June Calvin (13 page)

A shudder ran through him at the thought of those fleshy lips and sweaty, pudgy hands touching either Jennifer or Deborah. It was an obscenity. The duke paced to the window and watched as Morton’s curricle moved rapidly up the avenue.

The duke decided two messages must be dispatched to Woodcrest instantly, one for Vincent, making crystal clear what Morton had in mind for Deborah and Jennifer. In plain terms he would set forth his objections to the match and his willingness to intervene. The other, to Deborah, would reassure her of his unequivocal support.

Within the half hour these messages had departed in the vest pocket of one of his best grooms, mounted on his fastest saddle horse, and with the purse to hire the best cattle along the route. With luck and hard riding he would arrive at Woodcrest not too long after Deborah.
I hope she does not resent my interference
, Harwood thought.
I want to make sure Cornwall knows Deborah isn’t alone.

Chapter 14

“I’ll announce myself, Croyden.” Deborah pushed past Vincent’s surprised butler and hastened to the Egyptian drawing room, where she felt certain she would find her brother-in-law at this time of the evening, nursing a brandy while Winnifred pricked away at her embroidery.

She had not delayed a moment since entering Woodcrest’s grounds, though she was exhausted after two days of travel. She didn’t want to give Vincent any advance warning, for he might avoid her and make her cool her heels for an indefinite period of time.

Croyden stared after the unusually assertive dowager viscountess, scowling. Her coming very likely meant he had lost a bet with the housekeeper, who had insisted the dowager wouldn’t allow Lord Morton to wed her daughter.

Rushing into the drawing room with a militant look on her face, Deborah was standing in front of Vincent before he could quite realize she was there. “Do you wish to discuss Lord Morton here or in your library, Vincent?”

Her brother-in-law motioned with his hand, and Winnie reluctantly withdrew. She had voiced some concerns over the Morton betrothal, and Vincent didn’t want to have to battle with two irate females. Winnifred was concerned that Morton’s rackety ways would reflect badly on her two girls, soon to make their curtsies, and perhaps eventually cast a pall on their social ambitions for their son Brompton, still in the nursery.

“Sit down, Deborah. You look a sight. What kind of start is this, showing up on my doorstep in the dead of night—”

“Spare me these empty protestations, Vincent. I have come to ask you to withdraw your approval—nay, your command—of a match between Lord Morton and Jennifer.”

“What a surprise. Will you take some tea first?”

“Don’t try to fob me off, Vincent. What can you have been thinking of, giving Jennifer to such a man?”

“He has a title and is a man of taste and discernment.”

“He is almost three times her age, fat, immoral, and penniless. Far from being a man of taste and discernment, he is a crude buffoon. Moreover, he is barely received.”

“Is he received more widely than John Warner, recently secretary to the Duke of Harwood, whom I understand is Jennifer’s preferred suitor?”

Deborah drew in a composing breath. “So that’s how he convinced you. I don’t suppose it would have occurred to you that it is the duke and not his secretary who courts Jennifer?”

Deborah studied the effect of this bombshell with satisfaction. Vincent’s mouth had dropped open; for a rare few moments he was utterly speechless.

She had decided on this ploy while pondering their situation during the long hours spent jostling along in the coaches. The notion had grown out of her lament that, if Jennifer must marry an older man, it couldn’t be one such as the Duke of Harwood. Her desperate mind clutched at this notion. It
could
be Harwood, couldn’t it? He was kind, gentle, attractive, and wealthy.

Harwood had expressed himself strongly on the notion of May-December marriages, which had discouraged any such ideas on her part. But since then, Jennifer had told her of Harwood’s infatuation with Sarah’s friend Davida, barely older than Sarah. If he had actually considered marrying another young girl, perhaps he could be convinced to marry Jennifer.

Of course, Jenny must make him see that she would welcome him as a husband. He had made all too clear his opinion of mothers who pushed their daughters into such marriages.

While Jennifer might be surprised at the notion, she certainly couldn’t find it a disgusting one. The duke, for all he was more than twice her age, was a handsome and virile man. And Vincent could hardly prefer Morton to Harwood!

Vincent’s stare was less one of delight, however, than consternation. Harwood! A stellar match, one he could hardly refuse. Yet the duke doubtless would not feel it necessary to offer Vincent ten thousand pounds out of Jennifer’s fortune in gratitude, as Morton had. Vincent had the baron’s handwritten promissory note locked in his desk, to be paid once Jennifer’s dowry was released by her trustees.

