by Brenda Hiatt
"It was such a foolish thing, really," she said, hating her own simpering tone. "Lord Marcus offered to take me walking about Mayfair, but before returning home I insisted on stopping for a sip of something, as it was so warm. He did warn me that it was not precisely proper for me to step into his house, but as it was only for a moment, I fear I paid him no mind."
Her father chuckled indulgently. "Quinn can be rather stubborn at times, too often to her own undoing. Isn't that right, Lord Marcus?"
Thus applied to, the gentleman nodded, though his face was still expressionless, Quinn noticed. "Yes indeed. Dear, impulsive Quinn." Though his words sounded almost mechanical, they seemed to have the desired effect.
Lady Mountheath's overeager smile vanished, to be replaced by an expression that reminded Quinn forcibly of a dog deprived of a coveted bone.
"You gentlemen would do well to instruct the young lady in proper English behavior," she said severely, her eyes still darting suspiciously to each of their faces in turn. "What might be permissible in the wilds of America can destroy a lady's reputation here, I assure you."
"Yes, my lady, I am just coming to realize that," said Quinn meekly, though she seethed inwardly at the denigration of her homeland. "I will certainly be more circumspect in future."
Lady Mountheath sniffed, plainly still disbelieving but thwarted by their united front. "I hope so, for your sake, my dear. A reputation is such a fragile thing, after all."
On that unmistakeable note of warning, she left them, to Quinn's vast relief. She had no time for reflection, however, for now Miss Chalmers and the Misses Melks closed in, wanting to know every detail of the fictitious betrothal.
"Love at first sight," sighed Miss Augusta. "How very romantic! And you sly things, pretending that you had only just met. Wasn't that sly, Lucinda?"
Her sister agreed, with a look that told Quinn that she was the more perceptive of the two. "Indeed. Did you really believe you could keep it a secret? How long will it take for the news to reach your brother in America?"
Quinn glanced at her father and saw that he was unprepared to elaborate on the story he had himself put forward. "Not for a month or more, I fear," she said quickly, before any hesitation could be noticed. "The shipping schedules must be taken into account, as well as the weather."
Captain Peverill belatedly agreed with this assessment, sending Quinn a grateful glance. With scant assistance from Lord Marcus, who still appeared stunned by the turn of events, she and her father managed to answer or deflect the volley of questions that ensued.
Finally, the three ladies made their excuses, no doubt to spread the word among their other acquaintances. Captain Peverill seized the opportunity to speak briefly to Lord Marcus.
"Thank you, my lord, for doing the honorable thing. I realize a betrothal is not what you had planned."
The gentleman regarded him warily. "Er, not precisely, no," he admitted. "That is—"
"Well of course not," exclaimed Quinn. "I cannot believe you told everyone such a thing, Papa! Now we will look even more foolish when it becomes known that there was never any betrothal at all." Still, the idea of being betrothed to the handsome Lord Marcus caused an odd flutter in her midsection. A mere aftermath from her shock, no doubt.
"Moderate your tone," her father said sternly. "Perhaps if you had told me the full tale of your adventure yesterday, I'd have had time to think of a different story. But now we are stuck with this one."
"Stuck?" Lord Marcus echoed the word just as Quinn did, sounding just as horrified as she was.
Captain Peverill nodded. "We cannot recant now without irrevocably ruining Quinn's reputation —and perhaps your own, my lord. You heard what Lady Mountheath said."
"That odious woman!" But Quinn's anger was not directed only at Lady Mountheath. "I refuse to let her—or anyone —direct my actions by threat of gossip. What can she do, really?"
It was Lord Marcus who answered. "Quite a lot, I fear," he said heavily. "She has the ear of everyone who matters in Society and delights in using her influence to shred reputations. I have seen her destroy more than one—"
He was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Claridge, her husband and daughter in tow. "I understand congratulations are in order?" She glanced from Quinn to Lord Marcus and back. Behind her, Lady Constance watched, wide-eyed with curiosity and Lord Claridge smiled, though he looked uncertain.
