Chapter Five
“E lenora!” Mama’s voice rose to a horrified squeak, as Lady Routledge almost elbowed past her and into the library and Papa hurriedly slammed the door behind them all.
“Mama!” Elenora’s hand shot to her mouth and unwanted heat rose to her cheeks.
Oh no. This was too terrible for words. And that condescending old harpy who’d looked down her aristocratic nose at them and cast aspersions about Penworthy as well. What could possibly be worse than being caught in what was undoubtedly a compromising position? Being caught by that arbiter of the Ton, that was what.
Lord Amberley’s face purpled as though he were in danger of suffering apoplexy as he glared at his son. “Jack!”
“Father.” To do him credit, Broxbourne didn’t get up, but continued sewing. “Give me a minute or two. I’m just mending Miss Wetherby’s gown.”
Admirable sangfroid in this awkward situation.
“What’s going on here?” Papa asked, coming farther into the library, his accusing gaze snaking between Elenora’s blazing hot face and Broxbourne still on his knees in front of her.
“M-my gown tore,” Elenora tried, twitching with desperation to move away from the man on his knees in front of her. If before she’d longed for a hole to swallow her up, that had been nothing compared with right now.
“It doesn’t look as though you were doing nothing,” Lady Routledge almost crowed. “You look as though we’ve surprised you in a tryst.” She couldn’t have looked more delighted if she’d tried. She’d have been the sort to sit watching the French aristocracy going to the guillotine and congratulating herself as each head fell into the waiting basket.
Mama turned anguished eyes on Papa. Elenora, unable to put up with Broxbourne’s attentions any longer, snatched her gown away from his nimble fingers, the needle left hanging loose by its thread. Her unavoidable eye for the smallest detail had her admiring his stitchwork. “Nothing whatsoever has happened here,” she tried, keeping her voice as calm as she could but uncomfortably aware that the heat of her face, which had to rival Lord Amberley’s, might be giving the lie to this.
“My boy,” Lord Amberley said, his voice a deep rumble replete with heavy threat, “This young lady is of good breeding. You can’t go bringing your back street morals into my ballroom.”
“This isn’t your ballroom, it’s your library,” Broxbourne said, with some asperity, as he rose to his feet. “And I have not brought my ‘back street morals’, as you call them, here. All I was doing was assisting Miss Wetherby in her hour of need.”
Lady Routledge stepped forward like an actress taking center stage. “And how exactly did Miss Wetherby’s dress become ripped?” She fixed Elenora with a gimlet stare.
Elenora swallowed, her mind wiped clean of all coherent thought. She’d always found it impossible to lie, and a lie was what was needed here, but one would not come.
“She—” began Broxbourne, only to be silenced by an imperious hand.
“I am asking Miss Wetherby,” Lady Routledge intoned, sounding like a judge about to pass sentence of death, or how Elenora imagined one might sound.
Her eyes going from her mother’s face to her father’s, Elenora groped blindly for some excuse. Her parents stared back at her, but their expressions gave her no confidence that she would be believed.
Lady Routledge took a step closer. “Did Lord Broxbourne tear your dress, Miss Wetherby?”
Caught like a mouse in a trap, all Elenora could do was give the tiniest nod.
“Oh, my dear, sweet, innocent child.” Mama ran forward and enfolded Elenora in her arms so tightly she almost choked the breath from her. “She’s been violated by this odious man. I don’t care if he’s your son, my lord, he’s a vile cad. A rake. He’s defiled my daughter’s honor.”
“Mama, he didn’t…” Elenora tried, her face embedded in her mother’s fragrant shoulder.
“Is this true? Lord Amberley blustered. “You ripped Miss Wetherby’s gown, Jack?”
Elenora couldn’t see Broxbourne now, clasped as she was to her mother’s heaving bosom, but she could hear him. He sounded as shocked as she was. “No, well, yes, I suppose I did, but not the way—”
“Then you must marry her,” his father bellowed, turning a darker shade of puce, if that were possible. “Make an honest woman of the chit. There’s nothing for it. You have no other way out of this.” Was there a touch of satisfaction in his tone?
Elenora wriggled free of her mother’s hold.
“I agree,” Lady Routledge boomed. “Announce their betrothal forthwith and you’ll be able to avoid the scandal this will cause.”
“I can rely on your discretion, Horatia?” Lord Amberley said, taking Lady Routledge’s hands in both of his.
“You can.”
“Then offer for Miss Wetherby forthwith,” Lord Amberley snapped, glaring at his son.
Broxbourne heaved a deep, resigned sigh. “Miss Wetherby, would you be so kind as to accept my offer of marriage?” He had the distinct look of someone to whom the utterance of this sentence brought pain.
“There,” Mama said, unmistakable triumph in her voice. “That’s settled, then. They are betrothed.”
