Never Entice an Earl (26 page)

“What is this about a wedding?” said a voice from the door.

Yet another visitor appeared. A short and rather portly fellow stood at the door,
walking stick in hand. His sharp gaze immediately found Cormack, who pulled Daphne
into his arms. “I was out for my morning walk and saw all the carriages.”

“Sir Snaith,” said Lord Champdeer, both of his eyebrows raising up his forehead. “I
do believe you and I have some business to discuss.”

“My lord,” said the Duke of Claxton, before looking to Cormack. “If there is no objection,
I would like to sit in on the discussions. I have negotiated treaties between the
world’s empires. Perhaps I can be of some use here?”

Cormack left Daphne’s side, pressing a kiss to her temple. “This should be interesting.”

Daphne, left alone, immediately snared her sister to the side and in a quiet voice
asked, “How serious are things between Mr. Birch and our mother?” She laughed happily.
“Should I be concerned that she will be wed even before me?”

Clarissa grasped her by the shoulders, and smiled. “My dear sister, I would not be
surprised. They are quite serious, I believe. He dotes on her, and she on him. You
should have seen them in the carriage ride all the way here. Mother would have been
hysterical, but for him calming her and entertaining the both of us with the most
charming stories.”

Hearing this, Daphne felt compelled to cross the room to where her mother still sat,
cradling Michael. She wrapped her arms around Lady Margaretta’s shoulders, careful
not to disturb the boy. “I am so happy.”

“I am so happy for you, my dear.”

“I am so happy for
you
.”

“Truly? You like Mr. Birch?”

“I do. Very much so.”

“That is very good to hear.” Her mother’s eyes glazed with tears and she smiled. “Because
I do believe I love him.”

“Mother!” She pressed a kiss to her cheek, and whispered against her skin. “That’s
wonderful.”

Margaretta murmured, “I’ll always love your father.”

“I know you will. But you have such a big heart, there is just as much room in it
for Mr. Birch. And in mine as well. I’m going to go give him a kiss.”

“Daphne!” her mother exclaimed, beaming. “He would be so delighted, I think.”

In that moment, a beautiful warmth slipped over her shoulders and down her arms. Something
like peace. Something like…forgiveness.

An hour later, the men emerged. To Daphne’s great relief, everyone wore smiles. Sir
Snaith joined the others for tea, and soon everyone sat around the enormous fireplace,
on chairs and big comfortable pillows, for conversation.

Eventually, though, Cormack drew her away to the privacy of the nearby corridor, the
look of love so strong in his eyes she could hardly bear not to push him onto the
carpet so that she could cover him with kisses from head to toe.

“Tell me what was said.”

“The Northmore lands will be returned to their rightful owners—”

“Cormack! That’s wonderful.” She threw her arms around his neck.

“—in exchange for a ridiculous amount of money, which is of no consequence to me.”
He bent to passionately kiss her mouth. “I am forever in Claxton’s debt. He has additionally
obligated himself and the duchess to give little Ernestine, when she turns seventeen,
the season of any girl’s dreams. As you can imagine, the sponsorship of a duke and
duchess is of no small consequence.”

“That will be no great hardship. My sister loves to plan such occasions.”

His face grew suddenly serious. “You don’t mind marrying by special license? Because
I can’t wait a day more than necessary.”

“Wait for what?” she giggled.

His eyebrow arched up. “You know what.”

Daphne’s hand found his, and drew it between them to press a kiss to his knuckles.
“I would marry you now, in this moment, if I could. My darling, I don’t believe we
shall ever see such a day like this again, ever in our lives. I felt nothing but despair
this morning, but now I am the happiest woman alive.”

“I vow now, in this moment, to make sure that smile stays there for the rest of your
life.”

“You are the most unselfish man I have ever known.”

“I’m purely selfish,” he murmured. “You have a beautiful smile.” He grew serious and
pulled her closer. “Never doubt that I loved you from the first moment I saw you.”

She kissed him, raising her hands to frame his face. “Never doubt that I will love
you forever.”

J
ust look, Sir Keyes. The flowers. The candles. Everything is beautiful. Just beautiful!”
exclaimed Lady Dundalk, peering over Daphne’s shoulder into the ballroom. “Your dear
mother always puts on the best parties.”