Quinn, met her aunt's critical gaze as defiantly as she could, considering her inner turmoil, but before she could deny or her father confirm the news, Lord Marcus spoke.
"Yes, Lady Claridge, Miss Peverill has done me the very great honor of agreeing to become my wife."
Quinn stared at him in disbelief, and he responded with a barely perceptible shrug that made her suddenly aware of the width of the shoulders beneath his superbly fitted coat.
"It's quite amazing how quickly the news has spread," he continued, holding her eye for a moment before turning back to Lady Claridge. "Especially considering that there has been no formal announcement as yet."
That allowed Captain Peverill to launch into his explanation of how they had planned to delay publicizing the match until Charles could be notified. If anything, Quinn thought Lady Claridge's expression grew even more pinched.
"One might have expected that her uncle would have been informed, as he has opened his home to her," she said frostily. "That would have prevented our learning her news through other channels." She frowned in the direction of Lady Mountheath, who was now talking animatedly to yet another group.
"I do apologize, my lady," the Captain responded, even as Lord Claridge made soothing noises. "You are correct, of course, particularly as it is our hope that Quinn might be married from your home in a few months' time. While I cannot remain in England so long, I will try to return for the wedding, of course."
Months? Quinn had absolutely no intention of remaining in England for months! In fact, it was more imperative than ever that she return home without delay, before this absurd, fictitious betrothal could somehow become a real one.
"Papa, I'm certain we needn't impose—" Quinn began hastily, but Lord Claridge cut her off.
"Nonsense, my dear, nonsense. You are family. It's quite right and proper that you should stay with us until the happy event takes place." He appeared genuinely delighted at the prospect.
Her father heartily agreed, and Quinn subsided, contenting herself with an apologetic glance at her aunt and cousin, coldly returned. Once they were alone, she would convince her father of the folly of continuing this fiction —as well as of the necessity of allowing her to return with him to Baltimore on the next available vessel.
The next few hours allowed no opportunity for Quinn to speak privately to either her father or Lord Marcus, however. They were continually accosted by people congratulating them. Quinn sent her father many a speaking glance, all of which he blithely ignored. It was a relief when they finally took their leave.
Lord Marcus bowed over her hand, his expression still stiff, though something that might have been amusement lurked in his vivid blue eyes. If anything, that irritated her further. She took her leave of him coolly, ignoring an urge to probe his true feelings. Surely he must see that they faced possible disaster?
Captain Peverill, however, appeared to consider the whole affair an unqualified success. "I couldn't have planned it better if I'd tried," he whispered to her as they waited with the Claridges for their carriage a short time later. "Betrothed to the son of a Duke! Not bad for our first evening in Society, eh?"
Quinn stared at him. "Not bad?" she whispered back fiercely. "How can you say so? The world believing me betrothed when I am no such thing! If you had planned it, I would think you quite mad."
Now he looked a shade uncomfortable. "Yes, well. Lord Marcus has agreed to call upon me tomorrow. I'm sure everything will be worked out then to the satisfaction of all."
Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank heaven for that. It's clear he has no more desire to be
trapped into a match than I do."
She refused to acknowledge the tiny pang that observation cost her. After all, he knew no more of her than she knew of him, and she certainly had no desire to be bound to the man. Why should she expect him to feel differently? If he did, it would only show a want of sensibility —and sense.
The carriage arrived then, ending conversation, though not Quinn's reflections. Though reassured by her father's assurance that all would be settled on the morrow, she couldn't help reliving the embarrassments of the evening during the short drive, or as she prepared for bed afterward.
As she drifted off to sleep, however, it was Lord Marcus's blue eyes and deep voice that lingered to color her dreams.
* * *
"I told you, it's all a mistake." Marcus was becoming irritated at his brother's unwillingness to drop the subject. "Tomorrow I'm to call upon the Peverills and we'll no doubt find a way to extricate ourselves from this coil with a minimum of fuss."
