“Regardless of your reasons for dispensing with the parasol,” Lord Teasdale drawled, “the question still remains: why was Lady Matilda so startled she lost her footing? Lizzie claims you cursed, quite loudly, in their hearing. No doubt I needn’t explain to you how abominable I find it for anyone to use such coarse language in a lady’s presence.”
He would never have dreamed of cursing in such a public setting in the first place if not for Danby and his ridiculous notions about who Thomas ought to potentially marry. Yet the fact remained, he had let out an oath. A rather loud oath, by his recollection. Denial would serve no purpose. “I did, my lord, although I would normally never do such a thing in the hearing of anyone, and particularly not a lady. I apologize to you, and I will be certain to make my apologies to both Lady Matilda and her maid, once the lady’s care is seen to.”
“Will you? And what makes you think we’ll allow you to go anywhere near her again? I imagine you’ve already done more than enough.” The baron eyed him haughtily. “I’ve never seen you in Town for the Season, and you’ve yet to tell me your name. The sole reason you weren’t escorted straight outside and into the custody of the local magistrate is because I had questions that needed to be answered.”
Thomas had almost been waiting for this—the moment when his low birth would incite Teasdale’s outrage that he’d even dared to breathe in the esteemed presence of such a lady. But it was worse than that. He’d had her in his arms. He’d touched her in ways someone of his position ought never to touch a personage of her status. I felt her luscious curves curled against my body and let my thoughts drift to places they ought never to go. It was true he’d done all of these things in order to ascertain the degree of damage her fall had caused and to get her home to safety and care, but that didn’t really matter. Not in the eyes of so many men of Teasdale’s station.
“Goddard,” he said finally, recognizing the pointlessness of delaying his response any further. Dithering would serve no one. “Thomas Goddard.”
Teasdale’s head snapped up to attention and he leaned forward, stubbing his cheroot into a dish and passing it into Sadler’s care with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Goddard?”
The butler left them silently, his movements measured and precise.
The baron’s sudden interest in their discussion was inherently perplexing. Why in blazes would he excite, simply from hearing Thomas’s name?
“Danby said we ought to expect you, but I didn’t imagine your arrival would take place in such a…well, in a manner such as this. I’d expected you to call upon her in the afternoon, to take tea with her or some such like a reasonable suitor would do.”
Call upon her? A suitor? Could a tongue double in size simply from shock? Suddenly parched beyond measure, Thomas tried to swallow but failed. “Danby said…to expect me?”
“Of course he did. I trust you have the marriage license he sent?” Teasdale sat back in his chair again, his hands forming a steeple where they met over his lap. “What am I saying? Of course you do. Danby said you would.”
But Thomas didn’t have the license, and he certainly didn’t think it would have anything to do with Lord Teasdale or Lady Matilda, or anyone else here in Scarborough. The other licenses Danby had sent were for ladies who lived elsewhere, with explicit instructions as to how Thomas should travel to their homes and collect his bride.
There’d been no reason he should expect this one to involve a young lady who was already in town, so he’d torn the bit of paper to shreds and tossed it into the ocean without even really looking at the name upon it. The mere sight of the single, solitary word Lady had been all he’d been able to handle.
It couldn’t have been this Lady Matilda, whom he’d carried all the way from the cliffs, could it? And even if the marriage license had borne both of their names upon it, Thomas had signed no contracts and made no promises. He hadn’t offered for anyone, so he couldn’t be honor-bound to uphold anything.
Danby damned well couldn’t force him to marry anyone, by Jove. He was a grown man. He made his own decisions.
“Of course, her fall today might have hampered things a bit,” Teasdale said entirely too jovially, oblivious to Thomas’s discomfiture. He sorted through a stack of papers at the side of his desk, pulling one aside and rearranging the order of them. “We will have to wait to see what Dr. Evans has to say, but you should be able to court her properly quite soon I’d imagine. Or you could just take her off to church in the morning and be done with it, since you’ve already got the license. Danby truly thought of everything, the old codger, didn’t he? But you’ll know that this Sir Lester…well, never mind him. You’ve got the license, so he doesn’t really matter.”
