Nobody's Lady

by Annabelle Anders

  A very pleased Glenda Beauchamp arose for breakfast the morning following the ball excitedly expecting to read about herself in the high-profile society pages of the exceedingly popular London Gazette. The grandest ball of the season had been thrown in her honor, after all. Would there be descriptions of her hair? Her betrothal gown? The grace with which she had waltzed with her handsome fiancé? She had shears beside her so she could cut out the article and save it in her memory book.

  Within moments, however, the entire household knew something had gone amiss. For a piercing screaming horrifically disrupted the peace of the entire household. The newly betrothed lady screamed and ranted and raved in a hysterical fit, for what felt like hours to all of the servants. Glenda’s lungs were powerful, indeed.

  Lilly and Lady Eleanor rushed downstairs in their dressing gowns expecting to find no less than a bloodied corpse on the breakfast room floor.

  The shears were not plunged into a dead body, though. No, they were standing straight up in the center of the table.

  Upon seeing Lilly, Glenda’s shrieks turned into ugly words. Holding the paper toward Lilly, gesturing toward the article, she shouted, “I hate you! You have ruined my life! He will cry off now, for certain! How could you? I hate you! I hate you! Who did you tell? You promised me you would tell no one! It was to remain a secret!” She went on and on and on.

  Lilly grabbed the paper with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had thought Lord Hawthorn had given up on her. He hadn’t spoken a word to her since that first evening. She read it through twice, fearing for the social standing of both her aunt and Glenda even more the second time. Collapsing, she sat down on one of the high-backed cushioned seats around the table. Surely the man was mad? What could Hawthorn accomplish with this?

  What would it all mean?

  “Damned jackals,” Aunt Eleanor said. “They’re all a bunch of jackals.” Aunt Eleanor threw the paper on the table. “And you, girl, be quiet!” Aunt Eleanor never yelled.

  Thank God, Glenda went silent.

  Both Lilly and Glenda looked to Aunt Eleanor to say something, anything, which would explain the dreadful article and silence Glenda’s awful fears.

  “Lilly, expect visitors today, I imagine. We shall discover exactly what Mr. Joseph Spencer is made of. And Glenda, you had best put cucumbers on your eyes so they aren’t bloodshot and swollen when your fiancé presents himself.”

  This statement drew a wail from Glenda.

  “Don’t start that again. If I know that family, and I do, an article such as this won’t be cause for anything drastic. My guess is young Joseph will come to reassure you. So get yourself repaired.” At that, Glenda dashed out of the room.

  Turning to Lilly, Aunt Eleanor added, “That young Danbury needs to step up to the plate now as well. If his attentions were worth anything, it’s a fine time for him to offer you his protection.”

  “Surely there is no need?” she asked her aunt helplessly.

  “There is every need.” Gesturing toward the article lying on the table, her aunt suddenly looked much older than she had the day before. “This sort of folderol can only be forgotten if you receive a very strong show of support.” And then, rubbing her hand on her forehead, “Hopefully, Josephine and Broderick see past this.”

  Lilly dropped her head back hopelessly. Danbury would no more offer for her than Michael had. “What have I done?” she said again.

  Aunt Eleanor shook her head. “I will send a note round to Danbury. It can only be hoped his attentions to you were in earnest.”

  “No!” Lilly said, her fist pressed against her mouth. She could not do it. Even if Danbury were to offer for her, she would not marry again.

  She was so close to freedom.

  How could she give her person over to a man for any reason other than love? Not everyone realized the magnitude of what a woman gave up when she married. If women knew what she knew, daresay there would be fewer marriages.

  The viscount had been pleasant and friendly. He had acted the perfect gentleman, never once giving Lilly cause to doubt his motives or intentions. But she did not know him. She did not know his heart.

  She could not do it.

  She would not do it.

  Just then Jarvis entered the room and addressed his mistress. “The Countess of Ravensdale is awaiting you in the drawing room. She says you are expecting her.”

  Lilly and Eleanor looked at each other forebodingly. This was not the visit of a young man wishing to reassure his intended.

