Candice Hern

by The Regency Rakes Trilogy

  Mary reached over and kissed Olivia's cheek. "You are right, my wise friend," she said. "I have some serious thinking to do." She rose from the sofa and shook out her skirts. "Would you be terribly disappointed if we did not attend Lady Sewell's card party tonight after all? I should prefer, I think, a quiet evening at home in order to consider my decision."

  "Of course I do not mind. In fact, I think it would be best. Besides, I could use an early night for once!"

  "Poor dear. I do keep you busy, do I not?"

  Olivia smiled and returned to her embroidery.

  "I shall just go and pen a note to Lady Sewell, then," Mary said. She left the drawing room and headed down the stairs to the small study on the first floor. She pulled a chair up to the front of a mahogany secretaire. The open flap was already littered with books, letters, and lists, as well as writing paper, two quills, and a silver wax jack. She quickly penned a note of apology to Lady Sewell.

  After melting the sealing wax and carefully applying it to the folded paper, she fell back in her chair and heaved a great sigh. She glanced around the room, searching for any other trivial activity that would allow her to put off thinking about her decision for another few moments. But thoughts of Jack kept intruding.

  She would probably be a fool to reject his offer. It was certainly the only opportunity she would ever have for a husband and family, something she had never before allowed herself to consider, so remote were the chances of it ever happening. Any other woman in her situation would jump at such a rare opportunity. She wanted to jump at this opportunity. So why, then, did she hesitate?

  She could not have admitted it to Olivia, but her real concern, her most fundamental fear, was that she would lose her heart to Jack and that he would never be able to return her affection. If she screwed up her courage and decided to marry him, she must take care to protect her heart. She had spent most of her life steeling herself against her father's hatred. Over the years she had developed so many layers of armor around her heart that it was surely almost completely safe from harm. A simple tightening of that armor would, she hoped, act as a safeguard against any assault, however unintentional, from Jack.

  If she married him, she would accept his offer for what it was and nothing more: a promise of security and companionship and perhaps even physical passion. It would have to be enough.

  If she married him, she would accept him for what he was and not expect any miraculous change of character. She would always remember that he was a habitual womanizer and would probably be unfaithful from the start.

  If she married him, she would learn to ignore his infidelities and remember that those other women had nothing to do with her. She would never question him about his private activities.

  If she married him, she would learn to take what happiness she could and be grateful for it.

  It should not be that difficult, after all. If nothing else, twenty-six years under her father's roof had taught her one thing: no expectations meant no disappointments. She would never expect from Jack what he could not give.

  If she married him.

  Chapter 11

  "Jack?" Edward Maitland asked as his nephew was shown into the breakfast room of his town house the next morning. "No, no, Jayston, this cannot be my nephew. Black Jack has never been known to show his face at such an ungodly hour. This must be some impostor. Show the blackguard out."

  Jack smiled as he sauntered into the room, passing an amused glance over the brightly colored silk banyan and matching tasseled cap his uncle wore. "It is no less wonderful to see my dissolute uncle up and about so early. And," he said, flicking the gold tassel hanging over his uncle's ear, "in such charming dishabille."

  "You like this?" Edward asked, holding his arms out in display. "I had it off a Turkish sultan I met years ago on my travels. Embroidered by one of his more accommodating wives."

  "Lovely," said Jack.

  "At least I can claim not to be properly dressed at such an hour." Edward, motioning for Jack to take a chair across the table from him. "What brings you here this early, looking so disgustedly bright and fresh and turned out like nine pence?"

  "I was hungry," Jack said, taking a seat. "I have come to be fed."

  Edward laughed. "Jayston?"

  The butler nodded and said, "I will have Cook prepare another beefsteak, my lord." He poured Jack a steaming cup of coffee before leaving the room.

  Jack surveyed the sideboard, and had soon piled a plate high with scrambled eggs, kippers, bread, and jam. There was still room, however, for the anticipated beefsteak.

  Edward glared at Jack and raised his brows in question. "So?"

