Saved by Scandal (5 page)

Galen had been giving Mademoiselle Margot time to decide, watching her weigh all the factors, certain that any rational female—if such a creature existed—would come to the correct conclusion. Now he was confused. “I don’t understand. The last I knew, young women who sing at Drury Lane are rarely granted vouchers for Almack’s.”

Margot bobbed her head in acknowledgment of his polite phrasing of her circumstances. “Especially those whose
mothers were unwed French opera singers who ran off to Italy to give birth.” That was the common assumption, as they both well knew. Trading on her mother’s famous name had been necessary for Margot to gain an audition, so she had never corrected the sordid story. “But what if my mother was legally married, and she and my father left England to escape the narrow-mindedness of my father’s family? And what if that family held an old and honorable title, a barony that eventually passed to my papa? Would I still be unacceptable enough to suit your purposes if I were Margot Montclaire Penrose, daughter of Baron Penrose of Rossington, Sussex?”

“Intriguingly, my dear, like tossing more delicious crumbs to the rumor mills. We’ll have an easier go of getting you invited to the drawing rooms of the highest sticklers, where you would not want to go anyway, trust me. But you’d still be the Magnificent Margot of Drury Lane, the most sought-after female in Town, only now you’d have a fascinating background to go with your fame. May I ask what happened to your baron-father?”

“He died shortly after returning to England to claim his inheritance. My mother had succumbed to a
congestion of the lungs some years before.”

“I am sorry. But what happened after your father’s death that left you penniless, taking to the boards to support yourself? Did the title revert to some vile distant relative who stole your dowry? My own heir presumptive is no great shakes, but at least I trust him to look after my sister.”

“No, my brother Ansel inherited. He is only eleven now, though, and…sickly. My father’s younger brother was appointed guardian. He is not a kind man.” Margot was twisting at the blue ribbon that tied the high waist of her muslin gown. These were hard words to say. “I fear Uncle Manfred is an ambitious man, moreover, who does not have my brother’s best interests at heart. If Ansel should not survive to his majority…”

“Your uncle would inherit,” Galen finished for her. “So
you have to worry that the boy is not getting the proper care and treatment, correct? Would the lad not have done better under your supervision?”

“Perhaps, if I could have afforded specialists and consulting physicians. But my uncle gave me no choice except to leave. Uncle Manfred decided I should marry his neighbor, a pox-ridden old miser who had buried three wives before. Uncle Manfred owed him money, you see, and Lord Grinsted was willing to forgive the debt, for my hand.”

Galen leaped to his feet. “Grinsted? That loose screw?” The very idea of that filthy old man touching his wife—he was already thinking of Miss Montclaire, no, Miss Penrose as his wife—was an abomination.

“Uncle said I could marry him or leave. I think he knew I would leave, which was all he wanted. I could not take Ansel, of course, for I had no way to support him, nor the legal right to his wardship. I could have gone for a governess, I suppose, keeping my reputation, since I am fluent in three languages and know music and the globes and some mathematics, but that would have availed Ansel nothing. By singing, I can earn enough to send money back to the Penrose Hall housekeeper, to keep me informed, to buy whatever my brother needs that Uncle Manfred refuses to provide. I was hoping to earn enough to purchase a cottage somewhere, so that I could eventually have Ansel with me if I could steal him away from my uncle.”

Galen bent and took both her hands in his, prying the mangled ribbon out of her fingers. “Miss Penrose, Margot, listen to me. If we marry, your brother becomes my brother. He will never want for anything.”

Margot had to reclaim her hands so she could wipe her eyes. Galen offered his handkerchief and waited while she blew her nose. “Uncle will not give him up easily. He threatened to send poor Ansel away if I interfered.”

“I promise you, the boy will be at your side within the week, with the best physicians in London in attendance, and
your uncle be damned. I doubt he’d want to face me at twenty paces otherwise.”

“You would do that, for me?”

