Hell of a Lady

by Anders, Annabelle

  “No need to be hasty.” He licked his lips and placed one hand upon her waist.

  Just then footsteps sounded, increasing in volume. Feminine footsteps,

  Matronly footsteps.

  “Lord Carlisle! I trust your journey was successful?” Mrs. Mossant entered the room unapologetically, casting a disapproving glance in their direction.

  Justin stumbled backward. “It was.” He bowed over Mrs. Mossant’s hand. It wouldn’t do to sour her mother on their upcoming nuptials.

  They needed all the support she could provide.

  Mrs. Mossant stood with shoulders back. He’d not once seen the woman act in an undignified manner, quite the opposite of her husband.

  He wondered at Rhoda’s mother’s strength, her independence, and the hardship she faced being bound to the bastard he’d met at Pebble’s Gate.

  “And Mr. Mossant.” She narrowed her gaze upon him. “Was he… amenable?”

  “He—”

  “Father is withholding my dowry!” Rhoda paced across the room quite suddenly.

  “It is of no—” he attempted.

  “Oh, dear.” This time, Mrs. Mossant interrupted him. “Not well done of him at all.”

  “He has no right!”

  “That wouldn’t stop him, you know that.” And then seeming to realize they were discussing a highly personal matter in front of him, the older woman pinched her lips together tightly. “My apologies, my lord.” The smile she summoned seemed more than a little forced.

  “Was he in his right mind when you spoke with him?” This from his fiancée. Her anger had flushed her cheeks with a rosy hue and her eyes sparkled in anger. Her hopeful energy lit something inside of him. Caused his heart to skip a beat and speed up at the same time.

  What had she asked him?

  Justin reached into his pocket to retrieve the contract. “Despite the, er, goings on around him, I do believe he was in his right mind.”

  He handed the contract over so both of the women could peruse it. Mrs. Mossant nodded, and his betrothed let out a low moan.

  Good lord, but it sent a surge of lust through him.

  He cleared his throat. “I have business to attend to.” Such as checking the balance of his savings, reexamining the estate books, and asking his solicitors about investments.

  Perhaps while walking over to their offices, he might stumble upon twenty thousand pounds or so miraculously.

  A prayer or two couldn’t hurt. He glanced across the room and studied his betrothed. A determined glint had appeared in her eyes, one he barely remembered seeing before the tragedies last summer.

  He couldn’t give up yet.

  Definitely, prayer was in order.

  “If you’re amenable, I will return this afternoon to take you driving in the park?” He wanted more time alone with her, regardless of what the future held.

  She met his gaze fiercely. “I look forward to it.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Thinking Outside the Box

  Rhoda’s mother’s timing could not have been worse.

  “Let’s not be hasty,” he’d said. He’d been about to kiss her. He’d reached out to pull her in his arms. And she’d been about to swoon in his direction.

  She’d wanted his mouth on hers. She needed it. His head had tilted forward.

  But, of course, her blasted mother had chosen such a romantic moment to come barging in!

  A frustrated huff escaped Rhoda’s lips.

  And now he was gone again.

  He still wanted to marry her, but did he really? A small savings, even her small dowry, would have done little to bolster an estate.

  But he hadn’t cried off. Perhaps he felt sorry for her and was delaying the inevitable. She imagined she’d find out this afternoon, when he collected her for their drive in the park.

  It would be her first time in society since leaving London last week. Would she be received?

  “I have a little money set aside, dear. I thought something like this might happen. My grandmother gave it to me, and now I can give some of it to you. I cannot give all of it to you, of course. But if the only obstacle to your happiness comes down to the matter of a dowry… You needn’t be denied. I need to save some for Coleus and Hollyhock’s come out, of course. If your father had known the funds existed, they’d be long gone.”

  What was her mother going on about? “You kept money from Father?” Rhoda wrinkled her brow. Perhaps there was more to her mother than Rhoda had given her credit for.

