Which increased her conviction that she must find a way out of this marriage!
Perhaps this new idea, this adjusted plan, would prompt Flavion to divorce her. Impatient to present it to Mr. Nottingham, Cecily was suddenly eager to return to Nottinghouse. Would he do it?
Did he have a choice?
Standing upon the pavement, she looked up and down the street, wondering what had become of the Kensington Carriage. Coachman John had surely told her he would wait right here, just outside of Madam Chantal’s. She shivered and suddenly felt a little vulnerable. She ought to have brought her maid along with her.
She began to twirl around to recheck her location when a strong shove from behind caused her to drop her packages and trip toward the cobbled roadway. Unable to halt her momentum, she was flabbergasted when she landed softly, somewhat cushioned, by an odiferous rock of fluff and fur. Something had prevented her from tumbling head over heels onto the street.
Sprawled on the ground and startled, Cecily found herself beside a disproportionately large dog who was enthusiastically greeting her with swipes of his equally disproportionately long tongue. Her packages! Her new bonnets!
And then all thoughts of those fripperies flew out of her mind. For in a burst of dusty wind and straw, a produce cart careened along the road, far too close for comfort. There had been mere inches to spare between her person and the hooves of livestock as the team and conveyance rushed past. She’d been lucky.
Good lord, what a fright!
It took a moment for her to realize that she had, quite fortuitously, been saved from certain death by the solid presence of this rather large mangy-looking canine.
Dazed, but curious, Cecily glanced around to see who had stumbled into her so recklessly. It was impossible, however, for the people who had been in her vicinity had either disappeared along the walk or were approaching to assist her and assure themselves of her well-being.
“I’m safe. I am fine,” she said several times as she allowed one of the passing gentlemen to assist her to her feet. “Really, I’m fine.” She brushed at her new dress and winced when she saw a large rip near the hem. Madam Chantal would not be happy. She grimaced further when her hands transferred streaks of grime and blood onto the fabric. She’d not realized the extent to which the road had torn her soft gloves and scraped her palms when she’d fallen.
“Oh, I say,” a familiar-looking gentleman said. “Aren’t you the chit Kensington married recently? The cit’s daughter?”
Cecily bent to retrieve her reticule and packages and then stood tall, straightening her spine. “I am Lady Kensington, yes,” she said, attempting to escape the smothering well-doers who now surrounded her. For the first time in ages, she experienced a small amount of fear. It was one thing to be snubbed in a ballroom, another all together to find oneself hemmed in on a public street.
“And I suppose this here is your noble dog!” a different voice mocked, sounding vulgar and a bit menacing.
She glared in the direction of the second man just in time to see him land a swift kick on the animal’s hindquarters.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” A red haze abruptly clouded Cecily’s vision. No longer considering the precariousness of her situation, nor the fact that she was a woman alone in the midst of an unfriendly crowd, she leapt forward and then crouched down by the maligned dog. She didn’t have far to bend, though, as he really was rather gloriously proportioned. “You will not hurt this animal! How would you like it if somebody did the same to you, you good for nothing wastrel!”
Upon her defense of the animal, the crowd tittered and smirked. A few ladies stood some ways back, satisfaction on their faces. Cecily ought not to have been, but was, nonetheless, disconcerted to note that one of them was Daphne Cunnington.
“Well, that’s a fine pet for a lady,” one of the men added maliciously.
“Why, that’s no lady,” another said. “That’s Lord Kensington’s wife!” At this, many of them broke into gales of laughter.
Cecily grasped the hair on the back of the dog’s neck and attempted to pull him away with her. “Come on,” she said when he resisted. She could not leave him to the mercies of this lot. He had saved her life, after all. In her struggle to pull at the beast, her hold on her possessions loosened. She needed away from here. If only she could get back to Madam’s shop.
Barely had she attempted to drag the dog along with her when a strong arm wrapped around her middle. She nearly elbowed the person in the gut before his voice stopped her.
