Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) (14 page)

“I have the headache!” Lady Mary announced shrilly, feeling wretched, more so because Deborah looked positively radiant in her ignorance, and scrambled into her waiting sedan chair.

Deb followed her.

“I hope it wasn’t Nero’s antics that brought on your headache, dearest,” Deb said cheerfully at the window of the sedan chair, a suspicious glance at Jack, the wayward puppy and lastly at her injured duelist, all of whom stood in the hallway. The latter shrugged his wide shoulders, denying all implication in Lady Mary’s failing health. “If we see Mrs. Dawkin-Smythe in the park, shall I tell her to visit you with one of her restorative jellies?”

“No! I couldn’t bear it! Not now!” Lady Mary exclaimed in a shattered voice, and with a sob banged on the side of the door with the closed sticks of her fan, eager for the two burly chairmen to lift her chair up on its long poles. She then threw herself against the damask upholstery and was unceremoniously bounced away out into the street.

“Poor Mary,” Deb said with a concerned frown, twirling her straw bonnet by its ribands. “Gerry has come to town and now she won’t have a moment’s peace.”

“Aunt Mary is always complaining of a headache,” Jack commented.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, you rude boy,” Deborah said sternly but with such laughter in her eyes that Jack grinned. She turned to Julian, saying, “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting above a minute, but Brigitte threatened to throw herself from the second landing if I stepped outside without first changing into this fetching gown and allowing her to put up my hair.” She glanced at her nephew. “Well, Jack, I thought you’d promised to help Joseph?”

Her nephew looked expectantly at the Marquis.

“I have consented to allow Master Cavendish to ride with us about the park,” Julian said, taking Deb’s arm and leading her a little way up the street to where his open carriage and four awaited. “His reward for getting your butler off my back.” He looked over his shoulder to make sure the boy was behind them. “Yes, you may bring that black brute with you. But you and he must sit up front with Thomas and behave. Which means leaving your aunt and me in peace. Agreed?”

“Famous! Thank you, sir! I won’t be a nuisance. Promise!”

Deb sat back against the plush red velvet upholstery and tied on her bonnet, a sideways glance at Julian as he settled himself beside her.

“I don’t pretend to understand how you came to take Jack into your confidence, but it is clear he is firmly in your camp already.”

“Why, Miss Cavendish, I do believe you think me capable of underhandedness. And for the sole purpose of gaining your undying devotion. That bow will never do! Come here,” he said, and proceeded to retie the ribands of her bonnet. “Head up! Good girl.” With a nod to his driver, they set off up Milsom Street at a leisurely trot.

They had not gone very far when a gentleman on horseback reined in alongside and proceeded to accompany the carriage on its journey.

It was Robert Thesiger.

“Miss Cavendish! What a delight to see you out of doors!” Robert Thesiger called out from astride a magnificent black stallion. He carried a pearl handled riding crop and he used this to rein in his mount beside the open carriage. He inclined his head to both occupants, but whereas Deb returned the salutation, Julian stared straight ahead, as if the man was not there at all.

The carriage stopped at a congested intersection where a wagon and a traveling coach were vying for space.

“It required only the right inducement, Mr. Thesiger,” Deb called out teasingly.

Robert Thesiger’s smile was tight. “I must speak with you, Miss Cavendish,” he demanded, a glance at the Marquis. “It is a matter of uppermost urgency.”

Deb stared at him keenly and noted the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. “Has something happened? Is Lady Mary truly ill? Did you see her just now in her chair?”

“No, Miss Cavendish, I have not seen Lady Mary!” Robert Thesiger snapped, a note of desperation creeping into the normally cool voice. “This matter concerns you and me!”

Deb breathed easier knowing Mary was all right and settled herself against the velvet upholstery. “I am most happy for you to call on me this afternoon, Mr. Thesiger,” she called out to him with a smile. “But I have quite made up my mind to take a turn about the park before nuncheon.”

When Julian put an arm over the back of the seat and let his fingers toy with one of Deb’s curls, she glanced up at Robert Thesiger, who still rode beside the carriage, and was surprised by his thunderous expression. She was unsure what angered him more: being ignored by her traveling companion who continued to stare out at the opposite side of the road, thus affording them a view of the back of his head, or the fact her traveling companion signaled his possession by playing with her hair.