  “I can give you one thousand pounds. I expect you to invest it wisely, in case your husband is unable to provide for you properly.”

  Who was this woman and what had happened to her mother?

  “I… um. Mother. I don’t know what to say.”

  Her mother met her gaze and smiled wisely. “We women, even ladies of the ton, have to take care of ourselves.”

  At that moment, Rhoda studied the starburst of wrinkles around the corners of her mother’s eyes, and the lines at the corners of her mouth from smiling too much. Her mother, more than anybody in the world, ought to have frowned more than most.

  There had been times when Rhoda thought her mother laughed too often, too loudly. When she’d been embarrassed by her.

  Now, reflecting on her father’s behavior, she wondered how her mother had ever laughed at all.

  “How did you do it, Mama? How did you cope with such a husband?” She’d never asked her mother anything like this before.

  Her mother turned her head to stare out the window, the same as Lord Carlisle had a few minutes ago.

  And then she exhaled loudly. “We do what we need to do, Rhododendron. Our decisions won’t always be popular. People will not always appreciate us for them. But we survive.” She glanced over her shoulder and winked. “And if we’re lucky, we thrive.”

  This explained why Emily had cheated at Sardines and perhaps why she’d ridden off to Gretna Green with Lord Blakely. She wanted some independence in life. She did not wish to live her life as her aunt’s servant.

  The desire to thrive explained why Cecily had fought to escape her bitter union with Lord Kensington and why Sophia had married so quickly again after the death of Lord Harold.

  And it explained the strength inside her mother, a woman with three daughters and an unfaithful spendthrift of a husband.

  Thriving and surviving.

  Except a thousand pounds would not be enough for her and Carlisle to be prosperous. It likely wasn’t even enough for them to survive. Not with a failing estate.

  Rhoda wanted to thrive! She was so tired of feeling guilty. Of feeling ashamed! And now she had to cope with that idiotic wager. Last she’d heard, a winner, depending upon who they bet on, could walk away with close to seventy thousand pounds.

  An astronomical amount of money! Of course, she’d make certain that there would never be a winner.

  She’d never allow it.

  But a bet on a long shot could win one person seventy thousand pounds! What would a gentleman do for seventy thousand pounds? The memory of what Lord Kensington had attempted illustrated the answer quite adamantly.

  A shiver of fear nearly made her hands numb.

  Seventy thousand pounds, and she, Rhododendron Mossant, was the key.

  I am the key!

  Surely, the answer couldn’t be as easy as that? The seed of an idea took root.

  Lord Carlisle needed to wager upon himself.

  But would he? The notion quite went against everything such a gentleman represented. Could she even bring the subject up with him? He’d already become angry with her once for being manipulative. And he certainly must doubt her integrity after everything she’d told him.

  But seventy thousand pounds! Lord Carlisle could take care of his new estate. His new wife.

  Her sisters and mother would never be dependent upon Father again.

  But how? Oh, she wished her friends were here. Even Cecily would likely go along with such a scheme.

 
“Rhoda?” Her mother’s voice drew her back into the present.

  Rhoda jumped. “Um. Yes?”

  “I’m quite certain I don’t like the look on your face. I’ve known you too long to misread it. It portends trouble.”

  Emily was not here. Nor was Cecily or Sophia.

  Her mother was, however. And her mother had just revealed an entirely different dimension of herself.

  “Women ought to thrive?” She tested the waters.

  Her mother narrowed her eyes but nodded slowly.

  “A thousand pounds isn’t nearly enough. He has an entire estate to care for, not to mention his cousins, female relatives. But I have an idea.” Rhoda bit her lip. “This wager, Mother. It’s grown to more money than I ever would have imagined!”

  “How much?”

  “Last I heard, over seventy thousand pounds.”

  At the amount, her mother’s eyebrows rose nearly into her hairline.