Few things in Thomas’s life had shocked him to the core quite like this conversation was proving to do. Unless he was mistaken, he must look the part of the slack-jawed nincompoop. “Court her?” he somehow got out. He stood and paced to the hearth and back. “Take her to the church in the morning? I’m afraid there has been some mistake.”
Teasdale stopped fussing with his papers, suddenly still again. He stared at Thomas, blinking. “A mistake?”
“I am not here to marry this Lady Matilda.”
Twice more the baron blinked, his expression thoroughly imperturbable. “You are Thomas Goddard, as you said?”
“Yes, but—”
“The same Thomas Goddard who is Danby’s grandson? The grandson who runs his horse breeding venture here in Scarborough?”
“Yes—”
The baron lifted a single graying eyebrow. “There’s been no mistake. That was why we arranged our holiday here, you know, and the only reason we brought Lady Matilda along with us. To deliver her to you.”
After a few more moments of flipping through the stack of papers on his desk, Teasdale drew a single slip forward. He held it out toward Thomas, an imperious expression on his countenance. “Ah, yes. Here. I have the marriage contract, the terms agreed upon by both His Grace and Lady Matilda’s brother Lord Stalbridge. Lady Matilda will bring a reasonable settlement into the marriage in trust, and Danby has already provided you with a home and a living. The contract only requires your signature and the marriage license Danby said he would send to you.”
Sadler moved over to stand beside his employer, having returned as silently as he’d left. He took the contract from the baron and carried it over to Thomas, thrusting it into his hands.
At present, the pulse in Thomas’s temple was throbbing so intensely, it was a wonder he hadn’t struck his head upon the limestone as Lady Matilda had done while they were out on the cliffs. “But I can’t marry her!” he fairly shouted.
“Of course you can.” Teasdale stood, then strode with purpose toward the door. “The particulars have all been settled. If you aren’t here to marry her, why in blazes have you come? We’ll expect you for tea tomorrow, unless Dr. Evans informs us Lady Matilda cannot receive guests. If that’s the case, I’ll send you word. Good day to you, Mr. Goddard.”
Without allowing Thomas the opportunity to answer, he quit the room, the butler moving to stand beside the door and passing a look in Thomas’s direction. What, precisely, that look meant was a mystery—one Thomas wasn’t certain he wanted to solve. In fact, he was positive the opposite was more in line with the truth. He wanted nothing to do with Teasdale, with the blasted butler…not with any of it.
Good lord. Did Lady Matilda know about all of this? What did she think of it?
Perhaps more importantly, how on earth was he going to escape this farce without destroying any sense of honor he once possessed—and how could he avoid damaging either Lady Matilda’s reputation or her sensibilities in the process?
“We’re to be…married?”
With a sudden attack of dizziness threatening to once again overwhelm her, Mattie sat back against the plush settee in the red drawing room and put a hand to her temple. After sleeping most of the afternoon yesterday, the blinding headaches caused by her concussion had passed. Her
dizziness had seemed to be a thing of the past, and she’d begun to feel much more herself today.
Until now.
Lady Teasdale poured herself another cup of tea, adding so much sugar and cream it nearly turned Mattie’s already suspect stomach. “Why did you think we’d allowed you to join us on holiday, Lady Matilda? Your brother arranged it all with the Duke of Danby during the Season. He didn’t tell you?”
The baroness needn’t sound so pleased about the circumstance.
Mattie stifled an unladylike retort which would do nothing to garner Lady Teasdale’s favor. Percy hadn’t told her a thing. Not one tiny, inconsequential little detail, let alone something of such great consequence as a marriage he’d arranged for her! He’d never even hinted at the fact that he was in the process of finding a husband for her or anything else of the sort.
And all of this with a man she’d never met before! What could he have been thinking?
