The power of doing any thing with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance.
—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
With a light heart, Vicky walked into the parlor with Tom at her heels. She stopped short as Mr. Carmichael rose from a chair opposite Althea. For a moment, she felt Tom’s body close at her back. Her gaze flicked to Mr. Carmichael’s face, and she immediately lost the reassuring feeling of Tom’s presence as he stepped to her side. Carmichael had been smiling to greet her, but as he saw Tom, his features froze. He bowed formally.
“Victoria,” her mother said from the armchair next to Mr. Carmichael, “look who’s come to call.”
Vicky curtsied. “Mr. Carmichael. What a pleasant surprise. I was just showing Lord Halworth the garden.”
Tom nodded. He eyed Carmichael with a cold stare, but somehow managed to plaster a polite smile on his face. That was more than she could say for Mr. Carmichael, whose jaw looked etched in marble.
“Good day, Mr. Carmichael,” Tom said.
“Lord Halworth,” Carmichael replied shortly, as though he wished he could say nothing at all.
Vicky pressed her lips together. Tom was right. Carmichael’s manners were nearly nonexistent in Tom’s presence.
“The garden was charming, Lady Oakbridge,” Tom said to her mother. “I have merely come in to take my leave and thank you for the tea.”
“It was good of you to come, Lord Halworth,” Vicky’s mother said with a smile more polite than genuine.
“Do come again, Lord Halworth,” Althea said from her chair, surprising Vicky.
Tom’s mouth curved into one of his rare smiles. “Thank you, Lady Dain. I believe I shall.” He bowed, gave Vicky another quick glance, and exited.
Vicky watched him go. She couldn’t question his decision to leave after witnessing Mr. Carmichael’s discourtesy. Conversation would’ve been awkward at best with both men in the room.
Vicky faced Mr. Carmichael. He’d been watching her with a furrowed brow.
She tilted her chin upward. She didn’t care if he was angry. They were not tied to one another. Not yet. Her actions were none of his concern.
“And how are you today, Mr. Carmichael? No worse for wear after our foray last night?” she asked, giving him a direct look.
His face relaxed a fraction. “How could I be after having the pleasure of your company?”
That was a pretty compliment and he knew it. Not that she was immune to it—she’d had a lovely time with him. Tom’s worries aside, that was the plain truth of the matter. She smiled, and he smiled back.
“Perhaps, if Lady Oakbridge doesn’t object, you might show me the garden as well. I don’t recall ever having seen it.”
“Oh,” Vicky said, surprised, “of course.” She glanced at her mother.
Her mother practically shooed them out the door.
Once outside, Vicky led Mr. Carmichael to the fountain and gestured expansively at the rippling water. “Well?”
“Cleverly designed. It’s reminiscent of the one at Chatsworth, albeit on a much smaller scale.”
Vicky tilted her head. “Then you’re acquainted with the bachelor duke?”
The Duke of Devonshire was one of the most powerful peers in England, and very possibly the wealthiest. Vicky had seen him at various occasions last season, but he was too old for her taste. He had to be nearing thirty and still seemed disinclined to marry, which had earned him his alias—much to every society mama’s chagrin.
Carmichael nodded. “Mildly acquainted. I was only invited to Chatsworth once.”
“That’s once more than I. Why only the one time?”
“It’s rather indelicate.”
She looked up at him with a disbelieving glare.
His lips twitched. “But you are no shrinking violet, I believe.”
She nodded.
“One of the other guests may have mentioned something about my fortune rivaling the duke’s. So far as I know, neither I nor that person have been asked to return,” he finished with an embarrassed laugh.
Vicky shook her head. “So silly are the ways of men. You all pretend to be so civilized, yet you take offense at the slightest ill word and then take violent action. Like your boxing match. In the end, you can hardly call yourselves superior to women. Indeed, you are far worse.”
He snorted and turned to look at her. “Is that so?”
She raised her chin and met his gaze. “Yes. Because of your violent impulses. Beyond that, we are the same.”
“I have known women to have violent impulses.”
