The Unlikely Lady (6 page)

“Think you have the monopoly on common sense because of your gender,” Jane finished for him.

“No I don't,” he growled through clenched teeth. No one could make him more angry more quickly than Jane Lowndes and her know-it-all female-equality attitude. Especially since he didn't have a bloody problem with female equality. He had a severe problem with know-it-alls, however.

“Don't you?” Miss Lowndes answered sweetly. “I seem to remember you telling Lucy last autumn that she desperately needed a man to come to Upbridge Estate for the house party and see to things.”

His jaw remained tight. “That house party was ill-advised and—”

“Because a man wasn't running it?” came Miss Lowndes's swift reply. She blinked at him innocently.

“No. It had nothing to do with—”

“I don't believe you, Upton. I think you are overly impressed with yourself because you happen to be male, a sad trait among your sex, to be sure. But I don't share your regard for your innately superior intellect and am happy to rely upon my own in all matters. No one asked you.”

Cassandra's eyebrows both shot up.

Garrett took a long, deep breath. “I never said anyone asked me, but I'm damn well going to tell you if I think you are making fools of yourselves and—”

Miss Lowndes raised her nose and addressed her remarks to Lucy. “Did you ask him, Lucy? I didn't.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes on Miss Lowndes. The woman was entirely too smug. “If you would allow me to get in a word edgewise, I could tell you that—”

“Now, now,” Lucy interjected. “Let's not argue in the middle of the wedding party. You are upsetting Cass. And you promised to be civil.”

Garrett searched Cassandra's face. She was wringing her hands and the shimmer in her eyes told him that she was on the verge of tears. Damn it. Lucy had a point. He shut his mouth, turned away, and downed a healthy portion of his drink. Very well. He'd bide his time and take this discussion back up with Lucy and Miss Lowndes later.

“Yes, let's change the subject,” Miss Lowndes agreed. “I find this one extremely distasteful.” She gave Garrett a tight smile.

Cass breathed a sigh. “Oh, please, let's.” Her gaze scanned the room as if looking for a suitable subject. She pointed a finger in the air. “Garrett, I nearly forgot to tell you. Mrs. Langford is coming.”

Garrett nearly spat his drink. “Pardon?”

“Mrs. Langford. Mrs. Harold Langford. She mentioned you specifically in her letter.”

“Her letter?” Garrett set his drink on the nearby table and braced his palm against the top. The walls were closing in around him.

“Yes. Apparently, Mrs. Langford's deceased husband knew Julian and Donald and, well, she nearly invited herself to the wedding. I was put off by her forwardness until she mentioned your name.”

Garrett tugged at his cravat. The room was stifling.

“Mrs. Langford invited herself to your wedding? And she's coming?” he managed to choke out, his finger lodged between his cravat and neck.

“Please don't think it was a bother. Any friend of yours and Julian's and Donald's is more than welcome. It just seemed a bit odd at first,” Cassandra replied.

“She's coming?” Garrett echoed. Having his hand braced against the table didn't stop the room from spinning.

Cassandra nodded. “Yes, I invited her to the house party as well. It was a bit awkward because she'd mentioned you were coming. I decided if she already knew about it, it would be rude not to invite her.”

“It sounds as if Mrs. Langford is the rude one,” Miss Lowndes pointed out with a sniff.

Garrett stared unseeing into the fireplace. How the devil did Isabella Langford know he'd been planning to come to the house party? He certainly hadn't mentioned it in any of the notes.

“Is she—” He swallowed. “Has she arrived?”

“Not yet.” Cass shook her head. “I believe she intends to arrive first thing in the morning.”

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

Garrett shut the door to his guest bedchamber behind him. He made his way over to the wing-back chair in front of the poster bed. He sat and shucked off his boots. Then he stood and strode to the window, flexing his toes. He looked down on the courtyard below, a sweeping expanse of gravel in front of the manor house.

Two words kept repeating themselves in his brain.

Isabella Langford
.

She was Harold Langford's widow. Harold Langford had been one of Garrett's closest friends in the army. Harold had not returned from Spain. But Garrett had, and he'd done what he could—inadequate though it may be—to see to it that Isabella and the children were taken care of ever since.

