Kathryn Caskie (30 page)

Confusion knit his brows as he looked at Eliza. She shook her head.

“Then I have the honor. Sister and I agree, it was most unexpected, but most welcome.” Aunt Letitia looked at Magnus’s expression and paused. “Oh, here I am prattling on. Lord Hawksmoor has made an offer for my dear niece!”

“An offer?” Magnus swung his gaze back to Eliza, pinning her. “And it was accepted?”

“Why, of course it was!” Aunt Letitia replied. “Oh, there is so much to do.” She glanced around the room. “I was looking for my quizzing glass. Oh, there it is.” In a speed most astonishing for a woman of Aunt Letitia’s advanced years, she made for the door. “Forgive me, Lord Somerton. Must get back to Sister now. So much planning to do. Good day.”

Magnus stared at her. “Eliza?” His voice was thin. “Tell me it isna true.
Please.”

At first, she did not understand the pain etched deep in his eyes, the ache in his voice. Then, suddenly,
she knew.

Magnus thought Lord Hawksmoor had offered for
her!

At once she made to correct him. “Lord Hawksmoor’s offer—” Then she stopped. This was it. The one thing that might force Magnus from her, once and for all.

She looked down at her hands. “I am sorry, Lord Somerton. I cannot accept your offer.” Holding back the tears in her eyes, she handed the ring back to him. “I think, now, you know why.”

Eliza could see Magnus’s throat work to swallow the lie she’d fed him.

“I do indeed.” The tone of his deep voice was ragged. “I—I am sorry to have troubled you, Miss Merriweather.” Magnus pushed the ring back into his pocket, then walked slowly for the door. “Best wishes to ye and … yer betrothed.”

Rule Eighteen

When ardor is exhausted and stockpiles spent, your foe will take advantage of your distress to act.

Magnus never felt so empty, so alone, as he did now, sitting in the shadows of the carriage wheeling him the short distance home.

The ring felt heavy in his pocket, and he knew he should return it to its box for safekeeping. But he couldn’t bear to look upon it. Not now.

All he wanted was to be alone with his pained thoughts. He had no money, no future. No Eliza.

When the carriage stopped before his door, he climbed the steep steps and wearily opened the door. In an instant, his uncle was upon him.

“Somerton, thank God you’ve arrived!” Pender howled. “I am quite out of my element. Haven’t a notion what to do.” Shaken as he was, the old man left his cane propped against the wall and rushed, stiff-legged, to Magnus. He thrust forward a quivering handful of papers. “We’re in it now, man. Look at these.”

“What now?” Magnus groaned. After being sickled like a heavy-headed wheat stalk by Eliza’s surprise engagement, Magnus wasn’t sure how much more he could endure.

Pender shook the papers. “Just look. Though, I daresay, I suspect you already know what these are.”

“Do ye? Well, ye’d be wrong.” Magnus peeled his kid gloves from his hands and took the crinkled stack from Pender. He turned toward the light from the window and lifted the first sheet to his eyes. After the day he’d had, he was certain nothing could shock him now. Except perhaps
this.

He looked at the second paper. The third. His brother’s loan sheets. “Where did these come from? I wasna expecting these for another two weeks.”

“Courier brought them. Demanded payment by the twenty-sixth or we’re out on the street,” Pender said, his words riding a whimper. “You’ve got to do something, Somerton. We haven’t much time.”

Magnus crossed the room and rested his boot on the brass hearth fender as he struggled to think this new predicament through. He settled his hands on the cold marble mantel and curled his fingers into fists, crumpling the duns.

No matter how he turned it over in his mind, it still made no sense. How could this be?

Magnus was quite aware that when his brother found himself outdone at Watier’s, he’d gone to a moneylender in the club’s basement. There, he had taken out several loans to consolidate the enormous debts he’d accumulated in London.

But those duns were not due for nearly three weeks. Why, then, this immediate demand for payment? As he considered the implications of this new time lock, Magnus grew increasingly uneasy. “Did the courier say anything else?”

“Wasn’t the sort to stand around and chat. Burly chap, he was. Brief and to the point.” Pender came to stand beside him. “Said he’d be back in forty-eight hours. His employer expects payment then.”

“Two days? Bluidy hell. ’Tis barely enough time to pack a valise.”

