The Earl's Return (Marriage Mart Mayhem) (14 page)

Liar.

Chapter Fourteen

Several days later, Mary took the footman’s hand and stepped from her carriage. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she was doing the right thing. She’d accepted Jeanette’s invitation to tea knowing full well that she was going to try to dissuade her friend from marrying a scoundrel.

The door opened as she ascended the steps. The butler bowed. “Good afternoon, my lady. Miss Belkin is expecting you. If you will follow me?”

Jeanette had been staying with her godmother, Lady Spencer, during her time in London. Mary and Jeanette hadn’t had the opportunity to talk, since every time she’d seen her, Claremont had been at her side. Except for the Ashbourne’s ball when he had inexplicably sent word with Redgrave that an emergency had arisen and he needed to leave barely five minutes after they’d arrived.

Claremont had seemed to change his attitude toward her since then. He no longer looked at her as though she were his next meal. His demeanor was, if anything, cool, and for that she was most grateful.

When Mary had received the invitation from Jeanette that stated tea with “just the two of us,” she had accepted immediately, hoping she could lay out her case without revealing what had happened between her and Claremont.

The past week she hadn’t been feeling too benevolent toward the male gender, anyway. Redgrave certainly had her at sixes and sevens. After the almost-disaster in her bedchamber at the Billingsley house party when she’d allowed him to touch her inappropriately, he’d been cool and distant that evening at the ball. Despite having asked her earlier to save all her waltzes for him, he’d barely talked to her. After a brief good evening, and marking his name on her dance card for a cotillion, he sauntered off and spent the rest of the night dancing with every other young lady there.

Not that it had bothered, her, of course. She’d had plenty of dance partners. At first, she’d been confused, then hurt. Lastly, justified in her opinion of men. They were scoundrels, all of them. Took what they could from a woman, then wandered away to the next conquest. Why she had such a hard time remembering it, was vexing.

The butler led her to a charming drawing room where Jeanette sat, an embroidery hoop in her lap. She jumped up, the hoop forgotten, and gave Mary a hug. “Thank you so much for coming.”

Mary regarded her friend. Jeanette had never looked more content. Her face glowed, and her entire body shone with happiness. Perhaps she ought to give her mission second thoughts. On the other hand, she had to at least try to convince her that marriage to Claremont would not be the best thing for her. “I am thrilled to be here.”

To her dismay, Jeanette’s godmother sat in a chair next to where Jeanette had been sitting. The older woman leaned heavily on her cane, her aged eyes scrutinizing Mary. The woman had always made her uncomfortable. She could not discuss Claremont with Lady Spencer present.

Mary curtsied to the woman. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

“Don’t worry, Mary, I am not here to usurp my goddaughter’s tea. I merely wanted to say hello to you since I haven’t seen you in quite some time.” The older woman held out her hands, which Mary took.

“Not at all, my lady. It is lovely to see you again.”

Once Mary was settled on a comfortable blue and white striped chair, Lady Spencer asked, “How is your dear mother?”

“Quite well, thank you. She keeps herself busy visiting her numerous grandchildren.”

Her face softened, and she smiled. “Ah, grandchildren. The blessing of a long life. How many does Her Grace have now?”

Mary began ticking off on her fingers. “Manchester and Penelope have a daughter and a son, with another on the way. Abigail and Joseph have twin boys; Marion and Tristen have a little girl; Sybil and Liam have twins, also a boy and a girl; and Sarah and Braeden have a little boy. So, altogether, eight, with one more arriving later this year.”

“Oh my. Your family is exploding!” She lowered her chin and glared at her from under raised eyebrows. “And when will it be your turn?”

Why did people always ask that? Especially the older ladies. No one seemed satisfied unless every single person in London was paired off, like animals trudging up the gangway to Noah’s Ark.

“Not yet, my lady.”

She thumped her cane on the floor. “You are not getting any younger, miss.”

“No, my lady.”

“You young girls are so foolish.” Lady Spencer waved her hand. “I suppose you’re expecting love?”

Wishing it were acceptable to tell one’s elders to mind their own business, Mary gave her a strained smile and said, “One hopes.”