Peter regarded him with that maddeningly knowing expression of his. "A mistake, no doubt —but whose? I can't believe you were forced to declare yourself betrothed simply because that busybody Lady Mountheath threatened to stir up a bit of scandal. She does that almost weekly, and when has scandal ever bothered you?"
Stripping off coat and gloves, Marcus handed them to Clarence and waited for his valet to leave the library before replying. "I didn't do the declaring, Captain Peverill did. Had the scandal concerned only me, I'd have denied it on the spot. But that harpy threatened to ruin Miss Peverill as well, which you would no more have allowed than I did."
"I? Of course not. What you did would have been completely in character for me, which is what makes this so very amusing." Peter went to the sideboard and poured himself a judicious measure of brandy. "In fact, I feel inclined to celebrate."
Marcus glared at him. "Well I certainly do not, though some of that brandy would not go amiss. Pour me some, will you?"
Peter complied, watching in silence as Marcus took a sip, then another. On his third, more relaxed sip, Peter spoke again. "Perhaps it is fate."
The brandy caught in Marcus's throat, making him cough and sputter. "Fate?" he rasped after a moment. Clearing his throat, he continued more audibly. "You ascribe the ill-judged romp of a young girl and Lady Mountheath's evil tongue to fate? What fate?"
"Yours, of course. Fate uses whatever tools are to hand. I have often observed it."
"Easy enough to say after the fact," Marcus pointed out. "I, however, prefer to believe I am the captain of my own destiny —and a wife has no part in it. Especially one who should still be in the schoolroom, and who has no more desire to wed than I have."
"Is Miss Peverill as young as all that, then? After speaking with her, I rather thought—"
"I don't know her exact age," Marcus admitted. "But you did not see her yesterday, tricked out in her brother's clothes. She may speak intelligently, but her judgement is clearly not that of an adult— which is how we find ourselves in this predicament."
Still, he couldn't help remembering that surge of protectivenss he'd felt yesterday —or the seductive innocence of Miss Peverill's lovely green-gold eyes. What if—?
But Peter was now watching him again with that disconcerting shrewdness. "Predicament? I suppose time will tell."
"Time will not be an issue," Marcus informed him, thrusting away such inappropriate memories. "By midday tomorrow, I'm confident this will all be behind me. Captain Peverill doesn't seem the type who would force his daughter into a match repugnant to her."
He was careful to conceal his irritation at being considered repugnant by Miss Peverill. The last thing Peter needed was more ammunition for his meddling.
* * *
It was with some trepidation that Marcus presented himself at the Claridge house the next morning. There had been no opportunity last night for a private word with Miss Peverill, so he still had no idea what she had told her father about their encounter two days since. What should he himself reveal, if anything? He would take his cue from her, he decided.
But when the butler ushered him into an elegant drawing room a few minutes later, Captain Peverill alone awaited him. "Good morning, Lord Marcus, good morning," he boomed jovially. "Delighted you could come."
Instead of putting him at his ease, Marcus found the man's cheerfulness rather oppressive. "Good morning, Captain Peverill. It would seem we have, ah, business to discuss."
"Business. Yes, hm. Business." The word seemed to sober the Captain, to Marcus's relief. "I suppose we'd best get to it, then. It appears that between you, you and my daughter have stirred up quite a scandal, my lord."
Marcus swallowed, realizing that he could hardly state the truth —that any scandal was purely Miss Peverill's fault. "Surely, sir, the scandal is not so great? Lady Mountheath is known for blowing minor social infractions all out of proportion."
"So I have been told. However, the potential damage to my daughter's good name is not inconsiderable, given the venue Lady Mountheath chose for her, ah, disclosure last night." His look now was questioning.
With a mental shrug, Marcus answered the implied question. "It is true that Miss Peverill was at my house, though only for a few minutes. It was quite an accident, however —the result of an unfortunate misunderstanding."
Captain Peverill said nothing, so Marcus hurried on, trying not to dither. "She was dressed as a boy, you see—her brother's clothing, she said. I took her as such, at first, but sent her on her way as soon as I discovered my mistake."
