The Copeland Bride

by Justine Cole

  The day after the ball brought with it a heavy, chilling fog, so Noelle's new maid, a cheerful girl named Alice, put out a warm frock of pale blue cashmere for her mistress. Noelle had not fallen asleep until dawn, and now, even though it was nearly noon, she felt drained. Pushing back the bedroom curtain, she leaned her cheek against the cold window pane and stared out across the dreary garden. In every swirling ribbon of fog, she saw Quinn's granite-hard face, sleekly carved, infinitely threatening.

  The muffled sound of furniture being moved recalled her to her duties. Simon would have left for the office by now. Although the staff was well supervised by Tomkins, she should at least look in; then she would call on Constance. She had been lucky to find the opportunity last night to pull Constance aside long enough to tell her what had transpired with Quinn, but there had been no time for discussion. Today she needed a stiff dose of Constance's good sense.

  Noelle draped a fringed shawl printed with salmon roses around the shoulders of her dress and left her room just as the echo of the lion's head door knocker sounded from below. She smiled to herself. So, Constance's curiosity had gotten the best of her; she wasn't going to wait until Noelle called. The knocker sounded again, more persistently this time. Charles must be in the storeroom at the back of the house, Noelle decided as she tripped down the stairs. Smiling broadly, she flung open the door.

  Quinn stood on the other side. He looked much as he had the first time she had seen him: massive shoulders straining the seams of his cloak, crystals of rainwater clinging to his raven hair, eyes the color of black onyx mirroring his amusement.

  "Somehow I hadn't expected such a warm welcome, cousin. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

  Noelle realized that the smile she had intended for Constance had frozen on her face. "Your father is not here," she snapped. "I suggest you visit him at his office."

  As though she hadn't spoken, he gently pushed past her into the foyer. For the first time Noelle noticed with alarm that he was carrying twin valises.

  "I'll see him when he gets back." Setting the valises on the black marble floor, he shrugged off his wet cloak to reveal a well cut brown coat, pale buff trousers, and a buff waistcoat fastened with gold buttons. His dark brown neckcloth was intricately tied, but he wore it, and all his clothing, with a careless elegance that clearly signaled his indifference to fashion.

  "I'm afraid it won't be possible for you to wait. He is seldom back before six."

  "Fine. I'll see him then." With that Quinn picked up his valises and began mounting the stairs.

  Panic propelling her, Noelle flew to the bottom of the stairway. "Surely you don't think for a moment that you will stay here."

  Stopping in mid-stride, Quinn looked down at her. "As a matter of fact, that's exactly what I think."

  "He doesn't want you here."

  "Did he tell you that?"

  "Not in so many words, but his feelings about you are certainly clear."

  "Miss Pope, my father will like nothing better than having me back under his roof. Now, unless you want to end up looking foolish, I suggest you keep that pretty little nose of yours out of my business." With an easy grace, he disappeared around the curve of the staircase.

  Gathering her skirts in her hand, Noelle tore after him. She reached the upstairs hallway just as he disappeared into one of the front bedrooms. For an instant she faltered, but the threat of having him living in the same house pushed her on.

  She entered just as he set his valises on the bed. Although she had only been in the room once before when she initially explored the house, she remembered it well. All brown and tan, it was a large masculine room dominated by the massive headboard of the bed, gruesomely carved in the shape of a wild-eyed dragon. The enormous head jutted up from the center of the headboard, mahogany thunderbolts flaring from its great nostrils. The figure was overpowering, frightening, and she could not help noting the similarity between the mythical beast and the man whose presence now filled the room.

  Shaking off the uncomfortable comparison, she eyed him levelly. "Mr. Copeland, I do not appreciate your patronizing attitude. It is very much my business who stays here. As your father's hostess, I run his household."

  "I'm impressed with your efficiency, cousin." A crooked smile curled his mobile mouth. "Are you as conscientious about your other duties?"

  She tilted her chin. "I have always subscribed to the belief that any job worth doing is worth doing well." There, she thought, let him make of that what he would!

  "I agree. We have something in common."

  "We have nothing in common. Now, it will be much easier on us all if you leave."

  "I've never been very interested in doing what's easy. I find I like challenges better." Folding his arms, he leaned back against the wall, silently daring her to push him further.

  "You don't seem to understand, Mr. Copeland." Noelle's voice was as crisp as footsteps on dried leaves. "You are not welcome in this house."

  Marching to the bed, she pulled off a valise. Resolutely she hauled the heavy case to the doorway and set it outside in the hall. Then she went back for the other. When both cases were moved, she planted one hand on her slim hip and glared at him. "Now, if you will be so kind as to leave."

  "Cousin, I can see you and I are going to have to come to an understanding." As he uncurled his long frame she took an instinctive step backward, only to feel her spine press up against the bedroom wall. In three easy strides he was in front of her, his legs brushing against her skirt. He lifted his hand and splayed it on the wall next to her head, his thumb just brushing against her hair. Looking down at her, he spoke softly in the lazy drawl she had come to dread.