“What trick is this, Deborah! I hardly think Harwood the sort to look to so young a bride. Indeed, it was my understanding that he pursued you, and for a less honorable position than wife.”

“Harwood does not yet have an heir, so a young bride is just what he will seek. And as for dishonorable intentions, it is Morton who has them, not Harwood.”

“Your fanciful imagination—”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t try it, Vincent. The day I left London, Morton told me as plain as can be that he intended to make me his mistress, and that any recalcitrance on my part, Jennifer would pay for!” Deborah’s eyes blazed with fury and contempt.

“This is the ‘gentleman’ you have attempted to force Jennifer to marry. He is cut from Seymour’s cloth. Or do you dare to claim it was my fanciful imagination that conjured up the way your brother treated me?”

Vincent stroked his chin thoughtfully. He would never claim that, for he had been not only a witness, on more than one occasion, of his brother’s brutality. When he was a boy, he had been a victim as well.

“So the duke has offered . . .”

“Not yet, not in so many words. He may pick and choose, and take his time about it. But it is obvious that Jennifer has caught his attention.”

“Or that you have. You could waste the whole season trying to snag that man and end up with no husband for her at all.”

“You gave me the season. Keep your word.”

“And if you fail, she shall have Morton.”

“Never. Not if I have to kill the man to prevent it. If you end up arranging a husband for her, it must be someone who will treat her decently. And not expect me to be his whore! Really, Vincent, I had thought better of you.”

Flushing angrily, Vincent stood, mustering enough indignation to give himself a good escape line. “I had no notion of such an intention on his part, nor am I sure I believe it even yet. You get above yourself, woman. I am Jennifer’s guardian, and I will decide what to do with her.” He stalked to the door and jerked it open. “Go to bed, Deborah. Croyden, have a room prepared for Lady Cornwall.”

“I must have an answer . . .”

“Tomorrow morning, if you have gotten yourself under better control, we will talk again. Good night, sister.” Vincent gave her a curt nod and removed himself from her sight.

Fighting tears, Deborah informed Croyden that she would not be spending the night at Woodcrest. “I kept the hackney I hired. It waits outside to take me to the dower house. Betty is there, readying a room.”

Croyden barely sketched a bow, still put out by losing his bet. “As you wish, madam.”

***

Vincent spent a nearly sleepless night. When he arrived upstairs, his wife immediately began prying, and when she learned that Deborah expected an offer for Jennifer from the duke, her voice became shrill with determination.

“You mustn’t stand in her way. Think how advantageous it would be to our girls, to be related to Harwood. The parties we would go to . . .”

Repressively, Vincent reminded her of the lack of affection between Deborah, Jennifer, and his family. “Your fault, you know. You haven’t exactly cultivated her.”

“Then it is time to begin. We will go to London for her ball. It is in three weeks, I believe. Perhaps he will offer by then, and you will have the opportunity to announce it at the ball. He can’t cut you when he has to petition you for her hand. Don’t lose any time, Vincent. Establish your position with him before the betrothal; then he will be hard put to deny us after.”

When Vincent promised to take the matter under advisement, Winnie then began on the numerous disadvantages of the match with Morton. Finally, head ringing, he gruffly ordered her to shut up and retire to her room. Treated to a bout of tears as her parting shot, he then climbed into bed and found all of these arguments vying with his desire for that ten thousand pounds.

When morning came, he avoided Deborah’s presence at breakfast by having a tray sent to his room. His sister-in-law had, his valet informed him, arrived at the crack of dawn, determined to see him as soon as he arose.

Vincent still didn’t know what to do. Just as he was finishing his coffee, a footman scratched at the door.

“There’s a messenger here, my lord.” The footman, obviously impressed, held out a folded, sealed piece of heavy cream-colored writing paper. “Says he’s from the Duke of Harwood.”

Hastily, Vincent perused the duke’s firm representations of Lord Morton’s villainy. His Grace’s scorn was so deep it almost scorched the pages as he denounced the betrothal of Jennifer to Morton and urged Vincent to cancel it. There was no word of a partiality to Jennifer, but reading between the lines, Vincent decided that perhaps Deborah was right. Surely, no one would take that much umbrage at the betrothal if he were not himself affected by it.

Even if Harwood wasn’t considering Jennifer for a bride, it was clear that the duke meant to make trouble. A long, drawn-out legal battle would make unacceptable demands on his purse. And even if he prevailed in the end, the duke could ruin his daughters’ chances of a good match.

