The Unlikely Lady

by Valerie Bowman

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  His head snapped up. “Mother?”

  His mother kept her eyes trained on the embroidery in front of her. “I don’t care for that woman, Garrett. Jane Lowndes, however, would make a fine wife. I’ve always liked her quite a lot.”

  “Mother! I never knew—”

  “I know. I know. I tend to keep my mouth shut and allow you to go about your business without any unnecessary interference from me. You are a grown man, after all. But you’re still my son, and if I see you making a mistake, it seems I can’t keep quiet. Marrying Isabella Langford would be a mistake. Not to mention I’ve never noticed you to be a bit infatuated with the woman.”

  “I’m not,” he admitted. “But it’s not quite that simple.”

  “Oh?”

  Garrett laughed. “You’re completely transparent, Mother. I can tell how desperately you want to ask me why.”

  Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Well, now that the question is on the table.”

  Garrett took a deep breath. “Harold Langford … he…” Garrett closed his eyes.

  “He what, dear?”

  “He died saving my life.” There it was. It had been a secret he’d carried so long and now he’d told two different women in as many days. He had to admit to himself, it felt good to say it, to finally have it off his chest.

  His voice quavering slightly, Garrett recounted the tale of the day Harold died. She listened intently with tears in her eyes before setting her embroidery aside, leaning over, and squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry, Garrett. Sorry for you and sorry for Harold Langford and his family. But you didn’t make the decision that day, he did.”

  “You can’t know the guilt I feel, have always felt.”

  “Guilt is a terrible master. I know because your father carried it with him.”

  Garrett shook his head. “Father?”

  “Yes.

  “Your father cried like a babe the day your cousin Ralph died. He was devastated for his brother and for Lucy and her mother.”

  “But Father couldn’t have done anything to save Ralph.”

  “That’s true, but it didn’t stop him from feeling guilt. And don’t think I don’t know you’ve carried a bit of that same guilt, too, over your cousin’s death.”

  Garrett hung his head. “I have.”

  “If you weren’t alive, Garrett, there would be no one to take over the earldom. Think of that. The estate would be passed to a distant relative. I have no doubt Ralph would have grown into a fine earl. But I know there could be no better man to take over the responsibility of the Upbridge estates and titles than you, my son. Your father felt the same way. He told me.”

  “He told you?”

  “Yes. He was proud of you, Garrett. So very, very proud.”

  A lump formed in Garrett’s throat. He squeezed his mother’s hand. “Thank you for that, Mother.”

  “I love you, Garrett. I know you’ll do the right thing. You always do.”

  * * *

  No drinking today. Garrett waved away the footman who hovered near him. He was back at Brooks’s, but he needed his wits about him. He intended to confront Isabella this afternoon.

  Adam and Collin Hunt were playing cards nearby. Since their brother had been named a duke, the Hunt brothers had come up in Society. Garrett was about to go greet them when Claringdon and Cavendish came strolling through the door.

  “Upton,” Claringdon said. “Fancy seeing you here again. We were just meeting my brothers.”

  “And I’m happy for any excuse to drink in the middle of the day,” Cavendish added.

  “Good to see you both,” Garrett replied.

  “Come join us,” Claringdon insisted.

  Garrett made his way over to the card table where the other men were settling. He greeted the Hunt brothers, who resumed their play, while Claringdon, Cavendish, and Garrett sat together in a small group of large leather chairs.

  “You look as if you have something on your mind, Upton,” Rafe said. “Not a happy bridegroom?”

  Garrett scrubbed his hand across his face. “That is an understatement.”

  Claringdon’s eyebrows shot up. “Trouble already?”

  “It was always trouble,” Garrett replied.

  Claringdon waved down a footman and ordered three brandies.

  “The last thing I need is a drink. I have important decisions to make,” Garrett said.

  “On the contrary, sounds as if the first thing you need is a drink,” Rafe replied, with a wicked grin.