Isabella was coming? Here? It made him … uneasy. He'd spent years distancing himself from those years at war. Even though the nightmares woke him with a cold sweat each night, he'd done an admirable job of keeping his Society life separate from his memories.

Lately, that was becoming more difficult. He'd seen Isabella at an increasing number of Society events in town. A fortnight ago, he'd even run into her when he was out and had been obliged to escort her home. She'd invited him in for a drink. He'd declined.

If he didn't know better, he'd think she'd been flirting with him. It made him bloody uncomfortable. Now she had managed to wheedle an invitation to Cassandra's wedding? Something about it seemed not quite right. And mentioning the house party? Had he even told her about it? He was certain he had not.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair. Deuced uncomfortable. He'd been looking forward to a bit of relaxation this week, but now that Harold's widow was arriving, it would be anything but relaxing.

Garrett's thoughts turned to Lucy and Miss Lowndes. Jane. Funny how he called Cassandra and Lucy by their Christian names but he'd never done so with Jane Lowndes. She, however, referred to him only as Upton. As if she couldn't spare the word “mister.” He was quite certain if he said “Tory,” Miss Lowndes would say “Whig” just to spite him. Lucy insisted her friend was truly a nice young lady, once one got to know her. Perhaps she was … to other young ladies, but she'd been nothing but irascible to him.

Miss Lowndes assumed that anyone who didn't have his nose permanently wedged between the pages of a book was an idiot. A rake, she called him. A profligate. What did Little Miss Bluestocking know about profligate rakes? Typical. Those who had no fun in life were constantly criticizing those who did. Perhaps Miss Loudmouth might benefit from a bit of rakishness and profligacy from time to time. He had to admit to a reluctant—very reluctant—admiration for her quick wit and biting sarcasm. He appreciated intelligence as much as the next person. Too bad the sting of her barbed words was too often aimed in his direction. Regardless of his issues with the woman, she was Lucy's friend. She had been loyal to Lucy when few others would speak to her, before she'd become all the rage as the Duchess of Claringdon. He would give Loudmouth that.

Now, when Lucy had a party, half the
ton
clamored for an invitation. What a difference a year made. But true to her character, Lucy had kept her dearest friends, Cassandra Monroe and Jane Lowndes, close to her and the three remained inseparable. Yes, Garrett could abide Miss Lowndes if he had to. She made Lucy happy, and that was what mattered.

As for the scheme the two were cooking up, Garrett would have to get to the bottom of it sooner rather than later. A scandal couldn't end well. How could they believe otherwise? Those two women, always so certain of themselves. Damn it. He'd had enough experience with Lucy's schemes to know that they often lacked preparation and ended poorly or at least caused a great deal of havoc before ending happily. The Mrs. Bunbury plot alone sounded as if it were quite enough trouble. What else could they possibly dream up in the way of a scandal? Garrett scrubbed his hand through his hair again. Best not to answer that question.

He turned from the window and walked to the bed where he slid onto the mattress and lay facing the wood-beamed ceiling. He rubbed his temples. Sleep had long been a jest to him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually slept through an entire night. He hadn't made it through a night in the last ten years without waking in a cold sweat, hearing Harold Langford's screams.

Garrett closed his eyes. He was tired, suddenly, exhausted. Isabella would be arriving tomorrow. She'd come and meet his friends. What would it be like to have his two worlds together? He'd spent the last ten years ensuring they remained far apart. His past in the army in Spain, his present as the heir presumptive to the Earl of Upbridge. They were entirely different circumstances populated by entirely different people. Well, except for Claringdon and Swifdon, that is. Both of them had been in the army in Spain with him. Good men.

Garrett had spent a great deal of time wishing he'd died in Spain. He probably should have. He'd had no business buying a commission and leaving for war. Not since his cousin Ralph was dead and the Upbridge title would pass to some unknown cousin or revert back to the Crown if Garrett died as well. But he'd done it, just the same. Done it and lived. Lived with his regrets.

