His father entered the room, sent a speculative glance in Ram’s direction, and heaved an exaggerated sigh.
“I will not marry the girl.” Ram spoke in his most deliberate, clipped, and autocratic voice.
It was no surprise the Earl wasn’t cowed in the least.
“You’ve no choice in the matter, son. The betrothal is a matter of law now. And we’ve been over this before. We need the connections marriage into the Beaumont family will bring to us.” The earl crossed the darkened study to light a beeswax candle, then moved to the enormous oak sideboard, where he poured whisky into two fine Venetian glasses with a leisurely hand. His father must have indeed been up early this morn if he were already reaching for the liquor. One day Ram would ask him why he didn’t bring his mistress to live closer so he wouldn’t always be journeying back and forth between Bodmin. But that mystery could wait.
“’Tis reputed she’s a hoyden. The last ten years of her life have been spent living amongst Charles’ debauched courtiers in exile. I’ve no use for a courtier as my wife.” An image of Izzy flashed through his mind, a woman as different from his betrothed as day was to night.
Chesworth made an exasperated sound as he handed the liquor-filled glass to Ram. “You know as well as I we must do all we can to find favor with Charles, now that he’s restored to the throne.” His sharp gaze grew steely. “The Beaumont family remained loyal to the monarch throughout the long years of war. Therefore, the Stuarts hold them in high favor. Yet the wars nearly bankrupted Beaumont. He’s in desperate need of funds to keep his estate running, and I hold land he is anxious to recover.” Taking a sip of the golden liquid, he smiled. “Our families have always gotten on well together.”
“I haven’t seen the girl since she was in swaddling.”
“Nevertheless, marriage is the perfect solution.”
“Then why don’t you marry the girl? If her father is as desperate as you say, surely he could have no objections to marrying his precious daughter to you! You’re a bloody earl, after all, and would make his daughter a countess!”
“Ramsay”, his father only used his full name when he was exasperated, and even now it always made him feel like a wayward boy. “Don’t be ridiculous. The girl is young enough to be my granddaughter, and while some men my age find such sport exciting, I’ve no desire to try keeping up with a girl in the fresh bloom of youth.”
Ram opened his mouth but the Earl cut him off.
“Besides, while marriage to me would make her a countess for a time, you are my heir, and therefore if I did happen to sire a son on her, he would never be earl. Beaumont would never accept that.”
“He would if he’s as desperate as you claim. Father, you are giving up far too much! Coin, land, a title…and for what? Very little in return.”
“There’s nothing as valuable as the goodwill of the King and his family, and the Beaumont’s have that in abundance. Things are changing quickly and ‘tis obvious Charles intends to reward those who fought for him and suffered by his side in exile. You have your title and will someday be earl. But what if you have more than one son? How will the younger advance without a title and the ear of the King?”
“Money has always worked well enough in the past,” Ram said, wryly.
“Not with this king.” Chesworth’s mouth stretched thin. “His father, Charles I, King of England by divine right, was beheaded by his own subjects, outside the Banqueting Hall he himself built. Charles may have pardoned all but a very few directly responsible for his father’s murder, but don’t convince yourself for a minute he’s ever forgotten those who didn’t try to stop what happened.”
“This falls on you for siding with Parliament in the first place!” Ram dragged his fingers through his hair. “You should have stood with the king!”
“So that we might have had all our holdings taken from us and ended up in prison cells, or worse, exiled in poverty like the Beaumonts?” His father snorted. “Son, someday you’ll understand the burden of representing the people of this country. I did what I felt was in the best interest of all. Sometimes one’s responsibilities prevent one from standing for a cause they believe in. I lack the luxury to be able to sacrifice myself for a greater good, not when so many depend upon me.”
