She had put on her old cap too. Under the circumstances, it seemed suitable, somehow. She was as powerless here as she had been in Uncle Craddock’s house. Any hope of escape had been taken from her.
She reached for the cup of tea and took a sip. She had been unable to eat anything earlier, but perhaps the tea would stay down. She considered. Yes, her stomach was accepting the tea. She took another sip.
She was waiting for Penworth to come and propose to her. The thought intruded, but she shied away from it and concentrated on the clock sitting on the mantle. It was a pretty thing, with shepherdesses and roses and ribbons painted on the china. There were a fair number of things with roses in this room. It seemed to be a theme. She wondered if other rooms in this house also had themes.
If something did not happen soon, she was going to start screaming.
She heard footsteps and turned to the door. He was there. Penworth. He was standing there looking…not precisely unhappy, but certainly not happy. He did not look quite like a rake. A rake should be assured and handsome. Penworth was tall and slim, handsome enough, she supposed. She knew he was strong from the ease with which he had disarmed her and wrestled her down last night without actually hurting her, but his posture was not at all assured. His hair was a bit mussed, and a lock was falling across his forehead. As for his face…well, it was pleasant enough, with wide cheekbones and a strong jaw, but it was certainly not striking or beautiful, and his expression was far from pleasant. One might call it resentful. Sulky, even. She turned away, took another small sip of tea and then put the cup down on the table. Her hand did not tremble at all, she was pleased to note. She felt reasonably certain that when she spoke, her voice would not tremble either, so she turned back to look at him again.
Philip had managed to get some sleep, but only after downing a large quantity of brandy, which made awakening an experience even more unpleasant than had been inevitable. His valet and his boxes had not yet arrived, so he was grateful that he had left some clothing at Greystone’s. At least he was able to face the day—and his cousins, to say nothing of his future bride, God help him—in clean linen.
He had just finished dressing when a footman appeared with a request that he attend the earl in the library “as soon as was convenient.” Since nothing could reasonably be considered convenient at this point, he assumed that meant right away, and produced himself promptly before Lady Augusta and Greystone. The conversation, if it could be called a conversation when he did nothing but nod his head in agreement, truly was more in sorrow than in anger. That, of course, made it even more painful for Philip. Here were the only two people left on earth whom he truly loved—the only people other than his parents who had ever loved him—and he had brought them this unhappiness.
However, it is difficult for a young man to maintain a sense of remorse for any great length of time, especially when the actions in question were entirely inadvertent and in no way malicious. By the time he was sent off to find Lady Anne, he was beginning to feel resentful. Why had this happened to him? He hadn’t been doing anything that hundreds, maybe thousands, of other young men didn’t do all the time. And, from what he’d heard, dozens of them had done it with Lady Hadlow.
Just when he was finally free of responsibilities, able at last to enjoy the freedom that others took for granted, he was trapped. Why did Lord Hadlow suddenly have to object to his wife’s behavior when it was Philip’s turn? Why couldn’t Lady Anne have just been sleeping soundly when he entered her chamber and stayed that way? What ever possessed the silly creature to attack him with a candlestick? If he really had been a thief, she could have been seriously hurt, if not killed. Clearly she was not just a brainless chit but a hoyden to boot.
He found himself at the door of the sitting room before he had even begun to think about what he was going to say to her. He looked in, and there she was, an utter mouse in an unfashionable dress with her hair hidden under a cap. She was pretty enough, he supposed, with that perfect ivory oval of a face and that elegant posture. Blue eyes, large but expressionless. What he could see of her hair poking out from under the ugly cap was dark. But there was no life, no animation, no sign of either intelligence or imagination. She took a sip of tea, her movements elegant and graceful.
He felt a spurt of anger. How could she be so bland, so indifferent! She was nothing but an animated doll, bred to be decorative and graceful and nothing more. Marrying a marquess was doubtless the destiny she had been raised to expect. A “good” marriage, the title and fortune being all that mattered.
God, how would he bear it? This vacuous creature would bore him to death.
He entered and bowed, an elegant courtier’s bow. “Lady Anne,” he said, “I am the Marquess of Penworth.” Might as well make the most of the damn title, he thought. Maybe it will jar her into some sort of response.
She inclined her head with corresponding courtesy. “Lord Penworth,” she said. “Good morning. Would you care for some tea?”
Tea? he thought incredulously. They were total strangers, their lives were about to be bound irrevocably together, and her only reaction was to offer him a cup of tea? She must be made of ice. He threw himself into the first chair he came to, folded his arms, and stared at her.
“Pray be seated, my lord,” she said with exquisite courtesy. He flushed at the rebuke and scowled, but continued to watch her.
“You are staring, my lord. Does that mean you do not wish any tea?”
He raised an eyebrow. “No, my lady, I do not wish any tea, but do feel free to enjoy yours.”
She took another sip, apparently impervious to his sarcasm. Aside from that, she was quite motionless. He could not believe it. Was she a fool? He glared at her. He glared at that cap. “How old are you?” he demanded.
That startled her, at least slightly. “Twenty, my lord. I will be twenty-one in December.”