“Miss Cavendish! I must insist!” Robert Thesiger demanded, kicking his mount into action, an eye on the road and eager to keep up with the Marquis’s horses as the carriage moved off to merge with the flow of traffic. Receiving no response from her, he appealed to the driver, shouting to be heard over the carriage wheels on the cobbles. “Master Cavendish! I say, Master Cavendish, order the driver to pull over!” he called out to Jack up on the box beside Thomas. “Your aunt must return home this instant! Master Cavendish? Do you hear?”

Jack turned to take direction, not from Robert Thesiger but from the Marquis. Julian shook his head slightly, and Jack nodded. He put up his shoulders at Robert Thesiger, as if there was nothing he could do, and faced forward again.

Robert Thesiger was so incensed that he swung his mount violently to the left and galloped around the back of the carriage to rein in beside where sat the Marquis. “Enjoy your hour of triumph,” he snarled in French, a gloved hand hard gripped on the carriage door. “It’ll be your last! Lawyers from Paris carry a warrant for your arrest.” When Julian continued to stare straight ahead as if not spoken to, crossing his legs in a leisurely fashion, Robert Thesiger leaned so far forward in the saddle that the brim of his hat almost tickled his lordship’s ear. “M’sieur Lefebvre is intent that French justice expose you to the world for the despicable cad you really are.
Our father
can’t protect you this time.”

This did make Julian turn. He stared Robert Thesiger full in the face, as if he’d spoken a language he did not understand, but then he winked and broke into a wide grin saying in French, “Better a despicable cad than an ill-gotten bastard.
Foutre le camp
.”

A thump of the boards with his boot and Julian’s driver gave the horses their heads and the carriage took off, swerved around two gentlemen officers on horseback, narrowly passed between a wagon laden with kegs and an open barouche carrying three elderly ladies, and was half way up the street before Robert Thesiger had completely righted himself in the saddle; Julian acknowledging him without turning around by a wave of one gloved hand held high above his head.

Deb sat in thoughtful silence a long time after Robert Thesiger was left by the curb but it was not until the town was behind them, and the carriage rattling along the Wells Road, that Deb came to a sense of her surroundings.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, sitting bolt upright.

“I’ve kidnapped you, Miss Cavendish.” When this quip fell flat, Julian smiled ruefully. “That is, only if you wish to be kidnapped.”

“Well! It was very unromantic of you to invite Jack along, not to mention that black fiend with four legs.” She looked sideways at him. “Or are you about to off-load them at the nearest inn with the ransom note?”

He laughed and the tension eased in his shoulders. “How is it you know me so well? And of course you never wavered in your conviction that I would return to Bath for you, did you, Miss Cavendish?”

“May I know why you gave Mr. Thesiger the brush off just now?” she asked, ignoring his question. “You seemed determined to ignore his existence.”

Julian gave a ghost of a laugh. “I’ve been trying to do that since Eton, Miss Cavendish, but the fellow refuses to go away.”

Deb tried to sound disinterested. “You were at Eton together? How intriguing.”

“No. It was a dead bore,” he answered flatly and abruptly changed the subject and the language with a question of his own in French. “How long have you had the care of your nephew?”

“Since Jack was five years old,” she answered in kind, following his lead. “Gerry did not want the care of him; poor little chap. You see, Jack’s mamma, Rosa, was a gypsy…Well, that’s all ancient history now. I brought Jack back from Paris and we set up house in Bath.”

“You must have been very young to take charge of a small boy.”

“I was not quite eighteen,” she answered, and in a more rallying tone, “And that was three years ago and I would rather—”

“May I know why you were living with Jack’s family in Paris,” he interrupted, “and not under Sir Gerald’s protection here in England?”

