A Lady of Talent (25 page)

Neville was so pleased with himself for having come up with a plan that was even more clever than Barbara’s that he went straight upstairs to his bedchamber and fell promptly asleep, worn out by the exertions of the day.

Other members of the party, however, were not so fortunate. After having restored his fiancée to the tender care of her maid, Sebastian was enduring a most uncomfortable interview with her father.

Sir Richard, being the astute man of affairs that he was, was not about to believe any convenient tales of sick relatives. “It is the most utter nonsense. Why, even if Barbara gave a rap for her aunt, which she does not, she would be completely useless in a sickroom, and I hope that a daughter of mine would have the good enough sense to know that at the outset. Now what is all this about, Charrington?”

“I believe it is all my fault, sir, and therefore I must bear most of the blame for this, er,
escapade.
You see, I know that to Barbara, the
ton
and its amusements are the very stuff of life, and I know that I have been far too wrapped up in my own affairs to give her the attention she deserves. Her running away was, I believe, her way of pointing out to me my unfortunate neglect.”

The financier sighed heavily. “Your fault, perhaps, but mostly mine. When her mother died, I was also too immersed in my affairs to pay much attention to her, and the nurses and governesses I employed to look after her were no match for my headstrong daughter, who was bent on having her own way. She has always been too much indulged, I fear, and now she rides roughshod over everyone—which is why I was so pleased at having you as a son-in-law, for you are one of the few men I know who is strong enough to stand up to her.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall do my best,” Sebastian responded wearily. “Now if you will forgive me, sir, it has been rather a long day.”

“Yes, of course, my lad. Be off with you. And thank you for saving my daughter from her own willful impulsiveness.”

But as he led his visitor to the door. Sir Richard’s sharp old eyes saw more than weariness in Sebastian’s face. It was more than a long, exhausting drive that had robbed him of his usual energetic stride and proud bearing, and the air of mastery and command that distinguished him from other men. This was something far deeper, almost sorrowful—something that Sir Richard could not quite identify, but it was affecting Sebastian more than anything he had seen in all the years of their friendship.

At last, Sebastian was free to return to his own chambers, where one of his library walls was completely bare; the spot where her portrait had hung was as empty as his heart. All that he had to keep him company now was the memory of the look in her eyes as he had thanked her, and the slight pressure of her fingers as he had kissed her hand.

Did she know how much it had cost him not to leave the other two to their own fate, turn his horses toward the Great North Road and drive on, not stopping until they reached Gretna Green? Would she ever guess how he had longed to let her brother and his fiancée suffer the consequences of their own foolish actions so that he could spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved—the woman who had made him feel happier than he had ever dreamed possible?

No, she would never truly know how much it had cost him, and he would never tell her. Instead he would spend the rest of his life being the model husband to a woman who did not care to whom she was married, just so long as being married made her a leader in the
ton.

But Sebastian’s desolate picture of the future was not entirely accurate, as Sir Richard Wyatt was to discover the very next morning when the butler announced that there was a visitor to see him.

“A visitor, Radlett?” Sir Richard looked up from his correspondence in some surprise. He was not a particularly sociable man, being far too busy to indulge in such things. Most of his acquaintances were financial men like himself, and were therefore far more likely to seek him out at Garroway’s or Lloyd’s—or any other of the coffeehouses that catered to men of the City—than they were to call on him in Russell Square.

“Yes, sir. It is a Marquess of Shelburne, sir. He is most insistent, sir. He warned me that his name might not be familiar to you, sir, so he told me to inform you that the purpose of his visit concerns Miss Wyatt’s journey to the country yesterday.”

A cold fear gripped Sir Richard’s heart—a fear that this man had come with compromising information about Barbara that he intended to use to his advantage. Not that Sir Richard cared a farthing for what passed as scandal in the fashionable world; he was a plainspoken man himself, who judged people by what they did and what they had to offer, not by what the rest of the world said about them. But his daughter was a different thing altogether. She cared a great deal for what was said about whom in the beau monde. She wanted to be a leader of the
ton
and, by God, if that was what she wanted, he was not about to let anyone stand in her way, especially not some marquess he had never heard of.

