Chapter 6
Clinton Rowley sunk back into the seat, hoping to blend into the dark shadows of the carriage as he waited. He had been following his cousin Felicity Pemberton for weeks now, anxiously trying to figure out her whereabouts. It hadn’t taken him long to deduct that she was staying at her late father’s townhouse in London, which now rightfully belonged to him. He had given her more credit than was due thinking she would’ve found somewhere more clever to hide, but he was secretly pleased by her transparency for it made his task that much easier.
Once he figured out where she was staying, the rest was easy, enjoyable even. He’d been following her about London nearly every night trying to decipher what she was up to. His heart lept as he spotted her exiting the house she had entered less than two hours prior. Just like the last time he saw her, she appeared flustered and upset and he couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong. A wicked sense of delight filled him as he realized that the missive he had instructed to be delivered to her house would only add to her unrest. It made him happy to see her suffer and he hoped that this was only the beginning of a lifetime of agony for the dreadful twit.
He instructed his driver to begin following her as he watched her own carriage pull slowly out of the drive. He would see that she got home safely before he returned to the Spotted Pig, the inn where he had been staying since his foray into London. He locked his fingers together before placing them under his chin, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, not all positive.
His reflections of late had often taken him back to a time he’d rather not dwell on, a time that he’d just as soon forget if it wasn’t the root of what drove him to such extreme measures of revenge. He remembered all too clearly the night Lord Pemberton showed up at his house in the middle of the night, hysterical with the news that his only daughter had been compromised.
At first Clinton failed to see the problem—as long as she wed a titled gentleman with wealth, he couldn’t care less what her fate was to be. That’s when Lord Pemberton informed him that he had agreed to trade Felicity’s hand in marriage as a payment towards the enormous debt he owed Lord Kilpatrick.
Clinton had been livid. “What do you mean you owe an enormous debt to Lord Kilpatrick? Surely you have enough blunt in holdings to cover the debt.”
Lord Pemberton shook his head frantically, “That’s the problem, I haven’t a shilling to my name and if I don’t settle some of these debts I’ve been accruing soon, it’s only a matter of time before I’m sent to debtor’s prison.”
It was the first that Clinton had ever heard about the precarious state of the estate he had been anxiously awaiting to inherit and to say it upset him was a vast understatement.
While his mind was churning with anger, Lord Pemberton continued rattling on obliviously. “I’ve tried to do everything I could to keep my creditors at bay but I was running out of options. Lord Kilpatrick is an impatient man so when he finally agreed to wed Felicity in exchange for a payment towards what I owe him I knew I had to make the deal, there was no other way. But tonight I found out that she’s ruined—I’m ruined!” he wailed, clutching his heart in agony.
The blood in Clinton’s veins turned to ice. He stalked towards Lord Pemberton at a leisurely pace, but his slow casual manner betrayed the rage he felt brewing inside. Stopping mere inches from Lord Pemberton, he bent to look him squarely in the eye and seethed, “I’m the one who is ruined by this revelation, not you. You have had your whole life to frolic in wealth and luxury while I’ve sat idly by, patiently waiting for you to croak so I could finally have a taste of the life you have always flaunted before me, the life I deserve to live. Surely there is some other way for you to put your estates to right.”
“I can’t go back on my word to Lord Kilpatrick, my honor is at stake.”
Clinton grasped Lord Pemberton’s broad shoulders and gave him a hearty shake, “My whole future is at stake!” he yelled, livid that he couldn’t see how selfish he was being.
Lord Pemberton jerked free from Clinton’s grasp and caustically spat out, “I’m glad to see that you’re so concerned for me.”
“The devil with you, what about me? I bloody well won’t tolerate inheriting a worthless estate bogged down with debt. I suggest you wait and see if Felicity is with child, if not I wouldn’t breathe a word of her ruination to Lord Kilpatrick, or anyone else for that matter, and still attempt to pawn the chit off on the unsuspecting fool.”
“And heaven forbid she is with child, then what? There’s not a man in London who would take her then.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, irritated by the whole conversation in general, not just Lord Pemberton’s failure to see the apparent. “Go to the man who is responsible for her condition and force him to wed her. Pray tell that he at least has some sort of wealth.”
Lord Pemberton sagged against the wall for support, feeling entirely defeated by the mess his irresponsible daughter had created for him. “I’m sure Lord Martineau would do the right thing and marry her, if it comes to that, in the meantime I’ll just face social ruin when word gets out that not only has my daughter allowed herself to be compromised, but I am a man who doesn’t honor his word.”
Clinton’s head snapped around, his eyes boring into Lord Pemberton. Ignoring the tirade of self pity he asked, “Who did you say compromised Felicity?”
Rubbing his brows methodically, Lord Pemberton didn’t even bother to look at Clinton as he spoke. “Lord Martineau, a decent enough chap, in line to become a Viscount and inherit a modest amount of wealth.”
“No!” Clinton nearly screamed, shocking Lord Pemberton to the core.
“What’s wrong?” He asked Clinton, confused by his sudden emotional outburst.