  “Care to tell us the trouble?” Claringdon asked.

  “Suffice it to say I owe someone an enormous favor and the price may be entirely too great to pay,” Garrett replied.

  Claringdon steepled his fingers. “You’re talking about Harold Langford.”

  Garrett eyed the duke carefully. “You know?”

  Claringdon nodded. “I know what happened in Spain. Langford took a bullet for you. But it was no more than what any of us would have done for each other, you must know that.”

  Garrett briefly closed his eyes. “You cannot know the guilt I feel.”

  “You’re right. I cannot. I do know that you’re directing your guilt into something useful by helping Swifdon champion the soldiers’ bill. You cannot pay with the rest of your life for something that was neither your fault, nor your choice.”

  Garrett took a glass from the footman. “Easy for you to say, Claringdon. You don’t have another man’s blood on your hands.”

  “I do.” Rafe Cavendish’s two words fell like lead to the rug.

  Both men’s heads turned to face him.

  “I have another man’s blood on my hands,” Cavendish continued, staring unseeing into the depths of his newly acquired brandy glass. “I know exactly what the guilt feels like.”

  Upton shook his head. “No, Cavendish. Everyone knew Donald Swift never should have gone to France. He volunteered and there was no stopping him. He said as much in his letter to Julian. You did your best to protect him.”

  “I failed, and an earl died because of me. The man had no children, no heirs.” Cavendish’s voice was heavy.

  “He had Julian. Julian is the earl now.”

  “You think I shouldn’t feel guilt? Is that what you’re telling me, Upton?” Cavendish asked, a wry smile on his face.

  Garrett shook his head again. “No one blames you. No doubt Donald remained alive as long as he did because you were with him.”

  Rafe tossed back his drink. “Perhaps, but the guilt gnaws at my soul.” He set his empty glass on the table and looked Garrett in the eye. “The same as it does yours.”

  Garrett sucked air through his nostrils. “I understand, Cavendish. I do. But you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

  Cavendish cocked a brow. “Perhaps you should take your own advice, Upton.”

  * * *

  Garrett strode down the club’s stone steps minutes later. He’d had that drink, after all, and another. What Rafe Cavendish said resonated. Finally. Through all the years and all the nightmares. All the people telling him it wasn’t his fault when he’d believed damn well it was … he finally felt … free. Damn Harold Langford for taking that bullet. Damn Isabella Langford for being conniving. And damn him for allowing his guilt to push him in a direction he had no business going.

  It was true. No one blamed Cavendish for Donald Swift’s death. The earl had recklessly volunteered to go on a mission to France for the War Office under the guise of diplomacy. Rafe was one of the best spies the War Office had. Donald gave them away. It had ended in their capture and torture. Rafe barely escaped with his life and had spent the past six months slowly recuperating. Rafe was alive in spite of Donald, not the other way around. But Rafe felt guilt. He was the only other man who understood, the only other person who could absolve Garrett.

  “Perhaps you should take your own advice.” Garrett repeated Cavendish’s words. The captain was damn right. Garrett could no longer live in the past, blami
ng himself for the actions of another man.

  After ten years of allowing guilt to ride him, control him, today he was done. Harold Langford had chosen Isabella. Harold Langford had chosen to throw himself in front of that bullet.

  Garrett Upton had his own choices to make.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Garrett’s invitation to come back to the library whenever she liked was an enticement Jane couldn’t resist. If looking about Upton’s town house led to the opportunity to search for a certain letter, so be it. Of course, she’d pointed out to Lucy that she might just ask Garrett for the letter, but nothing was simple when Lucy Hunt was involved.

  Jane had come straight from Lucy’s house, in fact. Less chance to encounter her mother and be forced to explain why Mrs. Bunbury hadn’t yet materialized. One problem at a time.

  Cartwright and the dogs greeted Jane at the door again and ushered her into the library. “Mr. Upton is not here at present,” the butler intoned. “We expect him back at any moment.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be happily entertained by the books,” she replied.