  "I'm staying right here in this house until I decide I'm ready to leave. Even though the landlady likes to pry into things that aren't her business, I happen to like the room. Now, if you're not out of here in thirty seconds, I'll know it's because you want to stay. In that case, I plan to lock this door, strip off your pretty blue dress, and tumble you right on that bed."

  Noelle's cheeks flamed in outrage. "You wouldn't dare."

  "I'd dare all right, cousin. As a matter of fact, I'm just hoping you'll test me."

  With a murderous glare, Noelle jerked past him and marched angrily away. He retrieved his valises from the hallway. As he set them back on the bed he heard the echo of a door slamming at the other end of the house, and he grinned.

  Despite her prissy manner, she was a spirited little vixen, and she had stirred him more than he cared to admit. She was also upsetting all of his plans. Just yesterday he had sworn to keep his distance from Simon. Now here he was, a guest in his father's house. It was instinct rather than logic that drove him here today, but he was not going to rest easy until he found out more about the beautiful Dorian Pope.

  In her bedroom, Noelle paced the floor, trying to release some of her pent-up rage. He was insufferable, and he was dangerous. Reaching into the bundle at the back of her wardrobe, she cupped her hand reassuringly around the hilt of her knife. Quinn Copeland was going to discover he could only push her so far.

  Yanking the bell cord, she summoned Alice and ordered a carriage brought round at once. She needed to talk to Constance now more than ever. Donning a deep blue pelisse and a bonnet trimmed with velvet bows of the same color, she hurried downstairs as quickly as she could, knowing the carriage would not be ready yet but unwilling to spend another moment in the house. The sight of Quinn's cloak lying proprietarily across the settee in the hallway sent fresh spasms of anger racing through her.

  Damn him! She yanked open the front door and blindly flung herself out only to crash head-on into a man who had been standing on the other side. Caught off-balance, he toppled backward, his head thumping dully against the metal railing. He lay very still at the bottom of the steps, his body turned to one side. Noelle sucked in her breath in alarm and raced down. Kneeling on the pavement, she bent over the man.

  It was Thomas Sully, Quinn's partner in her abduction!
>
  His beaver hat had rolled off to reveal the unruly sandy hair she remembered so well, but his boyish face was paler now, the plump cheeks drained of color. For a moment she was afraid she had killed him, but then he stirred. Carefully she lifted his head and cradled it in her lap. His eyes flickered feebly, shut, and then opened wider as he took in the lovely face that hovered over him. Wonder showed in them but no recognition.

  "I'm frightfully sorry," he gulped. "I'm such a clumsy oaf. Did I hurt you?"

  Under other circumstances his misplaced apology would have sent Noelle into a paroxysm of laughter, but she was too relieved even to smile. "Don't try to talk."

  "Simply dreadful of me to cause you such a fright." He wet his lips nervously, the color rising in his cheeks.

  "Please. It's I who should apologize. I'm the one who knocked you down."

  "No, I won't hear of it. I stumbled . . . woolgathering. Horrible habit. Are you sure I didn't hurt you? I could never forgive myself."

  "Please, no more apologies. I'm perfectly all right, really. Can you stand?"

  "Oh, yes, I'm sure I can."

  "Then let me help you inside." She dropped an arm behind his shoulders and braced him as he sat upright.

  Quinn's voice coming from the doorway startled them both. "I look forward to hearing the two of you explain this."

  Dismayed, Noelle gazed upward to see the mocking grin that was becoming so unpleasantly familiar. "I was about to send for a physician," she said coolly, trying to make it evident by her tone that she wanted no further assistance from him.

  "No need for that," Tom replied, feeling his head as he stood upright. "I'm feeling better already. Your kindness has worked wonders, Miss . . . ?"

  "Forgive me," said Quinn, coming down the steps. "The two of you haven't been properly introduced." To her chagrin, Noelle felt him slip a proprietary arm around her waist. "I want you to meet Tom Sully, a good friend and one of the few Englishmen I can tolerate. Tom, Dorian Pope—my cousin."

  "Delighted, Miss Pope. Can you ever forgive me for causing you such a fright?"

  "Of course she forgives you," Quinn interrupted. "Dorian has survived many a tumble. Haven't you, cousin?"

  Noelle's cheeks burned at his lazy taunt. She tried to pull herself away, only to be drawn closer, her cheek brushing against the wool of his coat, her hip sensing his thigh. "Let's say no more about it, Mr. Sully," she finally managed. "Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have an engagement." Her magnificent eyes challenged Quinn to delay her any longer. With a slight bow, he released her, and she stepped quickly aside. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Sully."

  "Do you have to go so soon?" Thomas's boyish face was crestfallen. "I mean . . . that is to say . . . of course you must go. I wouldn't think of delaying you. However . . . would it be terribly presumptuous of me on such short acquaintance to invite you to the opera next Saturday? With your uncle's permission, of course. It's The Marriage of Figaro."

  "Saturday, you say?" Noelle stalled as she tried to think of a polite excuse. He was so friendly and guileless, so obviously smitten with her that she knew it would be kinder to refuse his invitation than to encourage him.

