Suddenly

by Candace Camp

  “Lord Dure has offered for me,” Charity told her succinctly.

  “For you!” Aunt Ermintrude’s eyes began to twinkle, and she banged her cane against the floor as she let out a cackle of laughter. “Why, you cunning little thing, you! Stole the march on your sister, eh?”

  “I did not take him from Serena!” Charity protested. “Well, that is, I did, but not wickedly. She does not want to marry him.”

  “She says Serena loves another!” Caroline put in accusingly, glaring at Charity as if Serena’s preference in suitors were her fault.

  “Who?” Aunt Ermintrude asked, leaning forward with great interest.

  “Reverend Woodson.”

  For once Charity’s mother was speechless. Both she and Lytton simply stared at Charity, mouths agape in astonishment.

  “Bah!” Aunt Ermintrude exclaimed in annoyance, and turned away. “Couldn’t she find anyone more interesting than a pastor? I was hoping for a disinherited son, or a highwayman, something interesting.”

  “How would Serena know a highwayman?” Lytton asked his aunt, distracted by such a thought.

  “For pity’s sake, Lytton. Aunt Ermintrude is simply making one of her jests,” his wife told him. “Serena cannot possibly think to marry that Woodson boy. Why, he hasn’t a penny to his name.”

  “And he’s a pastor,” Lytton pointed out. “Dull sort of life, I should think.”

  Charity giggled. “I should think so, too, Papa, but that is what Serena wants. She doesn’t want wealth or position. She wants to marry Reverend Woodson and do good works and lead an exemplary life.”

  “Well, she has to think of her family,” Caroline declared. “She can’t be selfish enough to marry into poverty.”

  “Why not?” Charity crossed to her mother to make her case. She knew where the real power in the family lay, and it was not in her vague, fox-hunting father. “I will be marrying well now. The Earl of Dure is still going to be your son-in-law.”

  “He offered a very generous settlement,” Lytton put in. “Said he doesn’t want us plaguing Charity for money.”

  “And, of course, I will be able to bring out the younger girls, just as Serena would have.” Charity went on, looking martyred, “Next year Elspeth can live with us for the season, if you can’t find her a husband this year.”

  “A capital idea!” Lytton brightened even more. He far preferred living in the country with his hounds and horses. “We can stay in Siddley-on-the-Marsh and Charity can take care of all that. It sounds perfect, Caroline.”

  “So you see, Mama, we have lost nothing, and there is really no reason why Serena should not be allowed to marry as she wishes. She loves the reverend, and he loves her.”

  “They have been courting behind our backs?” Caroline’s face darkened.

  “No! You know Serena better than that. They have merely met and talked over all sorts of charitable works. She truly loves him, Mama, and you can’t want her to pine away her whole life for him. She would not be happy marrying someone else, and now that the family no longer needs her to marry well, I am sure she will refuse any other suitors. She will wind up unhappy and unmarried.”

  “She should have told me,” Caroline said stubbornly. “It was wicked of her to have hidden it from me.”

  “Ha!” Aunt Ermintrude put in bluntly. “As if you would have listened to anything the girl had to say. You didn’t know it because you never asked or looked at the girl long enough to see that something was wrong. You were too busy pushing what you wanted on her.”

  Caroline started to bristle, and Charity intervened hastily. “Serena knew how much you and Papa wanted her to make an advantageous marriage, so she said nothing to you. But now, oh, please, Mama, say that she may have her pastor.”

  Caroline sighed. “I suppose so, if he comes to your father in a proper way once we get back—though why Serena should choose to live in that damp little manse, I don’t know!”

  “Thank you, Mama.” Charity leaned forward and kissed her mother on the cheek.