She looked up at him through blue eyes glistening with tears, like a spring day after a rain shower. Galen would have done anything for her at that moment, adopted seventy sickly waifs, despatched a hundred heinous uncles. The extent of his newfound dedication shocked even himself. Hell, he was supposed to be offering the chit a bargain, not his life’s blood. To lighten the tenor of the conversation, he quipped, “Of course you’ll be getting my sister in return. You’re definitely getting the worst of the deal.”

“There’s more.”

“What, an evil uncle and a maltreated heir and a selfless sister aren’t enough? Are you sure you are not writing for the Minerva Press?”

“I only wish I were making this up. Uncle Manfred swears he will have Ansel declared unfit to hold the title.”

This was no laughing matter. Galen could have supposed her maunderings the imagination of a doting sister wanting to coddle the boy, although his own sister had never shown anything resembling such tender feelings. But to steal the lad’s heritage? And just what was wrong with the little baron that his uncle could declare him incompetent, as Prinny kept trying to label his poor, mad father? “Sickly” could mean a great many things. “Is he fit?”

“What, to take his place in Parliament? To oversee his estate? Of course not. Ansel is eleven years old, my lord, a little boy who has lost both his parents and now his sister. He is naturally upset, finding himself at the mercy of a bully. But he is bright and well-mannered. He can converse in Italian as well as English, and he is remarkably talented.” Margot stood and moved toward the fruit painting. “That is one of his works.”

“It is certainly remarkable,” was the only comment Galen felt able to make, praying she did not insist on hanging the monstrosity in his town house. Gads, if her taste was so
poor, perhaps he should reconsider his offer after all. Or insist she wear her spectacles.

She touched the painting fondly. “He was eight years old at the time, and the drawing master said he showed great promise. Uncle dismissed the man, of course, saying such skills were not manly. He also put a stop to Ansel’s music lessons, although my brother was already proficient at the violin, the pianoforte, and voice. Then he turned off the tutor and the nanny, sending Ansel to the vicar for Latin lessons, before the dastard decided my brother was too feeble to attend classes.”

Galen stood next to her, his eyes averted from the rotten fruit. Miss Penrose was a much more pleasing sight anyway. He thought he would never get tired of looking at her, which, he also thought, was an excellent prospect in a prospective bridegroom. It was all he could do to keep his hands at his sides, instead of touching the long gold hair that trailed down her back in shining waves. He ached to see if those curls were as soft as they looked, if her curves were as generous, her skin as silky as they appeared. He had not expected to want the woman as a woman, only as a wife. Now he wanted it all. If straightening out one little boy’s life was what it took to make this glorious female his, Galen was ready to give the nipper Latin lessons himself. Hell, he might even try teaching him to draw.

“My dear,” he said now, “you can stop worrying over your brother. I will petition the courts to be named one of his trustees if I have to. I will kidnap him from your uncle if I have to. I will do whatever it takes to see him happy and healthy. All you have to do is say yes.”

“I am tempted, my lord. So tempted you will never know. But I fear you would regret such a hasty decision. You might relish the talk now, but the disgrace of your marrying an actress will linger. Think of your family. I would hate to be the cause of a rift between you, the way my parents’ marriage divided my father’s kin. Or see you ostracized from your friends.”

“Never fear, my father will accept you. If you give him a grandson, so he does not have to worry about Cousin Harold inheriting, he will adore you. And he married his neighbor’s governess, so cannot preach propriety at this late date, especially after the behavior of his choice of a bride for me. His own brother was shot by a jealous husband, and one of his uncles was hung as a highwayman. That’s where the viscountcy came from. Why, there have been so many scandals in my family, His Grace will never notice another. My relatives have committed every disgrace imaginable except treason and the crime without a name, although I fear Harold is working on that one.” At her look of confusion, he added, “Never mind. No one will object to your joining the family. And my friends will all be horrified, but only that I managed to snabble you out from under their eyes. Anyone who is not happy for us, who cannot celebrate our marriage or welcome us to his home, was never much of a friend to start with and will not be missed. But my father is a duke, Margot. No one is going to offend him by slighting his daughter-in-law. I apologize for the familiarity, but calling you Miss Penrose or Mademoiselle Montclaire seems absurd under the circumstances if we are about to wed. And I am Galen.”

