The Regency Season: Convenient Marriages: Marriage Made in Money / Marriage Made in Shame (Mills & Boon M&B)

by Sophia James

  Gabriel screwed the paper up and threw it into the fire where the dainty sheet of paper was caught in orange flame and disappeared.

  No doubt Gavin Murray had been present when she had written it, but he was glad for the closure. He now owed her nothing. A debt paid in full.

  Crossing the room, he looked into the mirror and almost smiled at the face that stared back at him. Hardly recognisable, his left eye swollen closed and his lip split. But it was the bruise that spread from ear to cheek that was the most noticeable, a broken blood vessel that had marked and darkened the surrounding tissue.

  Nothing that could not heal though, he thought, as he took Adelaide Ashfield’s lavender concoction down from the shelf and layered it thickly over the places that hurt. The ointment had worked like magic on his knuckles and had eased some of the scarring on his thigh. He hoped it would do the same for his face.

  He imagined the gossip that must be swirling around the ton this morning after the spectacle last night. God, if he did not have his mother to look after and Ravenshill Manor to rebuild he’d be off on the next sailing to the Americas. Somewhere far and wild and free. Somewhere he could make his own way in a world not bound by propriety and manners and expectations.

  A knock on the door had him looking up and Daniel Wylde and Lucien Howard both entered the room.

  ‘Hope you don’t mind the intrusion, Gabe. We heard about the altercation last night and came to see if you were still alive.’

  ‘Just.’

  The three of them smiled.

  ‘From all accounts you simply allowed Murray to beat the daylights out of you?’ The words were phrased as a question and as Gabriel pulled down three glasses and filled them with his best brandy, he nodded.

  ‘I’d given my promise not to retaliate.’

  ‘To Cressida Murray?’

  ‘She loves her husband. I was caught up in the ruse of it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I owed her—’

  ‘Not that much, surely,’ Lucien interrupted. ‘And what the hell is on your face?’

  ‘A lavender ointment Miss Ashfield made up for me.’

  ‘Miss Adelaide Ashfield from Sherborne? The Penbury niece?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘I hear she was the only one who tried to help you last night. Her reputation has fallen a little because of it. Seems as if she could well be packed off back to the country by her uncle, ruined by her ill-thought-out kindness.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘My mother over breakfast.’ Lucien’s words were quiet.

  Daniel Wylde had the temerity to laugh. ‘And the countess is always so well informed. Personally, I think Adelaide Ashfield’s star may have risen for such actions prove only compassion and tender-heartedness. And bravery. On that score my wife would like for you to come to dinner tomorrow night, Gabriel. At the town house. She has told me that she will not brook a refusal and is down in London only for the week.’

  ‘I am certain the ton would frown at her invite if they knew of it.’

  ‘That’s why she wants you to come. Amethyst seldom graces any society function. She is of the opinion that anyone who so flagrantly breaks the strict code of manners needs to be encouraged and expects you at eight. Luce is coming, and Francis. He is off to the Americas in a week or so, after the hope of gold and a clue he said you had given him.’

  ‘The chancy pot at the end of a rainbow?’

  ‘Not to St Cartmail.’ Lucien’s laughter was loud.

  ‘You had better enlighten him, then, Gabe. For if he dies in his quest for gold his demise will be squarely on your head.’ Daniel’s interjection was measured.

  ‘And if he discovers riches, will it be the same?’ Gabriel finished his drink and placed the glass down half-on and half-off the edge of the mahogany table, teetering between safety and peril. ‘There is risk in everything. Take that away and life goes, too.’

  ‘The philosophy of jeopardy? Stated like a man with nothing to lose.’ Lucien sounded like he was out of patience and Daniel took over.

  ‘Come tomorrow night at eight, then. Bring a bottle or two of this brandy.’

  ‘I doubt Amethyst would want to gaze at my face in this condition. It would probably put her off her food.’

  ‘Nothing much could do that at the moment, Gabe. She is heavily pregnant with our second child and starving.’

  ‘And you have only been married a little under two years.’