  Cartwright served the tea tray and Jane partook of a teacake. She waited twenty entire minutes before tiptoeing to the door—tiptoeing seemed appropriate when one was engaged in clandestine activities—and peeking into the corridor. The dogs, who remained at her heels, peeked out too.

  “The study is just down the way, is it not?” she asked the dogs, who merely wagged their tails in reply.

  She took a deep breath. Be bold. Jane straightened her shoulders, closed her eyes briefly, darted out of the room, down the corridor, and slipped into the far door on the right.

  The dogs ran with her, and moments later, all three were happily behind the closed study door.

  “Thank you for not barking,” she said to them. “That was well done of you.”

  The dogs each took a turn getting a pat on the head. Then Jane glanced around the study. Decorated in masculine hues of dark blue, it smelled vaguely like Upton. She took a deep breath to savor the scent. A large mahogany desk sat in front of a bay window, two large leather chairs in front of it. A few dark wooden bookshelves lined the walls—more books!—and a large comfortable-looking chair rested on a round rug in front of the fireplace. A cozy and useful space.

  She hurried to the desk and scanned the tabletop. It was neatly arranged. A pile of what appeared to be outgoing mail, an inkwell, several quills, a large square glass paperweight. Nothing appeared to be correspondence, however. She tiptoed again, this time around to take a seat in the large chair. She closed her eyes. The lemony scent of furniture polish and a hint of ink filled her nostrils. It felt like Upton in here. Peaceful, calm, sensible. She suddenly missed him.

  She took another deep breath. “I am not proud of myself for doing this,” she announced to the dogs. “I assure you, I’m not usually the type of person who sneaks about and pries into other people’s belongings.”

  The dogs looked at her with wide, trusting eyes.

  “I’m doing this for you too. You don’t want that horrible woman as your stepmother.”

  This elicited more wagging of tails.

  Jane turned her attention back to the desk. There were three drawers on each side and one in the middle. She’d just take a quick peek inside each. “Please let it be here,” she whispered.

  She slowly slid the middle drawer out first. More quills. A tray of sand. A seal and some wax. No letters. No paper at all.

  She closed the drawer and pulled open another on the bottom right. A quick perusal of the large stack of important-looking papers inside told Jane it was mostly contracts and estate-related paperwork.

  She pulled out the next drawer and the next. They were neatly arranged, but did not contain a letter from Harold Langford.

  She chewed on her bottom lip. What if she didn’t find it? But then, what was she planning to do with it if she did find it? She took another deep breath. Be bold.

  She pulled open the bottom drawer on the left. A box sat in the center of the drawer, full of what appeared to be … letters. Trembling, she pulled the box from the drawer and placed it on the desktop. The letters stood on their sides, stacked together.

  Jane pulled out the first few. Missives from Aunt Mary, one or two from Lucy, one from Lord Berkeley. She slid them back into place and took out the next set. More from Aunt Mary, half a dozen from other friends, none from Harold Langford.

  Jane scanned the room. Upton might return at any moment, or a servant might venture in to clean or something. She didn’t have time to rummage through all of the letters.

  Something told her the one she was looking for wouldn’t be like the others, wouldn’t be with less important correspondence. Upton would do something special with it, because of what it meant to him. Using both hands, she lifted the entire group of letters, and set them carefully in a large stack on the desktop. Then, she peered into the bottom of the box.

  A single letter was there. Underneath them all. Not stacked like the others. Hidden away. With a hand that continued to shake, she pulled out the lone letter. She unfolded it, holding her breath.

  Harold Langford’s name was scrolled across the top with a date from nearly ten years ago. She slid it onto the desktop and expelled her pent-up breath.

  She’d done it. She’d found it. Now she needed to get out of here.

  Closing her eyes and briefly saying a prayer, just in case there was a heaven, Jane gathered up the large stack of letters, placed them back in the box, and replaced it in the drawer. She shut the drawer, grabbed the letter, and jumped to her feet.