  They rose and smoothed their skirts.

  Entering the drawing room, they found the countess pacing back and forth. Her mouth pinched, worry clouding her eyes.

  Lady Eleanor let out a loud sigh and then gestured toward the sofa. “I think we should have a seat, don’t you, Josephine?”

  Lady Ravensdale nodded graciously.

  Lilly wanted to rush to speak, to deny the contents of the article. But she could not claim to be innocent. The information was true. Lady Eleanor spoke first.

  “I suppose you are here to discuss that bedamned article.”

  “Oh, Eleanor,” Lady Ravensdale said. “This is horrible, absolutely horrible.” And then she paused. “Broderick and Joseph are in violent disagreement with each other. Joseph had intended to come over here at once, but that blasted stubborn husband of mine would not allow it. This business with the Corn Laws has him coiled like a snake.”

  She addressed her longtime friend, Lady Eleanor. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “He told Joseph, considering the circumstances, it would not be dishonorable for him to cry off. The vote on Cortland’s amendment is to be held tomorrow morning, and Broderick is beside himself. They’ve worked on it for months now, and he insists we absent ourselves from any possible scandal.” Dabbing at her eyes, she continued, “Joseph is enraged. His father has threatened to cut off his funds if he defies him on this.” She sniffed. “I daresay, it has not been a pleasant morning.”

  Lady Eleanor squeezed her hand reassuringly.

  Lilly felt herself being backed into a corner.

  “I’ll send a note round to Danbury. If he affords Lilly the protection of his name, I think we can ward off a great deal of fallout.” Lady Eleanor could be very practical when matters called for it. “It’s important we show a united front. The last thing we need now is a groom crying off. What’s that damn fool of your husband thinking?”

  Lady Ravensdale rose her eyebrows at the older woman’s comments and then grimaced. “I’m afraid all he is thinking about right now is that amendment.”

  Lilly’s chest tightened. She couldn’t seem to get enough air. The walls were closing in on her. Surely Danbury would not make an offer. And if he did, there was no way she could accept.

  Except that everyone would expect her to.

  This could not be happening!

  The blood in her veins turned ice cold. She had escaped marriage once. Most likely, she would not be so lucky a second time. Memories of her husband’s hands clawing at her in the darkness roared through her mind. Vicious words rang in her ears.

  She could not.

  She could not do it again.

  The memory of her father demanding she marry Lord Beauchamp taunted her. Guilt pressed in. He was dying! It was her duty as his daughter! Her mother quietly crying in the corner.

  She would not consent to such a marriage again. She needed to escape. She needed to think. “Please excuse me.” She burst to her feet.

  Both women gaped at her.

  But she could make no excuses. Lilly hastened from the room and, without retrieving her pelisse, fetching a chaperone, or even Miss Fussy, she exited the front door with no particular destination in mind.

  The weather was spectacular that morning, the cloudless sky the color of lapis. Halfway through the month of May, flowers bloomed all around her. In a haze of anger and adrenaline, she walked aimlessly down Curzon Street and eventually found herself in the park. Not having any idea which paths led
where, she disappeared into the greenery.

  ****

  A very different scene played out in a masculine household that same morning. An occasional moan interrupted an abundance of quiet. The effects of downing large quantities of scotch the night before had the occupants reeling.

  After speaking with Lady Natalie at the ball, Michael had made his excuses to the countess and then left with Danbury. Plans had been put into motion. All he could do at that point was wait.

  And so, of course, the logical thing to do was open a twenty-year-old bottle of scotch and get rip-roaring, skunk-devilled drunk. Danbury happily participated.

  But now that morning had come, Michael questioned his reasoning of the night before.

  Especially with the thick green drink, promising to cure all, sitting before each of them at the table.

  “Bloody hell!” Danbury rose from his seat. He’d been perusing the morning broadsheets.

  Glaring at the offensive article, he dropped back into his chair and tossed it onto the table in front of Michael.

  Michael read through the vicious ramblings and then chucked it onto the table himself.

