Marry in Scandal

by Anne Gracie

  Footsteps sounded on the floor outside and he turned to face the door. She entered, dressed in a soft yellow dress. Her hair was clustered in artless curls held back from her face by a band of yellow gauze. A breath of spring.

  “Mr. Galbraith.” A delicate flush rose in her cheeks.

  “Lady Lily.” He scanned her face. No sign of bruises or sleepless nights. “You’re looking very well.” She looked lovely, but . . . expectations.

  He waited, leashing his impatience while she seated herself, smoothed out her dress and then folded her hands in her lap like an obedient schoolgirl. “Did your brother explain why I’ve asked to speak to you?”

  Her blush deepened. She nodded.

  “Good. Now, before we get to that, that question, there are a few things I need to make clear to you. There are—”

  She tilted her head to look up at him. “Will you not be seated? It feels a little odd, you standing while I’m sitting.”

  He sat on a stiff little chair opposite her. His palms were damp. “There are several things I want to make clear before I, er, put the question to you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “This marriage, if you agree to it, will be an arrangement, a marriage for practical reasons—you understand?”

  “A convenient marriage?”

  “Yes.” He was relieved she understood. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? For what?”

  “That you won’t be able to do as you’ve always wanted—that there isn’t time for you to meet a suitable young man, be courted and fall in love.” There. He’d said it.

  “Because of the scandal.”

  “Yes. You and I know there is no basis for the gossip, but it is the way of the world. A woman’s reputation is based on what others think and say she did, not what she actually did.”

  “A man’s reputation too.”

  “Eh?” Jolted from his train of thought, he blinked. “Oh, yes, I suppose so.”

  “They’re saying you seduced and took advantage of me, but I know you are a man of honor and would never—”

  He interrupted, saying in a hard voice, “They’re saying that because they know I’ve seduced many women in the past.”

  “Oh.”

  Illusion number one shattered. “It is why I am called a rake by some. You know what a rake is?”

  “A man who can’t be trusted with an unmarried girl.”

  “Exactly.” He wasn’t going to muddy the water by telling her he never dallied with innocents. Better she have no romantic expectations of him before—if—she agreed to marry him. “That house party I was going to when we first met—”

  “We first met at Cal and Emm’s wedding,” she said, correcting him.

  “When I ran into you on the road then—do you know what happens at those parties?” Without waiting for her to reply, he explained what sort of a party it was, that several married women had already invited him to share their bed and that he probably would have accepted. He needed to strip her of any illusions she might cherish about him in that area.

  She was a little pale when he finished, but all she said was, “It doesn’t sound as though you like that sort of party very much.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why do you go to them?”

  He shrugged. He didn’t have an answer that wasn’t desperately cynical. “The point is, you don’t know me at all.”

  “I know more than you think. I know that you knew Cal at school, that you went to war also, and that you are a war hero like him and—”

  “A hero? On the contrary.” His voice was harsh. “I’ll spare you the details, but—”

  She lifted her head. “You were mentioned in dispatches several times.”

  “How the h—how do you know that?”

  She smiled. “When Cal was away at war, my sister, Rose, used to read the war news aloud—to Aunt Dottie and me. And Aunt Dottie remembered that you were a friend of Cal’s, so naturally after that we noticed whenever your name was mentioned.”

  “I see. Well, those reports aren’t to be relied on.”

  A crease formed between her delicately arched brows. “Why not?”

  “Brave deeds—and dark ones too, for that matter—happen everywhere in war, at all levels. An illiterate foot soldier might perform the most heroic deed you’ve ever seen, but should a duke’s nephew rattle a saber or take part in a charge, it will be him who’s mentioned in dispatches, not the illiterate.” And that would deal with her tendency to hero worship.

  “I see.” Her eyes were dark and troubled. “Why are you telling me all these things to your discredit?”

  “Because if you accept me, you need to know what kind of man you’ll be marrying. I won’t lie to you, Lily; I’m no bargain. All I can promise you is a home, security for your lifetime and”—he swallowed—“any children of my body. But that is all.” He hoped she understood.

  The blush bloomed again, but she considered his words in silence for a few moments. Then, “And your offer of marriage is only because of the scandal?”

  “Yes. I thought I made that clear at the beginning.” Final illusions crushed. He felt like a brute, but it had to be done for her own good. “So, Lady Lily Rutherford, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She was quiet for a few minutes, then looked up. “If I do marry you, will you promise not to lie to me?”

  He hesitated a moment but could see no harm in that. He might be less than she deserved, but he intended to do right by her. “I promise.”

  “And will you be a faithful husband?” When he did not immediately answer, she added quietly, “It is a consideration when one is marrying a rake, you see. Given such things as house parties.”

  “And if I say no, that I intend to continue my rakish ways?”

  “Then I would have to refuse your very kind offer.”

  “Even though you’d be ruined in the eyes of the world?”

  She nodded. She seemed quite certain, quite unruffled by the prospect. She was either courageous or naïve. He decided on the latter. She had no idea of what she might be facing.

  He gave her a frustrated look. “Very well then, I promise you that once we are married I will be faithful to you and only you.” It was not a hard thing to promise. Any man lucky enough to have Lily Rutherford in his bed would be a fool to stray.