Cringing at the thought of his wife’s sharp tongue if he did anything to harm her darlings’ chances, Vincent gave up the game. Somehow he would just have to try to extort the ten thousand from Harwood, though the duke certainly had no need to pay to gain a bride. Any parents in the country would fall all over themselves to offer their daughter and a handsome dowry besides, to see her become a duchess.

His mind made up, Vincent dressed in a leisurely fashion and sauntered downstairs, pondering how to extract maximum advantage from Deborah in exchange for his capitulation.

***

As Deborah laid her weary head on her pillow at the dower house Wednesday evening, her daughter was making her first appearance at Almack’s. The worry over Deborah’s confrontation with Vincent had been kept at bay by a constant round of activity, but for Harwood and his young charges there was little pleasure in the experience. Deborah’s absence had been noted, and the white lies that had to be told to halt gossip had not come easily to Jennifer or Sarah.

Jennifer was truly in fidgets by Wednesday. At dinner that evening she wished aloud that John could accompany them, for she always felt at ease in his company.

“Now, Jenny, he is not invited to Almack’s, you know.” Sarah regretfully reminded her friend of the exclusivity of the
ton
’s premier marriage mart.

“Of course not.” John laughed. “I am just such a one as Almack’s was formed to keep out—a penniless nobody with some pretensions to gentility but none to nobility. Heavens, the
ton
cannot allow such as me too near innocent young maidens.”

“I feel sure that I frightened Lord Morton out of his matrimonial ambitions,” Harwood said, hoping to reassure Jennifer. “But even if he were brave enough to still pursue you, I have no doubts that Lord Morton will avoid any hint of scandal in the vicinity of Almack’s.”

Jennifer flounced in her chair. “Well, I think it is a shame that such rackety people as Lord Morton and Mr. Fortesque can go there, and John cannot. I, for one, would much rather go with you to the ambassador’s reception.”

John’s eyes glimmered with appreciation. “Would that I could take you, but I fear you would quickly be bored to tears with a bunch of old men gabbling in French all evening, pretending they know how to solve the problems of the world.”

“You are not old. And I would love to hear what they have to say about the new Bavarian Constitution.”

“Not really, Jenny!” Sarah looked perplexed at her friend’s strange enthusiasm.

***

An hour after arriving at Almack’s, Sarah was feeling that an evening at the Russian ambassador’s would have been preferable to the torture of seeing Alexander tenderly introducing Anna-Marie about, securing dances for her and leading her out himself for the first dance.

Once again she found herself turning to Henry Fortesqúe to cover her own sense of abandonment. And once again he managed to be amusing enough that she could forget Alexander, at least during the time of their dance.

She studied her father as she returned to him from the dance floor. He was talking without much enthusiasm to a hopeful young woman whose beaming mother stood nearby. Anyone who did not know him well would suppose he was his usual dignified, self-composed self. But Sarah saw the signs of strain about his mouth, the shadows in his eyes.

Her eyes turned to Jennifer, just then being returned to the duke’s side by Lord Threlbourne. Her friend also looked unhappy and wasn’t bothering to hide it very well. To top matters off, gossip was growing hard to ignore or refute.

We are doing ourselves no good here tonight
, Sarah thought. Thanking her partner for his escort, she stepped up to her father and whispered in his ear. Looking at Jennifer’s face, and then Sarah’s, the duke nodded his head. Immediately, Sarah informed the swains gathered around that she had the headache and must leave.

Sarah managed to convince her father that her headache would suffice for excuse enough for them to spend the next evening or two at home. The duke decided perhaps this was wiser than taking the youngsters about when they were obviously miserable. He certainly had little desire for the frivolous activities of the
ton
while he did not know how Deborah was faring.

So the next two evenings they stayed at home. John was commandeered for a fourth at whist, they took turns providing musical entertainment, and the duke even managed to get both girls to sit still for some chess lessons. But mostly they read or talked quietly. John and Jennifer carried the conversation a good deal of the time.

It was increasingly obvious that John and Jennifer had a great deal in common, not just in their interests, but in their serious turn of mind. Sarah took up embroidery, which she usually detested, and listened to them debating issues of the day, with her father throwing in a comment here and there.

They belong together,
she thought.
They have that natural sympathy that I believed Alexander and I had.
A tear dropped on her stitches, and she wiped surreptitiously at her eyes. It would not do to let her father see her so moped. He had already offered to go to Alexander and speak to him on her behalf. Sarah had angrily refused.