When a Marquis Chooses a Bride (28 page)

* * *

Dom entered the breakfast room as Sir Henry accepted a cup of tea from Paken. Dom's future father-in-law was like no one he had ever met before, certainly not like the squire near Merton who typified a country gentleman. Hunting mad, a bit rough around the edges, and ever willing to curry his attention. Sir Henry was cultured and serious, yet with a wicked sense of humor that he did not mind wielding. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning to you as well, Dominic.”

Any attempt at formality had quickly gone by the way yesterday. Sir Henry treated Dom as if he were any young man about to wed his daughter. And in spite of all his previous misgivings, it was a relief. He had never had a comfortable home life. Perhaps now he would. Of course, he still had to pass muster with Thea's brothers and sisters. What a strange thought that was. All of whom would descend upon them tomorrow.

Sir Henry finished his tea and stood. “Sorry to desert you, but I've got business to see to while I'm in Town.”

“Please feel free to do as you please. The only plans we have today are the duchess's ball this evening.”

“Won't do to forget that.” He chuckled. “I'd never hear the end of it.”

Dom did not doubt that at all. Between the duchess and Lady Stern, it was easy to see where Thea got her strength.

“Good morning, Papa.” Thea entered the room, reached up and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. “Are you off already?”

“Good morning to you, my dear. I should be back by tea.” He gave Thea a quick hug.

She took her seat at the table, and Paken set a fresh pot of tea before her. “Thank you, Paken.” She turned to Dom and smiled. “Tell me how you like your tea.”

After their lovemaking, he had been afraid she might remain in her chamber this morning, but she didn't appear to be at all embarrassed by last night. He sat next to her. Marriage with her would be very easy to get used to. “Strong with milk and two lumps of sugar.”

She took a piece of toast. “We shall give it a few more minutes to brew.”

“Have you seen the picture gallery yet?”

“No.” She pulled the jam pot to her. “Your mother thought you would like to show it to me.”

“Shall we do it after breakfast?”

She picked up the teapot and poured two cups, adding milk and sugar, then handed him one. “Try this.”

He took a sip. “Perfect.”

“Thank you. After breakfast will be fine. I am to tell you our mothers are breaking their fast together and that my mother is doing much better.”

Afterward, he led her to the gallery. “The one at Merton is massive, but you'll get an idea. I think everyone has at least a miniature here.”

“It is much the same at Bristol House.”

He'd forgotten that she would be used to the duke's estates. “Here is the First Marquis of Merton. Before then we were viscounts.”

“From the hair and dress, he looks to have lived in Charles the Second's time.”

“Yes. That is who elevated the house.”

She grinned. “What, no earls?”

He gave a mock scowl. “Only on Worthington's side. His title is actually much older, and inherited through”—he drew her to another portrait—“this fellow's wife during Queen Anne's time.”

“It is amazing how the same color blue appear in the eyes of almost all the men.”

He grinned. “The Bradford blue. It has been said that a Bradford man can tell if a child is his by the eyes. I suppose I should say the Bradford-Vivers blue. Until now, I never understood why a man would take his wife's name.”

She moved down the wall. “Who is this?”

“My grandfather.”

“Here is your mother.” She glanced at him. “You were a beautiful baby. I did not realize your father had blond hair as well. You are very like him.”

Dom gazed up at the painting of a young man, his father, holding a baby, his wife seated. A large hunting dog stood next to him. He did look just like his father. But he wasn't like him at all. He couldn't be.

He remembered the day his father had died and his uncle came. He had been six years old and had tried to hug his uncle Alasdair, needing the comfort, but after one brief embrace, his uncle set him aside.
“You are Merton now. You must behave as such. You cannot afford to indulge in maudlin emotions. Now, stop crying—you have duties to attend to.”

“What was he like?”

Thea's question brought him out of his reveries. “He was passionate. About everything, but especially my mother.”

He couldn't tear his gaze from the painting.

“And you too, it seems. Normally, the woman holds the baby, but he is holding you.”

Dom's throat closed and his eyes grew moist. God, no, he couldn't cry. He hadn't cried since the day his father died. “Excuse me. I must go.”