Elenora stamped her foot. “But I don’t agree. I refuse his offer. You can’t make me marry someone I don’t want to marry, and I won’t do it.”
Everyone stared at her, including Lord Broxbourne, whose expression could almost have been described as comical, so full of surprised shock was it.
“Elenora,” Mama fairly gasped out on a strangled breath. “You don’t understand the gravity of your situation. You have been surprised in a most compromising position with a man whose reputation goes before him. Your only way out of this is through marriage.” She shot a glare at Broxbourne. “To the man who compromised you, distasteful as that might be to your family.”
Elenora wasn’t fooled by this outburst. The steely glint in Mama’s eyes betrayed her satisfaction that Elenora had managed to snare herself an earl’s son at her first ball. A man with a considerable fortune.
She clenched her fists. “But I don’t want to marry anyone.” Despite a longing for self-control, Elenora’s voice rose in desperation, the distinct impression of being carried along on a wave of triumph by her mother swamping her. “I don’t understand. Four hours ago you didn’t want me even dancing with Lord Broxbourne and now you want me to marry him?”
Mama shook her head. “Nonsense. Marriage is quite different to what I’d feared he might be after from you. And clearly I was correct in my assumptions. But as luck would have it, he has been caught in his vile addiction and you have been saved from further degradation.” She paused, her brows knitting. “You have been saved, haven’t you? He didn’t do anything more than tear your gown… did he?”
Despite her aversion to lying, an awful longing to tell her mother Lord Broxbourne had done something much worse than tear her dress swept over Elenora. Just to shock her. But shocking her like that would only make this situation worse. If that were possible.
“No,” she said. “He did nothing else.”
Lady Routledge, who still had hold of Lord Amberley’s hands, nodded firmly. “You were lucky enough to have been in time to save your daughter from a fate worse than death, Fanny. And in the process have gained her a far better match than you could have hoped for, for the daughter of a simple baronet.” Was that a hint of resentment mixed in with the satisfaction of having witnessed the situation?
However… “Papa is not a simple baronet,” Elenora burst out, fury getting the better of her. “He’s a wonderful baronet.”
Papa, whose part so far had been negligible and whose appearance could have been described as flustered, had the grace to look flattered and happy for a moment at this extravagant praise.
“Be quiet, Elenora,” Mama ordered. “This is not for you to interfere in.” Nor Papa, so it seemed.
“But it’s my future you’re talking about.”
“And that will be decided by your father and me.” What she meant was by her. Papa would have no say in the matter at all.
Elenora turned to Lord Broxbourne. “Please explain that nothing happened and that you don’t want to marry me.”
He shrugged, an annoying twinkle in his eye. “I don’t think it’s up to me.”
What was he saying? Did he not care? Was he about to allow himself to be bullied into a betrothal to someone he scarcely knew? Someone he’d been so rude to so couldn’t possibly even like? Was he mad? The suspicion that he might be rose. Was she to be forced into marriage with someone who belonged in Bedlam?
“You are absolutely right when you say it’s not up to you,” Lord Amberley, whose snow-white hair had somehow become wildly disarranged, declared. Had he been running his fingers through it? No, he couldn’t have been. Lady Routledge still had his hands firmly in hers. Did hair truly stand on end by itself, then, when someone was shocked? Its state was very diverting.
“Told you,” Broxbourne said to Elenora. “You’d best consider yourself an engaged young lady.”
Elenora might have been lost for words had she been less determined. “But you don’t love me. I don’t think you even like me. Why are you letting them force you into marriage?”
Her mother snorted like an angry bull. “Elenora! Cease from this. Of course, he likes you or he wouldn’t have importuned you so violently.” She swung round on Papa. “Nicholas, take your daughter and keep her silent. She can have no part in this.”
What? Elenora opened her mouth to continue complaining, but Mama’s angry glare silenced her.
Papa, ever obedient to Mama, wrapped a commiserating arm around Elenora’s shoulders. “Come over here with me. We mustn’t interfere with your mother’s arrangements. You really will be ruined if this comes out and you’re not engaged to Broxbourne, you know.”
“But he’s a rake, Papa.” Surely he didn’t want her forced into marriage with a rake?
“There, there.” He patted her arm. “Don’t take on so. I’m sure you’ll rub along quite well.” Always one for the easy way out. How typical.
Elenora pressed her lips together. This was terrible. Her very first ball and nothing had gone right. She’d known in her heart that it wouldn’t. When did anything ever go right for her? And now everything and everyone was conspiring against her. Even Lord Broxbourne, who couldn’t be any happier than her at the outcome of this evening’s events. If only she’d sent him away and sewn up her gown herself. Then she could have told them she’d ripped it on a table or chair and no one would have been any the wiser.