  "Impossible, Tom." Quinn folded his long frame into a chair. "My cousin is busy that night. She has an engagement with Simon."

  Noelle's delicately arched eyebrow shot upward at this blatant lie. "I fear you misunderstood, cousin. My uncle and I have no engagement that night. I should be delighted to attend with you, Mr. Sully. Absolutely nothing could keep me away."

  "Smashing! I'll call at eight."

  "I shall look forward to it." The carriage drew to the curb. Quinn took her arm and led her to the vehicle. When they could no longer be overheard, Noelle snapped, "Mr. Copeland, your interference is intolerable."

  "Since we're so closely related, don't you think you should call me Quinn?"

  "I don't think I should have to call you anything. Don't you understand? I want you to leave me alone."

  "I was beginning to get that idea. What I don't understand is why."

  Noelle yearned to scream the full measure of her loathing at him, but she satisfied herself with a more restrained indictment. "Because I dislike you, Mr. Copeland. I find you arrogant, overbearing, and insolent."

  "In addition to being beautiful, you're an excellent judge of character, cousin." With a polite nod of dismissal, he held the carriage door open for her, and Noelle set off for Constance's new residence on St. James's Park.

  Constance was still in her dressing gown when Noelle burst into the sitting room.

  "He is detestable! I have never met anyone I despise more." One of the blue velvet ribbons on her bonnet came off in her fingers as she yanked angrily at the bow under her chin.

  "Faith! What has he done to set you off?"

  Restlessly pacing the room, Noelle recounted all that had happened since Quinn had appeared at the ball. "I just hope I can have the satisfaction of being present when Simon boots him out of the house," she finally concluded.

  Constance swung her slippered feet over the side of the lavender chaise and then walked toward the window, where she stopped to inspect a fern sitting on a plaster column. "I would not count on Simon evicting Quinn," she finally said carefully. "You will only be disappointed."

  Noelle stopped her pacing and stared incredulously at Constance. "Surely you don't imagine that Simon will let him stay?"

  "I'm certain of it. Quinn is his son."

  "But, Constance, they detest each other. Quinn has been a dreadful son."

  "Simon has not been the best of fathers."

  "You sound as though you are defending Quinn!" Noelle exclaimed.

  "I am not defending him, nor will I chastise him. Noelle, I have the deepest affection for you. Surely you know that."

  "Why do I have the suspicion I'm going to hear something I shan't like?" Noelle said dryly.

  "Because you're an uncommonly perceptive young woman. However, at the moment you're behaving like a peagoose. Simon won't remain in England forever. What will you do when he leaves? Go to America with him? Stay here and try to make your own way?"

  "I don't know, Constance. If you are right about Simon permitting Quinn to remain in the house, I will consider leaving immediately and finding other employment."

  "Nonsense! He has been supporting you for almost two years on the understanding that you would repay him by serving as his hostess. Can you have forgotten that?"

  "Of course I haven't. I would repay him from my wages."

  "Very noble, my dear, and very, very silly. At best you would find a position in a shop or as a governess. In truth, it doesn't bear thinking on. You'd not make enough to live, let alone have sufficient funds to repay your debt."

  At the truth of Constance's words, Noelle slumped dejectedly down on the settee. "Nothing at all has changed. I'm still trapped between the two of them. Constance, what happened to make them hate each other so much?"

  "I wish I could enlighten you, but I have only the vaguest notion, and that is purely conjecture. Benjamin knew, but he refused to discuss it other than to say it involved Simon's wife. When she died, he felt it best to let the matter die with her."

  "Only it didn't die, did it?"

  Constance went to Noelle and sat beside her, speaking gently. "Noelle, in truth, you must consider assuming your proper place as Quinn's wife."

  "Constance, I cannot believe this of you." She sprang up angrily. "How can you even suggest such a thing?"

  "Because I am a practical woman. Faith! Don't look at me so. It's time you opened your eyes. Quinn is very wealthy. As his wife, you would never again have to trouble yourself about anything."

  "I don't want his money!"

  "Noelle, you must listen to me. Quinn is not an ordinary man, nor is he an ordinary shipbuilder. He has vision. There is a brilliant future in store for him. As his wife, you can share in that success."

  Observing the stubborn set of Noelle's chin, Constance sighed. "At least
consider it. Not for him and not for Simon but for yourself."

  Noelle could see the compassion in Constance's face and knew that she was speaking from her heart. "I wish I could do as you say, Constance, if for no other reason than to please you. But I would rather live the rest of my life as a pickpocket in Soho than spend a day as his wife."

  Several hours later Noelle walked from the gray stone building that housed the London offices of Copeland and Peale. The rain that had been falling steadily since noon had stopped, although the day was still gray and cloudy. Across the street, she spotted Fisby's Tea Room and remembered she had had nothing to eat since the night before. She stepped toward the curb just as one of the maroon and black mail coaches, not yet dry from the day's showers, shot by, its rear wheels sending a jet of dirty water over the front of her pelisse. The day that had started out so badly was drawing to an even grimmer conclusion.