by Carrie Lomax
“He also knows you well,” Viola agreed. “And you know him. He might not care about the title, but he does care about the estate and the tenants—as do you. You’ll only hurt and confuse the poor man if you push him away.”
“I wasn’t exactly pushing him away last night.” Harper blushed but smiled suddenly. Viola laughed.
“No, you weren’t. You two were in your own world, and you’ll have to find ways to keep living there if you want to weather the storm. Briarcliff isn’t going to let his son marry you without a fight.”
“It isn’t his decision. Edward is mine, for better or for worse, whatever comes our way. We just have to find a way to make everyone else see that.”
“Good.” Their private conversation concluded, the two women returned to their equipment and home. The weather had clouded considerably during the short ride back, signaling an afternoon rain shower in the making. The storm clouds in the sky could not remotely compare, however, with the thunderstorm on their grandmother’s face as they came into the house.
“Northcote is surely the most arrogant, high‐handed, self‐impressed aristocrat in the history of arrogant, high‐handed, self‐impressed aristocrats!” the baroness declared before the maid had even shut the door behind her.
Harper’s jaw dropped. It was beyond unusual for Gran to say anything about a member of the ton, much less in front of the staff, but she seemed unconcerned now.
Fixing a hawk eye on Harper, the baroness declared, “I hope for your sake that the son is far different from the father. Are you certain you want to marry the Beast of Briarcliff?”
“Lord Northcote?” Harper clarified. “Yes, of course, I want to marry him. I have loved him since the day I first saw him.” Just thinking of that day sent a little tingle of delight along her limbs.
“I see. And will you love him when he is declared a madman?”
“Yes,” Harper said boldly, feeling herself now. Being separated from Edward had weighed on her like an anchor for weeks, but now that they had been reunited, however temporarily, she felt buoyant. “I was not entirely honest with you upon arriving.”
“I never would have guessed,” replied her grandmother drily. “Do tell.”
Harper sketched the details of her affiliation with the Pattons, the peculiarities of her education, and the circumstances of her arrival at Briarcliff. The baroness exhibited little surprise until the end of her narrative. She guessed that the earl had already given her grandmother a version of these events.
“I enjoyed my work at the asylum, Grandmother. I liked helping people, the ones who could be helped. I wanted to become the director, and I would have been good at it, given the chance. I daresay I would have done a better job than Dr. Patton did, or Miller will. With Edward at my side, I could find another opportunity. I cannot support him in elegance and style, but he doesn’t care much for lavish surroundings anyway.” Harper breathed deeply. It was not easy baring one’s heart to a woman fully prepared to rip it to shreds.
Gran eyed her much like a wolf debating whether to attack. “It is fascinating to discover that you have a spine, after all. For the past few weeks I thought you were going to let me bully you into a marriage.”
The old woman settled heavily onto a spindly settee.
“You and your sister, and your entourage, have brought on more fuss and bother than any old body should have to endure,” Gran complained. “I am of half a mind to turn you all out into the streets.”
“Why don’t you?” asked Harper, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Sit down, Harper. I am old. No one lives to my age without developing a few regrets along the way. My greatest regret is letting your grandfather cut your mother off when she eloped. He was so angry, and by the time he was ready to consider reconciling, we couldn’t find her anywhere. Your father was always moving, dodging creditors, even when your mother was ill. After their deaths, Viola simply vanished, married with a new name. I feel that I owe you the kind of start you should have had.” The old woman sighed. “I confess, Edward is enough to remind me I’m not dead. If my granddaughter were married to the most notorious man in London, it would be a coup. With any other man, last night’s attack would have been more than enough to secure a marriage. Yet no one wants to see a gentleman’s daughter endangered by a savage. No one, thus far, is calling for your marriage.”
The baroness paused.
“To be perfectly frank, Lord Briarcliff has threatened to have both you and Edward institutionalized if we ever set foot in the same house together again. He believes you have seduced his susceptible son to gain the title and estate.”