  Jack grinned and flung his arms wide. "I feel like a new man, Uncle. I can actually begin to see an end to my troubles. I am rejuvenated. Exhilarated. Invincible!"

  Edward eyed him warily. "You are certain she will accept your offer, then?"

  "Of course she will."

  "How can you be so sure?" Edward rose to refill his cup of coffee. "I thought you had some difficulty yesterday."

  "I had just about convinced her when you—with deplorable timing, I must say—returned with Mrs. Bannister. She was ready to surrender, I tell you." He slathered a slice of bread with jam and took a large bite. "I expect her formal acceptance today," he said through a full mouth.

  "Well." Edward returned to his chair and stared at Jack for a long hard moment. Finally, in a flat voice he said, "I suppose I am to wish you happy, then."

  Jack held a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. "I would appreciate a little more enthusiasm, Uncle. It is a wonderful thing, after all."

  "Is it?"

  "Indeed it is," Jack said as he replaced the fork on his plate. "I cannot imagine why you are less than sanguine about the thing. You know my situation. I thought you agreed that this was the only solution."

  Edward leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Yes, yes, yes," he said, fluttering a hand dismissively. "I understand your dilemma. And I agree that marriage is your best recourse. But..."

  "I have no idea what your objections are, Uncle," Jack said around another mouthful of egg. "But I promise you my good spirits will not be dashed. I feel like shouting from the rooftops. But please, feel free to rail on about the evils of marriage and my unsuitability to be anyone's husband. Lecture all you want. I shall listen politely, but I assure you, the thing will be done. And today."

  Edward uttered an exasperated huff. "I was not about to prose on against the noble state of matrimony. I realize it is too late for that. And useless, considering your circumstances. It is simply ..." He paused, shaking his head.

  "Go on," Jack prompted. "It is simply what?"

  Edward continued shaking his head. "I am not sure, my boy. But I cannot help wondering if Lady Mary is the right choice."

  "Because she is no beauty? Uncle! She is very, very rich. That makes her the perfect choice."

  "But are you the right choice for her?"

  "Ha!" Jack gave a crack of laughter as he slammed a palm on the table with a force that sent dishes bouncing and rattling. "Of course I am not good enough for her. How could I be? If I have been a dissolute libertine, who taught me to be so? Who took me to my first whore? Who introduced me to every low gaming hell in Town? Who taught me to scoff at Society's rules? Who—"

  "Enough!" Edward held up a hand and laughed. "I admit to having done all those things and more, and would do so again." His tone became more serious. "Jack, my boy ... I have always seen you as a reflection of my younger self. You were the only member of our stiff-rumped family who understood and appreciated my particular approach to life. I have always loved you, Jack, probably because we are so much alike. That is why I know you would be wrong for Lady Mary."

  Jack sobered instantly. He had not expected such circumspection from Uncle Edward, of all people. "I know that I am not even remotely suited to be a good husband," he said. "I had expected to finish out my life in blissful bachelorhood, following in your footsteps. But that is no longer an
option for me. And if—when— Mary accepts me, you can be sure I will not forget what I owe to her. I would not willfully harm her in any way. But tell me, Uncle, why the sudden concern for Mary?"

  "I know I have no right to interfere." Edward removed the cap from his head, tossed it on the table, and ran his fingers nervously through his silver hair. "Blame it on Mrs. Bannister," he said with a sheepish grin.

  "Mrs. Bannister?" Jack smiled and cocked a brow in question.

  "While we were in the conservatory yesterday," Edward said, "she was quite talkative."

  "What a shame," Jack said in a sarcastic tone. "I thought you were seducing her."

  "I would have liked nothing more, but she never stopped talking long enough to allow me to do so. She was afraid, you see, of leaving Lady Mary alone with you. It seems Mrs. Bannister does not trust you."

  Jack snorted.

  The door opened and Jayston returned at that moment and placed before Jack a huge, steaming beefsteak swimming in its own juices. Jack eyed it ravenously—the eggs, it seemed, had only whetted his appetite—and lost no time slicing off a large, juicy chunk.