“Nonsense. Look at my goddaughter here. Rusticating in the country until I took it upon myself to encourage Claremont to offer for her. Now she’s ready to marry and have a fulfilling life. Her foolish father denied her a Season, so the girl was fortunate I stepped in.”

Since she’d spent so little time alone with Jeanette once she’d arrived in London, now Mary understood how this arrangement had come about. She also wondered what had been dangled in front of Claremont to have him accept Jeanette. Not that Jeanette wasn’t lovely, with a sweet disposition, but being the devil he was, for sure Claremont would have needed some type of boon. He’d made it quite clear that his major interest in Mary had been her dowry and family connections. Unfortunately, he had been one of more than a few who had vied for her attention for similar reasons.

“I am sure Jeanette is truly happy that you took matters into your own hands, my lady.”

She leaned forward. “I could do the same for you, too, miss.”

Mary’s heart faltered. Visions of Lady Spencer bearing down on Drake, placing marriage papers on his desk, demanding he do right by his sister and get her married, had her breaking into a sweat. The older ladies of the
ton,
particularly this one
,
could be quite formidable.

“While I appreciate your offer, my lady, I believe I will wait another Season or two. Who knows? My true love may very well appear.”

“Bah!” Lady Spencer stood and leaned on her cane. “Plain old foolishness. Mark my words, you will be a sorry miss in a few years.

“I will leave you two now. Enjoy your tea.” She hobbled off, allowing Jeanette and Mary to take a deep breath.

“She means well, but sometimes she scares me to death,” Jeanette whispered, apparently afraid her godmother’s ears were as sharp as her tongue. “I’ll ring for tea.” She wandered over to the bellpull, then returned, sitting gracefully on the chair across from Mary.

“I am so glad you came today. Even though I’ve been in London for weeks now, we never seem to have time to speak.”

Mary felt her nervousness growing and decided to take the plunge. “So, I assume you are happy with your betrothal?”

“Yes, I am quite happy.” She hesitated for a moment and tilted her head to the side. “That seems to be a strange question.”

Luckily, at that moment, the door to the drawing room opened, and a footman entered carrying a large tray. He set it on the low table between the two women, bowed, and took his leave.

The tray held two teacups and saucers, a pot of tea, cream, sugar, and an array of dainty sandwiches and tarts. Jeanette poured tea for the two of them, handing Mary a cup and saucer.

Mary stirred her tea. “I want to be sure you are satisfied with the match Lady Spencer has made for you.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? As my godmother stated, my father was remiss in denying me a Season. Unlike the women in your family, I never had an expectation of love.” She sipped her tea. “Claremont is handsome, titled, and promised to be a good husband.”

Mary chewed her lip. “But how well do you know him?”

Jeanette shrugged and reached for a tart. “How well does anyone know a husband or wife before marriage?”

If she were going to make an impression upon Jeanette at all, she would have to come closer to the point. She stared down at her tea. “I have heard rumors.”

To Mary’s surprise, Jeanette smiled and waved her hand. “I have heard them, as well. But aren’t all men libertines to some extent?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Mary, I am a realist.” Jeanette set her teacup down. “I am four and twenty. I have no prospects other than Claremont. And I wouldn’t have had him, either, if it weren’t for my godmother and my dowry.” She raised her chin. “Yes. I see the surprise and condemnation in your eyes. And even pity. Well, I don’t need it. I will have a home of my own and children one day.

“I will enjoy time in London every year and go to parties, balls, the theater, and museums. All the things I have heard about for years but never experienced. I will run my own household, not my father’s, and raise my own children.” She picked up her teacup and took a sip. “Yes, Mary, I am—if not happy—at least content.”

If she wished to continue with Jeanette’s friendship, it would be best at this point to leave her opinions to herself. Nothing she could say would change her friend’s mind. The fact that she made the attempt to dissuade her would have to be enough.

Jeanette reached over and took Mary’s hand. “Please be happy for me, Mary. And please say you will be at my wedding? ’Tis only in two weeks.” Her bright smile was genuine.

“Of course I will be there. I would never miss such an important day for you.”

“Thank you.”

