To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance) (5 page)

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Authors: Adrienne Basso

BOOK: To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance)
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When he joined his male companions for supper, they were far more interested in the quality of the brandy, the quantity of wine, and the availability of the serving wenches for entertainment after the meal than the variety or quality of the food.
Realizing he could not possibly swallow another bite, the marquess at last settled his fork upon his plate. He looked up and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. The duke had apparently finished. His plates and cutlery were already cleared from the table. All that remained before the duke was a half empty goblet of wine.
The footmen removed Trevor’s dishes, but at the duke’s command left a second bottle of wine and the goblets. As he faced his father across the table, Trevor realized his apprehension as well as his hunger had been appeased. Partly due to the excellent bottle of wine he and his father had consumed, no doubt.
“I want you to attend Lady Dermond’s ball tomorrow evening,” the duke announced abruptly. “There is someone I’d like you to meet.”
Trevor blinked. The goblet in his hand began tilting. Catching himself before the red liquid spilled out and stained the linen cloth, he set the crystal to rights. “I have already made plans for tomorrow evening.”
“Break them.”
“I could not possibly on such short notice.”
“If you had answered my summons immediately, as I requested, you would have had ample time to make your excuses.” The duke scowled. “I have told several people, including the hostess and the lady you are to meet, that you will be in attendance. I want you at that ball.”
“Matchmaking, sir?” Trevor arched his brow at an insulting angle. “I thought only desperate maiden aunts and scheming mamas indulged in that distasteful task.”
“Don’t turn your nose up at me, boy,” the duke responded with an indignant sniff. “You were singing a far different tune when I paired you with your first wife.”
His wife! The unexpected mention of Lavinia caught the marquess unawares, igniting once again the tormenting ache in his heart he tried so desperately to control.
A rush of painful memories flooded Trevor’s mind. Her sweet smile, her merry laugh, her loving embrace, the pale, cold stillness of her lifeless body. The endless questions and recriminations that had haunted him for years once again felt fresh and raw.
He drew in a deep breath. Over the years, Trevor had kept well hidden from his stoic father the suffering and heartache, the agonizing guilt he felt every single day.
“I am not interested in acquiring a wife,” Trevor stated forcefully. “Besides, you know well my opinion of these unmarried young women. I have no intention of wasting an evening by furthering the acquaintance of this year’s crop of shrews, ninnies, or milk-and-water misses.”
“The woman I have in mind for you is older, more mature,” the duke countered. “And she is no fool.”
“Ahh, that means she must be formal and cold.” Trevor shuddered visibly. “I repeat, I am not interested. In the least.”
Ignoring the disgruntled expression on his father’s face, Trevor rose to his feet. “I thank you for your hospitality this afternoon, but you must excuse me, sir. I am already late for another appointment. Please extend my compliments to Cook. The meal was delicious.”
The marquess bowed formally, then turned on his heel. As he exited the room, Trevor told himself the expression of hurt and disappointment on his father’s face was merely an act, an attempt at manipulation that was going to fail.
The marquess repeated those words in his mind as he walked through the long picture gallery, while a multitude of ancestors and former dukes stared down disapprovingly at him from their gilded frames.
His feet moved rapidly down the winding staircase, increasing speed with each step. Upon reaching the cavernous entrance hall, the marquess told himself yet again that his father’s distress was feigned, his lack of protest at Trevor’s refusal to attend the ball merely a ploy to prey on Trevor’s guilt.
It was not until he burst outside into the fading afternoon light and filled his lungs deeply with a breath of cool, fresh air that Trevor was able to admit the truth.
Despite the discord, strain and general imperfection, the relationship he had with his father was something the marquess valued greatly. And though he was loath to admit it, his father’s opinion mattered. Strangely, it mattered very much.
 