  “At least you had the good sense to take Dure,” Caroline went on practically, brightening. “Let’s see, what’s to do first? An announcement to the newspapers, of course…”

  Charity bounced up and went upstairs to tell Serena the good news, leaving her mother behind, absorbed in anticipating a grand wedding.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SIMON LEANED BACK against the seat of the hack as it made its way through the streets of London. He thought of Charity and how she had looked this afternoon when she came into the drawing room. All the way over to call on her father, he had wondered if he was committing a grave folly in agreeing to marry the girl. He thought of how young she was, of how little he knew her. His actions were too impulsive for a lifelong commitment such as marriage. Besides, the desire that stirred in him at the sight of Charity made him a trifle uneasy.

  He was not about to enter upon another marriage in which his heart was engaged. He had learned that painful lesson the first time; giving one’s heart into another’s hand was the surest way to a living hell. He had been careful ever since then to avoid ladies, and the lures offered by their love. Instead, he had frequented the women of the demimonde; a paid mistress gave pleasure and did not put one’s heart in danger. The sudden rush of passion that swept him when he kissed Charity had been so intense that it almost frightened him. What if he came to care too much for her?

  But then Charity had waltzed into the room, her face aglow and smiling, and his doubts had vanished.

  She was not precisely the woman he would have described as his ideal for a wife; she was far too lively and unpredictable. But now that he had met her, the prospect of marrying Serena or any of the other young women he had met in London seemed dull and flat. Life with Charity, he suspected, would never be dull. Surely it was better to marry a woman who amused and entertained him, who did not bore him with her company. It would be much easier to get an heir if making love with her was a pleasure, rather than a chore.

  There was little risk that he would fall in love with her, he reassured himself. He had learned how to guard his heart, and lust, after all, was not the same as love. After a time it would fade, as it always did. Then he would be left with a pleasant relationship with his wife, a friendly sort of partnership in raising their children. He smiled, his thoughts turning toward blond-haired, blue-eyed children with dimpling mischievous grins. For the first time, it occurred to him that marriage could be an adventure.

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a familiar house, and Simon climbed out. He never came here in his own carriage, his crest emblazoned on the side; he was too discreet for that. He crossed the street to a narrow but attractive house. This was a much less fashionable part of town than his own house in Arlington Street, but it was pleasant, nevertheless. He climbed the steps and knocked on the door, bracing himself for the scene that he was sure was about to follow.

  He had known for some time that he had to break off this relationship. Indeed, he had tired of Theodora some weeks ago; her undeniable sensual lures had grown familiar, and her emotional excesses had become tiresome. He would have put an end to it sometime earlier, but he had put it off because he dreaded the kind of emotional scene that Theodora was likely to enact. It would not be because Theodora loved him, he knew. But she would very much dislike losing the money.

  However, he could not continue with the relationship now that he was about to be married; it would clearly be an insult to his future wife to maintain such a liaison. He had to tell Theodora it was over.

  Theodora’s butler answered the door and permitted himself a wintry smile. Simon was their most welcome visitor. “My lord, how nice to see you.”

  “Sommers.” Simon greeted the man as he stepped into the hall. “Is Mrs. Graves home?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Sommers led him to the drawing room and left him, saying he would tell Mrs. Graves that Simon was here.

  Minutes later, there was the light sound of footsteps on the stairs
, and a woman swept gracefully in. “Simon!” Her low, sultry voice vibrated with pleasure, and she walked over to him, hands extended.

  “Theodora.” He took her hands and raised one of them to his lips perfunctorily.

  Theodora Graves was a beautiful woman. Thirty years old, she was one of those women who attained the height of her beauty with age. Her skin was milk-white, in vivid contrast to her black hair and large brown eyes. She was very proud of her skin, and loved to show it off in evening gowns with low necklines and short capped sleeves. She looked her best in the evenings, and she knew it, for the golden glow of lamplight gleamed on her pale skin, hiding all signs of the incipient wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Her gowns were always of dark, warm colors, golds and greens and deep crimsons, and they took full advantage of her large, luscious breasts and small waist, cinched by corsets into nothingness. One of her admirers had once told her that she looked sinfully delicious, and she cherished the compliment.

