The Townsbridge's Series

by Sophie Barnes

  Shocked remarks began circling them. George put his arm around Margaret. “Allow me to remind you of your manners, my lord. You will refer to Miss Hollyoak with respect.”

  “After she’s been leading me on a merry chase for several months?” Shrewsberry gave a snort of disdain. His words, Margaret noted for the first time, were slightly slurred. “She’s clearly taken leave of her senses. I mean, what woman in her right mind would ever marry an untitled good for nothing rake instead of an earl?”

  “Just so you know,” Margaret said with every intention of putting the ton’s misguided view of George to right, “you are wrong about Mr. Townsbridge. All of you. He is without a doubt the most honorable, kind hearted, and considerate man I have ever known. There is no one in this world with whom I would rather spend each waking moment. In fact, I love him with every beat of my heart, with every fiber of my being, and nothing anyone says is going to change that.”

  “I’m incredibly glad to hear you say so,” George murmured close to her ear. “Because I love you too.”

  Without caring about the spectacle they might be making, Margaret threw her arms around him, jostling him so he spilled the champagne from the glasses he held in one hand. She didn’t care, all that mattered was telling the world that this man was right for her, that he deserved her, and that she would happily show her affection for him in public no matter how scandalous doing so was.

  “Goodness,” Margaret heard Callie say while Margaret pressed her mouth firmly to George’s, “how utterly romantic.”

  “Does this mean they’re now engaged?” Lady Kimberly asked.

  “Yes, it does,” Margaret said. She was through with waiting, done with torturing both of them with one more week since they were both certain of what they wanted. She met George’s gaze. “If he’ll have me.”

  “This is complete horse shite,” Shrewsberry said.

  “Calm yourself, man.” George tightened his hold on Margaret to offer assurance. “You’re clearly in your cups.”

  “Nonsense. My evening’s just getting started.” Shrewsberry snorted. His gaze slid toward Margaret. “One thousand pounds. That’s what you’ve cost me, you little ungrateful—”

  “Enough,” George thundered. “I suggest you take yourself home before you make more of a spectacle of yourself.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Shrewsberry sneered. He swayed slightly while glancing around. The smirk he wore suggested he thought the crowd was cheering him on when in fact there was nothing but silence now. Which only served to underscore the earl’s public humiliation. And then, as if he were determined to make matters worse, his arm swung out, directly at George, who easily sidestepped the blow while shielding Margaret with his body.

  “Come,” Viscount Ravenhurst, one of Shrewsberry’s acquaintances, said as he grabbed the earl by his arm. “Let’s have a look at the billiards room.”

  “Let me go.” Shrewsberry tried to shake the viscount off.

  “Stop it,” Ravenhurst hissed. “You’re making a scene.”

  “As if I care,” Shrewsberry sneered. He pointed at Margaret. “One thousand pounds!”

  “Come on.” The Marquess of Dashford came to assist. He grabbed hold of Shrewsberry’s other arm. “You’re not improving your situation with this display.”

  “I’m ruined,” Shrewsberry wailed. He made another attempt to free himself, but lost his footing in the process and nearly took Ravenhurst and Dashford down with him. The two men hauled Shrewsberry upright and, with what looked like great effort, escorted him from the room to the detriment of his reputation.

  “Oh dear,” Margaret said as she watched the trio stagger off. “It seems his true self has finally been revealed in public.”

  “I can’t say I pity him,” George said. “In fact, I think it’s a good thing the world sees him for who he is. It will hopefully stop unsuspecting young women from thinking he’s a good catch.”

  “At least this way, they’ll know what they’re getting into if they do choose to marry him.”

  “Speaking of marriage, I don’t think I gave you an answer, Margaret, but then again, I am the one who ought to be doing the asking.” He clasped her hands, held her gaze for a moment, then promptly lowered himself to one knee. A buzz of excitement swept through the room.

  “What’s going on?” a man asked.