She frowned. “Have you?”
He nodded. “And history is riddled with examples. Cleopatra tried to murder her brother, Eleanor of Aquitaine her husband and son, and the Tudor Queen Mary killed hundreds.”
“You’re right.” She bit her lip and saw his gaze slide to her mouth. “Then I suppose we are no different after all.”
He took a step closer. She had to tilt her neck back to meet his eyes. The sunlight warmed them further. “In many ways we are practically the same person.”
Her brow furrowed. What did that mean? He’d somehow moved even closer, and now towered over her by so much that she had to drop her chin, which meant she was staring into his white cravat.
“We’re both clever . . .” He took her hand in his and she looked down at his ungloved palm cradling her small hand in his larger one. “We’re both perceptive . . .” He rested his free hand on top of the one he had captured. His strong fingers warmed her cool hand. “And we both know what we want in life.” He punctuated the last word by squeezing her hand.
She tilted her neck back to see his face. “I don’t know that I do know what I want.”
She knew what her parents expected of her, however, and he was right before her, smiling in a most beguiling way.
He took his top hand from hers and touched her chin gently. “Perhaps I can help with that.” His dark eyes fixed her to the spot as he bent and brushed his lips against hers. The softness of them surprised her, and she stiffened for a moment, realizing she had no idea what to do. He smelled of sandalwood and the strawberry tarts Cook had sent in with tea. It was not at all bad, really, for such a little kiss, and when he raised his head, she must have looked more pleased than she felt because his lips quirked up at one side.
A moment later, his hand moved to her waist while the other remained under her chin as he pulled her close and lowered his head once more.
This time when their lips connected, Vicky closed her eyes to be spared the strangeness of looking at his features so closely. His lips slanted against hers and her mind grew cloudy. The fingers cupping her chin slid up and caressed her cheek. She could melt into him if she let herself.
When he pulled back, his chest rose and fell roughly. She drew in a deep breath, and stared at his cravat. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Her first kiss. It had been pleasant. She’d even like to try it again, but it hadn’t helped make up her mind.
Did she want Carmichael? Forever?
His thumb brushed her cheek and she tilted her gaze up to see his expression. He was smiling down at her with the first real tenderness she’d seen from him. He’d looked at her with humor and with friendship in his eyes, but never with tenderness. She felt her jaw slacken and her eyes grow wide.
“Victoria,” he said quietly, “will you marry me?”
Her lips parted and she let out a tiny, breathy, “Oh!”
“I know it seems sudden,” he said with a lopsided grin, “but after last night I had nearly made up my mind.” She must have frowned because he said, “You must admit we get on well together.” He paused and searched her eyes for an answer.
“Yes. Of course we do,” she said.
“Few ladies of my acquaintance have ever made me laugh. Let alone in public.”
She smiled at that, and he enclosed her hand in both of his.
“I’ll
safeguard you. And your family.” He squeezed her hand.
Her family. This was the moment they’d worked for. Mr. Carmichael wanted to marry her. If she said yes, Oakbridge would be safe from Dain. She would be the future mistress of her childhood home. She would have the resources to help her sister—perhaps even be able to provide her a property of her own. All she had to do was say yes.
Yet was this the way she should feel? It certainly wasn’t how she’d felt when Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy finally expressed their feelings—or the happiness she’d experienced when Edward Ferrars finally told Elinor Dashwood they were free to be together.
The memory of Tom’s pleas for her to wait until the next ball flashed through her mind. She’d all but promised him not to do anything in haste. The “yes” Mr. Carmichael wanted stuck in her throat. She didn’t owe it to Tom to wait—after all, it wasn’t as though he knew any real alternatives—but perhaps, just possibly, she owed it to herself.
She didn’t think she was in love with Mr. Carmichael. She did like him—very much. She even liked the way he’d kissed her, but was she completely convinced she wanted to marry him? No. Not yet. How could she tell him that?