“Well?” Mama was saying to Lord Amberley. “Do we have an agreement?”
“He’ll marry her or be damned,” the elderly earl snapped, as though his son had offered up a major objection to his proposed engagement instead of quietly acquiescing.
Jack, who’d gone over to the fire, turned and leaned against the mantelpiece, the flames warming his backside admirably. “I’ve said I will, haven’t I?” Why on earth were all these people treating him as though he hadn’t done the right thing and said he’d marry the girl. Not that he intended for it to get any further than a betrothal. But for now, he could agree to an engagement—one that could be called off in a few months’ time, once everyone had forgotten about this incident.
His father stared at him out of angry, dark eyes that, had Jack but known it, were the exact image of his own. Was that a hint of triumph in them as well? The Old Man had been trying for long enough to get his son and heir married off. Perhaps he thought this way was the best he could hope for and that the daughter of a minor country baronet with a gambling problem was better than an actress or an ageing countess.
“Good, then,” the earl said with a harrumphing snort. “We’ll get the contracts drawn up.”
Oh God. The contracts. Well, he should have been expecting that. And the girl’s mother would no doubt want to boast about having secured an earl’s heir for her daughter. There was no way this engagement was going to be kept quiet. But that still didn’t mean they couldn’t break it after a discreet amount of time, especially as Miss Wetherby, Elenora, didn’t seem at all pleased by it. She’d be as pleased as he was to call it all off at some point, wouldn’t she?
He directed a somewhat hostile stare at her, his male pride more than a little piqued by her confusing attitude. Why on earth was she protesting so loudly about becoming engaged to him? Wasn’t that something most of the Ton’s predatory mamas would have gone out of their way to obtain for their daughters? The sensation that he’d somehow been insulted by her turning up her nose at him arose. Was he really that abhorrent? Every other woman he encountered didn’t seem to think he was.
Lady Routledge, a woman he had long nurtured a strong dislike for, smiled with smug satisfaction. And what did she have against him? He was beginning to feel a bit hemmed in by enemy forces. He’d never allowed himself to betray his dislike for Lady Routledge, so she could have no idea of his feelings. If the nosy old woman hadn’t been passing the library door as Sir Nicholas, his wife, and his own father, had been entering, this whole thing could have been passed over with much less of a kerfuffle. Trust her to be in at his perceived downfall.
However, he smiled back at her with careless grace, as though this was just another normal day for him. Above all things, he had to put on a good show. Though why he’d grabbed Miss Wetherby by her gown in the first place he now had no idea. He nurtured no amorous feelings for her. Did he? She was just an ordinary chit of a girl, too young by far for him, and yet… he couldn’t deny something about her intrigued him. In particular, her extreme disgust at having to become engaged to him. It might be quite fun to play along with this.
He abandoned the fireplace and approached where she was standing with her father. “Miss Wetherby.” He made a flamboyant bow, calculated to impress any lady. Not her. She regarded him out of stony blue eyes that held more than a little annoyance. “Perhaps the first time I asked you, you formed the wrong impression of me, and considered that I was only asking you out of deference to the wishes of our parents. That is not so. I will ask you again, and do it better this time.” He benefitted her with his most engaging smile. “Will you be so kind as to do me the honor of accepting my offer of marriage? This time?” Prettily put. He could do pretty when he had a mind to it.
Her nose wrinkled. Yes, wrinkled. Damn it, but the chit was going to turn him down again. “No thank you, Lord Broxbourne. I would prefer not to.”
“Elenora!” This was a chorus from her mother and Lady Routledge. The girl’s father remained mute. Perhaps he agreed with her.
“Well,” Elenora snapped. “In all honesty, I have no wish to be married at all, if anyone ever took any notice of anything I have to say.”
“Nonsense,” her mother said. “If you don’t agree to this you’ll be ruined and then no one will marry you.”
“Good,” retorted his prospective bride. “That’s exactly what I want.”
Realization began to dawn upon Jack, and with it the germ of an idea. He turned to the other three. “Might I have just a few minutes alone with Miss Wetherby?”
They all regarded him as if he’d asked to take her to his bed for a few minutes.
Sir Nicholas came to his senses first. “I don’t see why not. He’s been alone with her already. What more can he do?”
Lady Wetherby opened her mouth, undoubtedly to point out where he was going wrong here, but Lady Routledge interrupted her. “A splendid idea. Let the two of them come to an understanding. We can wait outside and make sure no one disturbs them.” She held up a gloved finger. “Five minutes. That is all.”
And before anyone could object, she herded Elenora’s parents out of the library.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Jack turned back to Elenora. “Dare I enquire as to why you find marriage to me so distasteful?”
Her eyes widened as though he’d asked a ridiculous question. “Many reasons, not least the fact that I don’t know you. And that I have no intention of marrying anyone.”
