“Most assuredly not, madam,” he said, and he meant it with every fiber of his being. Torture wouldn’t pull this information, delicious as it was, from his lips. Besides, having lived something of a charade for most of his life, he had to appreciate a fellow sham artist. He had known Lady Haverford for much of his adult life and never had she let slip so much as a hint that she was not quite what she seemed.
“She seemed rather upset when you made a glancing reference to—er—to the situation,” he offered.
“Indeed, and I do regret the necessity. I’ve let her be all these years. To her credit, she has not pushed the acquaintance. She has probably been discomfited knowing that I knew her secret. However, she has never had anything to fear from my tongue. Unfortunately, today I did feel that an oblique reference was the most expedient way to get her attention. She has made her way in society somewhat the same way you have, Mr. Randall, by being the consummate gossip. Opens a great many doors, as I am sure you are aware. But, by the same token, you both know what it’s like to live on the edge of the abyss, do you not?”
It was uncanny, the look in her eye. How could this viscountess, born to privilege and honor, as she had been, never so much as a blush of scandal associated with her name, know anything about the abyss? She was a sharp old dame; he had to give her credit for that.
“Well, I believe she took the point, don’t you? I’m sure there won’t be a soul in Bath by this evening who does not understand that Julian is most decidedly not going to marry Caroline Quinn. Dolly will manage it somehow. And I will make it up to her. I will, indeed, invite her to a little dinner party. That will raise her several notches in the ton. And you, my dear Mr. Randall, will be there as well.”
“I will?” he asked, not knowing whether to be flattered or horrified.
“Of course. And you will find a moment in private with Dolly to play the absolute fool—I know you can do it—and assure her you haven’t the slightest idea what I was going on about this afternoon. That should put this whole matter to rest, once and for all, and right neatly, too, don’t you think?” She turned a triumphant look on him. Military strategists had missed a good bet in not recruiting this woman.
“Well, yes,” he responded. “But,” he could not help adding, “there is still the matter of convincing Caroline to go along with this new scenario. I fancy that part won’t be so easy.”
“And that, Mr. Randall, will be Julian’s problem to solve. I cannot be expected to take care of everything, now can I?” the Viscountess Alderson announced, as she put her gloved hand into the gloved hand of her liveried footman, and stepped lightly from the carriage, without so much as a farewell nod.
Chapter Thirteen
It was not the fashionable time of day to call, as Julian well knew and cared less. He paced up and down in the Quinn drawing room, waiting impatiently for the infernal Caroline to make an appearance. He had presented himself to a startled footman of the Quinn household a few moments ago, and now he wondered how long he would have to wait. This part of the early evening was usually reserved among the ton for readying oneself for the rigors of the evening’s entertainments to come, not for making inane chitchat with vapid visitors. While he doubted Caroline would find his chitchat vapid, he was quite certain she would not enjoy it.
His nerves fairly sang with exhilaration. Thanks to Harry, the dear boy, beautiful Elspeth no longer believed that Julian was a philandering cad. He could see now, as he would not allow himself to see then, that Harry was the only one Elspeth could possibly have trusted at the time. He must have been mad to have scaled the back wall of the townhouse, to have even thought to approach a gentle lady like his Elspeth in her boudoir, but thank heaven he had. A smile played lightly around his lips as, unbidden, the thought of Elspeth, pink and naked in her bath, rose before him. She was so lovely, and so passionate. And she loved him. The world could not have found him a better life’s partner. Which left only Caroline to convince of the pointlessness of this malevolent sham of an engagement to her.
Of Edgar Randall, there had been no sign all afternoon, and if what Harry recounted was correct, as Julian had no doubt it was, Edgar had better stay scarce for some time to come. He had thought the man one of his best friends, from their early childhood at school, when the slight, nervous boy had been well on his way to becoming the target and punching bag of the school’s bullies. Julian, one of the larger and more intelligent of the bunch, had recognized in the cowering boy an intelligence that matched his own. Under Julian’s protection, Edgar had blossomed as quite an entertaining toff. What he lacked in physical attraction, he made up for in sharp and perceptive wit, a welcome addition to any gathering.
