by Jaimey Grant
He added, “You may return to Denbigh, however, if you choose.”
Connor regarded his father with astonishment. “You can’t be serious, Father! She will be ostracized until she flees or takes her own life.”
“She is aware of that, Con. She has decided the child will stay with her and she will be its mother. We cannot convince her otherwise.” He sounded oddly proud of that fact.
Connor simply sat there and gaped, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally managed to sputter, “But her life will be ruined. She doesn’t deserve that.”
Jenny, having had about all she could take of being ignored, snapped, “I am aware of that, and I’ll thank you to at least pretend I am here. As to my deserving it or not, that is beside the point. Would you have me simply discard my responsibility because I am female? Not only female but the daughter of a powerful peer, and in so being, that option is open to me? A female who was naïve enough to be…seduced…by pretty words and whispered promises? Which, by the bye, is far from the truth.”
Both gentlemen stared at her. “You were forced?” they asked in unison.
“No, I wasn’t forced. I seduced him,” she asserted firmly. “I have told you over and over that I am as much to blame, more so even than Dare, but you insisted on placing the lion’s share of the responsibility squarely on his shoulders.”
The duke’s softly spoken reply overrode whatever she may have added. “That is the way of the social sphere to which we belong. To go against their rules is to court utter ruin.”
She sighed, staring down at her clasped hands. “I know. And I’m willing to do that. My only regret is the shame I bring to my family.”
The duke and his son shared a long look.
“By the way, Con,” Jenny asked, her brow furrowed in thought, “how did you hear about this? Did Father tell you, or Mother, perhaps?”
“Neither, actually. I’d like to think Father would have seen fit to inform me eventually but, unfortunately, it was Lord Compton who told me the latest rumors flying about.”
She released a weary breath. “So, it begins.” She stood, forcing her male relatives to stand as well. “I shall go and have Alice pack for my departure. I shall inform you presently where I’ve decided to reside.”
She left the room, her spine straight, her face expressionless. The door closed with a silent click behind her.
Chapter Eleven
When a tearful Lady Guinevere informed Miles that her sister was in trouble and it was his brother’s fault, his heart plummeted.
It was Belinda Markwell all over again—only much, much worse.
He had hoped Dare had learned from that experience and gained wisdom in his dealings with the fair sex. Apparently, he hadn’t.
After receiving reassurance that Lady Genevieve would never resort to suicide, Miles relaxed somewhat. He was even slightly amused by Gwen’s vehemence on the subject.
And now, with Gwen having returned to her home, Miles had time to contemplate exactly what such scandal would mean for their families. He was positive the duke’s family would survive; such was the way of the titled elite.
It was Adam who would suffer the brunt. This latest gossip added to what still surrounded Bri would make their acceptance in Society exactly nil.
He scoffed at his own musings. It wasn’t as if Adam or Bri would care. They’d courted scandal for years.
Still, Miles had his mother and father to think about as well. While they were not in the habit of even visiting London, much less attending ton events, he was quite sure they wouldn’t appreciate having the choice taken from them. Who would?
The real fear was what it would do to the relations between Adam’s and the duke’s families. Denbigh had practically raised Adam, who had spent holidays there when he and Connor were down from school. It was Denbigh who’d bought a commission for Adam in Wellington’s army and Denbigh who’d been proud of all the baronet had accomplished. Denbigh was like a father to Adam.
But this, Adam’s cousin having taken the innocence of one of Denbigh’s daughters, just might make their past relationship precarious. And Miles knew Lord Connor would hold Adam somewhat responsible for what Dare had done. How could he not?
But what could be done? The girl needed a husband and quickly. Dare was not available to be prevailed upon—and despite all that had occurred, Miles was quite sure his brother would not hesitate to rescue her.
Jenny was nothing like Belinda, after all, Miles reflected wryly. His fingers idly caressed the inkwell on his desk. Miles had not known at the time that Belinda had had a penchant for loose behavior but he’d learned not long after her body was discovered, poisoned. It had been ruled a suicide but Miles had his suspicions. The girl had been pregnant, something that was not conducive to her particular activities. Miles was sure she had tried to abort the baby and had miscalculated the strength of the drug she’d taken.
But none of that was too the point. Jenny would never do such a thing and Gwen assured him she was determined to raise her child herself. Which left only one option.
Acting decisively, as was his wont, Miles Prestwich rose and shrugged into his coat. Five minutes later, he was on his way to visit the Duke of Denbigh.
The duke actually agreed to speak with Miles, an unlooked-for compliment to the young man, under the circumstances.
Miles was not surprised by Lord Denbigh’s stony expression nor was he altogether taken unaware when he was told curtly to state his reason for being there.
Miles refrained from asking for a seat. He was there to make amends, not beg forgiveness on behalf of his brother.
“I have been made aware of Lady Genevieve’s situation, your grace,” he said without any roundaboutation.
The duke’s raised eyebrow was his only answer.
With an inward sigh, he continued, “If it is agreeable to you, your grace, I’d like to try to make amends.”
“And how, young man, could you possibly do that?”
“I will marry her, give her child a name and, hopefully, avert the worst of the scandal.”