However, the handsome young man who was ushered into the library some moments later did not look like a man bent on blackmail or any other nefarious purpose. He might be a bit too finicky in his mode of dress for Sir Richard’s taste, but he had a pleasant, open countenance and a winning, gentlemanly air that was hard to resist.

“I do beg your pardon. Sir Richard, for having the temerity to call upon you without the formality of an introduction, but my business with you is too important to delay,” the young man apologized.

Sir Richard eyed him warily. “As you say, my lord, we have no previous acquaintance; therefore, I do find it rather difficult to believe that we have any business together.”

“In a manner of speaking we do, though. You see, I owe you something.”

“Owe me something?”

“Yes. I owe you and your daughter an apology, sir. You see, yesterday I had the effrontery to elope with your daughter, when really what I should have been doing was asking you for her hand, sir.”

“I think we had better sit down, my lord.” Sir Richard indicated a chair by the fireplace and took one opposite. “And now perhaps you would like to tell me exactly what you mean.”

“It is rather delicate, sir.”

“Somehow I think that if you were on the verge of eloping with my daughter, the time for delicacy is long since past.”

“Perhaps you are unaware that she was not entirely happy with the choice of her prospective husband, sir.”

The silence that greeted this observation was nothing short of deafening.

Unfazed, Neville continued. “She is a charming, vivacious young woman, sir—a young woman for whom gaiety and society are as essential to her as the air she breathes. Her fiancé—though he is a most worthy gentleman indeed—not only does not enjoy such things, he avoids them. She was lonely, sir, lonely and neglected. She felt unsupported in what can be a very critical and unforgiving world. Being shy and unsure of herself in this world, she sought me out for advice.”

Though the picture of his daughter as being shy and unsure was an entirely new one to him. Sir Richard did not let on. “Go on.”

“As I am considered to be something of an expert in these things, she began to consult me more regularly concerning the ways of the
ton,
and as we gradually became friends, I occasionally offered my escort to her and her great-aunt Letitia for some of the more important functions her fiancé was not able to attend. Over time, she came to rely on me more and more, until one day she confided in me that she was miserable at the thought of being married to a man who cared so little for the things that were important to her, and crucial to her happiness. In short, she begged me to take her away, which, being a gentleman whose code it has always been to serve, I did. I arranged for us to be married by a special license, by the vicar who has faithfully served our family and the parishioners of our estate his entire life.”

“And am I to surmise that the only reason you are not yet married to my daughter is that the Earl of Charrington had the temerity to object to his fiancée’s running off with another man, and came after you?”

“You are, sir.” Neville beamed at him as would a devoted schoolmaster whose favorite student had just made an exceedingly clever remark.

“And why, may I ask, should I even listen to your preposterous proposal, instead of having you thrown out of my house immediately?”

“Because Bar—er, because your daughter will be happier with me, sir, than she would ever be with the Earl of Charrington. We are very much alike, she and I. We like the same things. We know how to enjoy life’s pleasures to the fullest and how to amuse others. I will be able to grant her dearest wish, which is to be a diamond of the first water, an Incomparable, a hostess whose every affair is characterized as a sad crush. She will become a leader of the
ton.
And while I do not pretend to have the fortune to offer her that the Earl of Charrington does”—here Neville had the grace to look self-conscious—”my title and my family are far more ancient than his. And the title of Marchioness of Shelburne carries with it a certain cachet that the Countess of Charrington simply does not. Don’t you agree?”

But by this time, the financier was too overwhelmed by the sheer audacity of his visitor’s proposal to do anything but stare at him.

“I know it is a bit of a facer, sir, but if you do not believe me, perhaps you would like to ask your daughter yourself.”

