by Alyson Chase
Why couldn’t he figure out what his problem was?
He led Wil down a carpeted hallway, past the billiards room, to the small smoking room near the rear.
He paused on the threshold. “Oh, good Lord, the whole circus is in town.”
Four sets of eyes swiveled in his direction.
Montague raised his glass of whisky. “Summerset! We were just speaking of you.”
Rothchild puffed on his cheroot. “Speaking of you, laughing at you, close enough.”
Sutton and Dunkeld greeted Wil as John plodded to the sideboard and poured him and Wil drinks. He added another finger of liquor to his glass.
He handed Wil his drink then dropped into an armchair. He took a large swallow, enjoying the burn. “I’m glad I could provide entertainment for my friends. Might I ask the cause?”
“Your bloody blindness when it comes to your woman.” Dunkeld snorted. “We thought you were supposed to be the charmer of the group.”
The back of John’s neck flushed hot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything is lovely between me and Netta. And I am always charming.” He’d charmed Netta from her stays just that morning.
Rothchild pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He added some more folds, concentrating on the angles. “If everything is lovely, then why have you been acting as though there were a hot poker between your arse cheeks these past weeks?” He raised his hand and made the paper sail through the air to land in John’s lap.
John blinked at him.
Rothchild grinned. “Something I learned in the East.”
Grumbling, John unfolded it. “You bent my deed!” He tried to smooth the creases from the paper.
“It’s still legal.” Rothchild blew a smoke circle into the air. “And you’re welcome.”
“Thanks,” John grunted. He folded the paper the correct way and slid it in his pocket. It felt good having Robert’s deed back in his hands. Rothchild had needed to wait until Liverpool’s men had stopped watching Sudworth’s home before retrieving the document, but John had known his friend would succeed. He had been the retrieval expert of their group for a reason.
With the paper in their possession and witnesses who would swear he had won it back at a game of hazards, Robert should be back in his home in no time. John had already sent a note to Hampson to direct the mines to be reopened.
“Your brother will be here shortly,” Sutton said. “You can give him his property then.”
“Perfect. We can have a party.”
Montague sighed. “Has he been like this all morning?” he asked Wilberforce.
“All week.” Wil leaned against the side table. “Every time he leaves her apartments he’s as surly as a dog without his bone.”
“Are her new apartments not to your liking?” Sutton asked.
“They’re the height of fashion.” He stared into his whisky. “I decorated them myself.”
“You’re not tiring of this one already, are you?” Rothchild asked.
John leveled the other earl with an iron-tipped glare.
“Why don’t you tell us what the problem is.” Montague crossed one leg over the other and rested his chin on his fist.
“I have no problem.”
Silent seconds ticked by.
John tugged on his waistcoat. “I don’t think two women should live alone, is all. I’m concerned about Netta and her sister.”
“Where else would your mistress live?” Montague asked.
“Well…with me. It worked before with Netta in my house.” He blew out a deep breath as realization dawned. That was why he didn’t like leaving her apartments. She should be with him. With two different residences, they were losing time travelling between, time that could be spent together.
“Wouldn’t it be awkward having your mistress and her sister in your house?” Montague seemed to emphasize the word mistress in his questions, and the sound grated on John. “How will you explain their presence in your home? Will she hide away whenever a guest comes around?”
“She will receive callers with me, of course.” The idea blossomed in his mind. He never should have rented those rooms for her. She should have remained with him all along. “And no one will dare question her presence.”
His friends carefully looked at each other.
“What?” His voice held a bite.
“It might not be my place to say—” Wil began.
“Then don’t.”
“—but it sounds like what you want is a wife, not a mistress.”
“A wife?” Outrage oozed from John’s voice even as the word settled into his bones.
A wife.
He wasn’t the marrying sort.
He told his friends that. “I don’t want the legal trappings you all seem so eager to bind yourselves in. I only want to be with her every day, share her company at dinner, take her to balls, and wake up to her smile in the morning.”
“Share intimate chats with her, discuss your days?” Sutton asked.
“Of course.” No one could make him laugh about life’s absurdities like Netta.
“Be there for her when she’s sick or distraught, and have her support when you are afflicted?” Dunkeld asked.
“That goes without saying.” If Netta needed him, he would let nothing prevent him from being by her side.
“What do you think marriage is, man?” Montague shook his head, exasperated. “Your preconceptions of the institution border on idiocy. It’s not a trap. Nor a chain. It’s about making the best life you can with the woman you love. Our prince might be able to live with his mistress, but you won’t be able to do the same in our society, not without subjecting Netta to scorn and derision.”
John’s knuckles whitened around his glass. He couldn’t let Netta face contempt, not if he could prevent it. And he did want her forever. He had no concerns of ever changing his mind about that.
Would a wife be so bad?