He took a step, and she grabbed his arm. “Dom, please tell me what is troubling you.”

“I can't talk about it now.” He glanced at her concerned face. “Thea, let me go.”

She bit her bottom lip and released his arm. “Very well. For now. But you must tell me eventually.”

Striding back down the gallery, he went to his study, but it wasn't the place he needed to be. This was where he performed his duties, where he wasn't allowed to feel anything. Where then? Leaving, he let his feet carry him to the schoolroom. Not the same one he had been in when his uncle had come to him, but close enough. Thankfully, it was empty. All the toys he'd had before his father's death were still there. The tin soldiers he and his father had played with, waging imaginary wars. The bat and ball his father had bought him to learn cricket. He had not touched a toy since that day. There was one adult-sized chair, and memories of his father rocking him in this same chair overwhelmed him. Sinking down onto it, he covered his face. Tears began leaking through his closed eyelids and down his cheeks.
“Papa, why did you leave us? Why did you leave me?”

Sometime later, after the room had darkened, soft footsteps neared him. “Dominic,” Mama asked, “are you all right?”

“I don't know. No. Everything I've believed in for years . . . is falling apart.”

She sank down onto a stool and took one of his hands. “Tell me what it is.”

He gazed at her, the need to unburden himself almost too much to bear. “I don't know if I can. Uncle Alasdair always told me not to bother you.”

His mother's lips pressed together, forming a thin line. “If Alasdair was not already dead, I would murder him myself. What on earth was he thinking? Tell me now.
Everything
he said.”

A short bark of laughter shot out from Dom, startling him. He had never seen his mother behave so fiercely before. “After Papa died, Uncle Alasdair told me I was now Merton and it was my duty . . .”

As his mother listened, myriad emotions passed over her face. At one point, she took out a lace-trimmed handkerchief and dabbed her tears. When he finished, she closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. “I never should have listened to Alasdair. I should never have trusted him. What he told you was not the truth.”

Dom sat up. “What do you mean?”

His mother stared down at her hands for a few moments as if gathering her thoughts. “It is not that he lied, precisely, but he saw things only from his point of view. He and your father were close friends, but disagreed on almost everything.”

That was news. “Even politics?”

She nodded. “Especially politics and the duties of the aristocracy. Your father believed that it was the duty of the peerage to keep the king in check, and care for all the people in the land, rich and poor.” Her lips flattened into a thin line. “Your uncle believed duty to the king took precedence over all else, and that a person's station in life was ordained by God, and any evil that befell one was by that person's choice. Yet, your father knew my brother loved you and me.”

His throat began to throb painfully and the fear that he had not run out of tears rose in him. “Tell me what happened when Papa died.”

Mama twisted the handkerchief in her hands. “He was helping at the mill. They were installing a new type of wheel when everything went horribly wrong, and Papa was crushed by the wheel. We got him back to the Hall as soon as possible, but he was bleeding internally and passed shortly afterward. I was pregnant and lost the baby. At your uncle's urging, I went to Bath for my health. By the time I had recovered, Alasdair was in place, and you seemed to be doing well. I suppose I thought that because of your youth, Papa's death was easier for you. I did not know that Alasdair forced you to bury all your grief and tried to make you into a version of himself.” She blinked several times before continuing. “He did not do as your father wanted.”

Dom was having a hard time taking it all in. His father had died doing his duty. Something he would have done in the same circumstance. “But everything couldn't have been false. Uncle Alasdair said Grandpapa died young from loving his wife too much.”

“If you can call five and sixty young,.” Mama scoffed. “Dominic.” She reached out, covering his hands with hers. “When the feelings are returned, there is no such thing as loving one's spouse too much. Your grandfather died from a chill he caught trying to get home. What Alasdair did not tell you, or perhaps did not know, is that your grandparents never spent more than one night apart the whole thirty-five years they were married.” She smiled at him. “Bradford men love passionately, Dominic. Even you, if you will allow yourself to.”