She licked her lips, which only reminded her of their kiss, so she took a deep breath. Raising her free hand, she rested it on top of his. “Would you . . .” She peered up at him through her eyelashes. “Would you give me a few days to contemplate your lovely proposal?”
His smile faded. Two lines materialized between his brows. She bit her lower lip, silently pleading with him not to be angry.
“Of course.” His tone was guarded.
“I just”—she paused and tried to formulate the right words—“I have to think on a few matters.” She pressed his hand.
His jaw shifted. “Would any of those ‘matters’ have to do with Lord Halworth?”
She relaxed the pressure on his hand, and his arms dropped to his sides. She frowned. “Why do you dislike him so?” She lifted her chin to stare him in the eye.
“Why do you like him so?” he shot back, his voice rising in volume.
“He is my friend,” she said, matching his loudness.
“Friend, indeed,” he repeated, shaking his head.
“Yes. He has been for a very long time—longer than I’ve known you.”
He scowled at that. “People change.”
“Of course they do. I’ll fully acknowledge Tom has changed. And I have changed. But that still does not explain why you have any reason to dislike him.”
He shook his head at her and turned, pacing away from the fountain, only to wheel around and stride back. “Your father told me what happened at Oakbridge with the bandit.”
Vicky gave a little shrug. “Yes?”
“Did it not seem peculiar that Halworth appeared just in time to see it happen and then managed to lose the scoundrel?”
“That was my fault. I got in the way—”
“Then,” he interrupted, “he made another miraculous appearance just as Silby’s horses ran away with you. And if I’m not mistaken, he failed to help you on that occasion as well.” He raised his brows on the last word, daring her to argue.
“I jumped from the curricle. He couldn’t have prevented it.”
“You shouldn’t have felt the need to jump. If he knew what he was doing, you wouldn’t have had to.”
Vicky furrowed her brow. “So you object to the way he tried, yet failed, to help me? Or are you accusing him of something else?”
For a moment he made no answer. “Do you recall the day we went to Gunter’s? The man you saw lurking in the alley? What was his height and build? Could it possibly have been Halworth?”
Vicky’s mouth dropped open. “Mr. Carmichael! That is preposterous. That man had black hair. And, why would Tom watch us from an alley in such a manner?”
“Halworth was watching us last night at the theater. I saw him during the intermission.”
“Apparently, he didn’t greet us because he didn’t want to put you in an ill humor,” she said with a sniff.
Carmichael rolled his eyes. “Such considerations have not bothered him thus far.”
Vicky glowered at him. “I really don’t think you’re being fair—”
“All I know is that his finances are not what they should be. From what I understand, the late earl put the Halworth estate deeply into debt. Meanwhile, Halworth and his brother are here in London taking part in the season. A season that just happens to be Lord Halworth’s first time ever making appearances in society. From what I’ve observed, he pays no lady any special attention except for you.” He paused, and Vicky held her breath. “There could be no better way out of his considerable financial difficulty than to marry you: the girl he grew up knowing, whose estate abuts his own, and who just so happens to have a considerable dowry.”
Vicky felt the color drain from her cheeks. The old earl had been a profligate spender—that was common knowledge. Tom could easily have financial troubles. That would certainly explain his wardrobe, which was, she now realized, just the tiniest bit shabby. His coat today had been fraying at one elbow, but she’d assumed he had an unobservant valet.
But Carmichael couldn’t be correct in his thinking. Tom had no wish to marry her. He’d made that abundantly clear today when he’d offered to help find her a husband. Specifically a husband other than Mr. Carmichael.
“But he doesn’t want me,” she said to fill the growing silence.
Carmichael gave her a penetrating look.
“He’s all but said so,” she said, but it sounded silly even to her.
Carmichael shook his head. “His presence at the aforementioned events and his subsequent actions strike me as highly suspicious. It’s clear to me, at least, that he wants your dowry for his own and he’s willing to do a great deal to get it.”
Vicky narrowed her gaze. “That’s ridiculous, Mr. Carmichael. Tom is incapable of such scheming.”
“We shall see.”