He took a sip of whisky. A wife. He could work with a wife, as long as it was Netta filling the position.
His muscles relaxed. The decision felt right. Comforting almost.
There would be mocking from his friends, of course. He’d besmirched the institution for so long he would deserve their ridicule. That wouldn’t be a problem.
The problem was Netta. She desired marriage even less than he had.
“Of course, we must look at it from her side.” Sutton picked through a bowl of nuts and popped one in his mouth. “She is an aspiring actress. A husband could get in the way of her career.”
The other men nodded.
“I wouldn’t interfere with her career,” John objected. “Not if it’s what she wants to do.”
“Stage managers might worry that as a married woman she could go into confinement during a production.” Rothchild rubbed his jaw.
“Confinement.” John’s head went light. Children. That was a frightening thought.
“And of course there is the possibility that she’ll find someone she prefers better.” Dunkeld snorted. “As much as our friend might pretend differently, he is not the pinnacle of desire for all womankind.”
And that thought was the most frightening of all. He remembered how her former stage manager had looked at her. Men would be throwing themselves at her feet, left and right. Of course, it was up to him to keep her so happy she’d want to stay with him. But he couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling that if he wanted to keep her, and he did, he needed to make their arrangement definite. Permanent.
He examined the problem from all angles. And the best way to solve it was marriage.
“Right.” He set his glass down and adjusted the knot of his cravat. “That’s it then. I’m getting married.”
His friends raised their glasses.
“About damn time,” Montague said.
“Don’t you need to ask the lady first?” Wil pointed out.
John snorted. “Ask Netta? Give her t
he chance to say no? How simple do you think I am?” He settled into his chair and steepled his fingers. Now that he’d made the decision, he wouldn’t allow for anything less than success. With Netta, he needed to be clever. And sneaky.
Robert knocked on the open door. “Room for one more?”
John blinked at his brother, an idea forming.
Robert fell back a step. “What? What is that look?”
“You, my dear brother, are going to help me get Netta to the altar.”
“Lovely.” Rothchild tilted his head. “Robert, I don’t suppose you are in need of some companionship. Something warm and adorable to curl up to at night?”
A line creased Robert’s forehead. “What? What in the world does this have to do with my brother’s wedding?”
“Nothing at all.” John glared at Rothchild. “You still haven’t found homes for all those cats you took from Sudworth’s house?”
“Three kittens remain without a home.” Rothchild pressed his lips together. “They shed most abominably.” He shot Robert a hopeful glance. “Although I’m certain they’ll grow out of it.”
“Forget the damn cats.” John stood. He removed the deed from his pocket and smacked it into his brother’s abdomen. “We have a plot to hatch.”
***
“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Netta peered out the carriage window, her nerves rising the closer they drew to John’s house. “I had promised to stay out of John’s family affairs.” Not that she necessarily intended to abide by her promise. But John had been acting oddly ever since she’d moved out of his house. She’d thought to wait until things settled between them before interfering.
Robert and Catherine, Dowager Marchioness of Mallen, shared a look. “We’re certain,” Catherine said. “This reconciliation can only occur with your presence.”
“All…right.” Netta shifted on the seat. First her sister had been acting suspicious that morn, and now John’s family. Was there something in the air?
The carriage pulled to a stop and the three of them climbed down. Netta’s heart panged as she swept through the front door. She missed John’s home. The apartments he’d let for her were sumptuous, and she lacked for nothing.
But it didn’t feel like home. Not like this townhouse did.
She removed her hat and handed it to the butler. “Where is this reconciliation to take place?” And how angry would John be with the three of them showing up like an attack force?
“On the gazebo in the garden.” Catherine hobbled forwards, putting her weight heavily on her walking stick.
Netta took the woman’s other arm. “The garden seems an odd location.”
“Not for what we have in mind.” There was a hint of smugness in the woman’s tone.
Netta worried her bottom lip. Just what did they have in store for John?
They made their way outside, Netta scanning the ground for any obstacles for the older woman to avoid. A titter of laughter made her head snap up.
John’s friends, her sister, and—Netta squinted—was that a vicar? stood beside the gazebo.
“What is going on?” She looked for John but didn’t see him.
Eleanor rushed to her side and clasped her hands. “I’m so happy for you!” She threw her arms around Netta’s neck. “The Countess of Summerset. How lovely that sounds.”
Netta tugged free. “What are you going on about? I’m not…” The presence of the clergyman started to make sense. Netta fisted her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the sky. “John!”
“Yes, my love?” he said from behind her.
She spun. “Don’t ‘my love’ me. You have some explaining to do.”
“What?” He widened those beautiful blue eyes. “This? I thought you would enjoy the spontaneity of our wedding instead of a more drawn-out affair.”