He groaned. The prospect of the house party had been mildly amusing before. He was happy to see his good friends Swifdon and Cassandra marry. Marriage wasn't something he'd given much thought to before but he didn't begrudge others from making a happy match.

Speaking of marriage, Lucy had said she would turn her sights to finding him a suitable wife after she finished with Miss Lowndes. He rubbed his temples again. It made his head hurt to think about that. Cassandra was lovely and accomplished and would make a fine wife, but she wasn't his sort. Not that he
had
a sort, but if he did, she would be more of someone who stood up for herself, argued a bit, was spirited …

He groaned. Damn it. He'd just described someone a bit too much like … Miss Lowndes. At least if Lucy was preoccupied with her Mrs. Bunbury scandal plot, she'd leave him and his marital prospects alone for a bit. Perhaps he ought to keep his nose out of it. It rarely ended well for him when he attempted to thwart Lucy's plans. He certainly didn't want to draw attention to himself and Isabella Langford. What if Lucy got it into her head that she should make a match between him and Isabella? It would be beyond awkward. Though discomfiture was no doubt in store for him one way or another, once Isabella arrived.

Garrett flung an arm over his forehead. The next week wouldn't be easy. Not only would Isabella be there, he'd be busy watching what Lucy and Miss Lowndes were getting up to, and to add insult to injury, there was to be a bloody masquerade ball. What more could go wrong?

 

CHAPTER NINE

Mrs. Isabella Langford arrived the next morning at an ungodly hour. Jane had been roused from bed far too early given the fact that she'd been up nearly all night reading a novel. She'd been forced to come downstairs and greet the woman along with Cass, Lucy, and Cass's mother.

“Aren't you the least bit curious?” Lucy asked, as Jane stifled a yawn while they stood in the foyer, waiting for Mrs. Langford and for the servants to unload her trunks from the carriage.

“Not particularly,” Jane replied with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. If she was honest with herself, she would admit she did wonder why Upton's voice had seemed a bit strained last night when Cass had mentioned Mrs. Langford. Jane also wondered why the woman had used Upton as an entr
é
e to the house party. It seemed quite forward. But there were scores of socially ambitious people in London who would use any excuse to gain an invitation to an earl's wedding. It wasn't particularly surprising. Jane was more interested in reading the last of her good book than wondering why a widow was coming to Cass's wedding under the guise of her friendship with Upton of all people. Upton's acquaintances were none of Jane's concern. But Cass had requested her presence this morning and Jane was committed to making Cass's wedding week the best it could be. Lack of her own sleep notwithstanding.

“She's the wife of a deceased army captain,” Cass whispered, staring out the door at Mrs. Langford's entourage. “Do you find it odd that she has such a fine carriage and servants?”

“Cassandra, that's hardly polite,” her mother interjected.

Lucy was on tiptoes, craning her neck to see everything. Jane scanned the scene. Indeed, Mrs. Langford had a footman and a lady's maid with her and enough trunks to fill Jane's bedchamber in London.

Lucy snorted. “She does know she's only staying a week, doesn't she?”

Cass elbowed Lucy.

When the lady herself emerged from the coach, Jane sucked in her breath. Mrs. Langford was ethereal. She was nearly as good-looking as Lucy, and that was saying quite a lot. The woman had a cloud of black hair and the palest white skin, with red lips that looked like a cherry set perfectly under her pin-tip nose. While she might have been a year or two older than Jane, she was not much more.

She was escorted into the foyer by Cass's mother, Lady Moreland, and as soon as the widow saw the three of them standing there, Mrs. Langford's beautiful face broke into a wide smile revealing perfect white teeth. She had pale green eyes, Jane noted once she'd come close enough. Yes, she looked like a princess. Well, not Princess Charlotte, but some sort of princess, a fairy-tale, breathtaking sort.

“Lady Cassandra!” Mrs. Langford said in a voice Jane found far too exuberant for such an early hour. People who favored the morning were so often too loud. “It's so lovely to see you. You didn't need to trouble yourself with coming to meet me.”

“It's my pleasure, Mrs. Langford. I wanted to see you had a proper welcome. Do you know the Duchess of Claringdon and Miss Jane Lowndes?” Cass gestured to her friends.