This was getting her nowhere, she conceded, climbing into bed as the clock in the hall struck three – not that she had any chance of sleeping. Past mistakes could not be remedied, but the future could yet be changed. Somehow she must escape this trap. His position in Society was at stake. As was happiness for both of them.
She had eight hours to devise a way.
* * * *
Sedge forced his feet up the steps to White’s. He had discarded his costume, but this was not an evening for retiring early. He must behave as normally as possible lest he betray his fury over this twist of fate. Besides, allowing time to brood would make carrying out his duty even harder. He must see this episode to a conclusion before second thoughts drove him to dishonor.
But he could not halt his mind. Even as he exchanged greetings and answered a new round of questions, it turned over every scrap of memory, searching for a way out.
How had he fallen into this trap? And why? Someone had hoaxed Jenny into attending the masquerade. She hadn’t the brains to plan such a scheme on her own, and her writing was so poor that she was incapable of forging that letter. Was Miss Patterson somehow involved? The chit knew Jenny, and her protestations were ridiculous. No one would prefer servitude over a luxurious life of social prominence.
Except Elizabeth, his conscience reminded him. She would have refused a duke’s heir if she had not loved him.
But that was irrelevant. If Miss Patterson was anything like Elizabeth, she would have repudiated him in the middle of the ballroom. Loudly and firmly.
He shivered.
Yet what could she have hoped to accomplish by tricking Jenny? Her goal had been to attach Reggie. Creating a scene might have maneuvered Reggie into compromising her, but only if she’d known in advance when and where all the players would be in position.
Stupid!
His mind was clearly muddled. Miss Patterson had nothing to do with Jenny. She had been on her way to meet Reggie at the time. The confrontation with Jenny had actually prevented that meeting.
As he accepted felicitations from Rathbone, relief thawed the edges of the ice encasing his heart. Wedding the chit would be difficult enough without suspecting that she had precipitated this mess. Her attachment to Reggie was a large enough hurdle.
So who had tricked Jenny? Could it have been Lord Peter Barnhard? Lord Peter had tried to lure her into his bed more than once, and he must know that Sedge would dismiss her after this stunt.
“Lord Sedgewick.” A deep flush marred Crossbridge’s face.
Of course. He should have guessed the truth sooner, but he’d honestly thought the baron had learned some prudence after nearly destroying Randolph’s betrothal. “What the devil do you want now?” he snapped. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”
Crossbridge paled but held his ground. “Then I was right. Miss LaRue somehow instigated your betrothal.”
Sedge glared.
Crossbridge plowed heavily ahead. “I owe you far more than an apology. I not only blamed you for planting that print, but actually accused Ellisham of tripping me.”
“I told you we had nothing to do with it,” he said coldly.
“Quite. But I did not listen. In my arrogance, I tricked Miss LaRue into attending the masquerade, hoping to embarrass you, but I never expected the situation to spin out of control.”
“You never do. But how do you know what happened?” A witness could explain Miss Patterson’s dishevelment and provide an escape. “Were you watching?”
“Ellisham told me,” he said, killing that flash of hope. “You were gone before I realized that something had gone awry with my plan. I was debating what to do when Ellisham dragged me outside to demand an explanation – he’d recognized my hand on the letter to Jenny. I was appalled to discover what had happened, and even more so when I realized that I had tucked that print in the magazine myself. It was on my desk when my mother called…” He blushed deeper than before. “There are not apologies enough to atone for my mistakes, but I cannot allow you to blame someone else for my dishonor.”
“Damn you, Crossbridge!” The curse burst out. “Didn’t you vow just two months ago that you were through jumping to conclusions? Only Lady Elizabeth’s brush with death saved Symington from your meddling. I doubt I will be so lucky.”
“I am unfit for Society,” agreed Crossbridge, hanging his head. “I will leave within the week. Perhaps a year or two on the Continent will redeem me.”
“Somehow I doubt it. You are the most incompetent fool I know.” He snapped his jaw shut, appalled at losing his temper so thoroughly. At this rate, he would have no reputation left to salvage.
