The Birthday Scandal (8 page)

“Not
inclined
?” Lucien was sputtering. “I’ll have you know I am
entirely
—”

“Ladies present,” Gavin murmured. “Well, one lady at least.” The way his gaze slid over Emily as if she didn’t exist, then came to rest approvingly on Isabel, made his meaning quite clear to Emily.

How dare he simply dismiss her when he was the one who had behaved badly? Any man who hauled his mistress along on a journey like this, stashing her for his convenience in the nearest inn, was unfit for the notice of a gently bred female.

Men were all the same. It didn’t matter whether they were noblemen, or gentlemen, or men like this creature named Gavin Waring, who was neither noble nor gentle.

But her course of action was simple. She would simply pretend he didn’t exist. He was unworthy of attention anyway. Imposing, yes, with his height and broad shoulders and regular, pleasant features. Some women might even call him handsome. Well, it only stood to reason that he must be viewed as attractive, for he’d acquired a mistress awfully quickly after landing in England. Of course there was the attraction of his title. She stole a look at him. Even without the status of a title, she had to admit, Gavin Waring would catch feminine attention. His bearing wasn’t rigid enough to seem military, but the way he stood spoke of pride and confidence. Or arrogance, more like. If the solicitors really had found him in a farm feld…

She was pleased to see that the interruption had given Lucien a chance to regain control of his tongue, though the distraction had obviously not restored his composure. He was still a bit red-faced and inclined to mutter when Chalmers announced the arrival of the last guest, who turned out to be the duke’s physician. Emily was grateful to have a stranger in their midst, for surely that meant her father would mind his tongue.

“Dinner is served,” Chalmers announced a few minutes later, and a footman appeared to wheel the duke into the small dining room.

“No quarreling over who outranks whom, now,” the duke said over his shoulder. “And no escorting someone you’re related to. That leaves Dr. Mason and Athstone to see the ladies into the dining room. The rest of you can just follow along.”

Athstone? She’d rather be escorted by one of Uncle Josiah’s dogs. Emily put out a hand to summon the doctor to her, but she’d hardly moved yet when she saw Gavin bowing to Isabel and offering his arm. Emily would have sworn he was standing halfway across the room from her sister—far closer to Emily than to Isabel. How had he managed to move so quickly that he had cut the doctor off almost before the duke had finished his sentence?

Not that she was sorry, for the last thing she wanted was to spend all of dinner sitting next to him.

Instead, she ended up seated directly across from him, watching with annoyance as he conducted himself with perfect aplomb throughout the meal. The least he could do was stab his slice of sirloin with his knife like a savage! She dragged her attention back to Dr. Mason and made a halfhearted answer to his question about life in Barton Bristow.

Though she had been away from her cottage for less than a day, her regular life felt almost like a dream. How quickly she had fallen back into the customs of her upbringing—a gentleman holding her chair, the butler pouring her wine, a footman offering dish after dish in a savory feast for the senses. Somehow all this felt so much more real than her cottage in the village—and if it hadn’t been for her father and the need to be always on guard against what he might say next, she would have sunk into a pool of luxurious enjoyment.

Enjoy the comforts of the castle while you can. Soon enough it will be back to Barton Bristow…and boredom.

She caught herself up short.
Not
boredom. Peace of mind, the freedom to make her own choices, the surety of not having to listen to her father repeat his opinions every day—those benefits more than outweighed any shortcomings in her cottage life.

Though she had to admit the Earl of Chiswick had surprised her with his announcement. What was he thinking of, at this time of his life, to consider another marriage? Though
consider
was hardly the right word; he seemed to have already made up his mind to wed a girl even younger than his daughters…

As she turned from Dr. Mason to Maxwell, sitting on her other side, her gaze caught once more on Gavin Waring, and she wondered what was going through his mind. Was he feeling overwhelmed by his surroundings? Or thinking of the day when all this would be his? Or wishing he was in the village instead—with the woman who waited at the inn?

His mistress, he had called her—but somehow, the words hadn’t rung true.

Come to think of it, surely even a barbarous American would know better than to bring his newly acquired lightskirt to the very doorstep of a duke, especially when that duke had the power to make his life easy—or very, very difficult.

Gavin couldn’t honestly say that he enjoyed his first dinner at Weybridge Castle, but at least the duke’s insistence on formal dress and informal manners kept the evening entertaining. With the numbers of men and women so uneven that all rules of etiquette were suspended, he found himself seated between Chiswick, who talked urbanely of things Gavin knew nothing about, and Lucien, who said almost nothing—still seemingly in shock over the announcement his father had made before dinner.

Isabel, sitting at the end of the table in the hostess’s chair, seemed to have received no relief from her headache powder, for she was pale and jumpy and now and then her brows crinkled up as if she was in pain. Mostly she frowned whenever she happened to look down the length of the table to where her husband was sitting.
There
was a story, Gavin would wager.

Directly across from him, Emily chattered to the doctor—about nothing, as far as Gavin could tell. If that was what passed for conversation in this society, he’d die of boredom before the week was out. And on Emily’s other side, the Earl of Maxwell chatted easily with the duke and showed not a hint of concern about the dark looks cast at him by his wife…

The whole thing was as good as a play. Gavin was almost sorry when the port was brought in and the ladies rose to leave the dining room. He watched Emily study her sister’s face and then turn to the duke. “If you do not object, Uncle Josiah, Isabel and I will retire directly to our rooms.”