But then he probably wasn’t thinking, or at least if he was it was not about Mattie and her needs and desires. If anything, he was thinking only of himself and what would come from such a union which might aid him in some way.
Heavens! How would such an arrangement possibly aid Percy? There must be blunt changing hands, though she couldn’t imagine how or why. None of it made any sense. She couldn’t imagine what either Danby or his grandson might have said to Percy to bring all of this about.
Nonetheless, the only thing Mattie knew about this man she was supposedly to marry was that he was the Duke of Danby’s grandson, and that he’d carried her back to the house on Grand Avenue all the way from the cliffs, which was not an inconsiderable distance. Neither of those choice bits of information was quite the same as a proper introduction to the man, however.
Still lightheaded after hitting her head yesterday, she couldn’t quite wrap her head around any of this.
“No,” she finally said to the baroness, unable to mask the dismay in her tone, “I’m afraid my brother didn’t explain anything at all to me. I was thoroughly unaware.”
“As was I!” Bea put in dejectedly, crossing her arms over her chest and wearing a decidedly becoming pout. “Papa should have had the decency to have told me about it. I would have at least understood why he suddenly became much more amenable to my friendship with Mattie and Freddie near the end of the Season, not that that would excuse any of them for neglecting to speak to Mattie about it all.”
Lady Teasdale scowled her daughter into silence then returned her attention to Mattie. “It really isn’t important that Lord Stalbridge neglected to inform you of his plans. What matters is that you are to marry this Mr. Goddard, and that is the end of that.” She picked up her embroidery sample and stabbed the needle into the fabric with such vigor it was a miracle she didn’t cause herself damage.
Mr. Goddard. This was the first mention of his name that Mattie had heard, yet for whatever reason Percy had had, she must bear up and become the man’s wife. Granted, at the back of her mind was the niggling reminder that she’d felt safe and protected, and even cherished in this Mr. Goddard’s arms. Could that be enough to base an entire marriage upon? Yet…
“I’ve reached my majority,” Mattie said slowly. “I can’t very well be forced into a marriage not of my choosing. The laws have changed. Arranged marriages aren’t really done any longer.”
Bea perked up visibly upon hearing what seemed to Mattie to be an entirely reasonable argument against what could be an entirely disastrous match. “That’s true, Mama. It doesn’t really matter what Lord Stalbridge and the Duke of Danby seem to think of the matter. Mattie’s hand can’t be forced.”
With practiced disdain, Lady Teasdale lowered the embroidery sample to her lap, giving her daughter another derisive glance before once more focusing upon Mattie. “While I’m sure that’s true, Lady Matilda, it would also be inadvisable for you to deny Mr. Goddard at this point. He’s come bearing a marriage license with the expectation that you will have him. Danby and Stalbridge might very well have already announced your betrothal and impending nuptials to at least some within the beau monde. For all we know, there will be a notice in the Times at any moment. The marriage contract has been agreed upon and drawn up. Everything is already in place.”
Every word from Lady Teasdale’s mouth caused Mattie’s blood to chill further, until it felt as though shards of ice were trying to force their way through her veins.
It was already understood that she would marry this man whom she’d never met. Good heavens.
“So you see,” the baroness continued, her demeanor suddenly abounding with joy, “rejecting him at this juncture would be rather imprudent on your part. Your brother’s notorious behavior has already insured that your options for marriage, much as your options for friends, are quite limited. I would advise you to take Mr. Goddard and be glad to have him.”
Without a doubt, Lady Teasdale was correct about Mattie’s limited options in terms of suitors. Despite those limitations, however, there was one other.
Sir Lester! He, at least, was a gentleman whom Mattie knew. And he’d called upon her numerous times since they’d arrived in Scarborough.
With her pounding headache, she’d hardly thought of the baronet at all since she’d returned from the cliffs. It did seem a bit odd that he hadn’t come when he learned of her accident. Shouldn’t he have called upon her to see for himself that she wasn’t harmed too terribly?