Panic rendered Pender’s trembling fingers near useless as he struggled to open his watch case and check the hour. “Is there anything we can do in such a short time? You know I have no blunt. Lived off my sister’s generosity for years … and yours of course. But if there is anything in my possession that might help—”

“Dinna fret, Uncle. I’ll think of something,” Magnus replied, praying that he would.

For some reason, James’s duns had been purchased. But why? He looked down at the pages again, scrutinizing every line.

The amounts due had not changed. There was no visible profit to be gained. Then, why the blazes would someone buy up James’s vowels and accelerate their call date?

Magnus slid his boot from the hearth fender. “You mentioned an employer. I dinna suppose the courier gave
his
name?”

Pender nervously threaded his bony fingers and began to pace the room. “Never thought to ask. But at this point, what does a name matter anyway? In
days
we’ll be cast to the cobbles. That is … unless you—” As the words were released into the air, Pender looked desperately at Magnus from across the barren parlor.

“Unless …” Magnus began, hoping by speaking the words it would be easier to accept what must be done. “Unless I marry Miss Peacock.”

The tension in Pender’s shoulders seemed to dissolve. “Yes,” the old man said hesitantly. “The time for ships to miraculously appear at the docks is over, lad. The duns have been called and now you must do your duty to the family.”

Pender scuffled across the room and settled a comforting hand on Magnus’s coat sleeve. “I do regret that you cannot marry your woman of choice, but in the end, it matters not. Miss Peacock brings to the marriage what you need most. What your estates need—money.”

Magnus lowered himself into the room’s lone chair, sending its ancient wooden braces groaning beneath his weight. He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his face into his hands.

“Aye, Uncle, ‘twill be the perfect marriage of convenience.” Slowly, Magnus looked up at Pender and shook his head in defeat. “But whose convenience, I wonder?”

The next evening, after a day spent being bathed, needlessly coiffed and perfumed by Jenny, their eager lady’s maid, Eliza and her family finally arrived at the Cowpers’ ball where Grace and Lord Hawksmoor’s betrothal was to be announced.

Eliza, still reeling from Magnus’s surprise proposal, numbly followed her aunts around the perimeter of the ballroom. Even as she dutifully conversed with several matronly friends of her aunts, Eliza found herself breathlessly in awe of the rout’s significant attendance.

Though Lady Hawksmoor, Reginald’s mother, spent her days housed near the quaint moors of Dunley Parrish, it was clear that she wielded uncommon influence within London society. How else could she have convinced Lady Cowper, one of the venerated patronesses of Almack’s, to host this ball for her only son?

No one of breeding would dare refuse Lady Cowper’s invitation, late as it was, even though the true purpose of the gathering had not been communicated to anyone.

But all would be revealed at the stroke of midnight, when trumpeters would beckon Lord Hawksmoor to the orchestra perch and he would announce to all of elevated London his engagement to Grace.

When a tray-bearing footman passed, Eliza accepted a sparkling glass of wine and tipped it back in a single draught. Granted, the move was most unladylike, but it was also the quickest way she knew to settle her frayed nerves.

As she surveyed the expansive room, she saw that every curtain was drawn wide, and hundreds of beeswax candles filled lofty chandeliers, drenching the guests in a lambent glow.

Outside, the street was filled with sleek black carriages waiting to decant their passengers, while liveried footmen hurried to see the guests into the already overcrowded manse.

Lady Hawksmoor, who met Grace the moment she entered the saloon, now strolled arm-in-arm with her, taking great pride in introducing her son’s intended to her circle of city friends.

Eliza smiled proudly as Grace, dressed in a shimmering sheath of gold and silk, moved with all confidence from a duke of royal birth to a member of parliament and his bashful wife. Her sister was glowing. She had utterly charmed them all, assuming the admiring smiles following her wake were a reliable gauge.

Yes, tonight Grace’s dreams were coming true. For one brief but glittering moment her sister was the toast of London. Eliza doubted she could ever be happier for anyone.

If only, Eliza wished, she could be as happy for herself. And why shouldn’t she be? Grace’s security was assured, making it possible at last for Eliza to leave London behind. And to top off her own good fortune, in just days, having remained unattached for a full season, her inheritance would be hers.

Soon enough she’d be prowling the windy deck of a ship headed for Italy. She mightn’t study with the masters as she’d planned, but her dream of dabbing pigment to canvas beside the glittering Mediterranean, the dream she’d held closest to her heart, was still about to come to fruition. At least in part.