But Edgar had betrayed Julian, pure and simple, nearly causing him and his beloved Elspeth a lifetime of misery. How could Edgar have done such a thing? How could Julian have thought him a friend? To be sure, Edgar seemed to have confessed all, in front of a viscountess, no less, the Viscountess Alderson, Julian had no doubt. But knowing the viscountess, the confession had been stripped out of him, word by painful word. Julian was sure Edgar would have some glib explanation. He was equally sure he would not be inclined to listen to it.
How long would the witch keep him waiting? He had sent up an imperious note, requesting her attention at her earliest convenience. She was unlikely to ignore it, under the circumstances. Julian pulled out his gold timepiece and checked it against the ormolu clock on the carved marble mantle. They matched precisely. He heard running footsteps and turned expectantly. His heart pounded in anticipation. There would be a battle with Caroline, he had no doubt, but it was one he would win. He was holding all the cards, was he not? He had nothing to gain by following through with this sham engagement, and everything to lose. Elspeth was counting on him. Therefore, he would win.
He did not intend it to be a clean fight. It had not begun as such.
The doors flung themselves open. Julian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when there stood Harry, dear Harry, who was always turning up at the worst, or, sometimes, indeed, the best, moments. The boy’s hair, as usual, stuck up all over his head, and his shirt front was soup-stained, creased, and missing several buttons. Nor were the tails tucked properly into his breeches. His boots were missing entirely. He must have left off battling Roderick long enough to have picked up from a servant that his erstwhile hero was taking up space in the drawing room. Turning this scamp into a gentleman in the short years to come would be quite a challenge, and Julian regretted that it would be necessary. Harry was much more interesting the way he was.
“Good afternoon to you, Mr. Thorpe,” the boy said, somewhat out of breath.
“Well, it’s probably more evening now, Harry,” Julian offered affably. “And good evening to you.”
Harry threw an anxious glance over his shoulder, then advanced into the room. “I owe you an apology, sir,” he began, making an awkward, and unnecessary bow.
“For what do you apologize, Harry?” Julian asked. He could have picked up the boy and hugged him, considering the child had virtually saved his life, but he thought Harry would prefer a more formal, manly exchange.
“Well, I’m not quite sure, really, but I thought you had hurt Elspeth, and then it turned out everyone else had hurt her instead. What does ‘compromise’ mean, anyway?”
“Ah, ‘compromise.’ Well, assuming you do not mean in the sense of coming to some middle ground in a dispute, compromise means—well, it means—well, in the sense I think you mean, it means...” Julian took a deep breath. He was not used to explaining sexual innuendo to children. The boy stared at him expectantly.
Julian sat himself on one of the numerous settees. “All right, Harry, let’s see if I can explain. A gentleman should never encourage a lady to behave in such a way that other people can criticize her behavior. If he does do that, then he has ‘compromised’ the lady.” There. That should do it.
“That’s all?" asked Harry in dubious tones.
“Well, it’s more comp
licated than that really, but that’s the gist of it. You’ll understand it better when you’re older.” He regretted those words the moment they left his lips. It was one of those remarks he had loathed as a child. It meant that there was a lot of juicy stuff going unsaid. Harry, looking aggrieved, was on top of it in a crack.
“Does this have anything to do with the way you’re always kissing my sister?”
Julian sighed. Children were relentless. “Well, in a way, yes, rather, but it’s really a different thing,” he began, wondering where he would take it from here. He was saved, if that was the right word, by the sight of Caroline swooping furiously into the room.
She took one murderous look at Harry. “Out of my sight, brat!” she screeched. “And don’t set foot into this room again. You always break something, you clumsy little bumpkin, and Mama has to pay the landlord for it!” She advanced on him menacingly, but, obviously being a clever child, he saw the wisdom in beating a hasty retreat.