  ‘Amethyst wants our brood to meet their grandfather before he dies. If Robert lives for ever, which he looks likely to do despite his heart condition, we will be overrun with progeny. Not that I am complaining.’

  And he wasn’t, Gabriel thought. Daniel Wylde was a man with a family and a place and a wife who was unusual and interesting. He had not stuck to the rules of the ton, but lived outside of them well and happily.

  Perhaps he could do the same?

  ‘Could an invite be sent to Miss Adelaide Ashfield as well? I should like to apologise to her for the problems that I have caused her and I doubt the Viscount of Penbury will allow me anywhere near the house now.’

  ‘It can.’ In the two words Gabriel heard both humour and question, but he chose to ignore it.

  Chapter Eight

  An invitation arrived for Adelaide just after lunch, the Wyldes’ servant waiting at the front door for an answer.

  ‘The Earl of Montcliffe and his wife have invited you for dinner tomorrow night?’ Her uncle was incredulous. ‘Have they not heard of the problems at the Whitely ball?’

  Imelda broke in. ‘Daniel Wylde and his new wife seldom come to anything in London. I hear they spend most of their time in the family seat outside of Barnet, but they are respectable and well thought of. Lady Montcliffe is from trade, of course, though extremely rich in her own right. As I have not heard a bad word about them perhaps we should view this as a chance of...reinstating your niece’s reputation in society.’

  ‘She’d need to be chaperoned.’

  ‘Bertram could accompany her. He is an acquaintance of Wylde, after all, and it is well past time to allow him some familial responsibility.’

  Adelaide’s heart beat faster. Lord Montcliffe was also a friend of Lord Wesley. Had Gabriel Hughes been invited, too? Without Imelda Harcourt there and with her cousin in tow she might be given a greater amount of freedom to speak with him. She waited to see what her uncle might say.

  ‘Very well. As you so rightly argue, Imelda, this might be a way to restore yourself, Adelaide. Pray this time you will remember all your manners and responsibilities to our family name. I will instruct Bertram to return you home by twelve.’

  ‘Thank you, Uncle.’ She tried to keep gratitude from her voice and made an effort to avert her eyes lest Alec see the spark of excitement that she knew would be within them and change his mind completely.

  * * *

  Gabriel followed Daniel Wylde as he ushered him into a salon at the front of the house. It was a familiar room. Once a good few years back this had been like a second home to him but then Daniel had been called off to the Peninsular War and Gabriel had met Henrietta.

  Amethyst Wylde stood to greet him as he came into the chamber. On the few occasions he had met her Gabriel had found her to be a woman of wit and cleverness who seemed to have little time for the inconsequential chatter and precise manners of the ton.

  ‘Lord Wesley, it is good to see you again.’ As her eyes ran over his face she did not look away. Rather she observed each injury closely. ‘Christine Howard is adamant Gavin Murray is a bully and a cheat. She also swears that his wife would have been much better off under your protection.’

  Gabriel smiled. ‘I beg to disagree, my lady. Beating him into a pulp would not have solved a thing.’

  ‘So you allowed him to beat
you into a pulp instead?’

  The anger expressed on his behalf was surprising and he smiled. ‘Perhaps I did.’

  ‘Well, then, let us just pray that your sacrifice might count for something. A man who kicks another whilst down and out must have his own set of dubious morals. An uneasy and dangerous fault to live with, I should imagine, for Mrs Cressida Murray.’

  Gabriel had the feeling Daniel Wylde was listening carefully, though the way he looked at his wife and took her hand had him glancing away. Solidarity and unity had a certain heat to it. A conversation from an adjoining room suddenly caught his attention.

  ‘Lucien and Francis are here, too, Gabriel as well as Miss Ashfield and her cousin Bertram Ashfield. There will be seven of us altogether because Lucien has brought his sister, Christine.’

  Adelaide was in the next salon? So she had come? Sweeping back the length of his unruly hair, Gabriel followed his hosts through the open doors.