Rising, she left him alone with his thoughts. He had been trying to find a way not to love Thea as much as he did, and it was all for nothing. He scrubbed a hand over his face. She had looked so hurt earlier, when he wouldn't confide in her. Yet, maybe it wasn't too late. He would tell her everything. In any event, she deserved to know. He pushed himself out of the rocker and glanced around. One day he would be here playing with his child, but now it was time to find his wife.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dotty walked slowly back down the gallery. She had to find a way to convince Dom to confide in her. What kind of marriage would they have if he did not?

“Dotty, Dotty.” Tom's shrill voice echoed off the walls.

“I'm here, sweetie. What are you doing back so soon?”

“I missed his lordship and Cyrille.”

She couldn't help but laugh. “What is it you need?”

“Sally is out.” He placed one small hand confidingly in hers while he held his portfolio in his other. “Can you take me to the Park to draw? Mr. Martin gave me an assignment to complete before he comes again.”

Part of her wanted to wait and speak with Dom. They must straighten out their differences before the wedding, yet perhaps a quiet place to think would be best now. “Of course. Let me get my spencer and bonnet. I shall meet you in the hall.”

Tom skipped back down the gallery and disappeared. A few minutes later, Dotty joined him. The footman, Willy, who was assigned to Tom, was summoned. Dotty missed Fred, but had agreed with Dom that Matt's servants had no need to attend her at Merton House. After having been followed that day, some of Dom's grooms were always in the square, making sure no one watched the house.

The Park was largely deserted by the fashionable when they arrived. Avoiding the area where the other children were playing, Tom found a place with a bench where he could sketch. Although in very short order, he was ensconced on the grass at the base of a large elm tree.

She took out her pocketbook to review her list of projects. The attempt was unsuccessful as all she could think about was Dom and how distant he had been today. Perhaps she should ask for Lady Merton's help. Dotty would wager her last penny that most of her betrothed's problems stemmed from his uncle. It was probably a good thing the man was dead, otherwise she'd throttle him. Yet the fact that he was no longer with them might be worse. If Lord Alasdair was alive, it might be easier for Dom to rebel against the man. If only she knew what to do.

She closed her eyes and bit her lip hard as tears tried to escape.

“Hey, what you think you're doin'?” Willy shouted.

She jerked her head up as a large thug reached out and grabbed her arm, his fingers digging in painfully. His accomplice held Willy, twisting his arm behind his back. She glanced over at Tom who was not where he'd been five minutes before. Oh God. Please. It can't be the thieves trying to get him back. She prayed he'd got away. At least he knew how to return home.

Hoping someone would hear her, she screamed as loudly as she could until a meaty hand clamped over her mouth, dragging her to a black coach trimmed in gold. Not the robbers or the men who were kidnapping the women. Who then?

Dotty's bonnet tilted over her eyes as she landed on the seat and the coach took off with a jerk. Trying not to tremble, her stomach lurched and her hands grew clammy inside her gloves. Her heart crashed painfully against her chest. She'd never been so frightened in her life. Who would want
her
?

After taking a few deep breaths, she found the courage to straighten her hat, but hadn't raised her gaze. Then she saw them. Even in the dim light, her pale face was reflected back at her in a pair of black boots trimmed with gold tassels.
Fotherby?

Anger and confusion raged as she raised her head to meet his smug countenance. He may be one of Dom's oldest friends, but her betrothed would kill him for this. Or would he? Perhaps that was what had been bothering him. He really did not wish to marry her.

She gave herself a tiny shake.
Stop being a wet goose
. Dom was much too honorable to have agreed to this, especially after making love to her. And he did love her. She knew it to the soles of her feet and deep in her bones.

If Fotherby thought he was going to scare her, he'd better think again. She lifted her chin. “What,” she asked in a icy tone, “do you think you are doing, my lord?”

* * *

Elizabeth was in the morning room working on some very delicate white work for the handkerchief she was embroidering for her father's birthday, when Lavvie burst into the room smiling.

“I've solved all your problems,” she announced, pulling off her gloves.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. She had the distinct feeling she wasn't going to like what Lavvie had to say. “What problems?”

“Why, Merton of course.”

