Chapter 4 #2
In Virginia society, the quickest and most expedient way to solve the situation would be for the couple to marry.
They’d take their wedding journey to a relative’s home or perhaps visit the Springs.
After a few months, they’d return home, and if a child was born, the old biddies would count on their fingers; but they’d do so quietly, without public comment.
What they said in the confines of their sewing circles was another matter.
The problem was, he hadn’t done anything to warrant having to take responsibility for Veronica Macleod. He hadn’t touched her. He hadn’t thought about touching her. In fact, he’d attempted to be the only honorable man among dozens.
Perhaps he should have remained in the background and let them do what they wanted to her, but he would have hated himself for his inactivity. He would have been as responsible for her degradation as those who caused it.
Doing nothing would have been the response of a coward, both last night and, regrettably, now.
Doom settled over him, the same cloud of doom he’d felt all night long.
“I see no other alternative, sir,” the Earl of Conley said, as if hearing his thoughts.
Neither did he, damn it.
“I’m not prepared to marry,” he said.
The Earl of Conley’s lips turned upward in a half smile. “Nor am I prepared to have scandal touch my family’s name, sir. We’ll let it be known that it’s a love match. Society is accepting of impulsiveness.”
“Just not reason.”
The other man inclined his head slightly, an imperious gesture that annoyed him further.
“You have a choice, of course, Your Lordship.”
To marry Veronica MacLeod or leave her to her own fate. In that moment, he honestly wished he could. She’d been foolish and improvident, yet she didn’t deserve the punishment that her uncle—and society—would mete out to her.
The Earl of Conley nodded, evidently satisfied.
“Veronica will come home with me now. In two days, the wedding will take place. That will give you enough time to arrange for a special license.
“Even if I’m an American?”
“You’ll find that money stifles a great many objections, sir. Even in the case of Americans.”
He stared at the Earl of Conley for several ticking moments.
The hours before dawn had found him awake, attempting to reason a way out of this predicament. He hadn’t come up with a solution. Nor could he standing there.
“I’ll marry her,” he said. “Damn it, I’ll marry her.”
Mrs. Gardiner woke her from a surprisingly restful sleep. The sleep of the just, the unrepentant, the innocent, which hardly applied in her situation but for which Veronica was grateful.
“Pardon me, miss, but His Lordship wishes you to meet him downstairs.”
She glanced down at the hated brown robe.
“I’ll see if one of the maids has a dress you can borrow,” Mrs. Gardiner said, correctly interpreting her look.
She shook her head. “Never mind,” she said. Montgomery Fairfax had already seen her attire—and more.
“You have no shoes on, miss.”
She glanced down at her feet as if just then discovering them bare.
“I’ve lost them,” she said, then smiled at the housekeeper to indicate that it was no great loss. Compared to the loss of her home, security, and whatever future she might have had as a poor relation in her uncle’s home, what was a pair of shoes?
She slipped behind the screen, performed her morning ablutions, and, once finished, left the room and descended the steps. Halting at the landing, she stared down at Uncle Bertrand, and behind him, Adam and Algernon.
Uncle Bertrand glanced up at her. She would not make the mistake of speaking first. She might not be as learned as her cousins in the ways of London, but she was astute when it came to people.
Uncle Bertrand liked to be in charge.
He gave her a disgusted glance.
In all honesty, she could not blame him for being annoyed at her appearance. She’d not brushed her hair, and she was as improperly attired as she’d been the night before.
“Is Mr. Fairfax not here?” she asked, descending the rest of the steps.
“He’s the 11th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster, and more properly referred to as His Lordship. And he’s given us the privacy necessary for this meeting.”
Before she could speak, he waved his hand toward the door.
“You’re coming home,” he said.
Had he forgiven her?
What had Montgomery Fairfax said to him to bring about this great change?
She clasped her hands in front of her, not about to annoy her uncle with too many questions.
“Thank you for forgiving me, Uncle,” she said. The gratitude she felt was tempered by the knowledge that she would, no doubt, have to pay for her uncle’s largesse in the future.
“I haven’t forgiven you,” he said flatly. “You’ll remain with us until His Lordship acquires a special license. You’re to be married, Veronica.”
Stunned, she could only stare at her uncle.