She grabbed his elbow and dragged him to the side. “Is this a joke? We’ve never spoken of marriage before.” He’d led her to believe he was solidly against the idea. Before she’d met him, she hadn’t been so fond of it, either.
He tucked her hand under his elbow. “We’ve discussed having a long-term relationship.”
“Yes, but—”
“And we already spend all our nights together.”
“Of course, but—”
“And everyone here would be so disappointed if there was no wedding. Our friends dressed in their Sunday best just for us.” He led her to the gazebo and up the steps. “Not to mention the cost of the special license that would be lost if you refused.”
She paused at the top of the stairs. Her brow knitted. It sounded as though he thought she’d refuse. That he needed to convince her to marry him. and putting her on the spot like this was his sneaky way of getting her to agree.
Yes, she’d told him she had no interest in marriage, but that was because she’d never met the man who was her equal. Marriage to John wouldn’t be a cage; he gave her wings.
There were still practicalities to be discussed, however.
“My sister—”
“Will become like my own. Schooling if she wishes it, and an obscenely large dowry, of course.”
Netta pressed her lips together, striving to keep them from curling up. The devious bounder. He would have given Eleanor that in any case, they both knew it. But his flagrant attempts at manipulation did something queer to her heart.
Well, he wasn’t the only one who could manipulate the situation.
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “It’s such a big step. And permanent. Marriage doesn’t favor women in our day and age.”
John ran his hand up the back of his head. “Yes, you lose all your rights and property by marrying, but think of it logically. You have very little property to lose. And so much to gain,” he argued. “You’ll have a wardrobe full of new gowns and Pomfret cakes in every bowl in the house.”
She tapped her finger against her lips. “True. Those are definite benefits. But the disadvantages…”
“As my mistress, you are set up in apartments several miles away.”
“Very nice apartments.”
He frowned. “Be that as it may, as my wife, you’ll live under my roof. Have access to this body day and night.”
Her lips lost their battle and twitched. “It is a fine body. But a woman in my position needs to take care.”
John widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. His lavender jacket stretched divinely over his wide shoulders. “Name your terms, you mercenary minx.”
Netta rolled onto her toes, her heartbeat racing in her chest. She was marrying the man she loved. There was nothing more she wanted.
Well…no need to be hasty.
“I might not be able to own my own property in England, but the laws aren’t the same around the world.” She pursed her lips. “I think I’d like my own house. A chateau perhaps, in the south of France.”
“Done.”
She arched her eyebrows. He gave in so easily. He must want her badly.
“And all my earnings shall go into a trust for Eleanor. A dowry is all well and good, but I want her to have independence in case she decides not to marry.”
He nodded. “And I’ll place matching funds in with your wages.”
Her heart melted. “You are determined.” She waved a hand at the flowers woven through the top of the gazebo. “You could have just asked instead of going through these games.”
“Why give you the opportunity to return me an answer I don’t like.” He grinned. “Say you’ll marry me. You know you want to.”
She thought about making him suffer longer. Making a few more demands. But her excitement burbled out of her. “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Her sister whooped from the lawn.
John swept her up and bent her over his arm. “You’ll never regret it,” he said just before crushing his mouth to hers.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave back as good as she got.
She would make sure she didn’t. She wouldn’t wait for John to keep her happy; she would grab onto joy with both hands. She’d keep John on his toes, make sure he never went a day without smiling.
That he never went a day without making her moan.
Her parents had been poor examples for married life, but Netta knew what she wanted.
An equal partnership. Trust. Love. Fun. All elements they would have to work at to maintain, but no job would ever be so satisfying.
“There are children present,” someone shouted from the garden. She thought it was the duke.
They broke apart, each sucking down air.
“Are you certain you want this?” she asked. “Because once you say I do, there will be no going back. I won’t accept anything less than a perfect marriage.”
He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’m certain. I love you Netta Pickle, Antoinette LeBlanc, Agnes Evered.”
“You forgot Ned.”
He shuddered. “And allow me to continue forgetting that particular alias.”
She dug her teeth in her bottom lip. She was smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. “Consider Ned retired.”
“All those days when I thought I was teaching you how to be a lady.” He snorted. “And it was you teaching me the whole time.”
She hooked her finger at the top button of his waistcoat and tugged him close. “What? What did I teach you?”
He cupped her cheek. “That love is the biggest game of all.
“And when it comes to games, you know I always play to win.”
Epilogue
Three months later…
“Plum tart?” Netta held up a half-full platter of the pastries, crumbs dusting her lower lip.
John’s groin tightened. He had licked every inch of her body just that morning, but damn if he didn’t want to taste the tart right from her lips.
He glared at the party around his breakfast table. The very large party. Why the bloody blazes did all his friends insist on coming round to his townhouse for Saturday breakfast? Ever since he and Netta had returned from their bridal tour a month past, the parasites had come each week to eat him out of house and home.