A chill ran up Elizabeth's spine. Her voice was much fainter than she'd meant it to be. “Merton?”

Her cousin removed her bonnet, sitting next to her on the chaise. “Yes. I would give it a few months, but he will be happy to marry a lady as steady as you.”

Anger replacing astonishment, Elizabeth pushed her tambour aside. “Lavvie, what have you done?”

“I have just made sure Miss Stern would not be able to attend the wedding.” When Elizabeth started to rise, Lavvie continued. “I've done nothing to harm her. I merely put it around that at the end of the day, marrying a marquis was too much for a country squire's daughter, and she ran home to her mother.”

“Lavvie, have you lost your mind?”

Her cousin's eyes widened. “Miss Stern will be fine. She is housed not too far from Town, and in two days she will be released and provided a coach for her journey home. Naturally, she'll not want to show her face in Town again, at least not for a Season or two.”

Elizabeth stared at her cousin, unable to understand how Lavvie could be so proud of essentially ruining another lady. This was undoubtedly the stupidest thing she could have done.

Elizabeth rose and struggled to keep from shouting. “
She will never be able to show her face anywhere
. After jilting Merton, what man would want her? And what will happen when it gets out that you orchestrated Miss Stern's disappearance?”

Lavvie paled just a little. “Oh, you've no need to worry about that. Fotherby was the one who actually abducted Miss Stern.”

For a moment Elizabeth thought she would faint. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“To save you. If you do not marry Merton, who knows who your father will select next? He could be like . . .”

Her cousin fell silent.

“Manners? Is that what you were about to say? Lavvie, has he hurt you?”

Her voice was tight as she avoided Elizabeth's gaze. “He doesn't beat me.”

She pulled her cousin into a hug. “Oh my dear. Papa would never make me marry someone I did not wish to.”

Lavvie sobbed. “That's what I thought about my father as well.”

Elizabeth thought back and realized she had not seen her cousin in private since that night Merton and Miss Stern became engaged. It was possible Lavvie didn't know Papa had lied. “I must tell you, we are not broke. It was all a hum. Papa told me that so I would marry Merton.”

“Not broke?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, and I wouldn't marry him anyway. He is in love with Miss Stern.” Elizabeth walked to the door to the terrace and back again, stopping in front of her cousin. She took Lavvie's hand. “As I have no need to marry for money, I want to marry for love. We need to tell Merton. When he finds her gone, he will be frantic with worry.”

“It's too late.” Tears filled Lavvie's eyes. “I received the message from Fotherby. She was taken this morning.”

“Surely you know where.”

“Well, sort of. Fotherby has a house near Richmond, but I don't know its exact location.”

Elizabeth tugged the bell pull and a footman opened the door. “I need my bonnet, gloves, spencer, and my maid.”

“Elizabeth!” Lavvie shrieked once the door closed. “What are you planning to do?”

“Tell Merton. He might know where Fotherby's house is.” Lavvie's face lost all its color. “I will try not to mention your name, but is there a relative you can visit for a few weeks? You won't like missing the rest of the Season, but there will be less talk if you are not here.”

She nodded. “I have already made plans to visit an aunt in the north, but why is it so important? I am sure Fotherby will not tell anyone.”

Doing her best not to shout at her cousin, Elizabeth pressed her lips together. “You have picked the wrong country miss to play with. Her grandmother is the Duchess of Bristol. The betrothal ball is this evening.”

For a few moments, Lavvie seemed frozen in place. Then she collapsed onto a chair. “Oh no. What have I done?”

Elizabeth donned her spencer and bonnet, which had arrived. It was time her cousin learned to cease meddling. “Add to that, her parents are in Town, and she has moved to Merton House.”

Lavvie's already-pale complexion whitened even further. When she finally spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. “How could I have been so stupid? I only meant to help you, and I've made such a mess of things.”

“I shall take care of it,” Elizabeth said, using a hard tone. “Pray God that no one finds out about your involvement. We would never survive the scandal.” She embraced her cousin, brushing back one of Lavvie's curls. As much trouble as she had caused, she was still Elizabeth's closest friend. “I shall tell you how it goes.”

