Trixie lifted her head to bark halfheartedly as the Earl stepped into the room.
“I fear,” remarked Micah, bending to scratch the setter’s ears, “that you have lost your most loyal swain. Unless I mistake the matter, Letty means to have him for her latest cicisbeo.”
Tilda laughed. “Poor Timothy! I fear I have never been able to take him seriously.” Trixie thumped her tail.
“You will go against your brother’s wishes?” Micah’s expression was quizzing. “Tilda, you astonish me.”
“I have no intention of marrying Timothy,” commented Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson, “and I have repeatedly told Bevis so.”
“I doubt that he is undeterred.”
“On the contrary, he has observed that I showed uncommon good sense in so doing.” She smiled complacently at Micah’s expression. “I found it necessary to explain my reasons.”
“Ah.” Enlightenment dawned. “So Agatha saw fit to inform you of Timothy’s part in our tragedy.”
“Yes,” Tilda agreed. “Bevis failed to understand that my sentiments were not prompted by Timothy’s actions, but by his failure to accept the responsibility.”
“What would it have served,” inquired the Earl, “to involve yet another person in the scandal?”
“He was Cassandra’s lover,” Tilda said stubbornly.
“So?” Micah inquired. “Timothy was not her only conquest.”
“I marvel that you remain so calm.”
“My good girl,” protested the Earl, “it was over a long time ago, and I fully accept my share of the blame. It is no more than I deserve, for marrying her in a fit of pique. You had broken off our engagement, and I was determined to teach you a lesson.” Micah looked rueful. “The follies of callow youth.”
“I wonder why I did it,” Tilda mused. “I cannot recall.”
“I believe that particular argument concerned my character. As I recall, you called me a loose screw and a hardened rake-shame, among other things.”
Tilda winced. “Surely not!” The Earl quirked an eyebrow, and she hastily changed the subject. “What have you done with Alastair?”
“I? Nothing.” Micah’s voice conveyed regret. “The Comte is very persuasive. Lord Bechard has found that the English climate no longer suits him and will make a long sojourn abroad.”
“Poor Maddy,” Tilda murmured. “The coil was not entirely of her making, though we all assumed it was.”
The Earl exhibited little concern. “I fancy she’ll recover her spirits quickly enough. Lionel is disposed to see her in a more kindly light, having witnessed her praiseworthy behavior under adversity.” His tone was amused.
“Lionel?” Tilda was startled. “And you will make no effort to prevent this?”
“Why should I?” Micah asked. “Since Agatha seems determined to introduce her into the family?”
“It was not Lionel that Agatha had in mind,” Tilda pointed out.
The Earl smiled. “Perhaps not, but I trust she’ll be content. I’ve no intention of marrying such a vexatious chit.” As if the thoughts were related, he added, “I have yet to compliment you on your marksmanship.”
“I wished for excitement,” Tilda said ruefully. “I was well served.” She sighed. “Now things will return to the daily routine. I vow I shall miss Alastair!”
“You need not be bored,” Micah observed. “Consider the possibilities offered by travel. Among the tombs of Egypt, you might comport yourself in as depraved a manner as you pleased.”
“Observed only by the moldering mummies of ancient pharaohs?” Tilda was not displeased by the idea. “I am surprised that you would make such a suggestion.”
“Am I such a puritan?” Wilmington inquired. “I meant, of course, that you would be properly escorted, preferably by myself.”
Tilda did not give this suggestion the consideration that it, perhaps, deserved. “Micah, I am truly sorry that matters have not worked out for you. Are you certain that Maddy will not change her mind?”
“I most devoutly hope not!” the Earl said fervently. “That graceless damsel has already caused sufficient trouble.” He observed her expression. “My love, you are a goose.”
Tilda was too startled to take offense. “But I was sure,” she protested, “that you wanted the girl!”
“So am I repaid for my efforts on your behalf,” Micah observed. “I merely sought to offer your officious brother a false scent, and thus avoid bringing his wrath down upon your head. Bevis would hardly be pleased to learn that my real interest is in you.”