She exhaled and turned her gaze to the sky. Both Carmichael and Tom were being utterly absurd. Tom doubted Carmichael’s loyalty and Carmichael doubted Tom’s goodness. Yet even as she repeated to herself how silly both men were being, a pinprick of doubt slipped past her defenses. Tom’s presence that day at Oakbridge and in Hyde Park had been dreadfully coincidental.
“I shall leave you,” Carmichael said, interrupting her whirling thoughts. “Just know that I know you for the kind, generous person you are. The lady I wish to marry. I would hate to see you bound to a man who wanted only your money. You are worth far more than that.” He took her hand and kissed it.
Vicky’s chest swelled at his sweet words, and she couldn’t help a small smile from escaping. He released her hand with a smile of his own. As she watched him nod and stride from the garden—a tall, broad-shouldered man who wished to marry her—she wondered how a girl could possibly feel so confused.
When Vicky reentered the drawing room, her father was reclining on the sofa next to her sister.
“What are you doing out of bed, Papa?” she asked with a frown.
“I am well enough to sit down here,” he replied. “I saw Mr. Carmichael take his leave. What did you say to him?”
Vicky took a deep breath. “I told him I needed time to consider his proposal.”
“So he proposed!” her mother said at the exact moment her father said, “Time?”
Vicky favored both her parents with her most determined gaze. She nodded.
Her father spoke first. “What is there to consider? Carmichael is prosperous, handsome, influential; you seem to like him well enough. He would make a fine husband, especially considering the situation,” he said with a look in Althea’s direction.
Vicky threw a glance at Althea. Her complexion was paler than a blanched almond. Vicky shook her head, annoyed at her father’s inattention to her sister’s feelings, and indeed, her own. It seemed his injuries were bringing his practicality to the fore.
“Have you set your sights o
n another gentleman who could be brought to the question?” her mother asked.
Vicky hesitated, her mind flitting to her outings with some of the most trying men in England, and then to Tom and his promises to help her. “Not as such.”
Her father uttered an exasperated sigh. He put one hand on the sofa cushion as though he planned to jump up and pace across the room, but then he clutched his side and slowly sat back. After taking a number of shallow breaths and adjusting his legs into a different position, he said, “Unfortunately, time is now of the essence. Before he joined you here, Mr. Carmichael apprised me of some distressing news. The day after we encountered those men”—he gestured to his wounds—“I asked Mr. Carmichael to do something for me. I’d not heard from Mr. Barnes for some time, so I asked Carmichael to find him and discover if there’d been any development in the proceedings for Althea’s separation.” He readjusted his left leg again. “It seems Mr. Barnes is missing.”
Vicky frowned and looked at Althea, whose head had flown upward. Of course, Vicky had already been aware of Mr. Carmichael’s errand, but this news came as a surprise.
“What do you mean ‘missing,’ James?” Vicky’s mother asked.
“Carmichael did not find him at his offices, nor at his home. His family also seemed unaware of his whereabouts. Carmichael then went to the Court of Chancery and learned the papers for the writ of supplicavit had also gone missing. They were received, but they’d been taken from the clerk’s office.”
“How is that possible?” Vicky asked. She peered at Althea. She was looking more ghostlike by the second.
“It seems someone within the court must have acted to remove them,” her father said.
“Dain,” Althea stated.
“Has he influence over someone there?” Vicky asked.
“It wouldn’t be difficult to obtain. Some men have no scruples when it comes to money,” her father said.
Her mother nodded in agreement.
Vicky inhaled, remembering Mr. Carmichael had said he had a friend at the Court of Chancery. Her mind flew wildly to Tom’s theory about Mr. Carmichael’s intentions. What if Carmichael was behind the papers going missing? And could he also be responsible for Mr. Barnes’s disappearance? Vicky shook her head, trying to rid it of such thoughts. Why would he do such a thing when he could marry her without stooping to nefarious schemes? Still, Tom’s suspicions, her feelings, the truth—they all whirled about her, clouding her judgment to such a degree that she knew not how to proceed.
Dangerous Alliance Page 24