He felt a smile trying to twitch the corners of his mouth. “So, I am not repugnant to you, just the thought of marriage to anyone is?”
She nodded. “You are not repugnant at all, I can assure you. Were I a romantic sort of a girl, I might be swayed by your good looks.” She paused. “Even though you are really quite old.”
“Ouch. I’m not as old as all that, you know.”
She raised her light eyebrows. “I suppose you can’t help your age.”
Now he did laugh. “But you seem to forget that your mother has brought you to London to find you a husband. Did you not think to inform her of your aversion to marriage before you set out, and thus save her some time and expense?”
“Of course I did, but as usual, she took no notice. And my sisters are no help because they are straining at the bit to have a season of their own and find themselves empty-headed young men who they mistakenly think might make them happy.”
“And this is your first ball of the season?”
“It is. I wish it could be my last.”
The germ of an idea began to solidify. “What if we could dispose of the necessity for you to be found a husband?”
Interest flickered in those candid blue eyes—not quite so stony now. “And how would ‘we’ do that? I take it you are offering your assistance?”
“I might be. Let me explain. Sit down in front of the fire again.” He gestured at the two wingbacked chairs.
Much to his surprise, she offered no resistance and sat herself down. This time, instead of perching on the edge, she sat back in her chair, staring at him out of oddly intense eyes. They really were the loveliest shade of blue. If he’d been minded to, he could have lost himself in them all too easily.
He took the other seat. “Do you always stare so?”
A little smile touched her lips. “I’m afraid I do. I don’t like to look someone in the eye. I find it very difficult. Mama taught me to look someone in the mouth instead—so much easier. You will see that what I’m really looking at is your lips. Does it discomfort you?”
He shrugged. “Not now you explain it.”
“So, what is it you were going to suggest? I fear we have only a minute or two left before my parents and yours return.”
He steepled his fingers, something he was wont to do in times of stress. And yes, this was stressful. He needed to tread carefully. “Your parents have brought you to London because they wish you to be married to a rich man, preferably with a title, who will save their family fortunes out of obligation for receiving such a beautiful, but portionless wife. True?”
She nodded. At least she seemed to have got over her initial offended huff when he’d first mentioned her father’s problems. “True.”
“But you don’t wish to marry at all. I have no idea why, and that is your own private matter. However, if you were engaged to someone, they would have to stop looking for a husband for you. Also true?”
Her eyes narrowed. His intimation must be sinking in. She nodded. “True.” She strung the word out as though thoughtful.
He smiled. “My father, and my mother, would like me to marry and provide an heir for the earldom. I’m their only son and they view my profligate ways with distaste. I generally steer clear of Amberley House because I want to avoid them badgering me to find some blue-blooded young woman without a brain in her head to marry. So long as she has good childbearing hips, my mother will be content. Brains do not count with her.”
Elenora’s blue eyes flashed in a rather becoming manner. “Let me tell you right now that I’m not providing you with an heir.”
The thought of making one with her proved a tad distracting. She was very pretty, after all. He shook his head to clear it of that image. “And nor do I want you to. But my father is clearly rather pleased with me tonight for having put you in a compromising position. I know that look on his face. He is pretending anger because he thinks he has me backed into a corner I cannot escape from. Marriage.”
A frown crinkled her brow. “So, are you saying that if we both agree to an engagement, it will be mutually beneficial?”
“Exactly. My parents will be silenced for a while. Yours will cease to push you into the arms of young men who are your intellectual inferiors.” Which was most of the men at present dancing at the ball.
She nodded, and a slow smile crept across her face. “I think that’s an excellent idea. But what do we do when the wedding day comes around? Don’t think for an instant that my mother will want a long engagement. She’ll be so eager to get me up the aisle she’ll be behind us both with a pitchfork. And I suspect your parents might be the same, from what you’ve said.”
“We shall insist on a long engagement, bolstered by the fact that I intend to settle your father’s debts straightaway, as they seem to be of most pressing importance to your family. Once those are settled, I think your parents will be more willing to wait for the actual wedding. When they ask, we’ll say we both want time to get to know one another. And then, a discreet few months from now, by mutual consent we’ll quietly abandon the engagement, having discovered we are incompatible. How does that sound?”
This time she looked into his eyes. “Like an excellent idea. I agree. Although I fear I ought to point out that from the financial point of view, you appear to be going to end up out of pocket.”
He shook his head. “That’s of little matter to me. I have sufficient blunt to cover the debts of many of the men out there on the dance floor. And I feel it will be worth it to have my parents drop the subject of my marriage. At least for a while. It is my mother’s constant complaint when I see her. When she sees you, she will be content.”
Elenora nodded slowly, her lips pressed together. “Very well. I accept your offer. Now we’d better tell our parents it’s all settled, I suppose.”