  She eyed him thoughtfully and the crease between her brows deepened.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked after the silence had stretched to an unbearable point.

  “I’m thinking you might come to regret that promise—both of them,” she admitted.

  He shrugged. “What’s life without regrets?”

  She considered that a moment, then shook her head briskly. “No, I was wrong to ask you. I give you back both your promises.”

  Was that a refusal? “But—”

  “Honesty and fidelity cannot be forced. Unless they are freely given they have no value. Society, my aunt Agatha and my brother might have forced your hand to this marriage, but it’s up to us to make it work.”

  He frowned. “You mean we should go into it without expectations?” It was exactly what he’d wanted from her; if she expected nothing of him, he couldn’t disappoint her. So why did the prospect now make him feel so unsettled?

  “It’s not exactly how I’d put it, but yes, if you will accept that I will do my best to be a good wife to you and you will—” She waited, giving him an expectant look.

  “Try to be a good husband.” And try not to disappoint her too much.

  “Then God bless us both.”

  God help us, Ned thought. And then he realized the implications of what she’d said. “Does that mean—?”

  “Yes, Mr. Galbraith, I will marry you.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Leav
ing Edward and Cal to discuss settlements, Lily walked slowly upstairs, dawdling in order to put off the moment when she would have to tell Rose and Emm and George that she’d accepted him. Against all their advice. And wishes.

  She was betrothed to Mr. Galbraith—to Edward. She should have been in alt, or over the moon, or any one of the usual states newly betrothed girls were supposed to feel. Instead she felt . . . She didn’t know what she felt.

  It had been a very businesslike proposal. He hadn’t even kissed her. Perhaps that was why she felt a little flat. She had to admit she’d been expecting a kiss, at least. And looking forward to it.

  Why had he tried so hard to paint himself in such an unfavorable light? Was he trying to put her off, or was he simply trying to be honest with her? It was impossible to know.

  He’d admitted that his reason for proposing was the scandal—well, that was no surprise. Before Lily had gone in to receive his offer, Emm had told her that she’d tried to talk Mr. Galbraith out of proposing, just as she’d tried to convince Lily not to marry him.

  But he’d chosen to propose. And Lily had chosen to accept.

  Was it only his sense of honor that had prompted him to offer marriage to her? Or did he have some other reason, one he hadn’t mentioned?

  Lily had. She hadn’t admitted it to anyone except Rose yet: She wanted Edward Galbraith. More than wanted, she loved him.

  At least she thought she did. Rose said it wasn’t love, that she was confusing love with the gratitude she felt for her rescuer, and Lily did feel grateful. But when Edward had kissed her in the dark woods and held her in his arms, it wasn’t gratitude she felt.

  When she’d told Rose and George about the kiss, Rose’s view was that Lily was too inexperienced to tell. Galbraith was a rake; it stood to reason he would know how to kiss. What Lily needed, Rose said, was to be kissed by a lot of other men. Then she’d know what value to put on Mr. Galbraith’s kisses.

  Except Lily didn’t want to kiss a lot of other men. She only wanted one man to kiss—Edward.

  George had said that Lily didn’t need to kiss anyone else, that any man who shared his kisses around like Mr. Galbraith was reputed to do wasn’t worth having.

  There was sense in their opinions, both of them. But Lily wanted Edward with a desperate yearning. She thought of him constantly, and even dreamed of him. Was that love? She didn’t know.

  Emm had suggested Lily was perhaps a little infatuated—which was understandable given the dreadful situation he’d rescued her from. It was also understandable, Emm said, that she was attracted to him; he was an attractive man and could be quite charming—when he wanted to be.

  But he was so much older than Lily—nearly twenty-eight to Lily’s eighteen—and so much more experienced. Perhaps Lily could look around a little more. The ton was full of charming and eligible young men.

  That made sense too, but Lily didn’t want to look around.

  She felt certain—almost—that she loved Edward, but was she in love with him? Didn’t there need to be two who loved to be in love? Both of you, loving each other?

  It was hard to know. He hadn’t hinted at any feelings. He’d said things like, I’m no catch, you deserve better, I’m no hero, I am a rake—all very clear messages warning her off admiring him in any way.

  But the more he tried to make her dislike him, the more she wanted to hug him. He was so much more wonderful than he thought he was.

  Was she doing the right thing in marrying him? She didn’t know.

  Was she doing the wrong thing? She hoped not.

  All she was sure of was that if she’d refused his proposal today, she probably wouldn’t see him again, and that she couldn’t bear.

  Something had begun, in that trip back from Yorkshire, and every instinct she had was to nurture it. She felt certain—as certain as a girl full of doubts could—that this was what she had to do. She loved Edward and would do her very best to make him the best wife she could be. And she would hope and pray that he would become the loving kind of husband she’d always dreamed of.

  He might be marrying in scandal, but she would marry in hope.

  She reached the landing, turned the corner, and found Rose and George sitting at the top of the stairs, waiting for her.

  “Well? Did you send him on his way?” Rose demanded.

  “He’s downstairs, talking to Cal.”