Daphne stood between her mother and grandfather in the reception line, welcoming guests
to her debut ball. She could barely contain her happiness. Surrounded by her family
and friends, there was nowhere else on earth that she would rather be.

Sir Keyes leaned forward on his cane. “I hadn’t noticed any of that because of the
pretty young lady standing here in front of me,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“You always know just the thing to say,” she said, and kissed them both affectionately
before they moved on down the reception line.

She turned to welcome the next guest in line. Her favorite guest of the evening. The
one she’d been waiting for, with breathless anticipation, to arrive. She got light-headed
and fairly trembled, lowering her hand into his.

“Hello there, Miss Bevington,” Cormack said in an intimate voice, offering a smile
that made her toes curl with pleasure inside their beaded satin slippers. He bent
to kiss her gloved hand. “Thank you for the invitation. I hadn’t expected one, you
see, being so new as I am to town.”

“Oh, you,” she said, giggling. How fun. She rarely
giggled
, except with her sisters. But having him here…looking at her that way…

She giggled again.

“Harrumpf!” said her grandfather, who glowered up from his chair—but the smallest
smile turned the corner of his lips, and his eyes twinkled. All was well.

“I see that you are not wearing flowers,” the earl said.

“I am not.” Apparently the florist had forgotten them, but her mother decided not
to make a fuss.

“Then I hope you might consider wearing these.” With gentlemanly flair, he produced
a small box from behind his back, which he deftly opened and removed an artful cluster
of flowers, ivory and the palest yellow, with ribbons shining throughout. They complemented
her gown perfectly. She glanced at her mother, but her mother was smiling at Cormack.

The florist forgot.
What a story. They had plotted the flowers, and nothing could please her more.

“They are lovely,” Daphne said, beaming adoringly at Cormack.

“May I?” He raised the corsage toward her bosom.

“No you may not,” interjected Lady Margaretta with a good-humored glare. Taking the
flowers, she pinned them at Daphne’s shoulder. Beneath her breath, she murmured, “Everyone
is already staring.”

A glance down the line of waiting guests proved that to be true. A host of wide eyes
peered at them with interest.

“I hope you’ll save a dance for me tonight?” said Cormack.

“The two of you are holding up the reception line,” her mother warned softly, reaching
a hand for Cormack and gently guiding him through.

“I can’t make promises,” Daphne called after him. “My dance card is very full.”

His gaze remained fixed on Daphne until he arrived in front of Sophia and Claxton,
who also stood greeting guests in the line, at which time the duchess raised a hand
and, with a fingertip to his jaw, redirected his face toward her.

“Good evening, Lord Raikes,” she said, with an amused smile. The duke rolled his eyes.

A half hour and a score of guests later, and Daphne, Sophia and Clarissa entered the
ballroom, an entrance the small orchestra announced with a majestic flourish of music.
They passed Mr. Kincraig along the way, observing from the stairs. Since Michael’s
arrival into the family, he had remained friendly but held himself somewhat distant.
Kate was there as well, as Daphne’s special guest, dressed in a lovely gown a shade
darker than Daphne’s. Her mother waited there, having already joined Mr. Birch, and
she reached for Daphne’s hands and drew her to her side, while Havering pushed Wolverton’s
chair to the center of the floor.

The room grew silent as Wolverton stood, with Havering’s assistance. Leaning on the
young lord’s arm for support, he straightened his shoulders proudly. Light from the
chandeliers shimmered off the medals on his chest, awarded in his younger days for
valiant acts of bravery in the service of England.

“Thank you all for coming,” he announced. “As you know, we are all here to celebrate
the debut of my granddaughter, Miss Daphne Bevington. However, I want you all to know
Miss Bevington is unable to be here tonight.”

His gaze met hers, his aged countenance a portrait of pride and love.

A murmur rippled through the room, and two hundred curious glances came her way. In
that moment, Daphne’s eyes filled with tears of happiness.

After a long pause, Wolverton continued, “That is because the woman you see before
you tonight is now the Countess of Raikes.” The volume of voices arose in the room,
exclamations of surprise and congratulation. “I’d like to introduce you to her now,
as well as to her new husband, Lord Raikes, whom she married this morning.”

Suddenly, Cormack was there at her side. Lord and Lady Champdeer appeared nearby,
their faces flushed and beaming.

Daphne’s husband tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her forward to
join Wolverton and Fox. As they walked, he peered down at her with such bold and unconcealed
admiration that Daphne could only blush from the intensity of it.