“Very well, Galen. But why don’t we both think about it, spend some time getting to know each other, and then decide? I am contracted for two more weeks of performances anyway, and could not let the cast down by disappearing.”

“So we shall have our honeymoon in London before traveling to my father at Three Woods in Woburton. You see, I am not a difficult man to please.”

“You are everything kind, but I
fear that tomorrow, with a clearer head, you will see the obstacles better. I might never be accepted in your circles, no matter what you think. My uncle will fight you for Ansel’s guardianship. We might find we have nothing to say to each other.”

“Now you are acting like a peagoose, my dear. I am not drunk, and I will not regret our marriage. I will not stay in London without you, however. I am sorry, but if you won’t
have me, I’ll be sailing for Jamaica on the next ship. I’d rather be leaning over the rail than listening to all the laughter at my expense.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Be brave, my dear Margot, say yes. That is all you need ever say to please me.”

“I can bring Ruff?”

“Ruff?”

“My dog. His name is Rufus, for his color, but I call him Ruff, so he can say his own name.”

“If you wished the beast to speak his name, ma’am, you should have named him Grr. Whyever would you keep such a mean, mangy creature?”

“Because he loves me, and protects me. And I think he is beautiful.”

“Very well, I will hire Ruff a cook of his own, and buy him a dozen pairs of leather gloves.”

“And my dresser? Ella has fallen on hard times since her husband was arrested, for a theft he did not commit.”

“The dragon Ella?” He shuddered, but nodded. “And I suppose you expect me to see him exonerated and brought home?”

Margot simply smiled.

It was enough. “Very well. You can bring anyone and anything. Except I think you should leave the fruit bowl for Mrs. McGuirk. Ansel shall paint us another.”

“Then…then yes, my lord…Galen. Yes, I would be honored to accept your wonderful, generous offer.”

“You have made me the happiest of men, my dear.”

“No, but I promise to try!”

With that, she threw herself into his arms, where she fit very snugly indeed. Galen pressed a kiss onto her forehead, sealing their bargain, before setting her aside. “As delightful as this getting better acquainted may be, we have a great deal to do, sweetings. I shall give you two hours to pack and change your gown, although this one is delightful, but I know how females set great store by such things. I’ll send a baggage cart for your things, along with a crew of footmen
to help. Meanwhile I shall shave and see my solicitor to draw up settlements for you, and write the notices to be sent to the newspapers. And send a note to make sure Skippy and the bishop are ready for us. Better make that three hours before I get back with my carriage.”

Three hours to prepare for her wedding? Margot had to laugh. Some girls took an entire year to purchase their trousseaus and plan their wedding breakfasts. But she had few enough belongings to pack, and few enough gowns to choose from. Besides, given more time she might find more reasons to change her mind…or fall into a mindless panic. “Here,” she said, handing him the diamond-strewn ring and the license, “you better take these with you.”

Galen paused in his mental list-making: fetching a bouquet, ordering champagne iced, seeing that the rooms adjoining his were aired and ready to accept a new mistress. “The ring? Why?”

“So you can present them at the church, of course.”

“Of course.” She was not reneging already. Relieved, he slipped the ring and the document into his pocket, adding them to the roster of details to be remembered. Then he pried off his own gold signet ring, with the three trees carved into its onyx face, and pressed that one into her palm. He folded her fingers over the ring, then kissed them. “You hold onto the family heirloom. Lady Woodbridge-to-be, so you know I’ll be coming back.”

Chapter Six

Whoever was about to say marry in haste, repent at—never got the chance to finish.

The baggage wagon and three sturdy footmen arrived in less than an hour. Ella put them to work hauling trunks and boxes, and hot water for
mademoiselle’s
bath, Mrs. McGuirk had them turning carpets while they waited for further instructions, and waited for a glimpse of their new mistress. If any of the viscount’s men thought to comment on the bride’s lowly dwelling and meager possessions, such notions were instantly quelled by Ella’s scowls and Ruff’s growls.