The woman is a lunatic, Penworth thought. How dare she speak to Lady Anne that way? And me, what kind of fool does she think I am? I am supposed to marry that little trollop after one look simply because she and her mama wish it?
“Mama,” said Corinne, “I don’t think this is going to work.”
“Of course it will,” said her mother. “Now you just sit there leaning on your hand, looking thoughtful.” She pushed Corinne into position and then stepped back to study the pose. “Or perhaps you should be admiring the flowers.” She pushed the vase into Corinne’s hands.
Turning to Anne, she asked, “Which do you think the marquess would prefer?”
“Aunt, the marquess is not a fool. He is not going to fall in love with Corinne after one look and he is not going to marry her simply because you wish it,” said Anne, sounding exasperated.
Penworth found it a shock to hear her echoing his thoughts, but a pleasant shock somehow. As if they were comrades, or at least allies.
“That’s enough from you, Anne,” Mrs. Craddock snapped. “I should not have bothered asking you. You’ve always been jealous of Corinne. Now go to your room, and the next time I see you, I want you to be wearing your cap. And what have you done to that dress? Put on one of the others. Remember what you owe to our charity.”
Penworth had had enough. His wife-to-be was not going to be disparaged in his hearing. And she certainly wasn’t going to put that hideous cap back on her head.
He stepped into the room and struck a dramatic pose with his arms outflung. “Beloved,” he exclaimed, “our troubles are at an end!”
“My lord?” Anne spoke uncertainly.
“I knew that once he saw you again, the earl would love you as I do. He has agreed to our marriage, and the wedding can take place at once.” Penworth stepped quickly to her side and drew her into his arms. “Oh my darling, tell me that you share my delight.”
Anne looked up at him, and he saw the shock in her eyes change to uncertainty and then to amusement. “Oh, my lord,” she said, “my joy is equal to your own.”
At that Philip gave a shout of laughter. She was indeed quick-witted, and he doubted that her aunt could recognize the sardonic note in her voice. He pulled her close and kissed her soundly.
The kiss was a surprise. The moment his lips touched hers, he felt as if he had fallen off a cliff or…or something. Whatever it was, he was floating. He pulled back and gradually the ground under his feet turned solid again. He was staring into her face, and she looked as surprised and bewildered as he felt. What had just happened?
Then he pulled himself together, spun around, one arm still around her, and looked down at her aunt. With his best aristocratic sneer, he inquired, “And who is this?”
“Aunt, this is Philip Tremaine, the Marquess of Penworth. My lord, may I present my aunt, Mrs. Craddock, and her daughter, Miss Craddock.”
“Ah yes, the aunt.” He looked down at Mrs. Craddock, unsmiling.
Mrs. Craddock was gawping—there was no other word for it—and sputtering. “But my lord,” she said once she got her tongue under control, “I don’t understand. You don’t have to do this. We would never let Anne make any fuss.” She smiled ingratiatingly and pushed her daughter forward. Corinne smiled nervously and dropped a curtsey.
Ignoring Corinne completely, he looked down at Mrs. Craddock with as much astonishment as he could manage. The anger in his tone was not feigned. “What nonsense is this? Let her? You would not let her? How dare you presume so? Lady Anne is the daughter of an earl, and she will soon be my marchioness. She will be treated with all the respect due her or, by God, I will know the reason why.”
Anne made a small sound—he was not sure if it was a gasp or a smothered laugh, but he pulled her more tightly to his side and turned to look at her, caressing her cheek gently and winking at her before he turned back to Mrs. Craddock. “I will not feel kindly to anyone who causes her the slightest distress or unhappiness, and those who displease me soon regret it. Do I make myself clear?”
The color drained from Mrs. Craddock’s face. “Oh my lord, offend Anne? Our dear Anne? Oh, I would hate to think anyone might think that we ever…” She trailed off and colored as she realized Anne was looking at her.
Penworth nodded crisply. “You will excuse us. Lady Anne and I have much to discuss. Come, my lady.” He tucked her hand under his arm, patted it and smiled down at her. She was looking uncertain, skittish. “Come with me,” he said softly and drew her out of the room.
They were barely out of the room when he heard Corinne. “I told you that wouldn’t work!”
Philip shuddered and drew Anne quickly down the hall. Around the corner he found an empty room and pulled her in. “Is that what you have been living with? No wonder you were longing to escape.”
She shook her head slightly. “I must thank you. You were very gallant in your rescue.”
He stepped back, still holding her hand. She looked him in the eye, solemn, standing straight and proud.
“You said you are losing your chance at freedom,” he said abruptly. “What was it you hoped to do?”
“Oh, nothing dramatic, I fear. I was not planning to sail the Isles of Greece or cross the deserts of Arabia. I wanted a home of my own. I wanted to step out the door and be the one to decide whether I should turn left or right. I wanted to be the one to decide whether or not it is too wet or too cold to go for a walk. I wanted to have a garden and choose the plants for it myself. I wanted to decide whether to spend my shilling on a book or a ribbon. Foolish, little things.” She shrugged and tried to smile, but it was a twisted smile, too close to pain, he thought.
