He imagined kneeling before her, pleading for a second chance that she'd never give. He'd hurt her too deeply, had acted as the worst, most ignominious sort of man, and he didn't deserve her pardon.
Lavinia had stopped and was using a key to enter Penelope's room. Was the bloody girl being locked in? Was she that opposed to having him as a husband?
What good could evolve from such a hideous beginning?
Lavinia strutted into the frilly chamber and yanked him in after her. Penelope was lounged on the bed. When she saw them, she climbed to the floor, her insolence and disgust evident and infuriating.
"What is it, Mother?"
"Lord Romsey has something to say to you." "What?"
He stared from mother to daughter. He must have had a dozen glasses of brandy, and he was definitely feeling the effects. Had he something to say? If so, he couldn't remember what it was.
"He's here to propose," Lavinia said. She glared at him. "Aren't you?"
"No," he replied. "You're her parent, and you've agreed, so I can't fathom why her opinion would matter in the slightest."
At his rudeness Penelope gasped. "You're insufferable, and you're drunk."
"Yes, I am, but as you're about to be my wife, you will soon learn that it is not your place to comment on my personal failings."
"And if I choose to disobey, what will you do to me? Send me to bed without my supper?"
"No, I'm much more likely to beat you on a daily basis," he boasted, enjoying how she shrunk away. "If you really annoy me, I'll order you to a nunnery, or better yet, I'll commit you to an insane asylum. Or I'll simply divorce you—after I have your dowry—and for the remainder of your days, you will be poverty-stricken and abandoned."
"You horrid, horrid man!" Penelope wailed.
"Be silent!" he shouted so loudly that both women cringed. "I'm sick to death of your juvenile ways and your snotty attitude. You are sixteen years old, and your mother has decided you are to wed. She's selected me as your husband. You will be happy about it, or you will keep your obnoxious mouth shut. Do I make myself clear?"
Brimming with hatred, she muttered, "Yes, you've made yourself very clear."
"Then it appears we finally understand one another."
He stormed out, Lavinia tagging along behind.
"I'm impressed," she said once they were alone in the corridor.
"By what?"
"You're even more of an ass than I'd suspected." "Yes, I am."
"She's biddable, if you seize control—which you certainly have. I believe the two of you will get on fine." "I'm so glad to hear it." He kept on down the hall. "Where are you going?"
"I'm off to my room. Have a footman deliver several more bottles of brandy. I intend to drink myself into a stupor, then pass out. You may wake me when it's time for the ceremony to start."
Perhaps if he was very lucky, he'd overindulge to the point of mortality and would never be roused. He walked on without glancing back.
Chapter Seventeen
As Anne approached the parlor, she heard a man and a woman speaking, so she halted and peeked inside. It was Charles and Mrs. Gray huddled in the corner, and Charles had his hand on her bottom. Anne had suspected they were lovers, and now, she had her answer.
She should have been outraged, but all she could think was that he was making a fool of himself, sniffing after the beautiful but lethal Mrs. Gray.
Anne had been sure that he was focused on the daughter and the dowry, but Mrs. Gray probably had a fortune of her own. Maybe with Jordan having become affianced to Penelope, Charles had set his sights on Lavinia.
Well, Mrs. Gray could have him, but if Charles assumed Anne would linger through another of his marriages, he was in for a surprise. She'd rather seek employment as a scullery maid.
Mrs. Gray glanced over and espied Anne in the hall. She pulled Charles into a deep, searing kiss, which she obviously wanted Anne to witness, and Anne couldn't believe how unmoved she was. The old feelings of jealousy had fled, replaced by a cool disinterest.
Mrs. Gray ended the embrace and flashed a saucy smile. "I'll see you later, Charles. In your room, after everyone is abed."
"I can hardly wait," Charles said.
She waltzed out, and Anne had stepped back to let her pass when Mrs. Gray gestured toward the next parlor. Anne followed her in and shut the door.
"You were watching Charles and me," Mrs. Gray started without preamble.
"I was."
"I'll be blunt."
"Please do."
"In light of your friendship with Charles, I've been very gracious in having you as a guest in my home."
"Yes, you have been."
"But you've overstayed your welcome."
"If you force me to leave, Charles will come with me. Are you certain that's what you want?"
"I wouldn't count on Charles going with you." Mrs. Gray smirked as if she had a secret she couldn't share. "Charles and I have gotten very close, and you should be aware that a wedding is imminent."
"He's proposed to you?"
Her simpering grin faded. "No, but we've thoroughly discussed it, and at any moment, I'm expecting to make an announcement."
"Congratulations."
'Thank you."
Anne was being sarcastic, but Mrs. Gray didn't realize it. She preened and continued. "While his previous wives were accommodating of his many peccadilloes, I shan't be. I intend to supply him with all the feminine entertainment he needs, so there'll be no place for you in his life. I suggest you find a new situation—if you can, given your advanced age."
"I'll begin looking right away."
"You do that." She went to the door and opened it, signifying that the conversation was over. "I'd appreciate it if you'd go first thing in the morning. Don't bother to keep in touch."
"I won't. Don't worry."
Anne walked past her, calming her breathing, willing her temper to recede; then she proceeded into the parlor, where Charles was relaxed on a sofa by the fire.
"Anne! There you are. I feel like I haven't talked to you in days."
He held out an arm, indicating she should sit and snuggle under it, but she chose the chair across from him instead, and he couldn't help but recognize that something had changed between them.
They stared and stared, and finally, she asked, "What are you doing with Mrs. Gray?"