“My dear Lady Kensington…” Stephen Nottingham’s voice was gentle yet firm. “…you look as though you are in need of assistance. Are these fine gentlemen troubling you?”
LADY KENSINGTON WAS making every attempt to appear unafraid, but Stephen felt small tremors going through her as he grasped her around the waist.
At the same time, she tugged fruitlessly at one of the largest and most unkempt dogs he’d ever seen.
He could not recall a recent situation in which he had felt as justifiably angry as he did at that moment. He was acutely angry at the crowd nettling her, but even more furious with his cousin for putting her in this position to begin with. Not hesitating in the least, he turned his fury toward the crowd that had gathered. “This is how you assist a lady?” he said through clenched teeth.
A few of them hesitantly stepped backward.
“Simply having a spot of fun,” one of the braver ones murmured feebly.
“No need to be hasty,” another said.
Lady Kensington was doing her best to escape them all, himself included, but the dog impeded her attempts. Releasing the lady momentarily, Stephen reached up and untied the cravat his valet had so expertly done up a few hours ago.
The men, thinking he was in mind of fighting them all, dispersed even more quickly.
“Damned bullies,” he growled under his breath before turning back to the dog. “I take it, my lady, that you wish to bring this mongrel home with you?”
With a slight nod, not looking at him, she answered, “I do.” She gave another tug. “But he bloody well isn’t letting me!” She nearly toppled over as she pulled at the dog. “I cannot leave him here all alone. If it weren’t for him, I’d be splattered all over the roadway right now. What kind of person would I be if I left him to fend for himself now? I ask you that. What kind of person would do that?” Her voice wavered somewhat. She used one arm to swipe at her eyes, her packages and reticule forgotten at her feet.
Stephen stepped between Cecily and the dog and tied a loose knot around the dog’s neck with his crisp white cravat, leaving a longer section for holding it. “Of course we won’t leave him here, my lady. How, might I ask, did this dog save your life?” His voice was calm, but her casual declaration caused his heart to miss a beat. Now that he took a moment, he noticed that her dress was torn and dirty, and she looked more than a little disheveled. En route to one of his manager’s offices, he’d barely caught sight of the ruckus surrounding her before rushing over. He’d missed whatever had incited the mob initially.
She stood up straight, apparently satisfied that Stephen had secured the dog right enough and then sniffed. “The sidewalk was crowded, and somebody pressed into me, causing me to stumble out into the road. If the dog hadn’t been in my way, I would have landed in front of an oncoming cart. The driver never could have stopped in time.”
Processing this disquieting information, Stephen looked back to the animal and gave him a hearty and somewhat affectionate pat. “Good job, old boy,” he said in as calm a voice as he could muster. Turning back toward Cecily, he handed a few of her belonging to her and then offered her his free arm. “Shall we find your carriage, my lady?”
Had this, too, been an accident? Did somebody want to kill Lady Kensington? Stephen didn’t believe in coincidences. He needed to have another talk with Flavion.
They found the carriage parked not even a block away. Seeing them, Coachman John gushed with apologies. He explained that he’d thought
he was to await the countess at the milliners. Stephen would have liked to rip into the coachman but knew it was not really the man’s fault. Lady Kensington reassured the servant and handed over her packages.
Feeling an urgency to return the countess home, Stephen assisted Lady Kensington into the carriage and then hefted the malodorous dog up from behind — much to the consternation of Flavion’s driver. He understood the servant’s chagrin when he noted the opulent and plush upholstery that made up the interior. The dog settled himself across from Lady Kensington, leaving the only available accommodation for Stephen beside the lady.
She seemed to have regained her poise considerably by the time Stephen sat himself beside her. “I thank you,” she said stiffly, “for your assistance back there.”
Stephen turned so that he faced her. “Does that sort of thing happen often?” Would she admit to it if it did?
She chuckled without even a trace of amusement. Her laughter was brittle, her eyes far too bright. “Only since I’ve become a countess. There are many who resent one such as me to have reached so high. Trying to be something I’m not, they say.”