They continued to chat while Mary wondered how she would get through the wedding without worrying about what her friend’s wedding night would be like. Would he be so crass as to force his own wife if she was shy and reluctant? How careful and gentle would he be with Jeanette’s sensibilities?

She had to keep reminding herself it was not her concern. Her friend was happy, and all Mary could do was pray she remained so.

…

Redgrave slumped in the chair in his office, tapping his pen on the desk. He’d been trying for days to reconcile the report from his estate manager and getting absolutely nowhere. Every time he looked at the page, he didn’t see numbers, but Mary’s face. How she had looked when he wrote his name next to a cotillion at the Billingsley’s ball, then hied off to dance with other women. The surprise, confusion, then hurt.

God, how he’d hated to upset her. But ruining another of Manchester’s sisters, whom the duke would never consent to him courting anyway, was a waste of the valuable time he had in London. Despite his attraction to Mary, he had to look elsewhere.

His would be a typical
ton
marriage with friendship, caring, and heirs. No foolishness like love to obscure the relationship.

Mary was a threat to his heart, and she was certainly not for the likes of him. He’d managed to avoid love for years after his parents had been abruptly removed from his life. Then he had loved Abigail—or thought he would eventually, then lost her. No longer did he want to suffer the pain of losing someone he’d grown to love. If his feelings for Mary grew into that euphoric state, he would be crushed when Manchester whisked her away from him.

He had really lost control in her bedchamber at Billingsley’s manor, and shuddered to think of what might have happened had her lady’s maid not arrived. Although he’d joked about them being forced to rectify a scandal, the reality would be more along the lines of “choose your second.”

There was no stopping the twitch in his lips at the memory of her forcing him into her dress. She would certainly give a husband a lifetime of challenges.

Not his lifetime—not his challenges. He sighed and pushed away the ledger. Leaning his elbows on the desk, he rested his head in his hands. No matter how hard he pressed his palms together, he couldn’t squeeze the image of Mary from his mind.

He glanced out the window at the dreary day. The sound of the rain sweeping against the glass only added to his malaise. If he didn’t get out of the house and find some distractions from his constant thoughts, he would drive himself crazy.

“Mathers!” Striding to the front hall he asked the butler to have his carriage brought around. Hopefully, an afternoon at one of his clubs would be just the diversion he needed.

The brightly lit chandeliers and the floor-to-ceiling windows in Brook’s made for a much more welcoming and cheerful place than the office he’d just left. A very serious game of hazard was taking place in one corner, and several men gathered around the betting book, shouting wagers.

Redgrave took a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace and picked up a newspaper from the table alongside him. He waved at one of the footmen to bring him a Scotch. He was feeling better already. Perhaps he could put Mary out of his mind. Tomorrow he would begin a search for a bride in earnest and have a betrothal by the end of the Season.

A sweet girl. A biddable one, who would see to his comfort, run a smooth household, and raise charming, lovely children. Little boys with his hair and eyes, little girls with Mary’s golden brown tresses and sweet smile.

Bloody hell!

He was supposed to be thinking of women other than her. He downed a large gulp of Scotch and paid the price by coughing until he caught the attention of the footman.

“Are you all right, my lord? Shall I bring you a glass of water?”

“Yes, please,” he choked out.

He picked up the newspaper and perused the financial page. His investments were doing well. He would have to send a note to his man of business, commending him on doing such a stupendous job with his money. Flipping the paper over, he caught the gossip column.

Dear Reader, Your humble correspondent has been taken by surprise. Yes, my dear ones, completely by surprise. Rumors have surfaced surrounding a couple attending Lord and Lady B.’s house party for their daughter’s betrothal last week. It seems Lord R. and Lady M. were seen together quite a bit. Moonlight strolls and waltzes? All of London is talking about the strange pairing of those two. Has all been forgiven? One wonders…

Redgrave slammed his glass down, drawing the looks of two men huddled over a chess game.

The devil take it
!

Who had fed this trash to the newspaper? He was suddenly brought abrupt. Had Manchester seen it? Of course, if he had, there was no doubt in his mind he would receive a summons from the man momentarily.