For a moment her cousin clung to her. “I am leaving Town today.”

Elizabeth nodded. “That is probably for the best. I shall miss you.”

“And I you. It will probably be a while before I can write.”

“I must go.” She gave her cousin a quick kiss, leaving Lavvie to compose herself.

* * *

Tom, followed by his footman, Willy, who appeared much the worse for wear, dashed up the steps as Dom was about to descend them.

“My lord,” Tom gasped. “Someone's 'ducted Dotty.”

For a moment everything seemed to move more slowly than normal, and Dom's heart stopped beating.
No!
It was impossible. Nothing could happen to her. He addressed the footman, “Where is Miss Stern?”

“It's like Master Tom said, my lord. She's been taken. Two big blackguards came at me. One held me in a lock and the other grabbed her. Master Tom hid behind the trees, but he drew a picture of the man in the coach.”

Tom shoved the tablet up to Dom. “That's the gentleman that drove off with her.”

He couldn't believe this was happening. It was all wrong. Images of Thea being taken to a brothel or to the docks assailed his mind. If she was harmed, it would be his fault. He should have never walked away from her this morning.

Tom shoved the drawing under Dom's nose, and his mind skittered to a halt. Fotherby? Why the devil would he take Thea? He didn't like her, but this was beyond the pale. Kidnapping an innocent, well not so innocent any longer, but bloody hell, the blackguard had abducted Dom's bride. Maybe Lady Fotherby was right. Her son was a loose fish. All he knew was that when he got his hands on the blackguard, he was going to kill him. He growled. “Paken, get a hackney.”

Worthington entered the hall. “I've come to ask if Tom would like to play with my brood.”

That was the other thing that wasn't right. “Wait just a moment. Isn't Tom supposed to
be
at your house?”

The child's face screwed up. “I missed you, so I came home.”

“Take Tom with you.” Dom raked a hand through his hair. “We'll sort this out later. I have to go.”

Worthington lowered his brows. “What's going on?”

Tom jumped up and down waving the drawing. “Fotherby 'ducted Dotty and we're going to go save her.”

Good God. Why did everyone in his house want to rush off rescuing everyone else? “
We
are not going anywhere.
You
are staying right here where you're safe. Paken, where's that hackney?”

“Merton, take a damper,” Worthington barked. “We need more information before you go tearing off after Fotherby.”

“I think I may be able to help.”

Dom turned to the door and stared at Miss Turley. She swallowed. “I saw Lord Fotherby's coach on the Richmond Road early today.”

Dom's fists clenched. The scoundrel. “Richmond?”

She appeared scared, but nodded. “Yes. I take it Miss Stern is not at home.”

His temper rose and was hanging by a thread. Right now he wanted to throttle someone.

Paken bowed. “No, miss. Her mother arrived yesterday, and she is not at home to visitors.”

Worthington rubbed his hand over his face. “What's in Richmond, or is he taking her farther west?”

To think Dom had called that curst rum touch his friend. “He has a house there. We stayed overnight at it after watching a fight.”

“Do you remember the direction?”

Dom rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. Let's get going. We haven't a moment to lose if we're to get her back for the duchess's ball.” He crossed to a small writing desk and scribbled a note then handed it to Paken. “Get the town coach ready. This is the direction.”

“My lord, what shall I tell their ladyships and Sir Henry?”

Despite everything, Dom grinned. “Tell them we've gone to Richmond.” Dom glanced at Miss Turley still standing in the doorway. “Miss Turley, thank you for your help. I'd appreciate it if you did not repeat anything you heard.”

“You may be sure I shall not.” She descended the steps quickly.

“Paken, horses, now.”

His butler sent one of the footmen running.

“Mine's in your stable,” Worthington said as they made their way to the back of the house.

By the time Dom and Worthington reached the stables, their horses had been saddled. They rode as swiftly as possible through the busy afternoon traffic. It would take at least an hour for them to arrive and close to two hours before the coach reached Fotherby's manor house. The dinner prior to the ball started at nine o'clock. It was almost one o'clock now.