She had a streak of dirt across her cheek, and her hair was falling from its pins. She’d removed her hat and now held it nervously in her lap.
“Was it something you sought, something you wished for? A title?”
She glared at him upon this impertinent question. “I could care this much,” she said, releasing the hat and snapping her fingers deftly, “about a title. My pa wanted it for me, and I was happy to see him get his way, but I tell you for myself, if I had fallen in love with a blacksmith, it would matter not. Rather ironic, wouldn’t you say? A blacksmith wouldn’t have caused me all this trouble. I had thought things would be different once I married. But I am quite aware now that I shall never be one of you.”
“You wish to belong,” he said, having a sudden insight into this hapless woman who had married his cousin. “You wish to be accepted.”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
Stephen thought back to when his uncle had first taken him in. Even as a boy, he knew his aunt resented his presence. Her bitterness caused problems for the uncle who loved him. He’d overheard more than one argument between Uncle Leo and Aunt Edith. At first, Stephen tried to win his way into his aunt’s good graces, but her objection to his presence had been unyielding. Stephen had wanted to belong. He’d wanted to be accepted.
But he’d left all that in the past. He was his own man now and didn’t need anyone’s approval but his own.
“You were not received before your marriage?” he asked.
Cecily plucked at her gloves. “I was tolerated but invisible for the most part. If a gentleman looked at me, all he ever saw were the piles of my father’s money.” Stephen doubted this. Any red-blooded man would see her appeal, her beauty, but he did not interrupt her to say so. She gave an elegant shrug. “The irony of it all is I believed that Flavion saw me, Cecily Findlay, not merely my dowry. I thought him different. I don’t know how he did it.” And then, in answer to his question, she explained further. “Nobody shunned me outright. But I was an interloper. I have lived in London all my life, and yet never have I felt more of an outsider than when I mingled amongst the ton. I thought that after marrying Flavion I would be accepted, respected even. I was foolish to allow my father to have me introduced to Society. I believed him when he told me that with his wealth my lack of gentility would be overlooked. I believed myself good enough… I wish I’d never believed that. I wouldn’t be so disappointed now.”
She shrugged sheepishly. “And yes, you are witnessing another one of my pity parties. If you’d like, I can have Coachman John set you down here. That way you won’t have to endure my whining.”
Stephen curbed the instinct to reach out and place a hand over hers, which again sat upon her lap. An unfamiliar tenderness welled up inside of him when he noticed her gloves had been torn. “Whine away, my lady. I think I can handle it. Besides, what kind of gentlemen would I be if I left you alone with this beast?”
As though the mongrel knew he was being maligned, he whimpered pathetically.
“Don’t call him that,” she gave the dog an apologetic look. “He’s a hero! I’m going to call him Chadwick.” And sure enough, Chadwick let out an approving bark that echoed painfully throughout the carriage.
Wonderful.
AS LUCK WOULD have it, locating Flavion that afternoon proved to be easier than Stephen had thought. His erstwhile cousin was chatting up some other fellows and contemplating the betting books at White’s. Flavion, dressed in the height of fashion, looked to be very popular, but upon closer inspection, Stephen realized the gentlemen surrounding his cousin were not exactly of the finest ilk. It was surprising that some of them were even given admittance into the prestigious gentleman’s club. Brookes, perhaps, but not Whites. Perchance the acquaintance of an earl had something to do with their reception.
“A word, if I may,” Stephen said quietly behind his cousin. “In private.”
Flavion frowned and then allowed Stephen to lead him off into a quiet corner. “What is it now? You’ve become such an old sobersides,” he said, somewhat broodingly. “I’ve done everything you told me to do. I delivered the instructions to the lawyers, I’m curtailing my spending, and I’ve told Daphne it’s over. She was mad as hell, by the way, until I told her it was your idea. When I told her my life was in danger, she changed her tune, all right. Then… well, then, she gave me quite a goodbye, if you know what I mean.”