  She was sitting on the sofa when he saw her, but she stood almost immediately, wide blue eyes through glass taking in the bruising on his cheek in that particular way she had of noticing things.

  ‘Miss Ashfield.’

  ‘Lord Wesley.’ Stiff and uncertain. He was careful not to reach out for her hand or make any effort to touch her in such a public domain.

  ‘I hope you thought to use my ointment on your face, my lord?’

  Before he could answer Bertram Ashfield spoke. ‘Addie is a wizard at the art of healing. Our old and unmarried aunts were the same and she has followed their example.’

  Addie. Gabriel turned the name on his tongue—a family nickname that suited her entirely. But her cousin was not yet finished.

  ‘At Sherborne, Adelaide has a clinic that is always full of those interested in her concoctions. I think she could make a fortune if she were to set up a business for the dispensing of medicines.’

  ‘Well, we could certainly do with that.’ Francis’s interjection made Lucien laugh. When Adelaide looked puzzled, Francis St Cartmail continued on to explain.

  ‘We call ourselves “The Penniless Lords”, Miss Ashfield. A half joke at our expense, I know, although Daniel has seen fit to remedy his desperate circumstances and in the nicest way possible.’

  Amethyst Wylde took up the cause. ‘If I had sisters, I should send them straight into your direction, Francis.’ Her eyes alighted on Adelaide. ‘You have a fortune, do you not, Miss Ashfield? Perhaps one of these lords might catch your eye?’

  Unbelievably Adelaide blushed a bright red, though Amethyst quickly spoke again as if to take attention from her. ‘I have a garden at Montcliffe you might be interested in. It has a large variety of different herbs and flowers and you would be most welcome to gather any specimens that caught your fancy. I know if one is passionate about a subject one is always on the lookout for new and different material. My papa is like that. Timber is his love and he can seldom pass a mill without going in to see what is on offer. Daniel’s is horses.’

  Bertram Ashfield was quick to catch on to the new subject and after a moment the group split and Gabriel stood alone with Adelaide.

  ‘I am glad to see you here, my lord. I expected at least some broken bones.’

  ‘Oh, I have a knack at fending off blows, Miss Ashfield, and surviving them.’

  ‘I have heard it mentioned that you were a champion at the sport of sparring’

  ‘That was some while ago. I have not pursued the activity for years.’

  ‘Still, it must be like horse riding. Once learned, never forgotten.’

  He smiled. ‘What is it you are trying to say, Adelaide?’

  The use of her Christian name seemed to take her by surprise because the same flush from before spread across her cheeks.

  ‘I want to know why you didn’t retaliate against Mr Murray in the crowded ballroom?’

  ‘Because I had made a promise not to.’

  ‘A promise to his wife?’

  He smiled at her quickness. ‘Cressida Murray’s husband had been caught cheating. She wanted to encourage him back.’

  ‘By sleeping with you?’

  No other woman of his acquaintance would have voiced such a question, but there was something in Adelaide Ashfield that was different. ‘Hardly. It was jealousy she was after.’

  Blue eyes blazed. ‘Asking for such an impossible favour implies more than a passing friendship between you, my lord.’

  He looked her directly. ‘I hurt her once, badly. Perhaps I deserved it.’

  A small frown played about her brow. ‘One cannot always be responsible for the feelings of others, sir. Revenge lies in one’s own hands, I would hope, and not in the battered face of a former lover caught under an unreasonable promise.’

  ‘You think penance is unreasonable, then, in the repayment of a debt?’

  ‘Her penance or yours?’

  Hell. Could mind reading be another of Miss Ashfield’s unusual gifts? His temple ached, the burr of voices making it worse, and to top it all off he had the deep-felt impression that she was enjoying this.

  Taking stock of his irritation, he changed the topic. ‘I have heard that you suffered for your kindness to me at the Whitely ball and I am sorry for it.’

  ‘Well, the Earl of Berrick and the Honourable Richard Williams have turned tail and run. I would not call that suffering. Perhaps it should be me who is thanking you.’