  She was not a member of the demimonde, as most of Dure’s other mistresses in the past had been, but one of a dubious group who hovered on the fringes of society. Though she was only a tradesman’s daughter, her beauty had won her a husband of good family, if straitened means; a cavalry officer, he had been killed in Ethiopia a few years ago. She moved among a circle of army officers and some flamboyant army wives and widows, considered a “loose” crowd by the more conservative matrons, but was now and then invited to very large crushes or taken there by one of her officer friends.

  It was at such a function that she had met Simon a year earlier. He had been drawn to her sensual good looks and had easily recognized her as a woman who, while not a “lady of the night,” was willing to give her favors outside the bounds of matrimony and expected to be supported in return. She had at that time been attached to a certain young gentleman, but she had been shrewd enough to realize that Simon was a far better catch, and within a few weeks’ time she had rid herself of her gentleman and set her cap for Simon. He had maintained her household for several months now.

  “How reserved you are,” Theodora told him playfully now, retaining her grip on his hands when he would have released them. She leaned forward on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips.

  Simon stood stiffly, not responding to her mouth, and when she dropped back flat on her feet, a pout on her face, he glanced toward the door, saying mildly, “The servants.”

  “Oh, pooh.” Theodora waved her hand. “Who cares what the servants think?” She dimpled up at him. “I did not know you were so stuffy, my love.”

  Simon, looking down at her, wondered why he had never noticed before how practiced her smile was. He thought of Charity’s smile, which broke across her face like sunshine, dimples springing into her cheeks without artifice. He found himself looking at Theodora, comparing her voluptuous body to Charity’s slender figure, with its firm, high breasts, and Theodora’s lush beauty suddenly seemed excessive, like the heavy scent of patchouli that clung to her.

  He stepped back from her. Theodora frowned faintly and went to close the door to the hallway. “I am so glad to see you,” she went on, abandoning her pout. “It seems as if it’s been ages since you’ve been here. A lonely heart makes the days seem longer, I suppose.”

  She stopped when she turned away from the doors and saw that Simon had seated himself in a chair, instead of the love seat or sofa, effectively isolating himself from her. She forced a smile and returned to stand in front of him. Once he would have reached up and pulled her down into his lap, but he did not this time, and after a moment she moved over to the sofa and perched on the edge of it.

  “Shall I ring for tea?” she began brightly.

  He shook his head. “No. I came to bring you this.”

  He reached into his jacket and withdrew a long, thin jewelry box. Theodora’s eyes widened, and she quickly reached for the box, a smile curving her lips. She opened it, revealing a bracelet of sapphires and diamonds, and she drew in her breath sharply.

  “Oh, Simon!” She stared at the bracelet with avid eyes. “It’s lovely. Thank you, oh, thank you!” She took the bracelet out of its box and stretched out her arm toward him. “Here. Put it on me, will you?”

  He did as she asked, and Theodora held her arm up, twisting it this way and that to admire the flash of the jewels. “You sly dog,” she told him. “Here I was afraid that I had offended you somehow.”

  “No. You have not offended me. But I do have something to say. You know, perhaps, that I have decided to marry again.”

  Theodora’s breath caught, and she gazed at him with glowing eyes. Simon, intent on what he had to say, did not notice her reaction.

  “This afternoon I became engaged. For that reason, I am afraid that we must end our…arrangement.”

  He raised his head to look at her, and now he did notice that her face was white and her eyes were wide with shock.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I have taken you off guard. I did not realize…I thought surely you would have been aware of the gossip. It seems half of London knows that I have been searching for a wife.”

  “A wife! Of course I know it!” Her eyes blazing, she jumped to her feet. “I had thought—But you love me!”

  Simon stared at her. He rose, too, his face cool. This was the emotional scene he had dreaded. “No, madame,” he said softly. “I have never given you cause to think that. I am certain of it. I never spoke words of love to you, never intimated that our relationship was anything more than what it was, a man and a woman who took pleasure in each other. You are a worldly woman. You were well aware of what we were to each other.”