Now the Captain was frowning. "She was wearing a skirt when she returned."
"Oh! Yes. I, ah, insisted she borrow one from one of my housemaids, as it was clearly not fitting that she walk about in breeches." The room was beginning to feel uncomfortably warm.
"It was clearly not fitting that she be walking about London unescorted at all," Captain Peverill pointed out. "I would never have allowed it, had I known her intentions. I confess myself a trifle disappointed that you did, my lord."
Marcus tugged at his cravat, wondering why Clarence had tied it so much more tightly than usual. "I tried to insist she allow one of my footmen to accompany her, but she refused. Your daughter seems to have rather a strong will, sir, if you will forgive me."
To his relief, the Captain nodded. "She does indeed. I have warned her repeatedly that her impulsiveness would land her in trouble one day, though I confess I had not envisioned anything of this sort. But now the damage is done, however innocent the actual circumstances. I must ask, my lord, whether you mean to abide by your given word and marry my daughter?"
Caught off guard by the suddenness of the question, Marcus answered automatically. "Of course, sir, I have no intention of going back on my word. However, I had the impression last night that Miss Peverill was less than amenable to the idea?"
"Pish, tush." The Captain waved a dismissive—and very large—hand. "She was merely startled. Once she had a chance to consider the advantages of such a match, I assure you she became quite enthusiastic. Her main concern seemed to be that you might disavow the promise you made last night."
Why, that conniving little jade . . . ! Trapped, Marcus said stiffly, "To do so would be dishonorable in the extreme, Captain Peverill. Pray assure your daughter that I intend to do my duty by her, if that is her wish."
At once the Captain was all smiles again. "Excellent! Excellent! She will be relieved beyond measure, I know. And I must say it is very good of you, my lord, as it was Quinn's foolishness that created the scandal in the first place. I have no doubt that you will be able to train such tendencies out of her, in time."
Marcus felt a cold weight settle in his stomach at the finality implied by that last statement. "Of . . . of course."
"I presume you'll wish to set a future meeting to discuss settlements and such?" the Captain continued. "You'll have had no time to give thought to such things yet, any more than I have."
He rose and extended his hand. Automatically, Marcus did likewis
e, his mind still numb. "Another meeting. Yes."
Pumping his hand and beaming, Captain Peverill declared, "I'm sure you and Quinn will deal admirably together. She's a bright little thing, and near as pretty as her mother was. Just send a message round when you're ready to discuss the particulars."
Before he knew what he was about, Marcus found himself descending to Mount Street alone. He was just as glad he'd not taken the carriage, feeling the need to walk so that he could better sort through what had just happened.
He was well and truly betrothed now, and there seemed no honorable way to get out of it. Miss Peverill had grasped opportunity with both hands, no doubt about it! But she would not find him so easy to manipulate as her father, he was determined.
Not until he reached Grosvenor Street did it occur to him that it was a trifle odd that Captain Peverill had ushered him out of the house without allowing him so much as a glimpse of his bride-to-be.
* * *
Quinn watched Lord Marcus' departure from the window of her bedchamber, where her father had insisted she wait while the gentlemen worked out their problem. Now that he was gone, however, she wasted no time in hurrying down to the drawing room.
"Well?" she demanded, when her father only looked up affably at her sudden entrance. "Were you two able to figure a way out of this mess? Is everything settled?"
The Captain rose, smiling, to take both of her hands in his. "Indeed it is, my dear, settled quite famously. Let me be the first to congratulate you!" He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek.
Quinn pulled back to regard him suspiciously. "You are congratulating me on my escape, are you not, Papa?"
"Your escape from scandal, most assuredly," he said, though his smile now held a hint of wariness. "Lord Marcus was only too eager to make certain you would not suffer from your lamentable lack of judgement."
"Was he?" She narrowed her eyes, her sense of foreboding growing. "And how does he mean to ensure that?"