An Invitation to Scandal (13 page)

“He should arrive next week. I expect you will be on your best behavior and treat him with the respect and deference as is his due.”

Abigail forced a smile as her hands clenched in her lap. “Of course, Aunt. I look forward to his arrival.”

Dread pooled in her belly. How had her life become this? She bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the tears. She feared if they started, they would never end.

* * *

“If I have to repeat myself one more time, I am going to start talking to the wall,” Lord Huntsleigh muttered. He jabbed Nicholas in the ribs with a sharp elbow as they approached the steps that led up to his stately family home. “Whatever you have on your mind, leave it at the door. I need you to have your wits about you, or Grandfather will eat us alive.”

Nicholas gave himself a mental shake and waved off Spence’s concerns. The Marquess and Marchioness of Ellesmere were hardly the dragons Spence made them out to be. Given that their grandson stood to inherit an old and respected title along with a vast fortune in land and holdings, it seemed appropriate they would be concerned about continuing the lineage. As the only male heir left in the Kingsley line, his grandfather expected Spence to marry—well and soon.

The marquess, as he kept reminding his grandson, was not getting any younger and would not be around forever. He wanted to see the family lineage preserved before he met his maker. That meant Spence had to not only marry, but produce his own heir.

Unfortunately for the marquess, Spence considered anything that shackled him, especially marriage, akin to death. As such, he always brought reinforcements with him whenever summoned to the family’s London home.

Bowen, though often in residence, proved no help. As the marquess’s chief man of business he could hardly contradict his employer and tell him he should leave Spence to his own devices. Especially since no one believed leaving Spence to his own devices was the best thing concerned. When left unchecked, he immersed himself in no amount of trouble.

Still, Nicholas needed something to keep his mind off the other night and everything he had done thus far had proven miserably inadequate.

Abigail—for he could no longer think of her as Miss Laytham after what had transpired between them—had discovered his true identity. He did not know what had given it away, though standing on the edge of the dance floor next to his family while he tried to excuse himself from the party had likely not been the wisest of choices. Abigail was an intelligent woman. If she recognized any one of them, the pieces would begin to fall into place. As obviously, they had. Nicholas had stood there, frozen, watching her put the puzzle together. Seeing the devastation in her eyes as his ruse became clear.

No. He didn’t see it. He’d felt it. Like a punch to the gut it had sucked the wind out of him and rooted his feet to the floor so he couldn’t move. Instead he stood and stared like a mute idiot. He wished he could have pushed through the crowd as they exited the dance floor and explained why he had done what he’d done.

But what explanation was there? He had lost his head. Something about her made his blood heat and his good sense catch the first carriage out of town. He’d lost control. She made him lose control. Not that it was her fault. It wasn’t. The guilt rested at his feet.

As usual.

By the time he found a clear path around the crowd of guests, Abigail had disappeared.

Fingers snapped in front of his face. “What the devil, Nick? You’ve been brooding for three days now. Whatever it is, snap out of it. It’s most unbecoming in a reprehensible rake such as yourself.”

Nicholas scowled. “I am reformed,” he reminded his friend.

“A temporary aberration. You’ll come to your senses soon enough. Now remember, when my grandfather brings up marriage, you remind him I am much too young to be confined to such an antiquated institution and that if I am, I may well go crazy and have to be committed to Bedlam, thereby making it impossible for me to secure an heir.”

“And why do you think he will take my word for it?”

“He won’t.” A charming grin cut across Spence’s face. “But the man loves a good debate and arguing with you will take his attention away from me.”

The door to the marquess’s stately home swung open and Felton, the ancient butler on the other side, ushered them into a well-appointed receiving room. Dark brocaded curtains draped either side of the large windows, held back with golden, coiled ropes to let in the afternoon light. The walls and upholstery were a light spring green and patterned with rose and yellow flowers to keep the room from feeling oppressive.