Except… such a life was no longer her dream.

Everything was different now. Her desires, her hopes— had all changed. Evolved.

Living in Italy wouldn’t bring her happiness. Not the way it once would have done.

Not without Magnus.

At the thought, Eliza glanced around the burgeoning crowd, but fortunately saw no sign of her lusty lord. Nor would she, she hoped. She had asked Grace, as well as her aunts, to ensure that Lord Somerton did
not
receive an invitation to this eve’s affair. And, for once, it would seem, Grace had done as she’d asked—instead of exactly the opposite.

Of course, the true danger lay within the possibility that Magnus would still come, even without an invitation. What a trough she would be in if he entered the ballroom, just as Lord Hawksmoor announced his engagement to Grace.

The music began, sending dancers scurrying to the floor. Her aunts locked gazes, their eyes bright with excitement.

“Come, Eliza. The dancing has begun,” Aunt Viola chirped.

Eliza looked at the laughing couples lining up for a country dance. “Tonight is Grace’s night, Auntie. I wish only to watch my sister.”

“Well then, if that’s what you desire, but we should improve our view of the floor. Don’t you think?” Aunt Letitia didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she linked her sister’s arm, and led her through the crowd toward the open floor.

Eliza watched them go and tried to stop scanning the crowd for any glimpse of Magnus.
He is not coming,
she tried desperately to convince herself. For a full hour, her hawkish gaze still hunted the sea of dark coats filling the ballroom.

She had just finished her second glass of wine when a gloved hand grasped her arm and spun her around.

“La, Eliza! Your brooding is spoiling my evening,” Grace admonished, looking more miffed than concerned for her well-being.

“I am not brooding,” Eliza replied flatly.

“You are,” Grace countered in a half whisper. “And there is no reason for it. Tonight you should feel entirely at ease. For once, you can rest assured our aunts have no secret suitor stowed behind their skirts ready to leap out and make an offer.”

A nervous laugh grazed Eliza’s teeth. “You’re right, of course,” she admitted as they watched the two old women flit around the ballroom, prattling merrily with anyone who would tolerate them. “At the moment, they’re quite focused on celebrating your success.”

Mayhap a little too focused, Eliza thought. How unlike her aunts to give up so easily on Magnus, especially while he was still unattached. Their distraction with Grace’s success must truly be complete, she decided, for tonight the all-important fact of his bachelorhood seemed to have slipped their notice entirely.

“Come then. Let’s join the merriment,” Grace said. “Here, have some wine. ‘Tis exactly what you need to relight your candle.”

“Wine, oh no . .. pray I’ve only just—” But her sister was already tipping the crystal, sending waves of liquid over her tongue and down her throat.

“That’s right. No, no, do not fight me. Just a bit more. There. How do you feel now? Better?” Grace grinned.

Eliza brought her fist to her breastbone. “Warmer. And a little dizzy.”

“That’s the wine. It’s French. From the Cowpers’ own cellar,” Grace boasted. “Lady Cowper spared no expense for my celebration … I mean mine and
Reginald’s,
of course.” She rose up on her toes. “There, I see Lady Hawksmoor. Come now, I’ll introduce you.”

Eliza closed her eyes and at the count of three shoved all diverting thoughts of Magnus out her ears. She opened her eyes and hoisted a smile. “Ready.”

She would celebrate Grace’s evening properly now. Or, so Eliza thought, until across the room, she was startled to see Mrs. Peacock glaring at Eliza’s with a sharp eye so poisonous that the tiny hairs on her arms stood uncomfortably on end.

Grace followed Eliza’s gaze. “What is Mrs. Peacock’s disagreement with you now? She should be down on her knees, crooning her appreciation, for goodness sake. You all but trussed and served up Lord Somerton on a silver platter.”

Eliza looked around desperately for the footman with the wine. “Indeed. By now, I would have thought it blatantly clear that I am no threat to her Caroline.”

“I agree.” Grace narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Peacock. “I wonder who invited her? Not I, certainly.”

Eliza turned Grace in the opposite direction as she grappled for a distraction of sorts. “Let us put Mrs. Peacock out of our heads tonight. We have better things to occupy our attention. For instance, you promised to introduce me to Reggie’s mother.”