Candice Hern

by The Regency Rakes Trilogy

  Mary was never more vibrant than when in his company. She never spoke of any other gentleman with such admiration. Olivia believed Mary was in love with Lord Pemerton, though she probably would never admit it, even to herself. More to the point, she was convinced the marquess would probably never have more than the most casual affection for Mary. Such a situation was bound to end in heartbreak for poor Mary. The pain of her father's physical abuse would be nothing compared to the emotional pain she would endure with such a man—a man who could probably not be faithful if his life depended on it. Did Mary honestly believe she could accept his womanizing? Did she really believe she could ignore the possibility of sharing him with countless other women? Olivia certainly could not have accepted it.

  She wondered if Martin had had mistresses. He was away at sea so much of the time, she supposed it was possible. But it was not an idea she cared to explore.

  The point was, though, that the marquess—most likely in all innocence—was playing to Mary's deep-rooted feelings of insecurity and inferiority, which she took such pains to disguise. Mary had made great progress in her three years of independence, but it was too short a time in which to completely rebuild the confidence that had been stripped away by her father. She was still very fragile. She needed a patient, compassionate man whose love would lead to a final healing. She would need a strong pair of arms to hold her when the inevitable nightmares came. They were less frequent of late, but nevertheless a concern.

  Olivia knew she'd spoken out of turn, but she had done her best yesterday to hint at Mary's vulnerabilities when speaking with Mr. Maitland. Since she knew it was not her place to speak to the marquess directly, she hoped that his uncle would repeat to him some of what she had said.

  Of course, she thought as she gave her collar and sleeves one last adjustment before heading downstairs, she might be worrying over nothing. Mary might not accept him after all.

  Olivia made her way down to the breakfast room and opened the door. Mary was there before her and looked up with a brilliant smile that lit up her face like a candle.

  "Is it not a glorious morning?" she said, her eyes flashing.

  Olivia nodded and forced a smile, knowing in that instant that Mary had made her decision.

  Chapter 12

  Jack felt extraordinarily pleased with himself and with the world at large as he twirled his newly affianced bride around the dance floor at the Duchess of Portland's ball. What a clever fellow I am, he thought, to have effected such a coup.

  He had known, of course, that Mary would not refuse him. How could she? Nevertheless, he had been surprisingly nervous when, in response to her note, he had arrived at Upper Brook Street last Thursday. When he had been greeted by a smiling Mary, who announced her intention of accepting his proposal, he had grasped her by the waist and swung her through the air. She had laughed with him—that rich, throaty laugher he had always thought delightful, but which he now found to be unexpectedly provocative—and he had kissed her again with genuine pleasure.

  "When, Mary?" he asked when they had both come back to earth. "When will you make me happy? Very soon, I hope?" He had crooned into her ear in his most persuasive tone, hoping she would agree to a quick marriage. He was anxious to get on with it.

  "It was a monumental enough decision to accept your proposal. Jack," she had said. "Let me get used to the idea. Please, don't rush me."

  Slightly disappointed, he had agreed to wait until the late summer when he would take her to Pemworth for the wedding. She had, though, given him permission to announce their betrothal immediately. That alone would be enough to hold the creditors at bay until his marriage.

  Ah, sweet Mary, he thought as he looked down into her big hazel eyes. She was going to provide him the means to dig himself at last out of the quagmire of debts he had inherited. He was sincerely grateful to her and would attempt—he really would attempt—to be an accommodating husband. He was fond of her, after all, regardless of the fact that she in no way represented the sort of woman he preferred.

  At least, he thought as pulled the diminutive bundle in his arms closer, she was not completely unattractive to him. And he was relieved that she was not the naive virgin he had expected. He would not, after all, have to worry about an awkward, apprehensive wedding night. In fact, he found that he quite looked forward to bedding Mary, whose responsiveness so far had pleasantly surprised him.

  Jack glanced around the ballroom, noting many smiles and nods of approval as he spun Mary around to the strains of an unfamiliar waltz. He had not been wrong in predicting an engagement to her would go far toward re-establishing for himself—or rather, establishing, since it had never actually existed—a measure of respectability. After the initial astonished reaction to his announcement in the Morning Post, he had heard nothing but warm and sincere congratulations. It seemed that by choosing a woman liked and respected by everyone from the most stiff-necked dowager to the most notorious rake, he had done immense credit to himself. He met with continued congratulations and praise at every turn.

  "Well done, Jack."

  "A wise choice, my lord."

  "She will make you the perfect hostess."

  "Never would have guessed you had so much sense, Jack."

  "Lady Mary is a great favorite of ours, my lord. We are so pleased to see her settled."

  "How astute of you, my boy, to recognize the lady's superior nature."

  "A sensible woman, my lord. She will make a fine marchioness."

  He chuckled to himself, marveling once again at the extraordinary cleverness he had shown by betrothing himself to a woman who could solve his financial woes, warm his bed, and repair his reputation all at once. It was almost too perfect. He grinned with uncontrollable self-satisfaction and gave Mary's waist a gentle squeeze.