  Rose’s eyes narrowed. “What about?” When Lily didn’t respond, Rose made a dismayed exclamation. “You accepted him, didn’t you? Oh, Lily!”

  “I want him, Rose,” Lily said quietly.

  “I know you think you do, but . . . Oh, Lily, I just wish . . .”

  “I suppose I must wish you happy, then,” George said. She didn’t sound very confident or in the least bit joyous, but Lily hugged and thanked her anyway.

  Then Rose hugged Lily tightly, saying, “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be so— I just want you to be happy, Lily.” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

  “I’m going to be happy, Rose, just you wait and see.” Lily’s eyes were teary too. “He’s a wonderful man, really he is. You just don’t know him yet.”

  “I gather you’ve accepted Mr. Galbraith’s proposal.” Emm emerged from the sitting room at the top of the stairs. She held out her arms to Lily. “I hope this marriage brings you all the happiness you deserve, my dear.” Emm was as full of doubt as the others; she was just better at hiding it.

  Lily and she embraced, then Emm said, “Well, then, we’d better go downstairs and congratulate the happy groom. Cal will want to make a toast.” She began the descent downstairs. George, Lily and Rose followed.

  Congratulate the happy groom? At the moment Edward was probably more of a resolute groom. But he would be happy, eventually. Lily was determined to make it so.

  Halfway down the stairs, Rose paused and gave her a sudden sharp look. “Did you tell him about—?”

  “No. I’ll tell him later.”

  “But don’t you think you ought to—?”

  “Later, Rose.”

  She didn’t want to talk about it, not now—and if she was honest with herself, not ever. Edward had made a clean breast of his faults. That was admirable—assuming he’d meant it as a way of starting fresh and not a way of putting her off.

  She hadn’t done the same. She knew she should have told him about her reading difficulties. He’d have to know eventually. But she didn’t want to see that expression in his eyes when she admitted her problem, the look she’d received from all but a few people. Even from Papa. Especially from Papa.

  Did they think she didn’t want to be like everyone else, to be able to read ladies’ magazines, or lose herself between the pages of a novel, or to write letters and exchange convivial little notes? And not to have to ask—always ask—someone else to read or write for her?

  So no, she wasn’t going to tell him. Not yet, at any rate.

  Chapter Twelve

  You must be the best judge of your own happiness.

  —JANE AUSTEN, EMMA

  “I believe I must wish you happy, Mr. Galbraith.” Lady Ashendon came forward. She didn’t sound in the least joyful, more resigned. “Lily is a girl very dear to my heart. You will take the very best of care of her, won’t you?”

  It wasn’t so much a wish as an order, Ned decided. With a clear, if restrained, assurance that should he fail, Lady Ashendon would have something to say about it. A teacher’s tactic, but she wasn’t bluffing.

  He bowed over her hand. “I will, Lady Ashendon.”

  Lily’s sister, Rose, glided toward him, hands held out. She was taller than Lily, slender and graceful, a golden-haired beauty with ice-blue eyes and a smile that dazzled, even as it chilled. No doubt the ton fawned over her. They could keep this ice queen; give him Lily’s warmth and luscious femininity any day.

  “So you are to beco
me my brother-in-law, Mr. Galbraith.” She stood on tiptoe as if to give him a pretty sisterly kiss and, in a voice only he could hear, murmured, “Hurt my sister in any way, Galbraith, and you’ll be sorry you were ever born.” She pressed a dry, cold pair of lips to his cheek, stabbed him with a glittering look and stepped back, smiling.

  Thank God she wasn’t the one Nixon stole. He might have had to marry her.

  The other girl, Lady Georgiana—curious that she was Lily’s niece and yet was the elder—came forward with a loose-limbed, almost boyish stride that was oddly attractive. She held out her hand to him and murmured with a sweet smile, “Lily is a darling and if you don’t treat her right, Mr. Galbraith, I’ll gut you with a rusty blade.”

  He blinked, more amused than menaced by the melodramatic threat. Misinterpreting his expression, she gave a brisk, satisfied nod.

  What a family of women. Such ladylike ferocity in defense of their sister. He found it rather charming, if a little insulting.

  It was excellent that Lily had such a protective family, but really, did they expect him to beat Lily, or starve her? When he was in this position because he’d gone out of his way to protect her? They certainly had the lowest expectations of him. But perhaps his reputation bothered them.

  His own fault, he supposed. Since selling out of the army after Waterloo and returning to civilian life, he’d taken pains to cultivate a rakish reputation and to avoid fashionable society. He had had no desire to be hunted by matchmaking mamas, and being in line for a title, a fortune and a handsome estate, he had had no doubt he would be hunted.

  A movement at the door caught his eye. It was the biggest dog he’d ever seen, tall and gray and shaggy. He slunk in—if a dog that size could be said to slink—edged up behind Lady Georgiana and eyed Ned with an enigmatic expression. Lady Georgiana’s dog, he presumed. Would she set it on him?

  Ned liked dogs. He snapped his fingers and the dog padded forward. He sniffed Ned’s outstretched fingers, then sat down with an expression that was a clear invitation to pat.