Crossbridge sighed. “I cannot blame you for being upset, but I had to confess before leaving. Ellisham feared you might fault Miss Patterson. She is as much a victim as you are, and is less capable of bearing it. But good may yet come of this. You are very alike.”
“Good-bye, Crossbridge. I cannot think we have anything further to say.” He ignored the baron’s parting comment. The man’s judgment was hopelessly impaired.
Pausing to erase any new signs of fury, he headed for the gaming room and a high-stakes match of piquet. Concentration won him a substantial sum, but did little to improve his temper.
Nor did three hours of tossing and turning. He would have been better served to have gone to Doctor’s Common himself instead of sending his secretary.
* * * *
“My lord.” Miss Patterson turned from her pose before the fireplace, her voice freezing the air of the drawing room.
“Miss Patterson.” Circles under her eyes attested to little or no sleep. Obviously she favored this match no more than he, though they had no choice. Yet what sort of future faced them? She would meet Reggie often, but marriage would place a permanent bar against ever wedding him.
He pushed the image aside. Emotion would make this day even more difficult, so he would concentrate on honor. Once he had satisfied its demands, he could consider the next step.
“The arrangements are complete,” he announced. “I will return at two. We will wed at half past, then retire to Glendale House.”
“Why?”
“I can hardly move you into Albany.” He glared at her. “Females are not allowed.”
“Th-that is not what I m-meant.” Her face flushed an unbecoming red. “Why are you forcing me into m-marriage? You d-despise me, as does everyone else. Since I can only embarrass you, there is no point in sacrificing yourself. You know your reputation will recover if I disappear. My mother can use my help – I have eight younger siblings. Or if you b-believe that my presence would harm Father, then lend me enough to buy a c-cottage in a remote spot. I can change my name to guard against the unlikely event that someone might have heard mine.”
“Have you no thought for honor?” he demanded, angrier than ever. By the time she stammered to a halt, he was quivering with the overpowering urge to throttle her. “Am I to set you up like a cast-off mistress, allowing the world to believe that I ruined you in truth? No, Miss Patterson, you will see this through. If you behave yourself and refrain from embarrassing me for the remainder of the Season, you may retire to my estate. But not until you have removed every last trace of scandal from this imbroglio. I will not be jilted on top of everything else. Do you understand?”
She collapsed into a chair, her face now stark white. “Yes, my lord. I understand that your arrogance is worse than I had imagined. You care only for your precious reputation. What a pity. You fight to retain the devotion of fools and prigs whose only use is to inflate your considerable vanity. Don’t you understand how worthless their opinions are? They would turn on you in an instant if a more intriguing mentor appeared. Yet you will force us both into misery in the dubious name of honor.”
“Dubious?” he spat. She had no concept of the demands placed on every member of the world in which he lived.
She speaks tru—
No!
He stifled the voice, whipping up his fury to hold it at bay. His task was difficult enough without entertaining doubts. She was raising questions he dared not consider.
“Honor is what separates a gentleman from the masses,” he stated firmly.
“True honor, perhaps. But the gentleman’s code you swear by is no more honorable than selling carp as lobster. Honor should not inflict misery. Can you not set aside your stubbornness long enough to admit that a moment of embarrassment is preferable to a lifetime of pain?”
He loomed over her, fighting back the urge to strike out. What the devil was wrong with him? Again he had nearly come to blows with her despite his hatred of anyone who abused women. He needed to conclude this meeting quickly before he lost what little control remained over his temper.
“Pack your things, Miss Patterson. I will return at two and will expect to find you ready. You needn’t bother with clothing. Mademoiselle Jeanette will wait upon you at four to fashion a decent wardrobe. We will attend the opera this evening.”
“But—”
“Stop fighting fate,” he growled, recognizing the very arrogance she decried, but unable to stop it. The alternative was shaking her until her teeth rattled. “I have listened to enough of your prattle. You will act the happy bride, starting now. Tomorrow you will be at home to callers. We will remain in town for the remainder of the Season, participating in all events.” He turned to leave. “Until two, my dear.”