Then she burst out, “No, I am lying. What I wanted was to never again sit at table with my uncle and listen in silence to his pompous pronouncements. To never again say yes when I want to scream no. To speak what is in my mind. To stop having to pretend all the time!”
Her words struck him uncomfortably. She had been unhappy with her aunt and uncle—hell, he had seen her aunt in action and no one could be happy with her aunt—but he was the one responsible for her new unhappiness. She had been perfectly correct when she said this predicament of theirs was all his fault. He had not intended to, but he had taken the choice—any choice—away from her. He had to do something, say something.
“Listen to me,” he said. “It will be all right. Truly. We must marry. In honor, there is no alternative for either of us. But you will be free in all those ways you mention. You may walk in the freezing rain or sit by the fire, as you choose. You will have all the gardens you could want, to plant in any way you choose. And should we ever sit down to dinner with your uncle, you may feel free to tell him he is a pompous bore.”
“Unless you decide I am not free to do these things.”
He sighed. “I can only assure you that I am not lying. What would that accomplish?”
She eyed him speculatively, but without animosity.
Feeling somewhat heartened, he continued. “Be realistic. Neither you nor I have any choice about marrying. We do have a choice about what comes after. If we are determined to be miserable, to make each other miserable, we will succeed. That is not difficult. Or we can make the best of it, and try to be happy.”
She stared for a minute, and then nodded and said solemnly, “I hope you do not intend to be right all the time. That would be truly intolerable.”
He stared back in utter surprise, then gave a shout of laughter and pulled her to him. She did not push him away but leaned against him. He found that he enjoyed the sensation. He could rest his cheek very comfortably on the top of her head, so he did. Her hair felt silky-soft. One of his hands was on her waist and he could feel the beginning of the curve to her rump. If he moved his hand a bit…no, he didn’t want to frighten her. There would be plenty of time for exploration in the future.
“I cannot promise to love you,” he said eventually, “though I hope it will come, and I think that at the very least we will be able to share fondness.
What I can promise is that I will protect you. You will never again be treated with such discourtesy. You will be treated with honor and respect. And I will do what I can to ensure your happiness.”
She was silent for a moment before she stepped away from him and spoke. “I cannot promise to love you either, though I also hope. I will try to be a good wife, though I do not think I can promise obedience. What I can promise is that I will never lie to you, and I will never be unfaithful. You need not fear for your honor.”
He would be able to trust her, he was sure of it, if only because she was too proud to play him false. She might not yet trust him, but he was determined that she would learn to do so. Trust was more than most couples had.
“Do not worry, my lady,” he said gently. “We will do well together.” He tucked her hand under his arm again and realized that he had been holding on to her ever since he had taken her away from her aunt. And she had made no effort to pull away. He felt absurdly pleased by this small detail.
“I will place you in the care of Lady Augusta. She will want your assistance to help with wedding preparations. I do not think either of us wants anything left up to Mrs. Craddock.”
“Indeed, my lord. I suspect my aunt is still trying to think of a way to make Corinne the bride. At the moment, however, I would like to go to my room, if you do not mind.”
“Why should I mind? I promised you freedom, so I can hardly begin by restricting you.” He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss over her fingers. “Try not to worry. I must return to London to deal with some practicalities, but I will see you within a sennight, my lady.”
“I wish you a safe journey, my lord.” She did not quite smile, but nodded farewell before turning and vanishing down the passageway.
Chapter Ten
In which new hope appears
After watching until she had vanished around a corner, Philip went in search of Greystone, and found him still in the library. Philip threw himself into a chair and stared into space. Greystone watched and waited.
“She’s a gallant creature,” Philip said, finally. “Do you know what she did? She proposed an arrangement that might spare me censure, though it would still destroy her.”
Greystone considered, then nodded his head. “The sort of thing her mother might have done.”
“And have you heard the way that aunt and cousin talk to her?”
Greystone nodded again. “Augusta and I were going to insist she stay with us. Assume her rightful place in society.” He looked at Philip.
Philip recognized the question. “She can do so as my wife. At least I hope she can.” He stood up and walked over to stare out the window. Was this another bit of damage his stupidity had caused? Lady Anne would certainly be better off married to him than she would have been trying to live alone on a pittance. That was the future she had pictured for herself, but she was wrong to think that was the best she could hope for. Utterly wrong.
Greystone and Lady Augusta would have taken her in hand. They would have brought her out, introduced her to society. Greystone would have dowered her. Everyone would have seen her as the beautiful Lady Anne Milhaven, daughter of the late Earl of Elsworth, a lady of impeccable birth and breeding. She could have had her pick of suitors. She could have had the freedom to choose for herself.
He had put any chance to make her own choices out of her reach.
It was his fault she was being forced to marry him. Despite his fortune, the title he bore was stained with disgrace. What sort of welcome would that procure for his wife among the ton?
Philip turned back to Greystone. “Will you help? The Tremaine name, the Penworth title—they are, to put it mildly, besmirched. I do not want her to be harmed by the association.”
“Nonsense, my boy,” said Greystone gruffly. “You underestimate yourself. People already see that you’re not cut from the same cloth.”