“Then why are you wearing that ridiculous cap? Take it off.”
“My aunt and uncle prefer it. It serves to remind me of my station.” She seemed to stiffen even more, but lifted off the cap and raised a brow. “Does this meet with your approval, my lord?” There was nothing in the words, in the voice to which he could take exception, but she had somehow become even more glacial.
He gave an inelegant snort. He knew he had been unpardonably rude, but her only reaction seemed to be freezing politeness. “You do, I hope, have some notion of the situation we find ourselves in, do you not?” His tone grew more acid. “I trust you are not so deficient in understanding that you have failed to comprehend that I am here to propose and that you are here to accept.”
She was utterly still, staring at him for a moment, and then flew to her feet so quickly that Philip was not sure he had actually seen her move. One moment she was sitting, the next she was not. The movement must have startled him enough to make him jerk his head—fortunately, because the cup she threw at him smashed harmlessly against the wall instead of against his face.
He felt the breath knocked out of him. No, she was not made of ice. She was blazing with fury—and she was breathtakingly beautiful.
“How dare you, you contemptible rake! You may be sure I am quite aware of the situation in which we find ourselves, and I do not need your sulks and ill temper to remind me. You may resent the prospect of wedding me, my lord,”—she was fairly spitting out the words and pointing her finger at him—“but I am the one who is about to lose her chance at freedom when it was almost within my grasp. Am I supposed to be pleased at the thought of wedding you simply because you are a marquess? Do you assume a marriage such as this fulfills all my girlish dreams of love and romance? Do you think I look forward to being trapped this way? To spending my life being ordered about, under the control of a man with neither sense nor morals? Am I supposed to think that your title makes all other considerations unimportant? How dare you take that tone with me! You might remember that neither of us would be in this fix if you had had the decency to stay in your own bed!”
&nbs
p; She spun around to stare out the window. Her spine was like steel, her arms folded tight in front of her. The air about her seemed to vibrate with her rage. He somehow managed to pull himself to his feet, holding on to the chair, and watched, amazed and impressed, as she brought herself under control. He realized his jaw was hanging open and closed it. She was magnificent. Beautiful and magnificent. It was pride and fury, not stupidity, that had kept her so frozen.
“You must excuse me,” she said tightly. “I do not often lose my temper.”
He managed to straighten up, standing without need of the chair’s support. After a few deep breaths he cleared his throat to recover his voice. “No, you must excuse me. You are quite correct. This situation is entirely my fault, and you are the innocent victim.”
He stood, waiting for her to turn back. When she finally turned around there was still color in her face. She had not yet put her mask in place. No, she most definitely was not made of ice. Thank God!
She sat down, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths of her own. She is armoring herself, he thought. That mask of indifference is her protection. This is a woman I want to know.
He sat down beside her and waited for her to finish composing herself.
“I realize,” she said, “that for us to marry would be far more to my advantage than yours.”
Philip blinked. That was not at all what he had expected and he smiled slightly. “Oh, I would not say that. I would, after all, be gaining an attractive bride of excellent family.”
She gave him a sardonic glance. “And of no fortune. Not what most people would consider an excellent match. No, we both know perfectly well that you are protected by wealth and position. Were you to walk away from here, the worst you would have to fear is a few cold glances. I, on the other hand, would be left to face my guardian. After my aunt provides him with her version of what happened last night, he will feel entirely justified in throwing me out of the house.”
“That is impossible. You are the daughter of an earl.”
“The penniless daughter of an earl,” she corrected. “As my uncle frequently reminds me, I am therefore of no more importance—and less use—than a scullery maid.” She ignored his incredulous look and continued. “However, I believe I know a way out of this. If you would agree to announce a betrothal, we could wait a few months, and then quietly break it off. My uncle is unlikely to throw me out while I am betrothed to a marquess.”
Philip was taken aback. “Forgive me, but what would that accomplish? The scandal will hardly evaporate after a few months.”
“No, but by then it will not harm you, especially if I am the one who cries off. Society will easily forgive a marquess. Any scandal that attaches to me will not matter, since I will never be out in society in any case. In December, I will come of age. I will no longer be under my uncle’s control, and I am hoping that something can be salvaged of my inheritance. I cannot believe that my father left me truly penniless, despite what my uncle says. There may be enough to buy me a small cottage somewhere and enable me to live quietly by myself.”
For a moment Philip just stared at her, trying to keep his jaw from dropping open again. Then incredulity gave way to anger. No, not anger. Despair. She thought he was just like his cousin. Was he never going to escape the stain of the Tremaine reputation?
He stood up and paced until the bitter bile no longer choked his throat. “I realize I have given you no reason to admire or even respect me, but need you hold me in such contempt? Do you think I am such a swine that I would sacrifice you—your entire future—simply for my convenience? Have you any other insults you wish to heap on me?”