  He’d had enough. “Damn him to hell!” He grabbed his jacket and shoved his arms into the sleeves not caring whether his shirt wrinkled horribly beneath it or not.

  Danbury met his gaze with his own bloodshot eyes. “Where are you going?”

  Michael had no patience left. “Damn Hawthorn! He will pay for this!” Unwilling to waste even a moment longer, Michael ignored Hugh’s halfhearted attempt to calm him down and slammed out of the house.

  With anger seething inside him, Michael hadn’t the patience to wait for the coachman to bring the vehicle around. Instead, he headed toward Hawthorn’s London town house on foot. The bastard had done it! He’d hurt Lilly.

  Hawthorn would pay.

  Marching determinedly, adrenaline pushing him, Michael arrived at the earl’s door in less than ten minutes. And when the door opened, he swept past the butler and demanded, “Hawthorn! I will see him now!”

  The butler didn’t answer but looked nervously over his shoulder at a closed door.

  With murder on his mind, Michael pushed past the elderly retainer and threw open the door. There he discovered Hawthorne lounging on a loveseat with a pipe in one hand and a copy of the newspaper in the other.

  The idiot ought to have wiped the smirk from his face. Michael crossed the room, grabbed the man’s pristine cravat, and pulled the whey-faced miscreant off his chair.

  Hawthorne laughed nervously, attempting to gain some control of the situation. “Ah, perhaps my initial assumption was correct after all. It was you, not the viscount, in the gazebo with her.”

  Michael pushed Hawthorn’s rail-thin frame up higher, barely aware that the man’s toes now dangled in the air. Making a choking sound, the earl began experiencing the effects of his cravat tightening about his windpipe.

  “Hawthorn, do you know what it means to be a duke?”

  The bastard gawked at him, eyes bugging out of his head, thin lips trembling.

  “It means anything I say will be believed. It means I can kill you and walk away freely.” Michael adjusted his grip menacingly. “It means I can buy off every damn one of your servants so no word is ever mentioned regarding my presence here this morning.”

  The earl’s complexion had changed from pasty white to a reddish-purple color.

  “I-I-I’s s-s-sorry, Your Grace,” he sputtered tightly.

  Michael twisted the cravat and lifted the man even higher.

  As the spineless earl struggled to breathe, Michael’s fury diminished slightly. He could not, in fact, kill the man, as much as he was wont to do so. Some awareness returned, and the red haze that clouded his vision dimmed slightly. He released his grip suddenly, and Hawthorn collapsed back onto the chaise.

  Michael would not put up with this man’s antics any longer. And with his decision came an icy calmness. He had had enough. “You will leave England today, Hawthorn—that is, if you wish to live.”

  “You cannot make me do that!”

  “Stealing horses is a hanging offence, you bastard. There are witnesses who will testify on my behalf. The treachery you have attempted will be exposed. Did you realize I assist the Regent with his investments, and he has experienced a great deal of success? I am quite within his favor these days. Did you realize it would take but a word from my dear friend to have your title, your lands, everything stripped from you?” Michael’s voice was that of a duke—arrogant and confident. This troublemaker who’d plagued him all year would cease to be a problem today.

  One way or another.

  Hawthorn rubbed his neck fearfully.

  “You will leave for the continent today. If you fail to do so, do not be mistaken. My threats aren’t nearly as hellish as my actions will be.”

  Hawthorn’s shoulders slumped, and his gaze dropped. He seemed to realize he’d lost. “I will have my carriage prepared immediately, Your Grace.”

  Michael nodded but then reached forward with one hand and pulled Hawthorn to his feet. With deadly intent, he pulled back his right arm, fisted his hand slowly…

  And broke the man’s nose. Blood streamed onto the ornate carpet covering the floor.

  Locating his handkerchief, Michael wiped his hands on it and then tossed it at the earl. “Good day.”

  This hadn’t solved the problems caused by the article, but Michael felt better, nonetheless. And he would no longer have to worry Hawthorn might harm Lilly.