“If you wish anyone to believe us happy, you had best improve your own countenance,” she snapped, rising to glare at him. “You sound as if someone were forcing broken glass down your throat.”
Sweeping out, she left him standing in the drawing room – cursing.
* * * *
Joanna covered her face with both hands, forcing back tears. Crying would accomplish nothing.
Odious, arrogant beast!
she fumed, pacing the floor of her bedchamber – not that it provided enough room to work off her fury. She suspected that it was usually assigned to Wicksfield’s valet. Even her space at the overcrowded vicarage had been larger.
How could she face Society? Lord Sedgewick’s fury confirmed her inadequacy. She had nearly collapsed when he’d loomed over her; his height and breadth actually made her feel fragile. Yet knowing they would be miserable and knowing she lacked any attribute that might make her acceptable, he remained obdurate.
Stupid man!
How could he believe honor was more important than truth, duty more demanding than comfort? How could he expect to pass off a wife who lacked beauty, breeding, fortune, or charm? No one with any sense would believe him.
His insistence had already driven nails into the coffin of this marriage. Before they had even exchanged vows, they were doomed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Joanna walked through her wedding in a trance. Only three images remained in memory afterward – Reggie’s smile as he took his place in support of his brother, the dead tone of Lord Sedgewick’s vows, and the icy lips that had briefly touched hers at the end.
Her dread increased when he escorted her to the office to sign the register. His arm quivered beneath her hand. He radiated a fury that nearly buckled her knees. Leaving the church alone with him was the hardest thing she had ever done.
“My mother should return in a day or two,” he announced as they drove to Glendale House. “We will pass the remainder of the afternoon with the modiste, so now is the time to resolve any questions.”
“Do you mean that your parents don’t even know of this?”
“I wrote them this morning, apprising them of the facts. We will not mention them again. In six hours our tale must sound believable.”
She blinked. “What tale is that?” She remembered little of the masquerade beyond her efforts to remain on her feet without losing control of her stomach.
“Pay attention this time,” he snapped. “I dislike repeating myself.”
“Then make sure your audience is attentive! I was barely conscious last evening – as you, of all people, should know.”
He inhaled deeply, deliberately relaxing his fists. “I must beg your pardon, my dear. Snapping at you was unconscionable even without the injury. Does your head still ache?”
“Some. But at least I am in no danger of fainting today.” Pain flashed in his eyes, bringing satisfaction. “And the nausea has lessened. As long as you refrain from forcing me into another waltz, I should be all right.”
He flinched. “Very well. Our history is quite simple. We formed a deep and lasting attachment from the moment Reggie introduced us. Carried away by the romantic atmosphere at Lady Warburton’s masquerade, I impulsively begged for your hand rather than waiting to call upon you in the usual manner. You accepted. When Mrs. Drummond-Burrell’s innuendo offered an excuse to wed immediately, we jumped at the chance. We are both well beyond the age of consent, and gathering our respective families would have caused intolerable delay.”
“How impetuous of us.”
“You aren’t the only one suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Lady Sedgewick.” Flat gray eyes bored into hers, proving she had pushed him too far. “If we have any hope of carrying this off, you must cease baiting me. At the moment, anything that hurts me reflects badly on you, and vice versa. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.” But his quote startled her. He rarely relaxed his facade enough to expose even a basic education. Reggie claimed that he let down his guard only with close friends and family. Despite the farcical ceremony so recently concluded, she fit neither category, so his fury was clearly getting the best of him.
He turned away. “You need explain nothing further. Our private life is of no concern to others.”
“But why would anyone believe such rubbish?” she asked, honestly perplexed. “You look like death walking, and I cannot appear much better.”
“By the time we reach the opera house, we must both contrive the proper expression. Whether people believe the tale is irrelevant. They will accept whatever image we display. By next year, they will have forgotten anything else.”
He spoke the truth, as she knew all too well. Public persona rarely matched real character, but Society cared only for surface appearances, accepting shallow posturings as truth and ignoring the double standard that implied. Many clung to that surface, needing its safety to frame their world. With enough repetition, people would believe anything – even that Lord Sedgewick’s judgment surpassed everyone else’s.