As they grew closer, Havering smiled and murmured to Cormack, “You know this dance
was supposed to be mine. But I suppose I can’t call you out over it now that you’ve
married her. Congratulations to you both.”

Daphne kissed Wolverton’s cheek. “Thank you, Grandfather.”

He nodded. “He loves you. That much is clear. Be happy, my dear. Your father would
be so pleased.”

He gestured to the orchestra, who launched into an elegant but lively waltz.

Cormack drew her into his arms, and smoothly guided her into the first turn. “I feel
as if I’m dreaming.”

“As do I,” said Daphne. The room whirled about her, a magical night filled with family
and friends. “But all this is real. You are my husband, and I am your wife. Which
makes our lives, and our future together, better than any dream.”

I
can’t remember ever being so happy,” Clarissa Bevington exclaimed, looking about
in flush-faced wonderment. Truly, she had never seen her grandfather’s ballroom look
more beautiful, nor felt any more special. She inhaled deeply, delighting in the heady
scent of roses and delphinium.

At the far end of the ballroom, the head footman, Mr. Ollister, carefully lowered
an enormous crystal punch bowl onto the tea board. The housekeeper, Mrs. Brightmore,
perched at the top of a ladder, steadied by two housemaids, certain she’d glimpsed
a sneaky bit of dust atop an archway that none of the rest of them had been able to
see. The room had been thickly festooned in garlands, and profuse arrangements of
pink and ivory flowers overflowed urns that had been placed before each of the massive
Corinthian columns that lined the marble floor. Cook’s voice could be heard shouting
orders, all the way from the kitchens.

Clarissa Bevington grabbed Daphne, her older sister, by the hands and together they
spun in wide circles across the ballroom floor, blonde curls and skirts flying. At
the ages of twenty and twenty-one, respectively, and a shade older than most London
debutantes, they still sometimes delighted in being utterly silly.

“Just like when we were little girls,” said Daphne, laughing. “Wishing we could go
to one of mother’s parties.”

“Only now, we are without a doubt
mature ladies
, and won’t be sent off to bed with our governess before the guests start to arrive.”

Of course, it had already been a season to remember, with Daphne recently wed in a
surprise turn of events to the dashing Earl of Raikes.

But tonight belonged to Clarissa, and the occasion of her debut ball. All her friends
and family would be in attendance including her grandfather, the Duke of Wolverton,
and her widowed mother, Lady Margaretta, who would be escorted by her new beau, Mr.
Birch, whom they had all come to love. And of course there were her sisters: Sophia
the Duchess of Claxton and her husband, His Grace, the duke, who excitedly awaited
the birth of their first child. And Daphne and Lord Raikes, who had insisted on delaying
their honeymoon until after tonight’s grand event.

Her family, after years devastated by the deaths of her brother, Vinson, and then
her father, had at last remembered how to be joyful again. Much of that had to do
with the discovery of little Michael—Vinson’s young son and now Wolverton’s declared
heir, who, without a living mother or father, had been welcomed into the family with
boundless love and endless kisses.

His sudden appearance in their lives had been especially welcome in light of last
month’s disheartening disqualification of Mr. Kincraig as Wolverton’s successor. Until
then, Mr. Kincraig had been the earl’s only hope for continuing his line, but the
earl’s investigators—the very same investigators who had presented Mr. Kincraig as
a potential heir—had at last made sense of the reckless gambler’s tangled lineage
enough to prove he wasn’t a relation after all. No one had seemed more relieved than
Mr. Kincraig, which she supposed proved him to be no imposter or scoundrel. He had
announced his intention to depart England by the end of the month to seek—and likely
lose—his next great fortune (or two, or three!) abroad.

Daphne led her toward the stairs. “We’d best get upstairs to prepare, else our mother
will come looking for us.”

“You only want to see Cormack again.”

“That too.” She laughed, blushing. “But you know how Mother gets when we are late.”

“Girls!” Clarissa mimicked, with her hands on her hips. “I know very well that you
both have perfectly accurate timepieces—”

“—because Aunt Vivian gave each of you one for your last birthday,” concluded Daphne,
in the same familiar voice.

Mrs. Brightmore, having descended the ladder, cast them a gently reproving look.

Daphne laughed, and set off toward the doors.