 
Lady Meredith Barrington sat alone in Lady Der-mond’s ladies’ retiring room, staring doubtfully at her reflection in the mirror. She adjusted her diamond ear-bobs, then lifted her neck to admire the matching diamond necklace that graced her throat. The jewels were her mother’s, borrowed for this madcap evening. Meredith had hoped they would lend an air of sophistication to her evening ensemble. She realized belatedly what she really needed was a dose of courage.
Her new gown was a deep shade of blue, cut daringly lower than any other she had ever worn. It was gathered beneath the bodice and flowed down the lines of her body with simplicity and grace. Despite the changing fashion, Meredith had insisted the skirt of the gown be left unadorned.
She had always preferred simple styles without the fripperies of lace, bows, embroidery, or beading, but it had taken her years to convince her modistes she was not trying to economize on her outfits by leaving those items off.
Yet tonight Meredith almost wished she had a few rows of lace or a collection of bows to draw attention to the skirt of her gown, for the simple, unadorned style made her look taller and more curvaceous. With a sigh, she stood up and twisted from side to side, critically observing the sway of material as she moved.
The fabric was sheer, and if viewed in the gleaming candlelight at a particular angle, the distinct shadow of her body could be seen. Meredith let out a nervous giggle. It was most definitely not the type of ensemble worn by a spinster.
Knowing she had stalled long enough, Meredith prepared to leave. She had just begun to tug on her evening gloves when the retiring room door suddenly opened. Meredith spun around in surprise at the interruption.
“Oh, I am sorry. Did we startle you, Lady Meredith?”
“Not at all,” Merry replied breathlessly. She inclined her head politely toward Mrs. Fritzwater and her daughter. Alice? Allyson? Meredith had met the young woman only once and could not recall her name.
“My dear Alice had a slight mishap while exiting the carriage,” Mrs. Fritzwater explained as she held up a length of lace with several bows dangling from it. “I had hoped one of Lady Dermond’s maids would be in attendance here so it could be repaired.”
Meredith glanced down at the skirt of Alice’s gown. There were several rows of lace adorned with both rosettes and bows along the hem. Meredith looked carefully, but it was impossible to tell where this section had been torn.
“You cannot even notice anything is missing,” Meredith said.
“Really?” Mrs. Fritzwater bent down to examine the skirt. “You’re right. It doesn’t appear that the fabric has been ripped. Still, I would feel so much better if the dress was properly repaired.”
Mrs. Fritzwater leaned toward Meredith and whispered, “I just want everything to be perfect this evening. This is Alice’s first ball.”
Meredith cast a sympathetic eye toward Alice. The young girl’s eyes were wide and round and her complexion looked very pale. Clearly all of her mother’s nervous fluttering was not helping her daughter conquer her own fears.
“I shall have a maid sent in directly to assist you,” Meredith said.
“How very kind of you, Lady Meredith,” Mrs. Fritzwater replied with obvious relief.
“I hope you enjoy your first ball, Alice,” Meredith said as she jerked open the door. “You look lovely.”
Alice blushed shyly and modestly bowed her head. As Meredith started out the door, she saw Mrs. Fritzwater adjust the stray curl that lay against Alice’s cheek, then deliberately tug the scooped neckline of the girl’s bodice up a full half inch.
For a moment Meredith felt a sharp pang of longing for her own mother. Though they had difficulty understanding each other, the Countess of Stafford had always loyally supported and defended her daughter.
Meredith was unsure what her parents would think of this current situation. She secretly doubted they would agree or approve of what she was about to do, but she knew they would never voice that disapproval to anyone outside the family.
It took only a few moments for Meredith to locate a footman. She quickly told the servant of young Alice’s plight. He bowed and assured her a maid and a sewing basket would be sent immediately to the ladies’ retiring room.
Her task completed, Meredith next turned her eye toward the grand ballroom on the second floor. The strains of music could be clearly heard, along with the sound of muted conversation and twinkling laughter. Though it was not yet ten, the ball was already crowded—a rare occurrence, since these events usually began later in the evening.
Meredith hesitated at the bottom of the steps, knowing in her heart she shouldn’t be here. Yet she had promised her brothers she would make a valiant effort to win their ridiculous bet.
She had been prompted by a rash impulse, but once she had given her word, Meredith felt compelled to keep it. The biggest obstacle she faced now was her own good sense. Fearing it would prevail before she reached the entrance, Meredith forced herself to begin the long climb up the staircase, ignoring completely the voice in her head that insisted she should turn on her heel and depart.
For four days, Jason and Jasper’s silent pleas, forlorn looks, and heavy sighs of disappointment had driven her to distraction. And it was said that women were prone to dramatics!
She had resisted with a gritty determination, telling herself over and over again she would not even entertain such a preposterous notion. Besides, she reminded her brothers each afternoon at tea and each evening at dinner, how was she going to kiss the marquess if she never saw him?
He apparently did not attend many
ton
functions. The only place in Society he was seen on a regular basis was Hyde Park. Yet a chance encounter where the nobility spent the afternoon riding about in open carriages and on horseback was hardly the opportune moment to try to kiss the marquess passionately.
This practical dilemma had kept the twins busy scheming and plotting for two days. Time on the bet was running out, and Meredith had begun to congratulate herself on so neatly diverting her brothers’ attention. However, her smug attitude of success was apparently premature.
Late last night the twins had wakened her from a sound sleep to gleefully report that the marquess was indeed about to attend a society function that would afford her the perfect opportunity to win the bet.
So here she stood, ready to enter Lady Dermond’s ballroom in search of the Marquess of Dardington, with the sole intention of luring him to a secluded location and then kissing him in a most passionate manner. Madness, it was pure madness!
“Good evening, Lady Meredith.”
That shrill female voice could belong to only one individual. With a cool smile, Meredith turned and faced the Duchess of Lancaster, one of the most ignorant, annoying, and petty females of the
beau monde.
“Your Grace. Lord Byrd.” Meredith dipped a slight curtsy toward the duchess and her escort. “How pleasant to see you both.”
“This is a surprise,” the duchess declared with a haughtily raised eyebrow. “I was unaware you had come to town this Season.”
“I’ve only recently arrived,” Meredith lied smoothly. She felt the woman’s keen gaze skim her from head to toe. The glint of jealousy that flashed in the other woman’s eyes was brief, but distinct.
Meredith nearly sighed. She had hoped that with time the duchess would eventually forget Meredith had rejected marriage proposals from both the duke and Lord Hawke, a former lover of the duchess. Apparently she had not.
“You appear to be without escort this evening,” the duchess observed slyly. “Perchance have you come as a chaperon for one of the younger ladies? Or perhaps you are serving as a companion for one of the elderly dowagers?”
“You are so witty, Your Grace.” One corner of Meredith’s mouth turned up. “I am neither a chaperon nor a companion. My two
male
escorts await me inside the ballroom.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then we shall take you to them,” the duchess declared.
“You are too kind, Your Grace,” Meredith said. She turned toward Lord Byrd with a deliberate smile of encouragement. “I have a small errand to attend to first. It should take me no more than ten minutes. Will you wait for me here?”
“Of course,” Lord Byrd answered. He bowed low to better ogle her bosom and offered her a sly wink.
Meredith somehow managed to keep a half smile on her lips. In her opinion, Lord Byrd was the worst sort of male. He had married an heiress to obtain control of her fortune and now kept his meek, frail wife hidden away on his country estate.
It was said the only time he ever visited the poor woman was to get her with child so she would be forced to remain in the country. The rest of Lord Byrd’s time was spent in London, in pursuit of any and all selfish pleasures.

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