Deb bit her lip. The conversation had taken a dangerous turn and she was unsure how best to steer it clear of a topic she would rather not discuss. Yet, it was far better to have the story from her than hear a distorted version from a stranger. She took a moment to consider her words, all the while conscious of her injured duelist’s gaze upon her. A mile down the road she glanced up at him and said in a measured tone, “When I was sixteen I ran away to Paris to care for my brother Otto who was very ill. Otto went off on the Grand Tour just after my tenth birthday and never came home. He preferred a bohemian existence as a musician, and as he had married totally inappropriately he couldn’t return home even if he wanted to, not that he did want to because he and Rosa had a wonderful life together amongst the musical community in Paris. Rosa was heavy with child and could not care for a sick husband, a small boy and herself all on her own. She-she and the babe died in childbed just after I reached Paris.”

“And after Otto’s death you and Jack returned home without incident?” Julian asked gently, knowing full well that this was not the case but hoping she would refute the statement without his prompting.

Deb took a deep breath and stared out at the blur of fields. “I wish it had been uneventful…” She met his gaze openly and smiled ruefully. “Otto’s best friend Evelyn, who is also a splendid musician, wanted to marry me but he needed the permission of his father and of his uncle the Duke of Roxton, as that old roué is head of his family. They refused him.”

“Understandable. You were both too young to be contemplating marriage,”

“Too young?” Deb looked thoughtful. “No, I don’t believe that was the reason at all. Plenty of children are married off by their parents at a far earlier age.”

“Perhaps the Duke and Evelyn’s father felt your feelings weren’t entirely fixed?”

“Not
fixed
? It is obvious you have no idea how this business is conducted. Character and disposition are irrelevant, as are the opinions of the prospective bride and groom. What matters to noblemen such as the Duke of Roxton is the legal union: the transfer of money and property; the connection of one family to another; the consolidation of power and prestige. Feelings have no role to play in such contractual arrangements.”

Julian stared at the toe of his polished boot, a private smile hovering about his curved mouth. “But as you and Evelyn were not
cold-bloodedly
contracted to one another, perhaps Evelyn’s family were not persuaded you would make him a suitable wife?”

Deb turned her head and gaped at him. “Not suitable? A Cavendish heiress not suitable to marry the son of a viscount?”

Julian shook his head sadly. “Ah, my dear Miss Cavendish, despite your protests to the contrary, I see that wealth and title do matter to you.”

Deb turned away, mortified at being so conceited as to throw her name and fortune in his face. Taking a peek at him she soon realized that despite his grave look he was laughing at her. She stared at the box where Jack sat holding the reins, Nero licking his face. Yet she saw none of it. Evelyn had offered to marry her and she had refused him. He had protested that he loved her and had not merely offered her his name out of loyalty to Otto. But Deb had rejected him because she had not loved him enough to elope with him.

As it turned out, the Duke of Roxton had discovered Evelyn’s plans and had forbidden his nephew to marry her. She had been relieved, but ashamed to think the Duke and Evelyn’s father had rejected her despite her being a considerable heiress. She had had to conclude her unsuitability was because she was thought volatile of character; running away to Paris and her involvement with Otto, the black sheep of her family, and his gypsy wife, was surely proof of that. Yet she believed she had done nothing wrong, indeed, had responded to her heart and in the only way she knew how. So why did she still feel ashamed every time she thought of the consequences of her flight to Paris?

“There is no need for you to involve yourself with me,” she said sullenly. “Nothing came of Evelyn’s offer of marriage. So there is an end to it.”

He shifted to sit opposite her and possessed himself of her gloved hands, but she could not look at him. He frowned. “You allow me to kiss you and yet you say I am not to involve myself with you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me,” Deb answered truthfully, gaze on her hands in his. “But I don’t want you to involve yourself with me. There is a difference in the two.”

“Are you in the habit of allowing gentlemen of the merest acquaintance to kiss you?”

Deb gaped at him and felt the heat burning in her cheeks.

“Just because I won’t unburden myself on you, and yet permitted you to kiss me, that I am—that I have—Why! Yes!” she said, changing her tune at his spreading smile. “Dozens! Not dozens, but too many to count. And in public. So you can banish that smug smile!”

“More and more do I sympathize with dull Gerry,” he said with a sad shake of his handsome head. “And Evelyn doesn’t know how fortunate he is. Better he concentrate on his music than have to wife a female who is in the habit of kissing dozens of gentlemen in public. You saved him from a marriage that could only have ended in disaster.”