  Startled by her honesty, Gabriel laughed. He could barely remember the last time he had done so out of her company.

  ‘You have a fortune, Miss Ashfield. There will be a great number of willing swains behind that lot and of a far better calibre if you just give it time.’

  ‘I hope not. Uncle Alec seems to think my unseemly behaviour at the ball was unforgivable. He is considering packing me off to Sherborne again to live out my days in Dorset in a spinsterly regret.’

  ‘And will you?’

  ‘Regret my lack of a marriage proposal?’ She swallowed and Gabriel wondered if she was quite as impervious to her suitors as she made out. Lord, if she was carted off back to Sherborne he’d lose the chance of talking to her again and feeling...something? He dared not risk touching her here, but he wanted to. The ache of desire to discern his body’s reaction to her almost undid him.

  Her hand lay on the headrest of the chair she stood by, the nails short and tidy, her fingers dainty. A healer’s hand. He could see the blue veins through the thin whiteness of her skin. There was a burn on one of her knuckles and it had blistered. From assembling her concoctions, perhaps? He hoped it had not happened when she had made the lavender ointment for him.

  A great wave of melancholy kept him rooted to the spot, the emptiness of his life leaving a stillness that was unending. Usually he found some relief in humour, but tonight he could not seem to do that, the truth of all that he wasn’t, shocking.

  If he were to touch her and feel only indifference, then that was the end of it for him. Excusing himself, he moved away with barely the minimum of manners.

  Lucien found him over by the small cabinet that held Daniel’s fine brandy. ‘You look exhausted, Gabe. Perhaps a holiday in the country at your family seat is in order?’

  ‘Amongst the smouldering ashes of Ravenshill Manor and its roofless walls?’ Gabriel returned and Lucien Howard began to laugh wryly.

  ‘I had forgotten about the fire. What the hell happened between us a few years back, Gabe? Why did you just disappear without word or reason? Daniel and I tried to find you before we left for Spain, but you were gone.’

  Gone into hell, Gabriel thought, and took a drink, lost in the clutches of Henrietta Clements and the political intrigues of her husband.

  What was it Gracian had said in his treatise on worldly wisdom? ‘Never open the door to a lesser evil, for other greater ones invariably slink on in.�
� One mistake leads to the next and the next until there is no way left to go.

  That was how he had felt, still felt even six months after the fire. Once, he might have managed, but now...only guilt was left and a floundering pool of regret.

  What had Daniel and Cressida both said of him? That he was kind. The lie of that made his stomach feel hollow; he was his father’s son, a man full of anger and retribution.

  The truth of it scalded against honour as he upended the brandy.

  * * *

  Adelaide wished she could just go home away from this house and these people and the gaiety of a salon filled with friends. Close friends—a group who were relaxed in each other’s company and at ease with the expressing of strong opinion. The Earl of Wesley patently was barely interested in her appearance here.

  Her cheeks still scalded her from the earlier blush and she chastised herself. But it was hard to appear as indifferent as she would have liked to when he was standing a few feet away from her with his beautiful face so bruised and broken.

  He seemed more reticent tonight, less relaxed, the muscles of his jawbone grinding in a constant motion. She had glanced across at him a moment or so before and caught him watching her, the pale gold gaze pulled away as soon as their eyes met. He was drinking a lot, too.

  Tormented. The word came from nowhere, but sat across explanation with a quietly formed ease. If the demons in him were circling even here amongst friends in a cosy London town house, then imagine what they must do at other more lonely times.

  Heartsick or soul sick, she wondered, looking at the pulse in his throat. Faster than it should be at rest and his hand trembled as he reached for the brandy bottle. Perhaps he had loved Cressida Murray and was drowning in the sorrow of her betrayal—a wretched public denouncement at that, the bruises on him testament to a sense of honour that was startling.

  He’d kept his word. He had not hit back. From the way he looked Adelaide doubted such decency was much of a consolation to him. Indeed, he gave the singular impression that he would like to fling his fist through the hard wall behind him and keep bashing until pain scoured wrath and sanity returned.