  “Looks like Mr. Townsbridge is offering marriage,” a lady answered.

  “Impossible. The man’s a renowned rake.”

  Margaret ignored them. She’d no idea how anyone including herself could have been so wrong about her future husband. Smiling down at him, she held his gaze and blocked out all else. It seemed he did the same as he said, “There is no one else with whom I would rather hunt for slugs and worms, no other lady with whom I can imagine forging a closer bond. You are my dearest friend, confidante, and partner in mischief, and I will be the most fortunate man in the world if you agree to become my wife. Please, Margaret, accept my hand, and I shall promise to love you until I draw my last breath.”

  “Yes.” She barely managed to get the word out on account of the fierce emotion clogging her throat. “Yes, George, I will marry you.”

  He was on his feet once again and pulling her into his arms while cheers erupted around them. Her parents came to offer congratulations. George handed Margaret her now half-empty glass of champagne. He raised his own in a toast. “To you and all the wonderful years I look forward to spending with you.”

  “To both of us,” Margaret said, “and to our parents for bringing us together.”

  “Hear, hear,” Papa said, his arm linked with Mama’s.

  “If you will excuse us,” George told them, “I promised your daughter a walk on the terrace.”

  “Of course,” Mama said. “We can leave the wedding preparations for later.”

  Eager to escape the ordeal her mother no doubt had in mind, Margaret grabbed George’s arm and gave it a tug. “Let’s go.”

  “Thank you for coming to my rescue,” Margaret said as George guided her out onto the terrace and drew her toward a darkened corner.

  “I hope you know I will always do so, but let’s agree not to speak any more of what happened with Shrewsberry this evening. I’d much rather talk about your incredible declaration of love and how glorious you looked while defending me - like my very own Valkyrie warrior.”

  “I had to say something.”

  “And in the process, you cut our three month deal one week short.”

  “It couldn’t be helped.”

  “No?”

  “No.” She raised one hand to cup his cheek. “I know what I want, George. In fact, I have for some time. So what’s the sense in waiting?”

  “There’s no sense at all,” he murmured. “And the best part of all is that we can now do this without repercussion.”

  His mouth captured hers, full of love, full of hope, and with every assurance that there were decades of happiness ahead of them, just waiting to be savored.

  “I love you,” she murmured.

  “And I love you,” he whispered while he drew her closer. “I always will.”

  When Love Leads to Scandal

  Preface

  When Charles Townsbridge meets a beguiling young woman in the park, he’s smitten. Unfortunately she’s his friend’s fiancée, so he knows she can never be his. Or can she?

  Chapter 1

  March 1, 1820

  Smoky clouds scurried across the London sky as Charles Townsbridge made his way toward the park. He’d gotten into the habit of going for early morning walks years ago when his sister, Sarah, had acquired her first puppy. Their parents, Viscount and Viscountess Roxley, hadn’t known about the stray for quite some time, and since Sarah had feared they’d make her get rid of it if they knew, Charles had offered to help. For the next eight years, he’d taken the dog, who’d been named Mozart, out every morning. Because even when his parents were made aware of Mozart’s existence and had allowed him to remain
beneath their roof, it turned out that Sarah did not have the necessary discipline required at her young age to care for a dog. As she’d gotten older, she’d become more responsible and had suggested to Charles that she should start taking Mozart out in the mornings. He’d apparently revealed how loath he was to part with the task, for she’d only done it once before tactfully asking him if he’d mind continuing.

  It was now two years since Mozart had gone off to meet his maker, and yet Charles could not seem to stop taking his walks. They provided him with an excellent start to the day, he realized. The fresh air and movement filled his limbs with the energy required to get things done.

  Crossing Piccadilly, Charles was caught by a swift gust of wind. It tugged at his jacket, pulling it tight across his chest before pressing a kiss of cool air to his cheeks. Drawing the brim of his hat down over his brow, he quickened his steps and entered the park where trees bowed their heads in greeting. He was not the only one who’d decided to come here this early. He never was, even though the people at this time of day were sparse and oftentimes only visible at a distance.