“An excellent idea to seek your beds early, after the long journey,” Maxwell said. “You must get your rest, my dear wife.”

Isabel turned brick red.

Gavin made a small wager with himself about how long it would be before Maxwell found an excuse to join her, while Emily looked at her sister in shock.

Now there’s a virgin’s reaction.

So much for his intention to catch Emily away from the rest and apologize for making that remark in her hearing about his mistress. Tomorrow would have to do—though when he wished her a pleasant rest and got only a stiff nod in return, he wasn’t so certain he wanted to apologize.

After the ladies left and the port was on its way around, Chiswick looked down the table at his son. “Oh, do get it off your chest, Hartford. Whatever is bothering you, if you keep swallowing your fury you’ll explode.”

“
Whatever is bothering me?
What are you thinking of, to make a cake of yourself by marrying a lady young enough to be your daughter?”

“On numerous occasions, Hartford, you have suggested that I mind my own business—so that is what I’m doing. The continuance of the line is my concern, and since you have shown no initiative in that direction—”

“There’s plenty of time!”

The earl snorted. “I’m tired of waiting for you to stop acting as if you’re still in the nursery and get around to setting up one of your own.”

“If you didn’t treat me like a stripling—”

“What would it take for you to stop acting like one?”

“Enough!” The duke pushed his wheeled chair back from the table and waved a hand at his doctor. “Mason, you’ll come along and see me settled?” His gaze came to rest on Gavin. “I’ll expect you tomorrow morning, nine o’clock, in my room. Time we put some matters in order.”

Gavin bowed assent. After the duke was gone, he said, “Gentlemen, let’s work off some frustrations at the billiard table. Unless you’d rather set up a ring in the stable yard and test who can draw the other’s cork first?”

Maxwell laughed, and to Gavin’s surprise he came along to the billiard room and played with every evidence of enjoyment and not so much as a glance at his pocket watch.

Probably, Gavin thought, only because he felt too sorry for Gavin to leave him alone with the battling duo.

At the top of the stairs, Emily offered to come in and brush Isabel’s hair. “For it’s obvious that you’re still in pain, my dear. Send your maid away, and I’ll take care of you.”

Isabel accepted—not because her head was still hurting, though it was, but for the company. Surely Maxwell wouldn’t press for an answer until she was alone, so the longer she kept Emily by her side, the longer she would be able to think over his offer.

Though why she felt a need to think was beyond her. Why hadn’t she told him right there in the hallway that bartering over a child as though he were merchandise was repugnant?

His words whispered through her mind.
It’s no more than you promised me when we wed.

True, a lady didn’t marry a titled gentleman without understanding the bargain: her only task was to provide him with an heir. She and Maxwell had never spoken of it during their brief betrothal, because there was no need; the expectation was clear.

But that had been before the wedding.

Isabel had always known that he found the marriage contract so inviting only because she brought Kilburn with her. Her father had told her as much. But that, too, was a part of their world—money and property were behind many an aristocratic match.

But when Maxwell had vanished from their new home on their wedding night to carouse and commiserate with his friend Philip Rivington—the same Philip Rivington whose betrothal to her sister, Emily, had been announced that very day at Isabel’s wedding breakfast—and then to act as Rivington’s second in a duel at dawn over the well-born lady he had tossed aside when he contracted a marriage with Emily…

It wasn’t that Isabel had expected—or even dreamed of—love. That wasn’t the way of the world; the best a woman could hope for was to be comfortable in her marriage, in the same way her parents had seemed to be before the countess’s long illness.

No, Isabel hadn’t aspired to love.

But she did require that her husband show the same respect for her good name that a bride was expected to show for her husband’s. By standing with Philip Rivington, Maxwell had helped to create the scandal that had so hurt Emily. He had turned his back on Isabel—on every reputable lady, when it came right down to it—to support a cad in his loose behavior.

With that action, her husband had voided all contracts as far as Isabel was concerned—which was exactly what she’d told him on the day after the wedding, when he had finally reappeared. Nothing had happened, in more than a year since Rivington had died in that duel over Lucilla Lester, to change her mind.

Isabel’s decision had been made long since. It was time to move on to other things.

Emily ran the brush gently through the long, heavy strands of Isabel’s hair. “Am I helping your headache, Isabel? Is it Maxwell who’s making you so miserable?”

She had never told Emily that the man who had negotiated the terms of the duel, stood by as Rivington fought, and held him as he died was her own husband. Knowing how Maxwell had betrayed them both would only hurt Emily more.

“Yes, it’s much better.” Isabel sat up straighter. “Tell me, Emily—what do you think of Athstone?”

“Gavin Waring, you mean—because the thing isn’t certain as yet.”

“Not certain? Surely you’re not thinking that Father’s foolishness in planning to marry Chloe Fletcher might inspire Uncle Josiah to do the same!”

“Who’s to know it wasn’t the other way around and the idea was Uncle Josiah’s to start? Now that he’s met his heir…” Emily gave a delicate little shiver. “Did you know when the solicitors found him he was working in a farm field?”