She looked at him in surprise. “My lord, I assure you I meant no insult. I am simply endeavoring to be realistic. You are the Marquess of Penworth, and we both know that your family and position mean that you could…”
“Do not ever confuse me with my relatives!” He cut her off. Damn my father’s family. Damn their reputation, and damn them for deserving it. “No, madam. No matter what the Tremaines may have done in the past, no matter how contemptibly they may have behaved, they are gone, and I will not be judged as one of them.”
“I assure you, my lord, I was not thinking to judge you by your Tremaine relations. I neither know nor care anything about them.” Too late she remembered the sneering comments of the dinner guests the night before, but she went on. “Indeed, the only relations of yours that I know are the Earl of Greystone and Lady Augusta, and they are everything honorable.”
“Yes, they are. And I will not shame and disgrace them. That is why I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself. I cannot ruin the life of a gently bred lady and simply walk away. I cannot allow a blameless young woman to be destroyed because of me.”
“What do you mean, you cannot allow it? Am I allowed no say in my own future?” The anger returned to her tone.
It was Philip’s turn to close his eyes and breathe deeply. “No, my lady, in this situation you are not. I realize that you do not know me, but I can assure you that I will not accept such a dishonorable course as you propose. It is not simply a matter of what society will say of you, but of what they will say of me.”
He turned to look at her. “One of my cousins behaved despicably, and ruined a young woman’s life. I will not have people say I am cut from the same cloth. It is a matter of my own self-respect. As you pointed out, this situation is the result of my own actions, and you must allow me to make it right.”
She was sitting rigidly upright, turned toward the window again. He was fairly certain that whatever she was seeing was not the view.
“Make it right,” she repeated bitterly, and closed her eyes. “So I am to be sacrificed to protect not my reputation but yours!”
He flinched but nodded. “If you choose to see it that way.”
“It is not fair!”
Her hands were clenched in fists, the knuckles white, and her eyes remained shut tight, to keep the tears from falling, he thought.
“No, it is not fair,” he agreed.
After a moment, she said more softly, “A few days ago, I comforted myself that in three more months I would be free of my uncle’s guardianship. But when my future finally seems within my grasp, it is snatched away. How can that be right?”
“It is not right,” he acknowledged. “I can sympathize with your feelings. I know what it is like to be at the mercy of others. But I think we both know that fairness and justice have very little to do with what happens in this world. I am not telling you anything different from what Greystone and Lady Augusta will tell you. You have no choice in this matter, any more than I do.”
She turned away, a disbelieving expression on her face.
He continued, “You must listen to me. I promise you, you will not be the loser by this marriage. I do not think I could play the tyrant if I wanted to. You will have your own home to order as you will, money to live your life however you choose. I assure you, you will have far more freedom as a wealthy marchioness than you could ever have as a poor gentlewoman living alone. Poverty would bring you only endless humiliation. And a gentlewoman living alone? You have no conception of the dangers you would face.”
He waited tensely for her response. He could hardly believe it. Half an hour ago, he had been railing at the fate that was forcing him to marry this woman, and now he was practically begging her to marry him. She had to agree, for both their sakes. What he had said was only the truth. He could see her fighting it, but she was not a fool. She finally acknowledged it with a sigh.
She turned to him and asked, “Had you formed any attachment? Is there someone you had hoped to marry?”
“No,” he said. “No one. And you?”
“No one.” She gave a bitter little laugh. “At least we are not breaking any hearts.”
“Come now,” he said gently. “It will not be so terrible. I’ll not be such a bad husband. Lady Anne, will you do me the honor to be my wife?” At least he could offer her a formal proposal.
> She looked up with a half smile and a slight shrug, He started to step towards her but she stood up suddenly and a look of horror crossed her face. He recoiled, but before he could take offense, he realized that she was looking not at him but past him, out the door.
Chapter Nine
In which laughter becomes possible
Her aunt came charging through the door, dragging Corinne behind her. Philip had stepped back, and they obviously did not see him
“There you are, Anne. We’ve been looking all over for you,” said Mrs. Craddock. Before Anne could say anything, she continued, “Now I have decided there is absolutely no need for the marquess to marry you.” She pulled Anne away from the settee and frowned at her. “Why aren’t you wearing your cap? That Lady Augusta has been putting ideas in your head, hasn’t she? Well, never mind that now. Just go to your room before the marquess gets here. He needn’t marry you. He can marry Corinne instead.”
“Aunt, do stop. You are talking nonsense,” said Anne. She started to lift her hand toward Penworth but he shook his head, held a finger to his lips and slipped out the door. He stayed out of sight to listen.
“Don’t you dare be saucy with me, missy! Not after you behaved in that disgraceful way last night—carrying on like a strumpet, trying to trap the marquess and make him marry you. You’ll be lucky if Mr. Craddock doesn’t turn you out of the house.”
Anne tried again. “Aunt, it wasn’t like that at all. It was all a mistake.”
“It certainly was, and I shall make it clear to the marquess that we don’t hold your behavior against him in the slightest. Now this is the room where he is supposed to meet you, is it not? I am sure he will be greatly pleased to find my Corinne instead. She will need to do nothing more than sit here looking lovely, I am sure, to make him fall in love with her.”
A MATCH FOR THE MARQUESS Page 5