“And close the doors after you!” she cried after him. Harry came to a skidding stop on the carpet just outside the room, turned, grabbed the door handles, and, with a look of pity at Julian, slammed them shut.
So now he was alone with the dragon. Good. “You are utterly charming with children, Caroline. What a fine mother you’ll make.” As opening sallies went it was weak, but better than an awkward silence.
“In case you haven’t heard, Julian, there are such things as nurses and boarding school. One gives birth, and then attends their weddings. Nothing more is required than that.”
He could not have asked for a better opening. “Oh, you wouldn’t find that true in my family, Caroline. We are very attentive to our young. No nurses and no boarding schools. Just good, old-fashioned parents rearing their own children.”
“I did not know you came from such lumpish peasant stock, Julian,” she sneered. “Well, it’s irrelevant, in any event. I do not intend to raise your child. I will be in London and you will be in the country. You can raise him, or her, by yourself.”
“One, only, Caroline?” he asked benignly. This was turning out to be more fun than he had expected it to be.
“One only, Julian, if that. The estate is not entailed, I understand. You can leave it to cousins for all I care. I shall not blow myself up like a balloon every nine months to suit your precious lineage.”
“Since you mention it, Caroline, I have put the London house on the market. My estate agent has already received two promising offers.”
She gaped at him. “But—but, you cannot do that, Julian!” she finally got out. “I like that house. I wish to live in it.”
“Ah, but I do not wish to live there, and it is mine, isn’t it?” He had spent the past few hours carefully analyzing the enemy’s weak points, and found the battle more entertaining than he had hoped.
“Your father is still alive, Julian. The house is surely his, still.”
“It’s been signed over to me, Caroline, every brick of it.”
“But the house is in Mayfair, for heaven sake. Those properties are difficult to come by!”
“Precisely why I received several offers within the first few hours.”
“I won’t have it, do you hear me?” She was fairly sputtering with rage. “I won’t sign any of the sale documents!”
“Not in the least bit necessary, my dear Caroline.” He sauntered over to a little table under the window that held a crystal decanter and several snifters, hoping Mrs. Quinn’s household brandy was better than he expected it to be. “I will have the property well sold before this wedding you seem to be planning, Caroline. Your signature will not be necessary. Brandy, my dear? You look as if you could use a snort.” She did not answer. He poured himself a full snifter and turned. She was eying him the way a hooded cobra might peruse its intended next meal. Well, he intended to be the mongoose, not the meal. He took a small sip of the brandy. Not half bad, it was. Must be left over from the late Lord Ewell’s collection. Tasted like victory, come to think of it. He took a long, deep draught and gave her a pleasant smile.
It was like throwing a flaming torch into hot oil. “I will live in London, Julian!” she flared at him. She began to pace, her slippers stomping alarmingly, the floor’ boards creaking under the unusual assault. “I shall let a house, an expensive one, mind, in the best neighborhood. You would do well to take your house off the market at once!” She turned back to him with a malevolent smile of triumph.
“And how do you intend to pay for this, Caroline?” he asked, drawing deeply again from the snifter.
“I shall not pay for it, Julian. You will! I will sign a lease under your name and you will be honor-bound as my husband to accept it,” she announced, Victory Rampant.
“Ah, but I shall not, Caroline. As my wife you have no legal rights of your own to speak of, and I have already sent round communication to all of the London estate agents that I will not be held financially responsible for any leases you sign, before, or after, any wedding.” He finished off the snifter and turned to pour himself some more. “I think you’ll find, Caroline, that no one will accept your signature on a lease,” he remarked, his back to her.
“Then I’ll live with friends! I’ll live with Mama. But I will live in London, Julian. You’ll not see my face at that farmhouse you call a country estate!”
“I’m merely curious, you understand, but since you’ve brought it up, how would you be planning to live in London, Caroline? Will your dear Mama continue to support you?”