  “You cannot do this to me!” Theodora cried passionately, tears welling in her eyes. “I love you! I have given myself to you, flung away my reputation, all for love of you.”

  Simon’s mouth tightened. “I think, madame, that you forget William Pelling and the hussar captain who were both before me, and probably several others whom I do not know.”

  “You are insulting.” Her great dark eyes flashed.

  “I speak only the truth. We had a business arrangement, you and I, and we each received what we wanted from it. There was never any question of love or marriage, and you know that very well. If you have deceived yourself, I am very sorry.”

  Theodora let out an incoherent cry of rage and blindly picked up the closest thing at hand, a small crystal vase, and hurled it against the wall. “How dare you! How dare you! No man has ever cast me aside!” She collapsed into tears, flinging herself on the sofa.

  Simon swallowed his distaste at her histrionics and went over to the couch to kneel on one knee beside her. He did, after all, owe Theodora something; he had partaken of her favors for several months, and even though he had kept her in good style in return, there had, at least at first, been some emotion between them. He disliked hurting her, and though he had little illusion that she loved him, he knew that he had dealt a blow to her feminine pride.

  “Come, Thea, ’tis not so bad a thing. There are many other men in London who will be gleeful to find that I no longer visit your house. You can have your pick of any of them. No one will think that this is because of any lack on your part. They will know that I am to be married. It would be an insult to my bride to flaunt my mistress in her face.”

  “Your mistress!” Theodora sat up, her face blazing with color. “I would have been your wife!”

  Simon gaped at her inelegantly, amazed by her words.

  Theodora’s eyes narrowed. “She stole you from me. Who is this chit that’s taken your fancy?”

  Simon’s face tightened, and he rose to his feet. “No one stole me from you, Theodora. I was never your possession. I did not give you cause to think that our relationship was anything other than it was. And whatever it was, it is now over.”

  “Then go!” Theodora shrieked. “Get out of my house!”

  Simon bowed and left the room. Theodora bounced to her feet, her fingers curling into claws, her chest heaving with fury. She grabbe
d a pillow from the sofa and hurled it after Simon. But it fell far shy of its mark, bouncing harmlessly, noiselessly, off the wall. Theodora let out an incoherent cry of rage and leaped for a small wooden box from the end table and sent it crashing into the hall. The noise was soothing to her, so she grabbed every object she could find and sent them after the box, until finally she had exhausted her supply. She collapsed to the floor then, panting and trembling.

  So he thought that he could just put her away like that! The idea enraged Theodora, even more so because she had been sure that she had the Earl of Dure wrapped around her little finger, a slave to his passion for her. She was stunned that he had slipped those sexual bonds—and for some little milk-and-water miss! As if one of those little bloodless debutantes could keep Simon satisfied!

  A smile curved her full lips as she recalled just how passionate and innovative Simon could be in bed. He had satisfied her far more than any of her other lovers had. It was one reason—besides the money and that title, of course—why she had hoped to bring him to marry her. Well, he would find out what a bore his lady wife was, and then he would regret throwing away his chance with her!

  Theodora thought of this with great satisfaction. Hope began to rear its head inside her again. There was yet time; he would not marry the girl right away. She could win him back! No doubt Simon’s family and friends had persuaded him to marry some maiden from the nobility, for the sake of his name. But he did not love her. He would soon grow tired of her, and he would begin to long for the hot passion he had had with Theodora.

  Pleased with the idea, Theodora sat up straighter and began to wipe the tear streaks from her face, plans racing through her head. Tonight Lady Rotterham was having one of her vast crushes. Surely Simon would be at it, dancing attendance upon his new fiancée. And Theodora had an invitation. Since her name had been linked with Simon’s, she had received more invitations to society functions. She would go, also, and she would see this chit for herself. She would dress beautifully, and take extra time with her toilette. Let Simon see what he would be missing!