Harper tried to be shocked. Briarcliff had understood more than she had realized. “Unfortunately, the earl has it backward. I wanted to succeed in my work more than I wanted to be in love.”
“I believe you,” the baroness responded. “The earl railed on about your seductive talent, which—no offense, my dear—I highly doubt. You are guileless, and certainly no courtesan. If you have given your heart, I have no doubt that it is with full sincerity, no matter what this demented earl says otherwise.”
Gran sighed and visibly sank into her chair. Tired rings circled her eyes. Something about her description of the earl bothered Harper. Had she ever considered the earl mad? The question lodged in her mind, as irritating as a pebble in her shoe.
“I hadn’t noticed any sign of peculiarity in the father. I thought the lion’s share of dysfunctional behavior and arrogance lay with the brother, Richard,” she commented. But that isn’t altogether true, is it? a little voice whispered. You wrote of it to Dr. Patton. Double the fee, I am treating two patients for the price of one, you joked.
“Perhaps because you had eyes only for the son,” snapped Gran, and Harper quailed.
“Jenny, we shall take tea,” Gran ordered to the maid invisibly dusting in the hall. The maid curtseyed and departed. When she was gone, the baroness continued in a low voice, “Thursday evening is Lady Upton’s dinner. I have received an invitation and am given to understand that the earl will be in attendance with his son. His lordship will not expect you. You will have one opportunity with your wild lord. What will you do with it?”
The tea arrived. They poured and drank. The baroness dismissed the maid and requested that she close the door behind her.
“It is so difficult to scheme adequately with servants about,” the baroness sighed. “They do talk, and it wouldn’t do for word of our plans to get around. Now then, what will be the outcome of your time with Lord Edward?”
Kisses. Definitely kisses. Harper couldn’t stop the thought, or the rush of heat that made her cheeks turn pink. The baroness speared her with an exasperated, steel blue glare.
“In my day, it took more than the prospect of a private conversation with an eligible gentleman to make a girl blush. It was an altogether more interesting time.”
Harper choked on her tea.
Gran rose. “Discuss the matter with your sister. Despite my initial reservations about you both, I find Viola has a level head. She will help you determine the best course of action. I shall provide the opportunity. You must determine how to make the best use of it.”
And with that, the old lady excused herself to attend to her correspondence.
Chapter 20
“Hair?” Harper touched the tips of her fingers to the elaborate coiffure pinned to her scalp. Just beyond the grand marbled foyer, the sounds of many conversations drifted through the grand hallway.
“Perfect,” Viola replied, gently brushing her sister’s hands away before they could disturb the carefully crafted curls.
“Gown?” she asked.
“Impeccably stylish,” her sister confirmed.
It was made of blue silk with fine lace at the bodice. The lace made Harper itch.
“Stop scratching,” Viola demanded. Harper obeyed, for the moment.
“Jewels?” she asked, delaying the moment she knew was coming just a while longer.
“Glin
ting like the shiny bits of glass they are. No one cares that they’re paste. You’re not nervous, are you?”
“Not a bit.” Harper straightened her spine and forced herself to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. “Gird your loins, sister. We are going into the lion’s den.”
Viola smiled sympathetically and offered her arm. Arm in arm they sauntered casually through the draped entryway to the ballroom. At first, few noticed them. A startled glance here and there, a few outright snubs as the two sisters smiled and nodded politely at anyone who looked their way.
“Breathe,” Viola whispered. Harper exhaled.
“Fancy this! What a pleasant surprise to be honored again with two such graceful visions. After the debacle last week, no one ever thought to see you again. We thought it would be the battleaxe Baroness Landor tonight instead.”
Viola stopped short. Harper’s body was as taut as a bowstring, but her sister’s alarm added to her tension.
“Lord Dalton. The surprise is all mine,” Viola replied. Her voice sounded strangely choked. Harper was too busy staring at Lord Dalton’s companion to truly notice.