His grace’s face underwent a series of emotions so quickly that Miles couldn’t name one before it was promptly replaced with another.
The duke finally settled on incredulity. “You would do that? Why?”
“My family’s honor is at stake here, too, your grace,” he said simply.
A sneer twisted Lord Denbigh’s lips. “Snagging a duke’s daughter, even a ruined one, would be quite a coup for you.”
Miles maintained an icy dignity although he was tempted to sneer right back. “Would you rather have a fortune-hunter or a Cit as a son-in-law? I, at least, offer a genteel background and enough income to live in comfort.”
“My daughter says she will not marry.”
Miles frowned. “She would choose to live the life of a fallen woman, ruined with a bastard child, instead of marrying a worthy gentleman who only wants to help salvage some of the damage wrought?”
“You will have to ask her that yourself.” Denbigh studied the young man for several long moments before adding dismissively, “You will find Jenny in the morning room.”
The announcement in the morning papers rocked London. Everyone was agog over the news that the hitherto ruined Lady Genevieve Northwicke had gone and trapped herself a husband.
It was mentioned in more than one home, over steaming morning chocolate and toast, that dukes ever were a law unto themselves. It was only natural that Daddy Denbigh would buy his despoiled child a way out of her shame.
Slightly more intriguing was the choice of bridegroom. None other than the twin brother of the very man whispered to have ruined the girl. Many a footman overheard the remark that it was only fitting, under the circumstances.
Jenny read the announcement with a sense of doom. How could she have actually agreed to marry the brother of the man she loved? The very man she strongly suspected held her own twin sister’s heart?
Suddenly clamping a hand t
o her mouth, Jenny slid to the edge of her bed in search of the chamber pot. It was normal for her to feel queasy in the morning but never had she actually emptied her already painfully empty stomach.
She rinsed her mouth and leaned back, wiping her lips with her handkerchief.
It was a stupid plan, she admitted ruefully. She had only agreed to marry Miles because she hoped that Dare would see the notice and come haring back to claim her himself. It was selfish and immature to use him so and Gwen was being hurt in the process.
Oh, would she never learn?
It worked.
Unfortunately, not quite the way she had planned.
Dare did, indeed, come haring home just as soon as he received word of his brother’s impending nuptials…to none other than the woman he, not Miles, loved.
Dare couldn’t stop himself from hying back to London, determined to find answers.
Questions plagued him as he urged his hired nag to greater speeds. Had Jenny’s family discovered their little… indiscretion? Had she told them, or perhaps her sister had?—It never even occurred to him that she might not have told her twin. Had Miles felt obligated, as his brother, to right the wrong he’d done the lady?
And not once in his disturbed imaginings, did he ever consider that she was pregnant.
West opened the door at the knock and almost closed it again when he realized who it was.
Dare would have laughed had he not been so shocked to see the look of outrage on the imperturbably butler’s august countenance. As it was, he barely had enough time to stick his foot in the door.
“West, I came as soon as I could. Please let me pass.”
West held his ground for a second before saying peevishly, “I shouldn’t let you by, Master Dare, knowing what you did. I should have the footmen throw you in the Serpentine.”
“Yes, you should, West,” Dare agreed wholeheartedly.
Then he waited.
West sighed and opened the door. “I would welcome you, Master Dare, but I’m afraid you are not.”
“Understandable, my good man. Now, do you take these”—holding out his riding crop, coat, hat, and gloves—“or do I make do for myself?”
“I should refuse to assist you,” the butler grumbled, “but I find myself unable to do so.” He took Dare’s things from him and disappeared into the furthest recesses of the house.
Dare waited. He knew his twin, and he knew Miles would know he was there. He would be down to…probably hit him, momentarily.
Dare glanced around the open foyer and sat in a chair against the wall. He wondered where the footman had got to who was supposed to be sitting there. Probably off informing the house that the “prodigal” returned, he though wryly.
Leaning back, he closed his eyes briefly, knowing what a precarious position such an action would put him in. His mind whirled back and forth over the events of the past months. Part of him, now, had no idea why he’d ever run in the first place. He should have stayed and at least tried to convince Jenny’s family that he was worthy of being her husband.
His lips twisted cynically. He should not have touched her that night, invitation or not.
He heard a step a moment later. His eyes opened slowly to see his brother bearing down on him, fury emanating from his every pore. If Dare hadn’t been the target of that anger, he’d have laughed.
Standing, he said, “And how is the happy bridegroom? Have you married her yet?”
He dodged the fist aimed at his face, but only just. The next fist met with his hand. He clenched his fingers over it, in far better physical shape than his bookworm brother was.
“Let go,” snapped Miles.
Dare released him with a little jerk, nearly toppling the other man to the ground.
“I will allow that you have every right to hit me, Miles. But I will not let you do so here.”
Miles nearly growled. Dare was amazed at how different he was behaving. His brother, the epitome of gentlemanly conduct, was acting like an animal.
He couldn’t help it. He laughed. And Miles lunged for him.
Backing quickly away, Dare said placatingly, “Miles, I assure you, you can beat me as much as you want. Later. Right now, I need to know why you’ve promised to marry Jenny.”