  Out on the earl’s front step, he studied his fist and then rubbed his knuckles. He’d punched the man for hurting Lilly on the dance floor. It was about time he protected her.

  Left alone, the Earl of Hawthorn reached for another handkerchief and shouted for his butler to attend him immediately. Cortland had been a thorn in his side for too long. Given half a chance, the young fool would be the downfall of the aristocracy.

  Cortland, a duke no less, obviously didn’t understand the working class were no better than animals. If allowed to prosper, they would turn against their betters and, as had happened in France, ignite an uprising.

  “God damn it, that bloody hurts!” Hawthorn flinched as his valet dabbed at him with a wet cloth. He pushed the servant’s hand away. “Pack my belongings. We’re leaving for the country as soon as possible.” I’ll be damned if I’m leaving England! He snatched the cloth away from the servant and then tenderly dabbed at his nostril himself.

  Damned idiot domestics, incapable of anything but the simplest of tasks.

  He winced, and at the same time realized his nose now leaned slightly to the left. Damn Duke of Cortland had broken it! Hawthorn didn’t know how, or when, but he vowed Cortland would pay for this!

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Finally, a Bit of Truth

  By the time the viscount arrived at Lady Sheffield’s town house, Lady Ravensdale had been joined by her youngest son, her daughter, and her husband. Lord Ravensdale and Lady Natalie sat on the sofa with the countess. Mr. Joseph Spencer, on a loveseat beside his betrothed. He held her hand affectionately in his.

  In a large cushioned chair, Lady Eleanor presided over them all.

  Jarvis announced the new arrival and backed slowly into the foyer, closing the double doors as he did so.

  In what appeared to be a gallant effort at cheerfulness, Lord Danbury stepped inside and greeted them all with his usual charm.

  And then, never a man to beat around the bushes, he proudly announced, “I have come to offer for Lady Beauchamp.” He glanced around the room, a perplexed frown marring his forehead. “Is the lady at home?”

  Lady Eleanor pinched her lips before answering. “My niece, overset by the article, has gone out for a walk. We are awaiting her return.” She glanced at a small timepiece and then added, “She has been gone a worrisome amount of time already.”

  Danbury located another chair. Pulling it closer to the group, he spoke matter-of-factly. “Then I shall wait with you
.” Before sitting, he made his bow to the ladies present and raised both eyebrows. “That is, as long as no one objects?”

  As Lady Eleanor assented with a nod, Lady Natalie chose that moment to speak up. “I have been telling Papa this morning that Lady Beauchamp did not wish to marry the baron, her first husband. She told me she did so only to please her father. It’s all a dreadful mistake, Papa.” Her eyes implored the earl to see reason where her brother was concerned. And something else flickered in her gaze as well.

  Broderick Spencer, the Earl of Ravensdale, cleared his throat and then responded with his usual authority. “Be that as it may, if Danbury offers for her, she will be spared censure.”

  “No, Papa.” Lady Natalie spoke firmly to her father. The flicker in her eyes began to burn brightly. “Lady Beauchamp does not wish to marry Lord Danbury. And, truth be told, Lord Danbury does not wish to marry Lilly.”

  But she did not stop there.

  “Just as His Grace does not wish to marry me—and I have no wish to marry him! It is not Danbury, but Cortland who is in love with Lady Beauchamp.”

  “Be quiet, girl! This is hardly the time to be spewing such nonsense!” He bolted out of his seat.

  Lady Natalie and her mother rose to calm him. Reaching for her husband, the countess pulled him back to the settee until he was again seated beside her. Lady Natalie, however, paced the room.

  “And…” Joseph Ravensdale spoke up as though his father had not made any comment at all. “The only two people in this room who do wish to marry are myself and Glenda. And you, you, are impeding our match. I won’t have it, Father, I won’t! And If Natalie does not wish to marry Cortland, I will stand by her as well!”

  Ravensdale was a proud and stubborn man, both as a barrister and then later in life, as a high-ranking member of the aristocracy.

  He was also, however, a father. Who, as unlikely as it might be…loved his children. He looked at his two youngest with hurt in his eyes.