Clinton felt himself break out into a sweat at the mere mention of Lord Martineau’s name, a name he just as soon he never hear spoken again. He closed his eyes, a tightening of his chest accompanying the flashback that shot through his mind like lightening, overcoming him and blocking out all of his current surroundings.
It was the summer that he turned fifteen and his father, Robert Rowley, had just started allowing him to accompany him on the various jobs he acquired to help put food in their mouths and sustain their modest lifestyle. He was a self-trained carpenter and word was just starting to get around that his work was of exceeding quality, opening up for him many opportunities that he hadn’t known previously.
Lord Spencer Martineau had heard of Robert’s talent and had contracted him to build an addition onto their main stables, a job that would pay almost triple what he was accustomed to making. Clinton had been anxious to trail along, always curious at how the upper class lived, how he would live once he inherited his uncle’s title.
Though his father had been born the son of a baron, he was the fifth son and didn’t stand in line to inherit the meager estates and title his own father possessed. His sister, Felicity’s mother, had been the only child in the family concerned with climbing the social ladder, anxious to rise above the paltry existence her father’s barony had provided them with. It had been a stroke of vast luck, and a nod to her exceeding beauty, that she had managed to snag Lord Pemberton during her first season, though she had never been as blissfully happy in the union as she had always dreamt she would be. At least she was able to find some solace in the fact that she had risen in society and now enjoyed a wealth her own family had never had the privilege of enjoying.
Robert Rowley had acquired a devil-may-care attitude about the entire trappings of the ton, falling in love with a mere servant girl, wedding her, and resorting to manual labor to provide for his new family. Clinton had been their first and only child and had been just as shocked as his parents when Lord Pemberton had named him his heir after finally conceding that he would never produce a son after many failed attempts. They attributed the great honor to the fact that Lady Pemberton had a soft spot for her youngest brother, Robert.
Clinton was instantly taken in by the Martineau’s grand estate—their
house was much finer than his own simple dwelling and the multitude of servants anxiously scurrying about seeing to even the simplest of needs intrigued him. How would it be to be treated with such deference?
His father told him that the Martineau’s had a son close to his age, a year younger in fact, and he had been anxious to make his acquaintance. He never suspected that the young man wouldn’t want anything to do with him; somewhere in his idealistic yearnings he hoped that they would become friends. However, Elliot Martineau was so concerned with his own affairs, Clinton was almost positive that he didn’t even know of his existence. At first that fact rankled him, but that was before he got distracted by one of the comely serving maids.
Her name was Anne and she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen—she was petite with fine boned features and vivid blue eyes. Her hair was like golden rays of sunshine and her radiant smile caused his heart to beat an erratic rhythm in his chest. He had formed a habit of following her around the manor as she scurried about seeing to her various chores. At first she seemed flattered by his attention but as the days wore on, she seemed to withdraw from his advances which only served to make him confused and upset.
Clinton was snapped out of his reverie when his carriage came to an abrupt halt, causing him to jerk forward in his seat. He cursed before looking out of the window and noticing they were parked in front of the Spotted Pig. He had been so lost in his musings he hadn’t realized that his driver must have already seen Felicity home before bringing him to the inn. Alighting from the carriage he cursed once more, ruing the day that Elliot Martineau ever interfered in his life.
Chapter 7
Felicity dreaded returning home, knowing that she looked affright and that Aunt Agatha was sure to bombard her with questions. Her dress, though now dry, was crumpled and stained, and she desperately hoped it could be salvaged. It was one of the few nice gowns she owned and she couldn’t afford to have it replaced. She was sure her face wasn’t much better, she had spent the better part of the carriage ride home with tears coursing down her cheeks.
She couldn’t believe how fresh the pain of Elliot’s abandonment felt and how after all of this time he could attempt to waltz back into her life and claim her as if no time had passed. She had been so sure when her father had found out that Elliot had ruined her that he would have come to her and insist on making it right, wedding her immediately to prevent further scandal from befalling her. She had been both shocked and brokenhearted when the only response she had ever received from him was word from her father that he refused to have anything to do with her.
Elliot’s betrayal would have been horrendous enough to handle on its own, but coupled with her father’s resentment and drastic actions as punishment for her behavior she had become forlorn, barely able to cope with her newfound existence. She didn’t want to dwell on the past however, knowing full well that her future and what awaited her at home required all of her mental energy and attention.
Everything was dark and silent when she walked into the house. The only sound she heard was Aunt Agatha scurrying across the hall. She looked up to see the old woman approaching her with what appeared to be a note clutched in one wrinkled hand.
“Oh Felicity, I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Whatever is the matter? Is it—”
Aunt Agatha cut her off mid-sentence, thrusting the missive into her hands, “I wasn’t sure things could get worse.”
Felicity sunk onto the stairs and straightened the paper in her hands, squinting to make out the words in the dark.
My darling cousin,
I have found out about your devious scheme to pose as a widow in order to acquire a husband of quality. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out what you were up to or where you had gone? I grow weary of your childish games. Now that I know your whereabouts, I fully intend to make good on my previous threat. You ruined my life and I plan to return the favor, all in good time.