“Thank you,” Sir Richard gasped as he rang the bell. “I shall do just that.”

“Sir?” The butler, who had been hovering as close to the library door as he dared, materialized instantly.

“Please ask Miss Wyatt to come to the library immediately.”

He turned back to Neville. “And now, sir, since, as you admit, we are not acquainted, you will tell me something about yourself before my daughter joins us.”

But if the truth were told. Sir Richard hardly heard a word that Neville uttered, for he was far too busy remembering how much happier and more vivacious his daughter had appeared in the last few weeks, and how somber his prospective son-in-law had looked the previous evening. Perhaps he had been too eager for the match between his daughter and the Earl of Charrington, because Sebastian was the closest thing there was to the son he had never had. By marrying him to his daughter he would have made official a relationship that had existed informally for so many years. But in his eagerness to gain Sebastian as a son, he had ignored his daughter and the person she was. Now that he considered it, he realized how different they were from one another. If he had noticed this difference at all, Sir Richard had hoped, as was often the case, that the two would balance one another out and not, as was equally often the case, wind up in a disastrously distant relationship.

“You wanted to see me, Papa?” Barbara appeared in the doorway—a picture, as always, in a charming morning gown of primrose jaconet muslin. “Neville!” She came to a stop the moment she saw him. “What ever are you doing here?”

Her father watched with a great deal of interest as a delicate flush tinged his daughter’s cheeks. “Odd as it may seem, my dear, this gentleman has come to ask for your hand in marriage. If what he says is true, it appears that you will be a great deal happier being married to him than you would being married to the Earl of Charrington. Is this true?”

“Well, I... that is to say, I do not know ... I do not know quite what to say.” She looked appealingly at Neville.

Neville smiled reassuringly at her. “What you do know is that, except for the uncomfortable journey we just recently undertook, which was purely the fault of a badly sprung carriage, that we always have a bang-up time together.”

“That is true.”

“And you are always telling me that no one makes you laugh the way I do.”

“Charrington never makes me laugh.”

“And you can always count on me to tell you honestly if a bonnet is not quite the thing or if the color you have chosen is passé.”

“Yes, most definitely, but—”

“And being a marchioness, especially in such an ancient and respected peerage, is a great deal more fun than being a mere countess.”

‘True. But what will people say? I do not wish to be labeled a jilt.”

“You will not be labeled a jilt if you marry someone of superior rank and lineage. Besides, all you need to say is that you and Charrington simply did not suit, and the world will be well satisfied.”

“Then, if you please, Papa,” Barbara smiled appealingly at her father, “I would a great deal rather be married to Neville than to Charrington, who is stiff and cold and dull. I know he is wealthy and he is your friend, but you have always said that I am wealthy enough to do what I please. I will have ever so much more fun with Neville.”

There was no mistaking the relief in his daughter’s eyes. Shaking his head, her father smiled ruefully. “Very well, Puss. You know I never could deny you anything that you wanted, and I am not about to start now. You may marry this man if you wish to. But I warn you, young man,” he shook an admonitory finger at Neville, “she will lead you a merry dance.”

“And so she has already, sir,” his future son-in-law agreed. “So she has already.”

Chapter Thirty

And so it was that later that day, Sebastian, who little more than twenty-four hours earlier had stood in Sir Richard Wyatt’s library, promising his prospective father-in-law that he would stand up to his willful daughter, found himself standing in that very same library listening in stunned amazement as that willful daughter broke their engagement, then vowing nobly to Barbara and her father that he would do nothing to stand in the way of her happiness. If he had his doubts about the reliability of her new husband-to-be, he kept silent, as he realized that she truly did look a good deal more animated at the prospect of becoming the Marchioness of Shelburne than she had ever been at the prospect of becoming the Countess of Charrington.

After taking leave of his former fiancée and her father, Sebastian decided to walk home, to clear his head and give him time to adjust to the wide and wonderful vistas that had just opened up before him—to an entire life that was now a future to be looked forward to.