  This was the tricky part. “If a wager was somehow made, in Lord Carlisle’s name. And if he were to win.” She bit her lip, her face burning. “If he could provide some sort of proof. Mother, I have the power to make him the winner!” The words sounded so much worse out loud than they had in her head.

  Because both of them could only imagine what sort of proof she’d have to provide. Surely, her testimony would be enough?

  “I could come forth and announce that…” She cringed, unable to go on.

  Her mother had seemed to be listening with an open mind, but at Rhoda’s last words she began shaking her head. “No. Absolutely not. It is an outrageous amount of money but absolutely not. I cannot fathom the scandal if you were caught placing such a wager. Which is what you have in mind, I suppose. Oh, good heavens! And your poor sisters would suffer as well!”

  Her mother twisted her mouth in thought. “This wager, I imagine. It is much like a horse race? The ‘suitors’ are the horses and the finish line…” She shook her head adamantly. “I forbid you to participate in something so outrageous. Put it out of your head completely.” Her mother’s gaze turned distracted for a moment but then she dropped onto the settee and began fussing with her writing desk. “Seventy thousand pounds,” she mumbled.

  Her mother continued shaking her head adamantly. “It’s likely illegal. None of us could ever appear in society again. Think about your sisters, Rhoda.”

  “But I am!”

  “It’s not worth the risk.” Her mother began writing something out but then glanced up again. She tapped her lip thoughtfully with the blunt end of her pen. “And it’s best you not appear in public with him. It’s possible that being seen with you could ruin his chances with another. And that poor man, he deserves to marry money.”

  What on earth? “Another?”

  “Another debutante, Rhododendron. Another debutante with a much larger dowry. We need to end this betrothal.”

  “What? But, you just said—”

  “Break it off, dear. I no longer support the idea.”

  Had her mother knocked herself on the head that morning? And even though Rhoda herself knew Lord Carlisle’s interests would be served best if she were to release him from their agreement, she hated that her mother now demanded it. “It’s a feasible plan, Mother, the betrothal, if not the wager!”

  “Call off the betrothal, Rhododendron. The poor man deserves to be free of all this.”

  “I thought it was me that you cared about! And Coleus! And Holly!”

  “Well. Yes. Of course. Trust me, darling. Best he court another. He’d resent you for certain when he’s taken off to debtor’s prison.”

  Something stabbed at Rhoda’s heart. And yet, her mother was likely right. Many a heiress would most certainly be amenable to marrying an earl, Rhoda had no doubt, regardless of how empty his pockets were. In fact, the emptier his pockets, the better!

  Rhoda did not appreciate the image of Lord Carlisle marrying another, even less so now that he’d escaped a betrothal to Emily.

  “But I like him.”

  Her mother grimaced. “You’ll come to like another.”

  Rhoda bit her lip. “He’s returning to take me for a drive in the park.”

  “Not the park. Have him take you somewhere the two of you will not be seen. Better to break it off in private, anyhow,” her mother added.

  Again, that painful sensation.

  “Madam. Miss.” Leo appeared at the door. At least Rhoda believed the man beneath the gigantic bouquet of flowers was their butler. “There have been several deliveries for you. Er, rather, for Miss Mossant.”

  “Oh, dear!” Her mother crossed the room to examine the various flowers in the arrangement. She plucked and picked at the blooms without considering that Leo’s arms were likely growing fatigued from holding the massive vase. “You say several deliveries have arrived?”

  “Indeed,” Leo answered and then spit one of the leaves out of his mouth. “At least seven others, a few larger than this one. Where would you like me to put them?”

  “With the rubbish,” Rhoda answered firmly, before her mother could speak. The jackals had discovered she’d returned to London. “Or toss them back into the street. I really don’t care.”

  As she swept out of the room, her mother’s voice followed her. “Is there anything here that is edible? I suppose we could use them in a stew…”

  Justin kicked a rock as he hiked aimlessly along the sidewalks that lined Bond Street. How had he managed to find himself in this predicament? Had it only been two weeks since the course of his life so drastically changed?