The earl settled heavily into a hard backed wooden chair, taking care not to spill his drink, motioning for Ram to take a seat in the matched chair. “I never approved of the regicide, and thankful I am I had nothing to do with that mess, else my head wouldn’t be sitting on my neck right now. All your lands would be forfeit, handed out as rewards for those who remained loyal.” He took a sip of his whisky. “Charles is a shrewd man. We are lucky enough he chose to pardon those who fought against him who were not involved with his father’s execution.” Shaking his head, he looked weary. “I don’t enjoy kissing the arse of the man I’ve opposed for so many years. Yet sometimes one must do what’s best for one’s family, and the only way to do that is to be a loyal and faithful subject. Charles is handing out appointments left and right and it would behoove us to be aligned with one of the strongest Stuart supporters.”
Ram opted to ignore the invitation to sit in favor of pacing before the hearth instead. “Father, honestly, I’ve no desire to become entangled in the debauchery that has ensnared the royal court since Charles was restored. I’ve no interest in an appointment of any sort.”
His father let out a sharp chuckle. “Don’t play the puritan with me, Ram. I know for a fact you’ve a fine mistress set up in London, one rumored to be a very close associate of the king’s mistress, Barbara Palmer.”
Damn his father and his army of spies. Ram was fast running out of arguments why he shouldn’t marry the Beaumont lass. There was only one more argument, and Ram wasn’t yet ready to make it. He might never be.
“She’s Countess Castlemaine now.” He muttered the words as a stalling tactic while he struggled to find new grounds on which to protest the union.
“Who is? Barbara Palmer?” His father’s face cleared and he guffawed. “Oh ho, so these days it merely takes a romp in the king’s bed to be elevated to such a lofty rank?” He sobered and sighed. “I’ve no wish to discuss the corruption of the royal court. I’m discussing your upcoming nuptials to the Beaumont gel.” He raised his hand to forestall the comment Ram was about to make. “Would you prefer I betroth Julianna to a staunch royalist to cement our relationship with the monarchy?” His father’s tone, while quiet, was deadly serious.
Bloody hell, that was a dirty tactic! He wouldn’t allow his fourteen-year-old sister to be used as a pawn in this political game, and well his father knew it. Ram would comply, if only to save his sister from a marriage match made in hell. Convention dictated that in his own marriage he could beget an heir upon his wife and then install her in a far-off country estate and live in isolation from her if he so chose. He’d never countenance such a marriage for his sister.
If only he could tell his father the unvarnished truth. There was no need for them to curry favor with the newly restored king. They already held it. But he could never confess his actions, dictated by his conscience, in the last few years. His father placed loyalty above all else, and if he ever discovered what Ram had done during the interregnum, he might never forgive him. There would have to be something so objectionable about the Beaumont girl that left Ram no other option but that he break his father’s heart rather than go through with the marriage. It was a last resort, only.
“I’ll marry the girl. But I don’t want a wife who’s been sampled by every royal lapdog, and perhaps the king himself. If I find so much as a hint of impropriety, the wedding shall be called off immediately.”
“I gave you my word, Ram. Should there be no virgin blood on the sheets the morning following your nuptials, we will seek an annulment. It is stipulated in the betrothal contract, which you would know if you’d taken the time to read it instead of sending your man here in your place to sign it.”
Ram ignored the jibe and chose inst
ead to concentrate on the fact that his father had placed a clause in the contract regarding the Beaumont Girl’s chastity, or lack thereof. That had probably ruffled her spoiled little feathers, if she’d even bothered to read the agreement, and that amused him. “Fine.” He tossed back his whisky, cursing himself for a fool for agreeing to his father’s ludicrous plan in the first place. “I’ll go through with this debacle if I must, but I don’t want the banns read. There’s still time to secure an ecclesiastical license. I don’t want a big public spectacle should the marriage go forth.” He thumped the empty glass on the table before him. “But I will find a reason before the wedding date as to why this girl is an inappropriate choice for a bride. And I expect you to be the one to beg off when I do.”
“I’ve already said as much.” His father’s lips quirked and his eyes twinkled with what looked suspiciously like humor. “Why don’t you take a trip to London and visit that mistress of yours? It might go a long way toward curing your ill humor.”