  But most satisfying of all, the thing so wonderful that all other considerations paled in comparison, was the information he had had from Mary's man of business. Mr. Fleming had journeyed from Bath especially to meet with Jack and discuss settlements. Mary had chosen not to attend their meeting yesterday afternoon, claiming complete confidence in Fleming and, Jack was intrigued to note, an apparent lack of interest in the whole business.

  He had approached the meeting with some trepidation, anticipating endless awkward questions on his own financial status. He had come prepared to utilize his best Superior Marquess tone to deflect the worst of the probing. But such had not been necessary, as Fleming had been thoroughly professional, not even raising a brow when presented with Jack's circumstances. In fact, it had been Jack and not Fleming who had almost lost his composure, for what he learned from Fleming was so stunning, so incredible that he had been almost knocked off his pins.

  Mary's fortune amounted to something close to a quarter million pounds!

  Jack had done his best not to look flabbergasted, to maintain a casual calm in discussing such a sum. It was not all in cash, of course. There were investments in funds, bank stocks, government securities, cargo shares, and even canal futures. Not to mention enormous annuities to various charities. It was an impressive portfolio, and it was soon to be his.

  Once able to think clearly, he began to appreciate Fleming's conscientious management of Mary's affairs. It was due to Fleming's insistence, and not any particular request from Mary, that trust funds were established to protect the fortune for any children they might have, as well as arrangements for the bulk of the estate to revert to Mary in the case of divorce, annulment, or childless widowhood. This provision did not overly concern Jack as he would certainly never willingly consent to end the marriage, and intended to set about producing an heir as soon as possible. All in all, his future was settled and he was well pleased.

  What a sly little thing she is, he thought as he looked down at Mary once again. Who would have guessed she sat on such a fortune? He believed most of the ton would be as astonished as he was to discover she was worth a quarter million pounds. It followed, therefore, that no one would think him a fortune
hunter.

  How perfectly everything had fallen into place. He could not have planned things better if he had tried.

  The waltz ended, and Jack tucked Mary's hand into the crook of his arm as he led her into supper. Although his cheeks ached from constant smiling, he was so proud of himself he could not seem to stop grinning like a fool. Mary looked up and returned such a brilliant smile that he knew she must be as happy as he was. He suffered a momentary pang of guilt that she was happy for very different reasons.

  Good Lord, he hoped she was not in love with him.

  No, Mary was too sensible for such foolishness. She was no doubt happy to be marrying at all, to have her future settled at last, to have a man to look after her, to stoke her long dormant passions. She was getting precisely what she needed, he thought as they entered the crowded supper room. And so was he. It was ridiculous to harbor needless guilt over such an excellent arrangement.

  * * *

  "Everything seems to be happening so fast," Mary said to her friend Lady Bradleigh. They sat side by side in Mary's carriage as it made its way down the Strand back toward Mayfair. The two ladies had spent the morning selecting fabrics at Layton & Shears on Henrietta Street, and were now on their way to Mrs. Gill's on Cork Street to have them made up into new dresses—Mary for her wedding clothes and the countess to accommodate her rapidly expanding waistline.

  "I feel as though I am moving along at a normal pace," Mary continued, "while the rest of the world speeds past. I have no time to react or consider or focus my concentration for even a moment." She reached over to squeeze her friend's hand. "I am sorry, Emily. I must sound terribly foolish."

  "Nonsense," Emily replied with a smile. "I understand completely. I remember feeling as though I were being swept along by a swift tide once Robert and I announced our betrothal. I had wanted to wait, to allow the gossip to die down. But Robert was very ... impatient." She smiled shyly at Mary, who grinned as she noted the faint blush that colored her friend's cheeks.

  "I suppose we are alike in that respect, at least," Mary said. "Neither of us ever expected to marry and ... well, here we are, both tied to very handsome, eminently eligible, titled gentlemen. Who would have dreamed two years ago that such a thing was possible?"

  "Certainly not I," Emily said. "For myself, at least. I always had a niggling suspicion that some gentleman would win your heart, though, Mary. From the first, you always seemed to be surrounded by gentlemen. I used to marvel at how comfortable you were with them."

  "Yes, I have always found it easy to make friends with gentlemen," Mary said. "It was more difficult with ladies. You and Olivia are my only close female friends, you know."

  It was odd, but until she had spoken the words just now, Mary had never realized how few women she called friends. Olivia, through proximity alone, was an obvious confidante. More than that, they shared a bond from the early days of Mary's independence, through which Olivia had helped her adjust, and for which Mary would be forever grateful. She had been friends with Emily since they had first been introduced in Bath just over two years ago. Emily's golden beauty had impressed Mary almost as much as her total indifference to it. But most of all, Mary had recognized in her a kindred spirit—an intelligent, educated woman who was, for all intents and purposes, alone in the world. Since Emily's marriage to Lord Bradleigh, Mary had missed that shared, though unspoken, understanding. Now, with her own impending marriage to Lord Bradleigh's friend, a renewed level of camaraderie had sprung up quite naturally between the two women.

  "I suspect many ladies were jealous of your unaffected and easy manner with the gentlemen," Emily said, drawing Mary's attention back to their conversation.