Clinton
Felicity dropped the offending paper in her lap and looked up with horror, “How did he find us?”
“I don’t know child, but it was only a matter of time. We are staying at one of your father’s properties which now rightfully belongs to him. What are we going to do?”
“I haven’t a clue, there’s nowhere else for us to go.”
“The only way to be free from your odious cousin is to legally belong to someone else. What about Lord Wadsworth? Do you think you can persuade him to propose marriage soon?”
Felicity sighed, “Oh Aunt Agatha, I doubt it. He’s shown interest for sure but I doubt he’s the kind to rush into marriage. I’ve done everything I can to encourage male attention but things are just not going as well as I would like. If only I had more time, I’m convinced our plan could work eventually but the problem is we need it to work immediately.”
“Is there anyone, anyone at all who comes to mind? Surely there has got to be some elderly widower who would leap at the chance to marry a beautiful young widow. The older gentlemen are usually more anxious to be wed than the younger generation, eager to replace their lost companionship.”
Felicity cringed, thinking of being married to somebody old enough to be her father. Seeing the distress on her face, Aunt Agatha gingerly lowered herself to sit on the stair beside her, reaching one arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. “You know that normally I wouldn’t dare suggest such a displeasing idea, but I can’t see any other way. Are you absolutely sure there is no one else to consider, no one else who may be interested?”
Unwittingly an image of Elliot flashed through Felicity’s mind. She allowed herself to briefly wonder if she approached him if he would be willing to be her rescuer. She gave a sardonic laugh thinking of how he failed to rescue her the first time, sure she couldn’t put her faith in him ever again.
Her laugh startled Aunt Agatha who looked at her curiously. “What’s that laugh about child?”
Patting her Aunt’s hand in a gesture of comfort she replied, “Oh nothing. Give me some time to think about things, I’m sure there’s a solution to be had. If nothing else we can leave, flee the city if we must.”
“But where would we go?”
“I haven’t a clue,” she answered honestly, “All I know is that I will never live with my cousin again, never.”
Once Felicity was dressed in her cotton nightgown and curled up in bed she let her mind wander. She knew that she needed to spend all of her time trying to concoct a feasible plan that would aid them in their current predicament but instead she couldn’t stop playing over and over again the kiss she had shared earlier with Elliot. She got chills just thinking about the way he had caressed her, holding her tightly as if he was afraid to let her go. For the smallest second of time she had allowed herself to stop thinking; her past and her current quandary had faded from her mind completely as she responded to Elliot’s kiss with a long suppressed desire.
She suddenly felt flushed remembering the passion that always seemed to ignite between them. She threw her covers back and got up to crack the window. Returning once more to her bed she forced herself to remember all of the reasons she loathed Elliot Martineau, but against her will memory after memory kept flitting through her mind of happier times.
She remembered their first kiss and smiled at the memory. He had gotten permission from her father to take her on a picnic. Her lady’s maid Beatrice accompanied them on the outing. She had been so excited to get to spend some time with him that she could scarcely pay an ounce of attention to anyone other than him. One of the things that had always impressed her about Elliot was his easy manner; she had always felt comfortable with him and that day had been no exception.
Once they had arrived at Kensington Gardens, they quickly found a perfect place to set up their picnic. Elliot had brought a blanket that he spread out on the grass before they lowered themselves to the ground and began unpacking the contents of the picnic basket. The fare consisted of cold cuts of ham and cheese, biscuits and
sweet strawberries with gingerbread cakes for dessert. The combination of sunshine and good company made the meal taste even more delicious.
After the trio had eaten their fill, Elliot worked his magic to convince Beatrice to keep watch over their belongings while he escorted Felicity on a stroll, promising to keep within seeing distance.
When they were barely out of hearing distance, Elliot leaned towards her and in a deep voice said, “I’m so glad your father agreed to this outing today, I’ve been counting down the hours till I could see you again.”
“As have I, my lord,” she admitted unashamedly.
“Please call me Elliot,” he insisted with a boyish grin, the dimple on the side of his mouth making an appearance.
She smiled up at him thinking how she had already been calling him by his given name in her head for quite some time now. “I’d like that, Elliot. And you must call me Felicity.”
Before long they had managed to wander quite far off from Beatrice without being too far away as to cause concern. Elliot stopped walking, unwilling to go any further and provoke Beatrice into coming after them. He reached one hand up and pointed to the sky above, “See that fluffy cloud there, oddly enough it resembles a pig.”
Felicity cocked her head to one side, squinting her eyes to try and make out a pig in the sky. “No you’re mistaken, what you presume to be the snout is much too pointy and elongated. It appears more like a teapot to me. See,” she said pointing a hand up towards the sky, “What you most likely thought was the tail is actually the handle.”
“Well how about that cloud over there, what does it look like to you?”
“Hmmm…” she contemplated it for a minute, one finger tapping her chin as she thought. “It appears to be a fire breathing dragon; you can see its tail curling all the way above its head.”
Ladies of Deception 02 - Misleading Lord Martineau Page 5