"What do you mean?" he replied, when he very well knew.
"I thought you were planning to marry Penelope."
"I can't. Jordan snatched her away from me."
"So now what? Will it be Mrs. Gray instead?"
He studied her, and Anne could practically see the wheels spinning in his head as he pondered how much he should reveal of his various schemes.
"What if I have been considering her?"
"You were going to marry me. You promised!"
"But Anne," he said gently, "you don't have any money. You've never had any money."
"I've given you more important things, like loyalty and companionship."
"Yes, you have, and you've been an absolute blessing, too."
"Mrs. Gray has demanded that I vacate the premises."
"What? Why ... that's preposterous. What would I do without you?"
"She claims I'm interfering in her relationship with you."
"She's jealous, is she?" He chuckled. "Don't fret about it. I'll speak with her."
She tarried, the silence settling. This was where she was supposed to back down and placate him with ingratiating remarks, but she couldn't mollify him. "I don't want you to speak with her. I've decided she's correct: It's time for me to go."
"You're being absurd." He went to the sideboard and filled a glass with whiskey, and when he turned toward her, he was all smiles, all sweet, cajoling Charles. "I'm just toying with her, Anne."
"Are you? She thinks you're serious."
"She's mistaken. You know how fleeting these dalliances are for me."
"Yes, I do."
She'd been one of them once, but for some reason, she'd kept his interest when others couldn't. She'd never understood why, had never questioned what she'd viewed as a stroke of fortune, but in reality, it was all so tawdry.
"I believe I'll retire for the evening," she said. "You won't be needing me, will you?" "No."
"Good night, then."
"Good night," he echoed. "We're clear about Mrs. Gray, aren't we?" "Very clear."
"You're staying, and I won't hear any argument." "I wouldn't dream of it."
She strolled out, and as soon as she was far enough away, she broke into a run, feeling as if she was fleeing for her very life.
Here are your records," Robert snapped. "Fine." Lavinia glared as if he were vermin. "Leave them on the chair. I'll have a maid put them away."
With much loud, dramatic huffing, Robert deposited the huge, messy stack while struggling not to bellow at her. He was amazed that he'd actually returned the stupid documents, that he wouldn't keep on in his efforts to aid her with her financial quandary. It was so unlike him to remain angry, but it seemed as if they were embroiled in a permanent spat, and he had to calm himself, had to locate the equanimity required to deal with her.
They often quarreled, and tensions only eased because he came crawling back and apologized. As he was rarely the one in the wrong, his willingness to pacify her was galling, but it was too late to alter the tenor of their association. If he didn't grovel, how would they carry on?
He still wanted to marry her. Didn't he?
It had been so long since he'd wished for anything else that he couldn't fathom another ending.
The pile started to wobble, then fall, and he jumped to brace it as numerous items toppled to the floor. Lavinia watched, bored, as he scrambled about like a servant, scooping up ledgers and stuffing them in what he hoped were the appropriate spots.
A piece of paper—one he hadn't noticed prior— fluttered to the floor, and he frowned. It was a note, in Lavinia's handwriting, and across the top, she'd jotted three columns, labeled, My Trust, Penelope's Trust, and Margaret's Trust. There was a large sum of money indicated beneath each heading, followed by arrows, additions, and subtractions.
"What's this?" He held it out to her.
She studied it, blanched; then she leapt over and snatched it away.
"It's nothing. Just some scribbling."
"But it says Margaret's Trust, and it shows an amount equal to yours and Penelope's."
Hastily, she crammed the odd document into the drawer of her dressing table. "I told you: It's nothing."
From her frantic reaction, it was apparent she was lying, and he was forced to ask the unthinkable. "Did Horatio leave Margaret an inheritance?"
"Don't be absurd. Why would he? He couldn't abide her."
Although he hadn't spent much time with Horatio and Margaret, he recalled that they'd had a cordial and affectionate relationship and Horatio had seemed fond of his niece. Could he have provided for her?
He shook away the disloyal notion. With how Margaret had been abused by Lavinia over the years, the prospect didn't bear contemplating, yet Lavinia had too much money. Had she stolen it from Margaret? Could she have done something that despicable?
If Lavinia had perpetrated such a terrible deed and Robert still loved her, what did that say about his judgment and character? How could they go on?
What he'd conjectured couldn't be true. He wouldn't let it be.
"Are you going out?" he inquired, desperate to change the subject. "No, why?"
Robert dawdled behind her as she primped in the mirror. It seemed all he did anymore was observe her from the fringes of a world that no longer included him.
"You're being awfully meticulous with your preparations."
"Can't a woman be beautiful at her own supper table?"
"Has the footman arrived with the Special License?" "No, so we have something to anticipate on the morrow."
"How did you convince Lord Romsey to propose?"
"I simply told him to make up his bloody mind or I'd find someone else who wanted her money more than he obviously did."
"Have you signed over the dowry to him? All of it—
■
as I instructed you?"
"Of course, I did. I couldn't lie. When I initially dangled it in front of him, I apprised him of the full amount. If I'd suddenly declared the sum to be less, he'd have been suspicious."
"Yes, I imagine he would have been." Robert tamped down a sigh of relief. He'd always hoped that some of the pot might end up in their hands, but with it transferred to Romsey, the strife it had caused would vanish.
"So ... it's all gone."
"Yes."
"Penelope will be wed shortly." "I can't wait." "What about Margaret?" "What about her?" Lavinia sneered. "I haven't seen her lately. I was just curious." "I informed her that she wasn't welcome here any longer, and she left."