Miles took a deep breath, trying to calm his rage. “Yes, oddly enough, you are right. We should not do this here.” He sent a significant look toward the back of the domicile where, Dare was quite sure, a group of very interested servants hovered.
Moments later, the two brothers were standing in Adam’s study. Dare glanced around, asking, “Has Adam returned yet?”
“No. Bri said Lord Derringer was found and Adam remained there for a while to patch a few things up.” He turned, facing his brother with the stoicism for which he was well known. “And where have you been?”
“America, mostly,” he shrugged. “I was in Bath, on my way back, when I picked up a London paper over a week old. Imagine my surprise,” he finished dryly.
“Damn your surprise, man! I’m engaged to Jenny because you were not here to fix your mess. Tell me, Dare. Will it always be up to me to clean up after you?”
“I don’t understand what the big tragedy is, Miles.”
Miles’s eyes widened until they threatened to pop. Dare’s grew, too, reflexively.
Then, abruptly, Miles frowned. “You don’t know. No, how could you?” he muttered to himself.
It was Dare’s turn to frown. And he did. With great displeasure. “What don’t I know?”
“Sit down, Dare.”
Dare wasn’t sure he wanted to comply but decided the news would be bad no matter what he did. So he sat.
Miles didn’t. He started pacing. Yet another action so unlike his brother that Dare grew very worried indeed.
Trying to lighten the mood, he quipped, “Miles, this behavior is very unbecoming in a gentleman. You make me dizzy to watch you.”
Miles stopped abruptly, glaring. His next words were cruelly blunt, angered as he was by his twin’s continued disregard for what was a very serious matter.
“Jenny’s pregnant.”
Chapter Twelve
Dare stared at his brother, uncomprehending. He blinked twice, slowly. Then, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” snapped Miles. He sat in the chair behind the desk, glowering at Dare all the while. He refused to say more.
Dare was having trouble breathing. His neckerchief felt too tight and he was quite sure his face was turning purple. His mind just couldn’t wrap itself around the idea that Jenny, his Jenny, was going to have a baby.
“Is it mine?” he asked, stupidly.
A very foul word passed his brother’s lips. “I should kill you outright for that, Dare,” he said through gritted teeth.
Dare shook his head, muttering, “No, of course it is. She would never…”
“No, she wouldn’t.”
Seeming to find some sort of relief in this firm statement, Dare nodded. “No, she wouldn’t. I know she wouldn’t.”
“Dare, I can’t break the engagement,” Miles said, almost gently.
Dare started. “Why the hell not?” He almost came out of his chair in his agitation.
Dare had not actually thought about Miles breaking the engagement. But now that the subject was out for an airing, he wanted to know why. Jenny was his, after all, not Miles’s.
Miles sighed as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “She was ruined before, based solely on rumor, but if I jilt her now, she will be ruined solely on fact. Not to mention Gwen will die an old maid. Even now, her chances of marriage are not good.”
Dare cursed himself. Miles was in love with Gwen. It was in the way he said her name with a bittersweet hopelessness. Dare had always suspected as much but his brother’s inflection merely assured him that it was fact.
“Miles, break the engagement. I’ll marry her. You can marry Gwen.”
Miles shot his brother a disgusted look. “Do you honestly believe Denbigh
would let me marry Gwen? She’s the one who didn’t disgrace herself. She may still have a chance at a good alliance. Jenny, on the other hand, has no chance and the duke will accept me as a son-in-law to satisfy family honor.”
“Honor ever was overrated,” grumbled Dare.
“The very fact that you feel that way proves you have none. Of course, impregnating Jenny proved that very well anyway.”
Dare gave his brother a steady look. “I’ve often wondered if you’ve actually wanted me to beat you to a bloody pulp. Now more than ever.”
“Beating me will not make me break the engagement,” Miles sneered.
“I would do it purely for pleasure, I assure you.” Rising, Dare prowled around, looking for anything with enough alcohol to numb at least some of his rioting emotions. Predictably, Adam’s office was bare of liquid refreshment since Miles was the only one who really used the room.
“Dammit, why can’t you have even one blasted bottle of something in here? I’d swear you were a monk except even they would drink wine.”
A scratching at the door interrupted Miles’s retort. West entered with a tray, a bottle, and one glass. He bowed before Dare, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
Dare quirked an eyebrow at the old man. “Listening at doors again, West, my good man? No matter. I’ll forgive you much for bringing me this.” His grin left little doubt as to his sincerity.
The butler actually smiled fleetingly. “I wasn’t listening, Master Dare. I anticipated. As is my obligation.” He snapped a short bow and left the two gentlemen alone.
“I notice he brought only the one glass. Are you a monk, then?”
Dare glanced at Miles and was surprised at the sardonic smile twisting his brother’s lips. “I assure you, brother, I am not. West knows I do not drink.”
Dare poured and quaffed two fingers of some of the best Irish whisky he’d ever had. It crawled into his belly, unfurling a pleasing warmth that soon spread to his extremities. The comfort was immediate and nearly complete. For complete comfort, he’d need to find a way out of the mess he’d created. He poured another drink instead.