Surely there was a good reason for his absence. Mattie had to believe it. Not only that, but she had to believe he would offer for her. At the moment, she needed something hopeful upon which to grasp, or else she was liable to scream in frustration over the turn of events.
Sir Lester will offer for me. He will. And I will accept him, and then it won’t matter in the least that I don’t know this Mr. Goddard. I needn’t marry him just because Percy wants me to.
Though there was still the slight worry about what might happen to Percy should she reject Mr. Goddard. And if something happened to Percy, what would it mean for Mama, Freddie, and Edie?
But she couldn’t worry about that now. They’d told her to come to Scarborough and to do what she must for herself.
The double doors in the drawing room opened wide just then, and Mr. Sadler stepped inside. He looked at the baroness, ignoring the fact that both Mattie and Bea were staring desperately at one another, as though they could somehow find a solution to this newest problem without speaking a word. He gave a grandiose clearing of his throat for attention. “Mr. Goddard to call upon Lady Matilda, your ladyship.”
A triumphant smile stole across the baroness’s countenance. “Excellent. Send him in.” Smoothing her skirts perfunctorily, she rose and turned to her daughter. “Come along, Beatrice. We’ll send Lizzie in to sit and act the chaperone for Lady Matilda. Surely she can handle that much without making a muck of things.”
Flushing furiously, Bea skirted around the furniture and followed her mother out of the room. Just before passing through the doorway, she turned her head and mouthed, “I’m sorry,” to Mattie.
Sorry wouldn’t be any help. Not when Mr. Goddard, every intimidating inch of him, was coming through the door.
If only Freddie were here. Surely she could devise a solution.
The only thing coming to Mattie’s mind, at the moment, was boxing Percy on the ears next time she saw him.
Lady Matilda Bexley-Smythe was too pretty by half for Thomas to feel even the slightest sense of comfort in her presence, particularly when he considered his primary purpose in calling upon her today. Each time he tried to say something, he’d look into her rich, brown eyes and get lost in them. In the process of doing so, his tongue would seemingly thicken, and then nothing came forth from his lips.
It was becoming a bloody nuisance.
Timidly, she rose from the settee she’d been upon, smoothing her hands down the silky yellow muslin of her skirts in a gesture that seemed to be merely a means to calm her nerves more so than a necessity. To his eye, t
here wasn’t a thing out of place, not an imperfection to be found within her apart from the spot of redness from yesterday’s fall peeking out from behind her hair.
At least today there was no more blood. His heart had nearly stopped when he’d seen the wet, red trail moving down the side of her face.
Golden ringlets fell about her heart-shaped face in tiny wisps, a few of those tendrils blocking what was sure to be a scar upon her forehead, though most of her hair was held in a soft knot behind her head. And then he was back to her eyes again. Good God. She had eyes as deep a shade of brown as any he’d ever seen.
After he’d been staring at her for far longer than was appropriate, however, he realized her gaze seemed focused squarely upon his boots instead of his face.
Christ. His boots. They were bound to be covered in dust and grime from the stables. Why hadn’t he thought to change them before coming to call upon her? Between Danby’s meddling and Lord Teasdale’s handling of the situation yesterday, Thomas’s usually calm and steady mind seemed to be buzzing from thought to thought like a swarm of bees. Remembering even the simplest of things was not something he could take for granted any longer, apparently.
Finally, she looked up and met his eyes. He wished he knew what she was thinking, but her expression was as impassive as that of a well-schooled and practiced liar.
“My lady, I must apologize for the state of—”
“It was so terribly kind of you to assist me yester—”
They both stopped speaking just as abruptly as they’d started, and the porcelain skin of her face took on the most becoming flush. Her response only made her prettier, somehow.
Blast, but he had to stop thinking about her appearance.
She turned her head away and resumed her seat. “Please. I… Sit.” Each word came out haltingly, as though she couldn’t quite decide what to say or why she should say anything.
Bexley-Smythe Quintet 02 - Rhyme and Reason Page 3