only prevented from being thrown onto the floor by Drew bracing his feet hard and holding onto her.
He moved her from his lap as the hatch below the driver’s seat slid open. “We’re here m’lud.”
Drew freed the lock and pushed the door open. His hand slipped into his pocket as he climbed out seeking money for the driver.
He paid the man then held out his hand to help Mary descend.
He kept a hold of her hand as they crossed to the door. A night porter opened it when Drew knocked, and the light from the lantern in the hall spilled out onto Mary, illuminating her face.