  Turning onto the path to his right, he took the same route as usual: past the flowerbeds, up the hill, and then down across the grass to the lake. A pair of ducks and their ducklings were bobbing on the water when Charles reached the embankment. He stopped to watch, a smile pulling at his lips on account of the fluffy little creatures swimming along behind their parents.

  “My bonnet! Please, please, please, stop my bonnet!”

  Charles turned in response to the outcry to find a collection of straw, ribbons, and feathers tumbling toward him. Behind it came a young lady, her white muslin skirts hiked up in her hand to reveal her stocking-clad ankles as she raced down the hill in pursuit. An older woman followed on her heels, albeit at a much slower pace.

  Determined to help, Charles jogged to the left and caught the straw bonnet right before the wind carried it into the lake. Turning it over in his hand, he straightened the brim and removed a twig and some leaves from the light blue feathers which appeared to be crushed. The ribbons, a slightly darker blue than the feathers, were twisted together, so he untangled them next before fluffing the feathers with his fingers.

  “Goodness me,” the young lady panted as she skidded to a halt before him. Her close proximity now allowed him to gauge her age. She did not appear to be more than eighteen. “I scarcely know how to thank you.” She raised her chin with a smile, her blue eyes laughing with quiet amusement. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair undone by the breeze in a way that caused one stray lock to fall in her eye while another trailed over her shoulder. Her mouth, he noted, was a perfect combination of rose-petal pink and strawberry cream.

  Charles frowned. He’d never compared a feature to something edible before. More odd was how his heart seemed to be hammering about in his chest. Deciding it had to be due to the effort of catching the droopy accessory, he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

  “There’s no need,” he murmured, a little surprised by the low timbre of his voice. “I am happy to have offered assistance.” He handed the item back to her and watched as she returned it to her head, securing it with the ribbons. “I’m also relieved that I caught your bonnet when I did, or I would have been forced to go for a swim.”

  Her eyes widened with obvious dismay. “Oh no. I would never have allowed you to do so.”

  Smiling with every intention of putting her at ease, he told her wryly, “When a gentleman sets his mind to helping a lady, stopping him can be a challenge.”

  The color in her cheeks deepened, and it occurred to Charles she was blushing, which in turn caused a strange surge of heat to creep under his skin. He cleared his throat and acknowledged the older woman who’d now arrived. She panted loudly and gulped down several large breaths while clutching at the side of her waist with one hand.

  Charles addressed her. “I believe a short rest on that bench over there might make you feel better.” Stepping forward, he offered her his arm and saw the look of surprise on the young lady’s face.

  A complicated mixture of emotions shot through him, compiled from the pleasure of doing something useful and the knowledge that many of those who belonged to his set would not offer help to a servant. And that was clearly what this woman was – a maid, most likely, charged with acting as chaperone.

  He guided her to the bench and helped ease her down onto the seat. “Better?” he inquired. The chaperone nodded. “Try taking a few deep breaths. Slowly. Not so fast.”

  She did as he suggested and gradually managed to recover from her exertion. “Thank you, sir. I’m ever so grateful for your assistance.”

  “As am I,” the young lady told him. She’d followed him and the older woman over to the bench and was now standing right beside him.

  A jolt of awareness shot through Charles, most likely because she was closer than he’d expected. He turned to face her, his eyes meeting hers and…something indescribable tumbled through him, racing along every vein and snapping at each of his nerves. He’d heard his sisters talk about fated romantic encounters and falling in love at first sight and a slew of other fanciful notions that young girls dreamed of. What he hadn’t imagined was that he would ever have cause to wonder if such things were actually possible or if it might one day happen to him.

  He did so now, however, for there was something about this woman that sparked his interest. But then the chaperone coughed, and Charles shook his head. He’d obviously lost his mind. There was no such thing as love at first sight, just physical attraction, which was hardly enough to call for courtship or marriage.