  The door to the room cracked open and Isabella Langford sauntered in.

  The beautiful widow narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Miss Lowndes, explain yourself. What are you doing in my future husband’s study?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Garrett bounded up the stairs to his town house and flung open the door. He’d sent Isabella a note earlier, asking her to meet him here. Unfortunately, he’d been detained at his solicitor’s office.

  He didn’t slow as he made his way toward his study, the dogs jumping at his heels. “Cartwright, is Mrs. Langford in the study?”

  “She is, sir.”

  “Has she been waiting long?”

  “Not very, sir. And, sir?” The butler cleared his throat.

  Garrett stopped and turned to face him. “Yes?”

  “Miss Lowndes just left.”

  Garrett blinked. “Miss Lowndes was here?”

  “Yes, sir. She came to have a look at the library again.”

  “Ah, I trust you made her comfortable.”

  “I did, sir. Tea and cakes were served immediately upon her arrival.”

  Garrett had to smile. He was sorry he’d missed Jane, but it was probably for the best. What he had to say to Isabella needed to be said in private.

  “Thank you, Cartwright. That will be all for now.”

  Garrett continued his brisk pace down the corridor to the study, opened the door, and marched inside. Isabella sat on the settee, a cup of tea suspended in her hand. The moment she saw Garrett, she turned to face him. “There you are. I’ve been waiting.”

  “No teacakes?”

  “I never eat those things. They’re bad for my figure.”

  They were quite good for Miss Lowndes’s figure. A devilish grin spread across his face. “I see.”

  “Why was Jane Lowndes in this house when I arrived?” Isabella demanded.

  Garrett managed to keep his voice steady. “Miss Lowndes is welcome to use my library at any time.”

  “That will change once we’re married.”

  “No it won’t.”

  Isabella’s jaw tightened but her voice softened and she pretended to smile. “We can discuss it later, after the wedding.”

  “There’s not going to be any wedding, Isabella.”

  Her teacup clattered to the saucer. “Not going to be—” A questioning look spread across her face, part fear, part
confusion. “Are you saying you’d prefer to marry by special license? That can easily be arranged. I know someone who—”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.” Garrett took a deep breath. “I have made mistakes in my life. More than one. Some more grievous than others. I’ll never forget the day Harold died, and I will always honor him and thank him. I can never repay him. It’s not possible.”

  Isabella’s brows had snapped together over her pale, green eyes. She watched him carefully. “Yes, you can repay him. You can repay him by marrying me.”

  “Our marriage will not bring back Harold. I refuse to compound one mistake with another. We’d make each other miserable, Isabella. We cannot marry.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You cannot be serious. You’re tossing me over?”

  “We haven’t formally announced our engagement. There will be little talk.”

  “But … I’ve begun planning. I—”

  “I’m sorry, Isabella. Don’t worry. I’ll ensure you and the children are looked after financially until the bill passes in Parliament.”

  “The bill?”

  “The one Swifdon and Claringdon are sponsoring to ensure the families of the dead and wounded are provided for.”

  Her mouth turned into a white line. “A pension from the government cannot keep me in the manner to which I’ve grown accustomed. How can you do this? What about Harold’s letter? What about the baby?”

  “The baby belongs to your footman, Boris, doesn’t it? He should do the honorable thing and marry you.”

  Her face paled to match her lips. “You expect me to marry a footman?” She sneered. Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “Harold would turn over in his grave if he knew you were abandoning us.”

  Her words hurt, as Garrett had expected them to, but he no longer felt the wrenching guilt. “If you ever need anything monetarily for the children, all you need do is send me a note.”

  “That’s it? You plan to foist us off with a promise based on a note? You have no honor, Garrett Upton!”

  Garrett winced and clenched his jaw. It was the most hurtful thing she could say to him. He’d also been prepared for that. “I shall always do right by you and by the children, for Harold’s sake. You have my word.”