Philip gave an impatient shake of his head. “The people who have accepted me have done so because of you. I do not care to rely on the kind hearts of the ton to make Lady Anne welcome.”
“My boy, you know you can count on me and Augusta. And Winchelsea as well. But there are many more of your father’s friends and hers. They will not have forgotten.”
Greystone looked so distressed at the thought of further difficulties for his young protégés that Philip found himself ignoring his own worries and reassuring the older man. “I am sure they will. And I promise you, I will protect her and do everything in my power to make her happy.”
Greystone smiled sadly. “I know you will. Augusta and I had been thinking you might make each other happy. I am only sorry it is happening this way.”
Philip nodded. “I’ll be off to London to arrange a special license. I must deal with the lawyers as well. There are still debts to settle, mortgages to pay off. Will a week from Saturday do for the wedding?”
Greystone nodded. “That’s what Augusta suggested. It will give her time to make preparations. I’ll give you a letter to Will Randolph. He’s the bishop of London now. Elsworth and I went to school with him. He’ll want to come down and perform the ceremony. And the Duke of Winchelsea is here. He was a good friend of her father’s and will stay for the wedding. Give the whole thing more countenance, eh?” The earl hesitated. “About her dowry…”
Philip frowned. “You know I do not need that.”
“No,” agreed Greystone, “but there seems to be some uncertainty about her inheritance. From what she and her aunt have said, it sounds as if Elsworth left her nothing. I find that difficult to believe, but I suppose it is possible. There may have been debts he was concealing. If that turns out to be true, I’ll dower her myself. Twenty thousand pounds. In case anyone asks. We can put it in a trust for her and any children.” The earl looked somewhat shamefaced. “I owe it to her. I should never have taken her uncle’s word that she was happy.”
Philip smiled fondly at the older man. “You can have the papers drawn up, then. And any settlements I should be making on her. Pin money? Is five hundred a quarter enough? I have no idea what she will need. You can ask Lady Augusta.”
That lady herself came hurrying in. “Oh, I am glad I caught you. I forgot to tell you. We are having a ball on Friday evening next—it had all been arranged. So you must be back by then. It will not be a wildly fashionable event, you understand. It is mainly for our neighbors and our house guests. It will, however, serve as a betrothal ball, even if it is the day before the wedding. Every bit of ceremony will help.”
Philip, who had stood at her entrance, gave her a hug. “Thank you. And you will take care of her?”
Lady Augusta returned the hug. “Of course. I will keep her aunt and cousin at bay. But she’s strong, you know. She has not been beaten down.”
Philip gave a rueful grin. “I know. She has a sharp tongue. But do not worry too much. I think she and I will do well enough together.”
Alone in her room, Anne tried to make sense of what had happened.
She had leaned against him and let him hold her.
What had come over her to make her behave in such a way? He was a total stranger, no matter that she had agreed to marry him. Even if she didn’t fear him, she should at least be wary. She knew nothing of him, really.
But it had felt so good to be held. It had been so long—she had been a child the last time anyone had held her like that. In the Craddock household, now that she thought about it, no one even touched her. There had been a few times, in fact, especially during that first year, when she thought Uncle Craddock might strike her, but he had always held back.
She curled up in the blue chair and tried to push down the fury that the very thought of Uncle Craddock brought boiling up. Anger, hidden though it had been, was an old, familiar feeling. Now she needed to deal with a whole new array of emotions.
Frustration.
More than anything else she was feeling frustrated. Freedom had almost been hers. She had come so close to realizing her hopes and plans. A cottage with a hed
ge of lavender along the path and inside, a rocking chair by the fireside. She had pictured it so often that it had taken on a life of its own. She could feel the warmth of the fire on that hearth.
All of that had been smashed by the Marquess of Penworth.
She ought to be furious with him. He had disrupted her life completely, forcing her into an utterly unforeseen marriage to a man she did not know, a man with whom she had engaged in conversation for the first time this morning.
He was a rake—that had been obvious last night—and dishonorable practically defined the term rake. Yet the reasons he gave for insisting on marriage were entirely based on his sense of honor. He had sounded like a man one could respect. How could this be? It made no sense, and left her utterly confused.
She got up and began to pace about the room.
To be honest—and she had to be honest. She had, after all, promised that she would not lie to him, so she could not lie to herself either. Marriage to a marquess offered an infinitely better future than the one she had envisioned for herself in that country cottage. He seemed to think she had been ignorant of the dangers and drawbacks of her imagined life, but she had not. It was just that they had seemed preferable to continuing as the poor relation in her uncle’s household.
Marriage to a marquess—this was more like the future she had dreamed of as a girl, the future her parents had expected for her. A home of her own, perhaps children, and—though she had not realized the importance of it as a child—enough money to support that home.
Money.
Opening the wardrobe, she stared at the grey bombazine—the hated grey bombazine, the badge of poverty and dependence. She reached for it and was about to rip it to pieces when she bethought herself. It was, after all, perfectly good fabric, and there were many in this world who would be grateful for such a dress.
But not her!
She crushed it into a bundle and threw it into a corner. If Millie did not know of someone who would want it, it could be turned into rags.
A MATCH FOR THE MARQUESS Page 6