  He counted back the days. Indeed. Just eleven days prior, his greatest concern had been the contents of his next sermon. He’d gotten word of Percival’s death, his inherited title, traveled to London, and by pure happenstance, come across Rhododendron Mossant again.

  She’d not ever truly been far from his thoughts. He’d found himself besotted with the dark-haired beauty from the first time he’d laid eyes upon her at Harold’s nuptials.

  And then later at Priory Point. Where she’d transformed into a woman of character as well as beauty.

  But St. John had staked his claim on her, even if it was not an honorable one.

  So much had changed since then!

  In a farcical turn of events, he’d nearly found himself betrothed to Miss Emily Goodnight but fortuitously managed to become betrothed to Miss Mossant instead.

  It seemed all his prayers had been answered.

  Which was when God decided to make matters interesting. Of course, nothing worthwhile could be come by easily.

  The back of his neck itched. He hadn’t worried about finances since his mother moved them to Eden’s Court. Since he’d been a lad.

  But he remembered the sensation. He remembered evenings when his mother had served them soup so watered down he’d been tempted to add grass. He remembered huddling in the dark, even a few candles beyond their means.

  And he remembered all too well the manner in which his mother had originally resolved the situation.

  He glanced at his watch, having just met with his man of business to no avail. He’d already wasted most of the afternoon. It was time he collected the vehicle he was borrowing from Prescott House if he was not to keep Miss Mossant waiting.

  Rhododendron Mossant. His betrothed. Because damned if he was willing to lose her so easily.

  He changed direction and increased his pace.

  The day the Duchess of Prescott had sent her missive inviting his mother and him to come and ‘visit’ had been a blessed one indeed. Justin had not been close to her. Neither had Dev nor St. John, but perhaps she’d been closest to Harold.

  Not a demonstrative person, in the least, she’d seemed too proud for affection.

  But he’d be grateful to her until his dying day.

  And he’d never, not in a million years, deign to put a woman in the same situation his father had done to his mother. He’d not put his cousins, his betrothed, nor his betrothed’s sisters and mother in such a situati
on.

  Damn his eyes.

  Just when he thought perhaps she might be within his reach, the expanse between them seemed to widen.

  His pace quickened. Perhaps it was just as well. She’d created nothing but chaos in his life.

  Chaos, passion, lust…

  The memory of that kiss in the chapel nearly caused him to stumble.

  He’d not known such excitement, such completion before.

  He unhitched the large iron latch and opened the gate that protected the Prescott grounds from passersby. The manor set back from the street, the grounds something of a park unto themselves.

  He’d been privileged to be brought up with this family. He’d known they allowed them to be there on charity, but they’d never spoken of it.

  He’d been duty bound to serve the church. And he’d done so willingly. He’d found peace there.

  Acceptance.

  Purpose.

  And now all of that had been flipped upside down.

  Mr. Evans opened the door before Justin could even knock.

  “My lord.” The longtime retainer bowed. Even this irritated Justin today. The butler had never bowed to him before. He’d always simply been plain old Mr. White. Or Vicar White.

  Justin tugged at his cravat, feeling the absence of his collar acutely. “Just stopping for a moment. I’m borrowing one of the vehicles from the mews.”

  Mr. Evan’s eyebrows rose. “You did not wish to see His Grace?”

  Dev was here?

  “As a matter of fact, I would. Is he available?” He and Sophia must have only recently arrived. That meant Lord Blakely and Miss Goodnight would have returned to Eden’s Court, or sent word.

  “Right this way.” Mr. Evans led him upstairs and then, with more pomp and circumstance than ever before, opened the door to the study wide.

  Dev, wearing traveling clothes, was propped against the sturdy desk perusing one of the letters in the mountain of mail that awaited him.

  He glanced up from his reading. “How fares your future father-in-law?” Never a man to beat around the bush, he was even less so now that he’d become Prescott.