  "Perhaps." Mary gazed out the carriage window as they turned from the Hay Market into the heavy traffic of Piccadilly. "They certainly behave differently toward me now. It is almost disconcerting the way people even look at me since our engagement was announced. You would think I was suddenly a different person, though of course I am as plain and insignificant as I ever was."

  "Never plain, Mary," Emily said in a gentle voice. "And hardly insignificant. You are to be a marchioness, after all."

  "It is silly, is it not," Mary said, "how a title, or even the anticipation of a title, can make all the difference to Society? All this toad-eating will take some getting used to, I assure you."

  "I know what you mean," Emily said, her green eyes flashing with amusement. "It took me quite some time to become accustomed to being 'my lady'. At first, whenever someone addressed me as Lady Bradleigh I kept looking over my shoulder expecting to find Robert's grandmother." Emily laughed at the remembrance, and Mary's laughter soon joined in.

  The carriage had by now made its way to Old Bond Street where it stopped and a footman handed the ladies down. Arm in arm, they ignored the jostling of strutting beaux and preening dandies as they walked the short distance to the narrow Vigo Lane and then onto Cork Street, where they arrived at the small but elegant salon of Mrs. Gill, lately experiencing a new popularity due to numerous plates in Ackerman's Repository. As the proprietress and her assistants fell all over themselves to serve a countess and future marchioness, Mary caught Emily's eye and had to stifle a giggle at this further example of the obsequiousness to which she was more frequently subjected of late.

  After almost two hours of reviewing fashion plates, selecting designs, and being measured, poked, and pinned, the two friends returned to the awaiting carriage on Bond Street and journeyed the short distance to Grosvenor Square to partake of a restorative tea at Bradleigh House.

  The countess's condition caused her to tire easily, and so Mary planned to enjoy a quick cup and perhaps a biscuit, and then to be on her way. But Emily refused to let her depart so quickly. She, too, had few close friends and appeared to relish the idea of a long and comfortable coze with Mary. She shamelessly probed her friend on the subject of her betrothal.

  "I have always been fond of Jack," Emily said as she eyed the tea tray with a look of longing, as though she fought the desire for another shortbread biscuit. She wrenched her eyes away and turned her body toward Mary on the other end of the sofa. "He has a shocking reputation, I know," she continued. "But then, so did Robert, so I do not give such talk any consideration. I suspect that, like Robert, Jack is quite ready to settle down and give up his rackety ways. He appears to be most solicitous of you. I find you on his arm at almost every affair we attend."

  "Yes," Mary said, "he has been all that is considerate and attentive. In fact, I have found it surprisingly pleasant to have a constant escort rather than merely a companion. Oh, I still bring Olivia along, for propriety's sake. But everyone knows that I am with Jack, which, I am ashamed to admit, gives me no little satisfaction. Of course, Mr. Maitland, Jack's uncle, is also a constant presence of late. He and Jack are quite close, you know." She smiled conspiratorially at her friend. "But I have begun to suspect the man is more interested in Olivia's company than Jack's."

  Emily's eyes widened in surprise. She reached for a biscuit as she raised her brows in question.

  Mary laughed. She had known her friend would ultimately surrender, as she always did, to Mrs. Dawson's excellent shortbread biscuits. "I must say, it gives me wicked pleasure to imagine my prim and proper Olivia falling victim to such a rakehell. Of course," she said as she reached for a biscuit herself, "the ton must feel the same about Jack and me. I know we make a rather unconventional couple."

  "I think you make a wonderful couple," Emily said. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am that Jack chose you for his bride. But then, how could he help falling in love with you."

  Mary almost choked on her biscuit. Is that what people believed? That Jack was in love with her? Surely not.

  "Jack is not in love with me, Emily."

  "Never say so! Of course he is."

  "No, he is not," Mary said. "He admitted as much to me. He said ... he said he was not capable of loving any woman."

  "Oh, dear." Emily's troubled voice was echoed by her
furrowed brow. She reached over and squeezed Mary's hand. "Did he really say that? The poor man," she said when Mary nodded. "It must have something to do with his first engagement."

  "His what?"

  "Oh, heavens! Have I spoken out of turn? I thought you would have known." When Mary looked puzzled, Emily gave a sigh and continued. "I suppose there is no point in keeping it from you." She eyed Mary warily. "Robert told me about it. It was a long time ago—it must be a dozen or more years ago, in fact. Jack was, according to Robert, a very naive and idealistic young man. A dreamer if you can believe it. Even fancied himself a poet while at Cambridge. He is said to have fallen violently in love with the daughter of a neighbor and soon became engaged to her. I recall that her name was Suzanne. But at the last minute, within days of their wedding, she threw him over for someone else. I don't know the details, only that he was heartbroken."

  "Good Lord," Mary said. "I had no idea."

  "Robert says he was never quite the same after Suzanne's desertion. He became cynical and reckless and wild. But until now, he has never shown the least interest in any other woman ... except for... well... you know. But he is certainly fond of you, even if he cannot admit to being in love with you. It is a good start."

  A good start. Yes, Mary had believed that herself, being fairly certain he was fond of her. But with her new knowledge of his past, she was also fairly certain he would never be any more than that.