Yet for a moment, Clarissa could only stand motionless, savoring the bittersweet immensity
of the moment.

Daphne, her dear sister.
Clarissa’s heart squeezed tight with affection.

And their mother.
How glad she was that Her Ladyship had found a happy and welcome companion in Mr.
Birch.
Her grandfather.
He doted on them all so much, and never once had she doubted his love. She would
miss living here and seeing them every day.

Her life as she had come to know it would change very soon…though no one could know
that. Not yet. That was because she carried a secret, close to her heart. The most
wonderful
secret. One she shared with the most eligible bachelor in London. Two weeks ago,
Lord Devonby had asked her that most important question—and she deliriously and most
happily had said yes. But he had wanted everything to be perfect for her and insisted
that they wait until tonight at her ball, where he would very properly request an
audience with her grandfather, and ask for her hand.

While at first she’d believed Devonby to be just another handsome face, consumed by
the same youthful and sometimes empty pursuits as all young gentlemen of the
ton
, he’d revealed to her the sincere, magnanimous, and honorable man beneath. Once she
knew the truth, there’d been no holding her heart back.

They’d kept their romance a secret, wanting to savor the unfolding feelings between
them away from the curious eyes of the society and its gossips, but also for the simple
romantic fun of doing so. How glad she was to have found someone with whom she could
have fun. She was almost sorry to see their game end, one in which they’d stolen away
for every secret moment and exchanged clandestine notes of the most intimate kind,
but for a couple as deeply in love as they were, certainly all that would continue
even after they were wed.

She and Daphne parted ways in the upstairs corridor, with Daphne continuing on toward
the chambers she shared with her new husband—only to rush back and throw her arms
around Clarissa in a sisterly embrace.

“I’m so very proud to have you as my sister,” she murmured. A moment later, she smiled
radiantly, as she had done almost constantly since marrying Lord Raikes. Clarissa
could only interpret her happiness as a sound endorsement of that venerable state.
“It’s your turn, my dear sister. Next time I see you, you’ll be making your entrance
on that grand staircase, just as you always dreamed when you were a girl.”

One last squeeze, and she was gone—which was all for the best. Clarissa had never
been very good at keeping secrets, and a moment more would have seen her blurting
out the news of her impending engagement.

She had no wish to ruin tonight’s wonderful surprise.

“I shall see you at Miss Bevington’s ball tonight, then, Mr. Kincraig?” said his companion,
Lord Havering, as they exited the doors of White’s Club.

He flashed a rakish grin. “Any chance to reacquaint myself with Wolverton’s liquor
cabinet is a welcome opportunity indeed.”

Fox studied him, as he drew on his gloves, one by one. “I suspect there’s more to
it than that.”

Like him, “Fox,” as he was called by those who knew him best, had no discernible family
of his own, and had been thrown by circumstance into the midst of Wolverton’s welcoming
brood. After a period of understandable suspicion over whether he was plotting some
sort of trickery against the earl and his family, Havering had warmed to him, and
he to Havering.

“Perhaps so.” He looked out over the busy street, crowded with carriages and hackneys,
uncomfortable with revealing anything more. After all, it had taken him years to perfect
the obscurement of his true thoughts and feelings. He wasn’t about to start emoting
now, here on the pavement, in front of God and Fox and everyone. He kept his manner
and tone cool. “Whatever the case, I wouldn’t miss it.”

He wouldn’t miss it. Though it would take a team of horses to pry the sentiment from
his tongue, he’d grown fond of the old earl’s family, even though he found the whole
idea of a debut ball frivolous and silly. Soon, he would be gone from their lives,
and he would likely never see any one of them again. Most especially Clarissa, whom
one didn’t have to be an intelligence agent in service of the Crown to observe that
she had fallen head over heels in love with the annoyingly charming and well-connected
Lord Devonby.

God, how he despised the fellow, and all his glorious noble perfection, for no good
reason other than Clarissa adored him. No. Of course he
himself
did not love her, it’s just that she could provoke him like no other by constantly
fussing over him, and complaining of the way he tied his cravat, and by always looking
at him so directly with her perceptive blue eyes—

What did it matter? He was leaving in a matter of days. Perhaps even tomorrow.

Damn it.

How thankful he was that it was time to say his good-byes.