With some agitation, Tilda turned away. “Micah, this will not do! I tell you, I mean to marry no one.”
“I know what it is,” Wilmington remarked. “You think I will play ducks and drakes with your fortune.”
Tilda laughed shakily. “It will not serve, Micah. Pray do not press me.”
“It is a good thing,” commented the Earl with strong emotion, “that Fate disposed of Dominic before I was driven to do so!”
Tilda murmured incoherently. “I see,” Micah observed, “that I am forced to be ungentlemanly. Your fears are groundless, Tilda. Dismiss the foolish conviction that any man must be disappointed in you.”
Tilda flushed. “Dominic was,” she said quietly.
Micah studied her averted face. “Dominic was not an ordinary man. He was also a fool.”
“How did you know?” Tilda clenched her hands till the knuckles showed white. “Was it so obvious?”
“My dear, I know you rather well.” The Earl exhibited unusual patience. “Tell me, why did you not have the marriage annulled?”
“To what purpose?” Tilda inquired. “You misunderstand, Micah, I knew how it would be. Dominic made me no promises that he could not keep.”
Micah swung her around to face him with an ungentle hand. His eyes blazed with wrath. “You agreed to so unnatural a marriage?” he demanded. “Tilda, you fool! How could you do such a senseless thing?”
Tilda was not accustomed to such rough treatment. “It suited me very well,” she retorted. “I was very fond of Dominic, and he was not unkind to me.”
The Earl shook her. “And you nourished the futile hope that you might alter his tastes? I would not have thought you could be so green!”
“What else was I to do?” Tilda’s expression was fierce. “You made great haste to marry Cassandra. Was I to spend my life being badgered by Bevis? Or to give you the satisfaction of seeing me dwindle into an old maid? Micah, cease to manhandle me!”
Rather than obliging this command, the Earl enveloped Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson in an extremely ardent embrace. It was not at all the way that one should treat a lady of gentle birth, being more suited to one of those individuals known as “high-flyers” or “bits of muslin,” but it had the effect of convincing both participants that neither was likely to suffer the least disappointment in further activities of a similar nature.
“After that,” remarked the Earl with no small satisfaction, “you have no choice but to marry me.”
Tilda discovered in herself no inclination to disagree. “Agatha,” she remarked, “will not approve.”
“Agatha’s objections are easily overcome,” said the Earl, “being unfounded. I have come to suspect that this is what she intended all along, for the Duchess is most unscrupulous.” Tilda found it remarkably comfortable to rest her head again his chest. “And since I intend to marry you with unseemly haste, she will have won her bet”
“Her bet?”
“Why, that you would be married within the year.” Micah laughed. “You have proven most stubborn in clinging to your single state.” He paused. “I wagered that her efforts would prove fruitless, for I was determined you would wed no one but myself.”
“Wretch!” proclaimed Tilda, and lifted her face to be kissed. The Earl was quick to oblige.
This pleasant pastime might have continued indefinitely, so enjoyable was its pursuit, had not the Duke of Abercorn determined to once more seek to persuade his sister to reason
before departing from her home. He paused on the threshold of the room, so startled that he momentarily forgot his throbbing foot. “Well!” said he in a tone of profound disapproval. Intrepid, distracted from his schemes to devour Wordsworth, scampered under the chair.
“Abercorn.” The Earl was not discomposed. “Felicitations are in order. You witness the future Lady Wilmington.” Tilda braced herself for the explosion that was to come.
“Thank God!” said Bevis. “I’d begun to think you’d never do the thing.” He observed their startled expressions, and frowned. “I admit that I was once against the match, but after reacquaintance with my sister, I begin to think you are possibly the only person who may exert any degree of control.” He regarded his irksome sibling, who wore a look of besotted bliss. Bevis was not so foolish as to consider this an indication of continued docility. “I wish you joy of the task.”
“You may.” Micah gazed upon the carroty curls that warned of their owner’s temper, and smiled lazily. “For a joy it will be.”
Copyright © 1977 by Maggie MacKeever
Originally published by Fawcett Crest (0449231474)
Electronically published in 2006 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
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