The Marquess of Ellesmere entered the room moments later, his walking stick more for affectation than necessity. Though the man was well into his seventies, he still possessed a sharp mind and sound body, albeit slower than it had once been. Though not large in stature or loud of voice, the marquess remained an imposing figure. He commanded attention and obedience, and suddenly Nicholas had the impression of being a young boy again, brought before the marquess for some mischief he and Spence had gotten themselves caught up in.

“Good day, gentlemen. It was thoughtful of you to stop by.”

Nicholas waited for the older man to take his seat before reclaiming his own. Spence continued to pace near the fireplace. He reminded Nicholas of a caged tiger he’d once seen at a traveling carnival.

“I was summoned, Grandfather.”

The older man smiled. One eyebrow lifted in amusement.

“Cook has prepared your favorite ginger biscuits, my boy. Perhaps they will help alleviate your suffering.”

For a fleeting moment, Spence’s eyes brightened, before he caught himself and resumed his scowl. Nicholas shook his head. The two men were more alike than they gave each other credit for. Both strong-willed and stubborn. Both determined to get their own way. Neither willing to budge or compromise enough to see the other’s side. Yet the bond between them remained strong, and Nicholas knew without hesitation both grandfather and grandson loved the other fiercely.

He envied them their relationship, even if at present it caused them both pain and frustration. He often wished growing up he and his father had shared something similar, instead of the hate and resentment that simmered beneath the thin veneer of civility.

“Roxton, good of you to come and play the part of the buffer again. Can we offer you a drink for your trouble?”

“Tea is fine, Lord Ellesmere.” He had tried drinking his troubles away two nights previous and spent most of the next day a bed paying the price.

The door behind them opened and Mrs. Faraday bustled in, her jolly cheeks and sparkling eyes bringing a warmth to the room that couldn’t help but make Nicholas smile. She had been with the family for as far back as he could remember, a surrogate mother of sorts who filled their bellies with biscuits and hugged them to her ample bosom every chance she got. Her own children, eight in all that had lived past infancy, had been regular playmates until he and Spence were sent away to school.

“Good afternoon, men.” She set a tray filled with tea and biscuits on the table in front of the sofa and poured three cups. “I’ve made those ginger biscuits y’like, Lord Huntsleigh.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Faraday.” Spence smiled. Not even he could maintain his scowl in the housekeeper’s presence. “And how is Jimmy faring these days?”

Jimmy had been the son closest in age to them. “Oh, he’s a fine thing, he is. Onto his third baby come Christmas.”

Mrs. Faraday beamed with pride and Nicholas had to hide his grin. Spence had walked directly into the lion’s den.

“His third.” Lord Ellesmere took the teacup offered him. “That is quite impressive, Mrs. Faraday. Please send him our best wishes. It is always good to see a family grow and thrive. Is it not, Huntsleigh?”

Spence glanced at Nicholas for assistance, but he had none to give. It was a straightforward question. Spence forced his grimace into a smile and turned his attention to Mrs. Faraday, ignoring his grandfather completely.

“Please wish him happy for us.”

“Oh, I will. I will. He’ll be most pleased to know you think well of ’im. Now you just give me a shout if you gentlemen need anythin’ else.”

Mrs. Faraday bustled out of the room much in the way she had bustled in, leaving Spence staring after her. The door closed behind her and sealed his friend’s fate with a definitive click.

Lord Ellesmere took a sip from the steaming cup of tea and set it aside on the table next to his chair. “I understand we can expect to soon hear an announcement from you as well, Roxton, if the rumors are accurate.”

“I expect there will be,” Nicholas replied, unable to muster any real joy at the answer.

“And do you feel such an announcement will send you round the bend?” Lord Ellesmere tapped at his temple.

“I would hope not, sir.” Though after what had transpired at the masked ball, he could not say for certain. How could he marry one when he could not divert his thoughts from another?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spence’s shoulders slump with a huff of displeasure over his answer.

“Then it would seem entirely possible a rake can be reformed and do so without losing his mind or being reduced to a gibbering idiot, wouldn’t you say?”