With that, Dominick Arden Blackmer, who for the time being answered to the name of
Mr. Kincraig, climbed into his carriage and settled back for what would be a brief
ride to what had been his abode for the last year, where his scant belongings were
packed and the house had been shut up and made ready for his departure.

Because it was time to leave. One did not become attached. Life only ever made sense
when he was alone.

Where would tomorrow take him? Perhaps he would learn the answer tonight.

Just then, his carriage passed a chapel where a small group crowded the pavement,
throwing rose petals high over the heads of a newly wedded couple. The sight momentarily
transported him back in time, to another wedding. His own. But Tryphena was dead,
for three years now. Even though he walked and lived and breathed, sometimes he believed
he was as well.

The sight of a familiar face jerked him back to present. He flicked the curtain aside
and peered out the window, instantly recognizing the groom as Lord Devonby, hand in
hand with a slender, dark-haired young woman who held a bouquet. If there was any
doubt in his mind what he observed in that moment, Devonby put it to rest by pressing
an enthusiastic kiss upon his bride’s lips.

His carriage moved on until he could see no more.

How…regretful. Did Miss Bevington know? Certainly not. It had been only yesterday
afternoon when he’d observed that flirtatious glance between them, and the furtive
touch of their hands behind the garden column.

No doubt the news would devastate her, and would douse the enchanting light that always
seemed to reside in her lovely eyes. Because of that, he could take no pleasure, no
satisfaction in what he’d seen. His fingers curled into his palms and he resisted
the urge to order his driver to turn around so that he might confront the bastard
directly, in front of his new bride and their families. Everyone. But it was not his
place. He would be gone from all their lives—from
her
life—in a blink. So instead he held silent, and simmered.

In the confines of his temporary home, he shaved and dressed. He paced and waited.
Though he was to have an audience with Wolverton this evening before the ball got
underway, he had no wish to arrive too early. He didn’t want to cross paths with Clarissa,
because once she looked at him with her expressive blue eyes he’d be compelled to
tell her what he had seen. Certainly she deserved to know, but telling her wasn’t
his place. He and Clarissa were not on those sort of terms, not like she and Havering,
who was more like a brother to her.

Havering. There was his answer. Knowing Clarissa as long as he had, Fox would know
how to best break the unfortunate news. Fox could comfort her, after Dominick was
long gone. Calling the carriage around once again, he traveled directly to Wolverton’s
house, whereupon entering he observed from a distance a small army of confectioner’s
assistants in the ballroom setting up some sort of display of little cakes or meringues
on a table, while at the center of the house workmen finished the installation of
a god-awful pink carpet onto the grand staircase, pink being Clarissa’s favorite color,
and one that he had to concede always looked very pretty on her. The scent of flowers
hung everywhere, so strong he fought the urge to sneeze.

Ah, there—Havering stood just around the corner, speaking to the Duke of Claxton.
He moved toward them, only to be intercepted by Mrs. Brightmore, who discreetly lifted
a hand toward Wolverton’s chambers.

“Ah.” He paused midstep. “Now?”

“Indeed.”

“It’s early yet.”

She winked. “Some of us have other duties to perform this evening, other than to saunter
about in fancy clothes, drinking lemonade from a little crystal cup.”

His gaze returned to Havering, but in the end he changed direction, taking the corridor
to Wolverton’s chambers, as he had so often done over the past year under the guise
of being summoned, or more often
commanded
by the earl to do so. His role, after all, had been to play a gambler and a drunk.
Someone consumed by his own addictions, but more importantly, inattentive to his surroundings.
Though he’d played double duty as a bodyguard to Wolverton, his primary assignment
had been to lure into the open the man or men who wanted Lord Wolverton, and his every
living heir, dead. Lady Harwick and the young ladies hadn’t been told, because the
earl had no wish to frighten them, or burden them with as of yet unsubstantiated explanations
of past tragedies.

Entering the anteroom, he joined his team. O’Connell, His Lordship’s valet. Mr. Ollister,
the first footman. And Mrs. Brightmore, the housekeeper, who stepped through a small
doorway on the opposite side of the room, because it wouldn’t have done for her to
be seen walking down the corridor in his company.

“Reports?” asked Mrs. Brightmore, who briskly circled round to collect a sealed envelope
from them each, which she quickly secured at the center of her corset. He had written
out his final report the night before, having been made aware his next assignment
could come any day.