  With this in mind, he took a step sideways, adding a bit more distance so as not to have his senses stirred even further by the young lady’s scent. It was far too sweet to be ignored and only served to tempt him with possibilities.

  So he touched the brim of his hat with his hand and addressed both women. “It has been a pleasure, but I fear I must be going now since my family will be waiting for me to join them for breakfast.” What reason was there to linger?

  “Do you live far from here?” the young lady asked. Her statement was met with a frown and a firm shake of the head from her chaperone. Realizing her error, the young lady bit her lip. “Forgive me. I am often chastised for being too forward, and since you are obviously a bachelor with no ring on your finger and—.”

  “My lady,” the chaperone told her mistress tersely.

  Charles smiled. He could not help it. “No need for apology,” he said, then touched the brim of his hat once again. “Indeed, I thank you for brightening my morning.” And with that he turned away, making his escape while he was still able – before he did something slightly improper, like give her his card. A gentleman did not offer personal details about himself to a lady with whom he wasn’t acquainted. A proper introduction would be required. Most especially when addressing what he believed might be a debutante.

  Bethany watched the tall, broad-shouldered man she’d just met walk away. He’d been handsome. Not classically so, perhaps, but there had been an air about him, a kindness in his coffee-colored eyes that matched his actions. His nose had been straight, his mouth a wonderful indication of what he was thinking, for it had twitched with amusement and curled with pleasure, more animated than any other mouth she’d ever seen.

  She sighed, both with happy contentment and some frustration. She could not afford to like this man so well. Not anymore. Not since yesterday afternoon when the Earl of Langdon had come to speak with her father. The offer he’d made for her hand had been precisely what her parents had hoped for, and since Bethany had quite liked the earl and did not wish to disappoint anyone, she’d accepted. Even though there had been no spark.

  This spark she’d felt only once in her life. About ten minutes ago when she’d met the man who’d rescued her bonnet. It made her wonder if rushing into a proposal before making her debut had been a mistake. But then she dismissed that idea on the basis of practicality. She was an ear
l’s daughter after all, raised to marry for convenience. Not because some man whose name she did not even know made her heart beat faster. To even consider such a prospect would be insane.

  With a groan of irritation directed at the fact that she would likely wonder about the stranger by the lake for days to come, no matter the pointlessness of it, she addressed her maid, Ruth, who looked quite a bit better now. “Are you ready to return home?”

  Ruth nodded and scooted off the bench. They started walking and as they went, Bethany did her best not to think of how perfectly tailored the gentleman’s clothes had been. He had good taste, unlike the dandies, whose choice of clothing she found ridiculous most of the time. And then there was his hair. The dark strands peeking out from beneath the brim of his hat had made him look even more dashing. And—

  “My lady,” Ruth said, interrupting Bethany’s thoughts. “I hope you’re not cross with me for reprimanding you slightly in front of the gentleman, but it is my duty to protect you and well, you really ought to know by now that you must not be so forward. Especially not with young men whom you don’t know.”

  “Of course. You were quite correct to speak up. And no, I’m not cross with you for it.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it.” They continued a few more paces before Ruth added, “All things considered, he did appear to be a gentleman of good standing, so there’s a chance you’ll meet him again this evening at the Roxley ball.”

  “Not that it matters,” Bethany said. She glanced at Ruth. “I am now affianced to the Earl of Langdon. Breaking that engagement for any reason would be difficult, but to do so because of a man whose name I don’t even know would be terribly foolish.”

  “And possibly ruinous, my lady, which is why I would never suggest such a thing.”

  “Just as I would never consider it,” Bethany murmured. “Why would I? After all, I’ve done what every hopeful debutante dreams of doing. I’ve made a brilliant match with no effort at all on my part. I ought to be thrilled.” When Ruth made a hmm sound, Bethany amended, “I am thrilled.”