Nicholas opened his mouth, unsure of what to reply. He did not want to betray Spence, but at the same time, lying to the marquess proved near impossible, especially when the man stared you directly in the eye.

“I think, sir, that uh—”

Lord Ellesmere waved him silent. “Please do not strain yourself trying to find an answer to appease the two of us, Roxton. My grandson has brought you here with the hopes you will have some pithy comment which will dissuade me from my course to see him married, convinced it will cause him to lose his mind and other such rot. But given you are on the verge of making your own proposal, I daresay you don’t believe a word of it.”

Except that Nicholas did. Not the going crazy part, of course, but that a forced marriage was not a recipe for happiness. He knew people of his station married for money and position, not love. It was the accepted norm. But Nicholas had watched such a marriage destroy his family. His mother, on the dictate of her father, had given up the love of her life, a man beneath her social standing, and married the earl. The ensuing affair when her true love re-entered the picture left a wake of devastation a mile wide. His mother had never truly recovered from losing the man a second time and the earl had never forgiven her for the constant reminder left behind.

Him.

No. He could not support the marquess’s assertion an arranged marriage was the best course of action. It did not bring happiness, save for those atypical occasions where a husband and wife grew to love each other after the fact. It rarely bred contentment, if the turn out for Opal’s parties were any indication.

Yet he intended to engage in such a marriage. Happiness and contentment were never his goal. He did not deserve them after all he had done.

“You are correct, Lord Ellesmere,” Nicholas allowed. “I am indeed on the verge of proposing to Miss Caldwell. And while it is a match approved by both our families and one I willingly enter into, I do not believe the same type of union would benefit Huntsleigh, save for the heir it may provide.”

“What other true purpose to marriage is there?” The marquess lifted a stark white eyebrow. “You are not going to tell me love, are you, my boy?”

“What is wrong with love?” Spence stopped pacing and plunked himself down onto the sofa. “Would it not be preferable that I love my wife?”

The marquess’s eyebrow lifted a little higher. “It is immaterial. Love will grow over time.”

Spence’s mouth twisted. “As it did with my parents?”

The marquess flinched, the movement nearly imperceptible. For all of the mess Nicholas’s parents had made of marriage, Spence’s mother and father had done an even worse job. Hardly any wonder he avoided the institution as one would the plague.

“Your parents were not the best example of anything, let alone marriage. Do not judge the institution on their behavior. If you wish to judge an example, use your grandmother and me. We barely knew each other when we married, but it was an advantageous match on both our parts and it turned out to be a wonderful union, where love grew after the vows were spoken.”

“That is not a fair example. Anyone would be foolish not to love Grandmama,” Spence said, and Nicholas could not argue the sentiment. The marchioness reminded him of a statelier, elegant version of Mrs. Faraday, as strong-minded as her husband and equally as formidable, yet warm and engaging, a trait passed on to her grandson.

The marquess rose to his feet with the aid of his walking stick and for a long moment looked at his grandson until the younger man squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze to a nearby window.

“Marriage is what you make of it, my son.”

“I do not know how I can make anything of it if it is not something I wish to be a part of. How do you expect me to produce this all important heir if I cannot stand my wife and the thought of bedding her sends me running into the arms of my mistress?”

Spence didn’t actually have a mistress as far as Nicholas knew. He had only recently returned from the Islands. He hoped he hadn’t taken back up with the Duchess of Franklyn. That was a disaster best avoided.

“I expect you will do your duty.”

“It is not my intent to cause you grief, Grandfather. But I will not be boxed into a life I do not want.”

“You may have little choice.”

With that, the marquess strode to the door. Once it closed behind him, Spence turned to Nicholas. “Did you ever feel as if you were being forced into someone else’s skin?”

“Every day,” Nicholas answered. “Every day.”

* * *

Abigail had met Lord Tarrington on a number of occasions. As second cousin to Aunt Edythe, he had visited on from on occasion, though he spent most of his time at his country estate in Sussex. According to her aunt, he had arrived in town the day before and, after a night’s rest, looked forward to paying a call and becoming reacquainted.