“You know perfectly well who will support me, Julian. The bills—and there will be a great many of them...” she paused and smiled again. “Very large bills, Julian, very large, will be sent to you in the country. You will have to pay them.” She was feeling confident enough to drape herself over one of the hideous little settees, and give him a spiteful smile.
“Ah, but you may not be aware, Caroline, that a husband has options where these matters are concerned. I have already written to my solicitor. All of the London merchants will be notified that they are not to extend you credit—that any credit they do extend to one Caroline Thorpe will not be honored with payment. It’s perfectly legal, if they have proper notice. Done all the time in the lower classes, I understand. You’ll find that all of the finer, and the less fine, establishments will close their doors to you. He smiled to himself and took another sip. He had no idea whether or not any of this was true, but it certainly had sounded right when he thought it up this afternoon. The house wasn’t on the market, either, come to that, but it certainly could be, and would be snapped up in a heartbeat. That much was true, at least.
“You would not dare to ruin our names with this sort of behavior,” she snarled, but she was sounding less sure of herself.
“Au contraire, Caroline. If you succeed in foisting yourself off on me as wife, I shall take great pleasure in making you the butt of all japery in London. And in case you think I care what people think of my behavior in all this, allow me to assure you that it will not bother me in the slightest.”
He took another deep draught of the brandy and smiled at her. “I think you’ll find us Thorpes to be a frugal lot. I keep quite a tight rein on the finances. Everything has to be approved by me, down to the smallest purchase. Won’t tolerate a lot of frivolous spending. But not to despair, Caroline. You have an excellent wardrobe, I’ve noticed, and more than enough jewelry. Your clothing should last you, assuming you take care of it properly, for many years to come. And, of course, you won’t have much need of frippery in the country. No, plain and simple, that’s our country life. I’m looking forward to teaching you to milk the goats.”
She sat in dark silence, staring at nothing, ignoring him as if he were not there. He could almost see the thoughts chasing around in her head. Finally, she looked up at him. He almost stepped back, so potent was the loathing in her eyes.
“You think you have me trapped, don’t you, Julian?” she said slowly. She was trying to appear relaxed, but her hands were clenched into
white-knuckled fists.
“I prefer not to think of it as ‘trapped,’ Caroline. Such an unpleasant concept, don’t you agree? For example, you, indeed, think you have trapped me into making a loveless marriage. You cannot sit there and look me in the face and tell me you and Edgar Randall didn’t set a vicious trap for me in Sydney Gardens the other night.” He had scored with that one. He could see the flare in her eyes. “So I prefer to think of this as my turn to exert a few reasonable conditions, as the head of the household. You wish to marry me? So you shall, but on my terms. We will live on my estates in the country, all the time. No London, no Bath, no visits to the Continent. I’m really a simple family man, Caroline, early to bed, early to rise. I enjoy riding around the estates, visiting my tenants. I shall expect you to accompany me, the way my mother always did my father. It’s charming, really, quite bucolic. Chucking babies under the chin, drinking stewed tea in dark kitchens, admiring pigs, urchins wiping their adorable little noses on your pants leg, or, in your case, your skirt. You’ll get used to it, you’ll see. Of course, you won’t be able to do that all the time. I don’t hold with breeding women gadding about the countryside on horseback. Too much danger of bleeding to death. And”—he smiled conspiratorially at her—“I won’t accept for a minute all this modest, missish nonsense about having only one child.” He took another deep swig. Perhaps he shouldn’t drink too much. He was beginning to enjoy himself too much. “No, indeed,” he went on, appreciating the look of horror that was dawning in her face, “I know my breeding stock when I look it over”—he allowed his eyes to rake her body, appraising, weighing, evaluating—“and you’re a fine brood mare, if I do say so. Wonderful teats, hips, and belly on you. You can grow a baby the size of a calf in there and pop it right out, one a year. Until your womb drops, of course. Messy and painful, that is, or so I understand, but happens to the best of them, unfortunately.”
“Julian, please...” Caroline said faintly. She sat back against the chair, eyes closed. She looked positively green around the gills.
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