  "Anyway," Edward continued when the butler had departed once again, "to keep Mrs. Bannister out of the drawing room for more than a few minutes I had to hint—rather broadly, I confess—about your intentions. She was shocked, to put it mildly. I expected a flurry of outraged objections, but to my surprise she spoke only of Lady Mary and how devoted to her she was, how concerned she was for her happiness. She went on at length, though with very few details, about the suffering that poor lady had endured in her life. She was worried that you might be the cause of additional heartache."

  Suffering? What sort of suffering? Jack wondered as he speared another piece of beefsteak. He vaguely recalled Lord Bradleigh's having mentioned something about Mary's painful past, but he couldn't remember precisely what he had said. Anyway, it was unimaginable that anyone as perpetually cheerful and full of life as Mary could have done much suffering. Perhaps they were merely hinting of her failed elopement—a painful experience, to be sure. But, good Lord, that was a dozen years ago.

  "I know something of Mary's past," he said. "She knows I don't hold it against her. Besides, if you and Mrs. Bannister are so concerned about my breaking Mary's heart, then you may rest easy. I was very honest with her. She knows I am not offering her my heart, and I do not believe she is offering hers to me. It is to be an amicable arrangement, nothing more. She understands that."

  "I hope you are right," said Edward. "Mrs. Bannister made me very uneasy about the whole thing. She was very forceful in her opinion that Lady Mary is more vulnerable than she lets on, that she would never be free of the ghost of her father."

  "Her father?"

  "Assheton," Edward's brow furrowed and his voice turned somber. "I remember him slightly. A very odd fish. There were rumors at one time that he was not quite sane." His gaze drifted off into the distance, eyes narrowing as if he were trying to drag up an elusive memory. "What must life with him have been like for that poor girl?" he said almost to himself. "You know," he continued, returning his attention to Jack, "I cannot recall ever hearing that the man had a daughter. You would have thought if she had been out in Society these ten years or more we would have known of her. Did you have any knowledge of her before these last few weeks?"

  "I am said to have been introduced to her at Bradleigh's wedding last year," Jack said. "But I have no recollection of it. I remind you, Uncle, that she is not the sort of woman either of us would have given a second glance, and therefore it is not so unusual that we might have overlooked her all those years."

  "You could be right, I suppose," Edward said in a less than convincing tone. "But I wonder..."

  "Look, Uncle, if Mary has been unfortunately overlooked and lonely all these years, she will be so no longer. She will be my marchioness and therefore in great demand. Besides, it will not be as cold an arrangement as it sounds. I am really quite fond of her, you know. And," he added with a grin, "she is surprisingly passionate."

  "Indeed?"

  "Yes, and that is all you shall have out of me on the subject. I may be a rogue and a scoundrel, but beneath it all I am a gentleman born and bred. Suffice it to say," he said as he finished the last of the beefsteak, "that the idea of marriage to Mary is not a completely unpleasant one."

  * * *

  Olivia sat at her dressing table and pondered her future as she pinned her chignon into place. She had expected to be with Mary for years to come, but Lord Pemerton's offer changed everything. Although she had always hoped Mary would someday find a nice gentleman to settle down with, she had never actually expected it. In the three years she had been with her, Mary had shown a complete lack of interest in courtship or marriage; and so Olivia had more or less determined, reluctantly, that marriage for her employer was unlikely.

  It just went to show how unpredictable life can be.

  She had left Mary alone the previous evening to ponder her decision. It was clear to Olivia—though perhaps not to Mary—that Mary had already made up her mind. And so she must consider what to do when Mary no longer needed a paid companion.

  Prior to her employment with Mary, she had been companion to an elderly woman, and then chaperone to a young girl in her first Season. It should not be difficult to secure another post, although the idea of beginning a new life in a strange household was not one she relished. Not for the first time that morning, she wished that Martin was still alive. How she would love to have a home of her own once again, and her dear Martin to curl up against at night. Though she adored her present employer, how much more preferable to have a life she could call her own. It was not impossible. Perhaps she would marry again.