When she made no comment, he continued. “His Lordship understands that, while the situation was in no way of his doing, any other action would be unthinkable.”
“Married?” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know the man, Uncle.”
“You should have thought of that before appearing with him naked.”
How odd she couldn’t think at the moment.
“You should count yourself fortunate, indeed. His Lordship is quite a wealthy man. At least you will be well provided for, unlike your mother.”
“My father was a well-respected scholar,” she said. “A teacher.”
“Who had not held a post since before you were born. He dabbled in poetry, Veronica,” he said, the depth of his loathing evident in the disdain dripping from each word.
Her father’s poetry was beautiful, lyrical, and moving. None of it had survived, however. Yet if she could have shown her uncle, she was sure that he would have appreciated her father’s great talent.
“Your mother’s inheritance provided a roof over your head.”
To that, she had no answer.
He turned and nodded to his sons. Neither Algernon nor Adam had looked directly at her. They only stepped aside so she could precede them, following Uncle Bertrand out the door.
Veronica managed to keep silent all the way back to Uncle Bertrand’s home, a feat easily managed since no one in the carriage seemed inclined to talk, least of all to her.
Instead of being a poor relation, she was to be married. Instead of living forever in Uncle Bertrand’s house, she was to have a husband.
Not only was she free of Amanda, Uncle Bertrand, Aunt Lilly, and her four other cousins, but she was to have an establishment, a family, of her own.
She wanted to dance. Even then, her feet wanted to tap on the carriage floor.
If she’d begun to sing at the top of her voice, Algernon and Adam would have nudged each other and commented about poor daft Veronica, who was making a spectacle of herself.
Had the girl no sense at all? Uncle Bertrand would have frowned at her again—or still—since he hadn’t stopped frowning.
A husband. She was to have a husband. Not simply any husband, but an American: Montgomery Fairfax.
He was a stranger.
Perhaps she should be more sober, look at the situation with a more realistic view. While it was true he was a handsome man, appearance wasn’t as important as other qualities in a husband.
He was kind and evidently possessed of compassion, or he wouldn’t have rescued her from the Society.
He hadn’t been the least bit happy about it, however. His gaze hadn’t revealed any warmth when he’d looked at her. Her Gift had discerned the degree of his pain. Did he mourn for someone? The pain she’d felt in Montgomery had been strong and deep. Did he grieve for a lost love?
Had her uncle pressured him into marrying her?
Of course her uncle had used some sort of pressure to induce His Lordship to marry her.
He hadn’t developed a tendre for her in the few hours they’d been together.
Alone, together in a carriage, with nothing more than a thin robe between her and nakedness.
He’d seen her naked.
Heat traveled over her skin.
So much for lust.
Wasn’t he supposed to be overwhelmed by the power of his feelings for her? He’d seen a great deal more than her shapely ankles. Yet all he’d done was place her in his housekeeper’s company.
What would she have done if he’d made an advance? Of course she would have dissuaded him quite precisely. She would have told him, in no uncertain terms, that she was not that type of young woman, her actions to the contrary.
Yet he hadn’t done anything. He’d acted the perfect gentleman. She was the one who’d bent every rule of proper behavior.
To be a good wife, she’d have to learn as much about her husband as possible.
If for no other reason than to express her gratitude to him for rescuing her twice.
Once, from a scandal of her own making, and secondly, from her abysmal future.
She hadn’t the slightest idea how to be a wife, but she had some experience in watching a loving couple.
Her parents had been devoted to one another.
The carriage stopped in front of the house, and her uncle frowned at her. She nodded in response to the unspoken rebuke and waited until Algernon and Adam preceded her before leaving.
She took the stairs quickly, grateful her aunt was nowhere about. That reckoning could, she hoped, wait until later that morning.
Veronica closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned back against it, palms flat against the cool wood.
She walked to the middle of the room, twirled in a circle with her arms spread wide, a dance of utter, complete joy. Twice, three times, four, she spun before collapsing on top of the bed, eyes closed, a smile curving her lips.
Veronica Moira MacLeod murmured a fervent prayer of thanksgiving. Even the worst kind of husband would be better than being a poor relation.
Her greatest wish had been granted.
She’d been saved.
“Were you intimate with him?”
She froze.
Slowly, she sat up to see Amanda standing in the doorway.
“You did what you set out to do, Amanda.”