“Your lordships,” she curtseyed to Lord Dalton and Richard Northcote, who was eyeing her as though she was a particularly disgusting specimen of insect life. Harper gave a cautious smile. She’d forgotten how satisfactory it was to give Richard the megrims, simply by existing. She couldn’t stop the urge to tweak his nose, just a bit.
“I trust you’ve recovered from your recent altercation?” Harper asked brightly. “It was in all the newspapers. I am relieved to see you suffered only minor injuries.”
Lord Dalton made a strangled coughing sound, while Viola covered a smile with one gloved hand. Richard visibly seethed. Though his eye was open, a great green and yellow bruise flowered across the left side of his face, mottled with purple and violet. His lower lip still bore a scab from being split, and it looked puffy at the center. Harper peered at it, her needling forgotten.
“Have you had that looked at?” she asked with genuine alarm. “It appears to be infected.”
“I spit upon the medical advice of the fraudulent Dr. Forsythe,” Richard snarled. Snarling appeared to hurt. He winced, then sketched a bow at Viola and whispered something to Lord Dalton before turning on his heel and departing.
“Such rudeness,” Lord Dalton commented disdainfully. “Then again, Richard always held himself above needing to fuss with the usual niceties.”
“You know him well?” Viola asked, a little breathlessly.
“Oh, yes, Richard was a class ahead of me at Eton. He was merciless even then.”
Lord Dalton’s excessive handsomeness seemed to be taking a toll on her sister’s wits, so Harper looped her arm through Viola’s and tugged slightly. “I don’t believe we have been introduced.”
“Miss Forsythe, I beg your pardon. I am Piers Ranleigh, sixth viscount Dalton, at your service. Your sister and I have only been improperly introduced, during the scramble to find you at Lady Stockton’s unexpectedly exciting party a few nights ago.”
“I see. Viola hadn’t mentioned meeting you.” Harper shot her sister a speculative glance. Viola’s pale cheeks were stained pink. They were interrupted by a tinkling sound reverberating throughout the room. Dalton looked past his companions toward the dais where the orchestra was pausing between sets. A balding, portly man energetically banged a fork against a champagne glass.
The tone was quickly taken up by the room.
“I believe your quarry is standing on the dais,” Lord Dalton said as Harper and Viola turned as one to look.
Sure enough, Edward stood slightly apart, looking angry and uncomfortable. Not angry. Volcanic. Harper had seen him at his most vulnerable, but she’d never seen him so ready to explode.
“Why is Richard whispering in Lord Briarcliff’s ear?” Viola asked sotto voce. Harper tore her gaze from Edward with considerable difficulty. Charles chose that moment to glance her direction. Their eyes met, and he blanched.
“Whatever is happening, it is not good,” whispered Viola.
Harper’s mouth went dry. Edward’s misery as he tugged at his collar, until the cravat threatened to unravel, twisted her heart until it threatened to snap in two. Harper tried not to feel disappointed that he didn’t notice her in the crowd, but part of her couldn’t help it. She tried waving. Perhaps the sight of a friend would calm him enough to get through whatever calamity was taking place. Lord Briarcliff took the stage.
“Friends, I interrupt your evening with a momentous announcement. As you know, scarcely three months ago my long‐lost son was returned to me after a prolonged absence. I am overjoyed at Edward’s return to me and to society. I thank you for welcoming Edward with great patience and forbearance as he relearns the ways of a society he thought never to see again.
“Tonight, I bear the joyful news that Edward will be joined in holy matrimony with Lady Mary Whitney, daughter of Lord Fairwyck, one week hence.”
A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Harper felt the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes.
Viola nudged her. “Smile and clap.”
Mechanically, Harper forced herself to applaud. She had always thought that the notion of blood draining from one’s face was an overwrought figure of speech, until she felt it happening to her. Only Lord Dalton’s hand at her elbow kept her upright.
“Mary, Edward, please come forward.”