“My ill humor will remain until I extricate myself from your political machinations. But a trip to London might well be in order. It’s entirely possible there might be less scheming in the royal court than here in my own home.”
But nay, he was meeting Izzy at noon, and that was an appointment he fully intended to keep. Tomorrow afternoon was the absolute soonest he’d consider returning to London, and even then it would only be a quick trip to sever his ties with his current mistress, assuming Izzy agreed to become his new mistress. And assuming he could tear himself from her bed.
His father’s hearty chuckles followed him as he stalked from the study, slamming the door for good measure.
Chapter 5
A sharp knock on the bedroom door awoke Izzy the next morning. When a quick glance to her side revealed Belinda still sound asleep, Izzy pulled a wrap about her shoulders and crept to the door.
Her mother stood on the other side, eyes wide with concern. “Oh, you must have been feeling truly dreadful, darling, you look awful. I’m sorry I didn’t check in on you, Bel didn’t indicate you were seriously ill.”
Izzy muttered up a prayer of thanks for the ill effects of over imbibing. Before she could protest, her mother felt her forehead, clucking over her like a hen. “Mama, I feel ever so much better today. And I wasn’t very sick at all.”
“Perhaps you should spend another day in bed for good measure. I’ll have a maid bring you something with which to break your fast.”
“Really, Mama, that isn’t necessary. I feel right as rain. In fact I think some fresh air might do me good.”
Mama looked skeptical, but her attention was drawn toward Belinda, stirring in her bed. She heaved a big sigh. “Soon, you’ll be married and gone and I won’t be able to come find you girls like this in the morning.”
Not any time soon, Mama.
As the thought went through her mind, guilt nagged at her. Her mother just wanted what was best for everyone and it wasn’t her fault she chose to support her husband in this. It was what a proper wife did. “I’ll be one property over, Mama, not across England.” She restrained herself from rolling her eyes.
Her mother stroked her hair. “I know. Still, it will not be the same as having you here, at home with me, though.”
Her mother would be so disappointed when it came to light what Izzy had done. Izzy ducked her head, overcome with guilt. But what other option did she have? She loved Paul and she would do whatever she had to do to make sure she became his wife.
An image of Julian rose up, so dark and virile. She pushed it down. Lust did not equate love, and she was sure part of her attraction to him was the illicitness of their acquaintance, however brief it would be.
She needed to ready herself if she was to meet him at their appointed time. With a quick kiss to her mother’s cheek and a mumble about getting dressed, she shut the door and retreated into her chamber. She found Belinda staring at her.
“Did you need something Bel?”
“You’re planning something. I’ve seen that look in your eyes enough times to know that much.”
Izzy bit her tongue to avoid sounding exasperated. “I’m planning to take a simple ride to clear my head. Ale leaves much to be desired.”
“Would you care for some company on your ride, then?”
Izzy struggled for calm, but obviously, Belinda’s suspicions were on high alert. The best friend in the world she might be, but she was as tenacious as a bulldog when it came to sniffing out Izzy’s schemes. More often than not, Bel would join her on whatever escapade Izzy hatched, but she’d never go along with this. One word to Belinda would find Izzy locked in this house by her parents until the wedding day. Flouncing back onto her bed, Izzy reached for her cousin’s hand. “Bel, you know I appreciate your support and concern. But truly, I need some time to myself, to think things through and resign myself to my future.”
Belinda snorted. “You’ve never resigned yourself to anything.”
“I’ve little choice, have I? This wedding will proceed as planned whether I approve or not. These are my last days of freedom, and though I love you dearly, I’d like some time to myself, to adjust to it all. I must grieve the loss of Paul in my own way.”
Belinda’s eyes softened with sympathy and she squeezed Izzy’s hand in return. “I know you love Paul, and giving him up is hard for you. Since the death of my mother you’ve accepted me as a true sister in your heart. If I could marry the Viscount in your place, I would, to save you this pain, but my pedigree is not lofty enough.”