“And when will you be seeing her again?” Stephen asked with an inward sigh. He hated that even to his own ears he sounded overly fastidious.
“Tonight, after the Chattering’s Ball.” Flavion grinned.
“So you did not really terminate your relationship, then.”
Flavion opened his eyes wide, innocently. “Of course I did, Stephen! I just told you I did.”
Stephen was disappointed. Disappointed, but not surprised. “I take it there have been no further attempts on your life, then?”
Flavion considered the question but a moment. “Well, none successful anyway,” he said before laughing at his own joke. “Not to worry about me, cousin. I’ll be sure to watch out for myself. I’m not a dandy, you know.”
The reference to a dandy reminded Stephen of the attack on Lady Kensington earlier that day.
“And what of your wife?” Stephen asked quietly with a stern tone in his voice that Flavion ought to have recognized. “What provisions have you fashioned to protect her? To protect her person as well as repair her reputation?” In his mind’s eye, he could not help but remember the sight of Lady Kensington and Chadwick, surrounded by a group of rabid aristocrats.
Flavion shrugged. “I can’t be responsible for her. She’s the one who wanted to become a countess.”
Stephen stared into his cousin’s eyes and saw… nothing.
They were empty, flat.
Utterly unconcerned.
With a heavy heart, Stephen wondered how Uncle Leo had managed to ignore this aspect of his only son. His uncle had been a good man. An honorable gentleman who had taught Stephen integrity, compassion, and fairness. Why hadn’t these traits extended to Flavion’s character?
As a boy, Flavion’s thoughtless pranks, which had exhibited a complete lack of empathy, had been casually disregarded as harmless tomfooleries and chalked up to the randiness of youth. This was no longer possible.
As a grown man, a gentleman, they were unforgivable. They were ugly and showed a complete and utter lack of character. A man did not allow his wife to be ridiculed in public. A man did not steal his cousin’s betrothed, ruin, and then abandon the girl. A man protected his own.
Stephen pulled back his arm, made a fist, and slammed it as hard as he could into his cousin’s face. It was about time, damn it.
And it felt good.
For all of ten seconds.
After pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at his nose, Flave looked up to
Stephen from the floor where he’d landed. The look in Flavion’s eyes wasn’t so empty now, nor so flat.
The expression he shot Stephen was hurt and confused. For the second time that day, Stephen found himself the object of far more attention than he would normally invite. Other chaps who had been lounging about the club now rushed over to interject themselves into the altercation.
One of the managers stepped in as well. “Listen here, gents. If you need to settle up accounts with each other, I’m going to have to insist you take yourselves off into one of the back rooms. Or perhaps better yet, on over to Gentleman Jackson’s place. But not in here.”
Neither of them spoke a word, but Stephen reached out a hand to assist Flavion to his feet. “No worries, gentlemen,” he said. “Right, Flave?”
Flavion looked at Stephen’s hand suspiciously before grasping it and allowing Stephen to pull him to his feet. “I suppose.” He brought the handkerchief up to his nose and winced.
Not only did it bleed profusely, but it bent at a slight angle now. Stephen handed his cousin another handkerchief. He was disgusted, not only with Flavion, but also with himself. This was not the way to handle disagreements. But, God damn it, Flavion had made a hash of things, hurting other people in the process. What else could Stephen do?
As they left the club, walking in the direction of Nottinghouse, Stephen broke the silence. “You do understand, don’t you, why I planted you with that facer?” What good would the punishment do if Flavion failed to comprehend why it had been dished out?
Flavion moaned slightly. “I’m displeased with you right now, Stephen. I think you’ve broken my nose!”
And a perfect nose it had been.
Stephen’s nose had been broken on more than one occasion. The cartilage would heal. It always did.
“You cannot persist with this cavalier attitude toward your wife.” He spoke firmly, reminding himself of his uncle. “You have wounded her considerably, and your actions are merely compounding the problem.”
Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1) Page 6