A beautiful girl with raven hair, limpid gray eyes and skin like alabaster stepped forward. Crystals glinted in her black hair, and her white gown displayed a figure, just verging on plumpness, to perfection. Any reluctance to place her hand in Edward’s was surely modesty, not revulsion. They made a striking pair. But there was no soft gaze between the affianced, who maximized every inch of distance they could on the dais. Instead, Edward scanned the crowd until he met found Harper’s gaze and locked. Only the heat she saw there allowed Harper to breathe again. A fierce possessiveness fairly scorched the air between them.
“Many of you, including myself, questioned Edward’s sanity upon his return,” the earl droned on. “I have every confidence that Mary will help him relearn our ways and guide him in his role as the future earl of Briarcliff.”
The audience exploded with applause. Edward’s horror was carved in the stone of his features, while Mary stood still impassively as Lord Fairwyck began to speak. He alone beamed rosily, his balding pate sweatily reflecting light from the crystal chandeliers.
Harper’s knees buckled. Viola caught her elbow. Without her sister’s support, she would have collapsed. Edward was lost to her. It wasn’t possible. They had just been reunited. How could he marry someone else?
“Well, I daresay that announcement gave Richard a rather nasty turn,” a familiar voice said as they had nearly reached the door.
Dalton.
“Why so?” demanded Harper, startled.
“I would have said Edward was the one who appeared the most shocked,” added Viola.
“Northcote must have known something in advance. You know how little say young aristocrats have in their marriages, they still must say yes at the altar. For Richard to be disinherited so publicly, that must smart. He was always touchy about being the second in line. Now he would have to go through Mary to have his brother declared incompetent.”
“Is that even possible?” asked Viola. “I thought estates were always entailed upon the first son.”
“They are. But if Edward is declared incompetent, Richard would likely run Briarcliff until his brother’s death. Incarceration would ensure there is no issue, for he wouldn’t be capable of entering into a legal marriage. It would take years, but eventually Briarcliff would pass to Richard and any of his legitimate heirs.”
“Edward’s incarceration would likely lead to his death,” said Harper grimly.
“Not easily, nor quickly.” Dalton shrugged. “It would be better for Richard to prevent the marriage from happening in the first place. Poor Mary. She always was a sad case, though
pretty as can be.”
Dalton peeled away from the marble column he had been leaning against. Harper noticed how handsome the man was, with dark, tousled hair, a strong jaw and penetrating dark eyes. Though he must be younger than Richard, his bearing was older, as though he had seen a great deal from life despite his youth.
“Fancy a lift?” he offered casually.
“Oh, we needn’t—” Viola started.
“Yes. Yes, please,” Harper interjected. “I want to hear more about Mary Whitney.”
Like many who lived in London, the baroness hired transportation from a local stable where she had access to a variety of carriages suitable to any purpose. It spared her the expense and hassle of maintaining cattle in London, but consequently they did not expect the carriage to return for some time.
“Not at all.” Lord Dalton motioned for a runner to bring around his equipment. They had little competition at this early hour. They stood there awkwardly in the night air, just tinged with the coolness of fall.
“Are you cold?” Dalton asked, looking straight at Viola.
“I’m fine,” she murmured.
“I could lend you my jacket.”
“Your coach is loan enough.”
“Your help is most appreciated,” Harper said determinedly, elbowing her sister. The door to the vehicle had barely closed when she leaned forward and demanded, “Tell me everything about Mary Whitney.”
Dalton smiled. “Mary, as you saw just now, is lovely in every way. She sings beautifully, reads only the most saccharine and insipid poetry, and dances gracefully. She is the perfect choice to redeem Edward in the eyes of society.”
Harper blanched. “Edward doesn’t care about those things.”
“Does it matter? Everyone else does, including his father,” Dalton shot back.
“He doesn’t even know her. How can Edward marry her?” Harper sighed and sat back hard against the squabs. Dalton shrugged again.
“Personal preference has very little to do with society marriages. I do have one interesting piece of information for you. Lately Mary has not been her usual sweet, biddable self. It is rumored that she has set her cap for a poet, if one is charitably inclined to describe the kind of drivel he produces.”