If Belinda could do it, she would. Izzy’s throat clogged with tears at her cousin’s willing sacrifice. “Piffle.” She laughed off the awkward moment. “You’ve not the backbone to stand up to this viscount. He’ll no doubt be overbearing and haughty beyond measure. You’d be no match for him with your meek acceptance. You’re exactly the kind of woman he expects, and no roundhead deserves to get what he wants. They get what they deserve.”
Belinda’s eyes danced with laughter. “Meek, eh? I don’t recall being so meek when I climbed the wall with you to spy on Tyrone and his pretty barmaid. And what about that summer we dressed as lads to accompany the royal hunting party, though we’d been expressly forbidden to do so?”
Izzy laughed at the recollection. Nay, Belinda wasn’t meek so much as practical, and she was the best friend anyone could ask for, standing at her side when they’d been caught, refusing to let Izzy take the full blame, and had been punished right alongside her. But Belinda had more stringent moral limits and if she knew what Izzy still planned, she’d do everything in her power to stop it. “I misspoke. You’re not meek, just more accepting than I.”
“’Tis why I worry for you so.”
“Please don’t, Bel. I’ll be fine. I only need some time.”
Belinda studied her closely for a moment with pursed lips, then relaxed and nodded. “Go, then. Have a pleasant ride. I’ll see you when you return.”
Izzy pressed a kiss to her cousin’s cheek and launched out of bed, ambling to her wardrobe. What on Earth should she wear for an assignation of this sort? She didn’t have another peasant outfit. Perhaps her plainest gown? But even her most ordinary gown, though worn and faded, would identify her as an aristocrat.
Her eyes lit on the breeches buried at the bottom of the wardrobe, the same ones she’d worn when she and Belinda had infiltrated that hunting party. They’d been cast-offs from her brother Eric when he’d outgrown them. She’d worn them a few times since when she’d gone riding on her own, as they were more practical for riding than a gown.
Would Julian be repulsed? Well, it was better than wearing a gown that shouted her true identity to the world. And more importantly, Belinda would think nothing amiss if she wore them. Bel certainly wouldn’t imagine Izzy was on her way to a clandestine meeting with a man while dressed like a boy!
She pulled the breeches on, then rummaged through the wardrobe until she found the plain linen shirt she sought, another cast-off from one of her brothers.
Pulling on a pair of black riding boots, her ensemble was complete. Would Julian still be willing to make love to her the way she was dressed? She prayed so.
Going to the polished silver mirror, she brushed her hair out, plaiting it into one long, thick braid that hung down her back. How she wished she had the beautiful garland he’d bought her to wear, but it had been lost sometime during the long day. Sighing, she reached for a plain cap instead, since the one she’d worn yesterday had been lost as well. With a quick wave to Belinda, who was still abed, she sauntered out of her chamber.
***
Belinda lay in bed for another ten minutes to make sure Izzy had truly gone. No matter what her cousin said, Belinda knew her better than anyone else in the world. Izzy would never sit back with calm acceptance and let her father dictate her life. Not when she thought herself in love with Paul.
God, Paul. Belinda shuddered at the mere thought of him. Belinda had been glad when she’d heard about the upcoming nuptials with the viscount, not because she wanted to see Izzy unhappy, but because she saw Paul for who he truly was, which was something Izzy never had been able to do. Her cousin was blind when it came to Paul- with good reason. The man was handsome as sin, with flaxen hair and piercing blue eyes. But he was a philanderer and had pursued nearly every woman at the royal court, as well as bedded most of the wives of the men he called friends. He’d once even tried to woo her, during a bout of sheer boredom, and she’d given him a blistering set down, which only seemed to make him more determined. Belinda had kept those advances to herself, all the time hoping Izzy would open her eyes and see the truth about him.
When Paul left for the West Indies to sail with the great Prince Rupert, her relief had been overwhelming. But she’d vowed if he returned for Izzy as he’d promised Belinda would break her silence and tell her cousin the truth.
Virtue and Vice Page 5