  Marry again? Where had that notion sprung from? She blushed for the benefit of the room as the image of Edward Maitland came to mind. Her hands flew to her cheeks as she stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. What was wrong with her? A respectable middle-aged woman had no business harboring thoughts of such a man. She should be ashamed of herself.

  And yet, he had been so charming yesterday. No, it was more than charm. She had been the object of his considerable charm on other occasions. Yesterday, his comfortable presence had reminded her somehow of Martin, open and friendly and compassionate. How odd to liken him to Martin. Two more different men she could not imagine. Nevertheless, for a short time yesterday she had felt a closeness with Mr. Maitland that she would have found unthinkable had she not experienced it.

  She had been nervous and awkward in Mr. Maitland's company and had chattered like a magpie at first. When he made it clear that Lord Pemerton intended to make Mary an offer of marriage, she had been stunned. Her first instinct had been to protest, believing the man to be a heartless scoundrel. But it was not her place to object, and besides, it would have been rude to denounce Lord Pemerton's character in front of his uncle. Instead, nervous and confused, she had rattled on about Mary.

  "She is such a sweet woman. She deserves so much happiness."

  Edward had laughed. "Your knotted brow tells me you are worried she may not find that happiness with my nephew."

  Olivia had felt herself blush. "I only want Mary to be happy."

  "I have met Lady Mary only these few times," he'd said, "but I liked her at once. I can understand your fondness for her. She has such a vivacity about her. One cannot help but to be drawn to her. And as for Jack, you mustn't be deceived about his character, dear lady," he said, laying a hand momentarily on her arm. "He may be a rascal in public—which, correct me if I am wrong, seems to intrigue Lady Mary—but in fact, he is a good boy at heart. He has certainly been a dutiful and loving son to my sister."

  "You are correct about Mary's strange affinity for scoundrels," she said, darting a glance at Mr. Maitland, who laughed. "I have never completely understood it. But I am relieved by your assurance of Lord Pemerton's true nature. Mary has not had much experience with men of good character."

  Before she knew what
she was doing, Olivia had begun to speak altogether too freely about Mary's past. Mr. Maitland had not apparently made the connection with the late Earl of Assheton and had been amazed to learn that Mary was his daughter.

  "I am not surprised to hear that Lady Mary led a somewhat less than happy life in her father's castle," he had said. "I met him only a few times, but it was enough to know that I never cared to meet him again." His nose had wrinkled and a visible shudder had passed through his upper body. "I was thoroughly uncomfortable in his presence," he had continued. "It was his eyes. A slightly vacant look, but with an odd sort of wicked amusement behind it, as if he was secretly laughing at everyone. He had a way of looking at you—a piercing, steady glare down his long nose—that made you squirm to get away."

  Olivia had been fascinated to add Mr. Maitland's impressions of the late Earl of Assheton to the information she already had from Mary. She began to put together a more complete picture of the man whose probable madness had made life miserable for his only daughter. It had touched her somehow that Mr. Maitland seemed to understand.

  She wondered if he had shared that understanding with his nephew?

  Olivia reached for her best lace-trimmed morning cap and forced thoughts of Mr. Maitland from her mind. She tucked her chignon snugly under the cap's full crown and tied its ribbon beneath her right ear as she turned her thoughts once again to her most immediate concern. She really must begin to make plans to find another post, although she supposed there was still a remote possibility that Mary would reject Lord Pemerton's offer. Olivia sincerely hoped that she would—and not because she would lose her position. She honestly believed Lord Pemerton would ultimately cause Mary a great deal of unhappiness.

  Mary was not being quite honest with herself, Olivia thought as she gave one last fluff to the lace framing her face and rose from the dressing table. She had observed Mary's many acquaintances and even friendships with rakes, rogues, courtesans, and libertines. Olivia had always disapproved on principle, but had seldom actually had cause for concern. It was somehow different this time. Mary's friendship with Lord Pemerton had stirred her apprehension from the start. Olivia had even attempted to encourage the marquess's interest in Miss Carstairs and others, in hopes of putting an end to his association with her employer.